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“The ferment of a free, is preferable to the torpor of a despotic, Government.»
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VOL. fit.
Alims, GEORGIA*,'JCkB-lii*
& '9
NO. 13.
Woe tv».
From Blackwood’* Magazine.
THE EVENING STAR.
Oh ! sweetly shines the summer 6un,
When heivon from clouds is free ;
And bngntJy gleams the moonlight on
Fiold, rock and forest tree.
But to tins pensive heart of love,
Oh, sweeter than these by far,
It is with devious step to rove,
Beneath the evening Btar ! •
To others give the festal hall,
Where wino cups shine in light;
The music of the crowded ball,
With beauty’s lustre bright:
But give to me the lonely dell,
Oh, sweeter than these by far;
Where pine trees wave and waters swell,
Beneath the evening star.
The d;.ys arc past that I have seen,
And ne’er again sli ill see,
When nature with a brighter green,
O ersproad the field and tree.
Though joyless not the presont day,
Yet sweeter than it oy far,
’Tis on the past to muse and stray
Beneath the evening star.
For all the future cannot give
What spareless time has left,
And, oh ! sh.ee thou hast ceased to live,
A vac in ..’orlu is left.
1 turn mu to iny days of love,
The sweetest on eartli by far,
And oft in thought with thee I rove
Beneath the evening stir.
i a c c U a u s>.
From Ike New York Constellation.
DARBY DOYLE’S VOYAGE TO QUEBEC.
1) ,rh\ Do. Ii: w.is as likely a lad us any
withii. til’.y miles of the Lilly. He had lived
i:i tae cabin which his father left him, .or 2
or 3 years ; indeed from bis birih he had no
other ii.nne. 1) irby w is industrious, honest
and quick tempereu, “ hut repeated misfor
tunes,” as they are termed, thou-ii sometimes
arising from our own mismanagement or nog-
lect, will sometimes sour the best of tempers,
and unsettle those who have been thought the
most contented, and such was the case with
D. rhv. To the enterprising, however, the
darkest hour yields some hope ; and Darby’s
spirit was of too buoyant a nature to continue
lung under tnis state oi things. Accordingly,
lie sold oti‘ tae rem.dns of his little stock, and
with the br«..ss in his pocket, he started for the
Cove of Cork io look out for a passage to
America, across the nig waters.” .
On the quay he met with an old playmate,
one Med limn, who then held the office of
••mate” onboard one of the Quebec vessels.
Ned desired him to “leave it all to him,” and
Darby accordingly spent all his passage mon
ey in treating his friend. The day came—
Darby bad no cash, and, after much entrea
ty, he prevailed on Ned to stutT him down be
low in un empty barrel, where he lay snug
for a month, Ned supplying him with neces
saries ut stolen intervals. The ship w.is now
within three day’s sail of Quehec; and Dar
by desired Ned to lurnisli him with an empty
meal hag, a. bottle, and a bare ham bone, and
splash he went into the sea.
We shall now leave our hero to relate his
adventures in his own style :
“ Well, to he sure, down in the sea I dropt
without us much as a slush. Ned roared out
with the hourscncss of a brayin’ ass—“ A
man in the sea, a man in the sea.” Every
man, woman and child came running up out
of the holes, the captain among the rest; who
put u long red barrel like a gun to his eye ;
gibbet me hut 1 thought he was for shooting
me! Down 1 dived; when I got my head
over the water agen, what should I see but a
boat rowiu to me as fast as a tnrout after a
piukeen. When it came up close enough to
he heard, I roared out, Bad end to yees, for
a set ov spalpeen rascals, did you hear me at
last ? The bo i iniw ran ’pon the top ov me;
uovvi. i • .nil ,,i. I like a emit afl« r a. frog,
but the mu.iui my 'skull tuine over the weath
er 1 was giipt by the scruff ov the neck and
dhr.igged into the boat. To be sure I didn’t
kick up a row. Let go iny hear, ye blue dev
ils, 1 roared, it’s well ye have me in your
marcy i» this dissilute place, or by the pow-
thers I’d mike you feel the strength of my
bones. What hard work I had to follow ye’s
at all at all—which ov ye is the masther ?
As 1 sed thie, every mother’s son began to
stare at me, with my bag round my neck,
and my bottle by my sine, and the bare bone
in my list. 4 “There he is,” sid they, point-
in to a little yellow man in the comer of the
boat. May the raise blisters on you
rapinhook shins, siz I, ye yellow looking
monkey, put it’s most time for you to think of
letten me into your ship—I’m here plown and
plungin this month und a great many days to
boot, avic-—I did’nt care a thraween, was it
not that you have my best Sunday clothes in
the ship, and my name, in your books. For
three sthraws, if I do not know how to write,
I’d leave ray mark, and that on your skull;
? T _ 1 _ _ 1- 4 Kim uriflutkn t-
and not take me up, I’d be in Quebec before
you, only my purvisions were out, an the few
rags of bank notes I had all melted into paste
in my pocket, for I had’nt time to get them
changed. But stay, wait till I get my foot on
shore, there’s ne’re a cottoner in Cork iv you
don’t pay for leavin me to the marcy of the
waves.
All this time the blue chaps were pushin
the boat with sticks through the wather, till at
last she came close to the ship. Every one
on board saw me at the Cove, hut didn’t see
me on the voyage ; to be sure, every one’s
mouth was open crying, D..rl>) Doyle. Oh !
stop you throats, siz I, it’s now ye can tell
me loud enough ; ye would’nt shout that way
when ye saw me rowlin like a tub in a mill-
race the other day fornenst your faces—
When they heard ine say that, some of them
grew pale as a sheet. But, my jewell, the
captain does no more than run to the book, an
calls out the names that paid, an them wasn’t
paid; to be sure I was ov them that didn’t
pay. If the captain looked at me before with
wondhcrnicnt, he now looked with astonish
ment ! Nothin was tawk’d ov for the other
three days but Darby Doyle’s great shwim
from the Cove to Quebec. One sod, ‘I al
ways knew Darby to be a great shwiinmer.’
“ De ye remimber,” siz another, “ when Dar
by’s dog was nigh been drowned in the great
duck hunt, when he pealed off an brought in
his dog, a..d made if:cr the duck imself, and
swam for two hours edgewais; and do yc
rcmiinber when all the dogs gather round the
duck at onetime, when it wiut down how Dar
by dived aft her it, an stoil down almos an hour
—and stoil below while the crathur was eat
ing a few i rogs, for see was weak .und hun
gry ; and when every one thought he w.is
lost, up he came with the duck by the leg in
his kithogue, (left hand.)
Faith, I agreed to all they sed, till at last
we got to Amcrrykay. I was now in a quare
way; the captain would’nt let me go till a
friend of his would sec me. Bv this time not
only his friends came, but swarms starin at
poor Darby. At las! I called Ned, Ned avic,
siz 1, I want to go about my business. “ Be
izy, Darby,” siz he, “ hnv’ut you your fill of
good atin, and the cuptin’s got mighty fond ov
ye entirely,” «Is he, Ned,” siz I, “ but tell
us, Ned, are all them crowds of people goin
to sea ?” “ Augh, ye omadhaum,” (Muhara-
medan) siz Ned, “ shure they are come to
look at you.” Just as he said this, a tall
yellow man, with a black curly head, comes
und stares ine full in the face. “ You’ll know
metagen,” siz I, “ bad luck to your manners,
and the schoolmaster that taught ye.” But
I thought he was goin to shake hands with
me, when he tuck hould of my fist and open
ed every finger one by one, then opened my
shirt an looked at my breast. “ Pull away,
mabouchal,” siz I, “ I’m iio disarthur at any
rate.” But never an answer lie med me, but
walk’d down in the hole where the captain
lived.
“This is more ov it, siz I, Ned, what could
that tallah-faced man mean ?”' « Why,” siz
Ned, « he was lookin to see iv your fingers
were webb d, or had ye scales oil your breast.
«• His impidence is grate,” siz I, “ did he
take me for a duck or a bream ? But Ned,
so saying, I made a lick at him witfothe ham
bone, but I was near tumblin into the sea
agen. ‘ An pray, what’s your name, my hid,’
says the captain. “ What’s my name! Faith,
then it’s Darby Doyle, that urns never afraid
ft. nnl.Mw.MJ An ....... I. .1 knmA Al* Jl!’ ■
or ashamed to own It at home or abroad.
“An Mr. Doyle,” siz he, if do you mean to
Persuade ns that you swum from Cork to this
•after us T* This is more pf ycur ignorance,
I; ay, on if you'sted three day# longer,
what’s the mcanin ov the boonis acruss the
stick the people walk on, and the big white
boord up there ?” “ Why come over and
read,” siz Ned. But, my jewell, I didn’t know
whether I was stannin on my head or on my
heels, when I saw in great big black letters
—“ The greatest wonder in the world! To
be seen here a man that beats Nicholas the
Diver!! He swum from Cork to Arnerry-
kuy!!! Proved on oath by ten' of the crew
and twenty passengers. Admittance half a
dollar.”
« Oh lioilder” siz I, “ does this mane your
humbly sarvint ?” “ Divil another,” siz he—
then I jutiipt over, to the captain, who was
near us. ** Why Darby,” siz he, “ I am af
ter houlding a wager last nignt with this gin-
tleman, for all the worth ov my- si:ip, that
you’ll shwim against any shwiinmer i 1 me
world ; and Darby, if* you don’t do that, I’m a
j gone -man.” “ Augh, give us your fist, siz I,
did you ever hear of Paddy’s dishavin any
man in the European worl 1 yet —barring
themselves?” “ Well Darby”, siz he, “I’ll
ive \ on a hundred doll .rs; but Darby you
must be to your Word, and you shall have ail-
other hundred.” So sayin, he brought me
down into the cellar; but, my jewell, I did’nt
think for the life of me to see such a wonder
ful place, nothing but goold every way I turn
ed, and Darby’s own sweet face in twenty
places. I was almost asham’d to ax the gin-
tlcmnn for his dollars; but siz I to myself
agen, the gintleiriah has too much money, I
suppose he does be throwin it into the sea,
for I often heard the sea was richer than the
hind, so I may as well lake it any how
* Now, Daiby,’ siz he, * here’s the dollars for
ye.’ But it w.:s only a bit of paper he was
handin me. * Arrah, none of yer tricks upon
thravellers,’ siz-1, ‘ l had betther nor that,
and many more ov them melted in the sea,
give me what wont wash out ov my pocket.’
«Why, Darby,’ siz he, ‘ this is an ordher dn a
merchant far the amount.’ * Pho, pho,’ siz I,
• I’d sooner take your word nor his oath,*
lookin round mighty respectful at ‘ thc gbold
walls. * Well, well, Darby,* siz he, * ytfu
must have the real thing ;* so, by the powers
of war, he reckoned me out a hundred dollars
siz he, ‘the deck is crowded, I had to block
up the gangway to prevint any more from
comin to see Darby. Bring him up, or blow
me iv liie ship wont be sunk.’ ‘ Come up,
Darby,’ siz the captin, looking roguish pleas
ant at myself. So he handed me up through
the hall as tendher as iv I was a lady, or a
pound of fresh butthcr in the dog-days.
When I got up, shure enough I couldn’t
help* starin ; such crowds of fine ladies and
gintlemen never was seen before in any ship.
One of them, a littly rosy cheek’d beauty,
whispered the captain somethin, but he siiuk
his head and came over to me. ‘ Darby,’ siz
he, < I know an Irishman would do any tiling
to please a lady.’ ‘ In troth you may say
that with your own mouth,’ siz I. ‘ Well
then, Darby,’ siz he, ‘ the ladies would wish
to see you give a few strokes in the sea.’—
‘ Och an they shall have them in welcome,’
siz I. ‘ That’s a good fellow,’ siz he'. So I
made one race, and jumpt ten yards into the
wather to get out ov their sight. Shure
enough every one’s eyes danced in their head
while they look’t on the spot where I went
down. A thought came into my head while
I was below, how I’d show them a little divar-
sioo, as I could use a great many thricks on
the wather. So I didn’t rise at all till I got
to the other side, and every one ran to that
side, then I took a hoult ov my two big toes,
and making a ring ov myself, rowled like a
hoop oi- the top of the wather all round the
ship. I lulceve 1 opened their eyes! Then
I yarded back, swum and dived, till at last
the captain made signs to me to come out, so
I got into the boat und threw on my duds.—
The vpry ladies were breakin their necks run-
ning to siiake hands with me. «Shure,’ says
they, ‘ you are the greatest man in the world!’
So for three dais I showed off to crouds ov
people.
At last the day came when I was to stand
the tug. 1 saw the captain looking very of-
ten at me. At last, « Darby,’ siz he, * are
you any way cow’d ? the fellow you have to
swim against can swim down w itlierfalls an
catheracts.’ Can he, avic, said I; but can
he shwim up against them? Wow wow,Dar
by for that! But captain, is all my provision
ready ? don’t lqt me fall short of a dhrop.ov
the rale stuff* above all things.—An who
should come up while I was talkin to the cap
tain, but the chap I was to shwim with an
heard all I sed. By dads! his eyes grew
big as oyster shells. Then the captain call’d
me aside. “ Darby, siz he “ do you put on
this green jacket an’ white trowsers, that the
people may better distinguish you from the
other chap.” With all my hearts, avic, siz
I, green for ever—Darby’s own favorite col
or the world over; hut where am I going to
captain. * To the shwimming place to be
shure,’ siz he. Devil shoot the failers a’
take the hindmost siz I, here’s at you. I
was then introjuced to the shwimmer. I look-
ed at him from head to foot. He was so tall
that he could eat bread and butter over my
head—with a face as yellow as a kite’s foot.
Tip you mitten, mabouchal, siz I. (But
by dad! I was puzzled. Siz I to myself I’m
done. Cheer up, Darby ! if I’m not able to
kill him, I’ll frighten the life ov him out.)—
Where are we going to shwim to? But nev
er a word he answered. Are you bothered
neighbor ? ‘ I rccou I’m not,’ siz he,'mighty
cliutf. Well then, siz I, why did’nt you an
swer your betthers? What id ye think if we
swum to Keep Cleer or the Keep ov Good
Hope ? ‘ I reckon neither,’ siz he ageu, eye-
in me us iv I was goin to pick his pockets.
Well then, have jd any favorite place? siz I.
Now, I’ve heard a great deal about the place
where poor Bouey died; I’d any one to-show
me the place : suppose, we wint their. Not
a taste of a word could I gci out of him, good
or bad. Off we set through the crowds ov
ladies and gentlemen,
vinov hats was never seen at Dan’s er,th
an then the row or* prut' giris iaugi.in an/rub-
in up against me, that i- could bar’ly get on.
To be sure no one could be lookin to the
ground an not be lookin at them, till at last I
was tript up by a big loomp ov irjn stuck fast
in the eroun !. with a hi : ring in it. « Whoo!
D irby siz l, m akin u hop an a crack o’ my
lingers, ‘you’re not down yet.’ I turned
round to look at what thript me.—‘ What d’ye
call tiiat ?’ siz I, to the captain, who was at
my elbow. ‘ Why, Darby,’ siz he, ‘that’s
half an anchor.’ ‘Have ye any use for it?’
siz I. «Not in the least,’ siz he,«it’s only to
fasten boats to.’ ‘ May be you’d give it to a
body,’ siz I. ‘ An welkim, Daiby,’ siz he,
‘it’s yours.’ ‘God bless your honor,’ siz I,
it’s my poor father that would pray tor you
if he was living; but any how it will serve me,
as I can tie the horse to the nii'g wiiile I forge
on the other part. • Will ye obleege me by
gettin a couple ov chaps to lay it ou my shoul
der when I get into the wather, and I won’t
have to be coinin for it afther a shake hands
with this fellow.’ By dad, the chap turn’d
irom yallow to wliite when he heard me say
this. And siz he to the gintlemen who was
walkin by his side, ‘ I reckon I’m not fit for
the 8hwiiumiu to-day—I don’t, feel myself.
* An murdher an Irish, if year your brother,
can’t you send him for yourself, an I’ll wait
here till he comes. Here man, take a drop
! of‘this before ye go. Here’s to your better
' tifihlth, an your brother’s into the bargain;
So I took oil* mjr-glass and handed him anoth-
shook hands and purled. The poor fellow
went home—tpok the fever—then began to
rave. * Sliwim up cathuracts!—Shwim to
the Cape of Good Hope !—Shwim to St. Hel
ena !—Sliwim to Cape Clear!—Shwim with
an anchor oil his back !—Oh ! oh !’ I now
thought it best to be on the move ; so I gath
er up -my winners and here I sit under my
own "hickory threes, as independent as any
Yankee.” •
tn goold. »Now Darby,’ siz he, ‘ you are a
rich man, an you are worthy of it all—sit
down, Darliy, an take a bottle of wine.’ So,
topleose tne gintlcman, I sat down. After a shwim, avic, siz I, mighty ,complis;uit.
’ reckon in another' u-ontr * o.
bit, who comes down but Ned. « Captain,*
er; but the ucver a dhrop ov it he’d take.
* No force,’ siz I,«avic, may bee you think
HOCK BRIDGE IN VIRGINIA.
On a lovely morning, towards the close of
spring, I found myself in a verv beautiful
part of the Great Valley of Virginia. Spur
red onward by impatience, I beheld the sun
rising in splendor, and changing the blue tints
on the tops of the lofty Alleghany mountains,
into streaks of purest gold, and nature seem
ed to smile in the freshness of beauty. A
rids of about fifteen miles, and a pleasant
woodland ramble of about two, brought my
self and companion to the great Natural
Bridge.
Although I had been anxiously looking for-
ward to this time, and my mind had been
Considerably excited by expectation, yet I
was not altogether prepared for this visit.
This great work of nature is considcied by
many as the second great curiosity in our
country, Niagara falls being the first. I do
not expect to convey a very correct idea of
this bridge; for no description can do this.
The Natural Bridge 13 entirely the work of
God. It is of solid lime stone, and connects
two huge mountains together by a most beau- •
tiful arch, over which there is a great wag
on road. Its length from one mountain to
the other, is nearly 80 feet, its width about
35, its thickness 45, and its perpendicular
height over the water is not far from 220 feet.
A few bushes grow on its top, by which the
traveller may hold himself as he looks over.
On each side of the stream, and near the
bridge,* ;.re rocks projecting ten or fifteen
feet over ihe water, and from two to three
hundred feet from its surface, all of lime
stone. The visitor cannot give so good a des
cription of this bridge, as he can of his fee
lings at the time. He softly creeps out on a
shaggy projecting rack, and looking down a
chasm from forty to sixty feet wide, he sees
nearly three hundred feet below, a wild stream
foaming and dashing against the rocks be
neath, as if terrified at the rocks above. The
stream is called Coder Creek. The visitor
here sees trees under the arch whose height is
70 feet; and yet, to look down upon them,
they appear like small bushes of perhaps two
or three feet in height. I saw several birds
fly under the arch, and they looked like in
sects. I tiirew down a stone, and counted
34 before it reached the water. All hear of
heights and of depths, but they here sec what
is high, and they tremble, and feel it to be
deep. The awful rocks present their ever
lasting hutments, the water murmurs and
foams far below, and the two mountains rear
their proud head,s on each side, separated by
a channel of sublimity. Those who view
the sun, the moon and the stars, and allow
that noue but God could make them, will here
be impressed, that none but an Almighty God
could build a bridge like this.
The view of the bridge from below, is as
pleasing as the top view is awful. The arch
from beneath, would seem to be about two
feet in thickness. Some idea of the distance
from the top to the bottom may be formed
from the fact, that as I stood on the bridge
and my companion beneath, neither of us
could speak with sufficient loudness to be
heard by the other. A man from either
view docs not appear more than four or five
inches in height.
As we stood under this beautiful arch, we
saw the place whore visiters have often ta-
Such cheerio an' w;u ken the pains to engrave their names upon the
rock. Here Washington climbed lip 25 feet
and carved his own name, where it still re
mains. Some, wishing to immortalize their
names, have ejigraven them deep and large
while others have tried to climb up and in
sen them high in the book of fame.
A few years since, a young man, bcin,
ambitious to place his name above all others
came very near losing his life in the attempt
After much fatigue he! climbed up as high as
possible, but found that the person who had
before occupied his place, waritallerthui him
self, and consequently had placed his name
above his reach. But he was not thus to be
discou raged. He opens a large jack knife
and in the soft lime stone, began to cut places
for his hands and feet. With much patience
and industry he < worked his way upwards,
and succeeded in carving his name higher
than the most ambitious had done before him
He.could now triumph, but his triumph, was
short, for he was placed in such a situation
that it was impossible'to descend, unless he
fell upon the rugged rocks beneath him. There
was np house near, from whence his com
panions could get assistance. He could not
loug remain in that condition, aud what was
worse, his friends were too much frightened
to do any thing for his relief. They looked
upon him as already dead, ejecting every
moment to see him precipitated upon the
rocks below and dashed to pieces. Not sc
With himself. His determine Jio ascend. Ac
cordiugly, he plied himself with his knife, cut
ting places for liis hands and feet, and gradu
ally ascended with incredible labor. He ex
erted every muscle. His life was at stake
and all the terrors of death'rose before him.
He dared not look downwards, lest ft* 3 ft ea ^
should become dizzy; and perhaps on this
panions stood at the top of the rock, exhor. i
ting and encouraging him. Iiis strength was
almost exhausted ; but a bare possibility ot
saving his life still remuiued, and hope, the
hist friend of the distressed, had uot yet forsa
ken him. His course upwards, was rather
obliquely than perpendicularly. His most
critical moment was now urtved. He had
ascended considerably more than 200 feet,
and had still farther to rise, when he felt him
self fast growing weak. He thought of his
friends and all his earthly joys, and he could
not leave them. He thought of the grave, and
dared not meet it. He now made his lust el
and succeeded. He had cut his way not far
from 250 feet from the water, iu a course al-
most perpendicular; and in -,i little less than two
hours, his companions reached him a pole from
the top, and drew him up. They received
him with shouts of joy ; but he himself was
completely exhausted. He. immediately fain
ted away on reaching the spot, and it was
some time before he could be recovered.
It was interesting to see the path up these
awful rocks, and to follow in imagination this
bold youth as • he thus saved his life. His
name stands far above all the rest, a monu
ment of hardihood, of rashness, and folly.
political.
Absorption of the Sxin. Many facts
testify the action of cutaneous or external ab
sorption. It is proved by direct experiment
that tiie human hand, is capable of imbibing,
in a quarter of an hour, an ounc^ and a half oi
warm .water, which for the whole body, is at
the rate of six or seven pounds per hour.
An interesting narrative is on record ofa
ship’s crew who were exposed at sea for sev
eral days in an open boat ; they had consum
ed all their water ; they had no fluid of any
kind which they could diink ; they soon be
gan to suffer thirst ; the feeling at length be
came intolerable, and the drinking of sea wa
ter was found only to increase its intensity.
When nearly exhausted, they were exposed
during several hours to a heavy shower of
rain. As soon as their clothes became through,
ly wet, their thirst ivas gone. They did not
fail to profit by this experience. From this
time, each man, as soon as he began to feel
thirsty dipped his shirt in the sea water, and
wore it next his skin, which invariably had
the same effect of removing his thirst, the
absorbents taking up the particles of water,
but rejecting the saline matter dissolved in it.
—London Monthly Repository.
there’s poison iu it—well, here’s another good
luck to us. An when will ye be able for the
iVji
reckon in another* week,* siz he. So we cirteumstance his life depended. His com
A very desirable Machine.—A machine
was exhibited to us, two or three weeks ago,
for knitting stockings, Ac. exceedingly well
calculated, we think, for family use, and very
desirable, as affording employment, at home,
to females dependant upon it for subsistence
and support of their families, for its cost, in
cluding the patent right, will not exceed fif
teen dollars ; it is only about one foot square,
and of the weight of ten pounds ; so that it is
easily transferred from plate to place, as may
be required, and no more power is needed
for the crank than to move that of a common
hand organ—and,except when a stitch is drop
ped, or required to be added, a very small de
gree of care is demanded. A girl 12 or 15
years old might give motion to, anil attend
three or more machines, if arranged for the
purpose of being worked together, as they
might easily be. Each machine will make
from one to two pair of men’s long stockings a
day of woollen yarn—such as is usually worn
in the winter season. The machine does not
appear liable to get out of order, and but lit
tle instruction is necessary.
The machine we saw in operation was fit
ted for knitting woollen stockings, such as are
above mentioned—but machines may be
made for fine work in cotton, thread or silk.
We are glad to learn that a skilful mechan
ist, resident near Baltimore, has obtained the
right of making a certain number of these
knitting machines ; and it may be expected
that its quality drid capacity will soon be fol
ly tested. It is the invention of John M’Mul-
len and Joseph Hollen, jr. of Birmingham,
Huntington county, Pennsylvania. The stitch-
cs ;ire made just as if common knitting nee
dles were used—except that the stocking re
quires to be joined at the seam.—-Niles’ Re
gister.
The following article is calculated to excite
unusual interest on account of the apparently
authentic shape in which it appears, and the
particular manner in which file fact of the in
vention is stated. A machine such as is here
mentioned, would effect more changes in the
condition of mankind, than Have been pro
duced by the united agency of the three
groat discoveries of printing, gun-powder and
steam.
Wonderful Invention.-—A watchmaker
of the name of Buschmaun, living at Eiseu-
berg, not far from Altenbiirg in Saxony, has
contrived a piece of machinery, which, with
out the assistance of steam, has been found
strong enough to move a heavily laden wagon,
placed in a fresh-ploughed field, with -the
greatest ease, although sixteen horses could
not stir it. The machine may be easily han
dled, and the vehicle moved by it most safely
managed. The inventor has beep offered
200,000 dollars for the secret; but as he had
obtained patents from all the principal German
governments, he refused all offers.
Advice Gratis.—A certain Judge, after
hearing a florid discourse from a young law
yer, advised him to pluck out some of the
'feathers from the wings of bis imagination and
put them into the tailoiT hjs judgment.
SPEECH OF HR. NISBET,
OF MORGAN,
Opposing the plan adopted by the Convention, and
now before the people for their ratification
or rejection. '
Mr. President,—I came here prepared
to act upon this great question, in the spirit
ot compromise. To yield somethiug, and to
be content with any scheme for the reduction
and equalization ot the General Assembly,
wliicn might even approximate towards jus-
tice. I discover no uisposiuou to nmet us of
the middle country, the Tax paying part of
Georgia, in any such spirit. The disposition
and intent of those now holding power in the
Legislature, is evidently, to retain what thev
have, and to acquire what they may. To
yield nothiug, and exact every thing. Ap.
pearanccs indicate too, that they are likely
to have the power, u s well as the will to con.
trol the action of this body. Things seem
to be taking a course, indicative oi auy thing,
but a fair adjustment ot this all absorbing ques
tion. An union, upon whut terms, is not yet
developed; has taken place between the
Pine barren and the extreme \Vest, and
strange to tell, some gentlemen, repre-
seating very wealthy counties on the coast';
aim others very po,,mous counties in the up
country; are falling into the arrangement;
it would seem to mu, at the sacahce of the
interest of their constituents. Why, Sir, is
it that we have not, upon tnis quesnou, a
common and identical interest ? At least a
common object in foe common good. Wc
are now to remodel our organic Law—to
settle principles for ages, arm to legislate for
the unborn of future times. Wc should not
approach this subject in levity, much less in
jealousy. We should bring to our deiiber-
atious, forbearance and patriotism, aud the
good sense of all snould rebuke the spirit oi
Party, and the agitations of sectional suite.
Gentlemen trom the East ask us to forbear
and beg us' to yield to tbuui something of
power in the general assembly. Why, Sir,
tne East is already too powerful—the mihor-
ity, contrary to all principle, governs. We
ask that this evil should be corrected—that
the people should be heard in the enactment
of laws—that ail parts of the State should he
equally represented. The minority as yet
has yielded nothing, and upon the plan before
us, gains large accession of strength, and ye*
that minority (I mean of the people) cry out
for concession, aud clamor for mercy. They
insist upon compromise. We are willing to
compromise. But is that a compromise
wltich retains all present power, ami exacts
more? We have conceded largely to th in,
as ! shall presently show, and what sir, havy
they yielded in turn ? Nothing; but ur
strenuously urging a scheme which places ih
wealth and population of Georgia at foe trier
cy of a few counties, neither populous nor
rich. What is it that gentlemen expect ?
A sectional veto upon the will of the majority 7
A power to impose all taxes in the hands of
those who pay comparatively none? The
creation of an aristocracy, without property
and without titles, yet omnipotent in the Gen-,
eral Assembly ? An aristocracy of latitude T
Do tiiey really demaud a distinct, irrelevant,
territorial check upon the majority ? I have
heard sir, of the power 01 the veto iu the mi
nority, as being the only conservative prin
ciple of free government. This idea may’ or
may not be good, when applied to an associ
ation of sovereign States, by confederation.
But who sir, ever claimed it, for a part of au
integral, homogenious community ? No man
m his senses ever did maintain a ground so .
obviously fallacious. The .people are a whole
with like political interests, and identity of
political character; at least, sir, wc must so
consider them when in the act of making
their government. Counties too are claimed
by gentlemen in the argument, to have some
thing like corporation rights, and should
therefore be represented without regard ei
ther to population or taxation. This is in
deed, a strange herosy, and if practised in
this State, would very speedily give rise to the
worst features 6f Borough representation'.
We cannot, sir, in this, body respect these
county limits. We are not here as repre
sentatives of counties, but as delegates of tho
whole People; nor can we under the Con
stitution, recoguise counties us being auy thing
more than portions of the People^ divided
thus for greater convenience in the actual
administration of the government. It is said
that the States are as such equally represen
ted in the Senate of the United States, and
therefore should counties be equally represen
ted in our own Senate. This conclusioa is a
f.iir and full non sequitur; because there is
nothing like analogy between counties in
their relation to State governments and States
in their relation to tj>e Federal Government.
States are sovereigns, and in regard to the
attribute of sovereignty are equal; arid in
consequence of this equality hay^, as tiiey
should have, the same representative power
in the Senate. Not so, of course, with coun-
Tbe plan proposed by the delegate from
the county of Walton, reduces the Legisla
ture too little, and makes the inequality in the,
distribution of power, greater than it is under
foe old Constitution. The expense and un
wieldy size of the Legislature, is . it is true,
•an evil of some tVagnitude, but is of small
moment compareit' with, that distribution of
power in both branches which places the ma
jority of tl;e peoplo at the mercy of the mi
nority. And sir, the scheme now under dis-
