The republic. (Macon, Ga.) 1844-1845, December 18, 1844, Image 1

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////; kejpujujlic 9 is PUBLISHED EVERT WEDNESDAY, OVER J. D. WINN’S BRICK STORE. COTTON AVENUE, MACON, GA. AT *j,oo PER ANNUM, IN ADVANCE. BATES OF ADVERTISING, &.C. Out- square, of 100 words, or less, in small type, *• cents l«>f tl ,e *t fsl insertion, and 50 cents lor each übsequent insertion. * \il advertisements containing more than 100 and Hi.m 200 words, will be charged as two sqnaies. l'i\early advertisers, a liberal deduction will be " sales of I.and, bv Administrators, Executors, - (iuaruians, are required by law to lie held on the • Tuesday in the month, between the hours of ,ir ' j n ,| R . fhreuoon, and three in the afternoon, at 'l" Court House in the county in which the pro 'llrtv is situated. Notice of these must lie given Sa a public gaeelte, sixty days previous to the day 01 Voice to debtors and creditors of an estate, u< t lie published forty days. Bl Notice that application will lie made totheCouri f Ordinary lor leave to sell land, must lie publish f J four months. Sales of Negroes mnst lie made at public auc (in the first Tuesday of the month, between !|e'W»l houm sale, at’lhe place of public sales, ihi county wliere the letters testamentary, ol '"liitinislration of guardianship, shall have lieen "rnited, sixty days notice being previously given Vone <>f the public gazettes of this Slate, and at |l ie ( | (M , r ( ,f the Court House where such sales are „> he held. V,nice for leave to sell Negroes must lie pub |,ied li»r four months before any order absolute he made thereon by the Court, ill business of this nature will receive prompt iiiennun a. the office of THE REPUBLIC. HUBIXEBS CARDS. FI.OVB HOUSE. 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. CLOTHING STORE. HVst side Mulberry Street, next door below the Big Hat. 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 Store. 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, M AHIFACTORY. 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 I Hotel. 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, dealer in >KV GOODS AXD GKOCF.ItIES. Cl "', Georgia. Ocl. 19, 1844. l-ll J. M. BOA 11DMAN, DKAI.KIt IN ‘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 CHANT. 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. D , «,*'*■ 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. VOLIJIE 1. MISCEL L a N Y. TIIE GRIDIRON; 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 honor.’ ‘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 accomplished people.’ ‘Troth then, they’re not, sir,’ interrupts Fat. ‘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 lantic itself. ‘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 sup.’ ‘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 nest.’ ‘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 says he.’ ‘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 lip. ‘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,’ says I. ‘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’ thim. ‘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’ ; them. ‘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 Garmont Oceant. ‘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 timptin like. ‘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 mariners was. ‘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 low how. ‘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™ Frongsay, inunseer?’ ‘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 ?’ ‘We munseer.’ ‘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. NUMBER 10. 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 genius. 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 and deepened. 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 glory. (Applause.) 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.