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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 *«