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SO. SI.
\0L. XXXIV.
(llJjlE. KNOWLES h ORME,
Editors and Proprietors.
1!. Rbcosder is published weekly, and is
• 1 irli o mrmflilv A<rr?i*n1fm«ol Cnn.
jfeompa'
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ill old arrearages be reduced.
0tt FOR CLAIMS AT WASHINGTON CITY.
T HE Subscriber, lately a Clerk in the Tension
(Hiiee, and for a number of years past, has op-
in the City of Washington, an agency for the
.-cation of claims against the General Govern-
1 laving access to the largest collection of
ace of Revolutionary service (particularly of
,, rs in the staff department) to be found in the
jg hot'any private individual, embracing service
:i red in each of the old thirteen States, it will
• him to establish many claims which have
_• remained suspended for want of proof and
[cper attention.
He therefore offers to the public his services in
i following cases, viz:
E volutionary and other pensions.
- |.eiided and rejected claims under the Pension
Aiij.lications for increase of pension; also claims
ant-, land, extra and back pay, and all other
before Congress and the various Depart-
to which the most prompt attention and fi-
: lity i' ill be given.
Terms moderate, when the claim is established ;
Kkrviso no charge.
,\1 communications to be postpaid, and directed
th • Subscriber, Washington, D. C.
ORRIS S. PAINE,
li is permitted to refer to Col. J. J. Abert, Chief
( r, of Topographical Engineers ; J. L. Ed-
.! . Esq., Late Commissioner of Pensions ; J.
.Lfkiu'.t, Esq.. Postmaster, Washington City.
Wsshii gton City, July l9,1853 30 tf
GREAT BARGAINS.
X consequence of the dry times Choke A !Wc-
: rath have determined to offer the balance of
r Spring and Summer stock of
D31Y GOODS
ereatly reduced prices.
h is undoubtedly THE FACT, that nowhere in
l.-ev illo, can there be found a larger variety of
kinds of desirable goods.
We as!; the attention of purchasers, as-
them that they w ill neglect their own inter-
if they purchase without examining our Goods
1 Low Prices.
ilillcdgcville, July 12, 1853. 28 tf
LLS! BELLS! BELLS!
AIIE (subscribers manufacture and keep con-
- ntautly on hand, a very large assortment of
urcli, Factory, Steamboat, Steamship, Locomo-
c.School House, and Plantation Bells, made in
entirely nac man recently adopted by us. The
’ -lock Ls used, and the most approved method of
:._ r ing. We have 14 Gold and Silver Medals
arded for ‘‘the best Bells, for sonorousness and
ityof tone.” Nearly 10,000 Bells have been
■land sold from this foundry. We can send to
Yc irk in four hours, and by Canal and Railroads
‘ ry direction, at an hour’s notice. Mathemati-
l itniments of tlie most approved construction
-Land. Address
A. 51ENE ELY’S SONS, West Troy, N. Y.
Tulv liii, ]W)3 30 eowl2m*
35 REWAllD.
0ST,on Wednesday last, at Midway, or m the
-l Cars between there and Eatonton, a pair of
Gc'd Spectacles, Old fashioned, with the ini-
L. r. II.” engraved on them. Whoever may
bumd them will confer a great favor by send-
m to me at Eatonton, as they are held in
: estimation than the amount of their value,
>’••• above reward will be cheerfully paid, if re-
LEW1S P. HARWELL.
■July 25,1353 30 tf
Putnam Plantation for Sale.
>1E undersigned offers his PLANTATION in
PUTNAM COUNTY, lying on Little River,
r a).i ve Whitehead’s liridge, and 21 miles
Lv a. s' Depot, on the Eatonton Branch Rail-
• o i! Tiling 1,100 acres—350 in the woods, 150
quality bottomland, and the balance, average
>iv of upland. Tins place contains many ad-
agc., in the way of productiveness of soil—fine
• —good water—convenience to market, & e.;
; specially, the very favorable terms on which it
"■ Sf, ld. If desired, the place can bcconveni-
dn idod into two or more settlements.
11. F. ADAMS,
ily 18.1853. 2!) tf.
table improved Land lor sale in Low udes.
JE undersigned lias not yet sold his place 4
''dies from the Brunswick and Florida Railroad
1 ' is now building. In this body ot laud there
14fr) acres lino hammock and pine land 230
f ed. It is well watered, healthy and fertile,
t it bargain can be had. Come and view it.—
address is Sharpe's Store P. O. Geo.
D. B. GRAHAM,
ily 19,1853 20 tf
Notice. „ .
EyLEX from tlie Subscriber, FORT\ dollars in
tu t dollar bills, tlie numbers and banks not re-
’ !• Also, one Note, made payable to the
briber by Charles Love for $0 00, and . ono
'I oy i -iizabeth Love, payable to the Subscriber,
Note made by Elizabeth Love, Guardian
-•Love,payable to the Subscriber—the two last
|> amounting to one hundred and eighty-one
r • One Note on S. B. Murpliy for twenty-four
duo some two years; and one Note on Joel
■JS given in March last, for ten dollars.
ml reward will be given for tlie delivery of
ootes or a part of them, and a clue to the thief.
1 li. A. LOVE,
uly 19,1853 29 4t
CIRCULATING LIBRARY
MILLEDGEYILLE GEORGIA, TUESDAY, AUGUST 2, 1853,
T ■ > case Will Oiu cuiutuaf'ca uc iouuccu. Our
-vvlio have not regularly done so, are res- .
r ...qjjy invited to settle up and thus avail them- i
f '. (If the advantage of our reduced rates. I
: m conspicuously inserted at the
Those sent without a specification of
•„ii)Vr of insertions, will be published until
: our. and charged accordingly.
". . 0 f Land and Negroes, by Administrators, '
, rSj or Guardians, are required by law to be
X the first Tuesday in the month, between
•urs of ten in the forenoon and three in the
. ,..m. ;,t the Court-house in the county in which
, ofty is situate. Notices of these sales must
u ina public gazette forty days previous
tic day of sale.
x : .1 for the sale of Personal Property must
•Iren at least ten days previous to tlie day of I
V •: to Debtors and Creditors of an Estate
published forty days.
, that application will bo made to the Court 1
, i r for leave to sell Land or Negroes, must *
dished weekly for two months.
w \ - for Letters of Administration must be
1 thirty days—for Dismission from Admin’s- ’
... monthly sir months—for Dismission from |
(jairdianship forty days.
;.r- for Foreclosure of Mortgage must be pub-
montldy for four months—for establishing lost
«, for the full space of three months—for com-
titles from Executors or Administrators,
,v a bond has been given by the deceased, the
l i space of three months.
I. i itions will always be continued according
the legal requirements, unless otherwise
kr.'J.
Li imsiness in the lino of Printing will meet
p.uinpt attention at the Recorder Office.
e-rue on business must he post-paid.
ti Ji
DRrC AND BOOR STORE.
A cool drink of SODA W ATEB
for the small sum of fire cents.
; reduced to suit the dry weather.
5,1853 27 tf
Notice.
j it. Subscribers having bought out the interest
0 ^bother parties in the
... ,WOOL CARD AND GRIST MILL,
JEivpt T lear Factory,) lately owned by D. A.
. - > i.LL & CO., lias put the same again in opc-
and will be liappy to serve all may favor
. ■ ' Vl! h their patronge. It is intended to put a
Mrti-k sct WOOLEN MACHINERY into the
II . 1 “ s season, and persons desiring it can have
. " wool spun and wove to order on reasonable
y? s - , D. A. JEWELL,
^ch 2D, 1,453. 13 tf
Prayer of liic Betrothed.
A lady m the St. Louis Union, over the signa-
urc Inez, portrays her thoughts in the following
most beautiful verses, on the eve of her marriage:
Father, I come before Thy throne
With low and bended knee,
To thank Thee, with a grateful tone
i or all Thy love to me?
I' orgivc me, if my heart this hour
1 give not all to Thee,
* ordeep affection’s miglity power
Divide it now with Thee.
Thou knowest, Father, every thought
l hat wakes witliin my breast,
And how this heart has vainly sought!
I o keep its love surpass’d. °
x et when the idol, worshipped one
Sits fondly by my side,
And breathes the vows I cannot shun,
I o me, his destined bride—
Forgive me, if the loving kiss
lie leaves upon my hiving brow,
I thought of in an horn- like this,
And thrills me even now.
lie s chosen me to be his love
. And comforter through life;
Enable me, of God, to prove
A loving, faithful wife.
He knows not, Father, all the deep
Affections I control—
The thousand loving thoughts that sweep
Resistless o’er my soul.
He knows not each deep fount of love,
That gushes warm and free;
Nor can he ever, ever prove.
My warm idolatry.
Then guard him, Father—round his way
Thy choicest blessings cast,
And render each successive day
Still happier than the last.
And, Father grant us] to livo,
1 hat when this life o’er,
Within the liappy home you give,
We’ll meet to part no more.
UOL. BENTON’S HISTORY.
Anno 1S2S—J. Quincy Adams President.—
Retiring of Air. Macon.
Philosophic in his temperament and wise
in his conduct, governed in all his actions
by reason and judgment, and deeply im
bued with Bible images, this virtuous aud
patriotic man (whom Mr. Jefferson called
“ the last of the Romans,”) had long fixed
the term of his political existence at the
age which the Psalmist assigns for the limit
of manly life: “ The days of our years are
threescore years and ten ; and if by reason
of strength they bo fourscore years, yet is
their strength labor and sorrow, for it is
soon cut oft', and we fly away.” lie touch
ed that age in 182S, and, true to all his
purposes, he was true to his resolve in this,
and executed it with the quietude and in
difference of an ordinary transaction. He
was in the middle of a third Senatorial
term, and in the full possession of all his
faculties of mind and body; hut his time
for retirement had come—the time fixed by
himself, but fixed upon conviction and for
well-considered reasons, and inexorable to
him as if fixed by fate. To the friends
who urged him to remain to the end of his
term, and who insisted that his mind was
good as ever, he would answer that it was
good enough yet to let him know that he
ought to quit office before his mind quit
him, and that he did not mean to risk the
fate of the Archbishop of Grenada. He re
signed his Senatorial honors as he had worn
them, meekly, unostentatiously, in a letter
of thanks and gratitude to the General As
sembly of his State, and gave to repose at
home that interval of thought and quietude
which every wise man would wish to place
between the turmoil of life and the stillness
of eternity. lie had nine years of this
tranquil enjoyment, and died without pain
or suffering June 29tli, 1S37, characteristic
in death as in life. It was eight o’clock in
the morning when lie felt that the supreme
hour had come, had himself full-dressed
with his habitual neatness, walked in the
room and lay upon the Led, by turns con
versing kindly with those who were about
him, and showing by his conduct that lie
was ready and waiting, but hurrying noth
ing. It was the death of Socrates, all but
the hemlock, and in that full faith of which
the Grecian sage had only a glimmering,
lie directed his own r ive on the point of
a sterilo ridge, (where nobody would wish
to plough) and covered with a pile of rough
flint-stone, (which nobody w-ould wish to
build with,) deeming this sterility and the
uselessness of this rock the best security for
that undisturbed repose of the bones which
is still desirable to those who are indiffer
ent to monuments.
In almost all strongly-marked charac
ters there is usually some incident or sign
in early life which shows that character
and reveals to the close observer the type
of the future man. So it was with Mr. Ma
con. His firmness, his patriotism, his self-
denial, his devotion to duty and disregard
of office and emolument; his modesty, in
tegrity, self-control, and subjection of con
duct to the convictions of reason and the
dictates of virtue, all so steadily exempli
fied in a long life, were all shown from the
early age of eighteen, in the miniature re
presentation of individual action, and only
confirmed in the subsequent public exhibi
tions of a long, beautiful and exalted career.
He was of that age, and a student at Prince
ton College, at the time of the Declaration
of American Independence. A small vol
unteer corps was then on the Delaware.
He quit his hooks, joined it, served a term,
returned to Princeton, and resumed Ins
studies. In the year 1778 the Southern
States had become a battle-field, big with
their own fate, and possibly involving the
issue of the \far. British fleets and armies
appeared there, strongly supported by the
friends of the British cause; and the con
quest of the South was fully counted upon.
Help was needed in these States; and Mr.
Macon, quitting college, returned to Ins na
tive county in North Carolina, joined a mi
litia company as a private, and marched to
South Carolina, then the theatre ot the en
emy’s operations. He had his share m al
the hardships and disasters ot that trying
time; was at the fall of Fort Moultne, sur
render of Charleston, defeat at Camden,
and in the rapid winter retreat across the
upper part of North Carolina. He was in
the camp on the left hank of the Yadkin
when the sudden flooding of that river, in
the brief interval between the crossing ot
the Americans and the coming up ot the
British, arrested the pursuit of Cornwallis,
and enabled Greene to allow some rest to
his wearied and exhausted men. In this
camp, destitute of everything, and with
o-loomy prospects ahead, a summons came
to Mr Macon from the Governor ot North
Carolina requiring him to attend a meeting
of the General Assembly, of which he had
been elected a member, without his knowl
edge, by the people of his county. He re
fused to go; and the incident being talked
of through the camp came to the knowl
edge of the General. Greene was a man
himself and able to know a man. He felt
at once that, if this report was true, this
young soldier was no common character,
and determined to verify the fact. He sent
for the young man, inquired of him, heard
the truth, and then asked for the reason of
this unexpected conduct—this preference
for a suffering camp over a comfortable seat
in the General Assembly ? Mr. Macon an
swered him, in his quaint and sententious
way, tli at he had seen the faces of the Brit
ish many tiuie^, but had never seen their
backs, and meant to stay in the army till
he did. Greene instantly saw the material
the young man was made of, and the han
dle by which he was to be worked. That
material was patriotism; that handle a
sense of duty; and laying hold of this han
dle he quickly worked the young soldier in
to a different conclusion from the one that
he had arrived at. He told him he could
do more good as a member of the General
Assembly than as a soldier; that in the ar
my he was hut one man, and in the Gener
al Assembly lie might obtain many, with
the supplies they needed, by showing the
destitution and suffering which he had seen
in the camp, and that it was his duty to go.
This view of duty and usefulness was deci
sive. Mr. Macon obeyed the Governor’s
summons; and by his representations con
tributed to obtain the supplies which ena
bled Greene to turn back and face Cornwal
lis, fight him, cripple him, drive him further
hack tlian he had advanced, (for Wilming
ton is south of Camden,)disable him from
remaining in the South, (of which, up to
the battle of Guilford, he believed himself
to be master,) and sending him to York-
town, where he was captured, and the war
ended.
The philosophy of history has not yet
laid hold of the battle of Guilford, its con
sequences and effects. That battle made
the capture ofYorktown. The events are
told in every history ; their connexion and
dependance in none. It broke up the plan
of Cornwallis in the South, and changed the
plan of Washington in the North. Corn
wallis was to subdue the Southern States,
and was doing it until Greene turned upon
him at Guilford. Washington was occupi
ed with Sir Henry Clinton, then in New
York, with 12,000 British troops. He had
formed the heroic design to capture Clinton
and his army (the French fleet co-opera
ting) in that city, and thereby putting an
end to the war. All his preperations were
going on for t^at grand consumation when
lie got the news of the battle of Guilford,
the retreat of Cornwallis to Wilmington,
his inability to keep the field in the South,
and his return northward through the low
er part of Virginia. He saw his advantage
—an easier prey—and the same result, if
successful. Cornwallis or Clinton, or either
of them captured, would put an end to the
war. Washington changed his plan, de
ceived Clinton, moved rapidly upon the
weaker general, captured him and liis 7,000
men, and ended the war. The battle of
Guilford put that capture into Washington’s
hands, and thus Guilford and Yorktown
became connected ; and the philosophy of
history shows their dependance, and that
the lesser event was father to the greater.
The State of North Carolina gave General
Greene 25,000 acres of Western land for
that day’s work, now worth a million of
dollars ; but the day itself has not yet ob
tained its proper place in American history.
The military life of Mr. Macon finishes
with his departure from the camp on the
Yadkin, and his civil public life commenced
on his arrival at the General Assembly, to
which he had been summoned—that civil
public life in which he was continued above
forty years by free elections—Representa
tive in Congress under Washington, Adams,
Jefferson, and Madison, and longthe Speak
er of tlie House ; Senator in Congress un
der Madison, Monroe, and Jolin Quincy
Adams, and often elected President of the
Senate, and until voluntarily declining;
twice refusing to he Postmaster-General
under Jefferson ; never taking any office
but that to which he was elected ; and re
signing his last Senatorial term when it was
only half run. But a characteristic trait re
mains to he told of his military life—one
that has neither precedent or imitation, (the
example of Washington being out of the line
of comparison :) he refused to receive pay
or to accept promotion, and served three
years as a private through mere devotion to
his country. And all the long length of
his life was conformable to this patriotic
and disinterested beginning ; and thus the
patriotic principles of the future Senator
were all revealed in early life, and in the
obscurity of an unknown situation. Con
formable to this beginning, he refused to
take any thing under the modern acts of
Congress for the benefit of the surviving
officers and soldiers of the revolution, and
voted against them all, saying they had
suffered alike, (citizens and military,) and
all been rewarded together in the establish
ment of independence ; that the debt to
the army had been settled by pay, by pen
sions to the wounded, by half-pay and land
to tlie officers; that no military claim could
be founded on depreciated continental paper
money, from which the civil functionaries
who performed service, and the farmers who
furnished supplies, suffered as much as any.
On this principle lie voted against the bill
for LaFayette, against all the modern revo
lutionary jicnsious and land bounty acts,
and refused to take any thing under them,
(for many were applicable to himself.)
Ilis political principles were deep-rooted,
innate, subject to no change and to no ma
chinery of party. He was Democratic in
the broad sense of the word, as signifying
a capacity in the people for self-govern
ment, and in its party sense .as in favor of
a plain and economical administration of
the Federal Government, and against lati-
tndinarian constructions of the Constitution.
He was a party man, not in the hackneyed
sense of tlie word, but only where princi
ple was concerned, and was independent
of party in all his social relations, and in
all the proceedings which he disapproved.
Of this he gave a strong instance in the case
of Gen. Hamilton, whom he deemed honor
able and patriotic, and utterly refused to
be concerned in a movement proposed to
affect him personally, though politically
opposed to him. He venerated Washing
ton, admired the varied abilities aud high
qualities of Hamilton, and esteemed and re
spected the eminent Federal gentlemen of
his time. He had affectionate regard for
Madison and Monroe;.but Mr. Jefferson
was to him the full and perfect exemplifi
cation of the Republican statesman, nis
almost fifty years of personal and political
friendship and association with Mr. Ran
dolph is historical, and indissolubly con
nects their names and memories in the re
collection of their friends and in history,
if it does them justice, lie was the early
friend of General Jackson, and intimate
with him when he was a Senator in Con
gress under the administration of the elder
Mr. Adams, and was able to tell Congress
and the world who ho was when he began
to astonish Europe and America by his vic
tories. He was the kind observer of the
conduct of young men, encouraging them
by judicious commendation when he saw
them making efforts to become useful and
respectable, and never noting their faults.
He was just in all things, and in that most
difficult of all things, judging political op
ponents, to whom lie would do no wrong,
not merely in word or act, hut in thought.
He spoke frequently in Congress, always
to the point, and briefly and wisely ; and
was one of those speakers which Mr. Jeffer
son described Dr. Franklin to he—a speak
er of no pretension and great performance,
who spoke more good sense while he was
getting up out of his chair and getting back
into it than many others did in long dis
courses ; and he suffered no reporter to dress
up a speech for him. He was above the
pursuit of wealth, but also above depen
dance and idleness ; and, like an old Ro
man of tlie elder Cato’s time, worked in
tlie fields at the head of his slaves in the
intervals of public duty; and did not cease
this labor until advancing age rendered
him unable to stand the hot sun of the sum
mer—the only season of the year when Sen
atorial duties left him at liberty to work in
kis fields. I think it was the summer of
1817 ho told me was the last he tried it,
and found the sun too hot for him—then
sixty years of age, a Senator, and the re
fuser of all office. How often I think of
him when I see at Washington robustious
men going through a scene of supplication,
tribulation, and degradation to obtain of
fice, which the salvation of the soul does
not impose upon the vilest sinner ! His
fields, his flocks, and his herds yielded an
ample supply of domestic productions. A
small crop of tobacco; three hogsheads when
the season was good, two when bad—pur
chased the exotics 17111011 comfort and ne
cessity required, and which tlie farm did
not produce. He was not rich, hut rich
enough to dispense hospitality and charity,
to receive all guests in his house, from the
President to the day laborers—no other
title being necessary to enter his house but
tlitft of an honest man ; rich enough to
bring up liis family (two daughters) as ac
complished ladies, and marry them to ac
complished gentlemen—one to William
Martin, Esq., the other to William Eaton,
Esq., of Roanoke, my early school-fellow
and friend for more than half a century ;
and, above all, he was rich enough to pay
as he went, and never to owe a dollar to
any man.
He was steadfast in his friendships, and
would stake himself for a friend, hut would
violate no point of public duty to please or
oblige him. Of this his relations with Mr.
Randolph gave a signal instance. He drew
a knife to defend him in the theatre at
Philadelphia when menaced by some naval
and military officers for words spoken in
debate, and deemed offensive to their pro
fessions ; yet, when Speaker of tlie House
of Representatives, lie displaced Mr. Ran
dolph from the head of the Committee of
Ways and Means, because the chairman
of that committee should be on terms of po
litical friendship with the Administration,
which Mr. Randolph had then ceased to Lc
with Mr. Jefferson’s. He was above Ex
ecutive office, even the highest tlie Presi
dent could give ; but not above the lowest
the people could give, taking that of justice
of the peace in his county and refusing that
of Postmaster-General at Washington. He
was opposed to nepotism and all quarter
ing of his connexions on the Government;
and in the course ot his forty-years’ service,
with the absolute friendship of many Ad
ministrations and the perfect respect of all,
he never had office or contract for any of
his blood. He refused to be a candidate
or the Vice Presidency, hut took the place
of elector on the Van llurcn ticket in 1836.
lie was against papex money and tlie pa
per system, and was accustomed to present
.he strong argument against it in tlie simple
phrase, that this was a hard-money Gov
ernment, made by liard-money men, who
had seen the evils of paper money, and
meant to save their posterity from it. lie
tvas opposed to securityships, and held that
no man ought to he entangled in the affairs
of another, and that the interested parties
alone—those who expected to find their
nrofit in the transaction—should hear the
load consequences, as well as enjoy the
good ones, of their own dealings. He never
called any one “friend” ivitliout being so ;
and never expressed faith in the honor and
integrity of a man without acting up to the
declaration when the occasion required it.
Thus, in constituting his friend Weldon N.
Edwards, Esq., his testamentary and sole
executor, with large discretionary powers,
he left all to his honor, and forbid him to
account to any court or power for the man
ner in which he should execute that trust,
x’his prohibition was so characteristic and so
honorable to both parties, and has been so
'./ell justified by the event, that I give it in
iis own words, as copied from his will, to-
wit :
“I subjoin the following, in my own Iiand-
xiting, as a codicil to this my last will and
,«stamcnt, and direct that it he a part there
of—that is to say, having full faith in the
honor and integrity of my executor above
named, he^liall not he held to account to
any coui-t or power whatever for the dis
charge of the trust confided by me to him
in and by the foregoing will.”
And the event has proved that his judg
ment, as always, committed no mistake
when it bestowed that confidence. He had
his peculiarities—idiosyncracics, if any one
pleases—but they were born with him,
suited to him, becoming in him, constitu
ting a part of his character, and necessary
to its completeness. He never subscribed
to charities, hut gave, and freely, according
to his means—the left hand not knowing
what the right hand did. lie never sub
scribed for new books, giving as a reason
to the soliciting agent that nobody pur
chased his tobacco until it was inspected,
and he could buy no book until he had ex
amined it. He would not attend the Con
gress Presidential caucus of 1824, although
‘t w r as sure to nominate his own choice,
(Mr. Crawford;) and, when a reason was
wanted, gave it in the brief answer that lie
attended one once and they cheated him,
.aid he had said that he would never at
tend another. He always wore the same
dress—that is to say, a suit of the same
material, cut, and color, supei’finc navy blue
—the whole suit from the same piece, and
in the fashion of the time of the Revolution,
and always replaced by a new one before it
showed age. He was neat in his person,
always wore fine linen, a fine cambric
stock, a fine fur hat with a brim to it, fair
topboots—the hoot outside of the pantaloon,
on the principle that leather was stronger
than cloth. Ho would wear no man’s hon
ors, and when complimented on the report
on the Panama mission, which, as chair
man of the Committee on Foreign Rela
tions, he had presented to the Senate, he
would answer, “Yes ; it is a good report;
Tazewell wrote it.” Left to himself, lie was
ready to take the last place and the lowest
seat anywhere ; but in his Representative
capacity he would suffer no derogation of a
constitutional or of a popular right. Thus,
when Speaker of the House, and a place
behind the President’s Secretaries had been
assigned him in ceremony, he disregarded
the programme, and, as the elect of the
elect of all the people, took his place next
after those whom the national vote had el
ected. And in 1803, on the question to
change the form of voting for President and
Vice President, and the vote wanting one
of the constitutional number of two-thirds,
he resisted the rule of the House which re
stricted the Speaker’s vote to a tie, or
to a vote which would make a tie, claim
ed his constitutional right to vote as a mem
ber, obtained it, gave the vote, made the
two-thirds, and carried the amendment.—
And, what may weH be deemed idiosyncra
tic in these days, ho was punctual in the
performance of all his minor duties to the
Senate, attending its sittings to the moment,
attending all the committees to which he was
appointed, attending all the funerals of
the members and officers of the Houses, al
ways in time at every place where duty re
quired him, and refusing double mile
age for one travelling, when elected from
the House of Representatives to the Sen
ate, or summoned to an extra session. He
was an habitual reader and student of the
Bible, a pious and religious man of the
“Bahptistjiersuasion," as he was accustom
ed to express it.
I have a pleasure in recalling the rccol
lections of this wise, just, and good man,
and in writing them down, not without prof
it, I hope, to rising generations, and at least
as extending the knowledge of the kind of
men to whom we arc indebted for our inde
pendence and for theform of Government
which they established for us. Mr. Macon
was the real Cincinnatus of America, the
pride and ornament of my native Stato,
my hcriditary friend through four genera
tions, my mentor, in the first seven of my
Senatorial and the last seven of his Sena
torial life ; and a feeling of gratitude and of
filial affection mingles itself with this dis
charge of historical duty to his memory.”
NEW "BOOK.
The Life and Letters of Stephen Olin,
D.D., LL. D., late President of the TI«-
leyan University. In 2 volumes.
We shall offer no apology for laying be
fore our readers this sketch of the career of
a good man, gifted with high intellect, bril
liant eloquence, and deep piety; whose
sincere humility and Christian charity en
deared him to all, and rendered him an
honor to the religious body with whom he
identified his life aud labors.
Descended of reputable ancestry in Ver
mont, Stephen Olin inherited from nature
a hale and robust constitution, together
with a herculean frame; hut, by intense
and unremitting study while at college, and
a culpable neglect of hygiene and her or
ganic laws, became an early martyr to ner
vous debility, and a confirmed valetudina
rian in after life.
On the termination of his college studies
he removed to Abbeville, South Carolina,
where he conducted for some time a flour
ishing seminary. Here, one day, while in
deep contemplation on his prospects, and
the great ends of his being, a sensible com
munication from above appears to have de
cided forever his future course.
Under a wide-spread beech, while en
gaged in ardent prayer for light, an answer
was given to his petition which solved the
great problem of life. The sensation is dc-
sciribed as an electric shock, quivering thro’
his whole frame, and thrilling his soul with
divine emotion. The effect of his new con
victions was profound, imbuing his entire
character. A sanctity like that of Eenelon
ever after pervaded his whole being, and
shone forth in every feature of his well-
spent life.
At the South Carolina Confercnco for
1821, Mr. Olin was admitted into the trav
elling mission, and stationed at Charleston,
where he exercised his ministry until fail
ing health compelled him to resort to his ‘
native mountain air. Oix the first Sabbath
of his New England visitation lie preached ■
at Leicester, in a pine grove, near the cen-.
tre of the town ; and the result of his clo- (
quence fully justified the truth of the ob-
servation expressed in the 4th verse of the i
6tli chapter of St. Mark. Here he fondly ,
hoped to see a revival and a spiritual awa-.
kening; hut, alas, in vain. Leicester prov-.
cd a hard soil for Christian culture. Nor,
is this a cause of wonder. Many of the
leading citizens of the township, without'
being very bad men, arc described by an j
affectionate acquaintance as “ pretty tough j
cases,” as impervious to the sanctifying j
dews of theology as if their consciences,
were made of gutta percha.
After much travel in the Northern and
Southern States in pursuit of health, Mr. *
Olin was, in 1826, elected Professor ofj
Belles Letters in Franklin College, at,
Athens, Georgia, and in 1S28, being ordain- *
ed elder in the Methodist Church by Bish- j
op McKendree, he became Professor in the
University of Georgia, which office he held {
during seven years—a bright example of j
moral excellence, and the unwearied advo-1
cate of order, system, energy and industry. |
In 1S32, on the occasion of his election i,
to the Presidency of Randolph Macon Col-.
lege, lie pronounced an inaugural address V
distinguished by its ability, and which cli-1
cited the approbation even of Gov. Tazc-1
well.
“ non sordidns Auctor
the selection of subordinate studies, he
makes ample allowance for subjects of prac
tical utility, and concludes by expressing
From the Philadelphia Evening Bidletin.
Romance in Real Life.
_ A few years ago there lived in New Y'crk
the sentiments and almost the words of' a young Frenchman, whose pocket was un
“ Nature verique ”
He there deprecates the growing neglect J
of classic studies as an evil omen ; and by j
various and weighty arguments shows the [
utility and importance of classic learning, j
Next to the study of Greek and Roman lit- j
erature and of pure and mixed mathemat- i
ics, lie placed intellectual philosophy, and
contends that this course connected with
the abstractions and combinations of subtle
analysis, presents to the advanced student
a discipline calculated to elicit and enlarge
tlie faculties of the highest intellect. In
Archbishop Hughes, of New York, “I am
fully convinced that u c must educate our own
youth in our own schools.
In the autumn of 1S34, having been in
vested with the honorary degree of Doctor
of Divinity, he shortly after took leave of
the faculty and graduates preparatory to a
tour in Europe
Landing at Havre in June, 1S37, he trav
elled extensively in France and Belgium,
visiting also England and Ireland. The
Doctor draws an unfavorable picture of the
state of the reformed churches in France.
At Nismes he finds a congregation of Qua
kers and Moravians, “ which sects, like most
Protestants in France, j>ay hut little regard
to the Sabbath, and are accustomed to send
their children to Catholic schools conduct
ed by an order of religious men.”
By the way, we have never been able to
grasp the complex idea of a French Qua
ker. Imagine a Frenchman—gay. fluent,
and volatile, the mirror of fashion and the
pink of politeness—engrafted on a plain
drab coat of formal cut, with beaver and
shorts to match, discarding vous and tutoy-
ing “ les belles dames,” and all the world
besides. The components forming the
character are so incongruous as to present
to the fancy that combination which the
schoolmen call an ens rationis—vague idea.
In his travels through Ireland, Hr. Olin
remarks everywhere the misery necessari
ly linked with misgovernment: “ In the
village of Abbcyfealc, one of the poorest
I have seen in Ireland, there is a Protest
ant Church of modern construction kept in
good repair, which is never open, for the
good roason that there is not one Protest
ant in the parish. Yet the poor people pay
tithes to support a Protestant minister who
resides at a distance, and holds the living
as a sinecure. Will Ireland ever be quiet
under such a system? Ought Catholics and
dissenters to submit quietly? And yet this
is part of the established system by which
the National Church seeks to convert Ro
man Catholics.”—Page 296.
Having visited Holland, Germany, and
the Levant, Dr. Olin returned home about
the close of 1840, and was subsequently
elected President of Middleton College.
In the pulpit his peculiar elocution and
masculine energy were wont to carry thou
sands with them ; and the volume of ser
mons ho has left constitutes a masterly
guide for thought, and an exquisite model
of style. We quote two sentences as a spe
cimen : “ The true end of education and of
life, so far as the individual is concerned,
is the highest improvement of the intellec
tual and moral powers. So far as others
are concerned, it is the best employment of
those powers in doing good to our fellow-
crcaturesand in glorifying God.”
Dr. Olin was not deeply versed in sys
tematic theology, the science of religion
with him being that of the heart. His
clear, logical mind saw instinctively that
all such systems were directly opposed to
the principles of Protestant liberty. Of
what avail is our vaunted privilege of the
Bible, if we must interpret its contents ac
cording to tlie views or whims of some mod
ern Cephas or Apollos ?
On embracing that form of Christianity
which to him seemed good, the Doctor con
ceded cheerfully the same right to others.
And far from constituting his own tenets
the standard of orthodoxy, he was ever tol
erant of dissent; his pulpit being open to
brethren of all denominations. Nor was
he ever known to express an unkind word,
or cherish an unkind feeling towards Chris
tians who differed from his religious views
or refused to worship in his tabernacle.
Not even in the prostrate crowd of adorers
before the altars of France did ho behold
aught but a fervor of devotion and sincere
piety which touched his heart and won his
approval and admiration.
In the autumn of 1S45, Dr. Olin was chos
en delegate to the Convention of the Great
Evangelical Alliance to he held in London.
This assemblage of the various and conflict
ing sects who rally under the Protestant
banner throughout Europe met with the
view to settle differences of opinion and
doctrine, and to fonxi some approximation
towards a common bond of brotherhood.
The meeting, however, proved an titter fail
ure, through the ttnwise introduction of ex
traneous topics—American slavery, for in
stance, and Popery. The English aboli
tionists upbraided their American brethren
with the dark stain, forgetful of the serf
like condition in tlie mines and collieries
of Cornwall of tlieir own lialf-nude, dingy,
and blackened sisters; while the advocates
for the suppression of Popery urged a sys
tem of measures deemed efficient in Eng
land and Scotland, hut which, if attempted
in France or Prussia, would entitle the
agents to a sure and speedy crown of mar
tyrdom. His Holiness was therefore spared,
and so was abolitionism. The meeting dis
solved in no high degree of concord, and it
was mainly owing to the temperate conduct
and moderation of Dr. Olin that no explo
sion took place. The Americans, with feel
ings outraged and insulted, returned home
in disgust, and so ended the chapter of
Evangelical Alliance.
Dr. Olin was accustomed habitually to
beg the prayers of his friends on all emer
gencies and momentous affairs, attributing
much efficacy to those intercessory appeals.
He even (page 3SS) expresses his belief
that our departed friends pray for us in
tlieir new and glorious abode.
But the interest of the subject has led us
beyond our limits.
Though a confirmed invalid, Dr. Olin
allowed of no dereliction of duty through
corporeal infirmities. In delivering a course
of lectures to his Alumni on the subject of
the college studies, he overtasked his
strength, inducing a physical debility which
stayed forever liis useful career. Conscious
of his state, and robing in religious beauty
the mighty proportions of his immortal
spirit, his soul passed before that final orde
al for which the scope of his whole life was
an anxious preparation.
He died on the night of the 15th August,
1851, his last words to Bishop Janes being,
“ I shall be saved, thought it be as by fire."
[National Intelligencer.
A Fool for Luck.—On Friday last,
while the cars from Columbus to Cincinna
ti were going at the rate of thirty-two miles
an hour, a passenger lost his hat overboard,
and jumped out after it without being in
jured.
While a party of twelve ladies were in
bathing at Newport, the other day, the
horse ran away with the wagon containing
all their clothes. A very vicious horse.
derstood to be often empty, and whose head
was generally considered to boast a vacuum
as great. He was a man of few words, his
silence even going to the verge of unsocia-
bilitv, and his acquaintances consequently -
mere limited. Some said his habits were
coarse, his conduct licentious, and his hon
esty more than questionable ; and perhaps,
there was as much truth in these statements
as there usually is respecting idle and self-
willed young men, with no fixed religious
principles, strong passions, and tastes above
their inecans. Suddenly this stranger dis
appeared from New York, and soon ceased
to be remembered there, except by a few
who laughed occasionally at what they
considered an insane dream, which, it seems
haunted this young adventurer. He enter
tained, so they said, the absurd idea that
destiny had great things in store for him.
He believed, in short, that he would yet
mount the throne of one of the most power
ful European kingdoms, and that nothing
which eould be done to pirevent the accom
plishment of his fate would succeed. He
might, indeed,he kept out of his inheritance
for awhile ; but of his triumph ultimately
there was no doubt whatever. This man,
as the reader may have guessed, was a
nephew and heir of Napoleon.
Twice in pursuance of the destiny which
he believed to he his, he invaded France,
once before and once after liis visit to this
country. The last time his means seemed
so inadequate to the end he aimed at, that
most men laughed m derision ; in fact, one
general shout of contempt went up from one
portion of Europe to another. It was the
fashion to call him a fool, except with the
few who called him insane. For several
years he lingered in prison; condemned to
incarceration for life in consequence of his
last invasion of France, and lingered there
practically forgotten by the world. At last,
however, he managed to escape. But so
impotent was he considered generally, that
the news was scarcely regarded by any one.
He now went to London, hut only to find
the verdict of New-York repeated. Even
the few sagacious men who, like Peel,
thought they saw more in'him than met the
general eye, forcbore to state their opinion
of publicly, least tlieir reputation for sagaci
ty might suffer- All at once, however, his
dreams turned up realities. Louis Philippe
was dethroned ; a so-called republie was
established in France ; aud the nation at
large was called on to elect a President.
The fool of Boulogne, as he was nicknam
ed, offered himself as a candidate. Ho was
elected by an immense majority. Once in
his seat, lie set to work to postratc all oth
er rivals, and to destroy every party but his
own ; and strange as it was then considered,
this hold undertaking has succeeded. Ca-
vaignac, Thiers, Montalcmbert, and every
other leader of eminence, he out-manoeuvr
ed and ruined- He is now ^consequently
Emperor of France. *
But this is not all. Scarcely had he
been seated in his imperial chair, when the
horizon of eastern Europe became ominous
with war. Month by month the clouds have
thickened, in spite of a momentary glimpse
of sunshine, and now tkere is every prospect
the commencement of a general European
struggle. It only depends, in truth, on the
will of this man, the former adventurer in
New York, the “fool of Boulogne,” to say
whether war shall break out or not. Eng
land, trembling for her manufacturing and
commercial interests, is willing to permit
Nicholas to occupy the Danubian principali
ties, sooner than to draw the sword. But
if the French Emperor declares that this
cannot be submitted to; if he says that
France, sooner than permit the outrage,
will cross the Rhine alone, England, in
self-defence, will be compelled to take up
arms ; and the arming of these two powers
involves, as every one knows, a continental
war. Thus Louis Napoleon holds in his
hands the destines of Europe. His decis
ion will turn the scale. lie can save Tur
key, or give the Czar! Constantinople. lie
can raise Hungary, Italy and Poland to
their feet, or keep them prostrate, and do
cither with a word. The man who, a few
years ago, could scarcely command a din
ner in New York, now orders the fate of
war or peace in Europe, and perhaps, the
fate of western civilization. Is not this
romance ? Where, even in the Arabian
Nights, is there anything to surpass it ?
The Pedlar’s Bargain.
One day a tin pedlar with an assortment
of nic-nacks, arrived at a village in Maine,
to sell his wares. After disposing of a few
articles to the lady of the house who seem
ed to live in the midst of her children, she
declared her inability to buy more for the
want of money.
‘ But marm, ain’t you any rags V
‘ None to sell sir.*
* Well said he you seem to have plenty
of children. Will you sell me one for tin
ware V
‘What will you give, sir ?’
* Ten dollars for one of them.’
* In good tin ware ?’
‘ Oh yes, marin, the lest.’
‘ Well sir, it is a bargain.’
She then handed one of the urchins to
the pedlar, who surprised that the offer was
accepted, yet convinced that the mother
would not part with her boy,placed him in the
cart and supplied the woman with the tins,
until the sum of ten dollars was made up.
The man felt certain that the mother
would rather raise tlie money than jiart
with the child, seated himself beside the
boy, who was much pleased with the idea
of having a ride. The pedlar kept his eye
on the house, expecting to see the woman
hasten to redeem the little one, and rode off
at a slow pace. After proceeding some
distance he began to repent his bargain
and turned hack.
The woman had just finished ornament
ing her dresser with the tin, when the ped
lar returned.
‘Well I think the hoy is too small, I guess
you had better take him hack, and let me
have my ware.
* No, sir, the bargain was fair and you
shallkeep it. You may start off as soon as
you please.’
Surprised at this—
‘ Why marm, how could yon think of
parting with your boy so young, to an utter
stranger?’
‘ Oh sir, we should like to sell off all our
town paupers for ten dollars a head.’
The boy was dropped at the door; the
whip cracked, the tin rattled, and the ped
lar measured the ground rapidly and he
never forgot his pauper speculation.
[New York Ricillc.