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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®