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From the IVYm England. Review.
THE WIFE.
p h-'.vo been with thee in thy hour
!f||Ot glory and of bliss.—
/mht not its mamory’s living power
To strengthen me, through this?’
gtijSUc was a beautiful girl, when l first saw
liw. She was standing up at the side of her
.or at the marriage altar. She was slightly
Ifile —yet ever and anon as the ceremony
■Srocecdcd a fainting of crimson crossed her
i Beautiful cheek like the reflection of a sun
| lit cloud upon the clear waters of a cjuiet
■ ike. Her fever, a,s he clasped her delicate
i land withiu his own, gazed on her for a mo
ment with unmingled admiration, and the
frarm and eloquent blood played upon his
1 heck, shadowing at intervals his manly fore
f Jcad, and ‘melting into beauty on his 1 ip.’
He stood in the pride of his youth—a fair
form,
With his feelings yet noble, his spirit yet
warm, —
in Eagle to sheltcrtfhe dove with his wing,
An-elm where the light twining tendrils
might cling.’
And they gave themselves to one another
! —arid every heart blessed them as they went
their way rejoicing in their love.
Years passed on, and again I saw those
povers. They were seated together, where
.he light of a summer sunset stole through
the half closed and crimson curtains, lend-
a richer tint to the delicate carpeting,
land the exquisite embellishments of the rich
‘and gorgeous apartment. Time had slightly
' changed them in outward appearance. The
•girlish buoyancy of the young wife had in
deed given place to the grace of perfected
womanhood, and her lip was somewhat [taler,
and a faint line of care was slightly percepti
ble upon her beautiful brow, ller husband’s
trow, too, was marked somewhat more deeply
than his years might warrant—anxiety, am
bition, and pride had come over it, and left
their traces upon it, —a silver hue was min
gling wifii the darkness of his hair, which
had become thined around his temples, al
most to baldness. He was reclining on the
splendid Ottoman with his face half hidden l>y
his hand, as if he feared that the deep and
troubled thoughts, which oppressed him
were visible upon his features.
‘Edward, you arc ill to-night’—said his
tvife in a low, sweet, and half inquiring voice,
as she laid her hand upon his own.
Tne husband raised himself from the alti
tude slowly, and a slight frown knit his brow.
Ham not ill,’ he said somewhat abruptly, and
he folded his arms upon his bosom, as if he
Wished no interruption of his evidently hitter
thoughts.
indifference from those we love, is te rri-
riblc to the sensitive bosom. It is as if the
sun of Heaven refused his wonted cheerful
ness, and glared down upon us with a cold,
ditn, and forbidding glance.* It is dreadful to
feel that the only being of our love refuses to
tisk your sympathy—that he broods over feel*
ings which he scorns, or fears to reveal:
dreadful to watch the convulsing feature and
the gloomy brow—the indefinable shadows of
hiddep emotions—the involuntary signs of a
sorrow in which we are forbidden to partici
pate, and whose character we cannot know.
The wife essayed once more. ‘Edward,’
she said slowly, mildly and affectionately ,-*•
‘the time has been, when you were willing to
confide your secret joys and sorrows to one
'whohas never,l trust, betrayed your confi,
dencc. Why then, dear Edward, is this cru
el reserve. You arc tronblcd, aud yet you
refuse to tell me the cause.’
Something of ieturning tenderness soften
ed, for an instant, the cold severity of the
husband’s feature, but it passed away, and a
bitter smile was hjs only reply.
Time passed on, and the twain were separa
ted from each other. The husband sat
gloomily and alone in the damp cell of a dun
geon. He had followed Ambition as his God,
and had failed in his high career. He had
mingled with men whom his heart loathed—
he had sought out the fierce and wronged
spirits of his land, and had breathed into them
the spirit of revenge. He had drawn his
sword against his country, he had fanned re
bellion to a flame, which had been drenched
in human blood. He had fallen, miserably
fallen, and had been doomed to die the death
of a traitor.
It was his last night of life. To morrow
was the day appointed for his execution.—He
saw the suit sink behind the green hills of
the west, as he sat by the dim grate of his
dungeon with a feeling of unutterable
horror. lie felt that it was the last sun that
would set to hirn. It would cast its next le
vel .and sunset rays upou his grave—upon
the grave of a dishonored traitor!
The door of his dungeon opened! anti a light
form entered and threw herself into his arms.
The softened light of sunset fell upon the
pale brow aud wasted cheek of his once beau
tiful wife.
‘Edward—my dear Edward,’ she said, ‘1
have come to save you.’ 1 have reached you,
after a thousand difficulties, and 1 thank God
that my purpose is nearly accomplished.
Misfortune had softened the proud heart of
manhood, and the husband pressed his pale
wife to his bosom, a tear trembling on his
eye-lash. ‘I have not deserved this kind
ness,’ he murmured in the choked tones of
convulsive agony.
‘Edward,’ said his wife in an earnest, but
faint and low voice, which indicated extreme
and fearful delibity,‘we have not a moment
to lose. By an exchange of garments you
’..i1l be enabled to pass out unnoticed. Fear
nothing forme, I arn a woman, and they will
•not injure me for my efforts in behalf of the
husband, dearer than life itself.’
Margaret,’ said* the husband,.‘you
look sadly ill. You cannot breathe the air of
this dreadful cell.’
‘Oh, speak not of me, my dcaraet Edward,’
said the devoted woman. ‘I can endure eve
ry thing for your sake. Haste, Edward—
haste, and all will he well/ and she aided
v. ith a trembling hand, to disguise the proud
farm of her husband in a female garb.
‘Farewell, my love, iny preserver’—whis
p- rod the husband in the ear of his disguised
v.’fe as the oltice-r sternly reminded the sup
lad;-, the tiio*- a-ll.'tt and fey h- r ryit
Tifll MACON ADVERTISER, AND AGRICULTURAL AND MERCANTILE INTELLIGENCER.
had expired. ‘Farewell—we shall meet
again,’ responded his wife—and the husband
passed out unsuspected, and cacapcd the en
emies of his life.
I hey did meet again—that wife and hus
band—but only as the dead may meet—in
the awful cumuningsof another world.—Af
fection had borne up her exhausted spirit,
until the last great purpose of her exertions
was accomplished in the safety of her hus
band; and when the bell tolled on the mor
row, and the prisoner’s cell was opened, the
guards found wrapped in the habiliments of
their destined victim, the pale but still beau
tiful corps of the devoted Wife.
MOIML.
“Not one immoral, one corrupted thought,
“One word, when dying, he would wish to blot.”
HAPPINESS.
This significant term, the most frequent,
and the most familiar, in our conversation, is,
perhaps, on reflection, the least understood.
It serves to express our satisfaction, when any
desire is gratified; it is pronounced with a
sigh, when our object is distant: it means
w hat we wish to obtain, and what we seldom
stay to examine.. NVe estimate the value of
every subject by its utility, and its influence
on happiness ; but we think that utility itself
and happiness, require no explanation.
Those men arc commonly esteemed the
happiest, whose desires are most frequently
gratified. But if, in reality, the possession of
what they desire, and a continued fruition,
were requisite to happiness, mankind for the
most part would have reason to complain of
their lot. What they call their enjoyments,
are generally momentary; and the object of
sanguine expectation, when obtained, no lon
ger continues to occupy the mind: anew
passion succeeds, and the imagination, as be
fore, is intent on a distant felicity.
How many reflections of this sort arc sug
gested by melancholy, or by the effects of that
very languor and inoccupation into which we
would willingly sink, under the notion of free
dom from care and trouble ?
When we enter on a formal computation of
the enjoyments or sufferings which are pre
pared for mankind, it is a chance but we find
that pain, by its intenseness, its duration, or
frequency, is greatly predominant. The ac
tivity and eagerness with which we press from
one stage of life to another, our unwillingness
to return on the paths we have trod, our aver
sion in age to renew the frolics of youth, or
to repeat in manhood the amusements of
children, have been accordingly stated as
proofs, that our memory of the past, and our
feeling of the present, are equal subjects of
dislike and disjdeasurc.
This conclusion, however, like many oth
ers, drawn from our supposed knowledge of
causes, does not correspond with experience.
In every street,, in every village, in cvery
field, the greater number of persons we meet,
carry an aspect that is cheerful and thought
less, indifferent, composed, busy or animated.
The labourer whistles to his team, and the
mechanic is at ease in his calling; the frolick
some & gay feel a series of pleasures of which
we know not the source; even they who de
monstrate the miseries of human life, when
intent on their argument, escape from their
sorrows, and find a tolerable pastime in prov
ing that men are unhappy.
flu: very terms pleasure and pain, perhaps
are equivocal; but if they are confined, as
they appear to be in many of our reasonings,
to the mere sensations \v hich have a refer
ence to external objects, either in the memo
ry of the past, the feeling of the present, or
the apprehension of the future, it is a great
error to suppose, that they comprehend all the
coustitnents of happiness or misery ; or that
the good humour of an ordinary life is main
tained by the prevalence of those pleasures,
which have their separate names, and are, on
reflection, distinctly remembered.
The mind, during the greater part of its ex
istonce, is employed in active exertions, not
in merely attending to its own feelings of
pleasure or pain; and the list of its faculties,
understanding, memory, foresight, sentiment,
will , and intention, only contains the names
of its different operations.
If, in the absence of every sensation to
which we commonly give the names either of
enjoyment or suffering, our very existence may
have its opposite qualities of happiness or
misery; and if what we call pleasure or pain
occupies but a small part of human life, com
pared to what passes in contrivance and exe
cution, in pursuits and expectations, in con
duct, reflection, and social engagements, it
must appear, that our active pursuits, at least
oh account of their duration, deserve the
greater part of our attention. When their
occasions have failed, the demand is not for
pleasure, but for something to do ; and the
very complaints of a sufferer are not so sure a
mark of distress, as the stare of the languid.
We seldom, however, reckon any task,
which we are bound to perform, among the
blessings of life. We always aim at a period
of pure enjoyment, or a termination of trou
ble; and overlook the source from which most
of our present, satisfactions are really drawn.
Ask the busy, where is the happiness to which
they aspire ? they will answer, perhaps, that
it is to be found in the object of some present
pursuit. If we ask, why they arc not miser
able in the absence of that happiness ? they
will say, that they hope to attain it. But is it
hope alone that supports the mind in the
midsts of precarious and uncertain prospects?
And would assurance of success fill the inter
vals of expectation with more pleasing emo
tions ? Give the huntsman his prey, give the
gamester the gold which is staked on the game
that the one may not need to fatigue his per
son, nor the other to perplex, his mind, and
both will probably laugh at our folly: the one
will stake his money anew, that he may be
perplexed; the other will turn his stag to the
field, that he may hear the cry of the dogs, A
follow through danger and hardship. With
draw the occupations of men, terminate their
desires, existence is a burden, and the itcra
ation of memory is a torment.
The men of this country, says one lady,
should learn to sew and to knit; it would hin
der their time from being a burden to them
selves, and to other people. This is true,
says another; for my part, though I never
look abroad, T tremble at the prospect of bad
v, c-.‘hc'; fur ;h**u IV* g'-r ’l :urn come mop
ing to us for entertainment; and the sight of
a husband in distress, is but a melancholy
spectacle.
The difficulties and hardships of human
life are supjaiscd to detract from the goodness
of God; yet many of the pastimes men devise
for themselves are fraught with difficulty and
danger. The great inventor of the game of
human life, knew well how toaccoindute the
players. Ihe chances are matter of com
plaint; but if these were removed, the game
itself would no longer amuse the parties. In
devising, or in executing a plan, iu being
carried on the tide of emotion and sentiment,
the mind seems to unfold its being, and to en
joy itself. Even where the end and the ob
ject are known to be of little avail, the talents
and the fancy are often intensely applied, A
business or play may amuse them alike. We
only desire repose to recruit our limited and
our wasting force: when business fatigues
amusement is often but a change of occupation
We are not always unhappy, even when we
complain. There is a kind of affliction which
makes an agreeable state of the mind; and
lamentation itself is sometimes an expression
of pleasure. The painter and the poet have
laid hold of this handle, and find, among the
means of entertainment, a favourable recep
tion for works that are composed to awaken
our sorrows.
i o a being of this description, therefore, it
is a blessing to meet with incentives to ac
tion, whether in the desire of pleasure, or the
aversion to pain, Ilis activity is of more im
portance than the very pleasure lie seeks,
and languor a greater evil than the suffering
he shuns.
1 lie gratifications of animal appetite are
of short duration ; and sensuality is but a dis
temper of the mind, which ought to be cured
by remembrance, if it were not perpetually
inflamed by hope. The chase is not mor'e
surely terminated by the death of the game,
than the joys of the voluptuary by the means
of completing hisdebauch. Asa band of so
ciety, as a matter of distant pursuit, the ob
jeets of sense make an important part in the
.system of human life. They lead us to fulfil
the purposes of nature, in preserving the in
dividual, and in perpetuating the" species;
bnl to rely on their use as a principal con
stituent of happin ss, were an error in specu
lation, ami would be still more an error in
practice. Even the master of the seraglio,
-or whom all the treasures of empire are ex
torted from the hoardsof its frighted inhabit
ants, lor w om alone the choicest emerald A
the diamond are drawn from the mine, for
whom every breeze is enriched with per
mutes, lor whom beauty is assembled from
every quarter, and, animated by passions that
ripen under the vertical sun, is confined to the
grate for his use, is still, perhaps, more wretch
ed than the very herd of the people, whose la
bipuis and properties are devoted to relieve
him of trouble, and to procure him enjoy
ment. J •
b'i nsuality is easily overcome by any of the
habits oi pursuit which usually engage an ac
tive mind. When curiosity is awake, or
when passion is excited, even in the midst of
the feast when conversation grows warm,
grows jovial, oi serious, flic pleasures of the
table we know arc forgotten. The boy con
temns them ior play, and the man of age de
clines them lor business.
Mhcn we reckon the circumstances that
correspond to the nature of any animal, or to
that of man in particular, such as safety, shel
ter, food, and the other means of enjoyment,
or preservation, we sometimes think that we
hav? found a sensible and a solid foundation
on w hich to rest his felicity. But those who
are least disposed to moralize, observe, that
happiness is not connected with fortune, al
though fortune includes at once all the means
ol subsitence, and the means of subsistence,
ana the means of sensual indulgence. The
circumstances that require abstinence, cour
age, and conduct, expose us to hazard, and
are in description of the painful kind ; yet the
able, the bravo, and the ardent, s> em most to
enjoy themselves when placed in the midst of
ililliculfies, and obliged to employ the powers
they possess. —Ferguson
AGRICULTURAL.
Advantages to be derived'.from the destruction
of weeds.
Tlants that grow naturally, among a crop,
that has been sown, may be regarded as weeds,
or, in other words, as enemies to the crop that
is cultivated. The destruction of weeds, there
fore, must he considered as one of the most
important branches of the agricultural art;
for if it be neglected, or even if slovenly
performed, one third, or one half of a fair
crop, may only be obtained, even from the
very best soils. Besides, it merits consider
ation that if weeds are suffered to exist, the
lull advantages of manuring land, and many
other improvements, can only be but partially
reaped. Nor is this all; the mixture of weeds
in the soil, prevents Ihe crop from receiving
the beneficial influence of the air;—augments
the risks at harvest,(for acrop that is clean,may
be ready for the stackyard in much less time
than is required to harvest it, when encumber
ed with weeds;)and the seeds of these intru
ders deteriorate the quality of the grain. Not
withstanding all the injuries thence sustained,
how many are there, who hardly ever attempt
to remove weeds in an effectual manner?
1 his negligence is the more to be blamed,
because, were farmers at the trouble of collect
ing all sorts of weeds,before they have formed
their seeds and of mixing- them with
rich earth, they would soon he reduced into
a soft pulpy mass, and nr this way a pernicious
nuisance might be converted into a valuable
manure.
Various experiments have been tried to ascer
tain the positive advantage derived from care
fully weeding one part of a field,and leaving an
other part undone;among these, the following,
made with peculiar accuracy, may be safe
ly relied on.
1. HVicaf.—Seven acres of light gravellv
bind were fallowed, and sown broad cast;
one acre was measuacd oil, and not a wood
was pulled out oi it; the other six were careful
ly weeded. The unweeded acre produced 18
bushels; the six weeded acres, 135 bushels,
or 22-j per acre, wh ch is 4.J bushels, or one
fourth more produce* in favor of weeding.
2. Barley. —A six acre field was sown.with
barley, in fine tilth, and well manured. The
woed'er*. owing to r gr r- at abundance of char-'
lock, cost 12s. per acre. The produce of an un- i
weeded acre was only 13 bushcls;of the weed- 1
ed, 28. Difference in favour of weeding,
15 bushels per acre, besides the land being
so much cleaner for succeeding crops.
3. Oats. —Six acres sown with oats; one
acre ploughed but once and unmanured,
produced only 17 bushels. Another six acres
plougncd three times, manured, and weeded,
produced 37 bushels per acre. This experi
ment proves, that oats require good manage
ment, and will pay for it as well as other crops-
Ten bushels of the increased produce may
be fairly attributed to the weeding; and the
other ten to the manurt:.
The importance of weeding, both to the
individual arid to the public is such, tint it
ought to be enforced by law. At any rate
a regulation of police, for fining those who
harbour weeds, the seeds of which may be
blown into their neighbor’s ground, can have
no injustice in principle. In England the
petty constable, might he required by pre
cept from the high constable, to give in
to the quarter sessions, containing a list of all
persons who suft'ed weeds to run to seed in
their hedge or lands, such presetments to he
particularly specified to the court. Those re
ferring to the coltsfoot, to he given in at the
Ladyday sessions : and those referring to
thistles, rag-weed, Ac. to be given in at Mid
summer sessions. An order of court mi "lit
then be made, for the immediate removal of
such nuisances, and if not complied with, the
offender shouid be fined a sum not exceeding
five pounds, one half to the informer, and the
other half to go to the relief of the poor.
If in consequence of such a system being
enforced, 4 2 busheis of wheat; —15 do. of
barley,—lo do. of oats additional, were rais
ed in all the fields in the kingdom, whose
crops are injured by weeds, what benefits
might not be the result ?—lndeed if such a
plan were to take place, and if the overseers
were compelled, by an express statute, to
employ the poor, in the destruction of weeds,
England might, in process of time, become
as free from that nuisance, as China or Japan;
and the farmers would soon find, that however
anxious they may be, to have their lands
tithc-frcc, yet to have them weed free, is of
still greater importance.
On the whole, keeping his land in a clean
! state, ought to be a principal object with eve
ry farmer ; and if this be not carefully attend
ed to, he may rest assured of paying dearly
for his neglect. But the lossses which he
suffers, do not remedy the injury which the
public sustains from his slovenly conduct.—
Tiie regulations, therefore, which have been
suggested, may be considered as both expe
dient and necessary ; for were they adopted
it is evident, that many of the evils alluded to
would be removed, and the wealth and agri
cultural resources of the nation, materially
augmented. —Sinclair's Code of Agriculture.
;z
Convention of Teachers. —ln this paper of
tho 15th April last, we adverted to plan pro
posed by Air. F. D. Cummins of Macon, for
the purpose of consolodating the efforts of
school teachers, and improving the method
of instruction heretofore pursued in tile educa
tion of youth. Public attention was first
called to the subject by a communication in
the Macon Telegraph of Dec. 11th, followed
by another in the early part of April of the
present year. His proposition was, “that the
teachers of every county in the State, should
attend on the day of the next general elec
tion, at the respective Court Houses, and in
the usual way, vote for one or two, as their
represntatives; and a certificate from the pre
siding officer of tho election, would entitle to
elect to a seat in the Convention.” He also
proposed that the Convention should meet in
Macon, in December next. We are happy
to perceive that the suggestions offered by-
Mr. Cummins, and which, should they be at
tended with success, will have achieved much
good to the State, have elicited an address to
the teachers of Georgia, from the Rev. Dr.
Brown, Principal of the Scottsboro’ Female
Institute, calculated from the feeling and im
pressive manner in which it is written, pow
erfiiilv to aid in the promotion of the desired
object. If there is one State in the Union
which more than another needs a uniform
and efficient system of instruction—if there
is one whore qualifications of the teachers
should be made the subject of more scrupu
lous inquiry, to prevent the frauds so often
practised by the ignorant and superficial, up
on an unsuspecting community, it is this.—
Were every school now established within the
limits of Georgia, conducted by teachers pos
sessing the necessary requirements for the
able and faithful discharge of their duties;
were the system of instruction the same
throughout, and thajt system one of acknowl
edged superiority, then we might look for
visible improvement in the intellectual char
acter of the rising generation, even thoug l no
greater number of teachers should be employ,
ed ; hut while the present course is pursued,
the advantages of a good education can only
be realized by the few who are able to incur
great expense. We do hope that this sub
ject will be taken into immediate and seri
ous consideration, and disposed of as the
best interests of the State may require.
As to the manner by w hich the desired re
form is to be brought about, we beg leave to
oiler our individual opinion in favor of the
plan proposed by Mr. Cummins. The place
we conceive to be suitable in every respect.
Macon is central, and offers as great facili
ties for aiding.thc deliberations of a literary
assemblage, as perhaps any town in the State.
The principle of the elective representation
is in our opinion preferable to any other; and
by acting on this principle at the next gener
al election, as Mr. Cummins has suggested,
we think a Convention w ould he sooner as
sembled, more generally attended, and repre
sent more accurately the great body of teach
ers in Georgia. Its aspect would besides be
more imposing; it would assume an air of
greater authority; its influences would he
more immediately felt, and a greater concert
and more efficient action among teachers
would be the result.
We have noticed, since the above article
was prepared, a communication from the Rec
tor of the Ocmulgee Academy to the editor f
the Journal, in which he rocommends the
preparatory convention to be held at Mil
ledgevillc. It makes but little difference
ivhciS r Mill I;™!! nr Mr :V •pi •
chosen for the Convention to be held, either
would be suitable ; but it is necessary to the
success of the project that some point should
be speedily and unanimously fixed upon.—
W e proposed Macon as being central, and the
first place suggested.— Athenian. 1
ANDREW JACK*O\.
The New Orleans Louisiana Advertiser
nominates JACKSON for the Presidency,
the ensuing term—coupling the nomination
with the following tributary certificates..
DEMOCRATIC REPUBLICAN CANDIDATE.
FOR PRESIDENT,
Andrew Jackson.
ELECTION IN 1832.
“The MAN and his MEASURES. Equal
Protection to Agriculture, Manueac
tuues, and Commerce :— A literal construc
tion of the Constitution, an exercise of ex
press, not implied [lowers; A firm adherence
to DEMOCRATIC J’RINCIPLES to INDIVIDUAL
AND MUNICIPAL RIGHTS to the SOVREIGNTV OF
THE states , and the SOVREIGNTY Or
THE PEOPLE.”
“Honor awl Gratitude to the man who has
filed the measures of his country's fdorii." —
JEFFERSON.
“Gen. JACKSON justly enjoys in an emi
nent degree, the public favor; and of his
worthy talents and services, no one entertains
a higher or more respectful opinion than my
self. An officer whose services entitle him
to the highest rewards, and whose whole ca
reer has been signalized by the purest in
tentions and the most elevated purposes.”
JOHN QUINCY ADAMS.
“My friendship for Gen. JACKSON, and
the strong proofs of confidence aid regard 1
have given him, while President, forbids me
taking any part against him in the ensuing
Presidential election.”
JAMES MONROE.
“The recollections of the public relations
in which I stood to Gen. JACKSON, while
President, and the proofs given to him of the
high estimation in which he was held by me,”
Ac. - JAMES MADISON.
“Gen. JACKSON is a clear headed, strong
minded man, and has more of lhe Roman in
him than any man now living.” *
TIIOMAS J E FFERSON.
“Towards that distinguished Captain, who
has shed so much GLORY on our country,
whose renown constitutes so great a portion
of its moral property, I never had, I never can
have, any other feeling than those of the most
profound respect, and of the utmost kindness."
IIENRY CLAY.
| “In ANDREW JACKSON, a commander
I in the division of the South, the President
found a man fit for any emergency : a states
man, cool and dispassionate; a soldier, ter
rible in battle, and mild in victory; a patri
ot, whose bosom swelled with the love of
country ;in line, a man whose like we shall
scarce look upon again.”
JAMES MOM ROE.
“It is fortunate for the country, that Gen.
JACKSON is likely to he fit for public life at
the end of the present four years ; for him is
the only hope left of avoiding the dangers
manifestly about to arise out of the broad
construction now given to the constitution of
the United States, [by President Adams]
which effaces all limitations of powers, and
leaves the general government, by theory, al
together unrestrained.”
TIIOS. JEFFERSON, in 1825.
COUNTERFEITS & COUNTERFEITERS.
From the intelligence that we have of late
received from all parts of the Union, we are
confident there is more counterfeit paper in
circulation at this time than at any former
period in our recollection; and so excelling
skilful have those persons become in imita
ting the best executed plates of our most cel
ebrated artists, that bank officers have not
unfrequently received counterfeit notes on
their own banks in deposit. If such be the
fact, and we have the best authority for say
ing so, (the testimony of the Bank officers
themselves,) wnat must be the condition of
thousands of persons in business, who are,
from the circumstance of their handling but
a small amount of paper, unable to detect the
counterfeit—and it is not only the merchant,
but the manufacturer and farmer are also lia
ble to be deceived in every note that thev
take- In order to point out how the farmers
in this state are occasionally swindled, we
will mention the fact of one, who had dis
posed of liis stock, and came to this city for
the purpose of making purchases, when an
examination of his notes, by competent judg
es, but one half of the amount was found to be
genuine. Country merchants also, on arri
ving in this market to buy goods, frequently
find that they have been deceived by having ,
one, two, or three bad bills in as many hun
dred dollars- And it is not only the loss of
the bill that lias been taken by the man of
business, but it creates a want of confidence
in his future operations, which deters him j
from making many a profitable speculation,
fearing that he may ultimately lose in a simi
lar manner.
M e are convinced from every days obser
vation, that there is an organized body of strol
ling counterfeiters, who travel from state to
state for the purpose of giving currency to
their unlawful paper: and one reason why
they are not more fiequcntly detected, is the
fact of our citizens giving too much credence
to their statements. If a note is doubted,
the person who attempts to pass it states that
lie relieved it from some indiviuual, which too
often answers his purpose, and he is allowed
to pursue his course unmolasted. This is a
fact well known, and calls loudly for every
citizen to endeavour, by every means in his!
power, to aid the detection of these public I
robbers. '
If the Legislatures of the different states
would pass a law- empowering the officers of
banks to cross every counterfeit nr spurious
note that is presented, no matter whether it is
on their own bank or not, it would no doubt
have a very salutary effect; and we are cor
tain that no corny t businessman would oh.
ject to having a bill crossed, if it is rcallv bad;
lie can just as easily recover the amount of the
person that he received it from as though it
jiad never been sullied with a drop of in?<
lie circumstance of the note being bad. will
answef every purpose in a prosecution.
BCnil Itoads.
r . Rail Road*
This wonderful increase of population and
trade is certainly not to be attributed to [>osi
tiou merely ; it is hut a short time since Lon
don on the East and Bristol on the West of
England, did most oi the shipping business.
Liverpool is now superior to Bristol. But
for her artificial navigation and other im
provements, how would it have been possi
hie to attract the trade from such a port as
Bristol, on the same side of tlic island and
nearer to the course of ships trading with the
rest ol the world. The people of Liverpool
did not set down supinely, but by their exer
tions afforded facilities, and gave induce
ments to trade, which have made it the great
est cotton market in the world, and increas
ed the prosperity of England, and particular
ly of all those places more immediately con
nected with Liverpool and Manchester. But
they who acted so wisely, and fared so well
did not intend to be idle for the future; they
lately set on foot a plan, and have, with be
coming spirit executed Jt ; by which, if they
have not lifted up Manchester and carried It
to Liverpool, they have done better. They
have left the towns, to occupy their old sites
but they have enlarged their boundaries •
their space is increased, whilst the distance
between them is almost abolished- In place
of taking thirty-six hours to carry goods, and
four hours to convey passengers,, they now
carry the former in three hours, and the latter
in half that time. If the life of mam be esti
mated by the space through which he moves,
or the quantity of work he performs-, or the
pleasures he may enjoy, those who deal be
tween Manchester and Liverpool, may fed
that their lives arc lengthened, that space
whilst it remains for all desirable purposes,,
is almost abolished for those that arc nut so.
Anew impetus has been given to rail,
roads, and when we examine the simplicity
of their construction, the greater choice if
location of which they admit, and their d'v
uiinished first cost, as compared with canals'
—1 he increased speed, certainly, safety and
pleasure they afford for the transportation of
persons with their property—we arc only sur
prised that they arc but now assuming in pub
lic estimation their true relative value. Tin y
are not ol very recent discovery; in a rude
form, they hsve long since been used. But
like all other artificial works, the construc
tion ol them has been improved by being
•simplified. It is said that wooden tracks for
the wheels to run in were long ago used in
Russia, and as early as 1(371 they were used
(or the transportation of coal near Newcastle
in England.
As wood is become scarce, and iron is now
plcntilully and cheaply obtained in England,
it has been substituted for wood, and by af
fording a more solid and smooth track for the
rolling ol the wheels, as well as greater dura
bility, is incomparably preferable. Iron
rail-ways were originally introduced at the
great foundcry of Colcbrook Dale, about
1786. The first form in which they were
used, was called the train rail; the rail was
a flat surface in parallel tracks, separated at
i a distance that admitted the wheels always
to be kept on them, by a tram, or rais and go.
on the inner side of the rail. Inconsequence
of this form, dirt and gravel accumulated on
the rail, and greatly diminished the smooth,
hard, and even surface so impotent in rolling.
The improvement consists in making the rail
without a tram or guide, and fastening it into
a thin, broad form ; presenting the edge for
the wheel to roll on it lias thus acquired the
name of the edge rail; the angles of the top
arc rounded off’, so that the wheel (as it rolls)
!is continually pressing off’on the sides, all dirt
or other materials that would accumulate.—
The edge is usually of the same breadth with
that of the circumference of the wheel, that
is from two to three inches.
Each wheel is prevented from running off
on the outer edge of its own rail, by a flange
or guide around the inner face of its run,
projecting below the surface of the rail ©u
the inner side an inch and a half or two inch
es. As the wheels that turn out the same
axle are always at the same distance apart,
neither wheel can run off’on the inner side ci
1 its own rail, without its opposite fellow run
ning off on the outer edge of its rail, which is
prevented by its guide or flange, in the man
ner described. By this simple contrivance,
the carriages are kept in their places, the
wheels in their tracks.
There is not a mine or foundery vn Eng
land, noraconal, to which there is trench land
carriage, and scarcely a dock yard or quay,
where iron rail roads are now in use. The
number of miles of this kind of road is very
great; some idea of their extent may la; form
ed from the fact, that in 1822, there was in
the neighborhood of Newcastle alone two hun
dred and twenty-five miles of this road above
ground, and as many below it. In Glamor
ganshire, there were at the same date, three
hundred mill’s of it. From G’ardiffto Myathie
I’ydvillr, there are thirty-six miles of if.
“The first public rail-way established ?•)'
act of Parliament, for the conveyance of gen
oral merchandize and passengers, as well ns
coals, was the Stockton and Darlington.
Rep. 124.
This is a single road, twenty-five miks
long, with sidlings every quarter of a niik,
to allow carriages to pass each other. A
small quantity of merchandize, and three of
tour hundred passengers, weekly, are con
vcyed along this lino, but the chief carriage
is ol coal; the tolls for which exceed by si*
or seven times, tfio aggregate income from
all other source's. The company who con
structed til’s road hud to encounter strenuous
opposition from land holders and coal proprie
tor.”. The first application to parliament
■Ailed —but in 1823 the company was char
tered, and on the 27th September, 182n, tho
toad was opened to, Uip public. It is a re*
markable fact, in relation to this road, that
tlio number of passengers and the trade upon
it, other than that of the coal, has sprung up,
no one can tell how. Before the road "
constructed, there was neither commerces
nor travelling in that section of country, ex*
cept to a very limited extent.
The project of the Liverpool and Mapch'j s’* 5 ’*
ter rail-way was first discussed in 1822* M r -
William James, of London, an Engineer, har
ing witnessed the ©fleets of the locomotive
engines ncnf cvmtx^riicii'^!' v