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a Deutocratic 3Jottrual, ntbetea to Sotten Elgfjts, Ntus, Soitis utvalt Mtt!!(gente, Efteraturejoaiy sutate gitite,$c "We will cling to the Pillars of the Temple of our and if it must fal, we will Perish amidst the Ruins. W. F. DURISOE, Proprietor EDGEFIELD ., JULY 31,1851. VOL.xv.-nO.2s Efje 5cffictl rsert r Is PUBLISHED EVERY THIRSDAY MORNING BY W. F. DURISOB, Proprietor. ARTHUR SIMKINS, Editor, T RNS-...Two DOLLARS per year, if paid in advance-Two DOLLARS and FIFTY CENTS if not paid in six months-and THRES DOLLARS if not paid before the expiration of the year. All subscriptions not distinctly limited at the time of subscribing, will be considered as made for an in definite period, and will be continued until all arrearages are paid, or at the option of the Pub lisher. Subscriptions from other States must be accompanied with the cash or reference to some one known to us. ADVERTISEMENTS will be conspicuously inserted at 75 cents per Square (12 lines or less.) for the first insertion and 37 1.2 for each subsequent insertion. When only published Monthly or Quarterly, One Dollar per square willbe .charged. All Advertise ments not having the desired number of insertions marked on the margin, will be continued until forbid and charged accordingly. Those desiring to advertise by the year can do so on liberal terms.-it being distinctly under stood that contracts for yearly advertising are con fined to the immediate, legitimate business of the firm or individual contracting. Transient Adver tisements must be paid for in advance. For anr.fei.cing a Candidate, Three Dollars, in advance. For Advertising Estrays Tolled, Two Dollars, to be paid by the Magistrate advertising. 3'omale Names. MARVy, the sweetest of female names, may not inappropriately stand at the head of our list. It is from the Hebrew, and signifies exalted. Its French form is Mfa. vie. It is, we hardly need say, a famous name in both sacred and profane history. The name has, literally, been exalted. It has been linked with titles and power with crowns and coronets, and adorned by goodness and beauty. Mary has ever been a favorite name with the poets. By. ron, as he assured us, felt an absolnte passion for it. It is interwoven with some of its sweetest verses. The pleasant poet, Burns, seems to have been as much at tached to it as the author of Childe Ha. rold.-It is still the theme 'of bards and bardings unnumbered. We might fill a column or two here with songs, sonnets, and ballads, in the melody of whose verse the most musical syllablesare those which form the charming name of Mary. But where so much presents itself, we can I n, sort The very music of the name has gone Iate our being." Let the motto, or the toast, if you will, be-the single line of Bryan Waller Proctor: " Here's a health to thee, sweet Mary." SAMN-is almost as common a name as Mary, but it lacks-the prestige which its historical and poetical associations throw around the latter.-It is also from the He brew and signifies a princess. In poetry it takes the form of Sally or Sallie, and is found in many a love song and ballad. Sally is sometimes contracted to Sal, which is neither poetical nor euphonious. Laughing. sporting, prattling Sallie, Now tell me what shall be That tint of sky, sunlit or starry, To which I'll liken thee ; The softest shades of heaven's own blue Those lustrous eyes seem melting through. Srs.m, another name of Hebrew ori gin, signifies a lily. In poetry it is usu ally seen in its contracted form of Sue. It is a pretty name, and is immortalized in Gay's well-known ballad. The signifi eation of the name is happily introduced in the closing line: " Adieu, she cried, and waved her liy hand." Ralph Hoyt, in a very graceful poem, en titled, " My Sue," has the followmng lines: " And how often have I strayed With the lads along the lea, And with many a pretty maid, * Yet, ah! none of them for me, For if she whom I love best In the groups could not he seen, No contentment in my breast, - No delight upon the green; But there was a garden nigh, With its bower just in view, And still craved my heart and eyo That swoet lily there--my Sue." MABEL is probably derived from ma bella, signifying my fair, though some suppese it is contracted from amabillis, lovely or amiable. It is good name in either ease, and worthy of being perpetu ated. Mary Howitt has a ballad comn mencimg, "Arnse, my maiden Mfabel," which is the only poem we now recollect in which the name occurs. URSULA, a name associated in our mind with homeliness of face and goodness of hteart concealed under the veil of a nun, ja from' tho Latin, 4nd signifies nothing enore amiable than a female bear! Who, knowing this, will give the iiame to a childi Bz.,*xonu, one of the sweetest names borne by woman, is from the French and signifies white or fair. Mary Hewitt pnakes the orange flower its floral type " Ah, cousin Blanche, let's see, What's the gowver resembling thee ; With those dove-like eyes of thine, And thy fair hair's silken twine, With thy low broad forehead, white As marble, and as purely bright; Withth mouth so calm and sweet, And tydainty hands and feet; What' the flower most like to thee, Blassom of the orange tree." Lucy, in its French from Lucic, signi fles lucid, and oomes from the Latin. " Lucy Is a golden girl," says Bryan Proctor, and many wiill eoho the line. Lucy is a favorite name with almost every one, Wordsworth has made it one of the "?fames.wedded unto song." And lovely indeed is the maiden bear lag that sweet naume. BEATRICE is another name derived fror the Latin. It signifies one who blesses o makes happy. No name can be more ap propriate for a lovely, af'ectionate, an amiable woman. Beatrice has been hon ored above all others by the poets. She] ly, Shakspeare and Dante have, in turn thrown around it the charm of their num bers, and linked it with thoughts botl lovely and tragic: " Io son Beatrice chi ti faecio andare." CAROLINE is the feminine form o Charles, or rather of its Latin equivalen Carolus. It comes from the German and has the siguification of brave-sotde or raliant. The name has been borne b' women who have proved themselves wor thy of the name. It is not in the manlj breast alone that valor is found or need ed. There are those who, having loarned ---" How sublime a thing it is To suffer and be strong," have displayed a courage which shame, that of the warrior on the battle-field. Caroline is sometimes abbreviated to Car. rie, Callie, and Cal: " I know a fair young girl, With an eye like the sky's own blue Or a sweet spring flower when its azure leaves Are bright with early dew Oh, a thing half earth and half divine Is she, the fair young Caroline." Our Lifetime. TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN. When the world was created, and all creatures assembled to have their life ap. pointed, the ass first advanced, and asked how long he would have to live. "Thirty years," replied Nature; "will that be agreeable to thee ?" "Alas !" replied the ass, "it is a long while ! Remember what a wearisome existence mine will be; from morning until night I shall have to bear heavy bur dens, dragging corn sacks to mill, that others may eat bread, while I shall have no encouragement, nor be refreshed with anything but blows and kicks. Give me but a portion of that time, I pray I" Nature was moved with compassion, nd presented to him but eighteen years. rho ass went away comforted, and the log came forward. "How long dost thou require to live ?" sked Nature; "hi 'ears were -too "Is it thy will that I should I" replied the dog. "Think how much I shall have to run out: my feet will not last so long a time; and when I shall have lost my voice for barking and my teeth for biting, what else shall I be fit for but to lie in the corner and growl?" Nature thought he was right and gave him twelve years. The ape then ap. proached. "Thou wilt doubtless willingly live the thirty years," said Nature; "thou wilt not have to labor as the ass and the dog. Life will be pleasant to thee." "Ah, no !" cried he ; "so it may seem to others, but it will not be. Should pud ding ever rain down, I shall havo no spoon! I shall play merry tricks, and excite laughter by my grimaces, and then be rewarded with a sour apple. How often sorrow lies concealed behind a jest! I shall not be ablo to endure for thirty years. Nature was gracious, and he received but ten. At last came man, healthy and strong, and asked the measure of his days. "Will thirty years content thee I" "Hew short a time !" exclaimed man : "when I shall have built my house, and sindled a fire on my own hearth-when he trees I shall have planted are about to bloom and bear fruit, wvhen life will seem to me most desirable, I shall die! Oh, Nature ! grant me a longer period." "Thou shalt have the eighteen years of the ass besides." "That is not enough." "Take, likewise, the twelve years of the dog." "It is not yet sufficient," ro iterated man: "give me more ! "I give thee, then, the ten years of the ape; in vain wvilt thou crave more." Man departed unsatisfied. Thus man lives seventy years. The first thirty are his human years, and pass idly by. He is then healthy and happy -he labors cheerfully, and rejoices in is oxistnce.-The eighteen years of the as! come next, and, burden upon burden heaped upon him, he carries the corn that is to feed others, and blows and kicks are the wages of his faithful service. Th< twelve years of the dog follow, and h< loses his teeth, and lies in a corner am growls. When these are gone, the ape' ten years form the conclusion. The ma: is weak and silly becomes the sport c children. DON'T GuUMBLE.-He is a fool tha grumbles at every little mischance. Pu the best foot forward, is an old and gooi maxim. Don't run about, and tell ac quaintances that you have been unfortu nate. People do not like to have unfortt nate men for acquaintances. Add to: vigorous determination a cheerful' spiril if reverses come, bear them like a philose sopher and get rid of them as soon a you can. Poverty is like a panther: loo) it steadily in the face, and it ill turn from you. WHEr a person loses his reputatior the very last place wvhere he goes to lo or it is the nhece where he has lost it. n Romantic Pact. r Tn the winter of 1840, a lady who had lately been deprived by death of a daugh. I ter was on a visit to New-Orlean's. - Amongst other places of curiosity and in terest, she was induced by feelings of the tenderest compassion to look in at the room - appropriated to the reception of those des. i titute children, to be examined as their fitness for the charity of the Orphan Asylum. Immediately on her entering f the room, a little girl of about the same t age as her own lost child, sprung into her arms, called her mother, and by endearing caresses, evinced her joy at being restored as she believed, to her lost parent. On inquiry, the following facts were elicited relative to her previous history : A few hours after the dreadful tornado, a steamboat landed at Natches, when a servant girl brought a little girl on hoard, stating that she had walked out with the child just before the storm commenced, and that on her return she found the house of its parents completely demolish. ed-she had been looking for her mistress in every direction, and had almost arrived at the painful conviction that she- was buried beneath the ruins. The chambermaid of the boat offered to take charge of the child, whilst the girl returned to make a further search ; and during her absence the boat started for New Orleans-the child remaining on board. On the return trip every inquiry was made at Natchez for the family or ser vant, but nothing could be heard of them. The child continued on the boat, under the charge of the chambermaid, until the captain objected to her remaining on board.-Then she was placed at an infant school in New Orleans, the chambermaid visiting her and defraying her expenses on each arrival of the boat, until the yel. low fever deprived the little outcast of her last friend, the good chambermaid. The woman who kept the infant school then turned the child into the street, from whence she was taken to the room ivhere she had the happiness of finding a second mother. The lady whom she believed to be her mother, determin -to adopt her, a sincethen s}; d rdll mess as is truly clibitable lady beds, that though the little child is now a fine intelligent girl, of between twelve and thirteen years of age, and as sociated with the lady's own children, both older and younger than herself, she has not the faintest suspicion of her real position. She was at the time of her be ing adopted, about two years old, a very beautiful and intelligent child, with un commonly fair complexion, brown hair, blue eyes, with long black eyelashes. She had forgotten her own name and that of her parents, but from her knowing the names and uses of various articles of luxury, and speaking of her father's car riage; and from her entire freedom from any vulgarism in manner or thought, it is presumed that her family were respecta ble. If any reliance could be placed on the conversation of so young a child, it might be supposed that her parents were foreigners-perhaps Scottish, perhaps Catholics. It was supposed that her own parents were dead, but from facts lately elicited such is probably not the case ; and it is for thme purpose of gaining information that the little that is known of her history is made public. Any one knowing any thing likely to lead to a discovery of the orphan's relations is requested to address Box 328, Mohile, Ala. And as giving publicity to this notice may be the means of restoring a child to a bereaved mother, the writer hopes that editors throughout the Union will give it a place in their columns, especially in the Natchez and Philadelphia papers-New Orleans Picayune. A Beautifu L.etter. The following most touching fragment of a letter from a dying wife to her hus band was found by him, some months after her death between the leaves of a re ligious volume, which she was very fond of perusing. The letter, which was liter ally dim with tear-marks, was written long before the husbanid was aware that the grasp of a fatal disease had fastened upon the lovely form of his wvife, who died at the early age of nineteen: WVhen this shall reach your eye, dear G-,some day wvhen you are turning over the relics of the past, I shall have passed away for ever, and the cold white stone wvill be keeping its lonely wvatch over the lips you have so often pressed, and the sod will be growing green that shall hide forever from your sight the t dust of one wvho has so often nestled close t to your warm heart. For many long and j sleepless nights, when all beside my .thoughts was at rest, I have wrestled wvith .the consciousness of approaching death, .until at last it has forced itself upon my Smind; and although to you and to others it might now seem but the nervous imagi nations of a girl, yet, dear G--, it is s so! Many weary hours have I passed in k the endeavor to reconcile myself to leaving a you, whom I love Bo well, and this bright world of sunshine and beauty; and hard indeed is it to struggle on silently and , alone with the sure conviction that I am k about to leave all forever, and go down Moano into tho dark valley! "But I know fin whom I 'b ted," and leaning upon His arm, ' r no evil." Don't blame me for lee 'even all this from you. How con bject you, of all others, to such as I feel at part ing, when time soon make it appa. rent to you! ? I could have o live, if only to be at your side w time shall come, and pillowing yo upon my breast, wipe the death P from your brow, and usher your ng spirit into its Maker's presence; balmed in woman's holiest prayers. .: is not to be so and submit. Ye the privilege of waiting, thron and dreary nights, for the spirit's fin ht, and of transfer ring my sinkingh From your breast to my Saviour's . And you shall share my last qght; the last faint pressure of the ha , and the last feeble kiss shall be you and oven when flesh t and heart shall h -failed me, my eye I shall rest on yours lil glazed by death ; r and our spiritss . hold one last fond t communion, until tly fading from view a -the last of ea r-you shall mingle with the first bri' limpses of the un- a fading glories of better world, where a partings are unknoVD. .Well do I know ti the spot, dear G-4-, where you will lay 3 me; often have w stood by the place, and as we watc the mellow sunset as ', it glanced in qi .ing flashes through t the leaves, and .-iished the grassy t wounds around uslith stripes of burnish. V ed gold, each per. ps has thought that h some one of us d come alone, and V which ever it migh your name would 0 be on the stone. t we loved the spot; ti and I know".ou' ove it none the less h when you see them me quiet sun-light h linger and play a ong the grass that rows over your. ,;ry's grave. I know tc you will go often- ne there, when I am .e laid there, and my 'rit will be with you it then, and whispe rough the waving b branches, "I am t lost, but gone be. ui foro!" d b From the lington Flag. e A Tribu -le.pec. A- meeting of. 'embers of the Bar , >f the-sterm . were gpesent. sME'as e or the purpose, of expressing their feel- d ngs in reference to the rumored inten- I .ion of his-Honor, Judge Evans, to retire prom the Bench. ti On motion of Hon. F. J. Moses, E. A. S Law, Esq., was called to the Chair, and e . H. Norwood appointed Secretary. fc Col. Moses then submitted to the meet ing the following resolutions, which were ir inaiinously adopted: ri Whereas, the members composing the u Bar of the Eastern Circuit, having heard g with regret common to the whole coun try, of the proposed retirement of his 'h lonor, Judge Evans, from the Bench, td and the members of the bar now hero as- e sembled, deeply impressed with the great a loss which the State would experience y from his resignation of the seat which he ti hills with so much honor to himself and r benefit to the community, regard it a like e duty to themselves, the profession and the d country to express their views and wishes c in the following resolutions: h Resolved, That in the view of this e meeting, the resignation of his Honor, u Judge Evans, from the Bench, would be a a result deeply to be regretted, from the e eminent services which he is still capable p of rendering in the judicial department of i the State. Resolved, That the bar here assembled, r by a committee of two, to be appointed t y the Chair, take occasion to express to to his Honor the high appreciation ins which they regard him as a Judge and ar citizen. t Resolved, That we have witnessed with high satisfaction the learning, ability, promptness and courtesy of the Judget during the present arduous and laborioust term, and are awakened anew to the loss the State would experience by his with drawal from the Bench, while in posses-E sion of vigorous health and unimpairedE intelleet. Resolved, That the bar have assembled, I to take this occasion to express to his Honor their ardent hope and wish that ho will abandon, if any he has, the inten tion of retiring at the present time. The chair then appointed Messrs, F. J. Moses and J. A. Dargan a committee, under the second resolution. On the re-assembling of the Court, Col. Moses- arose, and in a brief but eloquent and feeling remarks, discharged the duty which had been assigned the committee of two. The Judge remarked that ho had had no intimation of any such proceedings on the part of the bar, and was unprepared) to respond to them as lie desired. Ho, remarked that in the discharge of his du ties as a Judge, he had always endeavor ed to do his duty, and that the evidence of his having succeeded to some extent, was gratifying: that he had entertained a de sire to visit foreign countries, and had thought that in doing so he wvould resign his seat at the end of the present yoar; but in the present unsettled state of the country, it was not Certain that lhe would do so at that time; that lhe had always thought after the age of 65, which lie was approaching, that it was better to rlinquish to the hands of younger men the arduous duties of a Judge. On motion of Col. Moses, it was Resolved, That the proceedings of thi meeting be published in the Darlingtoi Flag, and that the other papers in the State be requested to copy. R. A. LAW, Chairman. J. H. NoRwooD, Secretary. Vdlitical Hon. A. P. Butler's Letter. The following letter from Hon. A. P 3UTLER, to the Committee of Invitation >f the Anti-Secession Celebration, held al ireenville C. H., on the 4th July, we find n the Southern Patriot. GENTLEMEN :-In your communica ion of the 3d instant, you do me the tonor to invite me to meet and address ry fellow-citizens at Greenville C. H., on be 4th of July, "on the dangers of separ te State secession." As it will be out f my power to accept the invitation, I vail myself of a request in the latter part f your note, to make a few remarks on ie great subject that is connected with our meeting. I have never thought so much, or felt intensely, on the situation of our coun -y, as at this time. Indeed I may say mat I feel a concern hardly connected ith myself. The unknown future will ave its history, and an eventful one it -ill be. What place South Carolina may ecupy in it, events must tell. I pray tat it may be such that wisdom may in or judgment, approvo the dictates of onor. Why is it such a deep and solemn tno pervades the Southern States, and specially South Carolina, at this time ! has its origin in the wrongs that have een inflicted on Southern institutions, ader the power of a majority, and in the -ceptive palliations of them, that are to a found in compromises, that were con ived and consummated to propitiate etional fanaticism. The crises through ich we aregassing, will bring to .the at of. tiveryave quefQue ated Union, indissoluble, except by the ill of an interested majority. Should the Federal Government, prac cally assume the latter character, the outh States must be doomed to a degrad. i subordination. Should it maintain the irmer character, the parties to the .com act have their destiny in their own hands the unqualified right of secession-a ght that never could be exercised except pen very grave occasions, and on rounds and reasons that would find their istification before the tribunal of a just story. This, in my opinion, is a right at should never be exercised without onsulting the neighbors, whose interests re to be affected by its consequences. Vhere common rights are concerned, jus. cc requires that the means of common idress should be looked to. The South rn States are no longer blind to the angars that beset them. They are he. oming roused, and agitation cannot be ushed. The danger to the Southern ause, heretofore, has been a want of nion among representatives and public ien of the South. With such union they ould have dictated their terms. I quali. , this last remark by saying they could ave obtained all that they had a right to lam-a security of their constitutional ights. These divisions in the representa ves in Congress will ense because the copie of the Southern States will not upport those whio are untrue to theor eal interests.-When that change shall ike place and when Southern politicians hal be selected, as exponents of the iopular will, the South will have a poten. ial attitude to do itself justice in any wvay hat it may determine on. The opinion which I have expressed, and which I shall not repeat, as to the eprate secession of South Carolina, I till entertain. Assurances of co-opera. ion may be made to her ; but until she Las suech assurances, it is unwise in South 3aroina to advertize her purposes of vhat she will or wvill not do. Let what nay be said of the State, South Carolina as been a vigilant and rebuking sentinel. know of no State that would sooner nake the sacrifice of Curtius. But, in he name of common sense, let it not be useless sacrifice without fairly looking o the consequences of exclusively separ toe State secession. am, gentlemen, with great respect, Your fellow-citizeni, A. P. BUTrLER. To Messrs. R B. DUNcAN, VAnons icBEE, B. DUNHAM, and others, Corn uitttee. Stonelands, June 28, 1851. A MAN OF '7.-In the war of tht revolution, Mr. Henry Peyton of V'irginn lost three sons. When the intelligenc was brought to him that his third anc last son wvas slain, lie wvalked from th< messenger agonised with grief, but, sud denly stifling his emotions, he turned ant said: "Sir, much as I deplore the loss of in; poor boy, I would to God I had anothe: to supply his place, though he likewisi nerishod in the cause of his country." dinary rualties, that one which has ena bled you for so long a period of time, through the many political epochs in which you have borne a distinguished part, to conceal from the Southern mind your selfish ambition, and your agency in bringing upon the country so many fearful evils, is not the least remarkable. It shows sir, the perfection to which you have carried the arts of political knavery. At times ready to offer up the South:as'a sacrifice, the victim of your ambition to make yourself popular at the North, thrice have you by your intrigues for-the President brought the country to the verge of civil war. And notwithstanding your American system has plundered the South, under, color of law, of a thousand millions, for. the benefit of your Northern allies . not withstanding your " Compromises" have put in jeopardy fifteen hundred millions more-notwithstanding your last ".Com promise" confiscated for your abolition associates an immense territory, the right ful property of the South, and 4s-aeon sequence, the Southern horizon presents to your gaze now one unbroken:line of storms, fast thickening into a sweeping tempest, and with the glare of the light wing of civil war in your face, still you have brought upon that Union which you profess to love so much, and still true to your instincts, and standing upon .the brink of the grave, your thirst for power is yet unappeased. It may be worth while, sir, to pause and enquire why you have labored -so long in vain-why your ambition is' -not yet gratified, in a country which. offers so many incentives to honorable exertion? To all save yourself, the cause. of your oft-defeated aspirations is no mystery. Your domineering and tyrannical pro.. pensities are wormwood and gall to thoso, even who acknowledged you. as. their, party leader. Not content with being the leader of a party you cannot stop short of being its tryant. The party to whom you have looked for elevation'there fore refused to place: you in their'power. Thirsty as many of them-ares fora divi sion of the spoils; th ae suficied - the lion'uszhape o porgyi " o of plunder. The wire-workers ot.you; political .associates 'compreheud thei-a. ding traits .of , youranpolitical4haracter. They became aware,, at~au early; stage of your career, that ,although-t ;times ready to "compromise" away.the.rigbts of others, you are. careful never to ! com promise" the objects of your ow.ninsa tiate ambition. The game at which you have played required a heavy stake. -The property, the equality, peace and repose of the South was too much for your courage when, your political morality interposed no obstacle to the hazard. With the desperate spirit of the gambler, of which you had some conceptions, you placed the country-the mother that warmed you into life-upon the board, played the game, and lost stakes. Won derful man !-what superhuman powers of endurance you possess! for you-still live, with a mountain of political guilt'up on you. But, -sir, think not youn will escape forever. " There is .a divinity which shapes the ends of man," 'andithe worm that never dies will yet feel the enduring punishment of offended justice and violated faith. When the apathy and delusion which now hangs so heavily upon the minds of your outraged coOn trymen shall have passed aiway, I would not endure for a moment the scorching sentence of reprobation ich they will pass upon you, for all the empty honors you have received, or e ver hoped to~ac quire. You are still, sir, surrounded by flatter era, who bold to your lips the cup of a.du lation, wvhich you so greedily 'quafi., Tt may be deemed~ indecorous to disturb your self-complacency and composure, by selling to. your mind past reminiscences in your past eventful life, not. so credita ble to your cha'racter as a statesman as your best friends might desire. But there is one portion of the country from which you claim no title to forbearance,. and I am not awvaro that the arbitrary runles of decorum require that your selected: bio graphers and partizans have alone, the right to be heard. You must be brought, sir, to the bar of public opinion, and the means by wvhich you have inflicted- in curable wounds upon th~e Constitufion, and lit up the torch of civil, war,~6mist be exposed, that your power of ,doing mischief may be taken from you,and, the contagion of your example may' e . to contaminate the young ,,men of o rising generation. I shall present to the. public in a series of numbers, dhe adyerse side of the picture of your. 'publiodife. The task is not a grateful one, for the material before me affords ample evidence' that I shall have more public; vices than public.virtues to record. 'When the work is done, the candid man will find it difficult to- determine whether to -'aecord to your merit the sentiment of pity or cotmIhave the honor to be Your obedient servant I .Bayiis. Remember that your thoughts as well From the Laurensville Herald, To foury Clay of Kentucky-No. 2 S SIn :-More than forty years of you 11 life have been spent in the public service a and as a statesman and party leader you; name has filled no inconsiderable spac< in the public view. Already your bio. graphers, emulous of the distinction o: recording the deeds which have giver you such an unenviable notoriety, have entered the arena, and have vied with each other in the task of pampering your inordinate vanity spreading upon the his. torie page, gilded letters of your public acts. In their efforts to make you Presi dent, they have given you credit for pa triotism, which you never possessed, and a disinterestedness of purpose of which you never had any conception. They have deceived the public, as well as yourself. You are now old sir, and your career is drawing to a close. The tinsel with which your partisans have glossed over a long public career of sul6sh aubi. tion, cannot much longer conceal from a wronged and indignant people, whose rights you have violated, the dangerous and detestable deformities of your public character. Soon posterity will demand more truthful and impartial chroniclers of the public life and character of a po litician and Cabinet Minister, who, under the specious garb of a pretended patriot ism, has contributed so much to change the character of the Government, and to prostrate the Constitution of the country. When you ehall have disappeared from the stage of action, those who have min istered to your ambition and your vanity, to escape your coarso denunciations, so derogatory to the American Senate, and to the rank and character of an American Senator the hungry expectants who have fawned upon you, with the hope of pro fitting by your influence and elevation, will no longer have a motive to praise you, or to conceal the vices of your pub. lie character. Justice and truth will then demand an exposure of the crimes you have committed against the Constitution which you have so often sworn to pre serve inviolate; and the judgment which -a cowing age will pronounce n you, will b-s- en.4ud 'oy tery could not sustain y scathing infliction. Southern man and a slaveholder, your first act in the State of your adoption, to whose people you looked for patronage and support, and among whom you sought a retreat from poverty and obscurity in your native land, was an incendiary assault upon its slave institution, and upon the social political rights of the South, which you have since so fatally betrayed, for the purpose of placing upon your head the Presiden tial diadem, us the reward of your treach ery. In the arts of the demagogue, which abilities of a high order have enabled you to reduce to a science, you have distanced all competition, in an age so fruitful in the production of that dan gerous and despicable character. An avowed friend of the abolition of slavery -a pretended enthusiast in the cause of liberty-a distinguished disciple of the incompatible schools of Mirabeau and Danton-the consistent emancipationist of the age-a professed republican, and a pra.tical consolidationist, by your un equalled skill in the arts of deceit and dissimulation, like an actor on the stage, by assuming a costume and a set of prin ciples adapted to the time, circumstance and place, you have succeeded to an unprecedented degree in deceiving a a confiding people into the belief that the fictitous part you played was real, and that you are a patriot and a republi can. So wvell, sir, have you played the part of a political maigician, that at the moment the Constitution is expiring from the blows you inflicted upon it with your dagger, you are eloquently pronouncing eulogiums upon the blessings of freedom, and at the same moment laying the foun dations broad and deep, of a consolida ted despotism, upon the ruins of, republi can liberty. Unscrupulous about the means of reaching the object of your am bition, few statesmen of' modern times .have combined in one character, so many elements calculated to inflict incurable wounds, upon the institutions of the State. The equal of Cataline iu courage, his superior in expedient and resource, you have by your countenance and encour agement, aidIed, with all the influence of your example, the incendiaries of the North, whose leader in the work of eman cipation you are, to assassinate the pub lic peace, and who only await your bid ding, to light up the fires of a servile wvar And yet your agency in the infernal plot, by your skill in political legerdemain, i concealed from public view. A statesman thus gifted with such ex traordinary qualities for strategem and mischief, whose political code impose! no restraints upon his excesses, and who upon every great question which has agi tated the public mind during his wihok p 1olitical life, has been found advocating with plausible but untruthful eloquence -first one side and then the other, and whi Ihas been consistent only ini his ambitioul thirst for power, and his ceascless desirE to see the. abolition of our S5outher:1 r institutions accomplished, could not -fal a to achieve for himself an unenviable dis Uinction. And sir. of al1 your extraor