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BY P. c. PENDLETON. | VOL. t. THE S©^ l E , IHI2S3BSr Is published in the city of Macon every’ Saturday Morning, at three dollars in advance, four dollars at the end of the year— two dollars for six months; and mailed to country subscribers by the earliest mails, enveloped by good strong wrappers, with legible direc tions. No subscription received for a less period than six months—and no paper discontinued, until all arrears are paid. Advertisements will be inserted at the usual rates of advertising, with a reasonable deduction to yearly ad- Any person forwarding a ten dollar bill, (post paid,) shall receive four copies, for one year, to be sent to diflereut persons, as directed. {KjT letters, on business, either to the Publisher or Editor, must come post paid to insure attention. POETRY. From the Louisville Journal. AMERICAN SONGS, NO. IV. ev William Wallace. ••’TIS TRUE THAT THE HARP.” ’Tis true that the Harp of the Poet lies sleeping! But oh, would you have it from slumber unbound, When the spirits of melody bend o’er it weeping And fearfully draw from the lyre a sound ? For a voice hath gone f >rth from the Queen of the ocoan, The themes and the scenery of L berty’s clime, Can never awake in her sons an emotion Os rapture and feeing, granl—thrilling—sublime 1” ’Twas thus as I sat by a dark rolling fountain. My harp gave its tones to the whispering gale, Whenlo! from the distant and pine covered mountain, I saw a rich splendor flash down on the vale, ’Twas Columbia’s Genius, whose eyes gave the glory ! Around her tall brow were the wings of the Storm, And the scenes which have chequer’d her undying st try Were traced on the robes that enveloped her form 1’ A wake from thy slumber !’’ the spirit cried, glowing While the lustre that fell from her own sparkling eyes f “ No themes for the Poet ?” when brilliantly flowing Yon Cataracs mirror the storm of the skies ! No themes lor the Lyre? Behold the bright River! How uloriusly under the Heaven it shines. While thf s it -light of Eve, like anarch-angels quiver, Hangs splendidly over its towering pines! N > scenes f>r a Bard ? Look abroad on the billows Where I’erry has gallantly written his name, And still o t old Erie the Thunder God pillow’s His forehead of fury in garlands of flame ! Hark ! hark, from the b'ue "f the Heaven hung o er us The proud Bird of Lit erty utters its scream, As he mounts to his Idol, and proudly befae us Ii lost in his l'ght, and “ unfolds in its beam.” No scenes for a Lyre ? When gloriously beaming With the bright eyes of Heaven, that Flag is beheld On the mountain, the top-mast, the capttol streaming, As if by the fingers of Seraphim held! So long as our Eagle shall moisten his pinions In clouds bending over this mountain’s steep— So long as Columbia’s unshackled dominions Are wreathed by the foam of the dark-rolling deep. So long as her proud Mississippi, while counting The years of Eternity rolls to the sea, Or the bow of Niagara splendidly mounting From the Cataract’s bosom shines out on the free; So long hurl your scorn to the Queen of the Ocean, So long let your scorn w’ith the truth be imprest, An Isn’ w th a Poet’s —a Patriot’s devotion ! The Torrents, the Lakes, and the deeds of the West! INDEPENDENCE ODE. EV MRS. CAROLINE LEE IIENTZ. Rouse—rouse 1 ye sons and heirs of glory! With music hail this hallowed day; Let roaring streams and mountain hoary Echo the gratulating lay. Far as our country’s starry banner On the free gale its splendor flings— Far as our Ei.gle spreads its wungs, Comes rolling on the deep hosanna. Chorus —Resound—resound, ye walls ! Give back the choral song! Rrj >ice—rejoice 1 Let every voice The jubilee prolong. Ye spirits of our gallant fathers! Who sleep in honor's gory urn, While o'er your graves a nation gathers, Do not your sacred ashes burn ? And thou, in Vernon’s temple sleeping— Lord of the band—the great, the just! Thrills notee’n now thy conscious dust, As the proud strains are round thee sweeping ? Resound —resound, ye wads ! &c. For ever hallowed he the morning ’Neath whose returning beams we bow, And regal bondage proudly scorning, Renew the patriot’s annual vow. Ye free-born winds ! our triumph's telling, Waft them to earth’s remotest clime ; And o'er the coming waves < f time, Be still the same glad authem swelling. Resound —resound, ye walls 1 Sec. MISCELL ANEOUS. From the Charleston Courier- LETTERS FROM EUROPE AND ASIA. BY A LADY OF NEW-YORK. We commence to-day the regular publica tion of this series—starting from Paris. Os course, while discoursing of regions and scenes so familiar to most readers as those of Western Europe, these letters will have less of the attrac tion of novelty, than when treating of mote distant and less known countries. W T c be speak attention, however for all. Paris, Your last am'able and very interesting letter has filled the measure of my obii gat on to you, which have been accumulatii g for so many months past. The pains you have taken to keep me “au entrant," with affairs at home and the agreeable and lively comments upon passing events around you. put to blush all the Devoted to Literature, Internal Improvement, Commerce, Agriculture, Foreign and Domestic News, Amusement, See. i dull epistles which I have inflicted upon you ; since I left home. Were it not for the pledge mutually given of keeping up a connected chain of correspon deuce, I am certain that long since I should have discontinued my humble endeavors to re. piy the amount of my indebtedness to you. My only ami city during the past winter has been to keep the enemy in check as much as possible, hoping that when the Spring should permit me to take the field, I should be able to pick up sufficient “ material” on every side to carry on an active summer campaign against you. You must, lam persuaded, lie complete ly sated with my details of Paris life, although it is generally conceded that no place on earth furnishes so great a share of novelty every day in the year, or in which time can be consumed with so little effort for those whose only aim is de se desennuyer; yet still for those whose pursuits are of a graver nature, there is no where such a field of useful and profitable ac tion as this same Paris. The great concourse of students, men of letters, of science, and philosophy, make this capital the greatest emporium of learning the world ever knew, successfully rivalling Alex andria or Athens in their best estate. It is the present great Exchange of the intellectual world. Greater transactions and operations take place here, and bolder speculations are driven, than in all the congregated marts of knowledge in the universe. It is the never failing source from which millions have slaked their thirst for science, and at which countless millions yet unborn may come and quaff the living nectar under satiety. But I forget that neither you ror I are at home in the sphere of suchconosccnti; the atmosphere we breathe is rarer and the food we crave is lighter; at least I speak for myself—and the volatile effusions 1 have hitherto transmitted to you, are sufficient proofs of my position. Up to the present time, you are aware that my principal occupation here has been to follow up the fashions and amusements of the day, and to observe Parisian society in all its forms and phases. 1 have courted pleasure, and have never for a moment strove against the tide of dissipation. Ali the round of Paris amusements, operas, theatres, soires, “donsautes et musicales, de jeur.es, dinners, balls, and suppers, and the Court, rides, drives, promenades, museums, galleries, &c., I have enjoyed in all their per fection, and to my heart’s content. Now. I am prepared to indulge in all the pleasures of the new era which is to succeed that now al most closing upon me. But before I enter upon the new field, I have many grave duties to perform, many anxious cares which require my attention, trying scenes to which I must summon all my fortitude, and nerve myself for the conflict of contending feelings which await me. I will not now fatigue you again with another recital of the exercise of mind which I underwent when the time for my departure from Paris was decided on, and the sad reality forced itself in earnest upon my mind. Parents and friends may be left behind, and the pangs of such separations may be under stood by all; but it is only a mother who can appreciate the feelings of one who has left her child, ner infant, her babe behind, and the rude breezes every instant widening the gulf between her and her soul’s strongest tie on earth, until the very heart strings are ready to burst with the intensity of the anguish. Such feelings are only to be indulged within the pale of one’s own domestic c.rcle, and all such sorrows should be laid at the foot of the family altar. In accordance with this idea, I have already poured out my heart on paper to my dear venerable parent, in whose bosom my little cherub nestles during the distant wanderings of her mother. But if that trial was so severe, how much more poignant must now te my grief, when I am called upon by imperious necessity to leave behind me my newly acquired treasure, to consign to the care of strangers my infant boy, scarce yet two months old ? Dear Lydia, though now but five years old, makes her own way like a hcorine among her companions of the pension, and though but six months at the school, she speaks French now better than her mother. She is enjoying excellent health, and is with worthy and trusty protectors, so that I entertain no anxiety on her account. But my boy, how shall I leave him—yet how can I take him with me? I can endure the former better than I could dare to presume to do the latter. He is provided for in so ample a man ner, that let what may happen, I feel I have performed my duty. I have been very fortu nate in obtaining a very superior foster-mother fjr him, a young Burgundian peasant woman, and 1 !ea\e both of them under the care of a trusty and competent English woman. In addition to the above arrangements, my amiable Frier and, Mrs. , has proffered her kind “ surveillance ” over both my children, and to keep me constantly advised how mat ters go. 1 have been thus particular in relating to you my little family arrangements, not only because I am aware bow much interest you take in my welfare; but to show you that I have endeavored to fortify myself against all the hard thoughts which I am certain will attach to me for thus abandoning among stran gers my infant boy and daughter. lam sensi ble that I shall render myself obnoxious to the charge of unnatural conduct, but a clear con science will enable me to withstand all the illiberal remarks and unjust assaults which 1 am sure to have mnde upon me in the premises. I will once more remind you of one pail of our mutual pledge: Confidence in such matters once established, each will Ito more at case, MACON, (Ga.) SATURDAY MORNING, SEPTEMBER 2, 1838. conscious that one’s scribblings will meet no other eye, save that for which they are intended. Therefore, as you value my friendship, and hold in estimation the golden rule then do by mine as you would that I should do by yours. Read, and then destroy. Paris, Since my last, all my domestic arrange ments have been completed ; we are on the point of departure, and such is the tumult of my feelings that I am quite overpowered. The regrets, the sighs, the tears of yester day have now all vanished. I feel high in health, hopes, and expectations. Anew scene is opening upon me ; anew world is before me. I scarcely know whither lam going, or what lam about. My head is in a whirl, and my heart throbs with new and undefinable emotions. I said that I had anew world be fore me ; indeed, I have all this world before me, the greatest share of which is, to me, ex cept in theory, terra incognita. I left tny native shores, not knowing exactly whither I was going, or when I should return to them. I had given to me carte blanche in all respects. To me futurity is all a dream,a mystery, which I shall not tow attempt to unravel. The most I know is, that I am under the protection of one of tried experience in the world, and whose frequent voyages and travels, for many years past, enable him the betler to foresee and avoid the many difficulties which we may have to encounter, and whose taste has been so early formed in those schools wherein the old world is inosUkt i>e appreciated, that I shall be spared the necessity of pioneering my own way through the, to me, practically unknown regions upon which lam about to enter; one also who seldom fails in any undertaking in which all his energies are called into action ; and nothing ever swerves him from his purpose, save the immutable laws of Nature, and whom nothing can check but “force majeure .” I do not say that we left home without some plan. As my indulgent husband left that mat ter mostly to me, 1 did with his assistance make a sort of “programme" of my future travels ; but I was at the same time warned that so much depended upon circumstances, that no plan of travel can be followed out to the letter, and that but few ever are even to the spirit. For the last ten years, “ I oft had heard of travels [battles,] -And longed to follow to the field my youthful imagination had not only been wrought upon by that which usually comes before us all, respecting foreign and distant regions, but many a long winter evening and summer day, has time been beguiled away in interesting conversations with my present “ cicerone ,” respecting the countries over the water.’* The emerald hills ol'Britain, the sun ny plains of France, the quiet land of Germany, the glacier peaks of Switzerland, and above all, the classic fields of Italy. My feelings were sometimes wrought up to such a pitch of ex citement, that I frequently desired immediately to quit all and fly away upon the wings of the morning ; but judgement came to the rescue, and determined me to submit cheerfully to circumstances, and vegetate away a few more years in t’.c usual round of New-York life. Ever anxious that all my desires should be gratified, my husband, a short time previous to our departure, as you know, communicated to me the joyful intelligence that all my cherished anticipations, and more, might be realized whenever I chose toembark. That happy day a ou witnessed, and beheld my enchantment — I have scarcely yet got over it; indeed, lam still in the same transport of delight ns when I looked over the tumultuous waves and felt the lifted planks dance under me ; the same thrill shoots through me as the poet must have experienced when in ecstacy he exclaimed— “ O’er the glad waters of the dark blue sea, Our thoughts as boundless, our souls as free, Far as the breeze can bear, the billows foam, Survey our empire and behold our home !” I will now give you a brief outline of the route which I have (with the concurrence of my husband) marked out. It is, you will per ceive, very similar to that I traced out to you on the map last summer, and but for the unfore seen circumstance which has detained nte so many months in Paris, and added nnothcr precious jewel to my previous store, I should perhaps have been far, fur from here, even to the “ fartherest Ind,” and now indicting an epistle to you from Delhi or Cashmere. But this detention, so far from damping my ardor, has only served to increase my thirst for ad. venture. Fearing least some other interruption might come across our path, arid deprive us of some part ofour tour, we fee! desirous not to linger long in Gaul, but immediately to “ carry the war into Africa,” to penetrate at once into the farthest East, and open the present campaign by charging the enemy in his very centre. Wo leave Paris to-morrow, for Vienna, taking Switzerland and Bavaria in our way. From Vienna we would desire to descend the Danube through Hungary and Wallacltia, to Bucharest, and from thence, over the Balkan, to Adrianople and Constantinople. But we have lately heard rumours from the latter place, that the plague is now making considerable ravages there, and is on the increase. We have written to ascertain the truth, and if the present rumours prove correct, when we get our letters from thence at Vienna, we will not approach those regions until the autumn shall he far advanced, for it would be extreme folly to run into certain danger. We have made the proper provision of letters of credit, &c. for central and north Europe ; and shall, in ; case we are foiled in our immediate attempt i upon the East, employ the summer and autumn ! in visiting the centre and north of Europe. From Vienna, therefore, we will go north through Bohemia, Saxony and Prussia, to Hamburg,embark there for Copenhagen,thence take the steamer for Gottenburg and Christiani, make a short tour in Norway, and thence, , crossSwecden,directly to.Stockhohn; cross ti e 1 Gulf of Bothnia to Abo, traverse Finland to St. Petersburg, then by Moscow to Odessa, and take the steamer for Constantinople. : There we shall make preparations for an over land journey to India ; get letters and firmans from all those authorities whose countenance tine! assistance we may require ; also credits from the American and Jew Bankers. We shall there meet stores, camp equipage, &c. which we shall order round from London and Marseilles. All tilings well arranged at Constantinople, we take the steamer for Trebizondc, and there get up our caravan. In going through Arme nia, we shall vist Mount Arrarat; crossing Persia, will vist tie sites of Nineveh, Babylon and Persepelis. Make a short stay at Bagdad ; and embarking at Bussora, descend the Persian Gulf to Bombay. After an excursion of a few months in India, as circumstances may permit, return to Bombay, take the Red Sea steamer, and land at Cosseir, cross the desert (which is there quite narrow—only about three days journey,) to the Nile. Visit the Thebiad, and then decend the river to Grand Cairo. There make up another caravan for the Holy Land, taking in our way Mount Sinia and Petra. After seeing in detail the Holy Land, we propose to go from Damascus to Alt ppo; then cross Asia Minor, via Antioch, Tarsus and Konialt, to Constantinople—from thence to Smyrna by steamer, and then to Athens. After visiting most of Greece, proceed to Sicily, via Malta, thence to Italy’, and after wards to Paris. In case we may be able to go directly to the East, without going to the North this summer, our absence from Paris will be about two years, although I have not hinted to my friends a longer absence from my children than one year —therefore be very circumspect what you say on this point. * ***** * Paris, * * * Having concluded then to go no further this day than Fontainebleau, our horses are countermanded until twelve, and as our packet for home is not yet sealed, I profit by the occasion to say a few more last words to you. But if 1 devote all my leisure in writing to you, how shall I excuse myself to other correspondents, to whom I am indebted for favors innumerable? As I have enjoined on j you never to show any thing you receive from me, even to any ofour mutual friends, much less to others, I have thought of a plan to satisfy j all the various demands made upon me for information from time to time of my where abouts, together with all such details, wonders, ; and travellers’ stories, as I may please to send ; them. The mode I propose is to write a sort of circular to one friend, and then summon all my creditors to come and receive their divi dend. I made one ungarded promise, however, to my friend M is. , who with her amiable and accomplished daughter have been spend ing a few years in various parts of the conti nent, for the education of the latter, and whose delightful society I have so much enjoyed the past winter. I promised that she should hear from me very often, and particularly from the East. Ido not know how I shall be able to fulfil the promise, and still do justice to your prior right—you who are so industriously laboring at home for my amusement. However, when once mounted on my Pe gasus, 1 will endeavor always to imagine you beside: we will then jog along together, piano, piano, stopping to admire every new and charming prospect, and take advantage of every agreeable point of view. But when I have Mrs. for a com panion, I will slacken the rein, and canter away in a more andante pace, sometimes I vaulting from height to height—at others “au . grand galop," scour the plains, until we arrive ; where I can safely leave her to take breath. I will then turn again, and amble along beside you. I thus promise again to make you the companion of my leisure while abroad, as you are my ever-devoted friend at home. Already the court echoes with the music of j our steeds, as they paw the ground, impatient of delay. Four clubb’d tailed roans, with two periwing’d jack-booted jockeys, tied to a four wheeled “ drag,” demand my presence. My dear, there is not another sent to spare, or it should be yours : so, tl’.erefore, “ lon gre, mal gre," we must part in earnest. Now, after a lew leagues of rough pave shall have settled down my thoughts and ideas to a more tolera ble consistency, and the keen cast wind whipt home all my errant fancies, I will then attempt a little more rationality. This evening I will commence a course of homespun letters, in which should you be able to find any thing amusing, or of sufficient interest to beguiie away an hour not worth bestowing upon worthier objects, then will I consider that my efforts to requite all your kindness to me will have been of some avail. Until then, Adieu. GOOD. The seaman in the South Seas make use of whale’s milk in their coffee ! A friend of ours, just retured from the Pacific, says it is always cool and refreshing. The whales arc milked by mermaids at present, but a patent for milk ing them has just been secured hy a Yankee-, C. R. HANLEITER, PRINTER. From the Lady’s Book. MRS. STGOUKNEY. It is a difficult and delicate task to sketch the biography of the living; particularly so, when tne portrait is to be drawn for a personal and esteemed friend. But in the present in stance there is little reason to fear. The talents and merits of Mrs. Sigourney are uni versally felt and acknowledged. She has nobly won her high place in the literature of our country. Lydia Huntly was born in Norwich, Con necticut. Site was the only child of her pa rents, and consequently was brought up with great tenderness. Her parentage were in that happy mediocraty which requires industry, yet encourages hope; and the habits of order and dilligence, in which she was carefully trained by her judicious mother, have no doubt been of inestimable advantage to the intellectual character of the daughter. She early exhibited indications of genius. Perhaps the loneliness of her lot, w.thout brother or sister to share in the usual sports of childhood, had an influence on her pursuits and pleasures. We ate by no means in favor of establishing priority of intellect, as the stan* dard of real genius. Still it is true, that many distinguished persons have been marked in c hildhood as extraordinary ; the opening blos som has given forth the sweet order which tho rich fruit, like that of the Man gost an, embodies in its delicious perfection. At eight years of age, 1 ttle Lydia was a scribbler of rhymes— l,kc Pope, “lisping in numbers.” Her first work was published in 1815. It was a small volume, entitled “Miscellaneous Pieces in Prose and Verse.” Before this, however, she had fortunately met with a judicious and most generous patron. To Daniel Wadsworth, Esq. of Hartford, belongs the tribute of praise, which is due for drawing such a mind from the ob scurity where it had remained “ afar from tho untasted sunbeam.” In 1819, Miss Huntly was united in mar riage with Charles Sigourney, a respectable merchant of Hartford. He was a gentleman of cultivated taste and good literary attainmen ments. From that period Mrs. Sigourney has devoted the leasure which the wife of a man of wealth may generally command, to literary pursuits. And her improvement has been rapid and great. Her published wotks are “ Traits of the Aboriginies,’ a poem written in blank verse; ‘Connecticut Forty Years Since,’ a prose volume, principally of tradition ary description ; three volumes of‘Poems ;’ ‘Sketches,’ an interesting volume, chiefly written for the annuals ; ‘ Letters to Young Ladies,’ an excellent work ; and a number of books for children and youth. In all these works, varied as they are in style and subject, one person is recognized as the governing mo tive—the purpose of doing good. In her pros© writings this zeal of heart is the great charm. She always describes nature with a lover’s feelings of its beauties, and with much delicacy and taste; still, we think her talent for des cription is more graceful and at home, as it were, in the measured lines of her poetry than in her best prose. Her genius seems to brigh ten in the muse’s smile, and she can command by that spell, as Prospero could with his staff, the attendance of the ‘delicate spirits’ of Fancy, which, like Ariel, bring ‘ Sounds and sweet airs,’ and those ‘ solemn breathing strains’ that movo conscience to its repen*ant work, or lift the trusting, contrite soul to heaven. “Oh God ! who can describe Niagara!” exclaimed Mrs. Butler, in the agony of her admiration. Mrs. Sigourney has described it, and worthily too; and this single poem would be sufficient, had she written no more, to establish her fame as a poet. It docs more and better —it stamps her as the devoted Christian ; for, except faith in the dread Invisible had sustained her genius, and trust in the Saviour had kept warm the fount of sympathy in her, she could not have surrounded a theme so awful, strange, and lonely, with such images of beauty and hope. True it is that female poetic writers owe their happiest efforts to religious feelings. Devotion seems to endow them with the martyr’s glow ing fervency of spirit. In the actual world the path of woman is very circumscribed, but in that ‘ better land’ her imagination may range with the freedom of an angel’s wing. And there it is that the genius of Mrs. Sigourney delights to expatiate. And this constant up lifting of her spirit has given a peculiar cast to her language and style—rendering the state ly and solemn blank verse measure the readiest vehicle of her feelings and fancies. She has a wonderful command of words, and the fetters of rhyme check the free expression of her thoughts. She is also endowed with a fine perception of the harmonious and appropriate, and hence the smooth flow of the lines, and the perfect adaptation of the language to the sub. ject. These qualities eminently fit her to be the eulogist of departed worth, and incline her to elegiac poetry. To her tender feelings and naturally contemplative mind, every knell that summons the mourner to weep awakens her sympathy, and the dirge flows,’as would tears, to comfort the bereaved, where she beside them.- Nor is the death-song of necessity melan. choly. Many of hers sound the notes of holy triumph, and awaken the brightest anticipation# of felicity—ay, * Teach us of th« melody of heaven.’ She ‘ leaves not the trophy of death at the tomb,’ but shows us the ‘ Resurrection and the Life.’ Thus she elevates the hopes of the Christian and chastens the thoughts of tho worldly-minded. This is her mission, the true purpose ofher heaven-endowed mind ; tor the inspirations of genius arc from_bcaVgni_ustd_ i NO. 45-