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1$? ttu&tttick DAVIS & SHORT, PUBLISHERS. VOLUME Z. The Brunswick Advocate, ]• published every Thursday Morning, in the city of Brunswick, Glynn'County, Georgia, at $3 per annum, in advance, or $4 at the end of the year. No subscriptions received for a less term than six months and no paper discontinued until all arrearages are paid except at the option of the publishers. Gy All letters and communications to the Editor or Publishers in relation to the paper, must be POST PAlD,tcrensure attention. Uy ADVERTISEMENTS conspicuously in serted at One Dollar per one hundred words, for the first insertion, and Fifty Cents for ev ery subsequent continuance—Rule and figure work always double price. Twenty-five per cent, added, if not paid in advance, or during the continuance of the advertisement. Those sent without a specification of the number of insertions will be published until ordered out 1 and charged accordingly. Legal Advertisements published at the usual rates. 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 three in the afternoon, at the Court-house in the county in which the property is situate.— Notice of these sales must be given in a public gazette, Sixty Days previous to the day ot sale. Sales of Negroes must be at public auction, on the first Tuesday of the month, between the tisual hours of sale, at the place of public sales in the county where the letters testamentary, of Administration or Guardianship, may have been granted, first giving sixty days notice thereof, in one of the public gazettes of this State, and at the door of the Court-house, where such sales are to be held. Notice for the sale of Personal Property, must be given in like manner, Forty days previous to the day of sale. Notice to the Debtors and Creditors of an Es tate must be published for Forty days. Notice thatapplication will be made to the Cdurt of Ordinary for leave to sell Land, must be published for Four Months. Notice for leave to sell Negroes, must be published for Four Months, before any order absolute shall be made thereon by the Court. 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.