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Bf Ktt£ttlick * C* t DAVIS * SHORT, PUBLISHERS. VOIVME Z. The Brunswick Advocate, published every Thursday M ohm so", in ih city nf Brunswick, GlynnjCounty, Georgia, at $3 per annum, in advance, or $4 at the end of the year. No subscriptions received for a less term than ■ix months and no paper discontinued until all arrearages are paid except at the option of the publishers. IT All letters and communications to the Editor or Publishers in relation to the paper, must be POST PAID to ensure attention. ITADVERTISEMENTSconspicuousIy 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* and charged accordingly. Legal Advertisements published at the usual rates. ITN. B. Sales of Land, by Administrators, Executors or Guardians, are required, by law, to be held on file first Tuesday in the month, between tin? 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, Sixti* Days previous to the day ot sale. y, | Sales 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 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 that application vUill 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 bq 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 b.y the statement- of a few facts. Brunswick jiossesses 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 lias 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 Stafo 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 renuering Brunswfek the principal city of the South. But while its advantages are so numerous and- obvious, tliere have been found indiviftkls 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 w'ick 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 all the great works of Internal Improvement now go ing on through th p 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 mproper 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 (he friends of Brunswiok— to the advocates es Internal Improvement—to the considerate and reflecting—do we apply tor aid and support. Terms—Three dollars per annum ip ad vance, or four dollars at the end of the year. J. W. FROST, Editor. DAVIS & SHORT, Publisher* BRUNSWICK, GEORGIA, THURSDAY MORNING, OCTOBER 26,1837. POETR Y. TO AN OYSTER. With feelings strange and undefined I gaze upon thy face, Thou choice and juioy specimen, of an ill-fated race. How calmly, yea, how meekly,thou reclinestin thy shell, Yet what tiiy woes and sufferings are, man may conjecture well ! For thou hast life, as well as he who recklessly seeks thine, And couldst thou speak might draw 7 forth tears as briny as thy brine. For thou wast torn from friends and home, and > all thy heart could wish, Thou hapless, hopeless, innocent, mute, per secuted fish. Perhaps thou wast but newly joined to some soft, plump, ynuag bride, Whoop'd her mouth for food with thee, w-hen flowed the flowing tide. Perhaps thou hast a family, from whom, thou hast been torn, Who sadly wail lor thee, alas ! who never will return. Thou wast happy on the native bed, where blithesome billows play, Till the cruel fisher wrenched thee from thy “home, sweet home,” away. He stowed thee in his cobble, and he rowed thee to the strand, Thou wast bought, and sold, and opened, and placed in this right hand. I know that while I moralize, thy flavor lades away, I know thou shouldst be eat alive, before thy sweets decay, I know that it is foolishness, this weak delay of mine. And epicures may laugh at it as sentimental whine. Well, let them laugh, I still will drop a tear o’er thy sad fate, Thou wretched and ill-fated one, thou sad and desolate; O'er thee and o’er thy kindred hangs one all consuming doom, To die a slow and lingering death, or, living, find a tomb ! Like the Indian from the forest,and the roebuck from the glen, , Thy race is dwindling silently before the arts of men ; Ye are passing from the river, from the sea bank and the shop) ; And the haunts that long have known ye, shall know ye soon no more. The Blue Point and the Shrewsbury are van ishing away, And clamless soon will be our streams, and oysterleSs our bay. *' Rapacious man, before your prime, ordains that ye shall die, And drags ye from your cool retreats, to broil, and stew, and fry. Why were you made so racy, rich, and luscious to the taste ? ’Tis that has stripped your thickest banks, and made yunr beds a waste. “Your virtues have proved sanctified and holy traitors to ye,” And that which was your proudest boast has served but to undo ye. E'en I, the friend of all your kind, when I think of what thou art, - When I wonder o'er the melting joys thy swallowing will impart; Can delay thy fate no longer, one look, it is my last, A gulp—one more—a silent pause—a sigh—and all is past. Miseries of a Bachelor’s Life. Poor fellow* he returns to his lodging—l will not say his 'home.’ There may be every thing he can possibly desire, in the shape of external comforts, provided for him by the officious zeal of Mrs. , his house keeper ; but still that room has an air of chilling vacancy, the very atmosphere of the apartment has a dim, uninhabited ap pearance —the chairs set round with pro voking neatness —look reproachfully use less and unoccupied; and the tables and other furniture shine with impertinent aod futile brightness. All is dreary and re pelling. No gentle face welcomes his arrival—no loving hands meet his—no kind look answers the listless look he throws around the apartment He sits down to a book, alone; there is no ope sit i ting by his side, to enjoy with him the fa vorite passage—the apt remark—the just criticism; his own taste is unappreciated and unreflected : he has no resource but himself; no one to look up to but himself; all the happiness must emanate from him self. He flings down the volume in dea- Ipair; hides his face in his bands and sings aloud; Ol ms miserum I— [Book of Courtship. #• •* IWIsCELiL, A» Y. From the Gentleman’s Magazine. RETRENCHMENT. A TALE OF OTHER CLIXIES, BUT SUITABLE TO PRESENT TIMES. Cut your coat according to your cloth, is an old maxim and a wise one ; and if people-will only square their ideas accord ing to the circumstances, how much happier might we all be! If we only would cortie down a peg or two in our no tions, in accordance with our waning for tunes, happiness would always be within our reach. .It is not what we have, or what we have not, which adds or suh stTacts from our felicity. It is the long ing for more than we have, the envying of those who possess that more, and the wish to appear in the world of more con sequence than we really are, which destroy our peace of mind, and eventually lead to ruin. I never witnessed a man submitting to circumstances with good humor and good sense, so remarkably as in my friend Al exander Willemott. When I first met him,since our school days, it wa6 at (he close of-the war : he had been a large contractor with government for army clo thing and accoutrements, and was said to have realized qn immense fortune, al though his accounts were not yet settled. Indeed, it was said that they were so vast, that it would employ the time of six clerks, for two years, to examine them, previous to the balance sheet being struck. As I observed, he had been at school with me, and, on my return from the East In dies, I called upon him to renew our old acquaintance, and congratulate him upon his success. “My dear Reynolds, I am delighted to see you. You must come down to Belem Castle : Mrs. Willemott will receive you with pleasure, I am sure. You shall see my two girls.” I consented. The chaise stopped at a splendid mansion, and I was ushered in by a crowd of Jiveriefl servants. Every thing was on the most sumptuous and mag nificent scale. Having paid my respects to the lady of the house, 1 retired to dress, as dinner-was nearly ready, it being then half-past seven o’clock. * It was eight be fore we sat down. To an observation that I made, expressing a hope that I had not occasioned the dinner being put off, Willemott replied, “on the contrary, my dear Reynolds, we never sit down until about this hour. How people can dine at four or five o’clock, I cannot conceive. 1 could not touch a mouthful.” The dinner was excellent, and I paid it the encomiums which were its due. “Do not be afraid, my dear fellow—my cook is an artist extraordinaire —a reg ular Cordon Bhu. You may eat *any thing without fear of indigestion. How people can live upon English cookery of the present day, I cannot conceive. I seldom dine out for fear of being poison ed. Depend upon it, a good cook length ens your days, and no price is too great to ensure one.” When the ladies retired, being, alone, we entered into friendly conversation. 1 expressed my admiration of his daughters, who certainly were very handsome and el egant girls. “Very true ; they are more than passa ble,” replied he. “We have many offers, but not such as come up to my expecta tions. Baronets ' are cheap now-a-days, and Irish lords are nothings; I hope to settle them comfortably. We shall see. Try this claret; you’ll firtd it excellent, not a headache in a hogshead of it. How people can drink port, I cannot imag ine.” T . The next morning he proposed that I should rattle round the park with him. I acceded, and we set off in a handsome open carriage, with four grays ridden by postilions at a rapid pace. As we were whirling along, he observed, “In town we must of course drive but a pair, but in the country I never go out without four horses.. There is a spring in four horses which is delightful ; it makes your spirits elastic, and you feel that the poor animals are not at hard labor. Rather than not drive fowr I would prefer to stay at home.” Our ride was very pleasant, and, in such amusements, passed away one of the most jpleasant weeks that I eVdr remem bered. Willemott was not the least al tered—he was as friendly, as sincere, as when a boy at school. I left him, pleas ed with his prosperity, and acknowledg ing he was well deserving of it, although his ideas had assumed such a scale of mag nificence. I went to India when my leave expired, and was absent about four years. On my -return, I inquired after my friend Wil lemott, and waa told that his circumstan ces and expectations bad been greatly al tered. From many causes, such as a change in tbe government, a demand for economy, and the wording of his con tracts, having been differently rendered .from what Willemott had supposed their “ H EAR ME FOR MT CAUSE.' meaning to be,large items had been struck out of lus balance sheet, and instead of being a millionaire, he was now a gen tleman with a handsome property. Bel em Castle had been sold, and lie now liv ed at Richmond, as hospitable as ever, and was considered a great addition to the neighborhood. I took the earliest oppor tunity of going down to see him. Oh, my dear Reynolds, this is really kind of you to come without invitation. Your room is ready, and bed well aired, for it was slept in three nights ago, Come— Mrs. Willemott will be delighted to'see you.” I found the girls still unmarried, but they were yet young. The whole' family appeared as contented, and happy, and as friendly, as before. We sat down to din ner at six o’clock ; the footman and the coachman attended. The dinner was good, but not by the artiste extraordinaire. I praised every tiling. “Yes,” replied he “she is a very good cook ; she unites the solidity of the Eng lish, with the delicacy, of the French fare, and, altogether, I think, it a decided Jane is quite a treasure.” After diunet he observed, “Os course you know I have sold Belem Castle, and reduced my establishment? Government have not treated me farrlv, but l am at the mercy of commissioners,! and a body of men will do that, which, as individuals, they would be ashamed of. The fact is, the odium is borne by no one in particu lar, and if. is only the sense of shame which keeps us honest, I’m afraid. How ever, here you see me, with a comfortable fortune,and always happytosee mv friends, especially my old school fellow. Will you take port or claret ? The port is very fine and so is the claref. By the by, do yon know—l’ll let you into a family se cret ; Louisa is to be married to a C’Olo nel Wilier—an excellent match. It has made us all happy.” The next day we drdive out, not in an open carriage as before* but in the chari ot and with a pair of horses. “These are handsome horses,” obser ved I. “Yes,” replied he, “I aip fond of good horses ; and as I only keep a pair, I have the best. There is a certain degree of pretension in four horses, I do not much like—it appears as if you wished to over top your neighbors. v I spent a, few very pleasant days and then quitted his hospitable roof. A se vere cold caught that winter, induced me to take the advice of the physicians, and proceed to the south of France, where I remained two years. On my return, I was informed that Willemott had specula ted, and had been unlucky on the Stock Exchange ; that he had left Richmond, and was now living at Clapham. The' next day I met him near the Exchange. “Reynolds, I am happy to see you. lold me that you, had come back. If not better engaged, come down to see me ; I will drive you down at four o’clock, if that will suit.” It suited me very well ; and, at four o’- clock I met him, according to appoint ment, at a livery _ stable over the Irou Bridge. His vehicle was ordered out: it was a phateton drawn by two long tailed ponies—altogether a very neat concern— we set off at a rapid pace. “They step out well, don’t they ? Wc shall be down in plenty of time to put on a pair of shoes by five o’clock, which is our dinner time. Late dinners don’t n gree with me—they produce indigestion. Os course you know that Louisa has a little hoy.” - I did not ; but congratulated hitn. “Yes ; and has now gone out to India with her husband. Mary is also engaged to be married—a very good match—a Mr. Rivers, in the law. He has been called to the bar this year, and promises well. They will be a little pinched at first', but we must see what we can do for them.” We stopped at a neat row of houses, I forget the name, and, as we drove up, the servant, tin? only man servant, came out, and took the ponies round to the sta ble, while the maid received my luggage, and one or two paper bags, containing a few extras for the occasion. I was met with the same warmth as usual by Mrs. Willemott. The house was small but very neat f the remnants of former gran deur appeared here and there, in one or twer little articles, favorites of the lady. We sat down at five o’clofik to a plain dinner, and were attended by the foot man, who had rubbed down the ponies and pulled on his livery. “A good, plain cook, is the best thing after ml,” observed Willemott. “Your fine cooks won’t condescend to roast and boil. Will you take some of this surloin ? the under cut is excellent. My dear, give Mr. Rejoolds some Yorkshire pud ding.” When we were left alone after dinner, Willemott (old me, very unconcernedly, of bis losses. “It was my own .fault,” said he; ”1 wished to make aup a.little sum, lor the girls, and, risking, what they would have | had, l left them almost pcnnylessu* Horf 'ever, we cm always command a bottle~of ! port and a beefsteak, and i chat more in this world can you have? Willyou take port or white ? I have no claret to offer you.” We finished our port, but I could per ceive no difference in Willemott. He was just as happy and as cheerful as ever. He drove ine to toVvn the next day. Dur ing our drive, he observed. “1 like po nies, they are so little trouble ; and I pre fer them to driving one horse in this ve hicle, as I cau put my wife and daughters into it. It’s selfish to keep a carriage for yourself idone, and one horse in a four wheeled double’ chaise appears like an imposition upon the poor animal.” . . I went to Scotland, and remained about a year. On my return, I found that inf friend Willemott again shifted his quarters. He was at Brighton, and hav ing nothing better io do, I put mysfelf in the •‘Times,” and arrived at the Bedford Hotel. It was not until after sortie inqui ry, that I could find out his address. At last I obtained it, in a respectable but not fashionable part of this overgrown*to\vn. Willemott received me just ds before. “I have no spare bed to offer you, hut you must breakfast and dine with its ev ery day. Our house is small, huf it's ve ry comfortable, and Brighton is a very convenient placer. You know Mary is married. A good place in the courts was tor sale, and my wife and 1 agreed to purchase it for fivers. It has reduced us a little, but they are very comfortably. I have retired from business altogether ; in fact, as my daughters are both married, and we have enough to live upon, what can we wish for more ? Brighton is very' gay, and always healthy sand, as for car riages and horses, they are of no "rise here ; they ere to be had at gvery corner of the streets.” „ • • I accepted his invitation to dinner. A parlor maid waited, but every thing al» though very plain, was clean and com fortable. “I have still a bottle of wine for a friend, Reynolds,” said Willemott, after dinper, .“but, for my part, I prefer whis key toddy. It agrees with me better. Here’s to the health of niy two girls, God bless (jfeem, and success to them in life.” “My dear Willemott,” said I, “l take the liberty of an old friend, but I am so astonished at your philosophy, that I can not help it. \Vh|eti 1 call to mind Belem Castle, your large establishment, your luxuries, your French cook, and your stud of cattle, I wonder at your contented state of mind under such a chahge of cir 'cumstances.” “I almost wonder'myself, my ddar fel low,” replied he, “j never could have Re lieved, at that time, that I could live hap pily under such a change of ciroumstan ces : but the fact is, that although I hav e been a contractor, I have a good con science ; then, my wife* is an excellent woman, and provided she sees ine and her daughters happy, thinks nothing' about herself, and, further, I have made it a rule us I have been going down hill, to find reasons why I should he thankful and not discontented. Depend upon it, Reynolds, it is not a loss of fortune which will af fect your happiness, as long as you have peace and loye at home.” 1 took my leave of Willemott and his wife, with respect as well as regard, con vinced that there was no pretended indif ference to worldly advantages, that it was not that the grapes were sour, but that lie had learned the whole art of happiness, hv being contented with what be had, and by “cutting Ins coat according to his cloth.” [From tho Literary MessengerT] BIOGRAPHY OF SHERIDAN. Something, perhaps, of thi» vulgar and pryjng spirit of curiosity, whose examin ation defiles, and whose experiments of fend, has arisen from the bastard sort of writing which goes under the hame of Biography. The Jackal labors of such a man as Boswell have been productive of very bad" effects to society ; and we are all quite too much diseased with the scandalous itch of thrusting our noses into the privacies of distinguished people, and learning the secrets of a life which should ■be sacred. Where can be the use of learning that wisdom has its weakness— that the great Poet is a child among his children—that he has ridiculous foibles, and is sometimes the victim of painful in dulgences ? lam not so sure that- it is not hurtful to the morals of the greater number, when they are told that the few to whom they look for lessons and exam ples, are also the victims of base passions and wild caprices. We should endeavor, as much as possible, to keep out of the sight of the yooog, (hose errors of tho teaeher, which may lessen their respect and diminish tfte vtfne of bis lessons, as the slave of those very influ ences from tbe contagion of whiffe wo would wara-their steps. I look upon Ms. wtR»- a«yeqiiamggOw so*l.» cMMMeleef J. W. FROST, fmlOR. fc. - Jiis ._ ~ «T, JL - mental prostitution ;, and think, ST Mtno time,".what have been float bjr its subjeeMinder poper influences, and with the advantages of a circumspect ed ucation a(4he first. And yet, the remains which we have of Sheridan, scarcely give countenance to the extreme eulogy of. which in • life lie was the object.. His i speeyhes would ndl acquire for fciqa at , the present day, any very brilliant rkputa-, lion. His comedies. s|pne are tl* jmcl malices by which he will life'iO ture. His verses are not too much of the wit to be a jAf'' am disposed to think a talent * jqgySBEH tee: at variance with that ftiteQfZjßraHi rateness of thought which poet. A great wit can poet. An exception may' on in the case of peare was an Humorist, ratheitnlfc... So was Scott, whose poetry, will rank more highly in fiUatgKwlgt^j^ now*.. 1 .' The great peculiarity MftjßEK'H life of Sheridan was hig.P<lb€^iiiß mjamfr uncommon degree of poetliSflbmfeitSai 477 with, comp iritively the poet, lie had cions humors —a quick perMpKo ’ ’’ii 'fy elastic and the line —but ination. His mental constiraUpm in (uB particular, contained a somettjjhg doxical, which it would be in vkia Jo at. tempt to reconcile with any' givelndhllHy dards. Perhaps, it may be said, and perfect justice, that the incomplefenopi, of his poetical temperament, was the prDk mary cause of hie painful moral, and vex ing literary irregularities. It waa not the mania—the mere rage*for sortg—nor mny idle and presuming ambition on his part to be considered or appear the char acter that he was not, that led him to the Pierian waters; for no one before or since, seems ever to have held his reputa tion in a more slovenly estimation than did Sheridan-T-but it is equally certaiq that he drank not, or not deeply of those waters which tells us should not mcroly be tasted. He had the and a partial enjoyment of the poetic phrenzy : but its effect seemsto have been that of exhilarating gas rather that) that of tho Muse. Perhaps, too, he irtay have felt the genuine force ol song, without the corresponding capacity to give it.dueform in language. He failed to bestow, in wri ting, the fruits of his inspiration upon oth ers; and this leads us to remark the cor rectness of an option, sotnewfiere ex pressed by Moore, his biographer,jn which he comments upon the wonderful differ ence between the > distinct capacities of utterance and conception in' the author. It would seem that the pjmicel map shrunk from the task of inscis£ing u'ftgp his tablets* the process of that elaboraM* thought, which, was, neverthefest per petually bdsy within the depths oflhts brain, carrying on those mysterious op erations of mind, which are never entire ly suspended—‘however incoherent-—even when we sleep. Sheridau, may have felt all the poetry which’lie could not- write; and which he left to the laborious pen of others. He Was too much the actual per former of his verse, had he lived too much among mankind, to pause, in his career in order so record his speculations; and* the sacred fire of the Muse, if it ever were really kindled within him, was suf fered to biirn out without the necessary fuel, and nobody but hiwstdf-was ever , "thoroughly warmed by the blaze. The opium eater entertains the poetical ture in very much the same way ; and - the dreaming insensibility—the placid incapacity of the such persons, for any outw;irA 7 kft|ffikltiQn „ of the true nature and tfefe ’ otions within. Hence, too t Jp6|gft§§ps unconcern of the mind, fotifadtKJmgutoL and troubles which vex alfeMlHBuBM hence, the general dfcamer to all weathers. <-d||fchigi|§Mra| doctrine, of prcdestinMjpi Turks, is better foundetPili which they eat, than ip the Koran. A Christian Minister, convert a Mussulman, will ' adv isable, to begin by making him dtwaKf' the intoxicating poison. In such pfeftlH all is delirium and twilight—-a genen* caiin overspreads tho earth, and thESfIcJPI full of lulling spngs and melwdiesv more, to stir, to spbak, to write—would break the charm, and dissipate the which makes them Careless of Thousands who do not employ the stimulant, have yak the feeling poetry -within them, strong as that which jpnfriti nated and fnrmnd in liny ills mental nature of flhwnniui. t possessing, even to the same dogreo which was —mpgifn idj —j. with him, the power of enybedvine their fancies q the . great &q evg. oulatA' it wdre td. iHBCht. * Iwa thctflelhLftnulS * JwouW hue bee* io iffiictftkrmjE? *