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BY F. C. . MGISTA, (ftA,) TUESDAY, JILY 16, 1833. VOE. XI XO. 8.
THE COXSI JTUTIOAALIST.
Published every Tuesday and Friday,
IX MACINTOSH STREET,
Third door from the north-west comer of Broad-Street.
'Sale* of LAND, by Administrators, Executors, or Guardians, are
required, by law, to be hrid on the first Tuesday In the month,
between the hours of ten In the forenoon and three in the after
noon, at the Court House in which the property is situate.—No
tice of these sales must bo given in a public Gazette SIXTY
DAYS previous to the day of sale.
•Sales of NEGROES must beat public auction, on the first Tues
day of the month, between the usual hours of sale, at the place
of public sales in the county where the letters Testamentary, of
Administration or Guardianship, may have been granted, first
giving SIXTY DAYS notice thereof, in one of the public Ga
zettes of this State, and at Hie door of tiie Cotrt House, wher
such sales are to be held.
Notice for the sale of Personal Property must be given in like man
ner, FORTY days previous to the day of sale.
Notice to the Debtors and Creditors of an Estate must be published
for FORTY DAYS.
Notice that application will be made to the Court of Ordinary for
leave to sell LAND, must be published for FOUR MONTHS.
Notice for leave to sell NEGROES, must be published for FOUR
MONTHS, before any order absolute shall b<- made by the Court.
MISCJEIiUX ECUS.
THE FISHERMAN.
A TALE FOUNDED ON FACT.
“Is there no tavern in the neighborhood?”
inquired I ofan eldeily, hut apparently very re
spectable woman, who stood in the door of her
humble dwelling, situated upon the side of one
of those beautiful bills that line, for a distance,
the coast of New Jersey. “ There is no tavern
for many miles distant,” replied she, “ but the
gentleman and lady that live in the white house,
upon the hill yonder, are the kindest people in
the country to strangers.”
After thanking the old woman for the infor
mation, 1 rode slowly towards the beautiful man- 1
sion she had pointed out, and upon which the
rays of the setting sun lingered awhile, as if to
show me there was welcome beneath its roof.
Reader, I will not ‘how detain you with a de
tailed account of my reception at. the building,
or a more minute description of its inmates.
Suffice it, that the latter consisted of a gentle
man about tiiirty years of age, his wife, at! ami
able, intelligent and, I may say, lovely woman,
apparently a yfcar or two younger, and two
beautiful children. As to their kindness and
hospitality I had no Reason to differ from the
very flattering opinion which the old woman
had given me of them. “You must remain,”
said my host, as I was preparing to take leave
ofthem the next morning—“ You must remain
and lake a sociable dinner with us to day —I wish
to show you,” continued he, “ some of our New
Jersey scenery, which, either as it respects
variety, beauty or sublimity, can vie, 1 think,
with almost any in the United States, Come,
come, unless the reasons for your departure are
necessary or urgent, I shall insist upon your
staving.” This sincere and hospitable invita
tion, you must excuse me, kind reader, if I had
not courage, or spirit, of firmness enough to re
sist.
My host and myself walked to the top of one
of the lollies* mountains in that neighborhood ;
and which, rising in that place almost perpen
dicularly from the coast, seemed watching the
freaks of the ocean waves, as they wantoned
playfully beneath it, tumbling gradually and
heedlessly on to des: ruction. I stood wrapt in
astonishment, gazing with all the interest of a
child, as the imposin g sublimity of nature’s ban
diwork first presented itself to my view. Never
had I seen before so extensive, so illimitable a
view. Towards the west “ hills peeping over
hills,” met the eye of the admiring spectator.
To the east, the majestic ocean lay expanded
before us. —Ah ! who can fathom its depth or
explore its secrets, as it wraps itself in the dark
blue mantle of its own deep waters? My host
led me to the foot of the mountain ; —and as he
pointed out to me a cave formed of rock, and
projecting several feet from its base, a slight tre
mor, for an instant, shook his frame; hut sudden.
Jy mastering his emotion —“ that cave,” said
he, “ was once a human habitation, and with it
is connected asad and eventful tale.” —“ Would
it be taxing your kindness too much,” I replied,
“ should 1 request you to relate to me its parti
culars ?” “ 1 would —I would,” said he, “ but
and yet I will: it may be interesting to
vou. Sit down by me on this little mound and
you shall near the story of the ‘ Fisherman's
Cave /’ ” 1 give it as near as posible, in his
own words.
«In the year IT—, Robert Tremain and
Charles Laurens, were inhabitants of the city of
New York, and were what might he called in
timate friends. The former had been married
six or eight months ; the latter not quite so long.
At this time it was intimated to Laurens, by an
enemy of Tremain, that the latter had circulated
n. report derogatory to his (Laurens) character
and reputation. Laurens was a man of violent
temper. His unbridled passions, when once let
loose, were as wild and furious as the winds.
The evening of the same day in which the re
port had reached Laurens, he met Tremain in
the street, and, endeavoring to check his pas
sion, inquired of the latter if he could be base
enough to circulate such a report. Tremain
mildly replied that he knew not what report he
alluded to. “ You do not deny it then, eh !”
returned Laurens, his passions overcoming his
reason. “ 1 scorn to deny that of which I am
ignorant,” replied Tremain boldly. “ Do you?”
fiercely exclaimed Laurens —at the same time
drawing a dagger from his bosom and leaping
towards Tremain, with the intent of stabbing
him to the heart. The latter, however, spring,
ing aside, avoided the blow, and turning partly
round, with his cane struck Laurens hieless to
hisleet.
“ As soon os he had found he was a murderer
—murderer ? No ! no ! no !’ exclaimed my tost
with emotion —“ He was not a murdeier! lie
killed him indeed, but oh God ! he did not mur
der him ! It was not black, premeditated mur
der. It was done at the moment and in sell de
fence.” Then recovering himsell —“ excuse
me,” he said, “ I can never think of murder
without emotion.
“When he found that his friend was no more
1 he hastened from the spot. The sound of the
feet ofthe pursuers met his ear—he bent his steps
towards the river, almost resolved, in the de
spair of the moment, to offer up his own life as
an atonement for the crime he had committed.
He was already on the wharf-—a few steps more,
and the cold, cold sea might have closed over
him. At that moment, looking around and dis
covering he had left his pursuers far behind, a
thought that to d him he was innocent of the
damning crime of polluted murder, like a gleam
of lighting passed through his mind. Cutting
the rope of a skiff which was attached to the
wharf a few feet from where he stood, he leaped
in, and rowing for some distance in the shadow
ofthe dark masses of vessels that lined the docks,
he was enabled to evade his pursuers.
“It was near midnight. Not a breath of air
ruffled the glassy surface of the water. The
dim, hollow roar ofthe ocean at a distance seem
ed to murmur its displeasure at the deed he had
committed; and as he cast his eyes heavenward,
the stars seemed to shine brighter than ever, as it
to admonish him that they were watchful senfin
els, and that the dark deed had been seen and re
gistered in heaven. But his conscience whispered
consolation. It told him that he was innocent
of having circulated any report injurious to the
reputation of his friend —that he was innocent
of having answered Laurens, in such away as
to merit the assault —that when he inflicted the
blow upon him he had it not in his heart to slay
him, and that unless he had defended himself in
the way he did his own life might have been the
forfeit.
“These reflections took a weight of sorrow
from his soul; but he felt that the world would not
look upon the deed in the light that he had. and
that, were he to return to the city, the stigma
of a tried and condemned murderer, might be at
tached to his name. He resolved to remain
concealed, till the events of that dread night
should be partially forgotten. “But, good God!”
he involuntarily exclaimed, “what is to become
of my dear wife? the wife of a reputed murder
er!” He had almost resolved to return imme
diately to the city and acquaint her with his in
nocence, though the loss of his own life should
be the consequence. “But no!” he said, she will
not believe them —she knows I could never be
guilty of murdering a friend in cold blood !” —
and then, looking up to heaven —“In my ab
sence, O God ! thou wilt be her support—thou wilt
pour into her wounded spirit the balm of consol
ation. “But, I perceive,” said my host, I must
be more brief.
“The tide setting out had already drifted his
little bark a considerable distance from the city.
On the afternoon of the succeeding day he en
tered in safety this cove* and at the house of an
old woman, who still lives but a short distance
from us, he remained, the first six weeks after
his landing. At the end of this period, while
thoughts of returning to the city were agitating
his bosom, and to a home that contained all that
was “near and dear” to him on earth, he learned
at the village of that the beloved
partner of his bosom was no more. —“It is then
so!” he exclaimed, in the anguish of his heart.
“Father or mother had I none ! None had I that
loved or cared for me but she ; she is gone too!
But God’s will be done. I will never return to
a city that knows me not ; and to home—home!”
he continued, “ 1 have no home now but heaven.
No ! here in obscurity, will 1 live, and here will
I die ?”
“ After returning to the house of the old wo
man and (from a sum which he chanced to have
about him upon leaving the city) rewarding her
liberally for the kindness she had shown him, he
purchased of her a seine that belonged to her
deceased husband ; “ with this,” said he, “ will
I, hereafter, earn my bread. Good woman,
may you never regret having done a deed of
charity to an unhappy man.” In the couise of
his rambles he had previously discovered this
cave. To it he now directed his steps. Here
in this dark vault of nature he had resolved to
spend the remainder of his days. Do not sup
pose, however dark and dismal as may he its
appearance, that naught but the blighting
storms of misery were welcome here, or that
the rays of the sun of happiness were never cap
able of penetrating its recesses.
“ Tremain was now an humble fisherman.
The little money he had left, and the sale offish,
procured bread and the Other necessaries of life.
He lived contented, unharrossed, and, I had al
most said happ3 r . The death of Laurens would
sometimes steal across his mirld, and, perhaps,
the pure heaven of his thoughts might, for a
moment, be clouded. It was, however, but a
vapor, which the sun of a clear conscience soon
dissipated. The memory, too, of his deceased
wife, would at times flash across his soul ; but
he trusted she was in heaven, and he consoled
himself with the hope of meeting her there. At
morn, noon and night, he failed not to bow him
selfbefore the Most High, and humbly entreat
the forgivenessofsins. About five years after his
residence at the cave, as the trees upon the
mountain were robed in golden hues of the set
ting sun, he was admiring a beautiful ship, with
her canvass spread to the breeze, and careering
joyfully over the smiling waters.—He perceiv
ed the upper sails ofthe vessel furled as if in an
instant. Hardly an instant more had elapsed,
when the ship was driving madly along before
a violent and increasing gale from the east.
“On leaving the cave, early the next morn
ing, the sad remains of a shattered ship met his
eye, and a raft, with a small child lashed upon
it, drove a few feet from where he stood. It was
a little girl four or five years of age* and nearly
exhausted. When he saw that suspended am
mation returned under his fostering care, he left
the cave a second time, to ascertain if there
were no other unhappy sufferers that needed
his assistance. He saw several other bodies
drifted upon the beach ; but they were beyond
human aid ; all, all, were closely locked in the
arms ofdeath. When he returned to his dwel
ling, the little girl inquired (and her sweet and
innocent tones sunk deep into his iieart) “where,
oh ! where is my dear mother ?” He darted
like lightning from the cave, and in a moment
was on the beach. But the search was unavail
ing. The salt brine of the ocean had closed
over her, and in its dark, dark vault the unhap
py mother had found a watery grave. In en
deavoriim to console the little innocent, which
o. t 7
had thus providentially been put into his hands,
he perceived suspended from her neck a small
golden case, which contained the miniature of
a beautiful woman, and these words inscribed :
“From Lucy Laurens to her daughter.” “Hea
vens!” he exclaimed, and the little girl trembl
ed at the energy of his accents. “Can this be
the daughter of my mur (the word seemed
to choke my utterance) my unhappy friend?”
And clasping the trembling child in his arms,
he pressed her to his bosom—swearing that if
unceasing kindness to the parentless object be-
5 fore him, would in any way atone for the injury
1 be had done her father, the crime should be er
-1 piated.—That oath was never violated. He
; loved her as a daughter, and she knew no father
1 but him.
It may be twelve years from the period jufct
alluded to. The sweet Lucy was now in the
fresh bloom of womanhood- —as lovely as the
vild rose that grew on the mountain, and asm
nocent as the lambkins that sported in the val
ley. She was standing a short distance from
the cave, when she perceived a small sail boat
land at the point of the cave, and two individu
als leave the boat and direct their steps towards
the cave. She immediately acquainted her fa
ther with the circumstances, who met them at
the door of the cave, and learned from them that
they had left New York, with the intention of
enjoying the pleasure of a sailinsr excursion ;
but that a strong wind having arisen prevented
them from returning to the city, and that, hav
mg been compelled to drive before it, this was
the first land that they had been able to reach.
Mr. Tremain invited them into his cave, and set
before them such food as his scanty means al
lowed. The youngest of his visiters may have
been IT or 18 years of age, of light complexion,
regular features and an exceeding delicate frame.
His companion seemed several years older. The
eyes of Mr. Tremain seemed fixed upon the
countenance of the former, and after he had
finished his repast, taking him kindly by the
hand, informed him that he wished to speak a
word or two with him in private. When they
were alone, “ Pardon,” said Mr. Tremain, “ the
interest that a friendless man may take in you.
Your countenance resembles much that of a
loved and deceased wife. May I inquire who
are your parents ?” “ Your kindness,” replied
the youth, “ leaves me no reason to refuse to
comply with your request. My father I have
never seen. He left home a short time before I
was born, and has not since been heard of. My
mother died soon after my birth.” “ Your fa
ther’s name ?” “Tremain.” “My son! my
son !” exclaimed he, pressing the youth to his
bosom. “ Behold in rne your long lost father.”
“ I will not attempt,” said my host, “ to de
scribe that heart-rending scene. It seemed as
if the long buried affections of Mr. Tremain at
once burst forth into life, and centered in the bo
som of his son. In the explanation that ensued
it appeared t hat young Robert Tremain had been
brought up and educated by a distinct connex
ion of his mother, and was in a few years to
have taken pessession of his father’s property.
The wind growing favorable, the next day, the
companion of young Tremain returned to the
city. He was requested to frame some excuse
for the absence of the latter, but not to inform
them that he had found his father.
“ The elder Mr. Tremain found in the compa
ny of his son, and the daughter of his friend, that
happiness which had long been denied him, and
I trust I shall net he accusing his son of want of
filial affection, if, in the presence ofthe virtuous,
the lovely, the incomparable Lucy, he felt those
thrilling sensations of happiness that he had ne
ver known before. And Lucy too, though it
may be sacrilege to betray the secrets of her
heart, perhaps rejoiced that though the elder
Mr. Tremain was a father to both of them, yet
that his son was not her brother. My tale is
nearly told. Mr. Tremain lived just long
enough to see his son Robert and Lucy united
in marriage, and then, in the very cave where
he had spent nearly twenty years of his life, ex
pired.”
My host seemed deeply affected as he finished
the narrative ; blit becoming more composed,
and taking me kindly by the hand, proceeded—
“ And now, my friend, Robert Tremain h-.s to
thank you for th'o attention you have shown in
listening to tin’s long and sad tale of his family.”
“Robert Tremain!” exclaimed I, in astonish
ment, “ can it bo possible that you are he !”
“ None other, none other,” said he smiling;
“ but come, my friend, let us return towards
home, for my Lucy will have good reason to
give us a scolding, if we are not in time to par
take of the refreshments which I doubt not she
has ere this prepared for us.” After a delicious
and bountiful repast, I took leave of my kind
host and his lovely wife, and left their hospita
ble mansion, reflecting upon the strange and
mysterious events connected with the “ Tale of
the Fisherman.”
[From the N. Y. Mercantile Advertiser.]
Modern Rome and tire Papal Government,
Is the title of an an article in the January
number ofthe Foreign Quarterly Review, made
up from a work from the pen of Count de Tour
non, who was, for four years, Prefect of Rome,
under Bonaparte. The article professes to
glance at the statistics, including the geogra
phy, commerce, agriculture, manufactures, gov
eminent, public establishments, &c. &c. of this
state, and conveys information upon theoc oovp.
ral subjects, which must he new to many read
ers ; and especially to those who have relied
upon the reports of tourists, for an account of
the condition and character of the Roman peo
pie ; and whose whole history has been made
up of hasty assertions, contemptuous vitupera
tion, tales of banditti, stories of gallantry, de
scriptionsofchurches, paintings,statues, inscrip,
tions, medals, intaglios, basso relievos —all of
which we have had satis atque svperque.
The Count de Tournon has brought forward
the Roman people into new light, and laid be
fore the public important information upon those
subjects, which should constitute the objects of
inquiry to the philanthropist, the politician and
the philosopher. He represents the people of
the Roman states as strictly an. agricultural peo
ple, hardy and industrious. The malaria which
drives them to the mountains during four months
of the year, is no sooner over than they descend
in bands, headed by their corporah, and spread
ing themselves merrily along the wide fields,
give to the rich country the most lively aspect;
but the stranger who has witnessed such scenes,
were he to come again in the summer, would find,
both in the fields and in the town, nothing but
solitude, sickness and death. Hence the reports
of the laziness of the population and the oppres
sive and blighting nature ot the papal govern
ment. The whole surface of the province or
department of Rome, M. Tournon states to be
about 6,000 square miles, of which the healthy
portions, where constant cultivation is practised,
occupy 4,600 ; while the unwholesome plains,
subject to tbs unequal alternation of crops, pas-
tures and fallows, fill up the remaining 1,400.
The population of Rome in 1831, was 150,-
666. Its higher number wag, in 1T95, just be
fore the French revolutionary invasion, 164,586.
The variations ih the numbers of the popula
tion of this city, the author attributes to the
different revolutions which have repeatedly driv
en the pontifical government into the provinces,
rather than to the hialaria. The population of
Rome at present is increasing—although but
slowly.
The population of the Papal states, the lega
tions included, is 2,592,329. Thus classified—
Single men, adults, 239,1TT ; single women,
adults, 234,145; married, of both sexes, 913,-
586 ; widowers, 43,616; widows, 34,126 ;
male children, 521,185 ; female do. 553,912;
monks or regular clergy, 10,598; priests, or
secular do. 34,600 ; nuns, 8,284. Os these,
1,1T6,17S are landed proprietors, farmers or
laborers, with their families ; 691,803 trades
people or mechanics ; 24,908 follow liberal pro.
less ions ; 21,508 soldiers and seamen ; 53,432
clergy.
M. Tournon distinguishes the physical state
of the Roman population, as those who inhab
it the mounts Alhani and the country of the
Yolscians, as being tall, their limbs vigorous
but flexible, their features regular, large dark
eyes, and an expression of haughtiness. The
steep arid mountains are inhabited by a race
not so tall as the former, with strong hardy
limbs, but having a wild expression, which is
increased by their eyebrows almost meeting
together. These he recognizes as the descend
ants of the fierce Hernici. The inhabitants of
the Sabine mountains have a milder expression,
and thick curly hair. Those in the neighbor
hood of Corneto and north of Mount Cimino,
are tall, elegantly formed, of regular features,
and a pleasing mild expression, reminding the
writer of the old Hetrusci. The city of Rome
contains a mixture of all these, and many more,
the women being uniformly handsorfier than the
men.
The Pope unites in himself the three quali
ties of Supreme Pontiff, or head of the Catholic
Church or hierarchy, Bishop of Rome, and tem
poral Sovereign of the Roman States. The
Consistory or Council of Cardinals form his min
istry ; but the different branches of the admin
istrative functions are confided to separate hands.
The ministers of the Pontiff in his spiritual ca
pacity —the Cardinal Great Penitentiary; who
decides in cases of conscience—the Cardinal
Sommista, who gives his opinion on matters of
dogma or discipline, and affixes the seals to, and
expedites the bulls; and the Cardinal Prd-Da
tairo decides in all cases respecting the tempo
ralities and livings of the clergy, issues dispen
sations or licenses for marriages between rela
tions, &c. The Cardinal Segretario de’Brevi
manages the correspondence of the Pope in ec
clesiastical affairs ; and tile Pope’s Auditor is
his confidential adviser.
The authority df the Pope, as Bishop of
Rome, is exercised by a Cardinal Vicar.
The power of the Pope, as temporal sove
reign of Rome, resides entirely in his own per
son ; but his two principal ministers are the
Cardinal Secretary of State, and the Cardinal
Camerlengo. The former is Secretary of State
for the foreign and home departments, and is the
prime minister and representative of his sove
reign, both with foreign courts and towards his
own subjects. The Camerlengo is minister of
finance, and holds his office for life. When the
Pope dies, the Camerlengo takes possession of
the pontifical palace, in the name of the Apos
tolic Chamber, coins money in his own name,
and is, in short, the acting sovereign until the
Cardinals assemble. Then, until the election
of a new Pope, three Cardinals administer the
governmcrlt by turns, one day each.
Then there is the Treasurer General, a man
of tried abilities. The Gdvernor of Rome is a
prelate of the first rank, is under the authority
of the Secretary of State, governs and regu
lates the Police, is a sumrtiary Judge of offen
ces not capital, and can condemn to imprison
ment and hard labor. The Sacra Consulta, is
charged with the administrative power of the
Roman States. Dependent on the Apostolic
Chamber, are several departments such as the
Ripe ed Acque, the superintendence of aque
ducts and canals; and that delle strode, or
streets and roads, &c. There is also another
congregation called del Buon Governo, which
superintends the communal administrations,
watches the interests of the communes, and of.
ten takes their part against the pretensions of
government.
The towns and villages of the Roman Stages,
have each a municipal council, taken, in equal
proportions, from the nobility, citizens and far
mers, who hold their offices for life. The coun
cil discusses the wants and means of the com
mune, and makes out the yearly budget. Ap
points the servants of the commune, pays the 10.
cal police, the schoolmaster, apothecary and
surgeon, who receive a fixed remuneration, and
are obliged to attend gratis, all the poor inhabi
tants. The council makes out every year a tri
ple list of candidates among residents, from
which a Gonfaloniere and six elders are chosen
who constitute the magistracy of the town or
commune.
The course of judicial administration, our li
mils do not allow us to follow. We rherely re
mark that justice is open to all, although the pro
ceedings are dilatory in the extreme. The pro
cecdings of the courts, however, take place with
closed doors, the prisoner being defended by the
avvocato dei poveri , who is provided by the state.
The accused may also provide himself with ad
ditional counsel, whose pleadings can only be
presented in writing. * The decision of these
courts are subject to revision, and may be return
ed at the instance of the person against whom they
are made. The system of secret trial in crimi
nal cases is common to the whole of Italy, with
the exception of Naples.
The charitable institutions of Rome are rich
and extensive, and the means of education are
put within the reach of the poorest in all the
provinces; and are upon as liberal a scale as
those even in this country.
The government of the Pope, although a des
potism, is exercised with a lenient hand ; and
death or torture for the entertainment of heretical
opinions, has long since been abolished. The
taxes are equally borne by all conditions, and
the clergy and nobility, are in this respect upon
a par with the commonest villager.
The greatest charge against the government
of the Pope is, that all the offices are monopolis
ed by the clergy. However, the general aspect
of the ecclesiastical and temporal government
of the Pope, is much softened by the expositions
of M. Tournon ; and we should be glad to see
someofour publishers take the book ih hi'.nd. If
there is any thing iri Whlfch we are deficient, it
is in a correct knowledge of the present political,
commercial, and social condition of Italy, and
especially ofthe Roman states.
We conclude our article, already too long
for a rtewspaper, with the following extract —
In tis remarks on the criminal laws, M. Tour
non enters into some important details on the
character and morals of the people of Rome.
Murders and highway robberies have for a long
time constituted a groat proportion ofthe crimi
nal calendar. A violent instinct of vengeance
or jealousy, provoked by overbearing insult or
oppression, is the cause of the first crime ; this
once perpetrated, the criminal flies for safety to
the mountains and woods, and there, from ne
cessity, his career as a bandito begins. It is
said, and with some appearance of reason, that
the deficiencies of the law in the Papal States
have assisted in the growth of these crimes;
but yet we find that the northern provinces are
free from banditti, and that in the southern ones
it is chiefly one district in the Campagna which
seems to be the nursery of these outlaws. Cice
ro mentions, even in his time, that district as
one of bad fame. The Mounts Lepini, which
border the Pomptine marshes, have been long
famed for this disposition of the inhabitants,
whilst the neighbouring valley of the Anio is
peaceful and free from crime. M. Tournon de
scribes the propensity of certain districts to
deeds of blood, to the impression Stamped among
the people by the feuds Sn the middle ages, when
the barons themselves trained their vassals to
acts of brigandage, until they were repressed by
the stern policy of Sixtus V. But the weakness
of succeeding reigns could not extirpate the evil
by the roots. The life of a bandito had lost all
its terrors and shame ; it was considered a glori
ous and adventurous profession. The inhabitants
of those secluded districts look upon a bandito
in a different light from the people of the towns.
—The bandito is pitied and feared. His wife
boasts with her gossips about her husband be
ing in the mountains; the neighbors cultivate
his fields gratis, that he may respect theirs; the
village surgeon, the shopkeeper, are ready to
assist and supply his wants; the shepherds are
his messengers ; society has riot broken all the
ties with the criminal—he is looked upon as an
“ unfortunate man.” Even the government is
ready to pardon him if he desist from his evil
course, and to restore him to society; nay to em
ploy him to preserve the peace of the country.
So strong is this feeling, that country girls are
found to prefer sharing the fortunes of a bandito
rather than become wives of a peaceful labor
er. The bandito, oh his side, strives to retain
his influence by means of the terror he inspires.
His revenge falls most fierce upon sudh of his
felloW villagers as have either informed against
him; or denied him succour in his necessity;
Even when not sahguinary towards travellers
and other victims, he shows no ihercy to the ob
ject of hlis revenge. He burns his cottage, cuts
down his plantations, and if he lays hold of the
unhappy Wretch himself, hO torments him to
death. To those, on the contrary, who keep on
good terms with him, he is often generous.
This is a sufficient explanation for the existence
of bdhditti in one or two districts of the Cam
pagUa, without assuming that the people of mOd
ern Rome have a propensity for such a mode of
life-—the fact being that the people of Rome and
of the other towns have as great a detestation of
banditti as those of London or Paris.
emmtammmmmmmm —————bß
At CUNNINGHAM CO.
R DRUGGISTS AND i|||
APOTHECARIES; H
On the corner of Broad and Mclntosh-streets, nearly
opposite the Post-Office.
IN addition to their fdrmer Stock, have just received
an assortment of PERFUME HY, from the
celebrated manufactory of PreXtiss & Pendleton—toge
ther with a genera! assortment ot French, English and
American Drugs, Chemicals, Paints, Glass, Oils, &c.
Among which are the following , viz :
Extra Buchti
do Cinchona
do Cahinca
do Sarsaparilla, fluid and solid
Extracts of most of the valuable vegetables in the
Mat. Med.
Sulphate and Acetate Morphine
Salicine
Quinine
Pipcrine
Sulph. and Chloric ASther
Window Glass from 6 by 8 to 12 by 29
White Lead, of various qualities
Paints of all colours, dry arid in oil
Winter strained Sperm Oil
Common Lamp do
Linseed Oil, raw and boiled
Neats Foot, Train, Castor, and Sweet Oil
Teeth, hair, flesh, clothes; shoe and horse Brushes
Snuffs of various kinds, by the bottle or pound
Indigo, Madder, Logwood, &c. &c;
A GENERAL ASSORTMENT OF
OAuuum saß&cs*
warranted the growth of 1832.
Together with all the articles generally kept by
Druggists.
Which they dffer by wholesale or retail, on as accom
modating terms as they cari be procured in Augusta.
Orders from the country punctually attended to and
carefully packed.
Physician’s prescriptions put up at all hours.
February 22 72
GEORGIA, Columbia, county.
In the Court of Ordinary, May Term , 1833.
tr PON the petition of Thomas J. Murray, Admin
' istrator de bonis non with the will annexed of
John M. Dooly, stating that he holds a Bond of John
Burch, for titles to a House and Lot in the town ot
Washington and county of Wilkes, now in the occupan
cy of Wm. M. Cozart, bearing date 17th January, 1827*
and prays an order of this Court to compel the Admin!
istratrix of said John Burch to make title? to the said*
House and Lot in terms of the Bond and the law in
such case made and provided. Ordered , That the
foregoing be published in one of the public Gazettes of
this State for three months, and after tht^expi ration of
that term unless good and sufficient cause of objection
be hied, the satd Administratrix do perfect titles agree-
True extract from the Minutes, this
7tn May, lodJ.
„ JAMES BURNSIDE, Clerk
May 10, 1833 lw3m 94
I/IMT OF LETTERS
Remaining in the Post-Office, AUGUS't’A, Ga. en the
Ist July, 1833, (not before kdyertisfed.) (CT Pefi
sons wishing Letters from this List, tvlll pleats ttf
they are advertised.
; A
\ Abrahams Mrs Allison MisS Jihs L
Anthony Mrs Ann Ardis SamuelH
Alford Henry Ardis Honary Z
Alford Dr John L
B
Bailey David Browii B F
Barton John H Bohler William (HSA)
Bell James Bradford Randolph
i Beard Thomas J Bowen Thomai C
Bement Edward Brennan T H
Beal Robert Brenan M C
Benifield Judith Bossien P F
Bexley Mrs Ann Bouyer B
Black R F .~. Brown Richard
Horace Neeaon, care of Mf.Butler & Co N K
Bunch Miss Marthi
Black Alex Bugg Jacob C
Blair Robert Y Byrd Henty
Breightenbaugh Mrs A B utterly Peter
Brown M A Brown Wiatt A
a
Campbell John and Samuel Clark Mrs Mary Anh
Carter Henry Conarii John
Cantelou L C Connell Richard
i garter Owen B Coleman Thos
Carnes Johnson Crepti Victor
Campfield Miss Sarah Costar Monsieur
Campbell Thomas Combs John S
Cary Wm H Crockett Daniel
Carter Charles Crook William J
Churchwell Mrs Elizabeth Crawford Matthew
Chew » F Cook George N
Clark Catherine Carliss Henry T
D
Day Seabourn Dexter A A
Darby and Kingman Drake Jacob J
Dansby Andrew J Drew A
Hill D Dugas Leon P
Dickinson D F Dun Mrs
Dinckley Francis
. E
Easort Mrs Martha
F
Fleming Thomas W Miss Lidia EdwardsoaiTV A
Fitzpatrick Rene John Fox
Fisher Buchanon Foster John
Filley Miss E Fort William
Flournoy John James Foreman Jacob
Foster Mrs Elizabeth Frampton Mrs feliza S
Foreman Benjamin Fuller William
G
Garrett Miss Sarah Gray James
Gates Capt (USA) Grimes William W
GalphiH Milledge Griffin James
Glover William Greene Mrs Elizabeth At
Grimsby Alfred Untried Wm H dt Henty
Graves Edmund H Goodwin Charles
Goodrich William H Grant A G
Goodwin Sidney W Gray John j
Granger Benj Gule Mrs Maty
Graves Erastus
H
Hayse Stephen (USA) Hicks Barney
Handley Mrs Sarah H Hill Dr A S
Harris Thomas DeKalk Hicks Thomas
Harris Leroy Howele Mrs Eli«a
Hammond Miss Caroline Holland Edmund
Herndon Edward Hones Miss Maty
Hemelt Miss Mary Horton Mis# HehrietU
Henry Miss Rose Ann Howard Miss Marthena
Henier Mrs Martha Hudson John J
Heard Edmond Hughs Jonathan I*
Heckle John
j.
' Jenning Miss Francis R Johnsort Judy
Jernaghan N Inglett Matthew W
t Inbone R M
|£
j Kimbell Robert Knd.t ftebett
Kirkpatrick & Cd D kennan Mrs Dr
Kennee Monsieur Kent John
! Kennedy William Kelly John
‘ L
i Laßoach Oliver Lewis Curtis
Laßoach I D Lilley Miss Susan
Lewis Nicholas Livingston Robt R
Lewis Mary Lockhart John
■ Lecdmti A Lord Nathl
M
Mantz P H McTyre Johti
. Marshall Mrs Elizabeth McKinney John
Martin John McKie William
Markham James B Melton Mrs Elizabeth O
Mann Harrison McGee Mrs Elizabeth
Miss R Stefntt care of An. Mills Joseph T
i * Jeus Martin Minis Mrs Hixcy
McCarty Rev C Moohie John *
McLaughlin William MorfisoH James jr (DsA)
McNair Lewis L Mondotiville Mrs Mary
McLean Andrew Moore Mrs J
McTyre Miss Nancy L Moore Charles
N
Nelums Daniel Norwood theoddre O
Nelson M
. °
O’Delle Miss Margaret care O’keill Henry
of Miss Newman
P
Pace Mrs Charlotte Pittman John W
Payne Benjamin Pickering Mrs Elizabeth
Payne William Pool Plesant
' Pardue Thos J Potter Johli A
Peniston Junius Pruden Joseph S
PeddyDrAG Price John
Phillips Thos Powers Miss Emily
Pettus John H Primrose J
Pleasants Charles
R
Redfield Mrs Rowland Merit
Reddick Ulric Rodgers Elijah
Hector Ray Rooney Mrs Lucy
Ramsay J esse Roberts Thomas
Ramsey E E Roxbourth Joseph
Ralston A R Rossell William
Reading Robert
S
Savage Mies H Smylic Harriet
Sanore PhilipP Shelton AC
Sangoon Philip B B Stafford Andrew
Savage Mrs Stryker Edwin M
Shelton Mrs Sarah B Stanford J R
Selvinatt Edward Stevenson R W
Savage Wm B Speissegger Lewis
Sm.tn James B Spellman James S
Stmmons Joseph Z Stallings Hurburt
Smuh N athaniel Spelman R P
* ingcr iss B Shop Laurence
l:“h W An™ Seibles Miss Martha
£ arver J? J Thomas Robert
Terry William Thursby Prestofi
1 hompson Archabald taylor Rev SerdnO
I nompeon Isham Tilman Stephen
1 hompson Edw’in N
Ulm William Urquhart David
Usher Henty
Vann Seabourn Yasser Mrs Elizabeth
W
Watts Samuel Willson \Vjlliam J
Walker Mrs Ruben Williams Milo
Walker HW Williams. Robert
Warren Mrs Mary Winkler Joseph
Walker George H Willey Calvin
Walker Mrs Eliza Wilson James B
Wells L & S Williamson Miss jane
White Benedick Mrs Lucy Williains
Whitfield GAP Wood Edward
Wills William E Woodruff Michael
Wills Abigel T
Y
YoungaHiram S *****
July I “vM. C. MICOU
tOR\—AIM.OAT
FOR sale in quantities to suit **
the river or to JOHN F. GUIEU.
i July 2 *