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@I)C Sotttfy'iDest YOUNGBLOOD k ALLEN, Proprietors. > ‘“ v / VOL. I. < ■ - —— ■_ - ■ Ws?sl 551751?’5015 ;, . : g35’ @^©S©H^lSSr JtPublishcd every Thursday Morning, in the new Town of Oglethorpe, Jtlacon County,da., CHARLES B. YOUNGBLOOD, Publisher . EGBERT W. ALLEN, TRAVELING AgENT. TEBMS-fS Per I 'ear in advance RATES OF ADVERTISING. One. Dollar por squaw (of 12 lines or less) for the first niertion, and Fifty Cents for each insertion thereafter. A liberal deduction will be made to those who adver tise by the year. Advertisements not specified as to time, will be pub lished till ordered out and charged accordingly. All ljf flers on business must hr. adlressed to the Publish *r. Post Paid, in order to secure attention. “All thy works Praise Thee.” BY MARY HOWITT. The moonbeams on the billowy deep, The blue waves rippling on the strand, The ocean in its peaceful sleep, The shell that mariners on the sand, The cloud that dims the bending sky, The how that on its bosom glows, The son that lights the vault on high, The stars at midnight's calm repose. The praise the power (Tint arched the sky, And robed the earth in beauty's dye. The melody of nature’s choir, The deep toned antlu ms of the sea, The wind that turns a viewless Ivre, The zephyr on its pinions free, The thunder with its thrilling notes, The pea! upon the mountains air, The lay that through the foliage floats, Os sinks in dying cadence there; These all to ‘I liee their voices raise, A fervent voice of gushing praise. The day star, herald of the daivn, As the dark shadows fit awav, The tint upon the cheek of morn, The dew>drop gleaming on the sprav, I rom wild birds in their wanderings, From stremlets leaping to the sea. From all earth’s fair and lovelv things, Doth living praise ascend to Thee; ‘I liese with tlipir silent longue proclaim, ’['he varied wonders of Thy name. Father, Thy hand liiitii formed the flower, Anil flung it on the verdant lea, Thou b ids! it ope at summer’s hour Its hues ofbeauty speak of Thee, Thy works all prase Thee, shall not man Alike attune the graceful hymn? “W oitll lih not join tin* lofty strain. Echoed from heart of seraphim? We tune to thee our humble lavs, Thy mercy, goodness, love, we praise. THE DUKE. liV DR. WILLIAM ELDER. From the coimnem emeu! of ottr Rev olution till the year 1815, a period of forty years, England was engaged in war without any intermission. These wars were with tiip thirteen colonies, or Uni ted States, Frain'Ue-F the French ajgfcin wal ’ imes singly, with setejml of tiuse nations at once. s Tlie battle of Waterloo was fought on the 18ih of June, 1815. That year the army,of England amounted to three linn, dred thousand men ; and in 1545, al though she had enjoyed thirty’ years of peace, her standing army was still one hundred thousand strong. In time ol peace one would think that such a host of soldiers could not be re quired for any purpose; and they prob ably ore not, but it is the policy of such governments as that of England to keep us many men in the public service as pos sible. To say nothing of other purpos es, it is easy, it; any army of a hundred thousand soldiers, to have four or five thousand commissioned officers, who gen erally belong to the class of gentlemen— a class that is found to furnish die most useful and (nost submissive slaves to those feed them. The most useful, because, being welUborn, well educated, and well Connect!*!, they are vory capable in themsdiisfe and very influential with oili er ; ‘ffifcrriibre submissive, because they are so wel paid, and have no other ser vice than public office which its suits them to accept. . The army of England is crowded with officers who enter it merely as a trade or profession, by which they may get a liv~ j n g. A horrid business it is, indeed, to undertake to do any killing of men any where that the Government may com mand, without any questions, or knowing or careing whether it is right or wrong ! Bui so it is, when rightly understood ; and yet we must not be surprised il we find, once in a while, a man too good for poch trade engaged in it, for it is gene- rally thought honorable, even the nios* honorable of all professions, and but few stow inquire if, it is also right. My story will introduce the sort of man that is an exception to the rule. -ffijjf. To-be perfectly candid with my rea. ders, I must tnlorm them that I have for gotten the names of the persons that I am to tell about. The precise place where it happened has also escaped me, but I am sure that it was somewhere in Ireland; and the exact date is gone too —but 1 know that it was the year 1815, and be fore the year 1835, for that was the lime when I heard it. The general peace of Europe, which followed the fall ol Napoleon, released the army of England from foreign service, and after reduction to about one-third of its former number, it was distributed a mong the military stations within the kingdom and provinces. A large num ber of the surviving officers of the filed of Waterloo w ere garrisoned in ireland They were generally men who had seen hard service, and had earned their hon ors and office in the battle field ; but a considerable number of new men receive ed tlieir appointments through favor of their wealthy and powerful friends, and came among the veterans with commis* sions in their pockets which gave them high rank in the army. The old sol diers, naturally enough, looked upon these raw recruits as mere upstarts and intraders. They despised them for their inexperience, and hated them for the in justice suffered by their promotion. In a profession where honor is gained bv killing the country’s enemies, it will scarcely he thought immoral to hate the individual’s rivals and supplanters. The Apostle John say's that murder and hat ing one’s brother go together. And, taking the military sentiment for the standard of judgment, it is mean to beg or buy promotion, where other people have to fight for it, But this is done elsewhere, as well as in the British armv ; for the offices which are thought the most dishonorable. The hero of my story was in this sit uation ; and whether he deserved the judgment we have passed upon this class, or not, suffered it in full measure. He had obtained,, by patronage, the appointment of Ensign, after the establishment of peace, and was quartered, with somedoi’ en or twenty officers of Wellington’s army, in one of the cities of Ireland. An Ensign is the lowest commissioned offi cer, and the salary, or pay, is so small that is a saying, * if an Ensign has wine for dinner, he must go without supper.’ Our Ensign was very poor—he was friendless, young, and constitutionally shy. On the other hand, the officers of the station were generally well supplied with money, and had nothing to do but spend it; they lived fast and high, and were, by all their habits and tastes, unpleasant companions for such as he. Besides his retiring manners, there was something else in him which disinclined him to their society, and exposed him to their dislike; this was a certain air of self res pect, showing refinement and culture, and a strict propriety of language and manners, which quietly, but all the more severely, rebuked their general looseness and rudeness of conduct. They ha ted him for the manner he entered the army, and still worse for his personal character and demeanor among them. All this had its effect upon him also, and so the breach between them widened every day. A certain amount and kind of courtesy he was entitled to by the rulse of the ser vice , this they gave him, but sharply measured out, that every salute was an affront, and every look an insult, and he might have had cause to quarrel at any moment that he pleased. It was, in fact the settled purpose of several of these nten to dtive him out of the army by their in civilities, or to drive him into a duel, and so dispose of him finally. This grew worse continually. .The contempt of the older officers for the En sign, and his repugnance to them, in creased with every meeting, until they paid no kind of respect to his feelings, and he avoided them with caution that looked like antipathy. The worst of all was the evident conviction in the minds of the whole garrison that he was a cow ard— a character most shameful in a sol dier, and, in any man, a weakness that renders every other virtue worthless- Poor fellow! he was alone, friendless, OGLETHORPE, GEORGIA, THURSDAY, JUNE 26, 1851. without a dollar in the world but his monthly pay. With these beggarly cir cumstances be was a scholar and a gen tleman, with feelings rendered over'Sen sitive by high culture and recent misfor tunes. But his chief impediment was a ►conscience—a religious sense of right, which left him no liberty to relieve hitn mend his prospects by any means which the highest morality forbade. He suffered much every way, and most of it all he eridured for ‘ righteousness sake.’ Os course he had the strength and noble ness which such a sentiment bestows ; but it is easier to do jjreat things than to bear little ones. There are more heroes than saints in the world. St. Peter was not afraid of the soldiers in the garden, but lie was ashamed of Ills master in the Judg ment Hall. To hear disgrace, and shame, and scron, to stand quiet under suspicions that drive one out of society, for the sake of a principle which nobody believes or respects —this is cross-bearing. Our young hero occupied the position of a soldier and a gentleman, with the character of a coward and a slave ! it was a bitter cup, and his enemies kept it constautly to his lips. One day he received an invitation, as a matter of course, to dine with the Gen eral in command, who had just arrived at the station. A meeting with his brother officers promised him no pleasure, and he was personally a stranger to the Gen eral, knew nothing of him hut by report of those who dispised him. He managed to arrive at the latest allowable moment, and lie contrived to procure a seat at the table next to the General, who, both as his host and supetior officer, was hound to afford him protection from the insolence of the company. I need not say how the dinner hour passed with him. Totally silent and neg lected, except for the necessary notice of the General, the ynie so full of pleasure to the cotnpuny, wore away heavy and painful to him; but he was contented to escape the rudeness, and made indiffer ence comparative welcome. Afer the cloth was removed, the wine circulated, the company drank freely, the mirth grew loud, and the presence of our young friend was nearly forgotten, until a circumstance of a startling character brought him into notice. Tite General suddenly cried out, ‘Gentlemen, I have lost my watch—l had it in my hand ten minutes ago, but it is gone.’ A painful suspense instantly followed ; every titan exchanged glances w ith his neighbor, un til at last every settled with suspicion upon the young Ensign. Who but he, of all the company, could be guilty of such a crime ? Besides, he was, perhaps, the only man near enough to the Gene ral to effect the theft. Such thoughts as these were in every mind—they left not a shade of doubt. The miserable wretch was caught at last; and there was as lit tle pity as respect felt for him. * Shot the door,’ shouted the Colonel of the regiment, ‘ let no mart leave the room. The watch is among us, and it concerns every man present to fix the guilt where it belongs. I propose that a search be instantly made, and let it begin with me.’ ‘By no means,’ interposed (he Gene ral. ‘lt shall not be so. No gentle man is capable of such an art. A hundred watches are not worth the impeachment of any gentleman’s honor. Say no more about it. It has no special value above its price, and 1 care nothing about that.’ ‘ But, General,’ said the Colonel, * the watclt is in the room. One of us must have it,’ looking sternly at the young Ensign, ‘and the rascal must be driven from tire station. We cannot have a pickpocket among us, and we cannot consent to leave it a moment in doubt who the wreteh really is. There is no fear that the shame will fall on any un expected place. We must finish the fel low now, and be done with hint.’ The ensign sat steady, motionless, but pale as death. Every eye was fixed up on him, and to every eye the signs of guilt were perfectly clear. The General had no doubt of it, and he was the more anxious to prevent search on this account; but he was overcome and submitted. A few minutes sufficed for the examination of every one present, till it came to the ensgn, who was left purposely for the last. ‘ Now, young man,’ said the Colonel, turning and advancing toward him, ‘now, sir, il is your turn his face looking per fectly savage with scorn and hate. • The OUR COUNTRY'S GOOD IS OVRS. watch, sir, without a word or a moment’s delay !’ But a terrific change had passed upon the long suffering, patent boy. He sprang from his seat with a scream so wild that every heart stood still a moment with surprise. In that moment lie had planted himself against the wall, drawn his sword, and taken the attitude of de fence. ‘ Come you to search me, sir, as you would a suspected thief? On your life, I warn you not to offer me that dignity. My dead body you may search, but not my living one. Approach now if you dare. 1 defy the whole of y n ” as one man!’ Instantly the Colonel crossed swords with him in furious combat. • Hold! peace! arrest them!’ cried the General, and sprang forward himself to prevent the affray. At the step, the watch rolled on the floor! He had mis sed his lob, and now the watch fell from its concealment. The company was electrified. The conduct of the Ensign war inexplicable! He had braved des’ (ruction, risked his reputation, and per illed Itis life, on a point of honor too nice for his superiors to feel; and he had in sulted and defied them all in one breath, and there he stood justified and victorious before them ! h was too much to bear, for they were too much excited to understand it. Their determination was taken, and the compa ny dispersed with resolutions set and pur poses inflexible The. General seized the opportunity to apologize to the Ensign for the unhappy mistake which had led to the quarrel,‘and requested him to call up on him that evening at a late hour. Our hero was scarcely in his own room till the Colonel’s challenge was presented to him. Without a moment’s delay he answered the second who brought il:— ‘ I will not accept this challenge to mor tal combat. I am opposed to the duel in principle, and I will not be driv en from my sense of duty. You all know what I have already endured rather than revenge or defend myself by taking life. I think you have done your worst, but if not, lam prepared for it. lam my own master, and will not allow any man to dictate iny opinions as a matter of right, or compel me to conduct which my heart and head condemn.’ ‘ Sir/ replied the second, * you have seen fit toinduae me among the men who despise you, and you are in right that o pinion. Let me telljou, that cowardice and conceit, covered with preaching and canting, will not protect you. You have grossly insulted every gentleman in the garrison to whom you were odious e notigh before, and you must either give them satisfaction which the code of honor approves, or you must leave the army.— Be assured of that.’ When he met the Geaeral that, night, and informed him of the challenge, and Ins refusal, that officer shook his head and looked at him sadly and earnestly, jfnot doubtfully. ‘My dear young friend,’ said he, ‘ 1 am afraid it won’t do. These men will not be satisfied with an argument, and it is plain that you are not the man to make an apology while convinced that you are right, nor do I believe that they would accept anything shortofyonr resignation. You have somehow got the ill-will of the whole corps, and to-night you affronted them mortally. I am, sure you cannot know how sharply your conduct and lan guage touched them, and your triumph only aggravated theoffence. And, now, your refusal to accept the Colonel’s chal lenge is, under (be most favorable con struction, an attack upon the code by which military men govern themselves towards each other. I see no escape.— Fight you must, or your challenger will heap on you such personal indignities as will make your life intolerable, or drive you into violence, which will amount to the same thing as to accept his challenge. 1 saw that in your eye to day which con vinces me you are as brave aa Julius Cse sar. Yes, I saw something there braver than mere physical courage, and I felt its superiority ; but you cannot convert the world and reform the army soon enough to answer your own ends, and you must submit to its rulse, or be driven from it in disgrace. 1 honor your principles, for I understand them, but you cannot main tain them. Our hero’s reflections (hat night must be left to the imagination. The difficul. culties which surround him, the compuN sions that were upon him, can be known only to those w ho have been tempted and tried to the utmost, with the world and their own necessities against them. In the morning be accepted the chal lenge. Having the right to choose the wea pons, he named the small-sword. When the Colonel heard this, with a touch of feeling, which ail his bitterness cuuld not quite extinguish, he said; ‘ Does the moth know that he is fluttering into the flume ?’ The second answered, * I told him that you are reputed the best swords man io the army, and begged him to choose pistols, which would give hitn some chance of equality in the fight, but he declined. In fact, I don’t know what to make of this young fellow—like the stvord that be has chosen to fight with, he is so limber, and yet so elastic and mettlesome sometimes; he is such a mixture of Meth odist, mule, and madman, that I cannot make him out. And, Colonel, he is not a light bargain, either in body. It seems to me that you were making nothing off of him, yesterday, when the General in terfered. The fellow actually stood up handsomely, and made very pretty play with his weapon. To tell the truth, I’m begining to like him a little, and 1 feel sorry that he must be disposed of in your peculiar way.’ The Colonel muttered, grimly, ‘lf I must kill the rascal, I’m glad he shows sound pluck and capacity in the business; I don’t want to be a boy-butcher/ The next morning, at early sunrise, they met on the field of honor. When the ground was prepared, and the champions stood armed and ready, the Ensign suddenly lowered his sword point, and, addressing his antagonist, said : ‘ Sir, I am here under compulsion, merely.’ Ido not consent to this prac tice. To me it is absurd as it is wicked, it setdes no right, and it redresses no wrong. Let me say, then, that if my patience has given way under my per seditious, and I have by a hasty word or act, justly offended you, 1 am willing to retract it. What is your complaint ?’ ‘ Young man, I came here not to preach, but to fight. I came here not to confer with you about nice points io cas uistry, but to punish your impudence ; but, if you have no relish for that, I will spare your life, on condition that you leave the army—take your choice.* The Ensign’s answer was prompt and firm r ‘ You will have it so—l am guiltless,* and the fencing began. The seconds and witnesses had never seen such a display of skill, and they nev er dreamed of such a result. In five min utes the Colonel was disarmed, and at the mercy of the insulted and outraged boy! Heated by the struggle, and excited by the imminent peril and bloody bitter ness and fury of his enemy, he turned from him somewhat haughtily, with— ‘ I have taught yon a lesson in a sword-play, and now I will set you another, which you need even more—an example of mod eration in success.* The Colonel’s mortification and rage seemed to know no bounds. ‘ 1 accept no favors from such a cant, ing, phrase-making sentimentalist—such a mere fencing master-such a trickster, and conjuring sword player as you are,’ the Colonel burst out through hig grind ing teeth. * You knew well what you were about when you chose these toys to play trick with. If you have a sentiment of honor left in you let me have pistols. I tell you that this quarrel is not made up. I will not have my life at your gift. You shall take it, or I will take yours.— The quarrel is to the death, and there it a blow to clinch it,’ striking at the En sign in a transport of passion, which he avoided with equal coolness and dexteri.- •y- The seconds interfered, and then the spectators cried shame; blit it wag clear enough that blood must flow before the parties should quit the ground. The Ensign's second, carried away by the ex citement, urged him to accept the new challenge on change of conditions, for he despaired of any other adjustment. ‘ Will nothing satisfy this madman but my life ?’ said the young officer, deeply agitated. ‘You have made him mad,* said the second, 1 and there is nothing left for it but a fatal issue. You have the right to refuse, having already spared his life, and I will sustain you, but I do not advise it, for it will be unavailing in the end.’ ‘ I have gone too far/ replied the En sign, sadly, • too lar from the line ol strict | TERMS: $2 in Advance. principle to recover it now. 1 cannot any longer say that I am opposed to fighting; 1 have broken down that de fence by yielding to an expediency which I thought a safe one. Oh, it is horrible! I did not dream this morning that I might die a fool’s death to day.’ ‘ You will accept the offer,’ hastily in terposed (he second ; ‘ you must be a good shot, with such an eye and hand, and such self possession as you have shown to-day. if your pistol matches your sword, you cannot miss him, and, upon my soul, he deserves it, and I say let him have it. You accept.’ The Ensign stood silent. The ground was measured, the pistols prepared, and the combatants stationed. The word was given. One—two—three. The Colo nel’s pistol was discharged at the instant, and the Ensign stood untouched. He had reserved hig fire, and had the right now to take deliberate aim. Steadily he raised the deadly weapon till it bore point blank upon the Colonel’s heart, and then it rested a minute in terrible suspense ; not a nerve quivered, not a limb trembl ed in either,and the spectolors held their breatli bushed as the death they waited for. But suddenly wheeling, the Ensign marked a post in a different direction, at twice the distance of his antagonist, and, pulling the trigger, delivered his ball in it breast-high. It was a centre shot, and instantly fatal to a living man had he stood there. The next instant, tluowing down the pistol with decision that could not be mistaken, he cried out; ‘ / will go no for. thet in this wicked folly. If there is no thing else left for me but murder or sub* mission, 1 will submit.’ The grandeur of his position was too striking now to be mistaken or denied.— The Colonel was the first to acknowledge it. Twice within the hour he owed a life to the magnanimity of a man he had so much abused. That man Mood now vindicated, even by the hard laws of war and honor; he was neither trickster nor coward. Possibly the Colonel felt something of the higher nobility of the young man’s principles, but I will not be sure of that. He found him brave and generous, and that was enough, without looking deeper for the hidden springs of the noble life within him. Advancing to him, he offered his hand, apologized frankly for his misconduct, acknowledged his misconduct of the char acter which lie had put to so severe a tri al, and added that lie was to owe his life to ‘ the bravest man he had ever met, ei ther as friend or foe.’ ‘ Brave !’ said (he young man, with the color mounting to cheek and brow. ‘ Brave! Colonel—pardon me—Heaven pardon me. True bravery consists ih refusing to fight altogether. But I have betrayed a principle which I should have valued more than life, / have risked my life—not for that principle, but to satisfy a caprice; I am the miserable hero ol a miserable falsehood, instead of the mar tyr of a great truth. I have lost confi dence in myself, and men’s praises only mock m e.'—Frtand of Youth. Questions for Mrs. Partington . —A correspondent asks the old lady the fol lowing question : What would be the consequence if an irresistable force should come in contact with an immoveable body? We handed the problem to Mrs. Par tington, who took several pinches of snuff before she gave her opinion. ‘My idee about it is/ said the old lady, and there was an expression of profound as could be worn by the whole faculty of Havered College, ‘my idee about it is, that one or t’other of ‘em must get hurt! Wkereas. —‘Teeth inserted here,’ at the bull dog said, when he bit the loafer. *’Tis false,’ as the girl said, when her beau told her she had beautiful hair. ■Be-ware,’ as the potter said to the ‘lump of clay. ‘Licking ’lasses.’ as the man said when he whipped the girls. ‘Well, its no use talking, ’ as the boy said to his deaf daddy. A queer idea of Marriage.—K pretty young lady, says a Boston paper, ‘full of youth and love’s young dreams,’ as Clove would say, made application a few days since at the City Register’s office in that city, for a certificate allowing her to mar. ry a deceased person. The woman who oeigns the queen ol the balhroom is very seldom found capo* ble of being the governeee of her own children: NO 11