1859-12-01 The Courant

[Header] THE COURANT, A Southern Literary Journal. --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- HOWARD H. CALDWELL, Editor.] "Sic vos non vobis." Wm. W. WALKER, Jr., & Co., Preprietors --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- VOLUME I. COLUMBIA, S. C., THURSDAY, DECEMBER 1, 1859. NUMBER 31 --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- [Column 1] For the Courant. A PICTURE. ----- BY WILLIAM M. MARTIN. ----- The sun has sunk down to his rest, from on high, His last rays are painting and gilding the sky, Where the place of his resting is gorgeously told By streakings of crimson, and purple, and gold, Like the heraldic signs on a banner unrolled.

The Topaz, and Turquoise, and Ruby are seen, Where the tints of the forest are changing from green, And a many-hued carpet is spread all around Where the storm-scattered leaves overcover the ground. From the tops of the trees comes a murmuring sound, And the bells of the herds ring a musical chime, And the voice of the stream sings a mystical rhyme, For now is the Indian, soft, sweet summer time.

Where the light from a window streams into the hall, And casts a broad gleam on the opposite wall, And a tapestry hanging, most curiously weaves In intricate windings with shadows of leaves; In the wide-spreading arms of a soft cushioned chair, Covered over with damask, so costly and rare, Where the low-drooping curtains, half-opened, disclose Lace like the Lily, and silk like the Rose, Is a beautiful maiden, so graceful and fair, With bright loving eyes, and with brown silken hair, And lips gently arched, save when one proudly curls, And shows for a moment its treasures of pearls. On her cheeks a rich cluster of roses doth rest, While lilies disport on her soft, heaving breast, And pure as the white robes of angels the blow, Or bright as the moon-light reflected from snow, Or white as the foam where the swift waters flow.

The last rays of sinlight in glory are shed Like a bright aureole 'round her beautiful head, Till she seems a Madonna, with features divine, Some priest-guarded picture adored at a shrine, Where gleams from the votive lamps glimmering shine.

And her name! 'Tis the sweetest to mortal e'er given, And harp-striking angels resound it in heaven.

Plane Hill, November 6, 1859. --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- REMAINS OF NAPOLEON I. - The Paris correspondent of the Manchester Guardian says: "Workmen are now busy in the vaults of St. Dennis preparing a sepulchre for the remains of Napolean I., which will certainly be removed from the Invalides, although the day for the disinterment is not yet fixed. I presume that Marshal Prince Jerome, who at one time declared that the tomb in the Invalides, of which he is governor, should never be disturbed as long as he lives, is now less positive in opposition. The last resting-place of the great Napoleon among the kings of France will not, however, after all, be the precise spot which he had selected for himself, and which he is represented pointing to in the well-known glass painting in one of the Cathedral windows. Louis XVIII is buried in that vault, and the Emperor, whose great object in interring his uncle in the royal basilics is to teach the public to regard him as the legitimate founder of a new line of monarchs, cannot in consistence desecrate the tomb of a legitimate Bourbon. ------------------------- NO DOUBT. - There is an Eastern story of a person who taught his parrot to repeat only these words :-- "What doubt is there of that?" He carried it to market for sale, fixing the price at one hundred rupees. A Mogul asked the parrot, "Are you worth one hundred rupees?" The parrot answered, "What doubt is there of that?" The Mogul was delighted, and bought the bird. He soon found out that this was all it could say. Ashamed now of his bargain, he said to himself: "I was a fool to buy this bird." The parrot exclaimed, as usual: "What doubt is there of that?" ------------------------- A HIGH RENT.- A hole in the crown of your bad hat.

[Column 2] From Schoolcraft's "Myth of Hiawatha." MISHOSHA, OR THE MAGICIAN OF LAKE SUPERIOR. ----- In an early age of the world, when there were fewer inhabitants than there now are, there lived an Indian, in a remote place, who had a wife and two children. - They seldom saw any one out of the circle of their own lodge. Animals were abundant in so secluded a situation, and the man found no difficulty in supplying his family with food. In this way they lived in peace and happiness, which might have continued if the hunter had not found cause to suspect his wife. She secretly cherished an attachment for a young man whom she accidentally met one day in the woods. She even planned the death of her husband for his sake, for she knew if she did not kill her husband, her husband, the moment he detected her crime, would kill her. The husband, however, eluded her project by his readiness and decision. He narrowly watched her movements. One day he secretly followed her footsteps into the forest, and having concealed himself behind a tree, he soon beheld a tall young man approach and lead away his wife. His arrows were in his hands, but he did not use them. He thought he would kill her the moment she returned. Meantime, he went home and sate down to think. At last he came to the determination of quitting her for ever, thinking that her own conscience would punish her sufficiently; and relying on her maternal feelings to take care of the two children, who were boys, he immediately took up his arms and departed. When the wife returned she was dissapointed in not finding her husband, for she had now concerted her plan, and intended to have dispatched him. She waited several days, thinking he might have been led away by the chase, but finding he did not return, she suspected the true cause. Leaving her two children in the lodge, she told them she was going a short distance, and would return. She then fled to her paramour, and came back no more. The children, thus abandoned, soon made way with the food left in the lodge, and were compelled to quit it in search of more. The eldest boy, who was of an intrepid temper, was strongly attached to his brother, frequently carrying him when he became weary, and gathering all the wild fruit he saw. They wandered deeper and deeper into the forest, losing all traces of their former habitation, until they were completely lost in its mazes. The eldest boy had a knife, with which he made a bow and arrows, and was thus enabled to kill a few birds for himself and brother. In this manner they continued to pass on, from one piece of forest to another, not knowing whither they were going. At length they saw an opening through the woods, and were shortly afterward delighted to find themselved on the borders of a large lake. Here the elder brother busied himself in picking the seed pods of the wild rose, which he reserved as food. In the meantime, the younger brother amused himself by shooting arrows in the sand, one of which happened to fall into the lake. Panigwuu,* the eldest brother, not willing to lose the arrow, ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ * The end wing feather.

[Column 3] waded in the water to reach it. Just as he was about to grasp the arrow, a canoe passed up to him with great rapidity. An old man, sitting in the centre, seized the affrightened youth and placed him in the canoe. In vain the boy addressed him - "My grandfather (a term of respect for old people), pray take my little brother also. Alone, I cannot go with you; he will starve if I leave him." Mishosha (the old man) only laughed at him. - Them uttering the charm, Chemauu Poll, and giving his canoe a slap, it glided through the water with inconceivable swiftness. In a few moments they reached the habitation of the magician, standing on an island in the centre of the lake. Here he lived with his two daughters, who managed the affairs of his household. Leading the young man up to the lodge, he addressed his eldest saughter: "Here," said he, "my daughter, I have brought a young man to be your husband." Husband! thought the young woman; rather another victim of your bad arts, and your insatiate enmity to the human race. But she made no reply, seeming thereby to acquiesce in her father's will. The young man thought he saw surprise depicted in the eyes of the daughter, during the scene of this introduction, and determined to watch events narrowly. In the evening he overheard the two daughter in conversation. "There," said the eldest daughter, "I told you he would not be satisfied with his last sacrifice. He has brought another victim, under the pretence of providing me with a husband. Husband, indeed! the poor youth will be in some horrible predicament before another sun has set. When shall we be spared the scenes of vice and wickedness which are daily taking place before our eyes?" Panigwun took the first opportunity of acquainting the daughters how he had been carried off, and been compelled to leave his little brother on the shore. They told him to wait until their father was asleep, then to get up and take his canoe, and using the charm he had obtained, it would carry him quickly to his brother. - That he could carry him food, prepare a lodge for him, and be back before daybreak. He did, in every respect, as he had been directed - the canoe obeyed the charm, and carried him safely over, and after providing for the subsistence of his brother, he told him that in a short time he should come for him. Then returning to the enchanted island, he resumed his place in the lodge, before the magician awoke. Once, during the night, Mishosha awoke, and not seeing his destined son-in-law, asked his daughter what had become of him. She replied that he had merely stepped out, and would be back soon. This satisfied him. In the morning, finding the young man in the lodge, his suspicions were completely lulled. "I see, my daughter," said he, "you have told the truth." As soon as the sun arose, Mishosha thus addressed the young man: "Come, my son, I have a mind to gather gulls' eggs. I know an island where there are great quantities, and I wish your aid in getting them." The young man saw no reasonable excuse; and, getting into the canoe, the magician gave it a slap, and uttering a command they were in an instant at the island. - They found the shores strewn with gulls' eggs, and the island full of birds of this species. "Go, my son," said the old man, "and gather the eggs, while I remain in the canoe."

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[Column 1] But Panigwun had no sooner got ashore, than Mishosha pushed his canoe a little from the land, and exclaimed - "Listen, ye gulls! you have long expected an offering from me. I now give you a victim. Fly down and devour him." Then, striking, his canoe, he left the young man to his fate. The birds immediately came in could around their victim, darkening the air with their numbers. But the youth seized the first that came near him, and drawing his knife, cut off its head. He immediately skinned the bird and hung the feathers as a trophy on his breast. - "Thus," he exclaimed, "will I treat every one of you who approaches me. Forbear, therefore, and listen to my words. It is not for you to eat human flesh. You have been given by the Great Spirit as food for man. - Neither is it in the power of that old magician to do you any good. Take me on your backs and carry me to his lodge, and you shall see that I am not ungrateful." The gulls obeyed; collected in a could for him to rest upon, and quickly flew to the lodge, where they arrived before the magician. The daughters were surprised at his return, but Mishosha, on entering the lodge, conducted himself as if nothing extraordinary had taken place. The next day he again addressed the youth: "Come, my son," said he, "I will take you to an island covered with the most beautiful stones and pebbles, looking like silver. I wish you to assist me in gathering some of them. They will make handsome ornaments, and possess great medicinal virtues." Entering the canoe, the magician made use of his charm, and they were carried in a few moments to a solitary bay in an island, where there was a smooth sandy beach. The young man went ashore as usual, and began to search. "A little further, a little further," cried the old man. "Upon that rock you will get some fine ones." Then, pushing his canoe from land - "Come, thou great king of fishes," cried the old man; "you have long expected an offering from me. Come, and eat the stranger whom I have just put ashore on your island." So saying, he commanded his canoe to return, and it was soon out of sight. Immediately a monstrous fish thrust his long snout from the water, crawling partially on the beach, and opening wide his jaws to receive his victim. "When!" exclaimed the young man, drawing his knife and putting himself in a threatening attitude, "when did you ever taste human flesh? Have a care for yourself. You were given by the Great Spirit to man, and if you, or any of your tribe, eat human flesh, you will fall sick and die. Listen not to the words of that wicked man, but carry me back to his island, in return for which I will present you with a piece of red cloth." The fish complied, raising his back out of the water, to allow the young man to get on. Then taking his way throguh the lake, he landed his charge safely on the island before the return of the magician. The daughters were still more surprised to see that he had escaped the arts of their father the second time. But the old man on his reutrn maintained his taciturnity and self-composure. He could not, however, held saying to himself - "What manner of boy is this, who is escaping from my power! But his spirit shall not save him. I will entrap him to-morrow. Ha, ha, ha!" Next day the magician addressed the young man as follows: "Come, my son, said he, "you must go with me to procure some young eagles. I wish to tame them. I have discovered an island where they are in great abundance." When they had reached the island, Mishosha led him inland until they came to the foot of a tall pine, upon which the nests were. "Now, my son," said he, "climb up this tree and bring down the birds." The young man obeyed. When he had with great difficulty got near the nest, "Now," exlaimed the magician, addressing the tree, "stretch yourself up and be very tall." The tree rose up at the command. "Listen, ye eagles," continued the old man, "you have long expected a gift from me. I now present you with this boy, who has had the presumption to molest your young. Stretch forth your claws and seize him." So saying, he left the young man to his fate, and returned.

[Column 2]

But the intrepid youth, drawing his knife, and cutting off the head of the first eagle that menaced him, raised his voice and exclaimed: "Thus will I deal with all who come near me. What right have you, you ravenous birds, who were made to feast on beasts, to eat human flesh? If it because that cowardly old canoe-man has bid you do so? He is an old woman. He can neither do you good nor harm. See, I have already slain one of your number. Respect my bravery, and carry me back, that I may shew you how I shall treat you." The eagles, pleased with his spirit, assented, and, clustering thick around him, formed a seat with their backs, and flew toward the enchanted island. As they crossed the water they passed the magician, lying half asleep in his canoe. The return of the young man was hailed with joy by the daughters, who now plainly saw that he was under the guidance of a strong spirit. But the ire of the old man was excited, although he kept his temper under subjection. He taxed his wits for some new mode of ridding himself of the youth, who had so successfully baffled his skill. He next invited him to go ahunting. Taking his canoe, they proceeded to an island and built a lodge to shelter themselves suring the night - In the meanwhile the magician caused a deep fall of snow, with a storm of wind and severe cold. According to custom, the young man pulled off his moccasins and leggings, and hung them before the fire to dry. - After he had gone to sleep, the magician, watching his opportunity, got up, and taking one moccasin and one legging, threw them into the fire. He then went to sleep. In the morning, stretching himself as he arose, and uttering an exclamation of surprise, "My son," said he, " what has become of your moccasin and legging? I believe this is the moon in which fire attracts, and I fear they have been drawn in." The young man suspected the true cause of his loss, and rightly attributed it to a design of the magician to freeze him to death on the march. But he maintained the strictest silence, and drawing his conaus over his head, thus communed with himself: "I have full faith in the Manito who has preserved me thus far; I do not fear that he will forsake me in this cruel emergency. - Great is his power, and I invoke it now that he may enable me to prevail over this wicked enemy of mankind." He then drew on the remaining mocassin and legging, and taking a dead coal from the fire-place, invoked his spirit to give it effecacy, and blackened his foot and leg as far as the lost garment usually reached. He then got up and announced himself ready for the march. In vain Mishosha led him through snows and over morasses, hoping to see the lad sink at every moment. - But in this he was disappointed, and for the first time they returned together. Taking courage from this success, the young man now determined to try his own power, having previously consulted with the daughters. They all agreed that the life the old man led was detestable, and that whoever would rid the world of him, would entitle himself to the thanks of the human race. On the following day the young man thus addressed his hoary captor: "My grandfather, I have often gone with you on your perilous excursions, and never murmured. I must now request that you will accompany me. I wish to visit my little brother, and to bring him home with me." They accordingly went on a visit to the main land, and found the little lad in the spot where he had been left. After taking him into the canoe, the young man again addressed the magician: "My grandfather, willl you go and cut me a few of those red willows on the bank, I wish to prepare some smoking mixture." "Certainly, my son," replied the old man; "what yuo wish is not very hard. Ha, ha, ha! do you think me too old to get up there?" No sooner was Mishosha ashore, than the young man, placing himself in the proper position, struck the canoe with his hand, and pronouncing the charms, N'chimaun Poll, the

[Column 3]

canoe immediate flew through the water on its return to the island. It was evening when the two brothers arrived, and carried the canoe ashore. But the elder daughter informed the young man that unless he sate up and watched the canoe, and kept his hand upon it, such was the power of their father, it would slip off and return to him. Panigwun watched faithfully till near the dawn of day, when he could no longer resist the drowsiness which oppressed him, and he fell into a short doze. In the meantime, the canoe slipped off and sought its master, who soon returned in high glee. Ha, ha, ha! my son," said he; "you thought to play me a trick. It was very clever. But you see I am too old for you." A short time after, the youth again addressed the magician. "My grandfather, I wish to try my skill in hunting. It is said there is plenty of game on an island not far off, and I have to request that you will take me there in your canoe." They accordingly went to the island and spent the day in hunting. Night coming on, they put up a temporary lodge. When the magician had sunk into a profound sleep, the young man got up, and taking one of Mishosha's leggings and moccasins from the place where they hung, threw them into the fire, thus retaliating the artifice before played upon himself. He had discovered that the foot and leg were the only vulnerable parts of the magician's body. Having committed these articles to the fire, he besought his Manito that he would raise a great storm of snow, wind and hail, and then laid himself down beside the old man. Consternation was depicted on the countenance of the latter, when he awoke in the morning and found his moccasin and legging missing. "I believe, my grandfather," said the yuong man, "that this is the moon in which fire attracts, and I fear your foor and leg garments have been drawn in." Then rising and bidding the old man to follow him, he began the morning's hunt, frequently turning to see how Mishosha kept up. He saw him faltering at every step, and almost benumbed with cold, but encouraged him to follow, saying, we shall soon get through and reach the shore; although he took pains, at the same time, to lead him in roundabout ways, so as to let the frost take complete effect. At length the old man reached the brink of the island where the woods are succeeded by a border of smooth sand. But he could go no farther; his legs became stiff and refused motion, and he found himself fixed to the spot. But he still kept stretching out his arms and swinging his body to and fro. Every moment he found the numbness creeping higher. He felt his legs growing downward like roots, the feathers of his head turned to leaves, and in a few seconds he stood a tall and stiff sycamore, leaning toward the water. Panigwun leaped into the canoe, and pronouncing the charm, was soon transported to the island, where he related his victory to the daughters. They applauded the deed, and agreed to put on mortal shapes, became wives to the two young man, and for ever quit the enchanted island. And, passing immediately over to the main land, they lived lived of happiness and peace.

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A FRAGMENT. - There are scenes in life which the pencil cannot paint, and which the pen can not describe. The parting of friends torn asunder by stern and invincible fate, the leaving behind the family, friends, and your natal soil, the house in which the innocent days of your boyhood have been passed, when the mind, free from the cares incident to an advanced age, is buoyed up with hope, and sweeps along the current of time, reckless of the future - exulting in the past; the parting from those whom you have loved - the romantic walks, every step hallowed by the remembrance of her on whom you delighted to gaze - the thought that you press for the last time the hand of her who watched over your infancy, protected and shielded you in every danger - the idea of having the beloved associate who was the first to hear - the first to sympathize in all your woes; to turn from your native land, to throw yourself among strangers, and form new connections; the idea is horrible, is agonizing. I know no misery equal to it. A whole train of recollections rush through the mind, in quick, vivid succession. Hope itself seems denied us, and life appears a thing to be despised.

-------------..-------------- A FASHIONABLE PROVERB. - Heaven sent us women, and France - crinoline.

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[Column 1] THE DURATION OF HUMAN LIFE. ---- The members of the Royal Statistical Society of Great Britain have paid great attention to the subject of the duration of human life, and have just concluded a thorough investigation, which has occupied the last fourteen years. An eminent English physician has taken all the facts presented before the society since 1845, and reports to the Fellows, that he has drawn therefrom the following inferences: 1. That the value of human life was lower in the seventeenth century than in the sixteenth; but that it experienced a marked recovery in the eighteenthl and that this remarkable feature was incidental to each class of the community, with the exception of sovreigns, medical men, artists (who shew a progressive improvement), and lawyers (who shew a progressive deterioration). 2. That the duration of life of married men is greater than that of unmarried men - the difference being 5 3/4 years in favour of the former. 3. That, as reagrds the comparative duration of life of the two sexes, females have the advantage over males, and a better expectation of life at every age from 25 to 75. One of the most interesting and valuable of the papers presented before the society was read by Dr. Guy, "On the Duration of Life as Affected by the Pursuits of Literature, Science and Art." Most writers on the subject have always treated of distinct and welldefined classes of society, such as labourers, the three learned professions, sovreigns, etc.; but Dr. Guy considered the less defined classes of society known as artists, literary, and scientific men. He treated this theme under four divisions, viz.: 1. The duration of life of literary men; 2. The duration of life of scientific men; 3. The duration of life of the professors of the fine arts; and 4. A comparison of these three classes. In regard to the first of these divisions, the duration of life among literary men, the author had been able to collect, from Chalmers' Biographical Dictionary and the Annual Register, 942 ages at death of men more or less devoted to literary pursuits. Dr. Guy observed, at the outset, that this class was not so sharply defined as other classes of society. British writers, both in prose and verse, were of every rank and profession. With some it was only an occasional and exceptional pursuit; but with others it was as much a profession as divinity, law, or physic. His paper referred to all those who mafe literature one of their pursuits, and the duration of whose life was consequently affected in various degrees by the habits of composition. There were subdivided into antiquaries, historians, poets, miscellaneous writers, and writers professionally engaged as school-masters. Of these ages at death the lowest were those of two poets who died at the age of 21, the highest was that of T. O'Sullivan, a celebrated Irish bard and author, who died at the recorded age of 115. According to the tablesexhibited by Dr. Guy, poets appear, on an average, to live the shortest lives, and next to them come school-masters. This may be explained, as regards poets, by the circumstance of their commencing their distinctive pursuit earlier than any other class of literary men; as regards school-masters, by the immense amount of confinement in unhealthy rooms which they are compelled to undergo. That poets had been a short-lived race appeared evident from some statistics of the ages at death of Roman poets, produced by Dr. Guy. Thus, Tibullus died at 24, Persius at 30, Lucillus and Catullus at 46, Virgil at 51, Horace at 57, Ovid at 59, and Martial at 75 - the eight names giving the low average of 48 1/2 years. Against these may be placed Kirke White, who died at 21, Collins at 36, Parnell and Robert Burns at 37, Goldsmith at 46, Thompson at 48, Cowley at 49, Shakespeare at 52, and Pope at 56 - yielding an average of 43 years. The average duration of the life of British poets who attained the age of 21, was 58.10 years; while the corresponding duration of life for the antiquaries - the highest in the list - was 67.56 years. Historians ranked next to antiquaries as a long-lived class. The average duration of life for eight Roman writers who treated history and kindred subjects, was 69.63, or more than 20 years in excess of that of the Roman poets. The results of the investigations concerning British historians agree with those in a majority of similar tables, in shewing that there was a less favourable duration of life in persons born in the seventeenth century than in those born during the eighteenth. As regards the comparative duration of life among the married and single members of the literary profession, the advantage is in favour of the married men. Turning to scientific men, whom Dr. Guy subdivided into (1) mathematicians and astronomers, (2) chemists and natural philosophers, and (3) naturalists, he found no great difference in the average durations of life; but it was a curious fact, that these classes shewed no falling off in the length of life in the seventeenth century cor-

[Column 2] responding to that which had been noticed in previous classes, but gave a progressive improvement: the age at death had risen from 61.66 in the sixteenth century, to 65.27 in the seventeenth, and then to 68.25 in the eighteenth. It must be remembered that these figures were deduced from the cases of those only who attained the age of thirty years. Turning next to that class which devoted itself to the fine arts - subdivided into egineers, etc., sculptors, painters, engravers, musicians, vocalists, and actors - he found that, as might have been expected from the sedentary nature of their occupation, the engravers stood the lowest on the list. Next came painters, who were confined within doors, but whose employment was less sedentary. Engineers, architects, and surveyors, who combined the sedentary pursuits of the draughtsman with the active superintendence out of doors, gave a higher average of life. With them ranked musicians; and even actors and vocalists seemed to have some advantage over engravers and painters. All this class, like the scientific class, shewed a progressive improvement during the three centuries above referred to. Comparing generally the classes devoted to literature, science and art, it appeared that scientific men had the most favourable duration of life; those engaged in literature stood lowest on the list. It would seem, however, from the tables, that though the pursuits of literature were destructive to life in its earlier periods, they were favourable in its more advanced stages. There were more old men among authors than among artists. [The Boston Transcript. --------------------...-------------------- THE MOTHERS OF GREAT MEN. --- The only two satisfactory instances given by Mrs. Ellis of a mother whose son was really great, and who had a direct and traceable influence on that greatness, are the instances of the mother of St. Augustine and the mother of Napoleon. Not only was St. Augustine a very remarkable man, and Monica a very remarkable woman, but the son owed to the mother the direction of his thoughts, the purpose of his life, and the source of his greatest enjoyment. In those moments when St. Augustine was conscious that he reached the highest pitch of spiritual exaltation, he was also conscious that his mother soared as high as he did. It would be an abuse of language to term Monica a great woman in the same way we term St. Augustine a great man, for he added to the piety and sublime feeling of his mother a remarkable degree of literary power and a great range of thought. We must also judge of all greatness by the test of success; and St. Augustine is principally to be called great because he, as a matter of fact, gave so much of its peculiar colour to Western Christianity. But the basis of his thoughts and feelings, his mode of viewing the relations between himself, God and the world, had been derived from his mother In a similar way we can trace a clear affinity between the character and mental constitution of Napoleon and those of his mother. There was the same stubbornness, the same largeness of thought, the same meanness in certain acts of common life, the same resolute determination to enforce the burden of their own personal ascendency on all around them. There was in the mother a Corcian finesse which degenerated intot he enormous lying of the son - the grandest liar, probably, that the world has ever seen. - Napoleon himself attributed many of his notions of government to the family system in which he had been brought up; and the plan of helping, bullying, and snubbing his brothers, according to the fancies or the exigencies of the moment, was founded on traditions that dated from his infancy. In fact, the whole inquiry as to the influence of mothers on sons, as conducted by Mrs. Ellis, is utterly purposeless. For what is the exact question that is to be solved? That mothers exercise an influence over their sons is obvious, but there is no reason to suppose that the qualities which make men great are more dependent on this influence than any other set of qualities. If Mrs. Ellis's book proves any thing, it proves that there is no rule whatever on the subject, and no lesson whatever to be learnt from it. It does not need an octavo volume to establish that a man of extraordinary gifts is likely to render those gifts more profitable to himself and others if he has a very pious, wise, strict, loving, charming woman to guide him in infancy and youth. But no one can say that great men have, as a rule, had such great fortune. Greatness depends on qualities that are entirely personal to the individual, which defy analysis, and cannot be traced to any distinct source. They are affected in their development by an endless variety of circumstances, and a most important circumstance is the sort of mother who has the control of them in their earliest stage. But they are quite independent of her. Jerome and Joseph Bonaparte had the same mother as Napoleon.

[Column 3] What made him great was that which he had besides what they had; and the ultimate result of all inquiries of this sort is to convince us that it is hopeless to ask who one individual differs from another. Physical science is utterly at a loss to account for this difference. There is no perceptible variation in the size or quality of the brain, or of the nervous system, that will in the least account for the superior activity of the mind or the greater firmness of the will. - Saturday Review. -----------------...----------------- LONELINESS. - The vaster the crowd, the more solitary the individual, the more lonely the heart. "No one," says a recent writer, "is known in London; it is the realm of the incognito and the anonymous. It is not a place, but a region, or a State. There is no such thing as local opinion in the metropolis; mutual personal knowledge, there is none; neighbourhood, good repute, bad fame, there is none. No house knows the next door. How is a man to shew what he is, when he is but a grain of sand out of a mass, without relations to others, without a place, without history, without distinctiveness? Crowds pour along the streets; and although each has their own character written on High, they are all one and the same to men below." This is true, of course, in a less degree, with every great city, especially to the young and unfriended stranger. All at once he passes from the midst of a friendly neighbourhood - where every one knows another, where the eye of every one is on his brother, and where the slightest incident of weal or woe affecting any of its members, is the theme of interested converse around each cottage hearth - to an almost absolute solitude. In fact, in those vast wildernesses of streets, and land, and noisesome courts and alleys, of which the lower parts of our great cities consist, while the worst vices of social life are generated to the utmost, society, in the true sense of the word, can scarcely be said to exist. There are few or no ties of mutual knowledge, common interest and friendly neighbourhood, such as bind the inhabitants of a country side or of a small town together, and which make a parish not a district, merely, but a living, organized society [ North British Review. --------------...-------------- GOD ON THE SEA. - I must confess that no one thing impresses me so much with a sense of Divine order and goodness in the material world, with the conception of a stupendous machine which the Almighty wisdom has designed, and which the Almighty power keeps continually in operation - as the wondrous, benificent, magnificent system of exchange between the land and the sea carried on through the pipes of the atmosphere, and veins that cross the azure floor of heaven, this mighty wheel that turns this way and that, and keeps the pulse of every living thing in motion. "A great waste," is this expanse of water, that chafes "the vexed Bermoothes," or lies swimming under a tropic sky. But far inland the great heart of continents pants for its blessing, and stately forests sigh for it thro' all their leaves; and to-morrow this outlying element that quivered like molten lead or dashed in feathery foam, has descended upon the lawns of England, the vineyards of the Rhine, and the wheat-fields of the West. It has touched with tender coolness the wide prairie, and it opens its flowery lids, more innumerable than the eyes of heaven. The humble plant lifts up its grateful head, as though it felt God's care for it, and the orchard and the garden breathe rich incense of thanksgiving where it has passed along. The little brook babbles with joy over its new filled-cup; and the Mississippi and Oronoco, back among their hidden springs, send up their great voices in exultation. But the vast wheel keeps turning, and, as it were, to-morrow, again, the moisture that trickled from the rock, or dangled like a thread of diamonds in the grass, is surging in that mighty pulse of the Gulf Stream, is scoffing at the Orkneys, or sparklink in a wake of glorious light under the Southern Cross. -------------------...------------------ THE PLAY OF THE "STRANGER." - The sentiment of mankind upon the subject of a re-union of husbands and wives, who have once separated in consequence of matrimonial infidelity, was tested many years ago by Kotzebue, when he wrote his play of the "Stranger." In the original form of that thrilling drama, the "Stranger" was coaxed back to his wife's arms by a well-meaning friend, and the curtain once more went down upon a happy and confiding couple. The denouement so outraged the popular ideas of propriety, that the play was peremptorily hissed off the stage, and would have been lost for ever to the dramatic repertoire, had not the readywitted author reversed the moral of his production, and closed the last sad interview between the wretched pair with the stern sentence from the husband's lips: "We may meet again - in Heaven." ------------------...---------------- A SECRET is my slave as long as I keep it under; a secret is my master the moment it escapes from me.

[Header] 244 THE COURANT; A SOUTHERN LITERARY JOURNAL.

[Column 1] The Courant. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ COLUMBIA, S. C., THURSDAY, DEC. 1, 1859. --------------------------------------------------------------- --------------------------------------------------------------- The Last Number. The compulsary absence of the Proprietor in Europe, and the feeble health of the Editor of this paper, force me to suspend it. At some future day it may be resumed; at present, it is impossible for the Editor to perform his duties in justice to himself - while the absence of the Proprietor has deranged all the business of the paper. HOWARD H. CALDWELL, December 1st, 1859. Editor of the Courant. -------------------...------------------ Favours. We are indebted to Mr. P. B. GLASS for Harper's Magazine for December, and Frank Leslie's and Harper's illustrated weeklies. They all contain many interesting and instructive things; not to speak of the illustrations, which are countless. ---------------------...-------------------- The Cosmopolitan Art Journal, For December, has arrived. The engraving in the first of this number is very fine; every body will recognize the truthfulness and beauty of the picture of the mother telling on "bab's" toes the old story, "This little pig went to market." The body of the Magazine contains some articles of interest. The likeness of Dr. GILMORE SIMMS is decidedly horrid - he could not look as sour as that if he were to try. Our vivacious young townsman, Mr. ROBERT BECK, is the agent for this publication, which deserves encouragement, and will well repay the cost, which is only two dollars a year; it is published quarterly. --------------------...--------------------- "Yorkville Enquirer." Our Yorkville friends have issued the Enquirer with an addition, as they announced some time since. It bids fair, from the number of stories, etc., to "fill the bill" for all who desire light reading which they may feel certain is pure. There is no excuse for people now - let BONNER's vile Ledger, and let all the vicious, morbidly-unhealthy journals of the North, alone. This paper must be successful under the strong and go-ahead management of Mr. GRIST. Our anceint friend MELTON not having time enough, will be assisted by Mr. Wm. W. EAST, with whom our readers are already acquainted. ---------------------...-------------------- We have received from OSCAR M. LIEBER, Esq., a copy of the November number of the Journal of the American Geographical and Statistical Society. In this Magazine appears an admirable article by Mr. LIEBER, "South Carolina, her Natural Resources and Agricultural Products." This paper is, of course, writted with full knowledge of the subject, and, from Mr. LIEBER's superior opportunities for observation, the entire article has been made proportionately interesting and instructive. Two most beautifully printed maps accompany the assay; one of them being a map of the Forest-Growth of the State, and the other, an industrial map; they are gotten up in COLTON's finest style, - Mr. LIERER's name vouches for the accuracy of them. So much has been done - so faithfully, so laboriously have the duties of his office been performed, that we feel sure that the Legislature will not allow Mr. LIEBER's most valuable services to be stopped at this incomplete stage of the survey. It was not possible that all could be done in four years, or Mr. LIEBER would have done it in that time. In the words of Goethe: "The little done doth vanish to the mind Which forward sees how much remains to do." Many important results have accrued from Mr. LIEBER's four years' work: can it be possible that our legislators will be blind to the value of such a survey, made by one so preeminently qualified for it? The annual reports of our Geologist have been praised in the highest terms by the great scientific men of America and Europe, attesting the excellence of his work, and his peculiar qualification for it. We do hope that Mr. LIEBER will be reelected, and allowed four years longer to complete his work, which will reflect honour, as well as confer practical benefits, upon South Carolina. By all means let this great scientific and most useful work proceed until ample time be given for its completion. --------------------...------------------- THE Home Journal tells the following "good one" on General SCOTT - who is rather famous for his fastidiousness, by the way: "In the heat of one of the most desperate battles in Mexico, the General saw a critical point where an advantage was likely to be lost except by a prompt though rather dangerous movement. He galloped up to one of the officers of a volunteer corps, and gave the order. The man was willing enough, but while gathering up his reins, he remarked in the most savoury drawl of Yankee dialect: - 'Well, it does seem to me that I could hayve done it better a little while ago!' 'Sir,' thundered out the General, 'the words are does and have! You've only twenty minutes to live, and for God's sake don't die with such horrible pronunciation in your mouth!' And waving his hand to the astonished 'captain,' with an imperative repetition of his order by gesture, the splendid horseman galloped off to follow up his victory in another crisis of the battle."

[Column 2] Right and Wrong. Our readers will remember that in our last week's paper we had occasion to allude to a very wanton and very silly notice of Miss EVANS' novel, "Beulah." Another number of the Saturday Press has arrived since then, and we find in it the right and the wrong method of treating such critiques. The publishers of the book have acted, we think, very absurdly; we know that Miss EVANS would sanction no such course. The action of the publishers may be best understood from the words of the Saturday Press itself; all of which we cordially endorse: "We have had another instance this week, of a leading publishing house of this city refusing to advertise with us any more, on account of our having published an unfavourable notice of one of its publications. "The meanness of such a course, so far as the paper is concerned, is of small consequence; but as indicating a disposition on the part of an otherwise respectable trade, to impose upon the public by virtually black-mailing the press, the act is one which assumes public importance. "It is not impossible that if The Saturday Press continues the independent course it has pursued from the beginning, that its advertising columns may be deprived of all book-selling support. But be this as it may, we shall not change that course; for as for aiding and abetting publishers in foisting their works on the public, as a return for what they are pleased to call their 'advertising patronage,' The Saturday Press will never do it. "We may err in our judgement of books, as of other things, but whoever thinks to bribe us into suppressing that judgment, by advertisements or in any other way, may as well be told once for all that he makes a stupid mistake, and succeeds only in forfeiting all claims to our respect." The right mode for disposing of such caviling, has been adopted by a writer who signs herself "Edgeworth;" doubtless some true-hearted woman who has read and understood "Beulah." Hear how well the question is put: "BEULAH - FLAT JUSTITIA. - From the diamond pen of Ada Clare, a harsh and flippant censure on the true-hearted work of Miss EVANS, cannot but cause me regret. "'Beulah' herself is not a heroine who deeply interests me; but the book, whatever its defects, abounds in passages above mediocraty in art, and deserves our respect as the utterance of a soul's earnest life. "'Beulah' has no pretensions of wide popularity. It is a monologue of the soul - a voice from the heart of one whose social experience, limited and uneventful, has left to an active mind, in a frail body, unusual tension of the pure intellect, and rendered most real the revolutions of thought. Subordinate to these is the social frame of the work. - We find not here the eventful pictures of a camera, but the more vaguely suggestive evolutions of a pastoral kaleidoscope. When a child, I followed for years 'Beulah's Will-o'-the-Wisp;' I suffered her prolonged tension of the mind in its search for absolute or abstract truth in ethics, metaphysics, and religion; thus I appreciate the fidelity of a portraiture which does not mirror the general experience. It is a mistake which awakens fewer sympathies than passional or social aberrations, but may prove no less fatal to its subject. Here one who has been storm-tost, kindly builds her pharos for sailors in the same inhospitable seas. "I have no time now for citations, or a regular criticism; but I remember having been so charmed with some of those graces which reveal the true aristocracy of character and talent, that I would fain have presented its authoress, as recognition due, with a pair of milk-white elephants, the royal breed of Siam. Such was the natural association and ideas, which no commonplace work could have inspired. I cannot welcome, with happy augury, theological metaphysics in the future of literary art. But it is no trivial attestation of the genuine force that underlies this perversity in 'Beulah' that so many and warm sympathies are won by its accessory merits, and from readers not five of whom care for its metaphysics. A delicate faculty of individualization, natural power in crises that reveal the inmost soul of a character, integrity of principle and purpose, enthusiasm for essential life-truth, without inflated tirade against the accidents of conventional respectability, are 'Beulah's;' and when a riper experience shall have shewn Miss EVANS where her truest power lies, and taught her to avoid abstractions, the laurels of art await her brow - of art whose province is impassioned personality, such as social contact only can develop, and whose only legitimate sphere is the drama of social events." -------------------------...------------------------ THE following beautiful lines, entitled "Autumn," from the pen of C. C. Burr, will find an echo in many a heart:

The leaves are falling, falling! The trees are bleak and sere; Death on life is calling - And 'tis autumn with the year.

My life is falling, falling! Here youth and I must part! Time's visita grows appalling - And 'tis autumn with my heart. ---------------------------...------------------------ HAWTHORNE has a new novel in the press, in London, the title of which is not announced.

[Column 3] LITERARY NOTICE. --- "The Bench and Bar of South Carolina: By John Belton O'Neall, LL.D., ETC. Charleston, S. C.: S. G. Courtenay & Co. M D CCC LIX."

What a vast Necropolis! - an immense City of the Silent - for men who once electrified senates and court-rooms with their words of eloquent enthusiasm! And here and there we find some great old man who was famous in his day, surviving, walking through the long lines of memorial marble which tell of their old competitors: such as PRESTON, and KING, and the author himself. But the reader will ask, how is it possible that biographies, for the most part brief, have filled those two huge volumes? Has South Carolina had so many illustrious lawyers? Is not this book like Appletons' Cyclopaedia, a vast collection of petty-great? Have all these men done such service as to entitle them to everylasting remembrance? It must be confessed, that few, comparatively, of this long list, were known out of their own State; nay, the most of those men - particularly those who make the bulk of the second volume - were not much known out of their own Congressional districts. YET IT IS RIGHT AND PROPER THAT THESE MEN ARE HERE. Among this less celebrated class, most of the men will serve for examples worthy of imitation in all time to come. These are the men who, like those mentioned in the words of the Psalmist - "seminant in lachrymis" - find, after their tearful sowing, a cheerful harvest of joy; they are men, some of whom were not gifted by Nature with distinguished powers of mind, but who overcame their natural deficiencies by long and arduous toil. Others, who, through poverty, ignorance, and the opposition of older lawyers, by dint of uncompromising labour, planted themselves securely in honourable places, and died in full enjoyment of their work. Granted, that many never rose to any great eminence; granted, that many were men of small reputation; but the lessons of the lives of these very men are full of instruction, and well adapted to encourage the fainthearted who are now, and always will be, toiling up the same rough and thorny road. Thus far, the volumes cannot be too highly commended. The work consists of two large volumes, very neatly bound, and printed on fair, white paper, although in some places the print looks to us as if some old type had been employed: our own opinion on this point has been confirmed by a practical printer. Whoever the printers were - for their names do not appear - they ought to be heartily ashamed to have sent out a book with so many and such glaring typographical errors. In the long list of errata at the end of the volume, a great many of these errors have been omitted. For instance, in the notice of EDMUND BACON, Dr. LA BORDE had said in his note to Judge O'NEALL, "His voice, clear and musical;" this line appears in the following remarkable shape, "his voice, chorded musical." This job of printing certainly does no body any credit. LL. D. always appears as L. L. D. But the style? Dear reader, there are many. The Judge has collected much which appears here, from the friends and relations of persons for writing whose biographies he had no means of discovering the data in records within his reach. - Hence, there is much pleasing variety in the styles; from the elegance of Judge PORTER and Mr. TRESCOTT, to the author's own peculiar way of writing, which has been called "The homespun style." We regret that the Judge has done so little in the way of analyzing character, which, after all, is the use of biography. It is only now and then that he carefully considers the mental peculiarities of the men whom he commemmorates. A few sketches, really Boswellian in exactness, have been put in; but it is done chiefly to illustrate some funny excentricity, or to narrate a good story, which the author loves as well as any body. Again, some of these notices are painfully brief, and almost entirely without a proper estimate of the persons. Legare, Preston, Harper and others get only a few pages, while some men, who were scarcely known in any but their own sections of country, have received twenty pages, and most elaborate sketches. With the note-worthy works of Biography, these volumes can never take rank. With the recollection of books like ROSCOE's Leo X., Mrs. Gaskell's life of BRONTE, Talfourd's Lamb, Boswell's Johnson, or Middleton's Life of Cicero, we must pronounce the most of the biographies of the "Bench and Bar" very decidedly failures. As has been well said, "the true aim of Biography is to reveal the personal significance of the man." HISTORY deals with the development of principles, Biography, of character. We may know what the man is in active life; we may see him perservering, just and patient; we may see honours showered upon him, and hear the paeans of the crowd; these tell us little of the man. What is he, in himself? How stands he with those who know his private affairs, and understand his moral, social, literary and religious peculiarities? What sort of husband, father, and master? In a word, hold up to us the man, without any of the disguises of station or wealth. Let us hear, too, of these highly-gifted men, in some intellectual relations. What was peculiarly the genius of HARPER? What distinguished PRESTON? How whink you of CALHOUN? What say you of DeSAUSSURE's mind; and what separates LEGARE from his less-gifted brethren?

[Header] THE COURANT; A SOUTHERN LITERARY JOURNAL. 245

[Column 1] It may be answered, that in so vast an undertaking there was not room; but the author might have curtailed the sketches of men little known, in order to give place for his critical estimate of the mental peculiarities of those just named, and others, who deserve it. We opened the volumes with eagerness, hoping to find and peruse Judge O'NEALL's opinion of his contemporaries - but we were doomed to disappointment, as the book is chiefly made up of dates, facts of a public nature, and resolutions of the lawyers at different placed where the subjects of the memoirs died. There is very, very little of the Judge about these volumes. The book may be found at the stores of P. B. GLASS and of S. TOWNSEND. It is sold at five dollars a copy. It is well worth the money, for it is a vast store-house of facts. Let all the lawyers, at least, avail themselves of its many uses. ---------------------...-------------------- Improbably. Mr. C. D. GARDETTE has sent to the Saturday Press a very wild, scatter-brained sort of poem, called the "Fire-Fiend," and he alleges that it was written by EDGAR A. POE. Here is his letter to the Editor: "PHILADELPHIA, Nov. 6, 1859. "To the Editor of the Saturday Press: "DEAR SIR, - The following fantsatic poem was written by Mr. Poe, while experimenting toward the production of that wondrous mechanism, 'The Raven;' but, considering it incomplete, he threw it aside. Some time afterward, finding it among his papers, he inclosed it in a letter to a particular friend, labelled facetiously, 'To be read by fire-light, at midnight, after thirty drops of laudanum.' How it finally came into the possession of the undersigned, he is not at present at liberty to tell. The poem is copied, verbatim, literatim, et punctuation, from the original MS. "Yours, &c., C. D. GARDETTE." "[We postpone several articles this week to make place for the following communication, which we print with the single remark that we 'don't see it.']" The Poem will scarcely pass as one of POE's. The following stanzas will give some idea of it: THE FIRE-FIEND. - A NIGHTMARE. FROM AN UNPUBLISHED MS. OF THE LATE EDGAR A. POE. IN THE POSSESSION OF CHARLES D. GARDETTE.

In the deepest dearth of Midnight, while the sad and solemn swell Still was floating, faintly echoed from the Forest Chapel Bell - Faintly, falteringly floating o'er the sable waves of air That were thro' the Midnight rolling, chafed and billowy with the tolling - In my chambers I lay dreaming by the fire-light's fitful gleaming, And my dreams were dreams foreshadowed on a heart foredoomed to Care! On the red hearth's reddest centre, from a blazing knot of oak, Seemed to gibe and grin this Phantom, when in terror I awoke, And my slumberous eyelids straining, as I staggered to the floor, Still in that dread Vision seeming, turned my gaze toward the gleaming Hearth, and - there! - oh! - God! - I saw It! and from Its flaming jaw It Spat a ceaseless, seething, hissing, bubbling, gurgling stream of gore!

Then, as in Death's seeming shadow, in the icy fall of Fear I law, stricken, came a hoarse and hideous murmur to my ear: - Came a murmur like the murmur of assassins in their sleep :- Muttering, "Higher! higher! higher! I am Demon of the Fire! I am Arch-Fiend of the Fire! and each blazing roof's my pyre. And my sweetest incense is the blood and tears my victims weep!"

"How I revel on the Prairie! How I roar among the Pines! How I laugh when from the village o'er the know the red flame shines, And I hear the shrieks of terror, with a Life in every breath! How I scream with lambent laughter, as I hurl each crackling rafter Down the fell abyss of Fire, until higher, higher, higher Leap the High-Priests of my Altar in their merry Dance of Death!",

"I am Monarch of the Fire! I am Vassal-King of Death! World encircling, with the shadow of its Doom upon my breath! With the symbol of Hereafter flaming from my fatal face! I command the Eternal Fire! Higher, higher, higher, higher Leap my ministering Demons, the Phantasmagoric lemans Hugging Universal Nature in their hideous embrace!" -------------------...------------------- In a notice of MISS SUSAN ARCHER TALLEY's poems, the Home Journal thus pathetically describes her afflictions: "She is one who lives in a silent world. That stern foe of childhood, which so often pronounces sentence of death upon its fairest and brightest, or but commutes the sentence to a partial imprisonment for life from the outer world, saying to them, "Live, but be sightless;' or 'Live, but be soundless and voiceless,' pronounced the latter sentence upon her. But against a portion of this sentence she has bravely and persistenetly struggled. Having previously acquired the faculty of speech, she has, unlike most of her fellow-sufferers, clung to it tenaciously and successfully. The lips that had once spoken words of affection, refused to give up their office. Other lips may be mute to her; but there is no thought or feeling which does not find ready expression on her own. "This peculiarity, while it alleviates the affliction for her friends, gives a singular piquancy to her intecourse with casual acquaintances. A look, a sign, on their part, or a half spelled sentence upon the fingers, is instantly cought and interpreted; and it seems so impossible to associate a sorrow with a face so sparkling, or a defect with one so intelligent, that the imperfection seems oddly, for the moment, to be transferred to yourself. She cannot be deaf; it is you that are dumb. You feel as if conversing with some intellectual foreigner, with whose language you are but partially acquainted, who kindly takes your stammering words and unformed sentences, and gives them, at once, intelligent expression and eloquent reply." ------------------------...----------------------- SAM. COWELL, the celebrated English comic singer, arrived lately in this city. He is a broher of Mrs. BATEMAN, the authoress of the tragedy called "Geraldine."

[Column 2] For the Courant. POSTPONEMENT OFTHE EXECUTION OF BROWN, --- The retention of the insurrectionist, BROWN, in prison, for a month after his condemnation, by which the number of his sympathisers will be day increased, and the chances of his ultimate escape from punishment in the same ratio multiplied, is as impolitic as it is cotrary to the more prompt and summary mode in which, in cases of clear and aggravated guilt, the laws are elsewhere and should always be, administered. The spy, and the deserte, whose offences are often not without palliations, are yet brought to a drum-head court martial and summarily shot, but the insurrectionist, who deliberately plans the massacre of whole communities, and is taken, flagrante delicto, or with arms in is hands, and in the act of resisting and shooting down the officers of the law, is entitled, it seems, to a fair trial, or must be arraigned, and regularly condemned - that the hand of justicemay be kept in practice, and its forms preserved, however muh its spirit may be violated. The victim, too wel to stand, must be held up, to be knocked down secunden artem,* or, in other words, one of the noblest institutions of ustice - one intended for the protection of the innocent, and f the accused - is converted, or degenerates, into a mere idleceremony. A trial is to be had, when nothing is to be proved tat was not known before, and where the verdict rendered sinks o a level with that of a coroner's inquest, whose findings re generally those of "mares' nests" - who solemnly decide hat a man shot through the heart has been so shot - and in suh cases come to the conclusion, with a unanimity thta cannotbe too much admired, that the deceased came to his death by mortal wound, inflicted either by his own hand or that of ome body else. Delay, and the parade of mere senseless forms, is mistaken for an imposing display of the ceremonies and he scrupulousness of justice; and the torture of the victim, y protracted imprisonment, is regarded as a mitigation of his sntence, a drop of consolation, by which the drop that is to ed his days will prove less bitter when it is at last administered. Surely, none but a eople more law-ridden than law-abiding - more governed by th forms than the rules of justice - would submit to be trifled with by such a farce as the late trial of BROWN; T and in no other country but this would the respite unnecessarily grante to so enormous a villain (for such is the effect of the delay of execution required by the laws of Virginia) be either tolated or regarded as consistent with humanity, or as tempeing with Mercy the severity of Justice. For, where the sentece is ultimately enforced, it falls only the more heavily at last on the hapless culprit, who is thus slowly, and, if we may so epress it, circuitously dragged to death - instead of being put - and not kept in suspense, or being at once subjected to the justpenalty of his crimes. Though prisoners like drowning men catching at straws, may, in general, be lad to be respited, the public are apt to regard these suspensons of sentence as suspensions or postponements of justice, ad, where ultimately carried into effect, as a species of refined crelty towards the unfortunate criminals - like that of the cat to the mouse - and come finally to sympathize with the wreches thus sported with by the law, and at length executed in cld blood, or after the odium and indignation excited by their crines have so far subsided as to dispose even the most severe to pty rather than to punish; for the waters of time wash pale the offences of even the worst of sinners, or our own weaknesses and labefactions admonish us at least to look with leniency on the misdoings, and often necessityprompted crimes, or our frail fellow-creatures, who may have been more tempted, or less guarded by education and instilled principles, or of stronger passions and weaker will than ourselves. General Jackson ra his pen through the decision of the Court Martial who would have brought Arbuthnot to a regular military trial; and Governor Troup, on receiving the usurping mandamus of the Supreme Court, to turn over an offender against the laws of Georgia to the custody of the Marshal of the United States, took the prisoner (Tassels) out of prison, and had him immediately executed, under the authority of the laws he had violated. Had General Jackson allowed the presses of the United States and of England to have gotten hold of and dragged into a protracted discussion that cases of Arbuthnot and Ambrister, it may be doubted whether even he could have brought the notorious scelerats to punishment, or ventured to withhold them from trial by the civil courts of the country. The wriggling politician at the head of the government of ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------- *BROWN (we beg pardon) Captain BROWN, brought in on a litter into Court, and gashed all over with the wounds received in his battle with the officers of the land - and the Court laboriously engaged in an inquiry into his guilt, the evidence of it before their eyes, written in characters of blood, was surely a scene worthy of the island of Barataria, and in which its proverb-learned Governor might have figured out and appropriately presided. t If the conspirators are tried separately, and the execution of each be postponed for the thirty days allowed by the laws of Virginia, the performances, or the successive scenes produced by these arrangements, will occupy little short of a year, and afford abundant matter for the newspapers, and occasions for ever-renewing sympathy and sorrow for the sufferers.

[Column 3]

Virginia is, however, neither a Jackson nor a Troup, and, it is probable, rather expects to make capital out of the trial of the conspirators, the protraction of their imprisonment, the stir that will be kept up on the subject by the newspapers and their correspondents, and the gossip about the deportment of the criminals, the visits of their friends to them, etc., etc., by which the name of the future candidate for the Presidency will be brought more frequently before the public than it would otherwise have been, or than it has any legitimate claim to be. The names of the condemned wretches will become as familiar as household words, to the public, and JOHN BROWN, if executed, will die a martyr, instead of perishing as a criminal. TROUP. --------------------------...-------------------------- Letters for the Courant. HORSE-BACK AMONG THE MOUNTAINS. No. IV. Progress - A Day's Travel - Iron and Copper Beds - Marble Beds - Granite, etc. - the Cherokees, their Language and Traditions - Legend of Skiguskeh and Judacullah - their Mode of Worshipping the latter. DEAR CALKWELL: - I left Tallulah for Tunnel Hill, to attend the Mass Meeting held there August 19th. This is not the place to discuss the question of our great Railroad; but I pause to make a single reflection on the matchless energy and might of our civilization. Since the day when the bold Genoese, relying solely on the deductions of his intellect, and the guidance of Heaven and his campass, launched upon the bosom of the unknown Atlantic in quest of new worlds, Progress has been the watchword, and "Westward the star of Empire takes its way." I fancy that I can see the finger of fate pointing in the same wany through the Tunnel. It is a clear, ringing, prophetic utterance of faith in the continued growth and development of our great blood-bought country. Well may South Carolina, on the day when she completes this work, exclaim, in the words of Horace - "Exigi monumentum perennius aere." On the 20th, I traveled with the "North Carolina Delegation" from this place to Franklin. I could not fail to notice the difference between them and our people - a difference, too so marked and peculiar, and so clearly springing from diversity of laws, customs and associations, that it produced a world of suggestions. They were alive with politics, mountain scenery, internal resources and their development, all the time. It was very picturesque to see our long train, like a troop of cavalry, sans epaulettes, climbing the rugged and grand way to Clayton, that eyrie of a village among the cliffs, with its little brick Court-House about thiry-five feet square - then through the "Rabun Gap," and down the Little Tennessee to Franklin. - We breakfasted in South Carolina, diend in Georgia, and slept in North Carolina. I am indebted to the company, especially to Prof. C. D. SMITH, of the Franklin Observer, and DAVID SILER, Esq., formerly of the North Carolina Legislature, for much of the information in this letter; and to them I hereby tender my acknowledgements. The country around Franklin is thought to be very rich in both iron and copper ore. The iron consists of an aggregation of octahedral crystals, resembling anatase - is highly magnetic, and "freer from foreign ingredients than the ore of Cranbury." The vein is supposed to run parallel with the rock-strata; and, if so, must be a general feature of the geology of the region. The copper is equally pure and abundant. A company in Cincinnati has made a purchase, and is waiting for railroad or turnpike facilities to commence mining. THe Nantihala and River Valley marble beds are one continuous vein of sixty miles. They produce very fine flesh-coloured, blue, and purely white marble. It is said to equal the Italian. I have some specimens of the flesh-coloured, which is very fine-grained, and susceptible of a high polish. The bed will not be exhausted for centuriied. It may, indeed, hold within its bosom the marble which is to grace the mausoleum of American kings - when faction and effeminacy, luxury, and lust after earthliness, shall have dethroned the goddess of Liberty! Or it may contain the pure-white cenotaph to be erected over dead Homers, Ciceros, Shakespeares and Wordsworths, mourned and praised by American freemen! There is the flesh-coloured, suitable to put its ravenous face towards eternity and cry - "Pearls have been cast before swine and trodden under foot." There, the blue and white, worthy of the inscription in gold - "Intelligence and Virtue, yea, princely intelligence and iron virtue, the only safeguard of Republics." Or it may proudly yield its noblest blocks to some hand that will weild the chisel as divinely as Phidias, or Nahl, or Thorwaldsen, or Powers. - Washington may spring to life again, with mien as godlike as Apollo Belvidere wore in days of old; and Liberty be enshrined in as beautiful lineaments as those of the immortal Aphrodite. Is there no art in science and civilization - no inspiration in truth - no beauty in virtue - no grandeur in Christian life? There is genius, too, if we but remain free, that will glow with the truth - find the art, the beauty and the grandeur - and touch the dead marble and it will live. Much of the granite of our mountains is as fine-grained and beautiful as the Massachusetts granite used in our new State