Newspaper Page Text
* t ■ ■ :—:—'I
“The ferment of a free, is preferable to the torpor of a despotic, 6oTcrnmeat,»
VOL. II.
ATHENS, GEORGIA, AUGUST 24, 1833.
NO. 23.
Do? trg«
I'Vom lie JVric England Magazine.
STANZAS.
BV REBECCA VHE JEWESS.
If I ha<i Jiib:;l’s clmriled shell,
O'er ! icii the ti st born music rolled,
In burning tones, ilia: loved to dwell
Amongst those wiic of trembling gold ;
If to iny soul one note was given
Of that high harp whose sweeter tone
Caught the majestic strain from Heaven,
And glowed with fire round lsraol’s throne;
Up to tho dec) Liu s .rr s y;
Then might my fO il aspire, and hold
Communion fervent strong and high,
With bard and king, and prophet old :
Then might my spirit dare to trace
The path our ancient people trod,
When the gray sires of Jacob’s race,
Like faithful servants, walked with God !
1 jut Israel's song, alas! is hushed.
That all her tales of triumph told,
And mute is ever}’ voice that gushed
1 n music to her harps of gold ;
And could iny lyre attumo its string
To lofty themes they loved of yore,
Vlas ! iny lips could only sing
All that we imere, hut are no more !
Our hearts are still by Jordan’s stream,
And there our footsteps fain would be ;
i!;it oh! ’tis like the captive’s dream
Of home his eyes may never see.
A cloud is on our father’s graves.
And darkly spreads o’er Zion’s hill,
And there their sons must stand as slaves,
Or rove like houseless wanderers still.
Vet, where the rose of Sharon blooms,
And cedars wave the stately hoad,
liven new, from out the place of tombs,
Breaks a dead voice that stirs the dead.
Through the wide world’s tuinnltuous roair •
Floats clear and sweet the solemn word,
‘■Oh, virgin daughter, faint no more. <
Thy tears are seen, thy prayers are heard ;
What though, with spirits crushed and broke.
Thy tribes like desert exiles rove
Though Judah feels the stranger’s yoke,
Yet shall the day of promise come,
Thy rvns from iron bondage break,
And God shall lead the wanderers home
fsrellati v.
Written for the Boston Evening Gazette.
A TALE OF THE REVOLUTION.
It is an old saying, ‘that matches are made
in Heaven if so, I ask the believers in this
doctrine, if Heaven is accountable; for the
misery oftenlimcs caused by such matches?
Are they not rather plotted in another place,
and does not his ?,Injesty who rules in Hades
take delight in bringing together those of op
posite dispositions, or in tantalizing those
who have been shot by Cupid’s arrows? Can
lie think of a more effectual way to torment
man, that bv dashing to pieces the cup of
happiness he is about to taste, than by throw-
him after his friend, now at the age of nine
teen. No one excelled him in the chase, nei
ther was there an arm that could paddle the
light canoe with greater swiftness across the
Connecticut. Tall, and straight as the moun
tain pine, fearless he roamed through the for
est in search of game, or lay ia w r ait by the
hanks of the noble stream for the wild fowl.
It had long been the wish of the elder ones,
that the youn, rtwo s ould unite the fortunes
of the family. * v... rles,’ said the one, as
they were conversing on the scenes of their
childhood; 4 how long before we shall he uni
ted by stronger ties than those of friendship 7 ’
Wait but a year from next month, when
your l>oy shall be twenty-one, and then we
will think of tangling him in the noose of mat
rimony.’ ‘Could I, in my old age, find such
a lovely helpmate, I might myself think of
taking the fearful leap once more,’ said Hunt
ington, in his jocular way. The entrance
of the parties put an end to the conference.
While they had been swimming thus peace
ably down the current ol' life, the country of
their adoption had grown from an infant to a
wayward girl in her teens. Capricious and
headstrong, she disliked to have her rights en
croached upon. Neither was the aged mat
ron unaffected. She looked with mistrust
and jealousy upon that daughter which threat
ened to lie her rival ia greatness. Such con
tinual bickering had now increased to a fear
ful extent and threatened to disturb not the
peace of a few alone—but the whole cummu-
nity. Our adventurers had heard vague ru
mours of‘taxes’ and«oppression,’ but nothing
definite and nought that would lead them to
believe that matters had now come to a cri
sis. One evening, as the members of the
two families were quietly seated conversing
together, a knock was heard at the door,
The hospitable words ‘come in’ were followed
by the entrance of an individual who appear
ed weary and fatigued, as though his day’s
journey had been uncommonly tedious. * Sit
you down here, my friend, and rest yourself,
and then we will hear the news, for you ap
pear to have come from a distance,’ said llum-
ford.
‘I fear that I bring no news that will be ac
ceptable. It will be hard to rouse you from
your dreams of happiness, but my subject is
to stir up my countrymen to action;’ was the
stranger’s reply.
‘ Why speak you so ominously? Do the
French threaten an invasion ? I thought they
had found us such obstinate foes, as to rest
j satisfied that we would never submit to a for
eign power,’ said R.
* No foreign enemy now endangers our
peace; it is England herself against whom
we must contend. She it is who would ruin
us by taxes. She has filled our land with
Were not the Indians, the former possessors,
free as the wind itself which blows where it
listeth ? Then the. Creator seems to speak
from these mountain-tops and says, Rise ev
ery one of you from your lethargy and 1 will
aid you! Can I neglect such a summons ?’
* Go, my son,’ said the father, 4 and say
that God protect you. May the mother, now
a saint in heaven, bo sometimes the object of
your thoughts, and may the knowledge
that she is watching over you keep you from
vice.’ Here the old man’s feelings so over
come him, that he could proceed no farther,
and as Charles retired, he knelt on the spot
and poured out his whole soul to Heaven.—
Could there have been a more touching scene!
Look ye to ancient Rome—you find no oc
currences surpassing this.
Charle’s preparations were few and soon
made. Could he witiiout a struggle bid adieu
to those spots where childhood’s days had
been spent ? and Mary, too—what were his
feelings with regard to her!—Could he de
part without an interview! But these were
his father’s injunctions to the contrary. For
getting this, he wandered to a bower that he
had made for her, in hopes that a fortunate
accident would throw her in his way. Nor
was he disappointed. A female form was
seen within it. Silently he approached, and
was at her side ere his footsteps had broke
the silence that pervaded the grove. ‘Ma
ry,’ said the youth, ‘I am about to leave you.’
The tender girl had never been placed in a
similar situation. Love urged her to remain
—but she had never disobeyed her father.
She arose :—Charles passionately entreated
her to stop but for a moment. How long that
moment lusted, or what he said, will not be
for me to conjecture, but the maiden had just
acknowledged her.love for him, when her fa
ther, with countenance distorted with rage
broke through the neighboring bushes, and
ere they were aware of it appeared before
them. 4 And so Mary,’ said he, 4 this is the
way you obey me; to the house with you.’
Then turning to Charles, with somewhat mod
erated tone, he addressed him: 4 1 once loved
you as I would an only son. It was my wish
to have the power of claiming you as such
But never shall my daughter wed a traitor to
hie country. Rather would I see her cheek
turn from the blooming red to the ashen pale.
Rather ^yould 1 see her wander like a mani
ac bereft of her senses. Rather would I my
self deck her in her funeral shroud, than give
her to one who was disloyal to his king.
He who would harbor such feelings is ripe for
any deed, however flagrant.’ Here the old
man was so out of breath as to be obliged to
stop, aud Charles fiercely replied, 4 No oth.
cr mortal should, unharmed, ask me to join
the enemy. No! hard as it is to break up the
for the future^ with so frail a chance for suc
cess ?’ *
‘What man dare do, that will I.’
4 But this is extremely dangerous. I wish
for one to enter the British camp and find o»t-
Howe’s intentions with regard to Burgoyne.
I must find one who will do it. It is of the
highest importance to the country that some
one undertakes it. But not you; let. some
one else go who does not stand so high; some
one who can be better spared than you.’
4 No one can be better spared than myself.
I am without a friend or relation in this coun T
try. I have no fond father to rejoice at my
prosperity, or mother to be saddened by my
he could not satisfy his curiosity. Douglass
continued—
H -A fair young lady, for whom I have some
regard, has taken it into her head that the
above mentioned officer is an Adonis in beau-
Charles could scarcely restrain liis indig. \ pressed onward, now that, victory crowned his
nation—but smothering his ire, replied that j efforts, was as an angel of mercy, tempering
the rage of his soldiery. Seeing in one cor
ner of the field an officer of apparently high
rank, contending amidst a crowd of Ameri
cans, he spurred his fiery courser in that di
rection, to rescue him if possible. He arri-
ty. Wishing- to rescue her from the rebel, I • ved but in time to arrest the arm of one who
have taken compassion on her beauteous per
son. To-night, as she returns from the Gen
eral’? levee, I wish you with a select few to
surround the carriage, and force the driver to
No. 28 street, where I shall meet you.
I have those in’ whom you can place confi-
was about to plunge a bayonet into him, as he
lay at his feet, with blood gushing out from a
dozen gaping wounds. Ordering them to
carry him carefully to his teat and procure
surgical aid as soon as possible, with all of
the troops that ho could collect, he went to
deuce—those who like you, have lately join- j the assistance of the left wing, which had not
death. I have surrendered myself to my fed? as, if any disturbance should arise, I tbeqn equally fortunate. At the head of one
country, and by suffering ine to .undertake should not like to have it known that any of j of the regiments he saw Colonel Douglass un-
this, you wilL confer a great favor on me.’ ; my corps were engaged in it. Be certain you j dcr whom he had served when in New York.
4 Well, my young friend, if you wish it so 1 stop the right carriage. General Rumlord’s J The sight of him was no balm to his soul, but
much, God forbid that I should say no. Oh! j is-the one.’ v < j served to rouse the slumbering lion. Fierce.
that we had i thousand such patriotic souls, Charles was not long in determining what
Return here this.evening prepared to leave the course .to pursue. He resolved to run all ha-
camp. >' l zards, iu hi . attempts to save Mary from im‘
Charles, or Major Huntington as we shall pending dishonor. He wrote on a piece' of
sometimes call him, was not quite so disinter-1 paper, 4 Go not out this night. This evening
rested as he pretended to be. He was. danger awaits you—Charles.:’ and gave it
though perhaps unaware of it, influenced iu to an old woman, who, under the pretence of
some degree by the hope that he should see selling marketing to the soldiers; obtained and
Mary dr at least gain some information con- communicated much useful information to the
cerning her. He had no fears of being dis- Americans
covered, for he knew that time and hardship When Mr. Rumford left Charles at the
had given him such a manly appearance, that bower, he resolved to leave the vale, now so’
no one would be able to recognise in him the uupleasaut to him, and join the invading ar-
bov of nineteen. At eve he presented him- my. He would make no delay, but ordered
self to his commander, disguised as a menial, the necessary things to be sent on after them..
‘Do you,’$aid he,‘still preserve the same wish 1 In less than two hours, he and the weeping
you expressed this morning?’— 4 I do,’ was Mary were on their way toNcw-York, where
the reply. ‘Here then is a list of a few I they met the British, who had just arrived,
faithful adherents to the American cause, who j after having evacuated Boston. His proffer
soldiers, who have committed deeds hitherto j friendly intercourse that has always subsist
unheard of in these colonies.’ - j ted between us, I must call you a .’ Here
He then recounted to them the rise of! he checked himself and turning to Mr. Rum-
now are with the enemy: . Conceal it. Re
turn within a fortnight, or immediately on at
taining the necessary information.’
< Charles passed the line without difficulty,
and travelled so expeditiously as to he by mor
ning in sight of New-York. On his arrival
ed services were willingly accepted, and, as
we have mentioned, he'gained great reputa
tion with them lor bravery.- By his activity
he endeavored to drown all recollection of the
past. He had heard of the death of Mr.
Huntington, and felt a momentary pang, but
he was taken before the General, and there I the cord of friendship had been broken ; the
signified his wish to enrol, as he had been dis- J viper—conscience, was at work. His man-
gracefully treated by the Americans. Accor- ners, which bclbrc had been mild aud affable,
dingly he was placed in a regiment composed I now became rude and uncourteous. His tem-
entirely of renegade natives; So many at per, which was calm and peaceable, now was
that time where the deserters, that a regiment stern and morose,
was formed composed of them altogether; So astonished was Mary at receiving the
and many ardent supporters of liberty. con- J command of her father to leave the valley in
cealed, under the red coat of the British, the j an hour, that it passed ere- she could believe
character of a spy. However mean this per-1 he was in earnest. She had but just time to
sonage may be considered in common life, in write and give to the servant for Charles, the
such a war as was that, we should honor rath-1 scrawl he had received. Oa her arrival at
er than think meanly of the individual who
would consent to take upon him that obnox
ious title.
Major Huntington had been a week in the
New-York, she was placed ia the General’s
j suite; yet no pleasures could obliterate the
recollection of her early friends. ' She seldom
i saw her father, and when she did, his mauner
enemy’s army, and as yet had obtained no I of treating her was such, as to make his visits
satisfactory information, when one evening as more dreaded than desired. She was sur-
vvliat we now recollect as our 4 glorious revo-' ford a contemptuous glance, rushed to the re
lutien ;’ the battles of Lexington and Con- j cesses of the forest to calm his troubled spir
ing obstacles in the path to prevent the union cord, and all the thousand petty cruelties that I its. From such a dream of happiness had he
of those who seem to live but for each other? j signalized the conduct of the British in those j been aroused by the entrance of Mary’s fa-
I was led into such a train of thought, by j days; and finally invited them to use their ' ther, he knew not what he said. But now
henrinsr the following tale: influence to rouse their neighbors to arms.— j tharttie reflected, he was thunderstruck. He
In one of those valleys which lie embed-1 The youthful Charles, with flused cheeks aud ] had grossly insulted the one, whom he had
ded among the bills of New-England, sixty j breast burning with emotion, as he listened, been accustomed to consider a second father,
years ago there stood two houses, which in I internally resolved to enrol himself under He had, in all probability, by his rashness,
those days attracted the traveller’s attention, bis country’s banners. How was his heart thrown an inseparable barrier between him-
Thcn, no comfortable tavern with all things filled with alarm, as Rumford broke out into self and her whom he loved- It was agoni-
convenient, sainted the way worn stranger u tirade of abuse against the ungrateful set- zing to him to think of it. The next mor-
cverv few miles, tempting him by the air of j tlcments, who, now that they were able to go ning he called quite early to see Mr. Rum-
comfort which surrounded them, to stop ere i alone, wished to separate themselves from ford, but great was his astonishment, when
he was strolling along he saw' two men ap
proach, wrapped up in cloaks. The wind
blew aside that of one, and revealed the un
dress of a British officer. Concealing him
self w’ithin an arch that was near by, he over
heard their conversation. ‘Douglass,’ said
the one, 4 shall you be ready by to-morrow.
We must finish this business quickly. Time
presses, and I cannot run the risk of losing
his day’s journey had been fully accomplish
ed. The rites of hospitality were frequently
encroached upon, and every inhabitant yas
not only willing but eager to entertain one
from a distant place, that he might hear from
him the transactions then occurring. No one
was ever refused admittance to either of the
houses above mentioned, neither was civility
tendered to them with coldness.
James Huntington and Charles Rumford
had been partners in business. in England.
Heaven had blessed them with competence,
and religion shed around them its soul-revi-
ving influence. They heard of that place
beyond the waters, where a few were increa-
sing in numbers and power, and they wished
to join them. Gathering together their \vorld-
lv effects, with their new married wives, they
connected themselves with a party of adven
turers, who also were about to seek their for
tunes among the hardy inhabitants of New.
England. Years rolled on, and at the time
we introduce them to the reader they had long
been denizens of the vale, * The same up
right principles had actuated them through
life. The same spirit of harmony between
the two families still existed. Their lot in
many respects had been similar. Both had
lost their wives, and both had been blessed
with an only child, whose budding promise
served to soften the pillow of declining years.
The country since their arrival had rapidly
advanced in civilization: and though they, of
ten thought of the friends they had left, yet
the calm contentment with which they passed
their days, gave them happiness without al
loy. Rumford had lost his wife two years
after he had taken possession of his new
abode. With speechless agony he saw the
cold damps of death spread over her pallid
features, as she brought a dear pledge of their
mutual love into existence. For a season his
only consolation was in tracing .out the
mother’s features in those of the youthful Mu.
*y. A year rolled on; the wound closed,
sind as Mary grew in years, his whole soul
eeemed bound up in her. Not a more gallant
youth was to be found in the colonies than
Charles Huntington, (his father had named
those who had nourished ijnd supported them the servant told him that her master and
when they were weak. His father thought young mistress had departed for New York
differently. He had become perfectly wean- the night before. To his question, whether
ed from the land that gave him birth, and
was attuohed to that which had adopted him.
He felt that the colonies had been imposed
upon, and wished that premature old age had
not deprived him of his wonted vigor. He
uttered as freely as his friend had done, his
opinions, and that night a degree of unusual
coldness existed between them. The seeds
of disunion were then sown which were des
tined, ere long, to blossom, and with their
noxious fruits poison the peace of the two.—
Both passed the night in meditation. Mor
ning came, and neither seemed inclined to
wards a reconciliation, and for the first time
for twenty years, a day passed and they had
no intercourse with each other. Many cir
cumstances combined seemed to widen the
breach, and they forbade their children to en
joy that friendship in which they could not
participate.
The sound of war now for the first time
saluted their ears. The din of arms echoed
over the mountain tops .and through the
vales of New England, and the electric shock
that roused the inhabitants to a sense of their
wrongs, pervaded every habitation and mspi-
red every heart. Fathers and sons shoulder
ed their rusty firelocks, and committing their
families to the God of Hosts, went forth to
meet the invader. Some craven-hearted souls,
it is true, joined the opposers; but, thanks to
the patriotism of her sons, but few from her
soil disgraced the region of their birth.
4 Father, s said Charles, a day or two sub
sequent to the evening above mentioned, «I
cannot stay here and live in idleness, when it
is in my power to aid my country; I must go
and assist her ip this struggle.*
4 Would you leave nje in flay old age*—yes,
the only tie that binds me to things below—
you, upon whom I shall shortly,-when age
comes upon me, dependfon comfort V ‘
4 WhenI lodk upon these hills, these rivers,’
and say, could' God have made them to be
possessed tiy slaves f Have slaves ever
stained t^iaeoj) with their' polluting footsteps ?
any message had been left for him or his fa
ther, he was handed a piece of paper, on
which was- scrawled, almost illegibly, and ap
parently blotted by tears, 4 Ever thine Ma
ry.’ With eagerness he seized it, and pla
cing it close to his heart, left the house.
The next day he was on his way to join
Washington, and before three days had elapsed
lie was performing the duties of lieutenant in
his army.
Two years rolled o«and at the end of that
period the aspect of affairs was somev^hat dif
ferent. Charles had fought bravely, and been
praised in public by the commander-in-chief,
and though but twenty-one, held the rank of
Major. Mr. Huntington had left this world
of trouble. A second attack of the apoplexy
shortened his days. His last prayer was for
his son. The last words on his lips were
4 country’ and ‘liberty!’ Daring this time
Charles heard nothing definite concerning Mr.
Rumford or his' daughter. The former he
knew had obtained a high commission in the
British army, and gained no enviable reputa
tion by his merciless treatment of those un
fortunate countrymen, who had the misfortune
to be taken captive by his troops.
One morning Charles received a message
from the General, ordering him to appear in
his tent immediately. 4 Major Huntington,”
slid Washington, as the former entered, 4 1
have sent for you to consult with you on ear
nest business. .Have you in your corps ■ a
-man in whom you can place the utmost con
fidence; one whose heart is bound up in his
country’s welfare; one who would be willing
to undertake the most dangerous enterprise, in
w hjch to fail would be fatal—for no other re
ward than that which an approving com
would givehhn?’
4 I have, sir,* was the reply;'
* Who is hel* ^ *
‘Myself.’’
* kfc impossible. You would
not be willing to hazard your bright prospects jthefair-sex ?
the laurels I have gained, for the sake of aid- so disgusted had she become with his visits,
ing you in your attempts upon this girl.’ she determined to leave the city with her fa.
4 Why, Eustace,’ replied the other, 4 we I ther, as she knew he had asked and obtained
will take the place by storm, if she does .not I a commission ia Burgoyne's army. Afraid,
capitulate on honorable terms. I have per- j on accouut of his extreme irascibility, to in-
suaded Howe to send old Rumford to Bur- form him of the true'reason, she entreated
goyne, with the agreeable information that him not to suffer them to be separated, that
he shall not be able to march to his assistance, they might in time of trouble render each oth-
He departs the day after to-morrow. I thought J cV mutual assistance. The old man had lek
that by sending him off, the field would be so uneasy at'the thought of leaving her un
clear, but I understand she is to go with him. protected among so many licentious youth,
To-morrow night, then, I shall make an at- that he willingly consented to take her with
As she returns from the General’s | him. She was to take leave of the officers
ace
rounded by military fops, who troubled her
with their addresses; but hitherto she had not
suffered much. Douglass, the young colonel,
oflate had been more than usually trouble
some. Undifr a handsome exterior, ho con.
cealcd a villain’s heart, and tampered with her
merely to make her his victim. No coldness,
no -refusal of proffered services, could banish
him from her presence.- He persevpred, and
ly lie joined in the inelec, and hewed ills way
in spite of all opposition till he . met him face
to face. 4 1 am,’ said lie, 4 that Major Hunt-
ington—that rebel. Now see whether l am
better fitted tb please the ladies or gentlemen.*
Douglass was not wanting either in courage
or skill. The contest for a few moments was
doubtful; but a successful thrust from Charles
laid the Englishman lifeless at his feet. Tho
enemy now fled on all sides, and Colonel H.
returned to liis tent to look after his prisoner.
By the hasty glance which, lie had of his
countenance, it appeared familiar. His con-
jcCtures were correct—the wounded'man. was
General Rumford. The surgeon had just fin
ished dressing his wounds when ho entered,
and saying that he was in a most critical situ
ation, took his leave. Colonel H. learning
from one of the Captive officers, that the Gen
eral’s daughter was in the British camp, sent
a flag of truce, with a message to inform Miss *
R. that Her father was dangerously wounded,
and that Colonel Huntington would,see her
protected if she wished to visit him.
Wo pass over the meeting between the two.
Mary with her father had arrived a few days
previous to the battle. Douglass had been
so disappointed at r.ot being able to obtain
possession of her by force, that he made propo -
sals to the General, offering liis hand. The lat
ter, reflecting upon what a slender cord hung
his life an’d also the defenceless situation Ma
ry would be left m, should he be suddenly
cut off, cheerfully consented, and ordered his
daughter to receive him as an accepted lov
er. But Douglass was now no more.
We will not watch with them over a sick
bed—but copie to a conclusion. So power
fully did the recollection of former limes
come upon the General, -as he lay convales
cent, that he wept over Chario3 like a child.
As he saw the respectful manner of the rebel
officers, he became somewhat softened in his
wrath against them, and their success almost
completed a revolution in his sentiments.
But when they were full of hope as to his re
covery, his wounds began to mortify. His
strength daily decreased. In a private in
terview with Colonel Huntington, he told hiin
that if his wish once expressed with regard to
Mary was still unaltered, he should like to
bless them ere he died.
The marriage ceremony was performed by
the side of his couch. The old man was but
just able to murmur a benediction, and his
soul winged its flight to regions where tba
sound of war is never heard*. LINUS.
tempt.
levee, I shall order some of my soldiers to sur-1 ladies at the General's levee, the evening
round her carriage and convey her to a house I Charles’ note was handed in to her. It was
I have in view.’ long before she could believe that the real
‘But will you offer her violence? You know I Simon Pure sent it. Under the pica of indis
there is a Yankee called Huntington, whom I position, she obtained leave from her father
she pretends to love.’ to stay at homeland the next day they were
4 Oh never mind—faint heart never won I oh their way to the north,
fair lady. ■ Do yon pretend to place in com-1 ‘Major Huntington, after he heard that his
petition with me, a boorish barbarian ? For note had been delivered, left the camp secyet
shame ! You do not give me sufficient credit ly, and before morning presented himself at
for my success with the fair ones.’ - I the tent of General Washington,. j nd demand-
t But suppose you do not succeed?’ i ed admittance. In a few 1 words he told his
i Then I shall follow and aid the warning J tale. To the inquiry, whether Howe would
fortunes of Burgoyne. He needs it, for-by [send a considerable body of troops to aid his
the last accounts he was completely hemmed [ brother general, he was able to give a satis-
in, and Howe can do nothing for him.’ So factory answer in the negative. 4 rhea,’ said
saying, he bade his worthy friend ‘goodnight,’ W., 4 Burgoyne’s laurel’s will wither. Like
and bent his steps towards the camp. Charles, the deadly Upas, tree, he will find Gates turn
from the place of his retreat, had marked the ing all his proud visions of glory to noug it.
features of both. The latter was no less a He is fairly entangled in a net of bis own
p'ersonage than the young Colonel of his own j make. For you, it will be myendeavor to
regiment, and the former was a stranger to [obtain a suitable reward.’ 4 1 wish no ot er
him. He passed the night in attempting to [reward,’ said Charles, ‘than permission to
devise some plan to counteract their designs, join Gates 7 army.’ This wish was gran ed.
While his breast was thus torn by conflicting I A servant entered Gates tent at early dawn
emotions, he was aroused by a summons from a few days after this, and gave him a letter,
the Colonel, demanding his presence. I at the same time informing hun that the. bear-
4 Talbot,’ said
that was his assumed— ,. .. ,
lately joined my troops, and are known to but j t?.r,’ was the reply. 4 * elcome, Col. Hun
anding his presence. at the same time lutorimug *uu»
his commanding officer, (for I er, an officer with despatches from thq main
med name,) 4 vou have but army, requested admittance. 4 Bid him en-
, _ j ' * i v... ♦ „-oo thn r»»nlv. 4 \\ elcome. Col. Hun-
a few. I wish you to do a. piece of service
for me this evening.’
4 What your honor commands, that must 1
perform,* was his respectful reply.
4 Have you ever. seen an officer in the
American anny, called Major Huntington V
4 1 have, sir.’ ' -
4 What kind of a soldier is he ?’
tington/ said Gates, as the stranger entered.
4 A letter bere^from the commander-ip-chief,
informs me of tho debt America owes you.
Rest yourself to-day; to-morrow we make
an attack, and a general battle will prohably
take place.*
. The next morning, .the army was drawn out
in battle array, and the command of a regi
4 He has always been considered feithful I ment on the right given him.. The battle, so
to his country’s cause.* memorable in the annals of American history.
•Does, he,* said the British officer, polling j commenced. At "the first onset his troops
up his cravat and putting on an agreeable were victorious and pursued the flying enemy
smile—‘appear to be one who would fascinate over the plain. Charles, who in time of ilqODt
with his fiashingswprd and encouraging voice
From Cruikshank’s Sunday in Lon
don.—And in the gray of the Sunday morn
ing, at. the sound of the matin-bell, the gin
temples open wide their portals to all comers.
Time was when gin was to be found only in
by-laaes and blind alleys—in dirty obscure
hqjes, y’cTept dram shops; but now, thanks
to the enlightened and paternal government
of 4 the first captain of the age,’ gin is become
a giant demi-god—a mighty spirit, dwelling
in gaudy gold-beplastered temples, erected to
(iis honor in every street, and worshipped by
countless thousands, who daily sacrifice at his
shrine their health, their strength-, tlieir mon
ey, their minds, their bodies; wives, children,
sacred horn?, and liberty. Jaggemaut is but
a fool to him!—for the devotees of Jaggcr-
naut do but put themselves in the -way of be
ing crushed to death beneath 4iis chariot-
wheels, and are put out of their misery at
once; but the devotees of the Great Spirit
Gin devote themselves to lingering misery;—
for his sake they are contented to drag on a
degraded, hasty existence—to see their chil
dren pine, dwindle, and famisfi; to steep
themselves in poverty to the very lips, and die
at last poor, sneaking, beadle-kickcd, gruel-
swollen paupers ! Sunday is especially devo
ted to the worship of this great spirit,, and
when the early. Sabbath bells announce the
arrival of that day, .then do the ‘ lower orders’
begin .to shake off the leery slumbers of the
midnight pay-table, and wander forth in maud,
lin, unwashed multitudes to the temples of
the Great Spirit Gin; and there, sir, you xnay
see them, the ancient and me infant of a span
long; old men, maidens, grandsires and gran-
dams, fathers and mothers, husbands, wives,
and children, crowding and jostling ‘like so
many maggots in a groase pot,’ and sucking
in the portions of the spirit which the flaunt
ing priestesses of the temple .dole out to them-
in return for their copper offerings.”
« Where tho devil did you come from
said Wilkes to a beggar in the Isle of wight.
‘‘From the devil.”
“-What is going on there ?”
44 Much the same as here.”
“What’s that?” 4 - *
“The rich taken in and the poor kept out,”