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AN ALE KT A—No. 6.
We have selected f>r thy entertainment, to-day, good
reader, something which we tru't it wll afford thee as
much pleasure to hear, as it gave us to re td it at the
first. We mean James' last novel, “ The Cextieman
of the Old School.”
We are not singular in our admiration of th>s wri-,
ter's producti ins. Who has not rend wuih delight, his
«Philip Augustus,” his “ Mary of Butgundv, his
“ Darnly,” his ** Richelieu,’’ his “ G p a y, &.c. &.c.
His novels are growing numerous; for we have no'
here enumerated near •!! of them. In his later works,
however, particularly “ Charles Tyrrell,” (hast read it ?
No! then get it, friend, as soon as possible, and repair
the omission,! and the one we now have before us, he j
has changed his style and manner very materially.—
The last two works are of a character essentially dif
ferent frmn those previously mentioned, yet equally
good in their way. They do not offer to our view the
gorgeous costume, the magnificent scenery, the stirring
and chivalrous events which nold our imagination en
chained in the former works; but instead of this, we
are ptesented with seem sos more quiet beauty, events
equally thrilling, but of a more domestic character, and
sketches of human nature in its more modern, but not
less interesting phases. Both the two last novels abound
in fine descriptions of that beautiful landscape wl u
is of a charac'er as peculiarly English as the manners
of the personages who are introduced. Indeed, f any
fault is to be found, it is the perhaps too ftequertt recur
rence of these descriptions, and the rather too great
length and pains bestowed on them, detaining the read
er when he is rather disposed to hurry on with the e
vents of the narrative. Throughout this last hook are
interspersed a great number of excellent moral reflec
tions, beautiful ideas, finely expressed and naturally in
troduced, sometimes by the author, in his own proper
person, and sometimes by being put in the mouths of
some of his characters, which are generally well drawn
and well sustained. We must read some extracts in
proof of what we say. Here is one front the opening
of the tale.
A voung and unperverted mind sets out in
early youth with fair prospects, with a happy
disposition, with indulgent parents, and wealth
at command, tftid fur many a bright year all
is smiles and gayety. Pleasure leads on to
pleasure, till comes satiety: disappointments
begin to appear, the trusted friends prove
false, the hopes break like bubbles that a child .
would grasp, prosperity passes away, impa-1
tience, anxiety, intemperance succeed ; the
spoiled child of fortune heirs ill the check of
adversity, and new difficulties and reverses
rush up to swell the amount. Violent pas.'
sious, anger, wrath, strife come on ; and life
either ends in turbulence and ciime, or else,
imnrbved tho igh saddened, elevated through
melancholy, th rest of existence is spent calm
ly, cheered by tile hopes of another and a bet
ter world.
How like is this history to the passing of
manv a summer day ! It rises hr ght and
beautiful win all the promises of splendour, of
sunshine, and of light; the birds sing about
tlie cradle of the infant morning, the painted
insects hum around and flutter as it rises ;
cloudless in its golden pro perity it advances
through the sky, till towards the heat of noon
a cloud or two here or there corn 's with its |
shadow over tlie heavens. Ardent and more
ardent the noonday sot) shines strong, as if to
overwhelm such intruders in its ti le of glory :
but the very heat seems but to call up fresh
masses of’diill vapour: they rise, they increase,
they grow tipdu the sky, the warm summer
light but makes them look more black and
threatening, till at length the sun itself is co
vered. and the storms begin. Then comes
the lightning, ami the thunder, and the hail;
the brightness and the beauty, are all passed
away; the calm light of the dawn, the golden
warmth of the rnof ting, the resplendent beam
ing of high noon, are all gone ; and the day
cither comes to an end in clouds, an I storms,
and weeping darkness, or else, after many an
hour, the blue sky appears again, the vapours
are partially swept away, and ' ith tearful eyes
and aspect cool though clear, the day goes
down into night, leaving the hope of a brighter
morrow. Such is the sort of day with which
we would fain open this true history.
The picture here presented to us is certainly a beau
tiful one, and the comparison appropriate and jus!.—
Let us go on : we have pencilled several other passa
ges foryour edification. After describing the mutual
recognition of two school-fellows who has been long se
parated, the author remarks:
“ It is strange —perhaps the strangest of all
the mind’s intricacies —the sadden, (lie install
taneous manner in which memory, by a single
signal, casts wide the doors of those dark store
houses in which long-passed events have beon
shut up for years. That signal, be it a look,
a tone, an odour, a single sentence, is the cab
alistic word of the Arabian tale, at the potent
magic of which the door of the cave of tlie
robber, Forgetfulness, is cast suddenly wide,
and all tlie treasures that he had concealed
[are] displayed.”
The character of the Genrieman of the Old School,
the ostensible hero of the tale, is a noble one. Here is
the description of the old gentleman's personnel; his mo
rale displays itself throughout the book in such a way
as to make us love and respect him as though he were
really before us in the full possession ot personal iden
tity.
The gentleman we speak of was apparently
about sixty years of age, or somewhat more ;
but iiale, healthy, florid; With an undimmed
eye, an unwithered cheek, a lip as firm and full
as that of youth itself. One saw that he was
advanced in life, but yet one could scarcely
point out in what particular age made itself
visible. He was tall and well made, without
the slightest approach to corpulence; and the
swelling of the' muscles of his leg, seen through
the nicely-fitting silk stocking, spoke a life of'
activity and vigour. His hand, which had one
ring upon the little finger—a small, plain cir
cle of gold, like a wedding ring—was rentar
<cably white and well made ; and there was a
degree ofextreme neatness and care in every
part of his apparel, winch is pleasing to the
eye to liehold in every period of life, but more
especially at an age when all the fopperies of
youth me done away with, and we are too
much accustomed to neglect tlmt |>ersonal ap
pearance to which we formerly paid too much
attention.
His hair, which, probably, could the colour
nave been seen, would have beer* found to be
fchite.was filled with rrmrechal powder, the red
dish hue of which harmonized well with his
florid complexion. He was a little bald about
the temples ; but over t'»e rest of the head the
hair was full, and tied with a black riband in a
Jorge thick club behind. His coat was cut much
in the form of those which are still worn at
courts, and was made of an excessively rich
and thick sort of silk, resembling uncut velvet. I
It was perfectly plain, however, and of a sort I
of tea-colour, only relieved by some large steel
buttons, not very much cut. His waistcoat
was of white, plainly embroidered with brown;
and his breeches of the same colour as the
coat, with one pocket, in which he kept his
snuffbox, habitually open, as if lie feared not
to get at the precious wee I rap dlv enough.
It must be owned, however, that he took
very little, and that very rnielv; but under- 1
neath the snuffbox lay his purse, and that was
often in his hand.
His buck'es in the knees and in his well,
made shoes were of the same plainly cut steel
as his buttons ; but it must be acknowledged
that, in the silk stockings of blue and white (of
what was called the thunder and lightning !
pattern,) in their fit, their spotlessness, and the
avoidance of every wrinkle, there was a de
gree of neatness which approached to foppery.
Let m v renders tak.i the pencil of imagination,
arid draw him as we have described him, only
adding the steel hilt of his sword—he was ne
ver without it, for he looked upon it as the
especial mark of a gentleman—wit's the steel
hilt of his sword, I say, reposing quietly in the
left-hand corner of the chair, where it had fal
len naturally when he sat down, and thev will
have before their eyes a picture of Sir Andrew
Stalbrooke, a true gentleman of the old school,
as he sat in his library at the hour of ten o’-
clock, on the morning, the commencement of
which wo have already described.
***' * * *
His was a heart, indeed, that was in con
stant association with the hearts of his fellow,
men. Most men are selfish entirely in almost
everything they dd : the pleasures they derive
are for themselves ; the pains they experience
are for themselves ; the thoughts they think
are of themselves alone. Even if they act ap
parently for the benefit of others, it is for ad
vantage or honour to redound to themselves ;
and the one little godhead of self is the object
of their worship through everv hour of the
day, though they veil the iJol under a thousand
garbs.
Rit tlie reverse of all this was Sii Andrew
Stalbrooke. There was a link of connexion,
as we have said, between everything -that he
did, or thought, or felt, and tlie actions, the
happiness, the we fare of others. As vve have
just exemplified, when he sat down to read the
productions of any other man, if they were
well written, his pleasure was doubled on the
author's account ; if they were ill written, he
felt pained and grieved for him. and found in
the treasures of his own generous heart a thou
sand excuses for tlie failure, which he never
would have brought forwards had the case
been his own. That he lived not up to his
income was neither from a love of money,nor
for the desire of leaving anv larger fortune
than he himself possessed to his nephew and
his heir; but he always considered and fore
saw that the moment might c >me when some
extraordinary claims might require the surplus,
and sdme one w!io wanted assistance might
have it but inefficiently if he went close to those
bounds of due economy which I e was resolved
never to overstep. His forethought in this
respect was constantly justified, for that which
was saved one year never remained in his
purse till the end of the next.
* * * * * *
He wns generous, too, of his reputation, for
in reputation also he felt himself to he rich, j
He never shrunk from tho persecute i, he
never abandoned the innocent, lie never frown
ed even upon the foiling and repenteiit. Many
a man would have been trodden under foot bv
tlie rush of slanderous enemies ; fnnny a wo
man would have been cast from society, and
plunged into vice ns trie Oily resource, had it
not been for S r A idrew Stalbrooke. His
hand had been a prop lo many’, his n .me had
ever been a shield to the oppressed ; and, as
il cannot be in this world hat that a crushed
viper will turn to sting, the sword of Sir An
drew Stalbrooke iiad twice sprung from the
sheath to defend the wto igc I honour of others
who trusted their cause to him.
This excellent character is m -re fully developed with
the progress of the plot; alas! what pity i- it, that such
men are not often met within real life! Yet we do
sometimes meet with them; and it is fortunate that
such is the case, for we are thereby enabled and indu
ced io think better of poir human nature, than a view
of the conduct and principles of the great majority of
our fellow men would permit 11s to do. If our judg
ment had to be formed on manv of those thb gs which
we see every day, our e3liinate would, I am afraid, be
a very sorry one.
A party of travellers are driven by a storm to take
refuge in Stalbrooke Castle, whose openhearted pro
prietor receives them with the utmost cordiality. This
party comprises nearly all the principal personages of
the tale, and the scene is accordingly laid partly at
Stalbrooke and partly at a neighboring esta'e. Sir
Andrew does the honors of his Cas le with all the cour.
tesy and dignified poliiencss of ihe olden time; and we
have some good observations drawn forth in conversa
tion on the surrounding scenery, the picture gaHery, &c
“ Onfc unpleasant effect of the storm, Miss
Forrest,” said Sir Andrew, turning to the
vtfimg lady, “has been to make the first sight
of this place somewhat dark and gloomy. It
is not so in general, however; fori can as
sure you that the prospect before your eyes
varies with every changing aspect of the sky
above it; and I have seen the countenance of
nature, as there set forth, bear at least twenty
expressions in the day.”
“Perhaps,” said Edith, in a low tone, “it
may be beautiful Under all its aspects, as it
seems to me now, notwithstanding the clouds, 1
and then it will be like a feeling and gentle
heart, which may he melancholy, and even
gloomy, under sorrows and adversities—the
clouds and storms of life—but still smile up
brightly again to joys and amusements —the
light and sunshine of being—or change under
the gleams of fancy, or sparkle brightly under;
the passed-by showeroftemporary disappoint- j
ment, when the sun begins to look forth agun,
as I see that he is doing now upon the oppo
site hills.”
******
Painting, as well ns sculpture, is, after all,
hut a hieroglyphic character, in which one ;
great mind writes down its magnificent con -i
ceptions for the benefit of others like itself, i
The mechanical skill with which it docs so
utFects the marble or the canvass, shapes llici
rude block into graceful forms, or covers the [j
TIIE SOUTHERN POST.
blank sheet with glowing colours ; but it is the
thought in the mind of the artist which speaks
to the mind of others. Wiiere tl ere is no
thought, you have but a meaningless scro'l,
like a child's copybook, where the letters may
Ixj perfectly formed, but tlie sense wanting.
******
“I do not quite agree wi tit you, Mr. Forrest
in regard to really fine pictures. If man Were
an animal, composed solely of his material
form, and a principle, whether material or not,
which was given him for the purpose of pro
viding himself with food, and guarding against
dangers or injuries. I would lie very willing to
confine all his efforts to those arts which
might I>est contribute to his material comfort,
according to tlie school which is rising up in
the present day. and to tlie requisition of
such knowledge ns might tend to the same
object. But I look upon man as a very dif
ferent creature, my dear sir.
******
I have always thought, and felt, and heliev
ed, that, though much gratitute may be due
to those who tend to cultivate our reason, to
improve our aris. and to provide for our ma
terial comfort; those who address themselves
with noble purposes to our imagination—the
painter, the poet, the sculptor, or the musician;
who seek to purify, to elevate, so direct that
great quality of tle immortal soul; to give, in
fact, to f incv the wings ©f the seraph, not only
deserve higher thanks, but are in their very
selves of a higher nature, dealing with a high
er power, treating with greater intelligences,
and are, in short, among the princes of the
human mind.”
j There observations are as beautiful os thpy are jus
—but here is another pencil mark. Eh ! what ? “ no
thing which has passed between you and 7,” Fye,
Mr. James! make vour younger hero violate grammar
so horribly! Why we are ashamed of you! And a
little further on, the young gentleman says - ‘cnnugh to
afford you and again ! We fear he has a had ha
bit, and his. schooling has been neglected. In other
places too, we have met with some words which do not
look like genuine English ones: splmitice, fir exam
ple, and ceilinged, and fcritrinwhupuic (!?) We
hope Mr. James is not growing negligent or slovenly
iin regard to style, &c.; we do not wish to believe that
these expressions were used intentionally—for they are
certainly not in good taste, to say the least—but to re
turn.
| We must give you the description of another of the
principal person iges, in whose fate we become deeply
interested, the Lady Mallory.
In one of the rooms of this building, lofty,
j spacious, and somewhat gloomy, lined with
daik o ik, relieved by pictures in massive gift
frames, and hangings of crimson velvet aad
gold, surrounded by' manifold objects of art
.und luxury, and dressed gracefully and richly,
but somewhat negligently, sat a lady, if not in
her first youth, still in the prime of life and
beauty. She had been married at the earlv
age of seventeen, and as yet counted consid.
erable less than thirty summers ; nor -had
those summers, as they came and went, acted
upon her beauty any otherwise than as the
golden tide ocean upon tlie bright sands,which,
as it ebbs away, leaves them soft and glisten
ing as evei.
Not one line of white mingled with her dark
hair, not one beam of light Was extinguished
in the large, full dark eyes. The contour of
her beautiful figure was as perfect, perhaps
more perfect than fever, and the graceful bend
of her head, which, perhaps, took a little from
her full height, was habitual from her youth.
Tlie hand and arm, in which nature seems to
take a delight in displaying all the loveliest
lines, but which usually changes sooner than
almost any other part of the human form,were
as rounded, as tapored, as delicately fine, as
snowy white as ever ; and the waist, which
ut one time might have-been girdled with a
span, though not now quite so fine as in her
girlhood, seemed not less so to the eve, from
the greater fulness which her whole figure had
acquired. The features were straight and
beautifully cut. bat they were far from want
iag express on ; and that expression, except,
perhaps, to a very nice and critical eve. was
such as might well give unmingled pleasure
to tiie beholder. There was a softness in it
and yet a dignity, a gentleness and vet a spirit,
an earnestness and yet a shyness, that are hut
seldom found united. There was a winning
smile, too. when she was pleased, a look of
soft melancholy when she was pained, that
might well win upon all who beheld her; and
it was seldom, very seldom, that a bright light
ning flash in the eye, a sudden wrinkle in the
contracted brow, and a quick curl of the proud
lip. told that, though governed and repressed
with matchless power, there were strong,eager
feelings in that soft bosom, perhaps fiery pas
sions at the bottom of her heart.
At present she was somewhat pale ; and as
she sal be fare a table with her eyes cast down,
anybo ly might have discovered that those
I eyes were not upon the book, the pages of
which lav open liefore her, but were fixed, un
conscious of what they gazed upon, upon the
spot of the rich Turkey carpet under her feet
Her meditations were deep and long ; a sigh
every now and then checkered without inter
rupting them ; and whether it was that she
regretted him who had left her a widow in her
youth, or grieved from some other unexplain
ed cause, it was evident that the lady of all that
wide domain, the mistress of immense wealth
and humble service, the talked of, the admired,
the reverenced, the loved, was not so happe
ns Heaven might have made her.
I In the course of action allotted to this lady and the
events thence arising, the author has displayed a pro-
I feund knowledge of human nature, and a keen and
clear sighted penetra'ion into those mysteries of the
heart which woman is accnsiomed to hide so deeply and
with an instinct so peculiarly her own. There is a great
deal of truth and nature in this portion of the book.—
For instance, in this little hit of a dissertation on the
! nature of love, which we give for your especial benefit,
! young gentleman, as you are, we suppose, a candi.
date for that w hich is either the greatest blessing or the
heaviest curse on > arth —matrimony. If the sentiments
here expressed were more frequently had in considera
tion, it would more often prove a blessing than it does,
unfortunately.
“I mean, Ralph,” she replied, in the same
sad tone, “that in these matters both man and
woman often.deceive themselves. Struck by
beauties and graces, or, perhaps, not even
that ; attracted by some high or noble quali
ties, bv services mutually rendered and kind
nesses e.X|>erieuced; ignorant, by never hav
ing felt it, of what real love m, they often mar
ry r with high esteem, regard, affection, even
admiration, thinking that thev love trulv and
shall love always. Then come the little in
conveniences and discomforts that ever min
gled in the cup of domestic life, be they caies
be they anxieties, be thev anv of tin- many
things that would pass over real love, leaving
it unsullied like breath upon tlie diamond.
Now, however, each one leaves a trace, a
discomfort, a remembrance: tlie false stone
and the real jewel, Ralph, are tried by the
scratclies ordinary instruments will make upon
them. But oh ! Ralph Strafford, if the time
sliould come when the master tone of the hu
man heart is struck by some other being than
Tint to whom our fate is linked; when we
know and feel for the first time what real love
! is; when suddenly it flashes upon us in all its
J intensity, in all its brightness, in all its over,
powering strength, then, then, how awful is the
situation of those who have mistnken the feel
ings of their own hearts; who have not, in
tlie first instance, inquired, with eager anxiety.
‘Do 1 know what real love is? do I feel it?’
Oh. how awfut is that moment!”
“ And do you mean to sav, Lady Mallory’,”
exclaimed Strafford, with deep interest, “ do
you mean to say that such has been your own
fate ?”
This last is rather a pointed question, and we leave 1
you to gather the lady’s answer from the book itself.
The above speech was most appropriately put in the
mouth of a woman, for who feels, like her, the “inten
sity,” the “brightness," the “overpowering strength"
of the mas'er passion? or who, like her, could describe
it with so much unction?
Passing rapidly on, we must stop,now and then, and
pick up a gem—
“One half of human life is made up of wasted con
sideration. The highways of the world are strewed
with the sand of thought ca«t away. The events over
which we have no control affect our destiny a thousand
fold more than the few that we can govern; and while
we ponder over our decision, fate decides for us, and
'he game is placed.”
» * » * • •
“ And could you tell me the Future?" asks Edith
Forrest of an Indian girl who plays the part of fortune j
teller; “ And could you tell me the future ? Would to
heaven I coul! know it; for. as I stand and gate, it is
all dark and blank, like a pa!l.
“Itis a curtain of mercy,” answers the girl- “The
only eve? throughout the universe that could look sied
fastlv upon the whole of that immense and never-ceas
ing expanse, the fujure, ore those all-seeing eyes which
P'erce it from limit to limit. It is a curtain of mercy
Happy it is that we cannot lift if, and that those who
sec be=t can hut draw up a corner of the veil, to glean a
few of the nearest and simplest truths.”
We must make room for one more extract: the Old
Gentleman’s answer to a challenge from Forrest, the
“villain” of the niece.
“You are pleased to invite me to give you satisfac
tion, as you term it, for receiving the young lady above
alluded to into mv house, when yourconduct drove her
from the shelter of Lndv Mallory’s; and you say that
you will prefer the pistol to the sword, understanding
that I am too good a swordsman even for a younger
man to deal with. I will not affect to misunderstand
your allusion to an accidental encounter with vour lat
nephew, when, in a little moment of irritation at being
prevented from committing a very bad action, he drew
his sword on me, at a time when I was, in fact, acting
as his best friend. It is fur such occasions, sir, that my
sword, now-a-daj-s, is a'together reserved. Tlfe prac
tice which you wish me to yield to I look upon as both
foolish, cowardly, criminal, and unchristian; and if I
have, in my earlier years, when my passions were
strong, and my judgment not yet formed, been tempted
to follow a had fashion, I sincerely aid deeply regret
the fact .
“You say that on any pitiful excuse you will hold
neup to contempt. Bad men, sir, have not the facul :
ty of contempt; they lose the power, when they lose I
ttleir OWii wortbincee -any coo'ompt on IKO port of
good, but mistaken men, lam not afraid to encounter ;
and the contempt of the good and wise, I am sure, is
not likely to fall up.in me.”
It was not our intention to attempt to unravel the
plot for thee, good reader; we leave that to thyself—
we wish to induce thee to read the book—and to see
ihe meed o| respect, affection, devotion awarded to these
whose every act is regulated by principle, and whose
whole life is marked by the continued exercise of ster
ling virtue. M. j
OFFICE, ON THIRD - STREET, ONE DOOR FROM MULBERRY
STREET, AND OPPOSITE THE CENTRAL HOTEL.
j
MACON:
SATURDAY. AUGUST 10, 1839.
■■■-
1 A fire took place at Charleston, on Wednesday
morning last, destroying property to the amount of 5000
‘or 6000 dollars. Two individuals wete injured by the
I blowing up of one of the houses.
lO* Mr. Robert Wheeler, the suhject of the annex
ed notice, was a merchant of this city, on his wav to
1 the North to purchase goods. He was a native of Sto
nington, Conn , and had resided here about four years,
and was 27 years of age. No cause can be assigned
for his commuting the fatal act; and it was probably
done while asleep, or during a temporary mental ali
enation. He was much respected by his acquaintance,
was active and prosperous in his business, and his loss
will be deeply regretted. [Messenger.
Distressing Circumstance —A gentleman whose
name was entered on the wav-hill of the Portsmouth
and Roanoke Railroad, gt Weldon, N. C., as Mr.'
Wheeler, went on board the steamboat Kentucky, at
Portsmouth, on the afternoon of the 28th July, appa
' rentlv with the determination of travelling to Baltimore.
About 12 o’clock at night, when ofT Point Lookout, he
threw himself from the cabin window into'the wa er.
The alarm was immediately given, and CapL Holmes
| turned his boat round, but was unable to see any thing
;of him. A gentleman named Roland stated that he
was acquainted with him, and that he came from Ma
con, Georgia, but belonged toConnecticut Mr. Whee
ler’s baggage was taken by Mr. Roland.
[Baltimore American.
{CTTn another column will be found the proceedings
of a meeting of the “ Macon Volunteer*,’’ expressive of
the feelings of that corps on this melancholy occasion.
03r Santa Anna is again declared Dictator, signify
ing an intention of prosecuting an energetic war against
Texas. He, it is said, is using every means for the de
struction of Bustameate, not allowing either men or;
money to be sent to him. Padre Muldo-m is still in i
prison. They talk of raising 60,00 b men for the inva- :
non of Texas
ty We are indebted to the politeness of Mr. JjV
M. Cooper for a copy of the “ G*ntirrj*n of rite G!
School.” Tiiis is the last production of G. P. R. J me?
'• Esq-, author <>f a number of beautiful noyr ts. Wehsvi
| read i’ with much pleasure, and think it r-rber super o,
i’o “Charles Tyrrell " Ve have H-u'c ' t over tu nr
j friend of the ‘ Analekta,” where our readers tnsyCm’
1 an account of it.
_
ty Benevolent avd Mittal Am A.s-socufioy.—
j The second anniversary of this body was ccVhrated on
j Sunday evening last. 4th August, o' the Preabvtrria •
j Church. The Association made a goodly display a 1
'0 numbers. After prayer bv the Rt v. Mr. Sinclair,
addresses were delivered bv \V. P.re and A. H. Chap
pell, Esquire*; af’er which, the following lines, written
for the occasion, were sung in a very effective manner,
by Miss Lord, aided by the Clioir.
(Alß— “Come ye Disconsolate.")
Come all vc suffering sons of humanity.
Wasted with wretchedness, wearied of woe;
True-born benevolence, gives not in vanity,
None, to relieve, is too wretched and low.
Here find, vc destitute, fripnds and a bro'her,
A hand and a head to hestow and relieve.-
Sons of henevolence, pledged to each other,
Yours is a pleasure no riche* can give.
Go ve compassionate, tear drops be drying;
Heaven’s best gift is the power to hestow—
Wants of the desolate, kindly supplying.
Earth has no pleasure like charity's glow.
Friends of the friend'ess! soothers of angui-h.
Brothers of mercy, nssemb’ed this night;
Seekers of suffering—where the poor languish!
God guard your efforts and guide you aright.
The exercises of the evening were concluded by
prayer, by Rev. Mr. Bragg.
ty The Hon. John Birdsall, formerly Attorney Gen
eral, and Chief Justice of the Republic of Texas, died
at Houston, on the 22J ins ant.
' To the Editor of the Southern Post.
J Sir—l was gratified with your compliance with the
request I made you some two vreks ago, in relation to
an article on the subject of Education. Since that
I time, I have had the pleasure to be one of the numer
; oils and gratified audience who listened with spellbound
attention to the beautiful and excc'lent address of the
President of the Georgia Female College, on the same
sub ect. lam glad to see that you have alf o published
the “ Address." It will, no doubt, he read by many ;
and wherever it is read, it cannot fail to attract atten
tion fur its great beauty and power, and to do much
good by the justness of its views, the truth of Its con
clusions, and the soundness of its principles.
The two productions here alluded to, have forestalled
many of the remarks which I had it in contemplation
to n ake, when I first thought of writing to you on the
subject. As, however, the agitation of the matter, with
the view to call public attention to the necessity of al
tering the present system and method of Instruction,
and the advantages to be derived from the introduction !
of some plan, which can be proved to he more efficient
than any of those now in vogue, cannot be useless, I
have been induced, not to abandon my original design
but to change my plan, and throw my observations into
the form of a Hireling commentary on the article in the
“ Messenger,” and the Discourse of the Rev’d Mr.
Pierce. This mode of proceeding, whilst it will avoid
repetition, will enable mo to add such remarks as may
have escaped the above authors, and to touch on one
dr two points which did not exacdyfnll within the scope
of their design.
It is proper that I should premise that in speaking of
the present erroneous and defective systems of teach
ing, or of any matters connected therewith, or in eluci
dating my positions, even hy examples, my remarks are
not levelled at any particular institution, o. at any in
dividual teacher, but at the system in general. I state
this clearly heforehand, because it is more than proba
ble that I shall say things which will be felt to come
| home to certain of the present generation of teachers,
and I do not wish to he accused or thought guilty of
making such remarks in an invidious spirit. Offence
should not be taken, where none is meant; but if those
who may feel touched by a general remark, choose to
take offence, why—be itso! I will not therefore shrink
from what I believe to be a duty. Fiat juslttia, runt
•alum! The evil which I combat has been too long
slurred over in a spirit of forbearance and mistaken
kindness. It has happened more than once, and may
happen again, that a teacher (soi-ditaiiO evidently un
fit for such office, has been recommended, aye 1 re
commend'd by persons who knew him to be incompe
tent. on the plea that “he was a good honest fellow,
and it would be a pity to deprive him of a pupil by re
fusing a recommendation.”* This may be deemed an
act of kindness to the individual, but is not such a mode
of proceeding a sacrifice of the duty we owe as well to
the public, as to our own offspring ? Is it not inflicting
a deep, an irreparable injury on both; on the former,
; by perpetuating the employment of an incompetent per
son in the exercise of a profession, than which none
requires more consummate science, prudence and tact;
on the latter, hy causing them to waste their time and
the best years of their life, in the unavailing pursuit of
a phantom, which they are taught to call knowledge,
and which invariably proves o be, in the end, nothing
more than presumptuous ignorance. It is time, high
time, that the criminality, the dishmesty of such a line
of conduct should be made clear and palpable. It is
time that the vices and errors of the system should be
exposed and corrected. It is the duty of every man
who is sensible of those vices and errors, to tear aside
the veil which conceals them from the eyes of others,
and show them to the world in all their deformity. It
is the duty of the press and its guardians, to speak clear
ly, openly, boldly, on this all important subject. Should
the truth be bitter, still it Is wholesome; though some
may be galled, still let them profit by it; let them either
qualify themselves to fulfil their duty pr >per!y, and do
justice to their employers and pupils, or else—let them
act with common honesty, quit a station which they are
not qualified to hold, and no longer delude their confi
ding patrons into the belief that they are receiving va
lue for the money they pay, when in fact they receive
nothing. A CITIZEN OF MACON.
• This may be thought a supposed case, and therefore
not worthy of belief—but it is a fact, which has fallen
more than once, and even recently, under the writer’s
own personal observation.
METEOROLOGICAL REGISTER—JB39.
[communicated for the southern FOST ]
I 8| 12 4 | Weather.
AUGUST lj 82 i <JI 93 Fair"
2j 81 87 89 Fair.
3: 81 1 85 82iShowers.
4 78 84 87! Fair.
5 79 81 84 Fair and pleasant.
61 78 80 84 Fair.
7 77; 86 87 Fair.
8; 81 1 89, 91 Fair.
. , 9[ 81 j 88| 88|Fair.
rftHE member* of the BENEVOLENT and MU
-- TUAL AID ASSOCIATION are partieularlv
requested to m-*t THIS EVENING, on important
business, at early candle light.
_ Aug 10 43r !
WT. MITCHELL is my authorized Agent <*u-j
• ring my absence from the State.
WM. COWLES. ,
Macon, Aug 10 42mt
1
! GEORGIA FEMALE COLL
The undersigned B art of Visitor?, app
*nd the recent examination of the Stun
" w ca Female Coffeys, he? leave to Rpp,
j hev hitre, with unmingled pleasure, discharge
■ ot tlicir appointment, *nd congratulate their
i "P"’ l 'he establishment of this liutitutioS.
‘ eart of their Stats.
firm i»« very recent ergjttiiisttoß.and out of dis Ci.
i ‘tint materia'*, the B ard did no; feel authorized to ex
j ’ , " rt w - v fi ‘ ff erir:g results, hut the experiment haa ftu
j surpassed their most sanguine expectations, and they
j ‘(.-el no hesitati n in predicting it* entire success.
I Im ,lie Puma tt Department the performances of the
j mtp'ls were »uch as did credit to themselves, and re
; fleeted much honor upon their venerable an ; compe
’ent instructor.
j The First and Second Classes in the College bore
testimony’ to the faithful and laborious instruction they
! had received. And from the breadth and depth of the
foundation, we feel assured that the superstructure wiR
prove like their own commanding literary edifice, beau
tiful vet solid, elevated yet symmetrical, calculated to
overlook those who have gone before them—as it does
the buildings in the vale below.
Tne Jamor Class, (the highest class yet formed in the
institution) consuming of twenty-one in number, w$
venture to assert, is not surpassed by any elassof equal
number of natural ability and proficiency in .the vari
ous departments of the arts and sciences in whjch they
have been instructed—and what is very remarkable of
females, their greatest excellence consisted in an un
common familiarity with the ab«truse science of Ma
thematics. In Arithmetic, Algehra and Geometry, we
hove never witnessed a belter examination, if so g’xtd.
In Composition the young ladies asquitted themselves
admirably, exhibiting much taste, and excellent judg
ment.
In addition to the literary exercises, the young ladies
are instructed in Drawing, Painting and Music. In
the department of Music, sonic of the pupils have made
considerable proficiency; and they enjoy the best in
struction. The Board will (ake this opportunity to dis
abuse the public mind with regard to unfounded re
ports which have gone abroad in relation to the licaltii
of the pupils connected with the College, by sajrihgthiit
; they are entirely without foundation, and the healthful
i appearance of the students was a subject of very gen
eral remark during the four days examination. The
College building is admirably constructed both for health
i and comfort—the passages are wide and airy, the rooms
generally large and well ventilated, and we know of no
i such college edifice in the United States,
j the government of the Institution; from the confi)
dential intercourse exhibited between pupil and teach
ers, must he paternal; and thfe only apparent fear on
the part of the former, seems to he that of doing wrong.
In conclusion; we would urge upon our fellow cid
zens the duty of sustaining this Institution, (the first ex
periment of the kind in our country',) by their counte
nance and money. We know of no investment of capi
tal more likely to produce a larger moral interest than
'his nor one so well adapted to diffuse blessings and
independence throughout our whole country. If puhlib
education be one of the chief bulwark oif this republic,’
we kno\y of oo means more effectual to secure it that!
by cultivating and enlightening the female mind.
E. A. NI&BET,
if. A HARRALSOV.
C. E. HAYNES,
REV. S. J CASSELS,
HAMILTON GOODE,
D. C. CAMPBELL,
N. POWELL,
A. ABERCROMBIE; .
BENJAMIN SNIDER,
JOHN HEARD,
WM. HAMILTON,
JAMES S LEWIS, .
THOS. FLEWELLEN,
J M. CHAMBERS,
WASHINGTON POE,
Board of Visitors.
Macon Volunteer Company Room, l
August Bih, 1839. )
At a meeting of the Macon Volunteers, held thm day,'
Lieutenant Holmes in the Chair, the death of our late.
! brother soldier, Corporal Wheeler, was announced to
j the m< eting, and the following order was taken ex
pressive of the feelings of the corps oh this melancholy
dispensation.
On motion of Private Rose
Resolved, That a Committee of three be appointed
by the Chair, to draft resolutions in relation to the death
of our late brother, Corporal Wheeler, and that the same
be published in the city gazettes, and a copy bo for
warded to the relatives of the deceased.
The Chair appointed Lieutenant Nis're , ergeant
Willinms and Private Rose that Committee—to which,
on motion, the Chairman was added.
The Committee thereupon reported the follow ing re
solutions, which were adopted, viz :
Resolved, That the Macon Volunteers have receiv
ed, with the deepest emotions of sorrow, the melancho
ly intelligence of the death of our late beloved c >mrade
in arms, Corporal Wheeler.
Resolved, That the manly virtues which graced the
character of Corporal Wheeler, his high-souled honor,’
his chivalric bearing, his ingenuous disposition, his af
fable and pleasing intercourse in the social relations of
life, but especially his constant devotion to his duties as
a soldier, while they endeared him to our affections,
and will be cherished in our grateful recollection, con
stitute a model worthy of the imitation of his surviving
brethren in arms.
Resolved, In testimony of our deep emotions of sor
row at the loss of Corpoial Wheeler, tlmt our Arms
and Colors be shrouded in mourning on our next pa
rade.
Resolved, That we mingle our Sympathies end con
dolence witli the relatives of the deceased in the myste
rious ftnd afflicting dispensation which has suddenly
cutoff our friend, in the full and successful tide of
youth, hope and pro-perky.
LIEUTENANT HOLMES,
LIEUTENANT NISBET,
SERGEANT WILLIAMS,
PRIVATE ROSE,
Committee.
TOR NEW-YORK,
VIA CHARLESTON AND NORFOLK.
4 THhl splendid steamboat Savannah,
C. Wambersiei Master, will depart for
New-York on Monday afternoon, 12th
August, at 6 o’clock,'touching at Cherieslon and Nor
folk—
Fare from Savannah to Charleston, 85
Do do co Norfolk, 30
Do do do New-York, 35
lk> dj Charleston to Norfolk, 25
Do do do New-York, 30
For passage, applv to E. C. Wambersie, on board,
or to COHEN &. FOSDICK.
Aug 10 42r
NOTICE.
r |MIE concern of S. S. CLXRKE & CO. was dis-
A solved on the 12 hos June lust, S. S. Clarke ha
ving diep iscd of all interest and claims in the concern
to Mr. Charles Collins,’who will settle all the outstand
ing business of the firm.
Aug 10 4%> , -
A NEW ARTICLE.
~ ft ERLS. CLARIFIED SUGAR, an excellent *r
rjv_/ tide for niajtmg Preservos, and a good substitute
for Loaf Sugar, on co-ngnment, and for'sale,by
WM. P. ROWLAND.
Aug 10 4‘iu
Genuine Morns MulticauUs,
FROM two to three years grnw-th in this State—any
number mav he con ve n'd for from one to five
hundred ihonsend, and great bnfgnins given, by call
ing on the e'lbscriher, s' bis Book Store, two doors*
south of Washington Hall. C. A. FLLK.
Aug 10 4®