////; kejpujujlic 9
is PUBLISHED EVERT WEDNESDAY,
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• Tuesday in the month, between the hours of
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he made thereon by the Court,
ill business of this nature will receive prompt
iiiennun a. the office of THE REPUBLIC.
BY B. S. NEWCOMB.
Macon, Georgia. Oct. 19,1844. 1-ts
WHITING & MIX,
WHOI Eg ALE AND RETAIL DEALERS IN
BOOTS AND '.HOES,
V-ar the Washington Hall, Second street.
Macon, Georgia. Oct. 19, 1844. l-ts
J. L. JONES & CO.
HVst side Mulberry Street, next door below the
Micun, Georgia. Oct. 19, 1944. 1-ts
"x IS BET & WINGFIELD,
4TT OK N EY S AT LAW.
I Ofiee on Mulberry Street, over Kimberly * Hal
I Macon, Georgia. Oct. 19,1844. 1-tl
I DOCTORS J. M. & 11. K. GREEN,
Corner of Mulberry and Third Streets.
I Macon, Georgia. Oct. 19, l-H
L . J • CROSS,
—II a s for Sale
I DUY HOODS if CsIIOCEIUES,
L Kfl'S, SHOES, CAPS. AND HATS
.11 John I). IViim's Old Store.
I Macon, Oct. 25, 1844. 2-ts
FREEMAN & ROBERTS,
huddle, Harness, and H hip,
Bni/rra in all hinds of Leather, Stuldlenj,
I Harness and Carriage Tiinnnings,
■)» Cotton Avenue and Second street, Macon, Ga.
I October 25, 1841.
j JOSEPH N. SEYMOUR,
I DEALER IN
Amt <■ oods, groceries, hard
s WARE, &e.
■riH* Store. Cherry Street, Ralston s Range, first
f door below Russell &. Kimberley s.
I Miron, Georgia. Oe.l. 19.1844. l-ll
GEORGE M. LOGAN,
A DEALER IN
|I\CY AND STAPLE DRY GOODS,
■ Ifinl- 1 Care, Crockery, Glass It are, &.c. &c.
I Corner of Second ami Cherry streets.
■ Mac,in, Georgia. Oct. 19, 1941. l-H'
J ~d7~& w. cTunn,
1 DEALERS IN
li r A PL E DRY GOODS,
« Groceries, Hardware, Crockery, Btc.
HMiciiu, Georgia. Oct. 19, 1844. l-H
j SAMUEL J RAY & CO.
f DEALERS IN
■oi l AND STAPLE DRY WOODS,
■ lirady Made Clothing, Hats, Shoes, N.C..
street, a lew Hours from liie \\ ashingion
Georgia. Orl. 18, 1944. l-H
llt EDI) lMi aV WHHEHEAD,
I HE ALE Its IN
■ICY AND STAPLE DRY GOODS,
•foctiie*, Hard H are, Cutlery, Hats, Shoes,
■ Crockery, &c. &e..
Cotton Avenue and Cherry streets,
■hem, Georgia. Oct. 19, 1844. 1-ts
13. F. RUSS,
>KV GOODS AXD GKOCF.ItIES.
Cl "', Georgia. Ocl. 19, 1844. l-ll
J. M. BOA 11DMAN,
‘W. MEDICAL, MISCELLANEOUS
' Sell,ml Books; Blank Boi is and Sialionery
"I ail kinds; Priming Paper, &c. &e.
" if the Large Bible, two doors above Shol
rt “* corner, west side of Mulberry Street.
Georgia. Ocl. 19,1844. 1-tl
B. 11. WAR NEB,
’TIO* AMI) GOOTIISNIOA TIKB
to'iler in every description of .Mercl andise.
‘ t I nblie s Servant,” and subject to receiving
.I'niicnis ai all times, by the consignees pav
. IKtrcenl. commissions for services rendered,
•cun, Georgia. Oct. 19, 1844. 1-ts
j following, Irom one of tbe Britisli jxx'ts,
a!i!| ISlle ' m 'be very essence of fancy. It
'■dressed to a lady, tt[ton whose bosom a Hake
'■' tell and melted:—
,‘c envious snow comes down in haste
i 11 P r <>ve thy breasl less fair,
1 grieves to see itself surpassed,
an “ melts into a tear.
«,*'*■ K »ys Noah’s Messenger, “we can
any time. Look here—
wn f ler white bosom rolled a tear
I' , e hnow it hadn't ougbter;
i, al Inst— at last~<ih dear!
‘ r s 'drt—was wet as water !”
r ? v Ce , before meat,’ as the young la
t . ar * e d when she laced herself so
at site couldn’t swallow.
Within bounds,’ as Jonah said
THE KEPI HLIU.
BY 11. C. CROSBY.
MISCEL L a N Y.
OR. PADDY MUI.I.OWNEY S TRAVELS IN FRANCE.
A certain old gentleman in the west of
Ireland, whose love of the ridiculous quite
equalled his taste for claret and fox hunt
ing, was wont upon certain leslive occa
sions, when opportunity ottered, lo amuse
his friends l>v drawing otit one ol his ser
\ants who was exceedingly fond of what
he termed Ins ‘ihravels,’ and in w hom a
good deal of whim, some queer stories,
and perhaps, more than all, longand faith
ful services, had established a right ol lo
quacity. He was one ol those few trusty
and privileged domestics, who, if his mas
ter unheedingly uttered a rash thing in a
fit of passion, would venture to set him
right. If the squire said, ‘l’ll turn that ras
cal offi’ my friend Pat would say, ‘Troth
you won’t sir;’ and Pat was always right,
lor it any altercation arose upon the “sub
ject matter in hand,’ he was sure to throw
in some good reason, either front former
service—general good conduct—orthe Je
linquent’s ‘wile and childer,’ that always
turned the scale.
But lam digressing. On such merry
meetings as I have alluded to, the master,
(after making certain ‘approaches,’ its a
military man would sav, as the preparato
ry steps in laying siege to some extrava
ganza of his servant,) might, perchance,
assail Pat thus: ‘By the bye, Sir John (ad
dressing a distinguished guest,) Pat has a
very curious story, which something you
told me to-day reminds me of. You re
member, Pat (turning to the man, evi
dently pleased at the notice thus paid him
self)—you remember that queer adven
ture you had in France?’
‘Troth I do sir,’ grins forth Pat.
‘What!’ exclaims Sir John, in feigned
surprise,‘was Pat ever in France?’
‘lndeed he was,’cties mine host; and
Pat adds, ‘Ay, anti farther plase your
‘1 assure you, Sir John,’ continues my
host, ‘Pat told me a story once that sur
prised me very much respecting the igno
rance of the French.’
‘lndeed,’ rejoins the baronet; ‘really, I
always supposed the French lo he a most
‘Troth then, they’re not, sir,’ interrupts
‘Oh, by no means,’ adds mine host, sha
king his bead emphatically.
‘I believe, Pat, ’t was when you was
crossing the Atlantic?’ says the master,
turning to I’m with a seductive air, ami
leading him into the ‘lull and true account.’
(for Pat had thought fit to visit A’ orth A
mcrikenj, lor a ‘raison he had,’ in the au
tumn of the year ninety-eight.)
‘Yes, sir,’says Pat,‘the broad Atlantic,’
a favoiite phrase of his, which he gave
with a brogue as broad, almost, as the At
‘lt was the time I was lost in crossin’ the
broad Atlantic, a cornin’ home,’began Pat,
decoyed into the recital; ‘whin the winds
began to. blow, and the sae to row I, that
you’ll think ihe Colleen d/ias (that was Iter
nfjme) would not have a mast left hut
what would row ! out ot her.
‘Wt-11, sure enough, the masts went by
the hoard, ;it last, and the pumps was
t ltok’d (divil choke them for that same,)
and av coor.se the waiher gained on uz,
and throth to he filled with wather is nei-j
liter good tin man or haste; and she was
sitikin’ fast, seitlin, down, as the sailors
call it, and faith 1 never was good at set-}
llitt’ down in my life, and I liked it then
less nor ever: accordingly we prepared for}
the worst, anil put out the boat, and got a |
sack o'htshkits, and a cashk o’pork, and a
keg o’waiht r, and a tlirille o’ rum ahoord, |
and any other little maitliers we could
think iv in the mortail huny we worin—!
and faith there was no time to he lost, fori
my darlint, the Colleen dims, went down
like a lump o’ lend, albre we were many i
slhrokes o’ the oar away from her.
‘W ell, we dliriiied away all that night, j
and next rnornin’ we put up a blanket on
the ind ttv a pole as well as we could, and
then we sailed illcgant, lor we darn’l show
a stich o’ canvass the night before, bekase
it w as blow in’ like bloody murlher, saven’
your presence, and sure it’s the wondher
of the world w e worn’t swaily’d alike by
the ragin’ sae.
‘Well, away we wint, for more nor a
week, and nothin’ before our two good
lookin’ eyes but the eanophy iv heaven,
an the wide ocean —the broad Atlantic—
not a thing was to be seen but the sae
and the sky; and though the sue and the
sky is mighty purty things in themselves,
throth they’re no great things when you’ve
nothin’ else to look at lor a week together
—and the barest rock in the world, so it
was land, would be more wclkim. And
then soon enough throth, our provisions
began to run low, the bishkitsand the wa
ther, and the rum—throth that was gone
first of all—God help uz—and oh! it was
thin that starvation began to stare us in the
face—‘Oh! murther, murlher, captain dar
lint,’ says I, ‘1 wish we could see land
anywhere,’ says I.
‘More power to your elbow, Paddy, my
boy,’ says he, ‘for sieli a good wish, and
throth it’s myself w ishes the same.’
‘Oh,’ says I, ‘that it may plase you,
sweet queen iv heaven, supposing it was
only a disolute island,’ says I, ‘inhabited
wid Turks, sure they would’nt be such
bad Christians as to refuse uz a bit and a
‘Whist, whist, Paddy,’ says the captain,
‘don’t Ire talkin’ bad of any one, says he,
MACON, GEORGIA, WEDNESDAY, DECEMBER IS, 1814.
you ‘don’t know how soon you may want
a good word put in litr yourself, if you
should Ite called to quarters in th’ other
world all ol a sudden,’ says he.
‘ J hrue for you, captain during,’ says I
—I called him clarlint, anil made free wid
him, you see, bekazedisthress maks uz all
equal—‘thrue lor you, captain, jewel—
God betune uz and* harm, 1 owne no man
suite’—and throth that was only thrutli.
VV ell, the hist hishkil was sarved out, and
by gor the leather itself was all gone at last,
and we passed the night mighty cowld—
well, at the htake o’day the sun riz most
heitulilul out of the waves, and was as
htiglit as silver and clear as crystal. But
it was more crule upon uz, tor we wor l>e
ginning to feel terribly hungry; when all at
wanst 1 thought I spied the land—by gor
I thought 1 felt my heart up in my throught
in a minnit, and ‘thunderher and*turf, cap
tain,’ says I, ‘look to leeward,’ says I.
‘What for,’ say's he.
‘1 think I see the land,’ says I. So he
ups with his bring-’m-neat—(that’s what
the sailor* raff a spy glass, sir,) and looks
out, and, sure enough it was.
‘Hurra!’ says he, ‘we’re all right now;
pull away, my boys,’ says he.
‘Take care you’re not mistaken,’ says I;
‘may he il’s only a fog bank captain dar
lint,’ says I.
‘Oh no,’ says lie, ‘it’s the land in air
‘Oh then, W'hereabouts in the wide
world are w’e, captain?’ says 1; ‘maybe it
id be in lloosia, or Proosia, or the Garman
Oceant,’ says I.
‘Tut, you tool,’ says hr—for he had that
consulted way wid him—thinkiu’ himself
cleverer nor any one else— tut, you fool,’
says he, ‘that’s France,' says he.
‘Tare and ouns,’ says 1, ‘do y’ou tell me
so? and how' do you know il’s France it
is, captain dear, says 1.
‘Bekase this is the bay o’ Bisliky we’ie
in now,’ says he.
‘Throth I was thinkin’ so myself, says
I, ‘by the rowd it has; for J often heerd avit
in regard to that same; and throili the likes
av it f never seen before nor since, and,
with the help o’ God never will.’
•Well, with that my heart began to
grow light, and when 1 seen my life was
sale, I began to grow twice hungrier nor
ever—so says 1, ‘Captain, jewel, I wish
we had a gridiron.’
*AN hy T then says he, ‘thunder and turf
says he, what putsa gridiron in your head.’
‘Bekase I’m starvin’ with hunger, says
‘And sure, bad luck to you,’ says he,
‘you couldn’t ate a gridiron,’ says he ‘bar
rin you wor a pelican 'o the wildherneis
‘Ate a gridiron!’ says I; ‘och, in throth
I’m not such a gommoch all out as that any
how. But sure if we had a gridiron we
could dress a beefsteak,’ says I.
‘Arrah! but where’s the beefsteak,’ says
‘Sure, couldn’t we cut a slice off the
pork,’ says I.
‘By gor, l never thought o’ that,’ says
the captain. ‘You’re a clever fellow, Pad
dy,’ says he. laughin.’
‘Oh there’s many a thrue word said in
joke’ says I.
‘Thrue for you, Paddy,’ says he.
‘Well then,’ says 1. ‘lt you put me
ashore there beyant,’ (tor we were near
ing the land all the time,) and shore lean
ax them to lind me the loan ofa gridiron,’
‘Oh, I)}' gor, the butther’s cornin’ out *o
the stir-about in airnest now,’ says he;
‘you gommoch,’ says he, ‘sure I towld you
before that’s France—and sure they’re all
furriners there,’ saj’S the captain.
‘Well, says I, ‘how do you know hut
I’m as good a furriner myself as any o’
‘What do you mane?’ says he.
‘1 mane,’ says I, what I towld you, that
I’m as good a furriner myself as any o’
‘Make me sinsible,’ says he.
‘By dad, maybe that’s more nor me, or
j greater nor me could do,’ says I—and we
| all began to laugh at him, for 1 thought I’ll
| pay him off for his bit o’ consait about the
‘Leave offyour humbuggin,’ says he, ‘I
bid you, and tell me what it is you mane
at ail, at all.’
* Parly voo Frongsay ,’ says I.
‘Oh, your humble sarvant,’ saj’s he,
‘why, by gor, you’re a scholar, Paddy.’
‘Throth you may say that,’ says 1.
‘Why, you’re a clever fellow, Paddy,’
says the captain, jeerin lik.
‘You’re not the iirst that said that,’ says
I, ‘whether you joke or no.’
‘Oh, but I’m in airnest,’ says the cap
tain —‘and do you tell me, Paddy, says
he, that you spake Frinch.’
‘ Parly voo Frongsay ,’ says I.
‘By gor that bangs Bannagher, and all
the world knows that Bannagher bangs
the devil—l niver met the likes of you
Paddy,’ says he—‘pull away, boys, and
put Paddy ashore, and maybe we won’t
get a belly full before long.
‘So with that it it was no sooner said nor
done—they pulled away and got close in
to shore in less than no time, and run the
boat up in a little creek, and a beautiful
creek it was, with a lovely white slhrand,
an iligant place for the ladies to bathe in
the summer —and out I got, and it’s stiff
enough in the limbs I was aflher being
cramp’d up in the boat, and perished with
the cowld and hunger; but I conthrived to
scramble on, one way or the other, tow’rds
1 a little bit iv a wood that was close to the
PRO PATRIA ET LEGIBI'S.
shore, and the smoke curlin’ oirt ov it quite
‘By the powhers o’ war, l*m all right,’
says 1; ‘there’s a house there—and sure
enough there was, and a parcel of men,
women and childer, ating their dinner
round a table quite eonvaynient. And so,
I wint up to the door, and I thought I’d be
very civil to thim, as I heerd the Frinch
was always mighty perlite entirely—and 1
thought I’d show them I knew what good
‘So 1 took off my hat, and making a low
bow says 1, ‘God save all here,’ says I.
‘Well, lobe sure, they all stopt ating at
wanst, and began to stare at me, and liritff
tliey almost looked me out of countenance
—and I thought to myself it was not good
manners at all—more to Ite taken from
furiincrs, which they call so mighty pilile;
but I niver minded that in regard of want
in’ the gridiron; and so says I, ‘I beg your
pardon,’ says I, ‘litr the liberty 1 lake, but
it’s only bein’ in distbress in regard o’
ating’ says I,‘llull make bowld lit throu
file yez, and if you could lind me the loan
of a gridiron, says I, I’d be inlirely obleeg
ed to ye.’
‘3y gor, they all stared at me twice
worse nor before, and with that says I,
(knowing what was in their minds,) ‘in
deed il’s thrue for you,* says I; ‘l’m lather
ed to pieces, nod God knows I lookquare
enough, buitgt’s by taison of the storm,’
says I, ‘whichdhruv us ashore here below,
and wer’e all starvin’ says I.
‘So then they began to look at each oth
er agin, and myself, seeing at warnst dirtj'
thoughts was in their heads, and that they
took me for a poor beggar coining to crave
charity—with that, says I, ‘Oh! not at all,’
says I, ‘by no manes, we have plenty o’
mate ourselves, there below, and we’ll
dhress it, if you would he plased to lind
us the loan of a gridiron, says I, makin’ a
‘Well, sir, with that throth they stared
at me twice worse nor ever, and faith I be
gan to think that the captain was wrong,
and that it was wrong, and that it was not
France at all—and so say s I—‘l beg par
don, sir,’ says I, to a fine ould man, with a
head of hair as white as silver—‘maybe
I’m undher a mistake,’ says I, but I
thought I was in France, sir; are’nt you
furri tiers?’ says I— l'arly roo Frongsay.'
‘We in unseer,’ says he.
‘Then would you lind me the loan of a
gridiron,’ says I, ‘lf you plazi ?
•Oh, it was thin that they stared at tne
as if 1 had sivin heads; and faith myself
began to feel fiustheted like, and onasay —
and so says I, making a bow and scrape
agin, but it’s only in regard of bein’ cast
away; anil if you plaze sir, says I, ‘ Parly
too Frongsay .’
‘We muusecr,’ says he mighty' sharp.
•Then would you lend me the loan of a
gridiron says I, ‘and you’ll obleege me.’
‘Well sir, the ould chap began to mun
seer me, but the divil a hit of a gridiron
he’d gie me, and so I began to think they
were all neygars, tor all their fine manners;
and throth, my blood iiegan lo rise, and
says 1, ‘By my sowl, if it was you in dis
tress, says 1, and if it was to ould Ire
land you kern, it’s not only the gridiron
they’d give you if you ax’d it, but sotne
lliing to put an it 100, and the dfirop o’
ilhrink into the bargain, and vend mile faille'
‘Well, the woril read mile fuiltc seemed
to sthreck his heart, anil the ould chap
cocked his ear and l thought I’d give him
another oiler, and make him sinsible at
last; and so says I, wanst more, quite slow,
that he might understand—‘Far/y—too™
‘We munseer,’ says he.
‘Thin linil me the loan of a gridiron,’
says I ‘and bad scran to you.’
‘Well, bad win to the bit of it he’d gie
me, and the ould chap begins bowin’ anil
scrapin’ and said something or other about
a long tongs.
•Poo!—the divil sweep yourself and
your tongs,’ says I, ‘I don’t want a tongs at
all, at all; but cant you listen to reason,’
says I —Parly roo Frongsay ?’
‘Then linil me the loan of a gridiron,’
says I, ‘ane howld your prate.’
‘Well, what would you think but he
shook his own noddle, as much as to say
he vvould’nt, and so says I, ‘bail cess to
the likes o’ that I ever seen—troth if you
were in my country it’s not that a-way
they’d use you; the curse of the crows an
ye, you owld sinner, says I, ‘the divil a
longer I’ll darken your door.’
‘So he seen l was vexed, and I thought
as 1 was turnin’ away, I seen him l»egin
to relint, and lhal his conscience throubfed
him; and says I, turnin’ back, ‘Well, I’ll
give you one chance more—you owld
thief—are you a Christian at all, at all?
are you a furriner?’ says 1, ‘that ail the
world calls so p’lite. Bad luck to you, do
you undherstand your own language?—
Parly roo FrongsayT says I. ‘We mun
seer,’ says he.
‘Then thundher and turf,’ says I, ‘will
you liud me the loan of a gridiron?’
‘Well, sir, the devil resave the bit of it
he’d give me—and so with that, ‘the curse
of the hungry an you, you owld negarly
villain,’ saya I; the back o’ my hand, and
the sowl of my lul to you; that you may
want a gridiron yourself, says I, and with
that I left ihem there, and kom away—
and in throth it’s often since that I thovghl
it was remarkable .’
The question, “should capital punish
ment be abolished,” is being discussed in
Philadelphia, in public mass meetings.
S. M. STRONG, Editor.
AG RI CULT URA L.
From the Floitglikecjisie Telegraph.
MIL BANCROFT’S ADDRESS.
Delivered at the Sew York State Agricultu
ral Fair, Poughkeepsie, on Thursday,
September 18, 1844
Mr. President and Gentlemen,
ok 'rue Agricultural Society;
Farmers of New Yotk —The hour of se
paration for the dazzling array of I eauty,
this vast multitude of men, is at hand.
Fruits richer than ever graced thegardens
of Pomona—a paradise of flowers—nee
dle work the most exact, delicate and
even—ingenious farming implements and
manufactures of all sorts, cloths of the fi
nest quality, from your own looms, and
from looms in Massachusetts—horses, fit
to win prizes at Olyinpia—cattle such as
never fell into a hectacomb to Jove, and
never were dreamed <>f by the highest ge
nius of the Dutch painters—all these and
more have arrested our gaze ami filled us
with wonder and dengl iIA nif now fam
commissioned to summon you, anil through
you the population of this common wealth
lo come up and join us, as under the uus
picesof the State, honor and distinction
are awarded lo agricultural industry and
A spectacle like this round me, of cul
ture, order, and the peaceful virtues, can
not be surpassed in the world. In this
hour, hushed be the spirit of party; be it
utterly exercised anil banished from this
enclosure, which is consecrated to the
peaceful triumphs of the agriculture and
industry of New York. (Applause.) We
yield on this occasion to no narrower sen
timents than the love of the country, and
of collective man. and we invoke the bles
sed influence of that universal Providence
which watches over the seed-time, and
matures the harvest. (Applause.)
The theme for this occasion is the Agri
culture of New York. But what need of
words to speak its praise! Look around
you. The cultivated earth is its own eu
logist. The teaming wealth that gushes
from its bosom—the returns of its industry
in every form that present themselves in
their abundance and perfection to our ne
ver wearied eyes—are the evidences of
its magnificence. The trees in our mar
ket-place, and on your hill-tops are older
than the settlement of civilized men in our
America; they are older than the presence
of the plough on the soil of New York;
they ure witnesses of the quite recent day
when your forests stepped down to your
river’s bank, and the glades and prairies
of your West were covered with useless
luxuriance. Anil behold the change
which little more than two centuries have
wrought; the earth subdued; the forest
glades adorned with the while spires of
churches, and gleaming with the light of
villages; towns nestling in every valley;
crowded cities, competing with the lar
gest of the eaitli—profusely supplied with
every article of food. And by whom has
this miracle been wrought? By the far
mers of New Yoik. (Applause.)
As I turn my eyes norlhvvord, along
the banks of the Hudson, my mind reverts
to tire memory of one of your ancient land
holders, who died before our Indepen
dence. Join with me, Farmers of New
York, in recalling the gentle and humane
Herbert 11. Livingston, the elder, the father
of the chancellor. His home was in your
vicinity ; his mind was gentle and firmly
though not passionately, devoted to your
service. An only son, husband of an only
daughter, father of those whom the world
will not soon forget; he was of so lovely a
nature, that it seemed as if the fragrant
atmosphere of spring, and the melody of
its sweetest birds, and the softest reflection
in your tranquil river of its grandest
scenes, hail blended together and melted
themselves into his soul. Peace to his
memory; let it not perish among you. Let
the lines on his monument be refreshed
Nor let me limit the achievements of the
farmers of New York to the subjection and
beautiful adornation of its soil. The great
works of internal communication, making
this State a wonder to the world, were
commenced by the enterprise of your
selvs, were undertaken when farmers held
power. Call to mind the immense struc
tures which make this State the astonish
ment of the world; its channels lor inward
communication carried upwards to the
waters o( the St. Lawrence, stepping a
side to the Ontario, and united attire north
west with the illimitable wilderness of our
inland seas; and then join me in paying
tribute to those who were the servants ol
the public mind in commencing this gi
gantic system. To De Witt Clinton , whose
capacious mind grasped in advance the
sum of its infinite benefits—whose energe
tic, vehement and commanding will, was
totheenterpriselike a powerful mill-stream
as it dashes on an overshot wheel of vast
dimensions. (Applause.) To Van Burcn,
who when the bill for the construction ot
the canal had almost been abandoned by
its earliest friends, put forth those noble
spirited, well remembered exertions,
i which resuscitated it when all seem fid lost
' and restored it to the approbation of your
' Legislature. (Applause.) Well might
] those chiefs in the world of opinions em
brace each other in the hours of their suc
' cess. If in action tliey were often divided
in this great service they share a common
But the Farmers of New York are not
content with improvements in the mater
ial world alone. From their generous iin-
, pulses springs your system of free schools.
They have proved themselves the liberal
benefactors of Academies anil Colleges.
Tliey, too, have been careful for the means
of rbeir own, special culture, and have
founded and nurtured societies for promo
ting Agriculture. For example of the vir
tues of private live, I name to you the for
mer of Westchester county, the pure and
spotless Jay, who assisted to frame our
first treaty of pence, which added Ohio
and the lovely West to our agriculture.
Side by side with him, I named the friend
of his youth, Robert It. Livingston, the
younger, the enlightened stateman of our
Revolution, whose expansive mind suc
ceeded in negocialing tor our country n
world beyond the Mississippi, and gained
access fur our flag to the gulf of Mexico.
Here, on the hanks of the Hudson, he is
celebrated as it were by every steamboat
and remembered on your farms tbro’ bis
experimental zeal. On this day be remem
bered the virtues of Stephen Van llens
sellaer, who first bro’t Durham cattle in
this State, and liberally diffused the breed.
Join with me also in a tribute to Mitch
ell, the faithful advocate, and perhaps in
stimtor, of one of the earliest agricuitural
sorieties; to Jesse Buel, who connected
science with fact, taught how the most
barren soil may be made vastly produc
tive, diffused his acquisitions by the press,
and by liti* and by precept was the farmers
friend, (applause;) to Willis Gaylord;
whose agricultural essays are standard
authorities, honorable to the man and to
the State; to Le Roy de Chaumonf, who
kept alive an agtii wllural society in Jef
fersoncounty, when all others had expi
red, and gave the impulse to the formation
of the State Society, of which he was the
first president; lo James Wardsworth, for
his skill as a cultivator, and still more ibr
his liberal exertions,pouringout thousands
after thousands, at the impulse ofagener
ous mind, as if from a well-spring of good
will, to promote agricultural science in
primary schools. (Great applause.) And
I should he wanting on the occasion, did I
not tender t lie expression of your regard
to the present president of the State Socie
ty, to the influence of that institution of
which he is the honored head; lo its Jour
nal of Agriculture, to its annual fairs. But
let me also entreat its friendly wishes to
its purpose of establishing an agricultural
school; and to that other more diffusive
design of introducing, through its secreta
ry, scientific works on agriculture into
school libraries. 1 am happy also to an
nounce that efforts are now making to con
stitute agricultural, as it deserves to be, a
branch of instruction in one, at least, of
your Universities. (Loud cheers.)
I have named to you some of the bene
factors of Agriculture in New York. Their
benefits endure. The pursuits of the far
mer bind him to home. Others may cross
continents anil vex oceans; the farmer
must dwell near the soil which he subdues
and fertilizes. His fortunes are fixed anil
immovable. 'Lite scene of bis youthful
labors is the scene ol his declining years;
he enjoys his own plantations, and takes
his rest beneath bis contemporary trees.
But the farmer is not limited to the nar
row circumference of his own domain; he
stands in relation with all ages and all
climes. Your society litis done wisely to
urgeon those who hear the Gospel to un
taught nations, to study their agriculture
and report !i>r comparison every variety'
ol tillage. All ages, all climates, contribute
to your improvement. For you are gath
ering ihejruils and seeds which centuries
of the existence of the human race have
discovered and rendered useful. Tell me
if you can, in what age and in what land
the cereal grasses were first found to pro
duce bread! Who taught to employ the
useful cow to furnish Ibod for man? When
was the horse first tamed to proud obe
dience? The pear, the apple, the cherry,
where were these first improved from their
wilderness in the original fruit? And
whose efforts led the way in changing the
rough skin of the almond to the luscious
sweetness of the peach? All ages have
paid their tribute to your pursuit. And
ibr you the sons of science are now scour
ing every heath, and prairie, anil wilder
ness, to see ifsome new grass lies hidden
in an unexplored glade; some rude stock
of the forests can oiler anew fruit to the
hand of culture. For you the earth reveals
the innumerable beds of marl; its mineral
wealth, the gypsum and the lime, have re
mained in store tor your use from the days
of creation.—For you Africa and the
isles of the Pacific open their magazines
of guano; for. you (turning to John A.
King and some other gentlemen from
Long Island) Old Ocean heaves up its fer
tilizing weeds.—(Great applause.)
And as the farmer receives aid from
every part of the material world, so also
is bis door open to all intelligence. What
truth is riot welcome as an inmate under
his own roof? To what pure and gener
ous feeling does he fail to give a home ?
The great poets and authors of all times
are cherished as his guests. Milton and
Shakspeare, and their noble peers, cross
his threshold to keep birn company. For
him, too, the harp of Israel’s minstrel
monarch was strung; tor him the lips of
Isaiah still move, ail touched with fire ;
(Applause) and the apostles of the new
covenant are his daily teachers. No oc
cupation is nearer heaven. The social
angel, when hec’cscended loconverse with
men, broke bread with tbe husbandman
beneath the tree.
[At this moment, Mr. Van Buren ap
peared and took his seat with the officers
and other gentlemen upon the platlorm.
He was received with the warmest en
thusiasm, and it was some time before si
lence was restored so as to enable Mr.
Bancroft to proceed.]
Thus the farmer’s mind is axalted; his
principles stand as firm as your own High
lands; his good seed flows like self-mo
ving waters. Yet in his connection with
the human race the farmer never looses
his patriotism. He loves America—is
1 the depository of her glory and the guar.