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THE 11M1HT PBK ■J. A. TtRNEU. EDITOR. | VOLUME I. INDEPENDENT PH ESS. 44 Without Fear, Favor or Affection." EATONTON, GA. SATURDAY MORNING. OCT. 14.1854. Chapters i» Osorgia Biogra phy and History. We have for a long tune had it in mind to write some biographical sketch es of the distinguished men of Georgia, living and dead. To undertake the complete biographies of Georgia’s dis tinguished sons would be the business of a life-time, and not the work of a few leisure hours or days. The name of Troup itself tills'the mind with the contents of a volume. And then we have such names as Crawford’s, For syth’s, Berrien’s and others.’ For the lack of in re time, then, if for no other •cause, we cannot undertake complete biographies. Mere sketches are all that we propose. And m the preparation of these sketches even, there is much moredif fim.ty then one would at first suppose. There is abundant material, it's true; but how to conic at it is the trouble. There have been so few r cords made of the sayings and doings of our dis tinguished men, that though there are a great many tilings in connection with them worthy of being written, they present themselves in that vague and unreliable garb which makes a careful and discriminating mind hesitate be fore recording them. Cue may have upon his mind the outline of an amus ing an.-edote, or some of the corrusea tions of brilliant wit. But he does not wish to present cither to his readers, ; unless he can give them in their best ; form. lie does not wish to give the j skeleton, unless lie can first clothe the j dry bones in living flesh. How to do it is what puzzles him. The lives and sayings of those who have figured as principal actors upon the stage of law, politics and religion in Georgia, is chiefly traditionary.— No pen has put them in the durable form of history or biography. They remain chiefly in the memories of the surviving cotemporarics of those who have gone down to their graves, not unwept or unhonored, but unsung; or in the minds of younger persons who have received the traditions of the fath ers. To collect all of these traditions is a hopeless task. In the first place they are scattered all over the state; and a person would have to give up his life to their pursuit, in order to make them available. He would have to see converse with nearly all the leading men in the State. And even then there would still be around all the information he could thus gather, an air of vagueness and uncertainty which would much puzzle him as to what was reliable and what was not. And, in addition to this, even where certain information was obtained, the impro- priety of publishing any thing of a personal or dubious nature would be apparent. And the very fact of its being known that a“ehiel” was about, “takin notes” to “print ’em” would, to a great extent, dry up the sources of information, through fear on the part of informants of saying or doing some thing which would lie invading the . sanctity oi private life. There are in our day, so many lion hunters, aid I on makers, who like tious, go t rowling about seeking whom they may devour, that gentlemen of refined tastes and feelings instinctive ly shrink from contact with those who would hold up their private life to the public gaze. There are itemizers for newspapers who will publish to tho world the cost of your wife’s silk dress, or the quality of the flavor to your tea or coffee, and retail conversations, gossip, and scandal, picked up at the social board, or in the parlor. Ever since N. P. Willis set the example for this manner of procedure in his “Pen cils ngs By The Way,” he has had a host of imitators to follow in the loot steps of their illustrious predecessor. — Yankee impertinence and yankee cu riosity are proverbial. We think it is Hal lock, who, in one of his poems, speaks of the yankce “with his old felt hat on,” asking a king the “price of the throne lie sat on.” Our people are disposed to look with little favor upon the hunters up of personalities —taking the word in its •broader sense—and lie who undertake# the task we propose, Y ®lCtli(g sinillill:—fltMtll til ftatTO, fOlitifS, illlil dtHtial Uliscdlm. i is in danger of being placed in rather 'an unenviable light if his purpose is ! not well understood. We hope it is unnecessary to assure the reading public of Georgia, that in the sketches which we shall lay before them, it shall be our aim to consider our subjects only in that light which may be properly placed before the public. We intend to say nothing which can offend the most fastidious taste, nor would we, upon penalty of forfeiting the honor of a Southern gen tleman, invade the sanctity of private life. It will be seen that we have ital icised the word Southern —for we are so much attached to our section, and to those who are ‘‘to the manor born,” that it would be hard to make us be lieve that there is not a nobility ab sorbed from our sunny clime, which makes the wo and gentleman with the prefix Southern, mean more than that word without the adjunct. And this much we say by way of preventing Georgians from closing up the channels through which we seek information. Another difficulty there is in our way. It is often impossible, in giv ing sketches of the living, to obtain ac curate information without getting it, from the man himself, a sketch ol whom is to be given. Through fear of appear ng egotistical, that informa tion is often refused. We think thory is an unnecessary delicacy felt in refeiVi ence to this matter. If we, for instance,' seek of a gentleman such facts and elates merely as will enable us to fill out the sketch, we see no impropriety in the gentleman himself giving them tous. For him to launch out into self-eulogy is a different matter- That should be 1 ft by the autobiographer to the biographer. And to say the least, surely no one can feel any delicacy in naming a friend who is best 1 from, his intimate acquaintance, to give the data for a biographDvytfind personal <ko*ch. r °'/ si But in addition to the biographical sketches, we shall occasionally give some chapters in the history of Georgia. “ Troup and the treaty,” “ The Yazoo Fraud” and “ The Missionaries” are headings for chapters which thrill the mind of ever y Georgian with absorb ing interest. They stand prominent ly out as leading scenes in the drama of Georgian, history. They are salient points upon which we shall lay hold, when we claim the attention of the reader, in our historical pictures. The material at hand for carrying out our design is meagre. W c shall therefore avail ourself of every source of information which comes before us, and shall not, in every instance, stop to give the proper credit as we go. — We ask it as a kindness to us, and a patriotic act to the history of the State and the memory of our great men, that the people of Georgia throw in our way every facility for the task before us. Soda Water and Soda Bread.— We have always, says the Louis ville Journal, regarded soda water as one of the most villainous concoctions ever put into the human stomach. — The same may be said of bread in which there is a large admixture of either pearlash, or of soda. The fol lowing statement of Dr. Doremus con firms the correctness of our opinions : Soda W ater. —ln an article recent ly published in the American Medical Monthly, Dr. Doremus makes some in teresting statements relative to the ex istence of poisonous substances in so da water. He says that ihe test of Several gallons, obtained from differ ent sources, showed the presence of one and a half grains of carbonate of cop per to every quart of the fluid. This deleterious product was the result of the corrosion of the copper condenser, when the water containing the Carbo nic and sulphuric acids found in so da laid been standing in it several days. When the tm with which the conden sers are usually lined is in good con dition, of course there can be no cor rosion ; but after use for some time the tin wears away and the copper is exposed. Carbonate of lead, also de rived probably from the lead pipes us ed in conveying the water to the jet, was found in most of the waters exam ined. Dr. Doremus says that the use of soda water sometimes, though rare ly, produces sickness, vomiting and at tacks like cholera, and he recommends coridensors of iron, stone, block tin, or gutta percha, as substitutes for those commonly in use, whose imperfect tin ning or corrosion from long use ren ders them dangerous to health and life. —| — Jx>ve is a strong and secure cord. EATONTON, GA., SATURDAY, OCTOBER 14, 1854. flottrii. I'OU THE INDEPENDENT PRESS. [No. 21!.] Columbia my Country. Columbia my country, enshrined in my heart, t\ lion I see thee to peace and to freedom alliedi llow the patriot throbs in my bosom will start. llow it fires my breast with emotions of pride. Thy sons are the kings and the princes of earth, Not one is so mean but a sovereign is he— The sons of such sires, they are mighty by birth, And their glory is this—they are born to be free. Thv daughters are fairest of all 'neatii the skv, And the bloom of their cheek is the vermil of rose— Their words are as soil as the cherubim’s sigh, And pure is the passion in their bosom that glows. Since 'tis under thy tiag that the bold and the free Undaunted the billows defy when they rave, Where's Britain’s vain boast that her home is the sea. That in triumph site rides on the crest of the wave? Thou callcst the poor and invit'st to thy breast The sons of the world that are toiling in chains — Let them come from their toil to a home in the West, For ’tis here that equality peacefully reigns. From ocean to sea doth thy banner unfold O'er a soil that is rich as an Eden-like plain And its products arc better than rubies or gold, For the food of the world is its harvest of grain. Oh Erin, how oft to my eye does the tear Start warm from my heart as I mournfully gaze On thy fetters too galling for mortal to bear, | While the sceptres of tyrany over thee blaze. We will weep for thy chains on thine Emerald shore, And thy sons let them come to the homo of tho brave, ’VXliere their letters shall blister and gall them n° more, lor the flag ol the fieeman shall over them wave. Coliiubia, my country, enshrined in my heart, W ien I see thee to peace and to freedom allied, i Howthe pat rift throbs in my bosom will start, Hug it fires my breast with emotions of pride. TuiNWOLD, August Bth, 1854 1.1. % i'air. FOR THE INDEPENDENT TRESS. 1 ENT W0L1): A TALBOF FLORIDA AND GEORGIA. BY T (Con tin tied.) CHAPTER XIII. One da; Mr. Bentley concluded to pay a visi to his Blue Spring Place, and call L see old man Ramsey. It must not b supposed that he had neg lected to key) informed as to the old man’s healt. lie had received infor mation at east once a week, from messengers passing between Bentvvold and Blue SyfingPlace; and knew that the wound idieted by Frank on Mr. Ramsey was nearly healed. He had also received frequent messages from the old man, entreating him to come and see him. At length he concluded to steal a dajor two from his guests, leaving Frail to do the honors of the house duringiis absence. One or twj of the gentlemen con cluded 10 accjmpany him, as the trip would be thnigh rather a wild por tion of county*, and might afford some thing of advoture or interest. Fitz- Warren was f the number who un dertook the journey. They started early, and V fast riding, arrived at. Mr. Ramsey’house early in the after noon. The artv dismounting at the gate walkodwithout ceremony into the house, bev found the old man sitting in hisbrch, smoking, and, for a wonder, hi: wo sons were with him. This time here was no display of cards and bn y, as On the occasion when Frank id his father passed the house; andj te absence of these two articles, oifsoiething else, seemed to have rend/ret Jake and John Ramsey, as surly nl twl bears. As the' waked up the steps and Fitz Warren encountered the eye of old Ramsey,/jio stilted and turned pale, so that Jis comyUnidns both noticed it. His c)j diluted as he gazed, and his breatl Jyew slioit and quick. It was only W a moment that this emotion lasteijfmd he sail, turning to his com panies, 1h h “Tp man’s countenance bears a strtfVrcsemokn-feJo that of a man I -“WITHOUT FEAR, FAVOR OR AFFECTION.” once knew under very painful circum stances. What a striking and singular resemblance it is!” he added in the musing abstracted manner, so often as sumed by him. Age had dimmed the eye-sight of Mr. llamsey, so that he could not dis tinguish the features of the party ap proaching, until they were very near. Then, as he gazed on Fitz Warren, his emotion was painful to behold. He rose from his seat and starte 1 forward, | with a sudden impulse. He advanced only a few steps, however, before he seemed to change his intention, and instead of rushing up to Fitz Warren, as lie at first seemed about to do, he lie spoke to Mr. Bentley and shook him by t e hand. Afl this was lost upon Fitz Warren, who was now lost in one of his fits of abstraction. Mr. Bentley noticed it however, and wondered at it. He had no time to dwell upon the circum stance then, and he proceeded to in troduce his companions. At the men tion of Fitz Warren’s name, Jake and Joe Ramsey seemed fully as startled as had been their father. Mr. Bentley’s wonder was at its height. What could all this mean? But Mr. Ramsey allowed him no time for wonder. He said “I wish to see you privately Mr. Bentley. Suppose we walk into an other room.” “Certainly sir,” was the reply. When they were in the room, Mr. Ramsey shut the door and fastened it on the inside. Mr. Bentley involunta rily put his hand in his pocket, where he had concealed a weapon. He was thus provided, because he had not been sure, all the time, that the old man’s repen fence was sincere. llis suspense was soon over though, when he saw his host go to an old fashioned secretary, open it and take from a secret drawer, a paper. Turn ing to Mr. Bentley he said, “I am grow’ing old, and although I am recovered from my wound, it is certain that I cannot live long. It is unnecessary for me to state to you that I have no confidence in my sons. How can I have ? And how can they have any in me? I have here a will, pro perly drawn up and attested, which I wish you to keep until my death, an (I I then open it. You see it is sealed.” “Os course I will do as you request;’ said Mr. Bentley, “though I had rather you would leave it in the hands of vour son-.” ' “Have I not already said that I have no confidence in their honesty?” “True; but you have no other heirs, and they would have no room for the display of dishonesty. They no doubt will inherit all your property.” “There lies your error,” said Mr. Ramsey. “I have left the large bulk of my property to another person, whom it is unnecessary to mention.” “Very well,” said Mr. Bentley, “I will take charge of your will.” “You,” resumed Mr. Ramsey, “are appointed my sole executor. Will, you accept the appointment?” “Yes.” “Then, of course you are the most proper person with whom to leave the will.” And he handed it to Mr. Bentley. The latter looked at it, saw the label was in a clerkly hand, and placed it carefully in an inside pocket. “You must recollect,” said Mr. Ksqasey, “that my sons are to know nothing of all this. I was obliged to send for a lawyer and have this will executed by stealth. I shudder, Mr. Bentley, while I say that if they had known of my having this will in my possession, they would have assassina ted me, to get possession of it.” “I hope they are not so bad as that,” said Mr. Bentley. “You know them not,” was the re ply. “Great God ! to what a state am I reduced! llow am I rewarded! Oh remorsel remorse 1” “Hush!” exclaimed Mr. Bentley suddenly, as lie walked softly to the door and applied his ear to the key hole. After listening attentively some mo ments, he returned, saying “I thought I heard some one at the door, but.l believe I was mistaken.” “And'that reminds me;” said Mr Ramsey. “I will not conceal the fact from you, that by receiving into your possession that will, you run the risk of assassination yourself. If you wish to live in safety, do not allow my sons to know that you have a will of mine in your possession.” “I shall keep the secret,” said Mr. Bentley, “out of regard for your wishes and safety, and happiness ; but as for me, I am not much given to fear.” “I know you are not, and for this reason I select you as my'executor. It will require a boll man to execute that will.” “I will do my best. And now al low me to express a hope ” 1, 1 am not through with my re quests,’ interrupted Mr. Ramsey. “• fear I am troubling you too much, and I am but too well aware that I deserve scorn and reproach at your hands instead of the rendering of service. But alas 1 if you refuse me, to whom shall I apply? I have made no friends in the neighborhood and a great many enemies. When I tell you that my ob ject now—my sole object—is the ren dition of justice, and the expiation, so far as possible, of the sins of my life, perhaps you will the more willingly undertake the commissions I leave in your hands.” “Say no more,” was the reply.— “Make no apologies. lam ready and willing to do any thing in the further ance of such objects.” “Here then is another document. — This you perceive is quite a long one. I may as well say to you, that it con | tains a conk ssion of some ot my crimes, which I intended to make to you ver bally, but have not the nerve to do so. This also is sealed, and I make the same request concerning it as concern ing the oilier—that you will not open it ti l after my death.” Mr. Bentley ook the package and deposited it safely with the will. When this was done, the old man appeared much relieved. During the whole of the conversation, he had been a good deal agitated ; and when Mr. Bentley was listening at the door, his terror seemed intense. Here was a strong ex emplification of the power of remorse. This man who, a short time before, by his hardihood and ferocity had en joyed an almost undisputed suprema cy over his sons and dissolute compan ions, now was weak and as easily terri fied as a child; dreading the very sons he had formerly held under such ab solute control. His physical health seemed entirely restored, and yet there was evidence, in the wild wandering of his eye, and his nervous and agita ted manner —starting and trembling at trifles—of a “disease of the mind” which was incurable. After he finished his business with Mr. Bentley, he relapsed into a fit of lethargy, from which nothing seemed capable of arousing him. This had gotten to be a custom with bint of late, since he had had the fear of death be fore his eyes. He would converse a few moments with an energy and earn estness which was painful, and then relapse into one of these fits. Finding he would converse no more, Mr. Bentley rose to leave the room. By this time it was growing late, and the sun had sunk behind the trees. The room in which the two men had been sitting was on the east side of the house, and when the sun was low, it was very poorly lighted. A long, dark, narrow passage led to it. On opening the door suddenly, to go out. Mr. Bentley’s quick car caught the sound of letreating footsteps. Rushing for ward, he caught the glimpse of a figure which he took to be Juke Ramsey's, just as it flitted into a room not far off, and he heard the doorshut and bolt on the inside. Seeing a negro at the oth er end of the passage, lie asked him if that was not Jake Ramsey’s room, pointing it out to him. He was an swered in the affirmative, and then he felt convinced that Jake had been eaves dropping, and had probably overheard all that passed between him and Mr. Ramsey. That accounted lor the noise, he had thought he heard at the door, during their interview. When he and Mr. Ramsey went nut into the porch, lie observed that Jake Ramsey was absent, and on enquiring of Joe after his brother, was told that he had ridden out to the field. He was now satisfied, not only that Jake Ramsey had been caves-dropping, but that his brother was in collusion with him. He and his companions made their adieus, and were soon riding rapid ly toward Blue Spring Place. Mr. Bentley was not at all frighten ed, at the discovery he had made. He believed that Jake and Joe had at last learned to fear him. Still he was cautious, kept a sharp lookout, and re marked to his fellow-travellers, “Gentlemen, there is a slight chance that an attempt may be made to assas sinate me in going through these dark woods before us.” “The devil there is?” said Charley Hampton “Fes. So have your persuaders ready.” “Whom do you suspect of a design against your life ?’’ asked Fitz Warren. “Those two young men we saw back there. As I said, however, the probability is so slight, that I ought not to have mentioned it, perhaps; and I had rather it should not be men tioned hereafter, lest it render my fam ily uneasy.” “Oh we will be discreet,” said Char ley. “But what have you been doing to* them?” “Let me see; I knocked them both down not long since, &c. But that is not the reason why they wish me out of the way now. It is rather a long tale, and I will tell you all about it af ter supper. Now let us get on.” And they pricked their horses into a sharp gallop. Their ride was uninterrupted by any attempt at assassination or annoyance of any kind. A good plain supper was soon cooked for them after their arrival, and the hunger induced by their ride, enabled them to do it full j ustiee. After supper, true to his promise, Mr. Bentley gave Charley a full ac count of all the dealings he and Frank had had with the Ramseys, from be ginning to end. It was after Fitz Wa rren had retired to his room. Mr. Bentley finished his narration by say ing, “If I had not already convinced Jake and Joe Ramsey that it would not do to tamper with me, I should now be a little uneasy.” “I think,” said Charley, “there is cause for apprehension as it is. It would seem that after their first expe rience with you, they would have been afraid to encounter you again, but you see they did so, nevertheless.” “I do not think they would ever have attacked us,” was the reply', “if they had not been urged on and sup ported by the old man. Indeed I was told as much afterwards, by a man who had been carousing with them, out who left as I rode up.” “I trust there is no danger,” said Charley, “but keep a sharp lookout.” “That I will do of course.” “By the way,” said Charley again, “did you notice what a strange effect Fitz Warren’s and old Ramsey’s ap pearance exerted on each other ?” “Yes,” said Mr. Bentley, “and Fitz- Warren’s name seemed to have equal ly as startling an effect on the young men.” “There is something mysterious in it Horace. Fitz Warren said that old Ramsey bore a strong resemblance to some one he had known under pain ful circumstances. That might ac* count for his agitation, but how arc we to account for the startled appear ance of the old man, as soon ns we were near enough to him, tor his old eyes to distinguish our features? And why should Fitz Warren’s name have such an effect on the young men?” “I cannot fathom it,” said Mr. Bent ley. “It would seem,” resumed Horace, “that the old man had known Fitz- Warren’s face, “under painful circum stances, and that Jake and Joe, had been acquainted with his name, un der like circumstances.” “Do you know anything of Fitz- Warren, or his family, Charley? He is a Georgian, you know.” “I know very little,” was the reply. “Fitz Warren enjoys the reputation of being exceedingly refined and literary in his tastes. I believe though, that very few men know anything of his antecedents. I never heard of his hav ing an intimate friend. I think from what I have noticed at Bentwold, that Frank enjoys more of his confidence than most people. As to his family, I know nothing-—not even whether he has any.” The two igcntlemen were sitting in a cool pia?/,V with the indispensable {TERMS, 82,00AYEAK NUMBER 26. cigar diffusing fragrance around. The moon was shining brightly, but tbe house, and some distance around, was enveloped in a thick shade, caused by enormous trees of forest growth. Just in front of the piazza, however, was an open space, on which the rnoon shone with almost the brightness of daylight. Just as Charley ceased speaking, a long shadow was thrown across this lighted space, and immediately after, a tall form turned the corner of the house and stood upon the stej)s. The new comer was a curiosity in the way of form. He stood very near seven feet in bight—was exceedingly lank and slender in appearance, and carri ed on his shoulder a ponderous rifle, so long, it would seem as if he used it for the purpose of knocking his game out of the trees rather than for shoot ing it. Ilis beard was grizzled and apparently, had not known a razor for years. He was clad in the most pri meval style of hunting suit; but instead of the cap made of the skin of some wild animal, usually worn by hunters, he sported a felt hat, slouched on one side, in Spanish style. Indeed his whole appearance was Spanish. His complexion was very dark, his eye black and keen, his fea tures angular, and his beard, with the exception of a sprinkling of white hairs, was ot a jet 4 y blackness. Take him altogether he was calculated to excite curiosity, as he stood leaning on his long rifle, without speaking. “What strange specimen have wo here Horace ?” said Charley. But Mr. Bentley, without answering Charley’s question, called out to the | stranger, “What the devil do you stand there for, Gaunt ? Why don’t you come in ?” Thereupon, the hunter strode for ward and grasped Mr. Bentley’s hand with “I wanted to see if you knowed me.” “Knowed you ? Why how do you suppose any one could forget such a scarecrow, after his vision had once been blessed with a sight of it?” “I wanted to see if your eye-sight holds as good at night as it used to, when we played those wild tricks. But may be I oughtn’t to mention such things before this here stranger.” “Never, mind him. lie knows eve ry thing that I do. But let me intro duce you. Mr. Hampton, allow me to introduce to you Mr. Carlos, Nun nez, familiarly known as “Gaunt,” & fom the gaunt man. He has killed more panthers and more Indians, and done more smuggling than any other man in Florida. Ilis smuggling business has long since been broken up, and he has since become quite an expert in the use of the rifle. Mr. Gaunt, this is my friend Charles Hampton, Esq., who has slain as many hearts as you have Indians and panthers. He is as cele brated in bis line, as you arc in yours, and I am happy to be able to bring together two such notabilities, in my poor house.” Charley replkd tythis speech of his host, in a strain of 'elaborate compli ment, while Gaunt, grabbed' his hand an 1 said, “How de do sir? Glad to know a friend of Mr. Bentley’s, but I don’t see the use of all tire damned nonesense you and he have been jabbering over.” “Why Gjaunt, what’s the matter with you ?” asked Mr. Bentley, who began to perceive, from the man’s manner that there was something wrong. “Give me some cold meat and bread, and I will tell you,” was the reply. The cold victuals was brought, and a hasty meal was made, after which,' Gaunt —for so we will call him, for tub sake of brevity—began'; “You say this gentleman is i%,ali' your secrets ?” ig® “Yes.” 'Hgfei w “Have you got a gentleman inyour house named Fitz Warren ?” y “Yes.” \ ■' “Well Jake and Joe Ramsey arc going to have his blood, the first, chance* they |ct at him.” ■ “Jake and Joe Ramsey ! exclaim ed Mr. Bentley. “Why they never saw Fitz Warren before this evening, and they surely have had no cause for quarrel since then. Charley you iv-