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A uiI’SLV S I UKV. A lady ci rank snd fortune, who iihj>- pcrird to have no children, and who lived in the B^,^hborhoo<l t had taken so great , 1 ..tig to a beautiful little gip>.y girl, that jitc took her home, had her educated, and at length adopted her as her daughter. She was called Charlotte Stanley, recei ved the education of a young English lady of rank, and grew up to be a beautiful, well informed,and accom lislifd girl. Jn the course ot lime a voting man of good family became attached t<> her, and wished to marry her. The nearer Imwevi r, this plan approached the period of its execu tion, the more melancholy became the young Hindost mee bride ; and one day, to the terrorol her foster-mother and her betrothed husband, she was found to have disappeared. It was known that there had been gipsies in the nefebbirhood; a search was set on foot, and Charlotte Stan ley was discovered in the aims <4 a long, lean, brown, ugly g p-v, the duel of the band. She declared site was nis wife, and no one had a right to take her away from him, and the benefactress and the bridegroom returned inconsolable. Char lotte afterwards came to visit them, and told how, as she grew up, she had felt more and more confined in the walls of the castle, and an irresistible longing had at length seized her to return to her wild gip sv life. The fellow whom she had cho sen for her husband was said to be one of | the wildest anti ugliest ol the whole tribe, and to treat his beautiful and delicate wife in the most barbarous manner. He was sometime alter condemned to be hanged lor theft; but his wife, through the influ ence of her distinguished connexion, pro cured the commutation of his sentence to that of confinement in the hulks. Haring the time ofhis impiisonmenl, she visited him constantly, and contrived in many ways to improve his situation, without tin savage manifesting in return the snialli >i gratitude. He accepted her mark ot alii c tion as a tribute due from a slave,and fre quently even during her visits ill-treated her. She toiled incessantly, however to obtain his liberation, supplicating both her foster mother and her former lover to use all their efforts in his favour. At the very moment ofhis liberation, however, when Charlotte was hastening to meet him a cross the plank placed from the boat to the shore, the savage repulsed her so rough ly, that she fell into the water. She was drawn tint again, but could not be indu ced to leave him, and returned toiler fir mer wild ways of life in the New Forest and the lairs of London. I saw the por trait of Charlotte Stanley, which was pre served by the friend oi lier youth. Her story is a kind of inversion to that of Pre ciosa, and might make an interesting ro mance. The .Southampton committee, it is said, have not been more fortunate with the gipsies, whom at different times they have put out to service, than was the ben efactress of Charlotte Stanley; for they all returned, sooner, or later, to their wild wandering life.— Kofd's England. From a paper occasionally published a* bout 1500, in Salem, called the Fool, tin,' following is taken : Dr. Bothernm Smoknrn, liavingquitted his former profession of chimney-swee ping, now carries on i lie business of inven ting and preparing his much approved universal, vegetable, and animal go-to-bed -ical, get-up-icai-go-to-sea-ical, and stay at-home-ical Medicines. Ilis patent cut and-lhrust phleboiomixing emetic, cathar tic, anddinaetiedouble-distilled.und dou ble-barrelled lire and brimstone cordials; An amiable, interesting, pleasing, and a greeably innocent, unmediciual sudorific, nephillic, anthel inintic, narcotic, tonic, stimulant, alternant, asti iiigcnt, stomach ic, belly-aeheic, diaphoretic, aperient, emollient, carminative, sedative, robefac iei.'t, anti-spasmudic pectoral, crural, and femoral emtnenagogue. It is a sovereign specific,and instantaneous remedy for dis tempers ; acute, chronic, nervous, general, local, real, and imaginary, and epidemic disorders ; tor gun-shot wounds, simple, and compound fractures, casualties of all kinds and sudden death. It operates e qually on the body, mind, estate real, or personal, and place of residence of the pa tient. It is an efficacious and sale cosme tic, removing- the pernicious periosteum from the cuticle, and rendering the skin clear, and smooth to a fault. It clears the ! bile, and gastric juice from the brain, and induces a calm train of ideas. It removes obstructions in the capilliary tubes, viz: the thoratic duet, .esophagus, coecum. &c. &c. it extirpates the spinal marrow, which is the cause of such frequent and fatal complaints. It dissipates adipose tumors, and premature births, and is an effectual preventive against old age. It assists nature in the attempts at amputa tion in disorders of the head and pluck. From its styptic qualities it is eminently useful in promoting excessive hemorrha ges, by which surgical operations become quite unnecessary. By rinsing the month daily with this cordial, the eeiglollis be comes firmly fixed in its socket, and cari ous teeth adhere closely to the metatarsus, by which means deglutition and chylifi- C&tion progress regularly. The muscles which become fhcrid by use, arc restored to an ossified state, as well as the aiterial. system. Applied to the eyes, it removes' the three humors, and eradicates the op tic nerve ; and in disorders of the cars it is useful in perforating the tympanum. In extreme watchfulness and nervous irrita bility, it induces a permanent and unin terrupted sleep. In sudden attacks from the enemy’s cavalry, it bringsouan in stantaneous courage, which may save the patient’s life. From its drying qualities it is useful in cases of drowning, and hanging yields to its elevating stimulus. Piicc, hh dollars per bottelum. (t?*To prevent counterfeits, every bot tle is wrnpjied in a twenty dollar hill of the United States Bank. By this means, a great saving is made by those who pur chase hv the dozen. i A YANKEE IN Hi ELAND. The following story was told us by a ! friend who vouches for the truth of the statement. During last summer, a gen tleman who is a cotton planter in the State of Georgia, and somewhat of an ec centric genius, being fascinated with the description of Galway, as given by the fai etious Charles O’Malley, determined to inspect personally the bread of the Mickey Peer and Baby Blakes on their native hills. Having shipped his sea is land for Liverpool, he jogged along to New York, and took passage in one oft lie packets. Alter making the necessary ar rangements with his fuctoi s, he started for the Emerald Isle. Our peculiar national ities so->n made him known, and he be came quite a lion; sure enough he found a perfect counterpart of Miss Baby, and fun lie had to his heart’s content; his letter of credit in the neighboring bank, together with his high finished education, estab lished him in the heart of the family, which excited the irascibility of some ol the consigns who held Americans at no I enviable discount. They tried in every way to provoke, or (to use the Irish term) “coax” a fight out ol him; but lie showed no inclination to quarrel with any body— A story was then circulated that he was a knight of the white feather; and they in their turn, (Miss Baby included,) were de termined to give the cowardly ynrikee an insight into the manners and customs of the natives. So immediately after break fast the soi distml Miss Baby, coaxed, ca joled. and provoked our hero into a de mand for a kiss. He insisted—site tor mented—and just at this u oment in step ped a gent ol tlie guards, the cousin; noth- • in" would do short of a light. The fair one laughed, the Y anker* rub lied his hands and grinned, the soldie r looked broad-j swords and gr ipe shot. ’! lie two gi ntleuien >|. pped into the ad joining room, where tin v found quite a party ol gentlemen from the neighborhood, looking as innocent as babes. “Well,” said ihe Georgian ns soon as the door was! closed, “I don’t know much about fight ing, hut I want one of you gentlemen to; act as my friend in a bit of a fight that’s! going to come off between me and this gentlemen here,” pointing to the guards man. A dozen offered their sc rvices, sav ing, “it would uiiord them quite a plea sure.” Sr lecting the one who stood near est, the preliminaries were soon arranged. Pistols were selected, when our friend, the Georgian, remarked that he “would like to shoot off just to see how ’twonld go.”— The apparent innocence with which the request was made raised a laugh at the greenness of our hero, and his wishes were complied with. The parties had by this time arrived near the ground that was selected lbr the duel. The whole troup of Iriends had accompanied the belligerents. A pistol being loaded was put into the hand of our country man, who held it in a most awkward manner, and bracing him i self firmly lie levelled it at a tree near by, and shutting both eyes gave the trigger a .desperate pull—the tree was not hiu A titter passed through the whole com pany; they thought that they had sport [enough on hand for one day: but they fer : got the notoriety of Yankee cunning. He had by this time got the hang of the pistol, , and ascertained the charge and force of j the powder. All being now readv, the word was given. Five paces, wheel and lire. Nothing seemed to disturb the mai ter-’o-fact manner of the Georgian; he .took his paces, taking care to step short steps; he wheeled like a flash ol lightning ! end fired at the instant. The guardsman fell wounded in the groin. This drew all for ail instant from the Yankee, hut when the bystanders looked again, he was siili standing in the same position, grasping his pistol in apparent convulsions, and both eyes shut last. In a minute he opened his eyes and seemed to notice, fertile first time, that his adversary was down; and exclaimed. “YVliat! is he killed ?” and throwing down his pistol, began feeling of, and examining himself, to learn if he could not find a wound upon himself— seeming the whole time perfectly innocent and unsophisticated. The guardsman being wounded excited the ire ofhis companions, and one of them demanded the right of a shot at the Y’ati kce, which proposition our countryman ; did not seem to disrelish; but thinking he [should have to fight the whole crowd one ; at a time, he broke out in the following few words: “Look here now, l reckon that you are determined that I shall fight the whole of you one at a time, which I don’t like pretty well; but I’ll tell you what 1 will do, there are just sixteen of us; you shall get me a gun—about a (bur-pounder, or smaller. 1 and my friend shall take this side of the field, seven of you shall take pistols and stand along in a row and the other seven shall he their friends. 1 will load my gun with seven grape shot, and you shall have each one ball in your pistols, this will make it just shot for shot, and we will fire at the word fifteen paces.” The cool business-like calculation was rather too much for the sons of green Ire laud; they declared our hero to he a “broth of a boy,” and insisted upon his accepting el a sumptuous dinner, and offered invita tions extending over several months, which he declined, saying that “the next day he must start for Liverpool to see how his cotton was selling.” A kiss was vol untarily tendered the next morning by the lair one, which the Georgian on his part uugallantly declined, and he look his de parture much against the inclination of all present, who declared that “those Yan kees were the quairest devils they ever saw.” The Georgian was Col. , of county. — Boston Post. Oranges were the staple of Florida pre vious to IS3-5, and some trees were known to be one hundred and fifty years old ; hut, one night in the month of February of that year, a severe frost killed them all, since which this profitable tree has been lost. A GOOD I’ANTHEIi STOILY. The New York Spirit of the Times has the following good story of Chunky, an old hunter, in Warren, Mississippi: “ But it was the first time in my life that I’d bin lost, and that did pester me mightily. Well sir, arter sludyin’ awhile I thought I’d better put back towards the camp, mighty tired and discouraged, 1 throwed my gourd round to take a drink of liker, and it were filled with i cater! — I fact! thinks 1, Chunky, you must have ; been drunk last night ; that made me sort a low spirited like a o’man, and my heart were as weak as water. It had commenced gitting sorter dark, the wind | were blow in’and groanin’through trees and livers, and the T.lack clouds were Ilyin,’ and 1 was goiu* along sorter un easy and cussin, w lien a i/anlf\cr yelled out \ close la mi ! I turned with my gnu cock ed, could’nt see it ; presently 1 heard it i again and out it came, and then another ! ‘Her. ’s lielL ’ said I, takin a crack and missiii to a certinty ; and away they dar ted through the cane. 1 drapt my gun to load, and by the great Jackson, there warn’t a lull load in the gourd ! I loaded 'mighty carefully, and started onto gil some holler tree to sleep in. Every once and awhile l’d git a glimpse of the panthers on my trail. * Panthers,’ says I, ‘ I’ll make a child’s bargain with you; it you will let me alone, you may go a long, and if you dont, there’s a ball in to the head of one of you, and this knife— hush! if my knife warm gone 1 wish 1 may never taste bar’s meat! I raised my gun trembling like a leaf, and ; says I, ‘Jim, I’ll have your melt !’ Well; I were in trouble, sure! I thought 1 were on the Tahulc a Letu Lake and I ! watched ! Well, 1 did ! Oh you may lari’, but Ijest imagine yourself lost in the cane of ! Sky Lake, (the cane on this lake is some thirty miles long, from one to three j wide, thick as bar on a dog’s back, and I about thirty feet high!) out of liker, out of powd'-r, vour knife gone, the ground kivered with snow, you very tired and hungry, two panthers following your trail, and you’d think you was bewitched too ! Wi 11, here they come, never letten on, but miken arrangements to have my scalp that night; 1 never letten on, hut determined they shmild’nt. The har hail been standin on mv head for more than a hour, and the sweat were jest rollin’ off | me and that satisfied ir.e that a light war brewin at ween me and the panthers! 1 stopped two or three times tfiinkiti they I war gone, but presently they comecreep iu along through the cane, and as soon as they’d sec tn '. tli y’d stop, lay down, role over and twirl their tails about like kittens play in ; I’d then shout, shake the rane, and away they’d go. Oh, they thought had me ; in course they did, and I determined with myself, if they' did let me go, if they didn’t attack a un armed man, alone and lost, without liker, powder or knife ; that first time I got a panther up a tree, with my whole pack at the root, my liker gourd full, and 1 half 1 full, mv twelve to pound yager loaded, and knife in sliavin order I’d let him go! Yes, d—d if 1 did',d ! But what did they care? They’d no more feeling than the devil! I know’d it would’nt do to risk a file in the cane, and pushed on to find an open place whar the cane drilled and thar 1 determined to stand mid file it out ! Presently here they come, and a stranger had seen ’em, he’d thought they war playm ! They jump and squat, and bend their backs, lav down and role, and grin like puppies, they keep gittiu nearer and nearer, and it war gitiinduik, and I know’d I must let drive at the old he, afore it got so dark, 1 couldent see my sights ; so 1 fust drap on one knee to make sure, and when I rais ed mygui. I were all in a tremble! 1 knowed that would’nt do and riz ! ‘You are bewitched, Chunky, sure arid sartin,’ said I. Ait“r bracing myself, I raised again and fired ! One on ’em sprung into t lie air and gin a yell, and the other bounded towards me like a streak of lightning close to me, its eyes turnin green, and sorter swimmin round like, and the end of its tail twisted like a snake. I felt lite as a cork and strong as a buffalo. 1 seen her commence slippin her legs under her and knew she was gwine to spring. I thrown! back my gun to gin it to her, and as she come, the lick I aimed at her head, struck her across! the shoulders and back without doing a ny harm, and she had me ! Rip rip, and away went my old blanket-coat and my britches. She sunk her teeth in my shoul der, her green eyes were close to mine, and the froth from her mouth was flying into my face ! Moses, how fast she did file! licit the warm blood rumiiti down my side, I seen she was arter my throat, and with tlwt I grabbed hern, and com menced pouring it into her side with my fist, like cats a filet). Rip, rip, she’d take me ; diffi slam, bang, I’d gin it toiler, she fiten for her supper, I fiten for my life. Wh}’ in course it wur an onequel file, but she riz it. Well we had round and round, sometimes one, sometimes tother on tep; shegrowlin, and I grunting. We had both commenced gittin mighty tired, and pr sently she made a spring, tryin to git away ; alter that, thar were no mortal chance for her! Cause why, she was whipped ! l’d sorter been thinkin, about saving, “ Now I lay me down to sleep,” but 1 know’d if I commenced.it would put her in heart, and she’d riddle me in a minit, and when she hollered nuff, I were glad to my shoe soles, and such confidence in whippin the fight, that 1 offered two to one on Chunky, but no takes! ‘Oh, <l—a you,’says l, a hittin her a lick every time I spoke, ‘you are willing to quit even and divide stakes are you.''’ and then round and round we went again ! You could have heard us blow a quarter of a mile, but presently she makes a big struggle and broke my hold I I fell one way and she the other! She darted into the cane brake and that’s the last time I j ever heard of that panther. When I sorter came to myself, I was struttin and struttin and thunderin like a big he gobler, anil then I commenced ex amining to see w hat harm she had done me; I wor bit powerful bad in the shoul iiar and arm, jist look at them surs !—and 1 were cut into solid whip strings; hut when I (bund thar warn’t no danger ol its killinme, set into cussin. ‘Oil, you ain’t dead yet, Chunky,* says I, ‘il you are sorter wusted, and have whipped a panther in a fair fight, and no gouging.’ and then I cook-a-doodle-doo a j spell f«»r joy ! When 1 looked around, thar sot the old he, a lieken the blood from his breast! I’d shot him right through the brest, but sorter slantendicler breaking his shoulder blade into a perfect smash. 1 walked up to him— ‘Howdy, panther, how do you do? How is misses panther, and the Utile pan thers ? How is yourconsarns in general? Did you ever hearn tell of the man they calls Chunky? born in Kentucky and raised in Mississippi ? death on a bar, and smartly in a panthar fight? Ifyou dident, look, for I’m he. 1 kills bars, whips pan thers in a fair fight; 1 walks the waters, I out hellers the thunder, and when I get In »r, the Mississippi hides itself. Oh, 1 ? You thought you had me dident you? d--d you? But you are a gone sucker now. I’ll have your melt if I never gets home, so— LETTER FROM THE GOVERNOR OF SOUTH CAROLINA. Executive Department, > South Carolina, June 21, IS4L > Sir—The last post orought me your communication, accompanying the memo rial of the Presbytery of the Free Church of Glasgow, in behalf of John L. Brown, convicted, in this Slate of aiding a slave in escaping from his master, and sentenced to be hung in April last. It will be grati fying to you, seeing ibe interest you have taken in the matter, to learn that 1 have pardoned Brown. In consequence of re presentations made to me in December , last, by Judge O’Neall, speaking for han sel fund l he J uiiges of the Court of Appeals, I commuted his punishment to thiity-uine lashes. Facts not known to the Jury', nor to the Judges, were afterward brought to my knowledge, which satisfied me that Brown had no criminal designs in what lie did; and in the month of March 1 trans mitted lotiim a full pardon. I was not at all aware at that time of the great interest taken abroad in behalf of one whose case I had never heard mentioned here, except on the occasion referred to; and I was astonished to find myself overwhelmed soon alter with voluminous petitions lor his put don from the non-slave holding States of this Union; and to perceive that his sen tence was commented on, not only by the English newspapers, but in the English House of Lords. The latest and I trust the last communication to me on the subject, is your memorial. 'i'he inteiference of foreigners, or any persons beyond our boundaries, in the ex ecution of the municipal laws of a sover eign State, even if in respectful terms, is certainly a violation of all propriety and courtesy; and if carried to any extent, must become wholly intolerable. 1 pass that by, however. The law under which Brown was convicted, was enacted during our colonial existence, and is emphatical ly British law. It is also a good law. I pardoned him not because 1 disapproved the law, but because I did notthink'he vio lated it. It would be the most absurd thing in the world to recognize by law a system of domestic slavery, and yet al low every one to free, not merely his own slaves, but those ofhis neighbor, whenev er instigated to do so by his own notions of propriety, his interest, or his caprice. What sort of security would we have lor property held on such terms as these?— You cannot but perceive that to permit others to take our slaves from us at plea sure with impunity, would amount to a total abolition of slavery. There would be no real difference between this and allowing the slaves to go free themselves. Your Presbytery, and all the petitioners (or Brown and agitators ofhis case, must have seen the matter in this light; and it is attributing to us but a small share ol common sense to suppose that vve would not take the same view of it ourselves. Whether death should be inflicted for such an offence is another question. We have modified in a great degree the san guinary code of law left us by our Brit ish ancestors; but we have not gone the; length to which some philosophers, both; here and in your country would have all Governments to go—of abolishing the j punishment of death. Nor do I believe! the success your Government has met j with in endeavoring to diminish crime by abolishing this punishment in so many cases, will encourage them to press the j matter much farther at this time. Con-| sidering the value of a slave; the facil-; ity of seducing him from his owner; t lie | evil influence which frequent seduction might exercise on an institution, the de- j struct ion of which must, speedily and in evitably strike Iron) the roll of civilized j States nearly the whole slave holding j section of this country as it has already done St. Domingo and Jamaica; and the enthusiastic and reckless enemies of this | institution by whom we are surrounded; it seems to me that if any offence af fecting property merits death, this is one. Your memorial, like all that have been sent to me denounces slavery in the se verest terms; as “traversing every Law of Nature, and violating the most sacred domestic relations, and the primary Rights of Man.” You profess to believe, and no doubt do believe, that the laws laid down in the Old and New Testaments, for the government of man, in his moral, social and political relations, were ail the direct Revelation of God himself. Does it r ll've- •-* *b->« --.-ohematizing slavery, you deny this divine sanction of those Laws, and repudiate both Christ and Moses, or charge God with a down right crime, in regulating and perpetuating slavery, not in the Old Testament, and the most criminal neglect, in not only abol ishing, but not even reprehending it in the New ? If these Testaments come from ! God it is impossible that slavery can “tra- j verse the Laws of Nature, or violate the ; primary Rights of Man.” What those; Laws and Rights really are, mankind have not agreed. But they are clear to God; and it is blasphemous for any of His creatures to set up their notions of them in opposition to His immediate and acknow ledged Revelation. Nor does our system of slavery outrage the most sacred domes tic relations. Husbands and wives, pa rents and children among our slaves, are seldom separated, except from necessity orcrime. The same reason, induce much more frequent separations among the white pi j/ulation in this, and I imagine, in almost every other count rv. But 1 must make bold to say that the Presbyter} of the Free Church of Glas gow, and nearly all the Abolitionists in ev ery part of the world, in denouncing our domestic slavery, denounce a thing of which they know absolutely nothing— nay, which does not even exist. You weep over the horrors of the Middle Pas sage, which have ceased, so far as we are concerned; and over pictures of chains and lashes here, which have no existence but in the imagination. Our sympathies are almost equally excited by the accounts published by your Committees of Parlia ment—and therefore true; and which have been verified by the personal observation iof many of us—of the squalid misery, loathsome disease, and actual starvation, ol multitudes, of tlie unhappy laborers, I not of Ireland only, but of England—nay, of Glasgow itself. Yet we never presume to interfere with your social or municipal regulations—your aggregated wealth and j congregated misery—nor the crimes at tendant on them, nor your pitiless laws for their suppression. And when we see by your official returns, that even the best classes of English Agricultural laborers can obtain for their support but seven pounds of bread and four mutas of meat per week, and w hen sick or out of employ ment must either starve or subsist on char ity, we cannot but look with satisfaction to ihe condition of our slave laborers, who usually receive as a weekly allowance, fifteen pounds of bread, and three pounds of bacon—have tlieir children led without stint, arid properly attended to—are all well clothed and have comfortable dwel lings, where, with their gardens and poul try yards, they can, if the least industri ous, more than realize for themselves the vain hope of the gteat French King, that In* might see every peasant in France have his fowl upon his table upon the Sabbath who, from the proceeds ol their own crops, purchase even luxuries arid finery —who labor scarcely more than nine hours a day, on the average of the year— and who, in sickness, in declining years, in infancy and decrepitude, are watched over with a tenderness scarcely short of parental. YY hen weeontemplate the known j condition of your operatives, of whom, 'hat of your agricultural laborers is per haps the least wretched, we are not on ly not ashamed of that of our slaves, but | are always ready to challenge compari son, and should he highly gratified to sub mit to a reciprocal investigation, by en [ lightened tind impartial judges. You are doubtless of opinion, that all these advantages in favor of the slave, if they exist, are more than counterbalan ced by his being deprived ofhis freedom. Can you tell me vx hat freedom is—w ho possesses it, aud how mu< h of it is requi site fiir human hapmess. Is your opera tive,existing in the phvsicnl and moral con dition which your own official returns de pict—deprived too of every political right even that of voting at the polls—w ho is not cheered by the slightest hope of ever improving his lot or leaving his children to a better, and who actually seeks the four walls of a prison, the hulks, and transpor tation,ascomparative blessings—is Ac free —sufficiently free? Can you say that this sort of freedom—the liberty to beg or steal—to choose between starvation and a prison—does or ought to make him hap pier than our slave, situated as I have truly described him; without a single care or gloomy forethought. But you will perhaps say it is not in the Thing, but in the Name, that the ma gic resides—that there isa vast difference between being called a slave and being made one, though equally enslaved by la\v) by social forms, and by immutable neces sity. This is an ideal and set timental distinction which il will be difficult to bring the African race to comprehend. But if it he tiue, and freedom is a name and idea | rather than reality, bow many are there then entitled even to that name, except j h}' courtesy; how many are able to enjoy ; ! the idea in perfection? Does your opera \ live regard it as a sufficient compensation for the difference between four ounces and three pounds of bacon? If he does, he is a rare philosopher. In your powerful Kingdom, Social Grade is as thoroughly | established and acknowledged as military : rank. Y’ou commonly see among them-! ! selves a series of ascending classes, and rising above them all, many more, com posed of men not a whit superior to them selves in any of the endowments of na ture, who yet in name, in idea, and in feci, possess greater worldly privileges.' To what one of all these classes does gen nine freedom belong ? To the Duke, who lawns upon the Prince—to the Baron who knuckles to the Duke—or the Commoner, who crouches to the Baron ? • Doubtless you all boast of being ideally Iree; while the American citizen counts your freedom slavery, and could not brook i a state of existence in which he daily cn ; countered fellow mortals, acknowledged and privileged as his superiors, solely by the accident of birth. He, too, in turn, will boast of his freedom which might be ju,t a.- little to your taste. I will !Jo t pur sue tins topic further. But 1 thiuk you must admit lfiat there is nut so much if, H name; and that ideal of imputed freedom is a very uncertain source of happiness You must also agree, that it would be a hold thing lor you or any one to under take to solve the great problem of good and evil—happiness and misery, and di vide in w hat t vorld/y condition man enjoys most, and suffers least. Your profession calls on you to teach that happiness is sel dom iound upon the stormy sea of politics or in the mad race of ambition—i n the pursuits of Mammon, or the carer of hoar ded gain; that in shoit, the wealth and honors of this world are to be despised land shunned. Will you then sav, that the slave must be wretched, because he is j debarred from them?—or because he does |not indulge in the dreams of philosophy the wrangling of sectarians, or the soul dislurbmg speculations of the sceptic?— or because having never lasted of what is railed Freedom, he is ignorant of its ideal blessings, and is as contented with his lot such as it is, as most men are with theirs’ Y’ou and your Presbytery doubtless desire, as we all should, to increase the happiness of the human family. But since it is so difficult, if not impossible, to determine in what earthly state man may expect to enjoy most of it, why can you not be content to leave him in that respect where God has placed him—to give un the ideal and the doubtful, fer the real to restrict yourselves to the faithful fulfil moot of your great mission ol preaching “the glad tiding of salvation” to all class es and conditions; or at the very least, sa credly abstain from all endeavors to ame liorate the lot of man by revolution, blood shed, massacre, and desolation, to which all attempts at Abolition in this country in the present, and so lar as I can see, in any future age, must inevitably lead. Be satisfied with the improvement which slavery lias made, and which nothin" hut 'slavery could have made to the same ex tent in the race of Ham. Look at the ne groin Africa— A naked savage—almost a Cannibal, i utlilessly oppressing and de stroy ing his fello ivs—idle, treacherous, idolatrous, and such a disgrace to the im age ofhis God, in which you declare him to be made that some of the wisest philo sophers have denied him the possession ol a soul. See him heie—three millions at feast ol his rescued race-civilized, con tributing immensely in the subsistence of ilie human family, his passions restrained Ins affections cultivated, his hodilv wants and infirmities provided for, and the true Religion of his Maker and Redeemer taught him. Has slavery been a curse to him? Can you think God has ordained it for no good purpose?—or not content with the blessings it has already bestow ed, do you desire to increase them still? Before you act, be sure your Heavenly lather has revealed to you the means. Wail lor this inspiration which brought die Israelites out of Egypt—which carried [Salvation to the Gentiles. I have written you a longer letter than l intended. But the question ol Slavery is a much more interesting subject to us, involving as it does the fate of all that we hold dear, than any thing connected with John L. Brown can be loyoo;and I trust you will read my reply with as much con sideration as I have lead your Memoiiul. I have the honor to be, Very respectfully, Your obedient servant, | fi J. 11. HAMMOND. In the Rev. Thomas Brown. I). D. Mo derator ot the Free Church of Glasgow, and to the Presbytery thereof. Death of the 1 Dung. — Beautiful is the season ot life when we can say in the lan guage of Scripture, ‘ Thou hast the dew of thy youth.’ But of these flowers death gathers many. He plates them upon his bosom and his form is changed to something less terrible than before; we learn to gaze and shudder not ; for he carries in his arms the sweet blossoms of all our earthly hopes : we shall see them again, blooming in si happier land. Yes, death hiings us again to our friends : they are waiting sot us, and we shall not he long; they have gone before us, and are like angt Is in heaven. They stand on the borders of the grave, to welcome us with countenances of affection, which they wore on eaith, yet more lovely, more radiant, more spiritual. Death has taken thee, too, sweet sister, and thou hast the dew of thy yotnli ; lie hath placed thee upon Ins bosom, and his stern countenance wore a smile. The far country seems nearer, and the way less dark, tor thou hast gone before, passing so quietly to thy rest, that day it* self dies not more calmly. And thou art waiting to hid us welcome, when we shall have (lone the work given us to do, and shall go hence to he seen no more on earth. [Prof. Longfellow. Joseph Dora parte s first left. — 7he Bos ton Courier says: * We find no mention in the will of Joseph Bonaparte of liisdaug ter by his first wife, whom his brot icr Napoleon, with his usual disrespect 0 person, privileges and laws, comp* f< him to divorce. This lady resides at 0 sie, N. Y., is highly accomph shed atm lovely in person —and reflects muc > creditor! the Bonaparte family, 11 * n ... of the offspring of their ambitious a • ces. A Coincidence. —Napoleon Bonapa who, from the humblest station re the loftiest height attained by any , 0 f modern times, was suddenly st . r, PP* d thc his titles, his possessions, and ex.lea„ little insignificant island of L < > , e( j Mediterranean. And it may be as a singular coincidence,.that the and peculiar armorial ensign of a wheel, which was borrowed trotn Egyptian mysteries, as the ein vicissitudes of human life. ‘ I’m cutting a swell,’ said the lanc< ’ as it passed round a tumor-