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THE REP VltE IC, ]S PUBLISHED EVERY WEDNESDAY, OVER J- £>• WINN’S BRICK STORE. COTTON AVENUE, MACON, GA. A T $3,00 PER AN N UM, IN ADVANCE. RATES OF ADVERTISING, Sue. One square, of 100 words, or less, in small type, i 75 cents tor the first insertion, and 50 cents for each subsequent insertion. All advertisements containing more than 100 and jess than 200 words, wii. l be charged as two squares. To yearly advertisers, a liberal deduction will tie made. , . Sales of Land, bv Administrators, Executors, or Guardians, are required by Jaw to Ire held on the first Tuesday in the month, between the hours of ton in the forenoon, and three in the afternoon, at the Court House in the county in which the pro perty is situated. Notice of these must lie given in a public gazette, sixty days previous to the day of sale. Notice to debtors and creditors of an estate, must Ire published forty days. Notice that application will he made to the Court ~f Ordinary for leave to sell land, must be publish ed four months. Sales of Negroes must be made at public dr*c tion, on the first Tuesday of the month, between the legal hours of sale, at the place of public sales, in the county where the letters testamentary, oi administration of guardianship, shall have been granted, sixty days notice being previously given hi one of the public gazettes of this Stale! and at the door of the Court House where such sales are to he held. Notice for leave to sell Negroes must he pub lished for four months before any order absolute shall be made thereon by the Court. All business of this nature will receive prompt attention at the office of THE REPUBLIC. All letters of business must lie addressed to the Editor, post paid. BUSINESS CARDS. FLOYD HOUSE. BY B. S. NEWCOMB. Macon, Georgia. Oct. 19,1844. 1-ts WHITING & MIX, WHOLESALE AND RETAIL DF.U.KRS IN ROOTS AND SHOTS, Near the Washington Hall, Second street. Macon, Georgia. Oct. 19, 1844. 1-ts J. L. JONES & CO. CI. O THING STO RE . (Vest side .Mulberry Street , next door Inline the Big Hat. Macon, Georgia. Oct. lit, 1841. 1-ts NISBF/r & WINGFIELD, ATTORNEYS AT LAW. Office on .Mulberry Street, oner Kimberly s Hal Store. Macon, Georgia. Oct. 19,1844. 1-ts DOCTORS J. M. & 11. K. GREEN, Corner of .Mulberry and Third Streets. Macon, Georgia. Oct. 19, 1844. l-tl E . J. CROSS, —II a 8 lor Sale DRY (lOOPS f (1 HOCKRIICS, boots, shoes, cabs, and hats, ,11 John D. I Finn's Old Store. Macon, Oct. 25,1841. 2-ts FREEMAN & ROBERTS, Na and die, 11" rn<: ss, and. Whip, MANUFACTO RY. [h ai rs in all hinds of Leather, Saddlery Ila mess and Carriage 'lli minings, On Cotton Avenue and Second street, Macon, Ga. October 25, 1841. 8-'* JOSEPH N. SEYMOUR, DEALER IN i>i(v uooim, groceries, hard- WAIIF, &C. Brie!: Store, Cherry Street, Ralston's linage, first door below Russell & Kimberley s. Mu- hi, Griirgin. Orl. 19, 1844. l~tf GEORGE M. EGG AN , DEALER IN I IKCV AIDSTAI’LIi DllV GOt>2»i Jlnrd-1 fare, Crorkery, dims- Ware, &. c. &.C. Corner of Second ami Clierrv streets. Mac.m, Georgia. Oct. 19, 1844. l-ls jL~& W. (iUXNr DEALERS IN S T A I* 1. I-: D It V GOO*> S, droreries , Hardware, Crorkery, &c. Macon, Georgia. Ocl. 19, 1814. 1-ts SAMUEL J. RAY & CO. DEAI.EHS IN r .ncv AX D STAi’liE DRY HOODS, Ready Mmt<r~Clolhing, Hals, Shoes, &c. Second street, a few doors Irion tlie Washington Hotel. Macon, Georgia. Oct. 18,1844. 1-ts REDDING "& WHITEHEAD, DEALERS IN FAIGY AND STAPLE DRY GOODS, Groceries, Hard Ware, Cutlery, Hals, Shoes, Crockery, &.C. &c. Corner of Cotton Avenue and Cherry streets. Macon, Georgia. Ocl. 19, 1844. 1-t! R. F. ROSS, dealer in DRY GOODS AND GROCERIES. Macon, Georgia. Oct. 19,1844. 1-tl J. M. BOARDMAN, DEALER IN LAW. MEDICAL, MISCELLANEOUS and School Books; Blank Books and Stationery of all kinds ; Printing Paper, &c. &c. Sign of the I-urge Bible, two doors aboee Shot well's corner, west side of Mulberry Street. Macon, Georgia. Oct. 19,1844. l-il 15. R. WARNEIL AUCTION AND COJIUISSION MER CHANT. Dealer ill every description of Merchandise. “The Public’s Servant,” and subject to receiving consignments at all times, by the consignees pay ing 5 per cent, commissions for services rendered. Macon, Georgia. Oct. 19, 1844. l-ll “ Bless me,” said an old lady, lately, as site read “all hail, Missouri!” at the head of an article in one of the political papers, “bless me! liain’t they a very late spring there if it hails vet f” “ I live in Julia’s eyes !” said a dirty looking beau, affectedly. “She must have a sly there, then,” was the remark made by a friend of that lady. When you pop the question to a lady, do it with a kind of laugh, as it you were joking. If she accepts you, very well; il not, you can say, ‘you were only in fun.’ “ I say, Jack, how do detn talers turn out dis year ?” “ Well, Cuff da am ber ry much like de long hair getnmen —all top, no bottom.” THE RED BY 11. C. CROSBY. VOLUME 1. MISCEL L A N Y. Frorq the Journal of an Officer. INDIAN TREATY SCENE. Great numbers of Indians from every section of the north-western country were assembled lo hold a treaty with the Uni ted States. On a large open space, just north of the fort, was constructed a long and wide tern porary shelter, covered with boughs of trees, under which the savages were to assemble to hear the “talk” of the com- j misstoners of the United States. A long l table was placed across the upper end of the bower, at which sat the Lhree com- ! missioners, their secretary, and several agents and interpreters. Others benches around the former were occupied by offi cers of the army and other visitors. A silver pipe was now produced, holding; near half a gill of KinlVick:r“ r - with a long stem ornamented with blue ribbon, the emblem of peace fixed into it, and each of the whites took two or three whiffs and passed it to the Indians, who all did the same. In companies of six or eight, the O-maw-haws, large muscular savages, who inhabit the country on the Missouri, a thousand miles above St. Louis, were j ranged along the west of this bower. — ! Next to them sat the stern and repulsive- ■ looking warriors of the Yanc-tons, who inhabit the regions north-west of the Falls of St. Anthony. Then came the Chippe wavs, who roam through the almost illim itable extent of country lying to the north and east of Prairie du Chien; also the Winnehagoes, the Sacs, the Foxes, the Potawattamies, Menominies, and many others. They were dressed in their best, and their fiery eyes shooting through their j fantastically-colored lids,gave an appear ance to them well calculated to startle one; so unused lo such sights. r One of the commissioners then rose j and commenced an harangue. “My chil dren,” said he, “your great Father, the President, lias sent us here to buy from you part of your lands.” This the in terpreter lor each tribe repeated in suc cession, and as soon as each concluded, they whom he addressed, exclaimed, something in the manner of the audiences in the British House of Commons, “Hear, Hear,” by a deep interjectional, gutteral | sound, that, as well as it can he express ed on paper, was “ Howe, IIowc.” The Commissioner continued, “We are glad that the Great Spirit has allowed us a bright sky and clear day to meet together.” This was explained, and mol with the “Howe” that is uttered after each sen tence. “ The river runs bright, the birds sing in the air, anti the face of nature j looks smiling; these are good signs, they ■show that our hearts are not foggy, and ilint our trade will lie made in friendship. Your Great Father loves his red childreft, and wishes to lie good to them. They, must try to deserve good at his hands; | he has a large quantity of land, and his tire governed by old and wise j chiefs —his villages are full of btaves, who never fear the tomahawk or the scalping knife; some of them even laugh when they stand before the big guns of their enemies. These braves and warriors your Great Father wishes to use for your protection, and to keep peace among his red children; so that, instead of war par ties roaming through the country, } T ou may he at rest, smoke your pipe in security, raise your corn in safety, and make up vour packs of fur without molestation. — If you know what is good for yourselves, you will open your ears to the words of your Great Father, and do as he says.— Be careful, then, and do not listen to had birds which arc flying about and whis pering black lies to you. Your Great Fa ther knows there are many of these, and he wants to put you on your guard.— These birds will cat up your corn, and destroy your families; they will make you iJik one way, while they fly the other with your wives, your children, your goods. Mind what l say—l’ve got only one way of talking—l don’t say ‘yes’ with ‘one side of my mouth and ‘no’ with the other. My words come out of the mid dle, and 1 don’t talk crooked.” lie then went on and finished his speech, by sta ting the object of purchasing land for which they were assembled. The eyes of the savages were fastened on the speaker as he proceeded, hut when, through their interpreters, they were made acquainted with the offers made for their lands, a gloom overspread their counten ances, and their eyes were lowered to the ground. As the speaker discontinued “Car-rce-maun-nce,” or “the turtle that walks,” started to his feet, and his eagle eye glanced with a lightning glare into the eyes of each of that vast assemblage; and then, as if it had learned in that tran sient look the minds of all, it rested with a startling fierceness on the former spea ker. His wild, jet, entangled hair stream ed down his back. which was only partly I covered by the blanket that hung with a Roman since over his lett shoulder, and which, being gathered round his loins, was held by his left hand, which grasped the folds with excited nervousness, llts face was blackened with charcoal for lie was in mourning; his breast was striped with white clay; on his blanket were the Vermillion prints of ten hands, which numbered the scalps he himselt had ta ken ; his foot seemed to spurn the ground on which he stood. The expression of his countenance was of a mixed nature; it was hard to tell which predominated, MACON, GEORGIA, WEDNESDAY, DECEMBER 1, IS 11. the deep melancholy of a bleeding heart or the savage ferocity of an excited soul. His manner, as he spoke, was full of en ergy; as he proceeded, he heat his hand upon Jjis breast, which swelled and ebbed like the tumultuous ocean; and, its the words came raging from his mouth with the impetuosity of the resistless surge, even thos* who did not understand the deep gutteral of Lis Winnebago tongue, felt roused by a feeling indescribable in its nature. lie was the orator of his tribe and those who have listened to him will never forget his manner. “ The red man,” said he, “is the friend of the white man; the red man listens to the words of his Great Father. The Great Spirit tells the red man ,that it is right, that when our Father sends his long knives amongst us, we treat them well. You have much land—heap of land—but you want more; I say no. It is a story amongst us, that before our fathers, a long ti,ne aso, gave your fathers a little land to put their feet »;.'?• they had to live in big canoes, tossed about iR 'he big waters which reach to where the suu goes to sleep. The Great Spirit gave you no land, so you begged a litllc;” he said this with a sarcastic smile of indignation—“from us — a very little land from us; as soon as you got it, you pushed us oil) and offi and olij and soon you would force us into the big waters, and so we would be worse oil’ than you wore at first, for the Great Spirit might not give us any of diosebig canoes you used lo live in. No, I say ; anil 1 hope those around me will do the same; we want our land, and sell it not. You have enough; what do you want of the graves of our fathers? They’ll do you no good. We wish to keep them. This bosom has been torn lately; a little tree that was planted here has been torn up by the roots, and 1 have planted it on a moun tain top. Do you wish me to sell that spot —to sell the hones of my child ! —a brave bo}* —sixteen winters had just pass ed him, and already lie was the owner ol two scalps taken by his own hand; and one of these,” he cried, showing the skunk skin whose bushy tail waved Irom his an cles and trailed on the ground as he strode nearer the commissioners, “was around his knee, for my people had owned him as a brave. Give up our lands, where dry the hones of our fathers—where sleep the bodies of those who led on our war parlies—where lie those who have shout ed loudest in our scalp dances—who have washed their hands and faces in the blood • of our enemies—who have gone out emp ty and returned loaded with severed limbs ! of our foes! Give up these lands, so sa- ; crcd to all we hold dear—do you ask it, j and do we listen tamely ? The Evil Spirit l has taken away our longues when the white man lias come among us, anil our j tomahawks are 100 heavy to be lilted j when the long knife tells us what he pleas es. Sell! —give up!—forsake!—remove from the lands where we first breathed, where we have hunted, lived, and been happy! This is impossible,” and his voice sunk to a lone of deep and impas sioned feeling; but‘, regaining his lofty spi rit, ho dashed the blanket from bis body, and exposed his form naked, except the breech-cloth and a huge turtle which hung by a cord round bis neck, and com pletely covered his hack. “Look here,” lie cried, pointing to die cicatrices on his limbs; “these are the marks of wounds in defending these lands, and I would rather that each sh iuld open again and bleed afresh than that we should lose the soil in whose defence they were received. 1 was shot down and statibed—but I was happy; the land for which I fought was still our own; and when borne from my wigwam to view the dance around the scalps of our enemies, the Great Spirit gave me strength, and I, who a moment before could not stir a limb, leaped from the ground, and, whilst iny wounds shed tears of blood, l danced and spat upon the trophies from our locs. Yield that land, the thoughts of which make my very wounds a pleasure? You would not ask me if you knew how often in very delight 1 have thrust my fingers into these sores, and tearing them open, exulted, thinking myself, in bodily pain, once more facing those who would dispossess us of our fath ers’ tombs. Say no more—you have enough; we beg a lilllc now ot you. It you were not so much stronger titan wo, we would be willing to meet you to fighlfor them; but we arc weak, and would be at peace. Leave us what we have, anti we will forget that all was once ours.” He seated himself on the ground, and draw ing his blanket over his head smoked his pipe in silence. One of the Foxes then ros“, and-in a flood of eloquence poured forth, in his li quid language, sentiments of the same cast, and ended by a flourish of high, haughty independence, that, say what I they will, only the unrestricted rover of the forest can boast. “We arc weak to jbe sure,” said he, “but the dying woll lean snarl if he cannot bite. Come then and take our lands. We’ve got but one life, and when that lias gone there will be no one to prevent you from going where you like. lam only one of my people.— I speak only for myself, and though your soldiers, who hire themselves to our Great Father to be shot, and shoot whoever he tells them to, surround us, let me tell—l hate the white man, and hope to see the day when we will once more smoke our pipes where now stands their big villages, whilst their wigwams are burning around us; he showed his snow-white teeth whilst PRO PATRIA EX LEGIBUS. he laughed, and bending his body, struck his brawny hand thrice on the ground and cried, “once more will all this be ours.— Then if the Great Spirit lets any more white men come in their big canoes to ask us for our land, the scalping knife shall be the answer. We’ll fill the cracks of our wigwams with their hair, and the wind shall not make us cold! You talk ot peo ple over the water! Go, tell such stories to our children who can’t understand, or to our old women who can’t hear. This hand has taken many a life, and is strong enough to take many more. The Great Spirit in a dream has told me I should be buried under a mound of scalps!” As these words were repeated to the differ ent tril cs, he seated himself, and regard ed with stern silence the Commissioners, who were somewhat confused by this powerful outbreaking of the warrior chief. Seeing that little was to be effected in this excited state of mind, the council ad journed till next day, and in the interim, by the mslributioti of presents, such as blankets, calico, guns, powder, heads, pork, &c. prepared those whose minds were not made ol the “sterner stuff,” to listen with patience, if not yield to a soli citation lo barter away their lands. The effect was apparent at the next meeting. One by one the chiefs consented, but those who had spoken the day before maintain ed a gloomy silence ; and as they sat on the earth, listlessly making marks in the sand or plucking the blades of grass from their roots, they seemed not to be aware of what was going on. A stranger would have thought they look no concern in the transaction, hut under this- unruffled sur face boiled he molten rage of mortified hut not crushed spirits. The treaty was settle.l on that and the following days, and a day or two was as signed for the signing of it. The chiefs and principal men made their marks by just touching the pen, and did it with a thoughtless lightness. Carrce-maun-nee was now called. His people hail decided against him, and his duty required him to abide by the decision of their council.— He rose, hut how different was his hear ing from that when, a day or two before, he stood there giving vent to his soul, and falsely believed his tribe would unflinch ingly support him. The dream was over! the delusion past! As he stole, like a bashful girl, to the table, his form and face enveloped closely by his blanket, with maiden timidity lie stretched forth his hand and trembling touched the pen. — The touch was like an electric shock ; he started—the blanket fell from bis head— a choking voice catne from his throat — ’twas over; he gathered his mantle once more about him, anil shrunk back to his place as if it was the first time he had known dishonor. As he scaled himself, lie drew fbrtli his knife, and cut a rude gash in the finger that had dared so to dis grace him as by its touch to yield the bu rial ground of his ancestors. A flash came over him—lie sprang lo the ground, dash ed aside the blanket and made one stride U» the table. “I take back that mark,” be yelled in a tone that blanched the checks of those who had heard it —he pau • sed—“ But no! it is done—my people have said it!” With meekness he recov ered himself and stole back to his seat. — Every eye was suddenly turned to the next person called, and as they sought again for the last signer they found his place vacant, lie had left a scene so fraught with agony to his soul. The Fox chief, whose bold and warlike speech has been recorded, was now call ed. His name was “ the cloud that leaves a mark on the heavens wherever it has been.” As lie heard his name called, be was on his feet. No depression gained the mastery of his proud unbending spirit. The lire that shot from his eye on a previ ous day was there still; the sarcastic curve of his lips still smiled upon them ; the heavy tread of his foot was unaltered; indeed, he looked brighter and more cheer ful, if any thing, than before. His disap pointment. instead of quenching, had ad ded fresh fuel to the flame; and, as he tripped, self-possessed, to the table with his blanket trailing behind him, he looked more like a God than a mortal. The lip of the forefinger of his right hand was blackened ; he had put it in mourning for the office it was to perform. He turned his back to the pen, and thrusting his bund behind him, touched it whilst he cried, “My hand, not my heart, signs it. Our chiefs have got milk, instead of blood in their veins—by and by, perhaps, they will get well; much they’ll niind the White Man’s goose quill and his black paint there. They’ll scratclt out those marks with the knife, blot out the figures on it with blood, and,” gritting bis teeth as if he already saw his forebodings fulfil led, “tear flic paper in pieces with their tomahawks.” As he took his scat, he j whisp red to a cunning chief who sat bc- I side him, whose name denoted hischarac j ter, The Snake that biles in the Grass: “ The day will come, the Great Spirit vis ited me last night, when our people, the Sacs and Foxes at least, will make their marks oil the skins of while men.” “Be quiet now,” saiil the Snake, “ one of these days we’ll present the Great Spirit with a pack made of the skins of the pale faces.” The Snake who bites in the Grass was then called. He was dressed in only the customary costume of breech-cloth and blanket. Around his neck was the skin of a rattle-snake, half swallowed up by the full length skin of a moccasin snake. 'The raStlt-snake warns those who ap wnraw w<# 1 M llw iB A # S. 31. STRONG, Editor. NUMBER 8. proach it of its being there, the moccasin bites without such friendly caution. This arrangement of skins showed the reptile stealthily conquering its more generous enemy, lie was a spare man, with a wrinkled lace, decayed teeth, arid insigni ficant appearance. He might have weath ered some forty years. There was noth ing peculiar in his appearance, not even his eye, except you caught it fixed on you. When this was the case, however, how different your opinion of his whole exteri or. You thought him remarkable in figure and face, and wondered at the entire al teration. It was the indescribable some thing in the gaze that met yours which produced this effect. Ho seemed to search into your soul, anil you imagined you felt the fangs of a reptile fastening on your vitals. But he seldom fixed his gaze long; his eyes danced about in his head with a restlessness that showed, though he could study others he did not wish them to study him. As he reached the hoard, he addressed the assemblage in a few words, speaking first to the commis sioners:—“ Fathers,” said he, “triy heart lias been sick for a long time—a good ma ny moons have died since I have had a heart that was not 100 heavy to carry.— But’since I now see that our Great Fa ther (meaning the President) has sent three of his wisest chiefs to give us good talks, clothing for our people, food for our chil dren, powder and lead to hunt game and bring in heaps of furs—l begin lo feel as a new man. I see the dark’clouds that make us keep in our wigwams blowing away and the sun shining again. Our Great Father is too good—he wants to make us happy, to teach us to he like his while children and have plenty to cat and cltiiik; and till he asks is, a little land.—- What is the land to us ? Our fathers sleep in it, hut our white brethren wont dig them up, they are too good ; and if they wanted to, our Great Father would not al lowjt. We have plenty of land left, and I, who am a great warrior, willingly sign this paper.” He was, indeed, a warrior of note. No medicine bag in bis nation held as many scalps as his. He did not go forth with war-parties, but alone; and the scalps of many a man, woman, or child of some tribe, whom their people thought had |>er islied by cold, water, or beasts of prey, hung in his wigwam. Without noise, without the warning yell, lie had taken more than a hundred lives, and so stealth ily that the bereaved relatives never could trace their loss to any particular tribe, let alone the individual. As he signed the paper and took his scat, he muttered in the car of “the cloud that leaves its mark in the heavens wherever it lias been,” “I gave them lie for lie, did I not?” and as he carefully exposed to his. companion’s sight the handle of his knife,; he made a chuckling laugh as he added, “May we moisten some day every spot of the soil we have sold them with their milky blood.” The other responded whilst lie exhibited the small war-club concealed beneath his blanket, “May the day come when this will be cut up with notches.* A CHILD OF SORROW. During the late festive season, when those who tljought at all, reflected that! eighteen hundred and forty-three years ago, the religion of the heart, bringing j peace and good will on earth, came to sof ten the rigor of the religion of form, a lit-! tie girl not six years old, had been obser ved by a lonely lady sitting day after day | on the step of a door opposite lo her bouse. It seemed to belong to nobody ; but at a certain hoiir, there it was, wrapped in an i old shawl, crouched on the cold stone, and rocking itself pensively backwards and forwards, more like an ailing old woman , than a child. Other children played | around it, but this melancholy little being; mingled not in their sports, but sat silent and solitary. Soon afterwards it was seen to peep I about the area of the lady’s house, and j look wistfully at the kitchen windows.— The lady who was kind lo children, thin king that the little girl might be trying to attract her notice, opened the door sudden ly and offered it some gingerbread.—; When the door opened, there was a strange, eager expression ot the child’s eyes ; but when she saw the lady she looked scared and disappointed. The kind voice anil manner soon reassured the startled child, who thankfully look the of fering, broke it up into little bits in her hand, and carried it to the door step oppo site, where she again took up her station. Another child, seeing the gingerbread, came up to the solitary infant, who gave the newcomer some, and by gestures, the lady saw that she was informing the other chiiil whence the gift came. After wait in" a considerable time without eating her gingerbread, the j>oor little gill rose dejec tedly anil went away, still looking back at the house. A day or two afterwards, the same child was seen lingering about the pave ment near the area, anil holding out a bit of sugar candy in its tiny fingers through the rails. The lady, who thought that the child was come to offer it out of gratitude for the gingerbread, went down into the area; and as soon as she appeared, the child ran away. Soon again, however, the child was at its old station, the door-step oppo * Some Indians an* in the habit of keeping a me moranda of ihe lives ifie.V liavc taken, by cutting a notch fuf each on some iveaptm. site. The lady had mentioned this to her only female servant as very odd, hut re ceived no observation in reply. One morning the door was opened to receive a piece of furniture; and the same child again suddenly appeared, and ad vanced stealthily towards the door. The lady who was near, said “ 1 see you!” when the ch id immediately retreated to her door-step. “ This is very extraordinar}',” said the lady to her servant; “ I cannot make out what that child wants.” ; “ Madam,” said the servant bursting in to tears, “it is my child.” “Your child ! But go, bring her in.— l Where does live ?” “With my sister, and she goes to school* I have told her never to come here ; but the poor thing will come every playtime i she gets. That day you thought site was | offering you some sugar candy, I had been to the school and given Iter a penny ; when school was over she came to give, me a hit of the sugar candy she had bought. Ob, ma’am have mercy —forgive me ! Do not send me away !” The lady who had known adversity, and was not one of those rigidly righteous persons who forget the first principles in culcated by the divine Author oftlic Chris tian creed, looked grave, it is true, hut did not shrink from the lowly sinner as if she had the plague, although she had become a mother before she had been a wife, by die gay cavalier who hail deceived and forsaken her. Nor did she turn her out upon die wide world, in the virtuous stern ness of her indignation. To the great horror of some of her neighbors, she told her servant that het child might conic to see her every Sunday, beginning with the next. When the child, who was no lon ger the moping creature which it had been before it was admitted to the mother, heard this, she immediately and anxiously inquired, “llow many days and nidils is it to Sunday?” Sotrie may sneer at this ; to me tlforo is something affecting in the quiet, subdued demeanor of this offspring of shame, timid ly watching toobtain a glimpse of her who had borne it, tit an age when happier chil li reu are never without ihose greatest of enjoyments, the caresses ol’ a mother.— Think of the misery of this poor child, driven from the mere instinct of longing for its parent, to the staid demeanor of age, whilst the other merry little ones were spirting around it. Think what she must have suffered, as she gazed day after day, at the frowning door that shut out more than all the world’s value to her. Think of the suffering mother, dreading to lose, with her place anil character, the means of supporting her helpless, prematurely old infant! Oh, man, man, thou hast much to answer for ! Worldly men. —The thoughts.of worldly men are forever regulated by a moral law of gravitation, which like the physical one, holds them down to earth. The bright glory of day and the silent wonders of a starlight night, appeal to their minds in vain. There arc no signs in the sun, or the moon, or in the stars, for their read ing. They tire like some wise men, who, learning to know each planet by its Latin name, have quite forgotten such small heavenly constellations as charity, forbear ance, universal love, and mercy, although they shine by night and day so brightly, that the blind may see them ; and who looking upward at the spangled sky, see nothing there hut the reflection of their own great wisdom and book-learning. It is curious to imagine these people of the world, busy in thought, turning their eyes towards the countless spheres that shine above us, anil making them reflect the on ly images their minds contain. The man who lives but in the breath of Princes has ! nothing in his sight hut stars for courtiers’ breasts. The envious man beholds his neighbors’ honors even in the sky. To the money-hoarder and the mass of wot Id ly folk, the whole great' universe above j glitters with sterling coin—fresh from the mint —coining always between them and Heaven, turn where they may. So do the i shadows of our own desires stand between us and our better angels, anil thus their brightness is eclipsed. The giants of old. —In reference lo the builders of the Pyramids of Egypt, and to what has been termed Cyelorian or Titanic construction of these edifices, Mr. Gliddon, in a recent lecture remarked, that it washy these unintelligibilities of [expression, that some veil their belief, that Giants erected all the huge buildings of antiquity, without regard to the fact that the very idea Giant is an inappropri ate translation in our scriptural version. The Ncphilim, as ;iie Hebrew text of Gen esis Glh chap, -lib verse, designates that which wo render “ there were Giants on the earth in those days,” as in every oth er instance where our version speaks of Giants, never meant men of unnatural stature , but merely men of extraordinary mental vigor, associated with great wick edness, or with great heroic renown.— The far fumed Chibborim, Anakim, Enirn# Repbnim, Sec., of the Bible, never meant any thing beyond “ men of violent pas sion, fierceness or celebrity” and all our fables about such la gcmcn , as the giants slain by “ Jack lhe giant killer,” proceed from our own mistakes in translating from the Greek and other versions, six different wort Is lo mean giant, which, in the He brew text, never had any such accepta i tion, and which idea is [ittppsterous when understood as applying to* men of imjw j siblc stature. ___ An Odd Mistake. —An apothecary’s ; hoy was lately sent to leave at one house a box of pills, and at another six live fowls. I Confused on the way, he left the pills where the fowls should have gone, and the fowls at the pill place. The folks who received the fowls were astonished at | reading the accompanying diigctions:— swullaic one arry two houtpi