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DAVIS & SHORT, PUBLISHERS.
VOLUME Z.
The Brunswick Advocate,
]• published every Thursday Morning, in the
city of Brunswick, Glynn'County, Georgia,
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jyN. B. Sales of Land, by Administrators,
Executors or Guardians, are required, by law,
to be held on the first Tuesday in the month,
between the hours of ten in the and
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PROSPECTUS
OF THE
A WEEKLY PAPER,
PUBLISHED AT BRUNSWICK, GLYNN
COUNTY, GEORGIA.
The causes which render necessary the es
tablishment of this Press, and its claims to the
support of the public, can best be presented by
the stateinonf nf«
Brunswick possesses a harbor, which for ac
cessibility, spaciousness and security, is une
qualled on thg Southern Coast. This, of itself,
would be sufficient to render its growth rapid,
and its importance permanent; for the best
port South of the Potomac must become the
site of a great commercial city. But when to
this is added the singular salubrity of the cli
mate, free from those noxious exhalations gen
erated by the union of salt and river waters,
and which are indeed “charnel airs” to a white
population, it must be admitted that Brunswick
contains all the requisites for a healthy and
populous city. Thus much has been the work
of Nature ; but already Art has begun to lend
her aid to this favored spot, and the industry of
man bids fair to increase its cajfecities, and
add to its importance a hundred fold. In a
few months, a canal will open to the harbor of
Brunswick the vast and fertile country through
which flow the Altamaha, and its great tribu
taries. A Rail Road will shortly be commenc
ed, terminating at Pensacola, thus uniting the
waters of the Gulf of Mexico with the Atlantic
Ocean. Other Rail Roads intersecting the
State in various directions, will make Bruns
wiclt their depot, and a large portion of the
trade from the Valley of the Mississippi will
yet find its way to her wharves. Such, in a
few words, are the principal causes which will
operate in rendering Brunswick the principal
city of the South. But while its advantages
are so numerous and obvious, there have been
found individuals and presses prompted by sel
fish fears and interested motives, to oppose an
undertaking which must add so much to the
importance and prosperity of the State. Their
united powers are now applied to thwart in
every possible manner, this great public bene
fit Misrepresentation and ridicule, invective
and denunciation have been heaped on Bruns
wick and its friends. To counteract these ef
forts by the publication and wide dissemination
of the facts—to present the claims of Bruns
wick to the confidence and favor of the public,
to furnish information relating to all the
great works of Internal Improvement now go
ing on through tire State, and to aid in devel
oping the resources of Georgia, will be the
leading objects of this Press.
Such being its end and aim, any interfer
ence in the party politics of the day would be
improper and impolitic. Brunswick has re
ceived benefits from—it has friends in all par
ties, and every consideration is opposed to
rendering its Press the organ of a party. To
the citizens of Georgia—and nut to the mem
bers of a party—to the friends of Brunswick—
to the advocates of Internal Improvement—to
the considerate and reflectiug—do we apply
for aid and support.
Terms —Three dollars per annum in ad
vance, or four dollars at the end of the year.
J. W. FROST, Editor.
DAVIS & gJHORT, Publisher*
IWISCEIaL, A IV Y.
[From the London Athcnsum.]
AMERICA.
Oratory is the proper growth of a re
public. It is now in America, as it was
once in Athens—the fire and energy of its
master-minds find their readiest vent in
public addresses, and will, in this shape,
live with posterity when other exponents
of the age are indistinct or forgotten.
We do not think the orations of America
are known in England, and yet, to pro
duce but the half-dozen which lie before
us, would be to answer at once the great
ofitcry for something national and peculiar.
There is no anniversary in America—no
occurrence of public interest—no death of
a distinguished individual, in their own
country or abroad, which has a reference
to the history of their independence—
nothing in any way beating on their feel
ing for the republic, which is not com
memorated in an oration—and one, too,
in which the utmost liberty is given to the
speaker, and which, from the excitement
that prevails, (and the Americans are the
most excitable people upon the earth on
national topics,) kindles all that there is
in the speaker’s soul of enthusiasm and
eloquence. These orations are delivered,
in the first place, to crowded audiences,
copied and commented on in all the news
papers, printed and circulated most wide
ly in the form of pamphlets; and the most
striking and fervid passages are then ex
tracted into school-books, and given as
lessons in eloquence to the youth of the
country. There is no calculating the ef
fect of this perpetual supply of fuel to the
fire of republicanism. The United States
will sit under a monarchy, when they can
produce no more such orators as Webster
and Everett, or when their speeches are
expunged from the school-books, and an
oration to a public assembly becomes a
capital crime—and not before.
We have mentioned the names of the
two most distinguished public speakers in
the United States, Daniel Webster and
Edward Everett: the first is well known
in England as a statesman and jurist; and
an elaborate paper, on his pleadings and
orations, appeared in a late number of the
JU JLr cy * - - | - J— - _
that review, for varied specimens of Ins
composition, and appeal to them, if there
lias been any thing, since the days of
Burke, of equal force and fervor
Edward Everett is a very young man,
and is less known abroad. His role has
been a distinguished one from the first:
at eighteen years of age he was “settled”
(an American word, which means chosen
by vote of the church as a regular pastor)
over one of the largest and most enligh
tened Unitarian congregations in Boston.
His youth and singular eloquence drew
crowds whenever he preached, and, after
the great Channing, he was the most
chaste writer, and most fervent speaker in
that remarkable sect. His health failed
in a year or two, and he was sent abroad
at the expense of his congregation, and
made the best use of his time in two years’
travel in Europe. He returned, in exteri
or, a polished man of the world, and from
a doubt of his health, or a more ambitious
reason, gave up the pulpit for the profes
sorship of languages in the wealthy and
long established University of Harvard.—
He achieved in a year or two a brilliant
reputation as a Greek and Oriental schol
ar, and having made himself all that a pro
fessor could, looked about for another
arena, and stood for a Representative to
Congress. He was elected by acclama
tion, and has ever since been a colleague
of Webster’s, in representing the core of
I New England in the Congress of the U.
States —the most intelligent and educated
portion of the republic. This is, of
course, his last change, and being still
under thirty, and in the full vigor of his
health and powers, he has played a part
mostly of reserve, and managed his cards
warily and w ell. ,He speaks seldom in the
House, but, when he does, it is with all
the effect of an aim directed with unerring
judgment.
Everett is about the middle height, very
fair, and of the most modest and simple,
yet perfectly thorough-bred address. His
features are not remarkable, but his face
is the very imprint of openness and can
dor, and is perhaps well described by the
word interesting. His oratory is formed
upon the Channing model, the peculiar
emphasis of which he still retains; but
there is much about him which is entirely
his Own, and which marks him for a pe
culiar place in men’s admiration. Abso
lute control of every power, nerve, muscle,
and resource, is the great feature of his
character, and if it is true that he who
can govern himself may govern the world,
he is, of consequence, sure in his ambi
tion. His voice, like Channing’s is pe
culiarly sweet and persuasive, and his
skill in playing upon its tones is some
thing marvellous. He is not a violent
orator, and is sparing' of gesture, and his
sentences are weighed in their music, as
BRUNSWICK, GEORGIA, THURSDAY MORNING, AUGUST 17, 1837.
his thoughts are in their plausibility and
progression, in scales of gossamer. An
tony’s speech over the body of Caesar con
tains the secret of his eloquence; he ex
cites by seeming to shrink from and sup
press the feelings of his audience. Sir
Petronel Flash’s simile of the surgeon’s
knife, which “works in the wounds of
others, but feels nothing itself,” is some
thing in his way. It would be unfair, as
well as difficult to decide whether he had
no feeling, or whether his ambition were
the stronger spirit; but, feeling, it is cer
tain, he never shows, except as a most
subtly thrown make-weight of oratory. —
The American republic is, in this age,
probably, the political instrument of the
most coinpass ever turned to the music of
power, and, in our opinion, Everett is the
man by whom its stops are most cunning
ly understood. He has the two advan
tages, we may add, of having married a
lady of wealth and powerful connections,
and of being, what he can have no tempta
tion not to be, a true patriot, and a man
ol most honorable and unblemished char
ter.
******
Os the American poets, Bryant has
written the best things. Asa poet, in
the highest sense of the word, Percival
and Dana are both far before him; but
Bryant has taste and judgment, and these
auxiliaries to genius often produce an
immediate effect superior to the higher
efforts of genius itself. Bryant chooses
always a|subject perfectly within his range
and finishes it with the most elaborate
study. His illustrations are fitted into,
not flung upon, his theme. He writes
rarely, and yet not always well, for Jhough
a man past the prime of life, there are
but three or four of his pieces that have
done any thing towards building up his
fame. Delicacy and sweetness are the
better strings of his lyre. One of his
sonnets, addressed to a girl dying of con
sumption, closes thus:
Glide softly to thy rest, then ! Death should
come
Gently to one of gentle mould like thee,
As light Triads, meandering through groves of
bloom, ,
Detach, the deli
it is mis apt and graceful talent lor
similitudes which distinguishes Bryant.
The three things which are most quoted
of his, are “ Thanatopsis,” “ Lines to a
Waterfowl,” and “The Evening Wind,”
and this last we will quote as the best
thing he has done, and the most finished
production that has yet come from an A
merican pen :
Spirit that breathest through my lattice, thou
That cool’st the twilight of the sultry day,
Gratefully flows thy freshness round my brow;
Thou hast been out upon the deep at play,
Riding all day the wild blue waves till now,
Roughening their crests, and scattering high
their spray,
And swelling the white sail. I welcome thee
To the scorched land, thou wanderer of the
sea!
Nor I alone —a thousand bosoms round
Inhale thee in the fulness of delight;
And languid forms rise up, and pulses bound
Livelier, at coming of the wind of night;
And, languishing to hear thy grateful sound,
Lies file vast inland stretched beyond the
sight.
Go fortli into the gathering shade ; go forth,
God’s blessing breathe upon the fainting earth!
Go, rock the little wood-bird in his nest,
Curl the still waters, bright with stars, and
rouse
The wide old wood from his majestic rest.
Summoning from the innumerable boughs
The strange, deep harmonies that haunt his
breast;
Pleasant shall be thy way where meekly
bows
The shutting flower, and darkling waters pass,
And, ’twixt the o’ershadowing branches and
the grass.
The faint old man shall lean his silver head
To feel thee ; thou shalt kiss the chilfl asleep,
And dry the moistened curls that overspread
His temples, while his breathing grows more
deep ;
And they who stand about the sick man's bed,
Shall joy to hsten to thy distant sweep,
And softly part his curtains to allow
Thy visit, grateful to his burning brow.
Go—but the circle of eternal change, *
That is the life of nature, shall restore,
With sounds and scents from all thy mighty
range, *
Thee to tiiy birth-place of the deep once
more;
Sweet odors in the sea air, sweet and strange,
Shall tell the home-sick mariner of the shore;
And, listening to thy murmnr, he shall deem
He hears the rustling leaf and running stream.
Bryant is a man somewhat past forty,
and was bred to the law. Poets seldom
like such “ uncongenial lore,” and with
a large family growing up on his hands,
and no practice, he found himself under
“HE A R Mg FOR,MT CAUSE."
the necessity of trying something else,
and undertook the editorship of the Eve
ning Post, a political paper of extensive
circulation in New York Politics in
the United States rather soil the fingers,
but he found the truth of the old proverb
“ dirty work brings clean money,” and
after a few years’ close attention to it, he
has lately crossed the water with his fam
ily, and is now in Italy, whitewashing his
fancy, probably.
The first poet of America, by the rule
of Horace, porta, nascitur, non jit, is
James G. Percival. He was born one.
He would have been a poet under any
circumstances—born any where, bred
in any manner. He has not written any
one thing equal to the “ Evening Wind”
of Bryant, but his birthright lies a thou
sand leagues Parnassus.
Percival was born in a small town in
the interior of Connecticut, and, unlike,
most Americans, “ had a grandfather.”
His family was among the first settlers of
that state, and his father was a physician.
James was the only one of three sons
who was destined to a liberal education.
He was a strange boy, and his youth, like
his manhood, was all poetical. Wonder
ful quickness at his books, timidity and
dislike of his rougher companions, sensi
tiveness, and a most affectionate disposi
tion, are the traits recorded of his child
hood. He soon outlearned the village
schoolmaster, and passed his time in
reading history, and, in the depths of the
most secluded woods, passing the long
days in imagining the scenes of the books
upon which he fed. He has described
these hours in a poem on the Pleasures of
Childhood.
llow I loved
To ascend the pyramids, and in their womb
Gaze on the royal cenotaph, to sit
Beneath thy ruin’d palaces and sanes,
Balbec or princely Tadmor, though the one
Lurk like a hermit in the lonely vales
Os Lebanon, and the waste wilderness
Embrace the other. * * *
* Along the stream
That flow’d in summer’s mildness o’er its bed
Os rounded pebbles, with its scanty wave
Encircling many an islet, and its banks
Aiiit dreaming, rear an empircon rwsmnro.
Where cities rose, and palaces and towers
Caught the first light of morning—there the
fleet
Lent all its snowy canvass to the wind,
And bore with awful front against the foe.
* * # * * *
There many a childish hour was Bpent; the
world
moved and fretted round me, had no pow'r
To draw me from my musings, but the dream
Enthrall’d me till it seem’d reality ;
And when I woke, I wonder'd that a brook
Was babbling by, and a few roods of soil,
Cover’d with scanty herbs, the arena where
Cities and empires, fleets and armies rose.
During his collegiate life, Percival im
pressed every one around hint with his ge
nius. Besides excelling in the college
studies, he acquired most of the modern
languages, became a skillful chemist and
botanist, and devoured every thing of
general knowledge that fell in his way.
His powers of acquisition were truly ex
traordinary. After obtaining his degree,
! he became a student of medicine, but the
J science of the profession Avas the only
thing to which lie could apply himself,
! and a few months as an army surgeon
j completed his disgust, and he abandoned
\ it. With a year or two of interval, du
ring which lie accomplished himself in
various sciences, he was appointed pro
fessor of chemistry at the military col
lege of West Point. His poetry had by
this time become universally known, and
] lie was the object of much admiration.
I His friends, of whom he had many, con
! gratulated themselves on his having ob
! tained at last a permanent independence,
and the students under his care were be
j ginning to feel the effects of his superior
i knowledge, when he suddenly left the
place, and threw up the professorship. It
is supposed that a projected change in his
! quarters, and the peremptory terms in
which the military order was conveyed,
' had given offence to his sensitive spirit. Up
'to this time he had published several vol
i umes of miscellaneous poetry, under the
title of Clio, which were afterwards re
printed in London. His poems, howev
er, were not a sufficient support to him,
and for some years that he shunned no
tice and shrunk into himself abandoned
to a morbid melancholy, he probably suf
fered keenly the bitter evils of poverty.
His studies and acquisitions, however,
went on, and he was soon known as an
authority upon almost every science and
i every branch of literature. He translate
|cd and improved Malte-Brun’s Geogra
\ phy, among other difficult tasks, and on
the completion of Mr. Webster’s vast Ety
mological Dictionary, Percival was em
ployed to read the proofs and superintend
the publication—the only individual in
America who had the requisite know
ledge of languages. Upon this long,
wearisome, difficult undertaking, the de
sponding poet workqd for two or three
years, giving it often fifteen hours a day,
and for a compensation that sufficed only
for the barest subsistence. Asa philolo
gist, Percival is said only to be surpassed
by the celebrated Mezzofante of theVat
icnan, and yet this is but one of many
things in which he is eminent.
Poetry is Percival’s natural breath, and
he writes it as lie talks, without labor or
forethought: and there lies its defect:
we are told lie never makes a correction.
Os bis many productions we hardly know
which to select for a specimen. We will
give a part of a sketch, describing a scene
in the time of the yellow fever, which
Percival is said to have written while
suffering with hnuger in New York. He
scrawled it in a miserable lodging, when
utterly destitute of the means of pur
chasiiigjbread, and took it to the editor
of a newspaper, who bought it of him
for five dollars. It opens with the de
scription of a girl watching by the death
bed of her lover, and proceeds—
Night
Was far upon its watches, and the voice
Os nature had no sound. The pure blue sky
Was fair and lovely, and the many stars
Look’d down in tranquil beauty on an earth
That smiled in sweetest summer. She look’d
out
Through the rais'd window, and the sheeted,
bay
Lay in a quiet sleep below, and shone
With the pale beam of midnight—air was still,
And the white sail that o’er the distant stream
MoveTwith so a slow pace, it seemed at rest,
Fix’d in the glasSy water, and with care
Shunn’d the wlrk den of pestilence, and stoje
Fearfully from the tainted gale that breathed
Softly along the crisping wave—that sail
Hung loosely on its yard, and as it flapp’d
Caught moving undulations from the light,
That silently came down, and gave the hills,
And spires, and walls, and roofs, a tint so pale,
Death seem’d on all the landscape—but so still,
Who would have thought that any thing but
peace ”
And beauty had a dwelling there ! 'Hie w’orld
Had gone, and life was not within those walls,
Only a few. who linger’d faintly on.
Sat tending at their pillows, with a love
So strong*! t master’d fear—and they were few,
And she was one—and in a lonely house,
Far from all sight and sound of living thing,
She watch’d the couch of him she loved, and
drew
Contagion from the lips that were to her
Still beautiful as roses, though so pale
They seem’d like a thin snow-cutl. All was
still, m
And even so deeply hush’d, the low, faint
breath,
That trembling gasp’d away, came through the
night
Asa loud sound of awe. She pass’d her hand
Over those quivering lips that ever grew
Paler and colder, as the only sign
To tell her life still linger’d—it went out!
And her heart sank within her, when the last
Weak Sigh of life was over, and the room
Seem’d like a vaulted sepulchre, so lone
She dared not look around : and the light wind,
That play’d among the leaves and flowers that
grew
Still freshly at her window, and waved back
The curtain with a rustling sound, to her, .
In her intense abstraction, seem’d the voice
Os a departed spirit. Then she heard,
At least in fancy heard, a whisper breathe
Close at her ear, and tell her all was done,
And her fond loves were ended. She had
watch’d
Until her love grew manly, and she check'd
The tears that came to flow, and nerved her
heart
To the last solemn duty. With a hand
That trembled not, she closed the fallen lid,
And press’d the lips, and gave them one long
kiss—
Then decently spread overall a shroud ;
And sitting with a look of lingering love
Intense in tearless passion, rose at length,
And pressing both her hands upon her brow,
Gave loose to all her gushing grief in showers,
Which, as a fountain seal’d till it had swell'd
To its last fulness, now gave way and flow'd
In a deep stream of sorrow. She grew calm,
And parting back the curtains, look’d abroad
Upon the moonlight loveliness, all sunk
In one unbroken silence, save the moan
From the lone room of death, or the dull sound
Os the slow moving hearse. The homes of
men
Were now all desolate, and darkness there,
And solitude and silence, took their seat
In the deserted streets,is if the wing
Os a destroying angel had gone by,
And blasted all existence, and had changed
The gay, the busy, and the crowded mart
To one col<f, speechless city of the dead.
We must make one more extract, of a
different kind, and which shows, perhaps,
a prophetic feeling for himself:
GENIUS SLUMBERING.
He sleeps, forgetful of his once bright fans ;
He has no feeling of the glory feme ;
' He has no eye to catch the mounMfg flame,
JI. W. FROST, EDtfFOR.
NUMBER |L
That once in transport drew his spirit on ; -
He lies in dull, oblivious dreams, nor care*
Wjio the wreathed laqfel heirs.
And yet not all f&gottcn sleeps he there;
There arc wlio still remember how he boss
Upward his daring’ pinicqis, till
Seemed living with the crowa'of light hs
wore; •
There are who, now hit early sun has se%
Nor can, not will forget.
He sleeps—and yet, around the sightless efM
And the psess’d lip, a darkened glory plays;
Though the high powers in dull oblivion
There hovers still the light of other days.;
Deep in that soul a spirit, not*qf earth, %
Still struggles for its birth.
ir
He will not sleep forever, but will rise
Fresh to more daring labors ; now, even now
As the close shrouding' mist of morning fliqs,
The gathered slumber leaves his lifted'bro*;
From his half-opened eye, in fu'lcr beams,
His wakened spirit streams.
Yes, he will break his sleep; the sppll is gone ;
The deadly charm departed; see him fling
Proudly his fetters by, and hurry on,
Keen as the famished eagle darts her wing;
The goal is still before him, and the priae*
Still woes his eager eyes.
He rushes forth to conquer : shall they take—
with feebler pace, still kept their
way,
When he forgot the contest—shalLthey take,
Now he renewjf the race, the vicror's bay?
Still let them strive—when,' he*collects hie
might, * ■ •
He will assert his right.
I-- - -
The spirit caqnot always sleep in dust,
Whose essence is ethereal; they may try
To darken and degrade it; it may rust
rDiinly awhile, but cannot wholly die’;
And, when it wakens, send its fire
Intenser forth and higher. A
Percival looks the poet more absolute*
ly than any man we -ever saw: it is writ
ten on his forehead, and steeped in his
eye, and wound about his lips. Sqpsi
tiveness, pride, enthusiasm, feeling, mel
ancholy, are traced with a sunbeam on
his features. He is of a slight, stooping
Startled timidity os~nranner that “ has the ~
air almost of insanity. His eye is bright
and pregnant with a kind of unnatural
fire, that makes the child in she street
turn and look after him. Leading (tie
purest life, suffering without complaint
the severest privations, doing what no
one else could do for his daily and mere
existence, modest, with the most remark
able attainments, less distinguished for
his poetry than for any thing else, yet
the best poet of his country. Percival is
the most interesting man in America,
Had he been born in any country of Eu
rope, he would have had the fame and for
tune thrust upon him, which ho wants
the confidence to pluck down upon him
self. j
John Wesley having to travel some dis
tance in a stage coach, fell in with a
pleasant-tempered, cheerful, well-inform
ed officer. His conversation was spright
ly and entertaining, but frequently min
gled with oaths. When they were about
to take the next stage, Mr. Wgf|ey
took the officer apart, and after ex
pressing the pleasure he had enjoyed in
his company, told him he was thereby
encouraged to ask of him a very great
favour. I would take a pleasure in obli
ging you, said the officer, and I am sure
you will not make an unreasonable request.
Then, says Mr. Welsey, as we have to
travel together for some time, I beg, that
if I should so far forget myself as to swear
in your company, you will kindly reprove
me. ,
The officer immediately saw the mo
tive, and felt the force of the request,and
smiling, said none but Mr. Welsey could
have conveyed a reproof in such & man
ner.
Gray. —The poet, Gray, was notori
ously fearful of fire, and kept a ladder of
ropes in his bed-room. Some mischiev-.
ous young men, at Cambridge, knowing
this, roused him from below, in the middle
of a dark night, with a cry of “fire'P/
The staircase, they said, was in flattes.
Up went the window, and down he came,
& fast as he could, into a tab o *.***■
which they had placed to receive him.
Another Counterfeit Indian. —A
person some time mice on one of the
Mississippi boats, shammed Osceola. Here
we have a negro following suite. — A man
who recently passed himself off at Alex
andria, as an Indian, and one o(U|e Chiefs
of the Cherokee lotion, calling himself
“Falling Water” has been arrestbd -in
Fredericksburg, and committed to jail he
a runaway slave, of
Lumpkin, of Ga.