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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, at s:] per annum, in adtance, or $4 at the end of the year. No subscriptions received for a less terri! than six months and no paper discontinued until all arrearages are paid except at the option of the publishers. (fyAll letters and communications to the tlditor or Publishers in relation to the paper, must be POST PAID to ensure attention. (LT ADVERTISEMENTS conspicuously in serted at One Dolla 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 Those sent without a specification of the number of insertions will be published until ordered out* and charged accordingly. published at the usual rates. O’N. 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 forenoon 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 Rays previous to the day ot sale. Sites of Negroes must be at public auction, on the first Tuesday of the month, between the usual hours of sale, at the place of public sales in the county where the letters testamentary, of Ad ministration 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 that application will be made to the Court 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 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-