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CHARACTER OF MOULTRIE. Moultrie was unlike most of the Southern officers, whose bravery is usually of the fiery, chivalric kind, and accompanied with intense excitement: he was brave as man can be ; but his courage was of that easy nonehalent character, which always infuses a little of the comic into the heroic. Stub born as a rock, decided, and watchful, he was nevertheless quiet and unexci ted, and went into battle w ith the sang froid he would go to bed. V hen the Governor and privy council proposed he should surrender up both them and the city of Charleston to the enemy, he did not dash off into enthusiastic appeals, but quiel l v said, “7 will do no such thing — we will fight it out;' 1 and went to work with the cool and dogged resolution of one whose arm is better than his tongue. In his little palmetto fort, enveloped in the blaze of nearly two hundred cannon, he quietly lighted his pipe, to while away the time whose minutes were measured by peals of thunder. Yet there was no careless ness in all this—his calm eye surveyed everything —took in the whole field of danger, w hile his blow fell with the suddenness of thought. lie was lax in his discipline, and easy with his men, who loved him with devoticlp. This trait! i& character distressed Lee exceedingly, when he took command of the southern army, and he feared the worst results from it in the attack of Fort Moultrie; but the hero knew’ his men, and knew him self, and had not the least concern about the way they would fight. A fiery-hearted, enthusiastic leader will carry soldiers in a storm, or sudden onset, farther and fiercer than a cool and steady one ; but for deliberate cour age, self-confidence and strength, the latter is by’ far the best. In that un broken composure, and invincible will, soldiers behold not only’ courage, but hidden resources and strength on which they can safely rely. They are not roused by’ his appeals, but they are filled with trust in his ability. This quality of a great conimnnder, Moul trie possessed to a remarkable degree. W hat he would have done with a large army, and during a long campaign, it is impossible to tell;. but the British officers had a high opinion of his skill. But his noblest quality was bis pure and exalted patriotism. His country and liberty he loved above his life; and no selfish ambition or sordid feelings sullied his honourable career. While a prisoner of war, a British officer, the former Governor of South Carolina, and once his intimate friend, endeav oured, by every argument, to persuade him to enter the English service. lie did not ask him to turn traitor, like Arnold, for that he knew him incapa ble (if doing, but to leave the country and serve in Jamaica. He was a pris oner; and probably would remain so till the close of the war, and hence could be of no service to America; while . an English officer abroad, he could run a career of glory. But his car was deaf to every offer that would divide him from the land of his birth, and from the interests of freedom ; and he wrote the following noble reply to i the friend who sought to corrupt him* | “When 1 entered into this contest, I did it with the most mature delibera tion, and with a determined resolution to risk my life and fortune in the cause. The hardships 1 have gone through 1 look back upon with the greatest plea- j sure. 1 shall continue to go oil as 1 have begun, that my example may en-: courage the youths of America to stand j forth in defence of their rights and lib erties. You call upon me now, and j tell me I have a fair opening for quit- j ting that service with honour and rep- j utation to myself, by going to Jamaica, j Good God ! Is it possible that such j an idea could arise in the breast of a j man of honour ? 1 am sorry you should i imagine 1 have so little regard for my own reputation, as to listen to such , dishonourable proposals. Would you wish to have that man whom you have ! honoured with your friendship play j the traitor] Surely not. You say, j by quitting this country for a short , time, 1 might avoid disagreeable con- i versations, and might return, at my j own leasuro, and take possession of my j estates for myself and family. But j you have forgot to tell me how I am j to get rid of the feelings of an injured, | honest heart, and where to hide myself | from myself:—could l be guilty of so j much baseness I should hate myself, | and shun mankind. This would be a j fatal exchange from my present situa- j tion, with an easy and approved con- i science, of having done my duty and j conducted myself as a man of honour. J Such were the men who planted the ! tree of liberty in this soil, and watered | it with their blood.” — Headley. CHARACTER OF WASHINGTON. It is not to any one striking quality , we are to look for a true exponent of; Washington—it is to the harmonious whole his character presented. Asa , warrior, he may be surpassed, but as a complete man, he is without a paral- j lei. Equal to any crisis, successful in all he undertakes, superior to tempta tion, faithful in every trial, and w ithout a spot on his name, the history of the race cannot match him. All military men become more or less corrupted by a life in the camp, and many of our best officers were demoralized; but not a stain clung to Washington.— Committing I.is cause to (rod before battle, and referring the victory to Di- | vine goodness, he remained a religious • man through a life on the tented field. In moral elevation, no warrior of an- j cient or modern times approaches him. I Given to no excess himself, he sternly | rebuked it in others. The principles ! of religion were deeply engrafted ot: j his heart, and as there was no stain on ; liis blade, he could go from the fierce- i fought field to the sacramental table. That brow which would have awed a Roman Senate in its proudest days, bent in the dust before his Maker. In the darkest night of adversity he lean ed on Him who is “mightier than the mightiest.” As 1 see him moving through the wretched hovels of Valley Forge, his heart wrung at the destitu tion and suti'ering that meet liis eye at every step, slowly making his way to the silent forest, and there kneel in prayer in behalf of his bleeding coun try—that voice which was never know n to falter in the wildest of the conflict, choked with emotion —I seem to behold one on whom God has laid his conse- ! crated hand, and all doubts and fears of ultimate success vanish like morning mist before the uprisen sun. There is no slavish fear of the Deity—which formed so large a part of Cromwell’s religion—mingled in that devotion, but an unshaken belief in truth, and a firm reliance on heaven. A Brutus in justice, he did not allow personal friendship to sway his deci sion, or influence him in the bestovv rnent of favours. Tearing neither the | carnage of battle nor the hatred of men, threats moved him no more than flatteries: and what is stranger still, the strong aversion to give pain to his friends never swerved him from the path of duty. Sincere in all his decia ! rations, his word was never doubted and j his promise never broken. Intrusted, finally, with almost supreme power, he never abused it, and laid it down at last more cheerfully than when he had taken it up. Buonaparte vaulting to supreme command, seized it with avid ity , and wielded it without restraint. The Directory obstructing his plans, he broke it up with the bayonet.— Cromwell did the same with the Rump Parliament, and installed himself Pro tector of England, and even hesitated long about the title of king. Wash ington, fettered worse than both, sub mitted to disgrace and defeat without using even a disrespectful word to Congress, and rejected the offered cftiwn with a stenuwss and indignation that, forever crushed the hopes of those who presented it. Calm and strong in council, untiring in effort, wise in poli cy, terrible as a storm in battle, un conquered in defeat, and incorruptible in virtue, he rises in moral grandeur so far above the Alexanders, and Caesars, | and Napoleons of the world, that even comparison seems injustice.— Headley. deatytrioga liij tljr ‘itfnijsik. DECISIVE INTEGRITY. The man who is so conscious of the rectitude of his intentions, as to be wil ling to open his bosom to the inspec tion of the world, is in possession of 1 one of the strongest pillars of a deci ded character. The course of such a 1 man will be firm and steady, because he has nothing to tear from the world, and is sure of the approbation and sup port of heaven. While he, who is con scious of secret and dark designs w hich, if known, would blast him, is perpetu | ally shrinking and dodging from public i observation, and is afraid of all around i and much more of all above him. The clear unclouded brow, the open countenance, the brilliant eye which can look an honest man steadfastly, yet courteously in the face, the health fully beating heart, and the firm clas tic step, belong to him whose bosom 1 is free from guile, and who knows that all his motives and purposes are pure and right. Why should such a mail falter in his course ! He may be be slandered ;he may be deserted by the world; but he has that within which will keep him erect, and enable him to move onward in his course, with bis eyes fixed on heaven, which he knows will not desert him.— Wirt. VALUE OF KNOWLEDGE. What is it that unfolds the struc ture of the human frame, showing in deed, how fearfully and wonderfully it | ; is made, or has invested Surgery with | the admirable precision and dexterity which it now exhibits, or that enables ! Medicine to conquer all the maladies j | to which mankind is subject, those j plagues and pestilences alone excepted, 1 which seem destined by Providence to perform the office of special judgments, and to remain incurable scourges of the human race? W hat is it that disarms the light ning of its power, elevates vallies and 1 depresses nills, cleaves the ocean and | ascends the sky ! What is it that we behold in every elegant and useful art, in the diversified hues that attract the eye, in the dresses and decorations of j ’ our persons and our houses, in every > , implement of husbandry or war, in the j i subterraneous aequeduct, or the heaven | kissing monument, in the animated ! j canvass, or the speaking marble! — i j What arc all these but the varied tri i umphs of the human mind ! Science is, indeed, to the moral, what the great orb of day is to the ! natural world, and as the extinction of : the latter would necessarily be foilow j ed by universal darkness and decay, so, were art and science lost, society would inevitably relapse into the savagism from which it is their proud boast to have elevated and redeemed it. [77. L. Pinckney. HOBBORS OF FAMINE.* 11l battle, in the fulness of his pride and strength, little recks the soldier w hether the hissing bullet sing his sud den requiem, or tiie cords of life are severed by the sharp steel. But he who dies of hunger wrestles alone, day after day, with his grim and unrelent ing enemy. He lias no friends to cheer him in the terrible conflict; for it’ he 1 had friends, how could he die of hun ger? He has not the hot blood of the soldier to maintain him ; for his foe, vampire-like, has exhausted his veins. Famine comes not up like a brave ene my, storming, by a sudden onset, the fortress that resist. Famine besieges; lie draws his lines around the doomed garrison; he cuts off all supplies; he never summons to surrender, for he gives no quarters. Alas ! for poor hu man nature, how can it sustain this fearful warfare? Day by day the blood recedes; the flesh deserts; the muscles relax, and the sinews grow powerless. At last the mind, which at first had bravely nerved itself for the contest, gives way under the mysterious influ ences which govern its union with the body. Then he begins to doubt the existence of an overruling Providence; he hates his fellow-men, and glares up on them with the longings of a canni bal, and, it may be, dies blaspheming! [Prentiss. * Extract from a speech delivered at New Orleans, Feb. 4th, 1H47, at a meeting held (or the Relief of the Poor of Ireland. There is nothing purer than honesty—nothing sweeter t han charity —nothing warmer than love—nothing richer than wisdom —nothing brighter than virtue—and nothing more stead fast than faith. These united in one mind, forms the purest, the sweetest, the warmest, the richest, the brightest and the most steadfast happiness. SOUTHERN UTERARY GAZETTE. Correspondence of the Southern Literary Gazette. THE FLIT CORRESPONDENCE. SECOND SERIES-NO. 18. Out of Town, Oct, 28. The melancholy days have come, my dear Editors, when the many voiced city discourses pleasanter music than the harsh chorus of mountain winds. Not only, too, is it now quite orthodox to be again in Union Square, or Fifth Avenue, with your window-blinds hon estly open, your bell-handle and door plate polished, and your steps weeded and swept, but a longer stay in the country may expose you to the fearful suspicion of a leaning towards retrench ment, or even of the unsocial humour of blighted hopes and broken heart. While the chill airs of coming winter are laying low the charms of Nature and breaking her harp-strings, they are sending their warm blood again through the veins of the social world. The ab sent Gothamite hears now, with a sigh, of the Syren of Erin ; wishes that the Wizard of the Nortli would wisk him, with a wave of his magic wand, Astor Place; wanders in fancy through the crowded and daily-decked halls of the Art Union; grasps the hand of the painter Leutze, as he congratulates him upon his triumph in the great picture of “ Washington Crossing the Delaware;” listens to the Senatorial eloquence of “ Webster replying to Hayne,” in the production of Ilealy ; or greets again his old friends at the Dusseldorf Gal lery ; forgets the leaping waters of the brook and river, in reading of the new Croton fountains, rising up here and therein the city parks; wonders how much stouter and taller Broadway has grown during the summer; hopes to be back soon enongh to welcome the pa triot Kossuth, and remembers kindly even his ancient friends, at the Pair of the American Institute —rhe whole ca talogue, from the steam engines and omnibusses, down to the patent dou ble-action washing tubs and the myriad pieced quilts. Under these circum stances, my dear gossips, I will but pay my parting compliments to the wood lands, and hasten back to Gotham, from whence I shall hope to write you my next letter, in the latest Jenny Lind cravat and the most elastic Hayes gaiters. The rugged State of Vermont has heretofore fallen so little in the great channel of business travel, that thous ands who will freely’ praise you the wonders of all the surrounding region, are lost here, as in a terra incognita. From the summits of the White Moun tains, on the one side, and from the waters of Lake Champlain on the other, they have caught vague glimpses of the land, w ithout over thinking of turn ing aside to realize the promises of beauty. These promises are as truth | ful as they are many and great. From | one extremity to the other, noble hills l and pleasant vales alternate. Rugged j and often stern, as are the features of this brave old State, they are ever comely. The country is too mountain ous for a dense population, affording but narrow strips of tillable laud, ex cepting along the shores of Lake Cham plain and Connecticut river. The val ley of the Lake, ranging in width from ten to twenty five miles, is exceedingly fertile, and contains many farms,justly the pride of Vermonters and the ad miration of all tourists. In every part of this great and rich valley, the farmer may gaze over his productive fields, upon ever varying pictures of moun tain, lake and river. Vermont is well threaded with post roads and rail-ways, which open a ready access to all points of attraction. From the busy town of Burlington, on the Lake, a line of rail-way makes South ward to Rutland, forming a link in a great chain of roads from Boston and New York to the Canadian capitals. This route traverses the valley of Lake Champlain, and commands, through its whole stretch, rare glimpses, on the one hand, of the waters of the Lake and the distant peaks of the Adirondack hills, and on the other side, ever stifling views of the Green Mountains, with the towering summit of Camel’s Hump. Another rail-way, the “Vermont Cen tral,” runs Eastward from Burlington, and at length connects with the great line, uniting the Canadas and the At lantic. The route of this road is the most picturesque part of the State.— From Burlington to Montpelier a dis tance of forty miles, the entire journey is through the heart of the W inneoski or Onion river, ever following the capricious windings of that lovely stream; now speeding through the cen tre of a wide st retch of meadow, dotted with cottage and spire, and anon, lost I to view, in the doubling of some frown ing bluff or the passage of a rocky gorge. The crowning features of the green hills, seen from this region as from the various points on the south, ern road, is still the fantastic summit of Camel’s Hump. Midway between Burlington and Montpelier, is the lit tle hamlet of Jonesville, perhaps the most interesting locale of the region, and certainly a very convenient centre from which to explore the windings of the Winneoski, throughout its whole course. For tourists, and especially for families, seeking the country in the true spirit, I know of no more attrac tive house than the elegant and luxuri ous, and yet quiet and humble inn at this point; one finds here the rare union of an intelligent and liberal management, with convenient cost and the largest liberty. Seen from Jones ville, is a noble peak, (in the absence of the Camel’s Hump, ihe proudest of the region,) which the good people call Mount Durand, in con&iiment to the distinguished Landscapest. In the search for the beautiful in Nature, one will be sorely tempted to linger in the sweet valley of the \\ as at many other points crossed in the jour ney thence to New V To pass either the wild vicinage Bellows’ Falls, the hill-girded village of Brat tleboro, or the garden landscape of North Hampton,’without a# few days halt at each, will require much philoso phy and self-denial. FLIT. Original. (Bsaijjjs... . t . For the Sout)ierrreiterary Gazette. LACONICS. XII. It is the feminine featurvin tho' con ” stitution of Genius, that ittarg> Jes by intuition—as if the mind ci i°£ e d im pulses totally the body —ratli^ ** ary reason ing faSIK ‘ conclu ■rflohs ratVfei u\ a ‘ of the thought and feeling, than by the slow processes of induction. There is | certainly a very curious harmony be tween the thoughts and the sympathies, in the constitution of Genius ; and this is perhaps the sufficient reason why its utterances are usually so full of equal j energy and beauty—why it speaks with I such confidence and power—its voice i being like the flight upward of a great J bird, conscious of strength, confident of wing, glorying in the sun-light, and ! with its great, clear eye always sing ling out the eminence it would reach, before it darts, for its attainment, into the wide blue deeps of air. XIII. Remorse is but too frequently felt, not so much for past errors and of fences, as for tile loss of hose opportu nities aud powers by which we might still continue to offend. We lament rather the decline of the passions than their misdirection; and weep, not so much for the sins we have committed, as for the sins we can commit no longer. XIV. The best key to success is the provi dence of Time. After all, the most valuable of our human possessions is Time, since that is always limited in duration. It follows, that he who is the best economist of this possession, has the largest capital for business of any of his competitors. But Time, of course, implies health, strength, cour age, resolution, temperance, without which, perhaps, there can be no econo my in any thing. XV. Thought can no more realize the idea of nothingness than of creation. Both must depend upon revelation, and this, which tells us of the one, says nothing of the other. Could we regard Time as not a part of Eternity, it might be easy to conceive this fear. But 1 con fess, for my own part. I think that nothing dies. lam half of the opinion of the red man— “ Who thinks, translated to his native sky, His faithful dog shall bear him company.” XVI. Magnanimity is, perhaps, more ini-! portant as a domestic virtue than in any other relation. If the love, supposed to be the permeating essence, pervad ing the domestic circle, lias not learned promptly to forgive, it has failed to acquire the very first lesson upon which depend the securities of household hap piness. XVII. One great charm in the landscape, which is never spoken of, lies in the fact that our sight of it embodies a discovery. We find pleasure, it is true, from frequently beholding the beauti ful ; but when the beautiful aud the new are found together, the enjoyment becomes two-fold, and the freshness of the picture always heightens its loveli ness. XVIII. The idea] is necessari y significant of the individual. It is my, or your, conception of the highest moral within our reach. It is peculiar to one or other of us, until we convey oui conceptions, convictions and impressions, intoother minds. As soon as our discovery be comes genera], it becomes real, and ceases to be ideal. XIX. No man w rites good morals w ho has not had wicked thoughts. It is only by a knowledge of the evil, that we can understand or appreciate the good.— Vice is the natural antagonist of Vir tue, through which she achieves her own superiority. Were there no vice there would be no virtue; and a mere eulogy upon virtue in any volume, would be excessively tedious. You must show the two in contrast and op position, if you would illustrate justly the beauties of the one and the deform ities of the other. That inane exist ence, which has no secret consciousness of evil—which never suffers; from temp tation—never suffers fron any goad ings of the secret adversary in our na ture—is perfectly incapable of conceiv ing the high nature and the necessities of virtue. Such persons only escape sin from their deficient impulses of every sort. They are persons who stag nate, rather than forbear—with whom apathy is the sole security against pas sion. Their serenity is not in the su periority of their virtue, but in the sluggishness of their blood. It is in the absence of animation, not in the triumph of conscience, that they find repose. Stagnation is never purity; and it is a sad blindness of heart that [ fancies, because of the sterility of its passions, that its chastity is positive. XX. Did we pray usually for that which we need, rather than that which we want, the Deity would find it much more easy to answer our prayers, and we should prove in better condition to deserve his gifts. After ,11, it is a God only that we ieed, since it is through him onl*,- ” , we may command all the pj£>ssesS9* 9 of Eternity. I XXL ‘sfhe same people who appeal toEor tu frie every da ; , would suppose their re- | jngion monstrorsly outraged, if you should insist ano upon a Fate. Yet fortune, to be ot any use to the sup plicant, must bo Fice also. It is a very common infirmity anting men, to con found these with the Ddty. XXII. The extravagance of our demands is continually mocked by our necessities, absurd that hq who lacks even his daily bread, and is at no time sure s of it for three days together, will yet j indulge in dreams of quail showered : from the heavens! —and yet, the very 1 virtue of Hope, is to be found in this , very sort of illusion; and poverty is solaced, feeding upon a dream, in the absehce of any more solid viands. XXIII. The very vagueness of the opening of Gjenesis is full of significance. “In the Beginning,” is pregnant with mys tery and meaning. “In the Beginning.” “Yes, but when I” “Still in the Be ginning.” Tlie mind fails to grasp any thing farther, though conscious of a wonderful history in reserve. The idea ; of a beginning is quite as difficult as 1 that of an ending, so far as concerns the question of creation. The difficulty I with us lies in the simple fact that all j our standards of judgment are based j upon tilings and objects of Time. Now, Time had a beginning, and will have an ending; while Eternity is now. always was, and always will be. Time is only an episode in the drama, which was never begun, neverwill end, and is al ways in progress. Eternity is a circle gradually w idening for us, and which we can only penetrate when we escape from Time—a circle complete from the beginning, always a beginning—to us a be-coming, to employ a foreign idiom, and which we shall probably under stand only when we come to Be ! For the Southern Literary Gazette. FRIENDSHIP. Friendship! mysterious cement of the soul, And solder of society, I owe ihee much— Far more than I can ever pay. [Blair. Friendship is one of the beautiful links that brightens, and binds to gether, the great human family. With out the ties of Friendship, the sweet bands that knit together, in families and connexions, in neighbourhoods and coteries, in communities and States, in Republics and Kingdoms, we should see the world one universal wreck — every man’s hand, like that of Ishmael, against that of his brother man. The law of Kindness, of Love, was written on man’s heart, when he was created. It was an universal law. But Sin has made fearful inroads into its own happy mansion. Where this hea venly feeling once dwelt, the dark and shadowy visage of Anger, Revenge, Hatred, with all their painful and un seemly associations, have entered in, and changed the smile of innocence, the generous impulse, the open look, the kindlier influences, and their kindred impulses, into the deep and dark frown, the contracted brow, the compressed lip, the flashing eye, and the bitter gibe; and with them, too, their kindred sympathies in external nature. Where the open lawn smiled, the cataract and the rock-piled mountain frowns.— Where the fields and orchards blushed into fruitfulness and productive useful ness, the wastes lie in uncultivated ruin. Where rivers flowed and mea dows smiled, the scene is changed to one of desolation and wide-spread de struction. We make to ourselves our own external as well as internal world. “ The mind is its own place, and of itself, Can make a Heaven of Hell, a Hell of Heaven.’’ If these things be true, and are they not ? how deeply does it concern us, in all our relations of life, to carry with us the spirit of Love, of Sympathy, of Generosity, that we may gather round us the regards and the blessings of our fellow men ; and above all, that we may secure the favour and loving kind ness of our Creator. Swept Friendship! thine the healing power, To cheer the heart when troubles lower, To chase the shades of life away, And cast around a perfect day. ’Tis thine, when flattering fortune smiles. To guard us from its fateful wiles. And keep our feet from sorrow’s snare, When darkly hid, it gathers there. Then, lovely Friendship! be thy smile My morning light, my evening wile, While on this fateful ball I stray, To make to Life a purer day ! P. Young ladies who are accus tomed to read newspapers are always observed to possess most winning ways, most amiable dispositions, inva riably make good wives, and always select good husbands. A fact. jqg”Miss Fantadling says, the first time she locked arms with a young 1 man felt like hope leaning on an an-, chor. Poetic young woman, that. | iijjr Mii'ii’ Colnmn, IDEA OF A PERFECT WOMAN. I intend to give an idea of a woman. If it at all answers any original, I shall be pleased ; for if such a person as 1 would describe really exists, she must be far superior to my description, and such as I must love too well to be able to paint as I ought. She is handsome, but is a beauty not arising from features,from complexion, or from shape; she has all three in a high degree, but it is not by these she touches a heart: it is all that sweetness of temper, benevolence, innocence, and sensibility, which a face can express, that forms her beauty. She has a face that just raises your attention at first sight; it grows on you every moment, and you wonder it did no more than raise your attention at first. Her eyes have a mild light, but they awe you when she pleases; they com mand, like a good man out ot office, not by authority, but by virtue. Her features are not perfectly regu lar: that sort of exactness is more to be praised than to be loved; for it is never animated. Her stature is not tall. She is not made to be the admiration of every body, but the happiness of one. She has all the firmness tnat does not exclude delicacy : she has all the softness time dues not !n-ipljwcidtrti>a. There is often more of the coquette shown in an affected plainness than in a tawdry finery. She is always clean, without preciseness or affectation. Her gravity is a gentle thoughtfulness, that softens*the features without discompos ing them: she is usually grave. Her smiles are inexpressible. Her voice is a low, soft music, not formed to rule in public assemblies, but to charm those who can distinguish a company from a crowd. It has this advantage —you must come close to her to hear it. To describe her body describes her mind; one is the transcript of the oth er. Her understanding is not shown in the variety ot matters it exerts itself on, but in the goodness of the choice she makes. She does not display it so much, in saying or doing striking things, as in avoiding such as she ought not to say or do. She discovers the right and wrong of things, not by reasoning, but by saga city. Most women, and many good ones, have a closeness and something selfish in their dispositions: she has a true generosity of temper: the most extravagant cannot be more unbound ed in their liberality; the most covet ous not more cautious in the distribu tion. No person, of so few years, can know the world better; no person was ever less corrupted by that knowledge. Her politeness seems to flow rather from a natural disposition to oblige than from any rules on that subject, and therefore never fails to strike those who understand good breeding and those who do not. She does not run with a girlish ea gerness into new friendships, which, as they have no foundation in reason, serve only to multiply and imbitter disputes. It is long before she chooses, but then it is fixed forever; and the first hours of romantic friendships are not warmer than hers after the lapse of years. As she never disgraces her j good nature, by severe reflections on any body, so she never degrades her judgment by immoderate or ill-placed praises; for every thing violent is con trary to her gentleness of disposition and the evenness of her virtue. She j has a steady and firm mind, which ; takes no more from the female char acter than the solidity of marble does from its polish and lustre. She has such virtues as make us value the truly great of our own sex ; she has all the winning graces, that make us love even the faults we see in the weak and beau tiful of hers.— Burke. FREDF.RIKA BREMER ON MARRIED MEN. The Benedicts should make the ac complished Swede their best bow, and give her a piece of plate in token of their thanks for the following hearty testimony in their favour at a class.— j Moreover they should all join fervent- \ Jy in the wish that her time may come soon, to enjoy what she appears so soulfully to appreciate—the value of a ■ good married man. She says— “l confess, then, that 1 never find, ! and never have found a man more loveable, more captivating, than when he is a married man., A man is never so handsome, never so perfect, in my eyes, as when he is married—as when he is a husband, and the father of a family —supporting in his manly arms wife and children, and the whole do mestic circle, which in Ins entrance in to the married state, closed around him, and constitute a part of his home and his world. He is not merely en nobled by this position, but he is ac tually beautified by it. Then he ap pears to me the crown of creation; and it is only such a man as this who is dangerous to me, and with whom I am inclined to fall in love! But then propriety forbids it. And Moses and all European legislators, declare it to be sinful, and all married women would consider it a sacred duty to stone me! Nevertheless, I cannot prevent the thing. It is so and cannot be oth erwise, and my only hope of appeasing those who are excited against me, is in my farther confession, that no love affects me so pleasantly ; the contem plation of no happiness makes me so happy, as tiiat between married people. It seems to me that 1, living unmairied or mateless, have with that happiness little to do—but it is so, and it always was so.” I SEE A LIGHT i’m ALMOST HOME. The following is related of a young girl, whose journey of life was near its end. About her chamber glided gently the loved forms of her parents, and an only sister. She silently noted their move ments with a mild expression of her dying eye, turning it from side to side. Arrested by her peculiar look, so ex pressive of affliction and patient suf fering, they paused to look upon her whom they only saw now but dimly through their tears, and so soon should see no more. A feeble effort to speak, a quivering, voiceless movement of the lips, drew closely around her the loving hearts of that sorrowing circle. Mother, father, sister, all came close to her side. A playful smile lit up her countenance. She “laid her little pulse less hand within her mother's palm, then closed her eyelids to the light of earth, and sank away. The cold, damp air of death’s shadowy valley seemed circling over her. Slowly sinking down, she glided towards that river’s shore which, like a narrow stream, divides the spirit-land, from ours. But see! the quivering lips essay to speak ! “Mother!” O! how each heart throbed now, and then each pulse stood still. They listen. “Mother!” the dying girt breathes forth—“l—see—a light—l’m almost home!” (T’lji’ ?nrrrii Slltnr. Front the Louisville Journal. CHARITY. BY JAMES K. BAKRIOK. Tell me, ye who dwell in splendor— Ye whom fortune's smiles adorn. Hast thou not, ’mid all thy treasure, Means lo wake some joy unborn ! Heaves there not for ihee the sorrows Os some stricken heart to heal! Breaks there not on thy sweet slumbers Some lorn sufferer’s appeal 1 Tell rne.tbo’ all pale and withered, Now their flowers of feeling lie; Tho’ the autumn storm be gathered On their summer’s fairer sky ; Tell me, tho’ their youth be faded In the winter of old age; And their brows with sorrow shaded, Ye may still their cares assuage. Toils there not, in tho wide desert Os life’ sad unvarying sesne, Some p-‘or, weak, and fainting spirit, Where no joy may intervene I Oft in the dim vale of sorrow Thou may’st find some heart to bless; Thou may’st gild its bright to-morrow, And relieve it of distress. Lone and weary toil the lonely Up misfortune’s rugged steep, And their hearts, tho’ beating slowly, Watchword still with progress keep; And when in the gloomy shadow Dark misfoitune o’er them throws, Then some kindly hand to rescue May relieve them of their woes. Oft when darkness dim is stealing Like a death pall o’er their hearts, Then have felt some strange revealing, When their lighter hope departs; And their lives, tho’ e’er retiring, Virtue yields a constant home; And their thoughts, tho’ unaspiring, In a higher sphere would roam. Then to ye on whom kind fortune Hath bestowed her glittering stores; It is thine to raise their burden And relieve them of their woe3. Thine,a holy mission, given To exalt their being here ; Thine, to point their path to heaven, And their drooping hearts to cheer. God has filled thy store-house freely With the treasured things ot earth, And by all the hopes that cheer thee, Fill a i lace of lasting worth; Then while life is lightly beaming, And the light of earth is thine, While the heaven above is glowing, May thy hearts to love incline. Lesson forSuwlay. Nov. 2. SETTING THE LOUD ALWAYS BE FORE US. *’ 1 have set the Lord always before me: because he is at my right hand, I shall not be moved.”—Psalm xvi. 8. These words have a threefold refer ence. and may be viewed as applying literally to David, typically to Christ, and spiritually to the believer. \\ e shall consider them in the latter sense. Note The course adopted. Setting the Lord before us implies Recognition. As if he had said. 1 will cherish an abiding sense of the ! divine presence. It is well when the j mind is duly affected with this; we cannot indulge in levity ; the tone of our feelings will he raised, and we shall be constrained to seriousness. Admiration. The sinner sets God | behind him, and the world before him; j but it is just the reverse with the be j liever; God is the supreme object of | his regard, and every thing else is of secondary consideration. Imitation. We are to set the Lord before us, as the scholar does the copy for his direction. Though there is much in the Divine character that is inimita ble, yet there are many things in his natural perfections in which we may be followers of him. Duration. This is to be done “al ways.” In retirement, by spiritual meditation ; in the social circle, by re j iigious conversation; in relative duties, | devotional engagements, commercial l transactions, and in all that concerns us. We are to set his will before us as the rule of our faith and practice, his I perfections for our imitation, his promi -1 ses for our encouragement, his suffi ! ciency for our support, and his glory for our end. The confidence expressed. This may be noticed in Its nature. “I shall not be moved.” His faith should not be destroyed, | though it might be shaken. He should I remain firm amidst the storms and tempests that gather around him. In the same sense Paul said, “None of these things move me.” Its ground. “Because he is at my : right hand;” near to strengthens and support me, to enliven my hopes and dispel my fears. Labour and Prayer.—Adam had tilled the ground, and made unto him self a garden full of trees and plants. The ears of his ripe corn-field wavered in the light of the setting sun, and his trees were covered with blossoms and with fruit, the father of mankind, with Eve his wife, and iheir children, reclined upon a hill, and contemplated the beauties ot the field and the glory of the sunset. The cherub who guard ed Eden now stood among them, with out his flaming sword, and his counte nance was mild and friendly. And he unto them, and said—“ Behold, the fruits of the earth no longer spring forth of themselves as in time past, hut ye must labour in the sweat of your brow, in order to gain your daily bread. But after toil ye enjoy the re ward of your industry, and the full ripe ears present a pleasant sight. The merciful Jehovah has provided you with the means of creating an Eden for j yourselves.” “Os a truth,” said Adam, “his goodness is very great, even when he chasteneth. But Jehovah was form erly nearer to us, and blessed us, and caused his face to shine upon us—what have we to compensate for this?”— “Prayer!” answered the cherub. “By labour he bestows upou you earthly gilts, by prayer heavenly blessings.” Then Adam, with Eve his wife, and their children, lifted up their faces, and thanked God and prayed, and his eye glistened, and his countenance shone, and he said—“ The Lord is gracious, and his mercy endureth forever!” f From the German. Or IJatafrial tOiil the electric telegraph. The Electric Telegraph stand- H among the trophies of scientific dim. I erv with a glory and distinctness tt,H equal, if they do not excel, the rcu fl of any event in past annals. Its fa A will extend with the progress ojt T,i A A century hence, telegraphic * -mnA nication may, and in all profcabiFijM will, be established in every quarter ■ the globe, and the girdle whieh*aA “gentle Puck” proposed to put uloA the earth in forty minutes, may tuA out lo be no ideal cestus, but a tauA ble circlet of copper wire—a highnaj for the flight of Thought! Then til occurrence ot a startling event ! literally electrify the world , for tl lightnings will tell the tale, from J to sea, from island to island, front c- - tiuent to continent ! How subl., tho thought that within a humid years, the whole human race will j linked together, by the agency ot tiij Electric Telegraph. What tremendJ barriers will it not overleap—whatvd distances will it not annihilate ! Ti vibrations of the pen of this wondei ful instrument will eventually quit-, the pulsation of the heart of the woi.: “Then ‘Thought’s highway’ from sea tojJ And o’er their trackless wastes shall rem ■ Till all the human race shall lie One in a universal speech !” HONOURABLE EMPLOYMENT. Let the young men remember, tin A is nothing derogatory in any emp I meat which ministers to the well-bil of our race. It is the spirit that isul ried into an employment that elevn-1 or degrades it. The ploughman il l turns the clod may be a Cincinnatu- 1 a Washington, or he may be a brotlul to the clod he turns. It is very crediH table to handle the vard-stick and tl measure tape; the only discredit ivl sists in having a soul whose range I thought is as narrow as the tape.-B There is no glory in the act of atfixinig a signature by which the treasures I commerce are transferred, or treat: l between nations are ratified; the giorj consists in the rectitude of purpoJ that approves the one and thegrandesl of the philanthropy that sanctifies tha other. The time is soon coming, whd by the common consent of mankind] it will be esteemed more ItonourablJ to have been John Pounds, putting iieJ and beautiful souls into the ragged ehil dren of tho neighbourhood while In mended their father’s shoes, than tu have sat on the British Throne. Tha time now is when if Queen Victoria, in one of her magnificent “Progresses’ through her realms, were to meet tha more than American Queen, Miss i)ix ill her “circumnavigation’ of charity among the insane, the former would kneel and kiss-the hand of the latter and the ruler over a hundred million! of people should pay homage to thf angel whom God has sent to the ma niac. MONTGOMERY MANUFACTURING COMPANY, Most of our readers, doubtless, ai not aware that there is an establish ment of Iron Works, in our city, whitt gives employment to nearly one hull dred and fifty hands. But such is tl. I fact. The establishment of the Moii:J gomery M inufacturing Company, u: J der the control and management i j Messrs. Gindrat & Cos., is now notonl l one of the largest of the kind, in tl 1 South, but is turning out machinery] the style, beauty of finish, and strengl j of which, are second to none. In taking a stroll through their ex-1 tensive shops a few days since, we wen shown by Mr. J. S. Winter, (one <1 the proprietors of the establishmenu an engine, the general appearance > which we will not attempt to descril —hut merely affirm that it was—al though yet unfinished, the handsome-: piece of machinery we ever saw. We knew not before that iron could he brought to so fine a polish. It will well pay any one for the trouble to go an: examine it. This establishment commenced the construction of steam engines abou: eighteen months since, and have turne-1 out over eighty since that time. Sue! establishments us this amon us ci” ... away with the necessity of sending t Northern markets for machinery. [Montgomery [Ala.) Atlas. A friend in Hanover has sent us a specimen of a shingle, the production of female labour. It is of the he-: quality, regularly drawn, and straight as a shingle.” It appears tl*i the Virginia women in that region having found that the men are no quick enough in establishing home in dustry, have determined to set then an example, and two of them in llun over —young, of handsome figure, and full of spirit—having been reduced by necessity to self-dependence, have taken hold ot the saw, axe, and drawing-knilu and get, upon an average, 6,oooshingles a week. We are desired to say, that if there be any bachelors in this city who desire their houses covered, (“ba chelor editors not excepted,”) they can be furnished with any quantity by for warding their orders to the Misses Christian, near the Slash Cottage, Han over. J ust think of being shingled by the ladies, and that too of the land of Clay, Henry, and other worthies. [Richmond Republican. SUPERIOR NORTH CAROLINA BLACKIKO. W e were on Tueseay last presented by the Manufacturer w ith a box of the best shoe blacking that has fallen un der our observation. The article is m> humbug and is prepared in Fayetteville by one of our own citizens, which of itselt should recommend it to the pub lic favour. \\ e have heard of some things taking the shine oil - of other things, but this blacking of A. J. W oodard’s, puts the shine on shoes and no mistake. We heartily com mend it and its gentlemanly inventor and vender, to the favourable notice of North Carolinians.— Goldsboro’ Pat. RAIL ROAD DUST. To prevent the continuance of this great annoyance in our country, the Northern papers counsel that the track be covered with gravel or oyster shell, at a cost of s.~>oo to SI,OOO per mile. The New York Company have tried the plan for several miles and found it successful. Another plan is to exclude the dust from the cars which is said to be fully achieved by simple invention. The air is forced into an opening at the top of the car through boxes into which a strong ourrent is driven by