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7 T # I -r ▼ 7 o by p. c. pendieton. VOL I. THE 1„ published in the city of Macon every Saturday Morning, at tiirze dollars i/i advance, four DOLLARS at the end of the year—Two dollars for six months; and mailed '.o country subscribers by the earliest mails, enveloped by good s’rong wrappers, with legible direc tions. SfJr So subscription received for a less period than six month*—and no paper discontinued, until ail arrears are paid. Advertisement* will be inserted at die usual rates of a dvertisi-ig, with a reasonable deduc-ion to yearly a 1- Jii-Upiout, Marriage and Obituary Netum insartei ire* Any person forwarding a tis dollar bill, (poet paid.) shall receive five copies, for one year, to be sent to differeut persons, as directed. £3r Letters, on business, either to the Publisher or Editor, must come post paid to insure attention. - ‘' ■’*-'* ' . -■>*yr.- tr A.ta-Hv. , .al«LaaWMM> . POETRY. , 1 rum the Knickerbocker. TIIE DEAD EAGLE. . WRITTEN AT ORAN- . , , • ; By Thomas Cair.jbcll, Author of “ Pleasures of Hope." Fallen as he is, this king of birds E-till seems Like royalty in ruins. Tho’ his eyes Are shut, that look undczzled on the sun, He was the sul tan of the sky, and earth Paid tribute to his eyrie. It was perched Higher than ever human conqueror ever built His banner’d fort. Where Atlas’ top looks o’er Sahara’s desert to the equator’s line, From thence the wing’d despot marked his prey, Above th’ encampments of the Bedouins, ere Their watch-fires were extinct, or camels knelt To take their loads,or horsemen scour'd the plain; And there he dried his feathers in the oawn. While yet th’ unwakened world w as dark below. There’s such a charm in natural strength and power That human fancy has forever paid Poetic honors to the bird of Jove. Hence, ’neath his image. Borne array’d her turir.s And cohorts for the conquest of the world. And figuring his flight, the mind is fill’d With thoughLs that mock the pride of wingless man. True, the carred aeronaut can mount as high; But what’s the triumph of his volant art 1 , A rash intrusion on the realms of air His helm'ess vehicle a silken toy, A bubble bursting in the thunder-cloud, His course has no volition, and he drifts The passive plaything of the wind. Not such Was this proud bird: lie clove the adverse storm, And cuffed it with his wings. He stopped his flight As easily as the Arab reins his steed, And stood at pleasure ’neath Heaven’s zenith, like A lamp suspended from its azure dome; While underneath him the world's mountains lay Like mole hills, and her streams like lucid threads. Then downward, faster than a falling star, He neared the earth, until iiis shape distinct Was blackly shadowed on the sunny ground; And deeper terror hushed the wilderness, To hear his nearer whoop. Then, up ag i t He soared and wheeled. There was an air of scorn In all his movements, whether he thre w round His cres'ed head to look behind him, or I.ay vertical, and sportively displayed The inside whiteness of his wing declined. Ift gyres and undulations full of grace, An object beautifying Heaven itself. He—reckless who was victor, and above Th'- hearing of their guns, saw fleets engaged In flaming combat. It was nought to him What carnage, Afoor nr Christian,strew’d their decks; Rut. if his intellect had matched his wings, Afethinkshe would have scorn’d man’s vaunted power T> plough the deep; his pi nions bore him down To Algiers, the warlike, or the coral groves That blush beneath the green of Buna's waves; And traversed in an hour a wider space Than yonder gallant ship, w ith all her sails Wooing the winds, can cross from morn till eve. IPs bright eves were his compass, earth his chart; His talons anchored on the stormiest cliff, And on the very light-hotfbe rock he perched, When winds churned white the waves. ,i The earthquake’s self Disturbed not him that memorable day, - When, o'er von table-land, where Spain had built Ca'lieflrsls, cannoned fort", and palaces, A palsy-sn-oke of Nature shook Oran, Turning her city to a sepulchre, And strewing into rubbish all bar homes; Amidst whose traceable foundations now, Os streets and smtares.-thc hyena hides himself. That hour beheld hun fly as careless o’er The stifled shrieks of thousands buried quick, As latelv, when he pounced the speckled snake. Coiled in yon mallows and wide ne'tle-fields. That mantle o’er the dead old Spanish town. Strange is the imagination’s dread delight In objects link’d with dangpr, death and pain! Fresh from the luxuries of polish’d life, The echo of ilie«=e wilds enchanted me; And my heart joy, when first I heaid A lion's roar come down the Lybian wind. Across yon long, wide, lonely inland lake, Where boat ne’er sails from homeless shore to shore. And yet Numidia’s landscape has its spots Os pastoral pleasantness, though far between— The village planted near the Mara boot’s Round roof has aye jts feathery palm frees Paired, for in solitude they bear no fruits. Here nature’s hues all harmonize; fields white With alasum, or blue with bugloss—banka Os glossy fennel, blent with tulips wild, And sunflowers,like a garment prankt with gold; Acres and miles of opnl asphodel, Where sports and couches the black-cyed gazelle. Here, too, the air's harmonious—deep-toned tones Coo to the fife-like carol of the lark; And, when they cease, the holy nigh'ingals Winds tip his long, long shakes of ecstacy, With roves thst seem fee* ib*> protracted sound Os ghvists miinels (nibbling o\er rocks Devoted to Literature, Internal Improve tienf, Commerce, Agriculture, Foreign and Domestic News, Amuseinen% &.c. SUNDAY READING. From the Western Christian Advocate. THE SCRIPTURES. Messrs. Editors: —Ti.e following eloquent eulogium from tho celebrated infidel, Rousseau. I place at your disposal, for the Western Chris tian Advoc-te. I whit its publication, be cause, perhaps* not oric-’wentieth of the read er; of the Advocate ever saw t; and 1 e ;tusc “ a testimony from enemies is of great we gilt.” D, on P.usius tells yis that the encomium of, judo admire..though ttey «'e not receive* must be the finest of all praises. K. GILBERT. . r* i » v"- ‘ .. “The majesty of the Scriptures strikes me with astonishment,and the sanctity of the gos [el addresses itself to tr y heart. Look 1 1 the volumes of the phiioso; hers, with th< ir pomp, bow contemptible do they appear in compari son with this! Is it possible that a book, at once so simple and sublime, can be ti.e work of man? Can He, who is the subject of its historv, be a mere man? Was bis the tone of an enthusiast, or of an ambitious sectary?— What sweetness! What purity in his man ners! What an affecting gracefuliress in his instructions! What sublimity in his maxims! What profound wisdom in his discourses! What presence of mind ! What sagacity and propriety in his answers! How great the command over his passions! Where is the man, where is the philosopher, who could so live, suffer and die, without weakness and without ostentation? When Plato described his imaginary good man, covered with all the disgrace of crime, yet worthy of all the re wards of virtue, he described exactly the cha racter of Jesus Christ. The resemblance was so striking that it could not be mistaken, and all the- fathers of the church perce.ved it.— What prepossession, what blindness must it lie to compare the so.) of Sophronius to the son of Mary! What an immeasurable dis tance l*etween them! Socrates dying without pain, and without ignominy, easily supported his character to the last; and if his deatn, how ever easy, had not crowned his life, it might have been doubted whether Socrates, with all his wisdom, was any thing more than a mere sophist. lie invented, it is said, the theory of moral science. Others, however, had, before him, put it in practice; and he had nothing to do but to tell what they had done, and to re duce their example to precept. Aristides had been just, before Socrates defined what justice was. Leenidas had d.ed for his country, be fore Socrates made it a duty to love one’s country. Sparta had been temperate before Socrates eulogized sobriety; and before he celebrated the praises of virtue, Greece had abounded in virtuous men. But lrom whom, •f all his countrymen, could Jesus have de rived that sublime and pure morality of which bo has given us both the precept and example? I I the midst of the most licent.ous fanaticism, th voice of the sublimest wisdom was heard; and the simplicity of the most heroic virtue crowned one of the humblest oi all the multi tude. « The death of Socrates, peaceably philoso phizing with his friends, is tire most pleasant that could be desired, Tnatof Jesus expiring ii torments, outraged, reviled and execrated by a whole nation, is the most horrid that could be feared. , Socmtcq, in receiving the •cup of poison, blessed the weeping executioner taut presented it; but Jesus, in tiie midst ot excruciating tortures, prayed for his merciless tormentors. , \ es, if the life and death of So crates were those of a sage, the life and death of Jesus were tho-;e of a God. Shull we say that the evangelical history is a mere fiction? —it does not bear the stamp of fiction, but the contrary. The history of Socrates, which no body doubts, is not as well attested as that of Jen us Christ. Such an assertion, in fact, only shifts the difficulty without removing it. It is more inconceivable ti at a number of persons should have agreed to fabricate this book, than that one only should have furnished the sub ject of it.” RELIGIOUS DECISION. And what is the courage of the established Christian? Is it riuugnlv indifference to the feelings of others?—an ostentatious inde}«end ence, that erects itself in contempt of obhga tions, human and divine? It is the dignity of religious principle which, in the eye of a good man, sinks all other objects into insignificance compared with his dutvtoGpd. In,tilings in different, he walks with the world. No studied preciseness iu trifles marks his character. But does lie come to a point where conscience doubts whether an action is right? There he stops and considers. Does Jie clearly see that action to b enoroug? Tucre lie stops and stands. Urec him to go on—entice him—threaten hiin—there be stands inflexible; and, if the case requires it, stands against an opposing world. ....... Dr. Porter. TNI D ILITY. Whet is the object of infidelity? It is to brutifv man; to cut the cords wh eh bind h m to infinity: to turn the current of his lieing downwards; and to reverse the whole design and tendency of his nature. Those high and holy thoughts w sch he has sent abrpad into eternitv, it would bid him summon, only that he may bury them in the dust at his feet. It beckons his eyes away from the mansions of heaven, that he may gaze upon the blackness of darkness forever. It would turn off his thoughts from all that is inspiring in the fu ture, only that he may leap into moody no ; thingness, and disappear. It would dissolve MACON, (Ga.) SATURDAY MORNING, JULY 14, !S3B. his connexion with ail that he loves, aim all that his soul aspires to. that lie may claim kin dred with ail that iie hates, ainf .all that his mind shudders to contemplate. Embrace its* sentiments, and God, angels, heaven, immor tality. retire from tue view,,while and ead nrmihi lation, uncreated night, swell into frightful spectres in the prospect. Who would.be an i.,fiuei? Christian Witness. ■■ ■ hm AGRICULTURAL, 1 ■— r- r , From the Farmers’ Csbiimt. REWARD OF INDUSTRY AND ECONOMY. As it is a rational desire for farmer’s in common with their fellow-cit zens following other pursuits, to make a comfor able living for themselves and their families, and to accu mulate a reasonable fund for giving their ch.l - or others dependant upon them a start on tiie journey of life ; I design to furnish some of the results of my own experience and ob servation o i the means most likely to accom plish this most desirable and meritorious ob ject. I started out in life a poor boy, destitute ei property, being throw i on my own resour ces, as tens of thousands annually are in our country, and bv industry end economy, with the blessing of Providence on my exertions I have now advanced pretty well on towards the natural period of the termination of my earth ly career; having always lived in comfort, and it looks likely that I shall be able to leave quite enough to those who may come after me, to promote their l)esi interests. Let young men set out in. life with a firm reliance on the superintending providence of God in all things of this world, and resolve to ply the hand of industry in whatever calling thev mav be engaged. Be prudent; pursue a rational economy ; despise not small gains ; and under the-ordinary circumstances of life you will be prosperous, perhaps rich. The prospects in life of more industrious young men are frustrated by the. effort to get great, gain quickly, than by any cause what ever. Small accumulations, well husbanded, are the most certain and effectual in promo ting comfort ami wealth ; the truth of this re mark you cannot fail to see verified in almost every district of our country; but “tho c e who seek after sudden riches fall into tempta- * tion and a snare.” I have often heard young.men despise the idea of making but 100, 200 or 300 dollurs a year, thinking it beneath their notice ; and I have lived to see such persons receive charity from the hands of the servants of thei r fathers. It is by no means an unusual circumstance in ourown country tosce those who were “ bound bovs” to farmers; by industry and good con duct rise to opulence; at the same time that their master’s sons who were thought to he born to wealth, for want of those qualities have ended their days in penury. An experienced old gentleman, many years aco. when I was young gave some very judi cious hints on the subiect of “small gains,” and explained to me the manner in which they accumulated, and what the end would .tie, if followed up carefully; and if you have no ob jection, Mr. Farmer’s Cabinet, 1 will give you a table that is true to the figure, and which will show the wonder workings of money if it be let above to accumulate ; and I would have you observe that the same result will be pro duced, only in h much more extraordinary de gree. bv adding each wear, not money, but ad ditional fertility to the same amount to a farm. One hundred do’lars put to - interest at G per cent, and an additional 8100 added to it each year successively, together with the inter, est accumulated lor 10 years will amount to 81313 07 An annuity of SIOO in 20 years amounts to 3*'7■? 55 Ho SO do 7C< 5 81 do 40 Ho 15*78 ia do 50 do 49033 59 do 60 do 53312 61 do 70 do 067-3 21 Annuity of SIOO in 80 years amonn's to 174654 80 do 90' do 314107 51 do lUO do 553336 SO Only think of it! the poor flespisetf§ 100 a year! seethe wonderful workings of it! jt is almost incredible! 1 couldvscarceiy believe it myself, if,. I was not positively certain the calculation; w,as correct to a figure. Now is there a farm of 10Q aces tvitinu 30 miles of Philadelphia, that by ordinary jDunagement would not produce 8100 per annum clear; or that w ould not enable its owner to add .8100 worth of fertility to it annually l ; If there is not, then the abo\C miracle almost, may be wrought cut.. Take courage young men, try it! do not desert your honorable culling for wild, uncertain speculation; try it! stick to your calling, 1 say, and you will not repent it. Buck County. go to work. It is the law this year—a law not indeed made by our Political Legislature, but enacted by the iloure of public opinion, concurred in by the Senate of public putriosm, and approv ed by the Executive of public justice, that cv. cry citizen of Maine, who has elbow-grease enough left to wield a hoe, from farmers and editors down, down to merchants and lawyers, shall go to work and plant a piece of land. If he is so jioor as not to own a farm or a good garden spot, it is his duty to hire or beg the use of a patch to be devoted to potatoes, corn, mangel wurtzel, carrot, or some other eatables for man or lieast. This is tho true way to ter minate tliese hard times. He who produces something so n the earth, does so much to make tiie times easier ; he who produces no thing, deserves to complain in earnest of his poverty'. Gospel Banner MANGE IN HOGT. A correspondent of tire Soutnern. Planter says :—“ During my travel through the State, in towns and villages, Ksce avast number of s\vne ttying with what is called the marge. while m ny’othors are on the eve of expiring. This di -ease is vcy easily cured, if persons would only take to trouble of pulverizing siit pher, and giving each bog affected, one table spoonful in a litthi <o n meal dough, twice n week, for two vet k ;, they will sited the scurf and become perfijctv clean. The snip her at the same time de-t oys five and fleas on the swine.” It is diffi-: ult for a man tc forsake his adopt ed habits, however deleterious they may be to liis present and future welfare. Hence it is of incalculable Importance to tiie rising gene ration, that the parent or guardian of each use the utmost diligence to instil into the young and plaint mind, a love of prudence, industry, economy, beuevo'ence, temperance, and intel lectual improvement ; and encourage each vou’h to the const ant exercise of these virtues. By the faithful and well timed prosecution of these ends the m jority of parents wll be happilv rewarded with the most gratifying ‘suc cess, and each instance of success will be more valuable to the youth on entering the ar ena of independent act on, than the inherit ance of a million without the practice of the cardinal virtues. Winconsin Culturiat. WEIGHT OF SILK WORMS. * When newly hatched it takes 54 52G silk worms to weigh an ounce. After the casting of the skin, 3 340 w orms will make lip the ounce. After the second change 610 weigh an ounce.* In the week passing between flic second and third ages tiie murder of insects required to make up the same vre'ght is 145. During the fourth age 35 worms we’g!) an ounce. When the silk worm is fully grown gix of them will make an ounce. Thus in a few weeks, these insects are multiplied in w eight nine fold. Baiumorc Gazette. fT»iTu.Tv, yjummsnsAi £ . '' - MISCELLANEOUS. From the Sou hern Literary Messenger. everett’s address at williams college. In August, 1837, Gov. Everett delivered an e.ddrrss before n Literary Society of WjllwinsCollcce, in Bcr!.- shire, the westernmost c-jn «.»y of M iv-ncliuset ». Wu. v e deposed to l eap needless prnisre, this performance would afford abundant occasion for eulogy. liis in uli respects worthy of its author: and to those who know tiie full imp jrt of that assertion, it is tribu e enough for a most any man. What inducts us now to uotice this Address, however, is much less a wish to honor him for this new effort in the < aurc of human improvement— that noble cause, of which he has tong been so illustri ous a champion—tb-.n a desire to present some inter esting discussions which we find here, of Several impor tant questions. But before we come to those discussionr, Ist us, by way of maiting the render enter more vividly into the spirit of tiie Address, give him 6ome additional idea of us locality. , . , - y. > • • “ The pleasant village whore we are assem bled,’ says Mr. Everett, “ebbtains, within view of the spot where ws stand, the site of Fort Hooaack, and a mile or two east of us stood Fort Massachusetts. The plough has passed over its rude lines: but what seer.es of humble hero'sin r.pd almost forgotten valor are associated with its name! It was the buK wark of the frontier in the days of its infancy. Tue tieVnblii.g mother on the banks of the Connecticut,' —in t'te heart of Worcester, — clasped her babes closer, at an idle rumor that Fort Massachusetts had given way. A hun. died villages reposed in the strength of this stout guardian of New England’s Thermopy lae. through which, for two generations, the French and Canadian foe strove to burst into the colonies. These are recollections of an earlier day. A few miles to the north of us lies that famous field of Bennington, to which, sixty years ago, this day, and this hour, your fathers poured from every village in the neighborhood, at the summons of Stork.” . I: is impossible not to be struck with the following im pressive display of the importance of education : ,“If I wished to express most forcibly the importance,, the dignity, and the obligation of the great work of education, I believe it might best be done by taking our stand at once on the simple enunciation of, the spiritual and im mortal nature of the thing to be educated ; the mind of man. Then if he wished to give life and distinctness to the ideas ofjhe impor tance of education, which result from this con templation, .we might do so by a single glance at the number and importance of the branch es of knowledge, to which education furnishes tho key. I might allude to the admirable properties of language, which it is the first bu siness of education to impart; the wonders of the written and spoken tongue as the instru ment of thought,—wonders which daily use scarcely divests of their almost miraculous character. I might glance nt that which is usually next taught to the unfolding mird, the astonishing power of the science of numbers, with which on the one hand we regulate tire humblest details of domestic economy, and on the other compute the swiftness of the solar beam, mid survey, and as it were, stake out from constellation the great railroad of the heavens, on which ti.e comet comes blazing upward from the depths of the universe. 1 nvght proceed with t c bran; h « of know'edpe | to which education introduces us, and ask — of geography to marshall before us the living na tions: and of history to rouse the generations of the elder world from their pompous mauso leums oi - humble graves to rehearse their for tunes. 1 might call on natural science to open ; the volumes in which she has not merely writ ! ten down the names, the forms, and the quali ties of the various subjects of’he animal, vege- j| C. It. IIANLEITER, PRINTER. table, and mineral world now in existence, — the vast census, if I may so express it, of th* three kingdoms of nature ; but where she has also recorded the catalogues of her perished children, —races of the animal and vegetable world buried by the deluge beneath the ever lasting rocks- Yes, winged creatures twenty feet in height, whose footsteps have lately been discovered imprinted in sand-store on tho banks of the Connecticut river; enormous mammoths and mastadons, of which r.o living type has existed since the flood, bro: ght to light from blocks of Siberian ice or dug up in the morasse* of our own continent; j etriiied ■ke'etOiis of p ‘•‘b tous crocodiles npd meea t eiia seven feet in length, cover and with scales like the armadillo, —and which for ages on ages have !>een extinct, —have by the cre ative power of educated mind anti gypsum have oped their ponderous and marble jaws, and a host of monstrous forms have risen into day ;—the recovered monuments of a world of lost grants-” “ But leaving with these transient glancos all attempt to magnify tho work ofeducatior, by pointing out the astonishing results to which it guides the well-trained mind, a much shorter method might be pursued with one who needed to he impressed with its impor tance. I would take such an one to a place of instruction, to a school, yes, to a child’s school, —(for there is no step in the process more important than the first.) and I would say,—in those faint sparks of intelligence, just brightening over the rudiments of learning, you behold the germ of so many rational a’d immortal spirits. In a few years, you, and TANARUS, and ull now on the stage shall have passed away, at u there on those little seta primer in hand, are arranged, cur succes os. Yes, when the volume of natural science, mid na ture with it, shall have vanished ; —when'tho longest p eriods of human history shall have run together to a point —when tiie loud, clear voices of genius, and the multitudinous tongues of nations, shall alike be bushed forever, those infant children will have ripened into immortal beings, looking back from the mansions of eternitv with joy or sorrow, on the direction given to their intellectual and moral natures, in the dawn of their existence! If there is any one not deeply impressed by this single reflection vv tii the imp ortance of education, he is beyond the reach of any thing that can be urged, by way either of illustration or argu ment.” ..." It is a prevailing opinion, 'list an early of socie ty, when civilization is but little advanced, i« the tinuj of highestjnoctie excellence. The philosophical poe\ Ini lac, in Rasselas, seems to espouse this opinion, ami gives the reasons for it—namely, thatthe first poetry of every nation save the hunt to public tantc, and re’ainrd by consent the credit which i. had acquired by acci .denl; and moreover, that the earliest hards seized up on the (rest subjects of description and the most proba ble events for fiction, h avintr to their successors nothing but transeiip ions of (lie same incident/ - , new namings of the same characters, and new combinations of the same images.* When tothesp reasonings is added the influence oft the venerable saying—“A poet inborn— not nmdv," —the point seems clear to most minds, that an advanced stale of cultivation is unfriendly or at leas? not nt all conductive, to the highest effusions of poetry. This opinion, so discouraging to those who nop/c highly of man’s progress, through the instrumen tality of his continued efforts, —this opinion, so mis chievous in repressing the efforts which that hope in spires,—is *ouibaucd by Mr. Everett with unanswera ble power. Let not the length of tiie extract deter any reader? “ I dertm the notion, that the first age was necessarily the-best, to lie a mere prejudice '; and the idea that a partially improved age and a limited degree of knowledge are in them selves and essentially more favorable to the exercise of original genius, in any form, ap pears to me to lie a preposition as degrading as it is unsound. ‘On the contrary, T believe that truth is the great inspirer;—the knowledge of truth the aliment and the instrument of mind ; the ma terial of thought, feeling, and fancy. Ido not mean that there is no beauty in poetical language founded on scientific error ; —that it is not, for instance, consistent with poetry to speak of the rising - Sun or the arch of heaven. Poetry delights in these sensible images and assimilations of ideas in themselves distinct. From the imperfection of human language, it will perhaps always he necessary to describe many things in thp material, and still more in the moral and metaphysical world, under si militudes which fall greatly beneath their re ality!': ‘ Thus in Shakspea re, the flro r of Heaven Is thick inlaid with patines of bright gold. ‘ In Spenser’s Faery Queen, The sacred fire, which bumeth mightily In living breasts, was kind’ed first above* • Among the eternal spheres and lanipy Heavens. ‘ln Paradise Lost, the moon divides her empire With thousand thonsnnd stars, that then appeared Spangling the universe. ‘Now, though these images, separately weighed at the present day, majveem beneath the dignity of the subject to which they are poetical and pleasing, (with the exception pos sibly of latnpn;) r.or do I know that in ar.y state of science, however advanced, such lam guage will cease to please. , * But the point 1 maintain is this, that, ai knowledge extends, the range of all imagery ii enli r;od, poetical language is drawn from a wider circle, and, what is far more impor tant, that the conception kindles by the con templation of higher objects. ‘ Let us illustrate this point still further, in reference to the effect on poetry of the sutw lime discoveries of modern astronomy. Ti e ancients, as we’l as we all know, formed but humble conceptions of the material universe* * We pive th?p account of Tmiac’s reasoning fivra mcnion—W having Kasretlas befoie us. NO. 38.