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DAVIS «fc SHORT, PUBLISHERS
VOIUME X.
The Brunswick Advocate,
Is published every Thursday Morning, in the
city of Brunswick, Glynn County, Georgia,
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PROSPECTUS
OF TIIF.
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 statement of a few facts.
Brunswick possesses a harbor, which for ac
cessibility, spaciousness and security, is une
qualled on the 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 capacities, 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
aries. 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
wick 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,
lo furnish information relating to all the
great works of Internal Improvement now go
ing on through the 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 not to the mem
bers of a party —to the friends of Brunswick—
to the advocates of Internal Improvement— to
the considerate and reflecting—do we apply
lor aid and support.
Terms —Three dollars per annum in ad
vance, or four dollars at the end of the year.
J. VV. FROST, Editor.
DAVIS & SHORT, Publisher*. *
M 18CELLA3IY.
[From the New Monthly Magazine.]
F. SMITH.
BV N. P. WILLIS.
[Concluded.]
111.
My party at Nahant consisted of Tlial
aba, Forbearance, and myself. The
place was crowded,-but I passed my time
very much between rny horse and my
friend, and was as certain to be found on
the beach when the tide was down, as
the sea to have left the sands. Job (a
synonyme for Forbearance,.which became
at this time his common soubriquet) was, of
course, in love. Not the least to the preju
dice, however of his last faithful passion—
for he was as fond of the memory of an old
love, as he was tender in the presence of
the new. I intended to have had him
dissected after his death, to see whether
his organization was not peculiar. I
strongly incline to the opinion, that we
should have fountf a mirror in the place
of his heart. Strange! how the same
man who is so tickle in love, will he so
Constantin friendship ! But is it fickle
ness ? Is it not rather a suprrflu of ten
derness iu the nature, which overflows to
all who approach the fountain ? 1 have
ever observed, that the most susceptible
men are the most remarkable for the finer
qualities of character. They are more
generous, more delicate, and of a more
chivalrous complexion altogether, than
other men. It was surprising how reason
ably Bruin would argue upon this point.
“ Because I was happy at Niagara,” he
was saying one day as we sat upon the
rocks, “shall I take no pleasure in the
Falls of Montmorenci ? Because the
sunset was glorious yesterday, shall I
find no beauty in that of to-day ? Is my
fancy to he used but once, and the key
turned upon it forever ? Is the heart like
a bon-bon, to he eaten up by the first fa
vorite, and thought of no more ? Are
our eyes blind, save to one shape of beau
ty ? Are our ears insensible to the music
save of one voice ?”
“ But do you not weaken the heart, and
become incapable of a lasting attachment
by this habit of inconstancy ?”
“ How lofhg, my dear Phil, will you
persist in talking as if the heart was ma
terial, and held so much love as a cup so
much water, and had legs to be weary, or
organs to grow dull ? How is my sensi
bility lessened ?—how my capacity en
feebled ? What would I have done for
my first love, that I would endure for my
last ? I would have sacrificed my life to
secure the happiness of one you wot of
in days gone by—l would jump into the
sea, if it wo»id make Blanche Carroll
happier to-morrow.”
“j Sautez done !” said a thrilling voice
behind: and as if the utterance of her
name had conjured her out of the ground
the object of all Job’s admiration, and a
little of my own, stood before us. She
had a work-basket iu her hand, a gipsy
hat tossed carelessly on her head, and
preceded a whole troop of belles and
matrons, who were coming out to while
away the morning, and breathe the invig
orating sea air on the rocks.
Blanche Carroll was what the women
would call “ a little love,” hut that phrase
of endearment would not at all express
the feeling with which she inspired the
men. She was small, and her face and
figure might have been framed in fairy
land for bewitching beauty ; but with the
manner of a spoiled child, and, apparent
ly, the most thoughtless playfulness of
mind, she was as veritable a little devil as
ever took the shape of woman. Scarce
seventeen at this time, she had a knowl
edge of character that was like an in
stinct, and was an accomplished actress
in any part it was necessary for her pur
pose to play. No grave Machiavel ever
managed his cards with more finesse than
that little intriguante the limited world of
which she was the star. She was a natu
ral master-spirit and plotter; and the tal
ent that would have employed itself in
the deeper game of politics, had she been
born a woman of rank in Europe, dis
played itself, in the simple society of a
republic, in subduing to her power every
thing in the shape of a single man that;
ventured to her net. I have nothing to
tell of her at all commensurate with the
character I have drawn, for the disposal
of her own heart (if she has one) must
of course be the most important event of
her life; but I merely pencil the outline
of the portrait in passing, as a specimen
of the material that exists, even in the
simplest society, for the dramatis personcr
of a court.
We followed the light footed beauty to
the shelter of one of the caves opening '
on the sea, and seated ourselves about j
her upon the rocks. Someone proposed
that Job or myself should read.
“Oh, Mr. Smith!” interrupted the
belle, “ where is my bracelet? and where
are my verses ?”
At the ball the night before she had
dropped a bracelet in the waltz, and Job
had been permitted to take care of the j
BRUNSWICK, GEORGIA, THURSDAY MORNING, AUGUST 31, 1837.
fragments, on condition of restoring
them, with a sonnet, the next morning.
She had just thought of it.
“Read them out! read them out!”
she cried, as Job, blushing a deep blue,
extracted a tri-cornered pink document
from his pocket, and tried to give it to her
unobserved, with the pacquet of jewel
lery. Job looked at her imploringly, and
she took the verses from his hand, and
ran her eye through them.
“Pretty well!” she said; “'but the
last line might be improved. Give me a
pencil, someone!” And bending over
it, till her luxuriant hair concealed her
fairy fingers in their employment, she
wrote a moment upon her knee, and toss
ing the paper to me, bade me read it out
with the emendation. Bruin had, mean
time, modestly disappeared, and I read
with the more freedom.
“ ’Twas broken in the gliding dance,
When thou vvert in thy dream of power ;
When shape and motion, tone and glance,
Were glorious all—the woman's hour !
The light lay soft upon thy brow,
The music melted in thine ear,
And one, perhaps forgotten now,
With ’wilder’d thoughts stood list’ning near,
Marvelling not that links of gold
A pulse like thine had not controll’d.
'Tis midnight now.—The dance is done,
And thou, in thy soft dreams, asleep;
And I awake, am gazing on
The fragments given me to keep.
1 think of every glowing vein
That ran beneath these links of gold,
And wonder if a thrill of pain
Made those bright channels ever cold !
With gifts like thine, I cannot think
Grief ever chilled this broken link.
Good night! 'Tis little now to thee
That in my ear thy words were spoken,
And thou wilt think of them and me
As long as of the bracelet broken.
For thus is riven many a chain
That thou hast fastened but to break,
And thus thou'lt sink to sleep again,
As careless that another wake ;
The only thought thy heart can rend
Is— what the fellow'll charge to mend?’*
Job’s conclusion was more pathetic,
but probably less true. He appeared af
er the applause had ceased, and resumed
liisplace at the lady’s feet, with a look in
his countenance of having deserved an
abatement of persecution. The beauty
spread out the fragments of the broken
bracelet on the rock beside her.
“Mr. Smith!” said she, in her most
conciliating tone. Job leaned toward her
with a look of devoted enquiry.
“ Has the tide turnef! ?”
“Certainly. Two hours since.”
“The beach is passable, then?”
“ Hardly, I fear.”
“No matter. How many hours’ drive
is it to Salem ?”
“ Mr. Slingsby drives it in two.”
“ Then you’ll get Mr. Slingsby to lend
you his stanhope, drive to Salem, have
this bracelet mended, and bring it back
in time for the ball. / /lave spoken, as
the Grand Turk says. Allez !”
“But, my dear Miss Carroll ”
She laid her hand on his mouth as he
began to remonstrate, and while I made
signs to him to refuse, she said something
to hun which I lost in a sudden dash of
the waters. He looked at me for my
consent.
‘Oh ! you can have Mr. Siingsby’s horse,
said the beauty, as I hesitated whether
my refusal would not check her tyranny,
“ and I’ll drive him out this evening for
his reward. N’cst-ce pas ? you cross
man!”
So with a sun hot enough to fry the
brains in his skull, and a quivering reflec
tion on the sands that would burn his
face to a blister, exit Job, with the bro
ken bracelet in liis bosom.
iv.
A thunder-cloud strode into the sky
with the rapidity which marks that com
mon phenomenon of a breathless summer
afternoon in America, darkened the air
for a few minutes, so that the birds be
took themselves to their nests, and then
poured out its refreshing waters with the
most terrific flashes of lightning, and
crashes of thunder which for a moment
seemed to still even the eternal bass of the.
sea. With the same fearful rapidity, the
black roof of the sky tore apart, and fell
back in rolling and changing masses, up
on the horizon ; the sun darted with in
tense brilliancy through the clarified and
transparent air ; the light-stirring breeze
came freighted with delicious coolness;
and the heavy sea-birds, who had lain
brooding on the waves while the tumult
of the elements went on, rose on their
scimitar-like wings, and fled away, with
imcomprehensible instinct, from the
beautified and freshened land. The whole
face of earth and sky had been changed
in an hour.
Oh, of what fulness of delight are e
ven the senses capable ! What a nerve
there is sometimes in every pore ! What
love for all living and all inanimate things
“HEAR ME FOR MY CAUSE.”
may he born of a summer shower! How
stirs the fancy, and brightens hope, and
warms the heart, and sings the spirit
within us, at the mere animal joy with
which the lark flees into heaven ! And
yet, of this exquisite capacity for pleasure
we take so little oare ! We refine our
taste, we elaborate and finish our mental
perception, we study the beautiful, that
we may know it when it appears,—yet the
senses by which these faculties are ap
proached, the stops by which this fine in
strument is played, are trilled with and
neglected. We forget that a single ex
cess blurs and confuses the music written 4
on our minds; we forget that ail untime
ly vigil weakens and bewilders the deli
cate minister to our inner temple; we
know not, or act as if we knew not, that
the fine and easily jarred harmony of
health is the only interpreter of Nature
to our souls; in short, we drink too much
claret, and eat too much pate foi grass.
Do you understand me, gourmand et gour
met.
Blanche Carroll was a beautiful whip,
and the two bay ponies in her pliteton
were quite aware of it. La Bruyere says
with liis usual wisdom, “ Une belle femme
qui ales qualites and un honnete lioinine est
qu il y a au inonde and un commerce plus
delicieux;” and to a certain degree, mas
culine accomplishments, too, are very
winningimrwoman—if pretty; if plain,
she is expected not only to be quite fem
inine, but quite perfect. Foibles are as
hateful in a woman who does not possess
beauty as they are engaging in a woman
who does. Clouds are only lovely when
the heavens are bright.
She looked the loveliest while driving,
did Blanche Carroll, for she was born to
rule, and the expression native to her lip
was energy and nerve; and as she sat
with her little foot pressed against the
dasher, and reined in those spirited hor
ses, the finely-pencilled mouth, usually
playful or pettish, was pressed together
in a curve as warlike as Minerva’s and
twice as captivating. She drove, too, as
capriciously as she acted- At one mo
ment her fltiet ponies fled over the sand
at the top of their speed, and at the next
they were brought down to a walk, with
suddentiess which threatened to bring
them upon their haunches. Now far up
on the dry sand, cutting a zigzag to
lengthen the way, and again below at the
tide ed<ze, with the waves breaking over
her seaward wheel; all her powers at one
instant engrossed in pushing them to
their fastest trot, and in another the reins
lying loose on their bricks, while she dis
cussed some sudden flight of philosophy.
“ Be his fairy, liis page, his every tiling
that love and poetry have invented,” said
Roger Ascham to Lady Jane Grey, just
before her marriage; hut Blanche Carroll
was almost the only woman I ever saw
capable of that beau ideal of fascinating
characters.
Between Miss Carroll and myself there
was a safe and cordial friendship. Be
sides loving another better, she was nei
ther earnest, nor true, nor affectionate
enough to come at all within the range
of iny possible attachments, and though I
admired her, she felt that the necessary
sympathy was wanting for love ; and, the
idea of fooling me with the rest once
abandoned, we were the greatest of allies.
She told me all. her triumphs, and I lis
tened and laughed without thinking it
worth while to burden her with my confi
dence in return; and you may as well
make a memorandum, gentle reader, that
I that is a very good basis for a friendship.
Nothing bores women or worldly persons
jso much ae to return their secrets with
| your own.
As we drew near the extremity of the
beach, a hoy rode up on horseback, and
presented Aliss Carroll with a note. I
observed that it was written on a very
dirty slip of paper, and was waiting to he
enlightened as to its contents, when she
slipped it into her belt, took the whip
from the box, and flogging her ponies
through the heavy sand of the outer beach
went off, at a pace which seemed to en
gross Ml her attention, on her road to
Lynn. Wc reached the Hotel and she
had not spoken a syllable, and as I made
a point of never enquiring into any thing
that seemed odd in her conduct, I mere
ly stole a glance at her face, which wore
the expression of mischievous satisfaction
which I liked least of its common expres
sion, and descended from the phieton
with the simple remark that Job could
not have arrived, as I saw nothing of my
stanhope in the yard.
“ Mr. Slingsby.” It was the usual
preface to asking some particular favor.
“ Miss Carroll.”
“Will you he so kind as to walk to
the library and select me a book to your
own taste, and ask no questions as to
what I do with myself meantime?”
“ But, my dear Miss Carroll—your fa
ther ”
“ Will feel quite satisfied when he hears
that Cato was w ith me. Leave the po-;
nies to the groom, Cath, and follow me.”
I looked after her as she walked down |
the village street with the old black be
hind her, not at all certain of the propri
ety of my acquiescence, but feeling that
there was no help for it.
I lounged away a half-hour at the lib
rary, and found Miss Carroll waiting for
me on my return. There were no signs
of Bruin; and as she seemed impatient
to he otf, 1 jumped into the pheeton, and
away we Hew to the beach as fast as her
ponies could he driven under the whip.
As we descended upon the sand she
spoke for the first time.
“ If you have got into no scrape while
binder my charge, I shall certainly be too
happy to shake hands upon it to-morrow.”
“ Are you quite sure ?” she asked arch
ly.
“ Quite sure.”
“So am not I,” she said with a merry
laugh ; and in her excessive amusement
she drove down to the sea, till the surf
broke over the nearest pony’s hack, and
filled the bottom of the pliajton with wa
ter. Our wet feet were now a fair apolo
gy for haste, and taking the reins from
her, I drove rapidly home, while she
wrapped herself in her shawl, amlsat ap
parently absorbed in the coming twilight
over the sea.
V.
I slept late after the ball, though I had
gone to bed exceedingly anxious about
Bruin, who had not yet made liis appear
ance. The tide would prevent his cross
ing the beach after ten in the morning,
however, and I made myself tolerably ea
sy till the sands were passable with the
evening ebb. The high-water mark was
scarcely deserted by the waves, when the
same boy who had delivered the note to
Miss Carroll the day before rode up from
the beach on a panting horse, and deliv
ered the following note ;
“ Dear Philip, —You will he surpris
ed to hear that I am in the Lynn jail on a
charge of theft and utterance of counter
feit money. Ido not wait to tell you the
particulars. Please come and identify
“ Yours truly,
F. Smith.”
I got upon the boy’s horse, and hurried
over the beach with whip and spur. 1
stopped at the justice’s office, and that
worthy seemed uncommonly pleased to sen
me.
“ We have got him, sir,” said he.
“Got whom?” I asked rather shortly.
“ Why, the fellow that stole your stan
hope and Miss Carroll’s bracelet, and
passed a twenty dollar counterfeit bill—
han’t you hear/i on’t ?”
The justice’s incredulity when I told
him it was most probably the most inti
mate friend I had in the world, would
i have amused me at any other time.
! “ Will you allow me to see the prison
er ?” I asked
“Be sure I will. I let Miss Carroll
have a peep at him yesterday, and what
do you think ? oh Lord! he wanted to
make her believe she knew him ! Good !
wasn’t it? Ha! ha' And such an ill-
I looking fellow ! Why, I’d know him for
| a thief any where ! Your intimate friend,
Air. Slingsby! Oh, Lord! wheif you
come to see him ! Ha! ha!
We were at the prison door. The
grating bolts turned slowly, the door
swung rustily on its hinges as if it was
not often used, and in the next minute I
was enfolded in Job’s arms, who sobbed
and laughed, and was quite hysterical
with his delight. I scarce wondered at
the justice’s prepossessions when I look
ed at the figure he made. His hat knock
ed in, his coat muddy, his hair full of the
dust of straw —the natural hideousness of
poor Job had every possible aggravation.
We were in the stanhope, and fairly on
the beach, before he had sufficiently re
covered to tell me the story. He had ar
arrived quite overheated at Lynn hut, in
a hurry to execute Miss Carroll’s coin
mission, he merely took a glass of soda
water, had Thalaba’s mouth washed, and
drove on. A mile on his way, he was
overtaken by a couple of ostlers on horse
back, who very roughly ordered him hack
to the inn. He refused, and a fight en
sued, which ended in his being tied into
the stanhope, and driven back as a pris
oner. The large note, which he Jiad
given for his soda water, it appeared, was
a counterfeit, and placards, offering a re
ward for the detection of a villain, de
scribed in the usual manner as an ill-look
ing fellow, had been sticking up for some
days in the village. He was taken before
the justice, who declared, at first sight,
that he answered the description in the
advertisement. His stubborn refusal to
give the whole of (he would
rather have died, I suppose,] hi s posses
sion of my stanhope, which was immedi
ately recognized, and lastly the bracelet
found in his pocket, of which he refused
indignantly to give any account, were cir
cumstances enough to leave no doubt on
the mind of the worthy justice. He
made out his mittimus forthwith, granting
Job's request that he might be allowed to
write a note to Miss Carroll, (who, he
knew, would drive over the beach toward j
J. W. FROST, EDITOR.
NUMBER 13.
evening,) as a very great favor. She ar.
rived as he expected.
“ And what in heaven’s name did she
say ?” said I, interested beyond my pa
tience at this part of the story.
“ Expressed the greatest astonishment
when the justice showed her the bracelet,
and declared she never saw me before in
her life!"
That Job forgave Blanche Carroty in
two days, and gave her a pair of gloves
: wi.h some veues on the third, will sur-
only those who have not seen that
would seem incredible, hut here
as large as life ;
“ Slave of the snow-white hand ! I fold
My spirit in thy fabric fair*;
And when that dainty hand is'Cold,
And rudely comes the wintry air,
Press in thy light and straining form
Those slender fingers soft and warm;
And, as the fine-traced veins within
Quicken their bright and rosy flow,
And gratefully the dewy skin
Clings to the form that warms it *o,
Tell her my heart is hiding there,
Trembling to be so closely press’d,
Yet feels how brief its moments are,
And saddens even to be blest—
Fated to serve her for a day,
And then, like thee, he flung away."
Slingsby.
FLOWERS.
From a chapter on Flowers, by the author of
“Rank and Talent," inserted in the Amulet.
Flowers are for the young and for the
old: for the grave and for the gay; for
the living and for the dead; for all but
the guilty, and for them when they are
penitent. Flowers are, in the volume of
nature, what the expression, ‘God is love’
is in the volume of revelation. They
tell man of the paternal character of the
Deity. Servants are fed, clothed, and
commanded; but children are instructed
by a sweet gentleness; and to them is
given by the good parent, that which de
lights, as v.k.il as that which supports.—
For the servant, there is the gravity of
approbation, or the silence of satisfaction;
but for the children, there is the sweet
smile of complacency, and the joyful look
of love. So, by the beauty whiefe the
Creator has dispersed and spread abroad
through creation, and by. the capacity
which he has given to man to enjpy and
comprehend that beauty, he has displayed
not merely the compassionateness of his
mercy, but the generosity and graceful
ness of his goodness. What a dreary and
desolate place would he a world without a
flower! It would be as a face without a
smile—a feast without a welcome. Flow
ers, by their sylph-like forms and view
less fragrance, are the first instructors to
emancipate our thoughts from the gross
ness of materialism ; they make us think
of invisible beings; and by means of so
beautiful and graceful a transition, our
thoughts of the invisible are thoughts of
the good. Are not flowers the stars of
earth, and are not stars the flowers of
heaven ! Flowers are the teachers of gen
tle thoughts, promoters of kindly emotion.
One cannot look closely at the structure
of a flower without loving it. They are
emblems and manifestations ofGod’slove
to the creation, and they are the means
and ministrations of man’s love to liis fel
low-creatures; for they first awaken in
the mind a sense of the beautiful and the
good. Light is beautiful and good; hut
011 its undivided beauty; and on the
glorious intensity of its full strength, man
cannot gaztf; he can comprehend it best
when prismatically separated and dispers
ed in the many colored beauty of flowers;
and thus he reads the elements of beauty
—the alphabet of visible gracefulness.
The very inutility of flowers is their excel
lence and great beauty, detached from
and superior to all selfishness; so that
they are pretty lessons in Nature's book
of instruction, teaching man that he liveth
not by or for bread alone, but that he
hath another than an animal life.”
Praise. •’Of all drams, the most nox
ious is praise, Be sparing of it, fe par
rents, as ye would be of the deadliest
drug ; withhold your children from it, as
ye withhold them from the gates of sin.-
Whatever you enjoy, do it because it is
right, enjoin it because it is the will of
God: and always without reference of
any sort to what men may say or think
of it. Reference to the opinion of the
world, and deference to the opinion of the
world, and conference with it, and inter
ference from it, and preference of it above
all things, above every principle, and rele
and law, human and divine; all this will
come soon enough without your interfere
cnce. [Catholic Telegraph.
I compare the art of spreading rumors
to the art of pin making. There is usu
ally some truth, which I call the wires;
as this passes from hand to hand, one
gives it a polish, another a point; others
make and pnt on the head, and at hMt the
pin is completed. [John Newtetf*
m-