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tlie honors of the* peerage. A low weeks alrer
l!.e Minister resigned tlie seals of office a»
VISCOC-VT GIENCRAIG !
Hi re terminated his public life ; but it was
tlie dispensation of Providence that he should
live to a ripe oiJ age in tne serene luxury of a
gmduui unfelt decay, surrounded by an af
fectionate family, litioved by many fiends,
and Honored in the world’s esteem. Lady
GU ncraig, who had been Ins compaii.on in
el mbiiig tile dazziing lie grits of rank and
power, shared with him, a short time, the
tranquil retirement that followed ; hat siie set
o it before him on tne great journey o! eternity.
Tiic separation was tender, not agonizing ; lor
no earthly happiness is bag.ited, no loudly,
clierisiied liojies of years to come are destroy
el, wdieu, trembling on the verge ofeigity,
iicarts aie uitimked by death, winch have
throbued in unison tiirough all : e:r foregone
da vs. ‘Tarry vet a littn* space, and we wi.l
go together,’ may speak tiie natural wish ot the
survivor; hut tne soul breathe- this consola
tion, • t'-d >y is appointed for tin e —and tor me
to-morrow winch is at hand.’ The venerable
Glencraig felt this, as he bent over the aged
form of tier, on whose pale wrinkled face there
I>eanie I the placed smile which told of blame
less joy that she was summoned first; yet not
till parting was like the current of a quiet
stream, whose waters, separated by sonic dark
and rocky fragment, flow in u divided course
round its base, but meet again to be for ever
joined.
Two sons and four daughters of Lord Gien
craig were married, an I tne parents of a nu
merous offspring. The elder of the former,'
who was hair to the title, hat! distinguished
himself in several foreign ini.-s.oiis of great
delicacy. Two other sous, and one daugnter
remained unmarried, the last probably because
she was devoted to a science which withdrew
ail her thoughts from earth. She was an
astronomer: but beyond looking at the heaven
ly bodies through magnificent telescopes, it
never appeared tout any tiling came of her star-
S azi, 'S-
It was delightful to see him, with unimpair
ed faculties of mm J, and lew infirmities of
body, wearing out tlie remnant of a life that
had been so full of busy incidents. Some
branches of fiis family were always with him,
and once in each year it was his custom to
h <vo them ail assembled at his table, children,
grand-children, and great, grand-children, even
down to the nur.s mg of s.x months old, or
younger, if them ehancr and, at such tune, to be
a iresh arrival. Oh ! the flow of sublime and
holy feeling that would seem to gush from the
old man’s heart at those moments, ns lie look
e J round and saw the living images of his
Maker, in whose veins ran kindred blood !
How, like a patriarch of the chosen laud, he
would discourse wisdom with the elders,
mingling the maxims of this world with the
piety ot tlie next ! And then, he had cheerful
thoughts, and a lightsome spir.t, to call up
mirth and laughter on the unclouded brow of
y.»Lifh ; while infancy itself, seated on i.is knee,
would c.iuekie, and clan i*s dimpled hands, us
he danced before its sparkling eyes the glitter
ing watch-chain, or radiant diamond that
adorned the shrivelled shaking band. A,
were happy ; but he, oi aii, the happiest ; I >r
h'S share of lianpine ~ was swelled tooveiliow
ing by the addition el then*-.
•Juba, how old are yon !’ said tne venera
ble peer, at one ot there annual heart-greetings,
addressing the daughter of his eldest sou.
*ifoienteen,’ was the ;< ;,!y.
‘Bland by nK;: —And you, Mr. Frederick,
With your fearless hawk s eve, what is vour
age ?’
• eleven, grandfather.’
‘Lome you hen too.’—T.icn, casting his
looks round,lie fixed upon another, ami another
and another, till lie iiad gathered eight of kis
children’s children about him.—‘ I waul ano.
t ier yet, tie continued, ‘and it must he that
little Miss who is so busy with her doll, in a
corner by herself.’
Ihe cn:ld was brought. The laughing,
ro-v group stood wondering at what was to
follow.
* By this living multiplication table,’ said he,
with a gfs.good-humoured air, *1 reckon mv
ngjS 1
i nen he begun counting, them : seventeen
-—eleven—fourteen—twelve--ten—six—eiirht
four two—EIGHTY-FOLK.
‘ Heigho !’he exclaimed; *to think that I
h. had for my single share of life, ns much
i, s li;, s yet fallen to the lot of this whole cluster!
Weii •next year you will steal a inarch upon
me, and make a terrible stride, so that i must
drop you. Madam,’ (patting the sweet cherub
fare of Harriet Beauchamp, who had answered
w;th a pretty hsp she was eight years old) ‘ and
make up eighty.five without you.’
Hut this was his last birth-day. Never ;
again did that happy circle gather round him ;
for when the time came that so thev would
have clone, Charles Coventry, Viscount Glen
craig, was made partaker of that awful secret
whose mystery stretches not beyond the grave.
His end was peaceful. He laid down life, as
a man who had tasted of its sweetness even to
satiety; and he put on immortality—for eternity
dawns upon the soul before this world fades
from its glimmering consciousness tor ever—
as one who had humble hope in havin'' done
well. ° L>
PEANUT OIL.
We had a piece of information which we!
find in the Wilmington (N. C.) Caronicle, as
the harbinger of when the vile and un
wholesome— we were about to say, j
but nuisance is arctter term—called peanuts,
wall l»e diverted from the depraved appetites of
children of larger and smaller grow ths, and
cease to poison the blood, and disease the
stomachs of the millions of us northerners,
who have no better taste nor discretion, than
to tie eternally craiinchiitg these abominable
things in oar streets, theatres, and all other
places. The Wilmington paper aforesaid in
forms us, that a gentleman of that county has
successfully made the experiment of obtaining
from these nuts an oil w hich he has submitted
to tlie opinion of a number of his fellow citi
reus, w ho unanimously concur with him in the
opinion that as a sailed oil, and for burning, it
is most praiseworthy. Heaven prosper the up.
plication of this ox |«ri ment to such an extent
that «nt lona u whole peanut will not !»• seen
Moth of" Mawm A r D.xon’s line,”
From the Augusta Mirror
THE SOLTH THE NATURAL HOME OF LITERA
TURE, OR SECOND THOUGHTS IN CONFIRMA
TION OF FIRST THOUGHTS.
BY CHARLES WYATT RICE. ESQ . AUTHOR 0T * RAMBLER.*
*‘ How nch in charms is this romance clime.
With stream?. and wood?. and pastoral vmiiies tair ;
And .w ailed w ith mountains haughtily sublime."
Wiiat constitutes genius ? What is it that
goes to make up that etheriai quality, which
1 nil unite in admiring vet none can define ?
: Or, ift.his question can obtain no answer, what
most coutr bates to the growth of tins master
of mankind ? In what so.l does it take root ?
Wiiat climate enlarges and strengthens the
trunk? The rain of what lieavens moistens
the fibres, and causes the branches to spiead
in tiie air. and clothe themse.ves with the green
garment ! Is not tills soil, the imagination—
this climate, ardor of feeling—and this mois
ture, susceptibility to delicate impressions ?
Let Us not l»e understood as wishing to give a
tangible shape to that which cannot be clothed
m words. We would merely suggest some
thing as tlie basis of our present inquiry, on
which all may agree as conspiring to create,
if not constituting genius. If it is granted
that we are right in selecting tlie imagination,
ardor of feeling, and susceptibility to delicate
impressions, as tending to create, if not form
ing genius ; it must next be granted that that
region winch is best adapted to the growth of
these qualities of the mind and heart, must be
best adapted to the growth of genius. And if
best adapted to the growth of genius, it may,
with truth, be termed the natural home cf lit.
eraturc. For whet is literature but the lan
guage of genius ; the outpouring of tiie senti
ments of iho feeling heart, and delicate mind,
circulated and stamped on the minds of men—
moulding, reforming, and elevating tlie charac
ter of a people ? By giving it this extended
signification, it will be seen that we do not wish
to oppose the doctri )e of those who contend
that the legitimate sphere of literature is. where
everthe mind of man is. Literature has been
to us too kind a mistress to suffer us to wish
to limit the sphere of her influence. She has
shared our joys in prosperity ; lias soothed our
sorrows in hours of darkness and trial. And
knowing her blessed influence, it is our ardent
wish that it may be feit wherever the human
character may be found to tic elevated—the
human mind to be cleared and strengthened—
and the human heart to be soothed and refin
ed. But we contend that if there be a region
where the heart is more easily excited by gen
erous and holy influences, than in another,
where scenery and climate combine with great
er power to excite and foster tlie imagination,
where delicate and glowing impressions are
mure easily stamped on the mind and heart,
there is hci home. From this region she must
deiive her origin. She may visit less genial
dimes ; but she must ever look to this section
for tiie warmth and sustenance of life. This
is her native land, where tiie sun calls her in
to Hit;; tlie soil quickens and favors her growth,
and the a.r, with aii the natural influences of
the climate create, for her strength and beau
tv.
“ Mulct at aursp, favet sol, ulucat imbei."
A., other places are but artificial gardens,
where tint she, now becomes a deiieate and
s.ckly plant,may live at ail, it is necessary that
she should be protected from tlie ungenial in.
fluences of the climate by walls and got-hous
os, that anew air should l«: formed tor her,
and an artificial garden of literature, will be
found, we trunk, by reference to tiie history of
tiie clime, the genius of her people, her present
condition, and her prospects for the future.
It is a happy circumstance for our present
inquiry, that ttiere happens to be an Old World
across the great water, which existed for so
many centuries before its inhabitants deigned
to dream of this New’ World ; and where men
lived and loved—imagined, and recorded their
imaginings—acted, and recorded their actions
—and left these imaginings, and these actions
to be studied by the inquirers after truth in af
ter ages. It is fortunate that the North and
South have there existed for a long period of
time, and that their i'ubies, and deeds, have been
recorde I and laid before us ; so that we may
behold in their chronicles, as in a mirror, our
selves and our probable developments, from
climate, scenery, and other extraneous cir
cumstances. We are permitted to review in
the mythology—in tiie works of arts, the
paintings and sculpture—and in the actual li
terature of the Eastern Hemisphere—tlie com
parative force of imagination, and the compa
rative beauty and delicacy of conception of the
sons and daughters of tlie North and the South.
The student of nature, and not of mankind,
will find in this study of comparison, the ef
fect of climate and scenery upon the human
mind, most clearly and faithfully portrayed.—
The chronicles oi' Greece and Italy are the
most complete, and the best known of the re
cords of the nations of the South; and we
shall, therefore, consult these with the most sa
tisfactiou to ourselves, and the fullest answers
; to our inquiries.
A nation’s earliest conceptions are stamped
on her mythology. This, therefore, is the hook
we should first consult. And how rich in im
agination is the mythology of ancient Greece
and Rome ? How sublime in many of its con
ceptions ! —how beautiful in others, and in all
—how rich in imagery! To pass in silence
the numerous other conceptions that have
stamped upon them the mark of sublimity, we
find in the conception of Jupiter—in his omni
potent power—in the sceptre which he wields,
and before which gods and men must bow—
in the thunder-bolts which he hurls at will—in
the divine majesty of his flowing beard, and
unmoved cotniienance—in his being visible a
lonc to gods above—in his impartial justice—
and in the terror that surrounds his throne—
the truly sublime. Witness, too, the portrait
ure of Mars, the avenger. Witness his fear
ful weapons of war—his chariot, drawn by the
horses Flight and Terror—his altars, stained
with the Wood of the burse, on account of his
war-like spirit, and with the blood of the wolf,
on account of his ferocity. Witness the fear
ful images of the infernal regions. Behold
gloomy Tartarus, separated from the other
apartments tiv the triple wall, and by the ini.
petuous and burning streams of the river Phe
iegetbon, and over whose unfathomable abyss
clouds of impenetrable darkness ever iiovered,
and whose w alls were walls of adamant. Be-
I mid die terrible image* of lire Furies, datigh
THE SOUTHERN POST.
ters of Xox and Erebus—of the Styx, whose
turbid waters rolled many times round the re
gionsof the damned—of Darkness an I Dis
cord, ever brooding ovei these places of tor
ture. Such ware some of the images of great
ness and terror of the inhabitants of a icient
Greece and Rome. How beautifully, contrast
cd w ith these, were their conceptions of beauty
and of gladness!
Witness the portraiture of the beauteous
Goddess of Love, rising from the sea, wafted
to the island of Cythera by the Zephyrs, and
received on the shore by the Seasons, daugh
ters o! Jupiter and Themis ; and her zone, by
whicli, undoubtedly, some moral and mental
qualit es are meant, converting into an object
oi love every one by whom it is worn-. Or,
witness her as she is generally represented,
seated in her chariot, with her son Cupid by
her side, whose arrows cause such fatal wounds
of love; and drawn by the snow-white dove,
or by the swan and sparrow. Belio'd the God
ot Poetry, Music,and Eloquence, Apollo, with
his figure of perfect beaut y—his flowing locks
—his eioque t lyre in his hand—and his head
sui rounded with beams of light. How ap
propriately is to be represented, when, as the
deity who inflicted plagues, he appears sur
rounded with clouds! Witness the being of
the same birth with himself, Diana, as she
appears tall and beautiful, with her bow and
quiver ; drawn in her chariot by two white
stags, and attended by sixty nymphs of the
ocean and twenty of the land. How beauti
tul have tlie ancients deified those beings,
who, as ti icv imagined, presided over poetry,
music, and the liberal arts ! The Nine Muses
appear before us in beautiful array—young,
beautiful, and modest ; thus representing the
treshm ss, beauty, and purity, which poetry
and music should possess. They, also, appear
dancing in a chorus; thus intimating the near
and indissoluabie connexion which exists be
tween the iiberal arts and sciences. The
imagination of the ancient people of the South
was so exhuberant, that they peopled every
grove, spring, and rivuient with deities. The
sea had its peculiar Nymphs, who dwelt in the
grottos and caverns upon the sea-shore;
crowning them with evergreen, and the sup
posed plants ot the deep. Tlie springs and
fountains had their Naiads, who were repre
sented as young and beautiful virgins, leaning
upon urns, from which flowed streams of water.
1 he forest & their Dryades arid Hamadrvadcs,
who presided over the forests, and tiie par
ticular trees of the forest; and to whom w ere
offered oblations of milk arid honey. The
mountains and hills had their divinities, who
presided over them with particular care. In
tact, wherever the ancient Greek or Roman
wandered, he was surrounded with beautiful
beings, the creatures of his ow n fancy.
•Snell are some of the characters and ima
ges of that mythology, the full details of which,
aii are aware, would occupy volumes. We
have, we think, produced examples enough
Lorn it, to siiow that the ancient inhabitants of
tlie South possessed not only exuberance of
imagination ; but, also, beauty and delicacy of
conception. Did the mv tliology of this land
aiuiie remain, the claim of the inhabitants to all
these qualities of tlie mind would be fully estab
lished. But, happily, there are other remains,
which serve to confirm that w hich we might
before have been well-inclined to believe.—
i hese, we shall soon indulge ourselves in re
viewing; but, for a moment, must turn away
to a colder land—the mythology of the North.
And wherever we have occasion to turn our
attention to tlie North, for contr ist and com
parison, let us lie understood as possessing
wnat we really do, a wish to do full justice to
tne claims ol that clime. Without this wish,
our present task would have been undertaken
in vain. But, “ comparisons are odious;” and
we, of course, subject oni selves to tlie charge
of partiality and depreciation.
[to he continued.]
THE FRENCHMAN IN PURSUIT OF INFORMA
TION.
Yen l vas in Paris, I read in de journal about
(your country. 1 long great deal for to see
! him. I read de journal more to encore, to
ascertain precisely your manner and your
jiiabit. I learn him exactly, so 1 tink den,
j from leetle story written by le Docteur Frank
lin, vich lie call “de Vissle.” “ Aha!” say 1
to myself, “ I shall take de ship and sail for
New-York, right vay, to get de information.”
j I put le Docteur Franklin into my pockets, and
I begin to reflect on his story about “de Vissle.”
Le Docteur Franklin vas von grand philosophe
in dis country but one tingdat he write in “de
Visse!” is very moch foolish. He say, “ veil
I was little garcon, my parents fill my pocket
with I'argent; 1 meet von other little garc on,
in de street vith vissle. It please me ver
moeb, so I buy him, and give for him all de
argent .” \ ich is just like leetle dem foolish
boy vould do. Den he say, “I go home much
please vid de vissle, and trow do whole house
into one confusion,” vich is very natural.
But de part vot i tink is most foolish part, is
ver he say, “people in dis country pav too
much for de vissle.” Yen I come here, I look
all round me very moeh. to see the people vot
pay too much for de vissle. Ino spike de
Engl is tong voyez-vous, so I cannot inquire vy
dey no visible; but I am very much astonist,
veil 1 see nobody dat don’t vissle nevair; so
I say to myself, Monsieur le Docteur Frank
lin dem humbug, to say de people of dis coun
try pay too much for de vissle, ven dey no pay
for no vissle nevair at any time. So Ido read
him no more, but I read Madame Trollope,
who say dat de people of dis country buy de
leetel penknife ver small, and cut de leetel end
of de stick ver moch. So I come to de grande
| conclusion, dat le Docteur Franklin I no com
prehend ven I read in him how de people hev
always vissle continually, but dat he mean, de
! people here alvays vitlle de leetle piece of tim
ber vat you call chips. I remain sometime
under dis impression, vich disturb my sleep,
and my head is vat you call very much con
tused, till I find out vat de people in dis coun
try vittel, vich is, dat de cat ver moch de same
as dey do in Paris, only more corn-beef, vich
is all I learn since I come here to get de infor
mation.
lie who receives a good turn should not for
get it; lie who does one should not re mem
i tier it,
THE WIFE OF LAFAYETTE.
Extract from a letter written by Lafayette,
in the year 1808, after the death of his wife, to
| M. Latour Maubourg, translated from one of
the last volumes of the Memoirs of Lafayette,
lately published in France:
“During thirty-four years of a union in
which her tenderness, her goodness, her eleva
tion, her delicacy, the generosity of her soul,
charmed, embellished, did honor to mv tile, I
was so accustomed to all that she was to me,
that 1 did not distingush her from my own
existence. She was fourteen years old, and I
was sixteen, when her heart aimlgamated it
i self with ail which could interest me. I
thought 1 loved her, that I could not do with,
out her, but it was only when I had lost her
that I was able to discover what remains to
me, for the close of a life which had been so
diversified, and for which, nevertheless, there
remains no longer either happiness or even
content. Though she was attached to me, I
may say so, by the most passionate sentiment,
I never perceived in her the lightest shade of
authoritativeness, (d’ exigence,) of discontent ;
never any thing which did not leave me entire
freedom in ail my undei takings. And if Igo
back to tlie days of our youth, I find in her
traits of an unexampled delicacy and generosity
You saw her always associated, heart and soul,
in all my sentiments, my political wishes, en
joying every thing which might confer honor
on me; still more, as she would say what
made me to be wholly know n, and, more than
ail, glorying in those occasions when she saw
me sacrifice glory to a sentiment of goodness.
Her aunt, Madam Tesse, said to me yesterday,
• 1 never could have imagined that one could
he sucli a fanatic for your opinions, and yet so
free from party spiiit.’ Indeed, her attach
ment to our doctrines never for a moment
abated her indulgence, her compassion, her
good-will for persons of another party. She
never was soured by the violent hatred of which
I was the object: the ill treatment and inju
rious conduct towards me were regarded by
her as follies indifferent to her, from the point
from which she looked at them, and where her
good opinion chose to place me.
“ Here was a most entire devotion. I may
say that, during thirty.four years, I never
suffered for a moment the shadow of a restraint;
that all her habits were, w ithout affectation,
subordinate to my convenience; that I had the
salisfactiou to see my most skeptical friends
as constantly received, as well beloved, as
much esteemed, and their virtues as com
pletely acknowledged, as if there had been no
difference of religious opinion ; that she never
expressed any other sentiment than that of
hope, that, in continuing to reflect, with the
uprightness of heart which she knew belonged
to me, I should finally be convinced. It was
with this feeling she left me her last regards,
begging me to read, for tlie love of her. some
books, which I shall certainly examine again
with new interest, and calling her religion, t >
make me love it better, perfect freedom. She
often expressed to me the thought that she
should go to Heaven ; and dare I add that this
idea was not sufficient to reconcile her to
quitting me? She often said to me, Life is
short and full oftrouble. May vve meet again
in God. May we pass eternity together.
She wished me, she wished us all, the peace of
the Lord. Sometimes she was heard praying
in her bed. One of her last nights there was
i something celestial in the manner in which she
recited twice in succession, with a firm voice,
a passage of Scripture applicable to her situa
tion. The same passage which she recited to
iter daughter on perceiving the spires of 01-
tnutz. Shall I speak to you of the pleasure,
ever renewed, which an entire confidence
in her gave me ; which was never exacted ;
which was received at tlie end of three months
as at the first day ; which was justified by a
discretion proof against all things, by an ad
tnirable understanding of all my feelings, my
wants, and the wishes of my heart. All this
was mingled with a sentiment so tender, and
opinion so exalted, a worship, if I dared so
speak, so sweet and fluttering, more especially j
gratifying, as coming from the most perfectly
natural and sincere person who ever lived.” \
“ If a man really loves study, has an eager
attachment to the acquisition of know!ed"e.
nothing but peculiar sickness or misfortunes
will pievent his being a student, and his pos
sessing, in some good degree, the means of
study. The fact is, that when men complain
of want of time for study, and want of means,
they only show that, after all, they are either
attached to some other object of pursuit, or
have no part nor lot in the spirit of a student.
They will applaud others, it may be, who do
i study, and look with a kind of wonder upon
their acquisitions ; but, for themselves, they
cannot spare the time nor expense necessary
to make such acquisitions; or they put it 10
the account of their humility, and bless them
selves that they are not ambitious. In most
of all these cases, however, either the love of
the world or genuine laziness lies at the bot
tom. Had they more energy and decision of,
character, and did they redeem the precious
moments, which they now lose in laboriously
doing nothing, or nothing to the purpose of the
church, they might open all the treasures of the
east and the west, and have them at their dis
| posal. I might safely promise a good knowl
edgn of Hebrew and Greek to most of the men
lof this sort, if they would diligently improve
the time that they now absolutely throw awav,
in the course of three or four years. While
one man is deliberating whether he had better
study a language, another man has obtained
it. Such is the difference between decisive,
energetic action, and a timid, hesitating, indo
lent manner of pursuing literary acquisitions.
And what is worse of all, in this temporizing
class of students, is, that, if you reason with
them, and convince them that they are pursu
ing a wrong course, that conviction operates
no longer than until the next paroxysm of in
dolence, or of a worldly spirit, comes on.
These siren charmers lull every energetic
power of the mind to sleep. The mistaken
man, who listens to their voice, finds himself,
at the age of forty, just where he was at thirty.
At fifty his decline lias already begun. At
sixty, he is universally regarded with indifTer.
cnee, which he usually repays with misnn
thropy. And if he has the misfortune to live
until he is seventy, every body is uneasy lie
cause be is not transferred to a better world.”
Professor Rinart.
FIRST VISIT TO A THEATRE.
At length on a certain (and, oh, fatal) night!
—a dark and gloo ny nighi— suited to°the
perpetration of such an act of disobedience,
with stealthy steps I trod my way. I dared
r.ot look right or left, so conscious was I of the
“ deep damnation of the deed ;” but my soul
was in arms, my time was my own, my will
was free, my father had departed for Whet
stone, his constant custom on a Saturday eve
ning, to indulge his own pursuit, and I issued
forth with my friend Litchfield, of the Council
office, from the bookseller’s shop to make my
first entree at the public theatre; this was in
autumn of 1790. Oh the delights of that
night! that two shillings worth of disobe
dience! My companion and 1 have frequent
ly laughed over the recollection of my frant'c
behavior. He could not pacify me. He had
iong been initiated into the mysteries of the
scenic art ; but here I was, at fourteen, at “my
first play,” which Charles Lamb has so beauti
fully described. The very curtain filled me
with anticipations ot delight ; the scenery,
tiic dresses, the f< athers, the russet boots, tiie
very smell ot the theatre, that mixture of
orange-peel and oil, the applause in which 1
joined so heartily as to bring all eyes and many
remarks upon me, to the great scandal of my
cicerony, filled my senses with delight. From
that night my mind was in a state of splendid
irritation. 1 could scarcely walk the streets
without offering “my kingdom for a horse”
to every pedestrian I met. At night I could
not rest, Macbeth did “ murder sleep ;” and I
recited Lear up three pairs ot stairs to a four
legged bedstead. Memoirs ofC. Matthews.
ACCIDENT AND EXEMPLARY CONDUCT.
A sailboat with two men from Sandy Bay,
was upset off'the gap near Struitsmouih Island
last Saturday morning. Tiie persons on board
caugnt bold of tlie masts, and by clinging one
to each, supported themselves while the hull
righted beneath them under water. In this
situation, as they were floating by Straitrnoulh
Island out to sea, they were providentially
descried by Mr. Andrews, the keeper of the
light on the Island.
Notwithstanding the roughness of tlie wen
tner, Mr. Andrews lost no time in putting off
in a small wherry to their assistance, and suc
with great risk of his own life, in rescuing them
both, after they had become insensible and
apparently lifeless. They were brought on
shore, and by the < xertions of Mr. Andrews,
assisted only by his wife and daughter, were
nearly resuscitated before any aid arrived from
Sandy Bay.
Great credit is due to Mr. Andrews for the
resolution and skill displayed by him in this
affair. Happening to see them accidentally,
as he was looking out of the window of his
house, he had nearly half a mile to run in an
opposite direction for his wherry, and then
must row round the gap head to come in sight
of the place where he first saw them. As they
were stiff and insensible when he reached them
it was not without tlie greatest difficulty and
personal danger, that he succeeded in getting
th tm on board, nearly filling h:s wherry with
water in the attempt. When he readied the
shore he was so much exhausted that lie could
not get them on land. By the help of the
two females, who pulled a rope fastened round
each body successfully, while he lightened
them along, they were at length lodged on tiie
bank One of the women now ran to the
house for blankets, while the other went to tiie
jtop of the light house and held out a shawl as
j a signal of distress to obtain assistance from
I Sandy Bay. Tiie bodies were then stripped
and roiled in the dry blanks, ami friction oxer
oiscd for nearly half an hour before aid arrived.
They were now carried to the house, and the
| same efforts being continued before a hot fire,
they were recovered so fur as to be able to
: speak in about five hours after the bout upset.
VVe have thus particularized the circum
stances of the case because we wish to remind
| our readers, some of whom may be thrown
into the like emergency, of the best method to
(pursue,viz:—Friction with dry blankets and
external warmth; and also because it proves
the irripoi tance .ol placing men of judgment,
vigor and resolution, as keepers of the lights
jon the islands of our coast, instead of worn
out and decrepid veterans, as has heretofore
been too often the practice. Such persons
may of'en, by timely and well directed exer
tions, be the means <f preserving life and
! property to a considerable amount. Had an
old and disabled man, or had a young man,with
less energy and perseverance than Mr. An
diews been on the island, the lives of those
unfortunate men would in all probability have
j been lost.
Scarcely less praise is due to Mrs. Andrews ■
and her daughter, who stood alone on the !
shore and witnessed with feeling of the most
intense anxiety his perilous situation, and yet
prserved their presence of mind so as to be of
essential service at a time when without such
service, all that had been unavailing.
\Ve trust the humane Society will take this
case into their consideration.
Gloucester Telegraph.
BURIED ALIVE.
A female who departed this transitory life a
few days ago, in the department of the Orne,
was duly conveyed, after the accustomed lapse
of time, to her lust home ; but as the burial
ground was at some distance, the funeral pro
cession reached it just as night was closing in.
As soon as the coffin was lowered into the
grave, severe! groans were distinctly heard
from the bottom of the abyss ; and the bystan
ders, under the impression that a living being
was about to be filtered, insisted on opening
the coffin. That operation having been car
ried into effect, it was ascertained that all ap
prehensions of a premature interment were
groundless, and the corpse was once more
| consigned to its “ lowly bed,” when the groans
were distinctly repeated. The majority of the
speculators fled in dismay ; but an old soldier,
who feared neither ghost nor devil, ultimately
succeeded in rallying two or three of the rnos : t
interpid, with whom he descended into the
grave, and there found a drunkard, who, it
apficares, had tumbled into the “yawning
chasm, and fallen fast asleep. The living
man was w ithout loss of time, restored to the
upper regions, and the defunct to the bottom
of the earth. Gnlignam’a Messenger, i
MINIATURE SKETCHES.
NO. III.— SYMPATHY AND FAME.
l am persuaded that sympathy has not a littU
•o do with the fame of many men. Perh
had such been permitted to enjoy longer \£
their names would not now be so g rea Z
nonored and fondly cherished. The v '
emotions of regret we fed at the mere mention
of them, serve to impress them more forcibly
upon the tablet of memory. This principle If
issociation, is peculiarly striking w ith rJsrec
j to those cut off in early life. l„ j|i. K . *- Ct
it will be sufficient to allude to the £L
Shelly, a Pollock and a Kirk White arro™
poets—a Dr. Godman of our own country s
among physicians ; or to an Emmett, and ™
X?rr s a d i“ rercnt class - Ti,e thought
or he first named, is associated with the on
feeling waves to whose merciless power im*
j prudence exposed his life. With the
ot the othd sons of song, are associated the
pallid brow, the sunken eye, the agonized, ve t
calm and patient, spirit awaiting the aim of
the insatiate archer.” Os an Emmet and an
Andre we cannot think without the most in
tense emotions of pity, for their short and
tragical career. At the annunciation of tho
name of Godman every American feels the
deep-toned s.gh swelling his bosom-whilst ho
dwells upon his sufferings from disease and
more than ail, from that malignant persecution
w.iich, enry never fails to essay. In the deeds
oi w utings, of these, and many others I might
mention, there is nothing extraordinary; arid
}et they will live in the memories of theii
countrymen,’ if not of the world, long after the
names ol more talented or brave men, shall
have been entombed in oblivion’s sepulchre.
American Museum.
THE FLOWERS OF THE SEA—A THRILLING
STORY.
An extraordinary story is told by Capt.
Wallace, of a lover and his mistress, who were
saved in a singular manner from the jaws of a
shark. A transport with a part of a regiment
jon board, was sailing with a gentle breeze
along the coast of Colney ; one of the officers
was leaning over the poop railing, conversing
with a young lady who had inspired him with
the tender passions. The lady was in tlie
cabin in ti.e act of handing a paper to her
; lover » when over-reaching herself, she fell into
i the sea, and supported by her clothes drifted
j astern ; tiie offu-or lost no time in plunffinu
ill after her. and upheld her with one arm!
The sails were quickly backed, the ship lay
to and preparations were made to lower a
boat, when to the dismay of all on board, a
large shark appeared under the keel of tlie
vessel, and gliding towards his victim, a shout
°f 'uiTor from tiie agonized spectators called
the attention ot the officer to the approaching
danger; he saw the monster’s fearful length
nearing him; lie made a desperate effort,
plunging and splashing tlie water so as to
ti igriten tlie sum k, who turned and dived out
of sight. I lie current had now carried the
officer and lady close to tiie vessel, when tlie
shark appeared a second time along side, and
was in tiie act of turning on his back to seize
one of the hapless pair when a private of the
officer s company jumped fearlessly overboard
witn a bayonet in Ins hand, whicli he plunger]
in the back of the shark, which instantly dis
appearing, tiie three were released from their
perilous situation.
NOSJI IVATEK.
T « SIIO i\t ELL has the pleasure of informing the
J a. Ladies and Gentlemen, that iiis Soda Fountain
is now up, and that (lit Soda Water will be constantly
prepared in the most approved manner, with the best
i m” L a, *<i supplied with the most choice and
icaidiy Syrups, and constant attendance from early in
the morning ail 10 m ih e evenin''.
April 20 “ 26
NEW MACON THEATRE.
i p i'ize . Sttdress !
I HPHE subscriber will give a Premium ol an Elec.a.nt
i , 1 ii.vf.r .Medal lor the best Poetical Address to be
ocovered at the opening of the New Macon Theatre.
- baid address to be not under forty (40) nor more than
| f. xt y ones—to be ready by the 6th of May. sKrA
committee of literary gentlemen will make the selec
tlo"’ .. WM. R. HART.
A l >ril 21 26p
PORTRAIT Pi IA TI .
fjpHE Subscriber having permanently located him
* se {* in this City, solicits the patronage of its citi
zens. Room (where specimens may be seen) over W.
n. 1 arker s Store, opposite the Central Hotel, will be
open to visiters from 2 P. M. to 6 P. M
„ 4 CO.MPARET, Artist.
Macon, April 20, 1839 26
I)R. JOHN R. BOON
IIAS removed to, and permanently settled in Ma-
J A con, where he can be found at all times ready to
] attend the calls of his friends. His residence is on the
corner of 1 bird and Poplar-streets, formerly occupied
by Mr. Levi Eckley.
I Al>nl 20 26u
-NOTICE.
j lE. I- STROIIECKER offers his professional
t services to the inhabitants of Macon and vicini
ty. Office Commerce Row’, over Levi Eckley’s.
April 13 25b
Branch Bank of Darien, )
„ MACO-V, April 15, 1839. ( ,
r|Mlh Cashier of the Phenix Bunk of New York
~ having notified this office that its funds in the
Phenix Bank have been attached, to answer the debts
°f two ot the other Branches of the Bank of Darien,
this Branch has been compelled to suspend. Bill hold
ers are assured that the means of this office are ample
to redeem its circulation, and will be applied to that
object. Phis notice is deemed necessary to prevent sa
crifices and imposition.
. „ THOMAS KING, Cashier.
April 20 26e
Central R. R. and Banking Cos. of Georgia.
Savannah, April 8,1839.
INSTALLMENT. _
]\j OTICE is hereby given that an instalment of Ten
and N Dollars per share on the Stock of this Company
is required to he paid at the Banking House in this C*-
tv, on or before (lie 14th day of June ne xt. Stockhol
ders at, and in the neighborhood of Macon, can make
payment at the branch.
By order of the Board of Directors,
R R. CUYLER, Cashier.
April 20 26c_
Cotton Bugging and Twine.
1 1 PIECES heavy Hemp Bagging, I
* Bagging Twine, for sale by
REA k COTTON
April SO *«