Newspaper Page Text
~ ' *jsr ""•"’if] X
*■ -m-"-- ~J**is*=ss*
► * ANI> ■*
GEORGIA
BY T. S. HANNON.
TERMS.
Fur the City pnptr, (thrice B Beck,) Si* Dollars
. i annum, pay Bob' in advance, or Bfveu Dollars
I nut paid before the end of the yenr.
For the Country pnmrftMre a week,) Three Dol
lars per annum, payable in advance, or Four Dol
lar', if not paid before the end of the year.
Any order from a responsible subscriber to dis
continue his paper will be complied With on a set
tlement of dues, and not before.
Jihrrturmrntt will be inserted at the following
rates; For the first insenlon, per square, Rixty
two aad a half cents ; for each subsequent, tiicerr
insenlon, forty three and three ipiarter cents:
In all other cues 82 1-2 cents per square.
When an advertisement is sent, without a speci
fication in writing of the number of insertions, it
will be published until ordered out, and charged
accordingly. , ,
LETTERS, (on business) must be post-paid—or
they may not meet with attention.
UT In this paper the Laws of the United States
are published.
1 . J Higniß.. . 1 - '-L-Sl
THE DRUNKEN HUSRAND.
' poor Ellen m rrried Andrew Halt,
AVho dwells lasside the moor,
Where yonder rose tree shades the watt.
And woodbines gT«ce<ll}iibdoor.
Who docs not know how blest, how loved
Were her mild laughing eyes
II y every voulhl—but Andrew, proved
Unworthy of Ids prl/e.
In tippling was his whole delight,
, . Each si git post barr’d his way,
He spent in muddy ale at night
The Wages of the day.
Though Eilen still had charms, was young,
And he In manhood's prime,
fthe sat beside her cradle, sung
And sighed away her time.
One cold bleak night, the stars were hid,
In vain she wish’d him home;
Her children cried, half cheer’d, hall chid,
“ O when will father come ?"
Till Caleb, nine yeatyold, upsprung,
And kick’d his snail nslde,
And vounger .Mary round him clung,
“ I*ll go, and you shall guide.”
The children knew each Inch of ground,
Yet Ellen had her fears;
Light from the lantern gllinmri *U round,
And show’d her falling lenrs.
«Oo liy the mill and down the lane;
Return the same way home;
Perhaps you’ll meet him, give him light ,
O how 1 wish he’drome ”
Away they went, ns close and true
As lovers lu the shade,
And Caleb sv, ung his father's staff
At every step lie made.
The noisy mill clack rattled on,
They saw the water flow ;
And leap In silvery foam along,
Deep murmuring below.
11 We’U soon ba there,” the hero said,
“ Come on, ‘ tis but a mile—
Here's where the cricket match was play’d,
And here’s the shudy stile.
How the light shines up every bough r
How strange the leavesappear !
Hark !—what was that? Vis silent now !
Come diary, never fear.”
The staring oxen breathed aloud,
Hut never dreamed of harm ;
A meteor glanced along the cloud
That hung o’er Wood-Hill Farm.
Old Ciesur bark'd and howl’d hard tw,
All else was still as death,
Uni ' aleb was ashamed to cry,
Aud Alary held her breath.
At length they spied adlstnm light,
And heal'd a chorus brawl;
Wherever drunkards stopp'd at night.
Why there was Andrew Hall.
The house was full, the landlord gay,
The bar-maid shook her head,
And wish’d the boobies far away,
That kept her out of bed.
There Caleb entered, firm but mild,
And spoke in plaintive tune,
* .My mother could not leave the child,
Rowe arc come alone.’
E’en drunken Andrew felt the blow
Mint innocence can give,
When Us re-istless accents (low
To bill alHlctlon live.
' I’m coming, loves, I’m coming now,’
Theu shuttling o'er the door,
dual rived to make his balance true,
And led them from the door.
The plain broad path that bro’lhlm there
By oa> though faultless then,
AVu, up and dow n and narrow grown,
Though wide enough for leu.
The stiles were wretchedly contrived,
The stars wore all at play,
And many a ditch hud moved itself
, * Exactly, iu his way.
But still conceit yvas-uppermost,
.That stupid kind of pride;—
* Dud think I-cannot see a post !
Dost think 1 wantu guide ?
■' Why Alary, how you twijt and twirl 1
why dost not keep the truck f
I'd cany thee home safe, my girl, 1
Tuen swung her on his bach.
f jot Caleb mustffed all his wits,
To be.,r the light ahead,
As Andrew reel’ll and stopp’d by
■ Or ran with thundering tread.
Exult, ye brutes, traduc’d and scorn'd,
s Though true to nature's plan;
Exult, ye bristled aud ye hom'd,
Then infants govern man.
Down to the mill-pool's dangerous brink
The head boor party drove;
The boy alone hart pow er to think,
While Mary scream’d above.
* Stop” Oaleh cried, “ you’re lost the prph ;
fho water’s close before;
1 see it shine, 'tis very deep—
Why don't you hear it roar ?”
And then in agony exclaimed.
• t> where’s my mother now ?'
The Solomon ol bops and malt
Stopp’d Short and made a law.
His head was loose.his iv-ck disjointed'
It cost him little trouble;
But to Me. stopped and disappointed,
Poll I -Hanger was a buliide.
Otnvardsfe stepp’d—the boy alert,
I’allia Jill-cjHirsi'e btrtb.
Himglikejn log on Andrew’'skirt,
And dotvn’hef Tought them both..
fbe tumbling lantern reach'd the stream
Us hissing light soon gone ;
I was night without a single gleam.
And terror reigned alone.
. V- 'V
■jjj, 2*pl «y
A general scream the miller heard,
Then rubb'd bis eyes and ran,
And soon his welcome light api*ared, f
• As'grumbling he began
• AA bat have wc here, and whercalmul' ’
Why whata hideous squall!
Pome drunken fool! I thought a* much —
Tis only Andrew Hall !
• Poor children !’ lendetiv he said,
4 itut now the danger’s past,’
They thank’d him for his light and aid,
And drew near home at last.
Hut who upon the misty path
To meet them, fin ward press’d I
’Twas Ellen, shivering, witii a babe
Close folded to her breast.
Said Andrew, “ Now you’re glad, I know,
To se-.se-se-see us come ;
But I have taken rare of both;
And brought them lio-buth safe home. ’
With Andrew vex’d, of Mary proud,
But prouder of Wtr buy,
She kiss’d them boihr.nd sobbed aloud ;
The children cried forJoy.
Hut what a home at last they found ;
Os comforts all bereft;
The fire out, the lust candle gone,
And nut one penny left.
But Caleb quick as lightning flew,
Anil raised a light instead ;
And ns the kindling brand be blue,
HisTathcr snored in bed.
No brawling, boxing termagant
Was Elian, though off. nded;
Who ever knew a fault like this
By violence amended ?
No:—She was mild as April mor.i,
And Andrew loved her loo;
She rose at day break, I hough forlon:,
To try what love could do. i
And a* her waking hustmnd groan’d,
And roll’d his burning head,
She spoke with all the power of truth,
Down kneeling by his head.
• Dear Andrew, hear me, —though distress'd
Almost too much to speak,—
This infant starves upon irty breast —
T o scold I am too weal
-11 work, I spin, I toil all day,
Then leave rny work to cn.
And start with horror when 1 think
You wish to sci me die.
‘But iio you wish it! can that bring
More comfort or more joy ?
Look round the house, how destitute !
Look at your rugged boy!
1 That hoy should malic n father proud,
If any feeling can;
Then save your children, save your wife,
A our honor ns a mull.
‘ Hear me, for Coil’s sake, hear me now,
And act a father’s part!’
The culprit bli ss’d her nngrl tongue,
And clasped her to Lis heart;
And would have vow'd and would have sworn,
But Ellen kiss’d him dumb, —
‘Exert your mind,vow to yourttlf,
And better days will come.
‘I shall be well when you are kind,
And you’ll be Vetter too;’
‘ I’ll drink no more,’ be quick replied,
1 Be’t poison if I do.'
From that bright day his plants, hi.- flowers,
Ills crons begun to thrive, .
And for three years has Andrew been
The soberest man alive.
In one of the principal streets in Bristol is a spirit
shop, and immediately over it, as an upper story, a
handsome Methodist meeting-house; on this was
written the following epigram:
There’s u spirit above, and a spirit below,
A spirit of joy, and a spirit of woe;;
The spirit above is a spirit divine,
But the spirit below is the spirit of wine.
A rose briar was cut in July last, on a plantation
in Firhanlt, Eng. measuring fifty feet and two
inches In length.
From the London New Monthly Mngnrice.
Oil Garrick's delivery of a passage in
Shakespeare.
—As any tiling which tends to
throw a striking light on the spirit of one
ol Shakespeare's piost celebrated pas
sages can scarcely be uninteresting to the
majority of your renders, you may, per
haps, not object to afford me a page or
two, fora few remarks on a suggestion
thrown out by a writer in your last num
ber. In tho paper on Mr. Matthews’
new entertainment, it was stated, that the
exquisite artist had given an imitation of
an imitation (“ the shadow of a shade”)
of Garrick’s manner, when he spoke the
celebrated soliloquy in Richard the Third,
“ Now is (he winter of our discontent,”
&c. This excited my curiosity towards
the sul Jet t, and induced me (o pay par
ticular a I teutiou to (he imitation in ques
tion ; and as the witnessing of it has had
llie immediate effect of totally changing
my previous feelings on the point, 1 am
tempted to offer a few words in justifica
tion of the opinion which, in common with
your contributor, 1 now firmly adhere to.
It is cot less remarkable than true that
a whole generation shall frequently re
main for years tog ther in the possession
ol one undisputed, and as they seem to
think, indisputable opinion, on a given
point ; when snd leuly a single touch oi
the Ilhuriul spear of inquiry shall'disco
ver to them that they hat e 1 ren ell a
loug cherishing a decided'mid palpable
error. 1 auiicipoj that nothing les
than this will soon be tlie case with re
gard to the spirit of that celebrated pas
sage to which 1 am now directing your
readers’ attention. I will place the pas
sage before them, and then briefly state
why I think so.
“ (It ,rtrr —Now Is the winter of our ilisroufont
Maile glorious summer by this sun of Vork ;
And nil the clouds that toured upon or.r house,
In the deep bosom of (he ocenn buried.
Now areourbrows boaiul with victorious wreaths 4
Our -tern alarms are dunged to merry meeqags,
Our a epdfnl mul chings to delightful measure,
tirim iisnged AVer has smoothed his wrinkled
front; '
And now , instead of mounting barbed steeds,
To fright the souls of fearful adversaries, —
Hr capers nimbly in a Indy’s chamber,
To the laciviou-s pleasing of n lute.’’
Now, can any reader peruse (he above
passage and retied lor a moment on (he
Chui acter and situation of hint who ut
ters it, and then say Hut it should b. 4 de
livered in a low, gloomy, thought)nl,
muttering tone, and with a bitterly con
teiopluoiis a»d irronical turn of ex pres
sion? Who is the speaker? And ol
what is he speaking? Is it not upor j
“ one house” that the “ clouds” have
till lately “ loirered'”' D it not “ our
brows” that are notv “ hound with vie
torious wre.Khr?” And are not Ambi
tion and Glory the go Is of the speaker’s
idolatry—the only gods—the gods to ,
whom he sacrifices, with a giy and reck
! l , s * iai| d, every obstacle that stands in ,
his way ? Whois it 100, that ha# brought i
About tins “glorious summer Who,
but the “ sun of York ;” the Plaiita«-e
--■let ; by a relationship to whom the
high reaching” Gloster “ look# proud
ly on the crown aud which crown, bu'
lor the late success,.,, that lie is contem
I’l Hiug, he might in vain have hoped It
mnpass ? And with all ‘hese consi Jera- !
lions playing, shifting, and blending them
selves together in his ever-.ar uve muni,
will he be likely to utter their results
in any other than atone' of joyous exul
tation, with smiling lips, fine-darting
eyes, arid altogether an action and de
meanor calculated to evince the pre
sence of that newborn spirit of hope
, which may be supposed’to have just vis
ited him ?
It must be borne ih mind that Gloster
is a person absolutely without shame,
fear, or remorse ; a gay, impudent, bold
faced villain; exulting in the conscious
ness of his intellectual superiority, and
firmly believing that it will carry him
safely and triumphantly through all diffi
culties. He can “smile, and smile, and
murder while he smiles; 1 ’ not hypocri
tically or affectedly, but from pure lov<
of the sport. Nay, he ran scarcely mur
der without smiling : there is not one of
his deeds of blood that he docs not cut a
joke upon. Even hi? own deformity, the
contemplation of which is the only thing
that ever for an instant disturbs the self
complacency of his thoughts—he can
make merry even with that; and only
treat? it seriously to serve a particular
purpu e—as in the scene where he bare?
his withered arm, and calls for punish
ment oa those through whose spells (as
he would insinuate) this h:is befallen
him. * „
•The reader will do well to recollect
i that those “ compunctious visilings”
! which assail (Hosier in the Tower, are
confined to the net id play—(hat impu
dent falsification of Shakespeare and his
tory which has so long kept possession of
tlie stage, to the disgrace of our national
taste and feeling. In the rent scene in
the Tower, Gloster is all light-hearted
ness ami joy. Even his anxious rare a
! boat the mode of burying the murdered
primes is all interpolated. What care?
he how nr where they ai e buried ? It is
enough for him that they are dead ; and
when Tyrre! tells him
“ The otinplain of the Tower hath Imrled llirra i
But where, to s«y the truth, I do not know,”—
he d"es not say a word more on ti e sub
ject ; but proceeds gaily to sum up t ! e
number of his subjects of self-congratu
lation, —
“ The son of Clarence have I penned up close ;
His daughter meanly have I match. .1 ir. marriage i
'file sons of Edwaitl sleep in Abraham's boson;
And Anne my wife hath bid the w orlii
Here are as many jukes as lines; ami he
finishes by determining instantly to visit
his niece Elizabeth, in the character ol
•• a jolly thriving wooei.”
Gloster was, in fuel, disposed to be anV
thing rather than out ol temper, either
with the world or with himself. To those
who did not know him, he mast have ap
peared one of the most delightful per
son- imaginable. Ile continues careless,
confident, animated, and < ourageous even
to the last; not to be daunted or cast
down by danger or death itself. * And it
is remarkable, that the very last speech
lie utters before he rushes out to seek
and find Richmond “ even in the throat
of death,” is evidently intended to in
-11 tides a pleasantry,—“ 1 think there be
six Richmonds in the field,” &c. We are
of course speakiugof Shafietpean's play,
in which Cluster is not seen after this
speech.
Surley there needs no more arguments
lo prove that the soliloquy which has oc
casioned these remarks, calls for a man
ner of delivery directly opposite to that
which wo have seen assigned to it iu the
present day ; that, in fact, it requires ex
actly the manner which Garrick is said to
have adopted in giving it, and which adop
tion is, perhaps, of itself an argument al
most conclusive in its favour. Whether
Mr. Mathews’ manner of giving the
speech in question resemble Tate V\ ilkin
son’s imitation of Garrick, 1 know not; but
of this I am certain, that it is an admira
ble morceau of acting; that the high ani
rna'cd and cheerful look ; the restless and
almost redundant action, and the exulting
bubbling up of the voice (as if it came
fresh and sparkling from the overflowing
well-springs of the heart) are all in per
fect keeping with the charactur and situa
tion of the speaker; and 1 hope (more than
I expect) that they will at once super
cede those gloomy and querulous tones
and gestures which would induce one t;
believe that “ the clouds” which are spo
ken of were all “ buried in the dark bo
som” of the speaker, instead of “the o
cean.”
It must be understooed that I would
apply the foreign remarks exclusively lo
the first part of the soliloquy; to that part
of it which 1 have quoted above, and
which alone .Mr. Matthews gives as hav
ing been spoken by Garrick in a cheer
ful and exulting spirit. From this we
are, no doubt, to com bide, that the mo
ment Gloster begins to “ descant on his
own deformity,” Garrick made him as
sume a dilf ;rent tone and manner ; prob
ably asimularonc to that adopted in the
present day throughout the whole speech.
If so tins furnished a striking and highly
dramatic contrast, worthy the reputed
genius of that actor. But to enter into
this part of the subject would require
more space than you are likely to allow
me : I, therefore, conclude by expressing
my sincere admiration for the talents of
an actor who would deserve the thanks of
all lovers of the English acted drama,
even it he had done nothing else than
thus presen ea traditional likeness of the
mind and manner of iis most distinguish
ed ornament.
*By nothing but “shadows;” and by
ihem only for a moment. See that admi
rably characteristic speech “Shadows
to uight have struc k more terror to the
»oul of Richard,” &c. And the history
of the human intellect proves ihat “sha
dow.-” have often been known to excr
ci-e a more striking momentary influence
over minds like Ki«, than over those of a
meaner rank.
A thief near Wheeling, Va. recentlv
succeeded in stealing from a wagon a
large trunk. He supposed that he had
made a “good haul.” Eager to reap the
reward of his labour s , at a convenient
place, be carefully opened the trunk by
taking off the hinges, and emptied it of its
contents, when lo ! insteadoffimliug some
thing to gratify his avarice, he beheld a
human form!.
“ Wliat may this mean,
That thou, deait corse, a vain, in complete shape
Revint’etuiias the glimpses of the moon.
Malijng-tiight hideous.”
It was the muniy of one of (he female
iborigihes, that hail remained for ages in
a caverp invKentucky, and was on her
way to the eastward tqTbe exhibited for
the gratification of die curious.
<ifi& ■ md'
From “ A Sketch of Old
bij a New England Man.'’
The preparations Ibr the king’s
coronation, and the consequent mar
shalling of the house-hold troops, to
gether with the various claims to ser
vices of one kind or other on the oc
. casion, naturally turned my attention
to the subject, and caused me to com
pare the stale of his majesty with
• that of our worthy president.
1 In making some little researches
' into these matters, it is inconceivable
what a nest of officials 1 have routed
• out of his majesty’s chambers, ward
robe, cellars, kitchen, scullery, sta
bles and dog-kennels. All these are
t more or less privileged persons;
. most of them are paid for doing no
: thing, and all living at the expense of
the people. To me it was really a-
J musing to see the uncouth names of
. some of these offices, and the pitiful
= functions of others, that are filled by
some of the highest nobility of the
s kingdom. It is these, as well as in
1 more important particulars, that the
( radical, essential, and irreconcilable
i difference between this people and go
i vernment, and ours, is clearly indi
■ cated. Our people would laugh rea
• dy to split their sides, or if they did
! not laugh, they would groan in syi
i rit, to see those men to whom they
- had been accustomed to look up with
- reverence or respect, deriving digni
[ \ ty, importance, and wealth, from the
9 ; performance of the most menial offi
1' ces, such as the lowest white man
| among them would not deign to per
-5 form for the highest.—-Indeed, the
whole arrangement of the court here
would be irresistibly ridiculous, were
I the farce not turned into a tragedy,
by the additional burthens ami priva
tions the people are obliged to sus
• tain to support this mummery. As
our good people are, however, hap
’ pily exempt from such degrading
burthens, they are free to make
’ themselves merry on the occasion. I
w ill assist you as far as I can by enter
. ing into the details,
i The first of these important per
-1 sonr.ges is the Lord High Steward of
the king’s household,whose province
is to superintend the state of his ma
] jesty’s chambers, kitchens, &c. and
t to whom all officers and servants of
1 the king’s house, except those of the
’ chapel, chambers and stable, are sub
, jeet. His dignity, state, and honour
. are said to be exceedingly great, for
- he attends bare-headed upon the
s king, and swears the members of par
’ liaraent. His salary and emoluments
are probably two hundred times grea
f ter than those of the High Steward
• of the President of the Uuited States,
whose functions are pretty similar,
• except that he docs not administer
the oath to members of congress, and
i is not, 1 believe, called lord.
The second great officer of the
' household troops is the Lord Chara
[ berlain, who, it is to be remembered,
1 is different from the Lord Great
t Chamberlain of England. To the
- former belongs the superintendence
j of all the officers of the king’s cham
' her, except the precincts of the king’s
» bed-chamber, which territory belongs
r to another grettt man, called the
- Groom of the Stole. All above
‘ stairs, to the very garret, is subject
_ to his conlroul. He is also overseer
„ of the wardrobes, beds, tents,
revels, music, comedians, hunting,
- messengers, trumpeters, drummers,
artisans, handicraftsmen, physicians,
apothecaries, surgeons, barbers, and
i chaplains. In his capacity of Mas*
> ter of the Revels and Comedians, it
i is that he exercises the prerogative
1 of licensing plays. The present
’ Lord Chamberlain Is said lo be a
; capital judge of Pantomime. The
Lord Great Chamberlain is still
i greater than he, being entitled to live
ry and lodging at court, besides other
• mighty privileges. On the day of
the coronation, before the king rises
r from bed, the Lord Great Chamber
lain is privileged to bring him his
1 shirt, coif, and wearing apparel, for
• which he is entitled to all the king’s
. night clothes, and the bed and bed
s clothes, as a fee. Then he carries
f the coif, gloves, and linen, at the co
’ conation ; the sword, the scabbard,
\ the royal robe and crown, with pri
! vilege to undress and attire the king.
For these great services he receives
forty ells of crimson velvet for a robe.
—Lastly, he serves the king on that
’ 'day, before and after dinner, with
. water to wash his hands, and has the
• basin and towel for his pains. Only
tnsce the vast dificrence between a
; king,“ by the grace of God,” and a
‘ President, by the will of the people,
the persons, whose functions ap
proach nearest to these mighty lords,
in the President's establishment, are,
i or at least were, when I was last at
1 Washington, two clever bladk fel
lows. named Pompey and Paul, if I
recollect right, whose services did not
f cost the nation a farthing. Our wor
thy President, it is true, is respected
and beloved by all the people, w here
ver he goes he is received with accla
mations, and hewvas never shot at in
his whole life, except by the enemies!
of his country in battle. But for all
this, there is not a freeman of a white
colour, and in decent circumstances,
born and brfed in our country, that!
would not feci himself degraded by'
the performance of such menial ser
vices. These offices are at present
tilled in England by a marquis and a
baroness, the latter by hereditary de
scent, who, 1 hope, for the sake of
■ decency, did not insist on her claim
of undressing the king at the corona
i tion.
After the Great Chamberlain com
eth tne Master of the Horse, Comes
Stabuli. This great officer, as he is
i called, hath now the ordering and su
: perintendence of the king’s stables,
I horses, footmen, grooms, farriers,
■ coachmen, smiths, saddlers, &c. Be
• sides all this, he, and he only—think
! of that, brother!—has the privilege
; of making use of any horses, pages,
• or footmen, belonging to the king’s
fj stables. Another of his great privi
■ | leges, is that of riding next behind
f the king, leading the king’s horse of
I state. The person at present exer
cising these high functions is a duke,
“ the descendant of the Grahams of
i Scotland. The President’s coach
; man is tiie person most nearly resem
; bling the Master of the Horse, and
■; receives about fifteen or twenty dol
- j lars a month for his services.
Under one or other of these three
I mighty officers, all or nearly, all, the
• subordinate ones are marshalled, and
• an army of them there are, I assure
i you, numerous as the drones of the
■ hive, and like them, for the most part',
; living by the labors of others. There
• he “ land rats and water rats;”
> Treasurers of the Household ; Comp
- trailers ; Cofferers ; Masters of the
! Household ; Clerks of green cloth j
: Clerks Comptrollers ; Gentlemen of
- the Privy Chamber; Gentlemen Pen
, sinners; Gentlemen Cupbearers ;
■ Gentlemen Carvers ; Gentlemen
■ Sewers ; Gentlemen Ushers ; Gen
-5 tlemen Grooms of the Bedchamber ;
• “ all honorable men,” I assure you ;
; and, what is of more consequence,
- all well paid by the people.
1 ext come the pages of the Pre
sence Chamber; Grooms of the Great
Chamber; Pages of the Bedchamber
■ and Backstairs; Officers of the re-
I moving Wardrobe; standing Ward
- robe keepers; Laundress of the Body
■ Linen ; Sergeant at Arms; Messen
-1 gers of the Great Chamber; Clerks
t of the Checque to the Messengers in
- Ordinary; all of them, too, “honora
ble men,” or women; and most of
r them having deputies, who have their
r, deputies, Ac. Ac. ad infinitum. In
J the roar of these, march “ four and
twenty fiddlers all in a row,” under
’ the command of the grand Master of
‘ the Music. Next come the Sergeant
1 Trumpeters; Court Drummers; Mas
> tors of the King’s Tennis Court;
f locksmiths; card-makers; embroid
' erers; cabinet-makers; operators of
the teeth ; oar-makers; harpsichord
makers; sergeant skinners; distillers;
? pin-makers; perfumers; strewers of
herbs; apothecaries; rut-killers;
> mole-catchers; necessary women;
f and yeomen of the mouth—all very
; honorable persons, that serve the
; king, and are well paid by the peo
' pie.
\ I have not done yet. I must not
[ forget the Master Cooks, those im
| portant personages—nor the people
' of his majesty’s bakehouse, pantry,
. buttery, cellar, spicery, confectionary;
ewry; the scourers, turnbroches, door
’ keepers, soil-carriers, of the king’s pri
’ vy kitchen, the queen’s privy kitchen,
’ the household kitchen, larder, scald
’ ing-house, pastry, scullery,and wood
yard ; nor the harbingers, the porters
t of the gate, the bread-bearers, wine
porters, table-deckers, purveyors,
| and pankeepers; not one of whom
would ever forgive me for not making
honorable mention of themselves,
[ and their dignities, as servants of the
king. A vast number of these offi
. ces are of the most frivolous kind, as
p you may well believe, from the na
, ture of the functions exercised by
’ their betters.
j Here too, as in every other depart
. ment of the government, we see the
; same care taken to instil and preserve
. a sense of dependence and inferiority,
. distinct from every moral mental, or
. physical qualification, and derived
( from the king’s pleasure alone. One
. grade ot officers of the court is not al
lowed to approach nearer to the king's
; person than a certain room, beyond
which a superior order of beings,
gifted with superior privileges, inha
bit or officiate. In short, from those
who are permitted to perform menial
offices about the king’s person, to
those who only come within the out
skirts of the court, there is a regular
gradation of inferiority. The great
man who hands the king his shirt,
looks down upon the little man, who
is only admitted into the king’s pre
sence ; while the great man, who is
allowed to come inside of a certaih
door, considers the little man, that
waits on the other side, vastly and
radically his inferior. The divinity
of a courtier is the king ; and who
ever can get nearest to him, partakes,
in exactly the like proportion, of the
divine nature of majesty.
! it is for this reason that courts have,
in all ages, been the theatres for the
excitement and struggles of all those
petty passions, which disgrace our
nature. Perpetually reminded, as
I courtiers are, of their inferiority to
■ those above them in staiioi, ari d f M
t by a thousand causes of
l arising from the system ole J
• I have mentioned, jealousy enu K
f spleen, are eternally excited
. work. Every one i s consent B
- striving to get within a certaS fl
from which he is’ excluded bv fl
■ \ uette j and passions, wl L* I
s the wide world are only occasion fl
s awakened to violence, are B
- in a continual heat, by an evert? ■
, succession of mortification j|B
, will of the king alone can raise aBI
- above such things, and to the i I'M
c they sacrifice all independent* 111
j mind, rather than be kept in lfle wM
, room, while others wait in the
s own chamber. ,U 1 ■9
- All this, they tell me here, isabt H
i lutely necessary to the dignity 1 ■
f king, and the security of his t h JH
- because without this abject sense! ■
, dependence and inferiority, np u O
f the great nobles, nor the people*l W
- large, would submit to grovel
- footstool of royalty. I f ear tsi ‘ I,e ■
1 true ; for I feel that is impossible,! ■
-a king to reign by divine right a W ■
except over a people, who are drilfcj ■
p from their youth upwards ii lto a ■
- grading and awful impression a ■
1 kingly superiority, by these 'irfa. ■
p gradations of servitude, this systen I
2 of ranks A etiquette, by which a m', B
9 is > at evcr y and every niomer I
2 of his life, reminded that other m fc I
’ are gods, and himself little better tin I
-a beast. When such feelings and in, I
2 pressions become, by habit and edu I
; cation, a part of the very nature o I
f man, it is difficult, if not impossible
- to make him comprehend our ration
; al system of equality. He will con .
i found the freedom from these abjeci
- restraints, with the licentiousness that
; overleaps those barriers ’which an
; essential to the existence of society ;
, and, in attempting to rid himself o(
slavery, will become a madman or a
- gormandizer. In short, my dear bro
t ther, as it is impossible to make a
r white man of a negro, or wheat bread
- out of rye flour, so does it appear to
- me next to impossible to make ration
s al, manly, high-spirited republicans,
- who resist oppression, yet obey the
s laws, out of a population born in a
i state of dependence, and brought up
- in a manner worthy their birth. I
1 believe our ancestors carried with
r them all the spirit of liberty England
i ever possessed, or what they left be
-1 hind, was frightened away by the
r French revolution.
f
t
. Present Picture of JS'cw- York.
’ Our readers at a distance, who are
j- acquainted with this city, as it ap
pears at ordinary seasons, will doubt
, less feel some curiosity to know how
p it looks, while laboring under the
. calamity of a pestilence; and wo shall
\ this evening endeavor to draw a
’ brief sketch of the city, as viewed
? under its present aspect. In doing
' this, we shall presuppose our readers
acquainted with the topography of
the city, since a description of streets,
{ markets and other public places,
would lead us too much into detail,
3 and extend this bird’s eye view be
> yond its intended limits.
’ Beginning, then, with what is call
r ed the infected district, which was
the source, and is yet the principal
> seat of the pestilence, you see the
wharves from about Fulton-street, on
the North River, to the Battery, cn
s tirely stripped of its shipping, no
boats plying along the solitary shore.
’ the stores and and houses fronting the
1 river all closed, and the dead silence,
1 which reigns through this region,
’ unbroken by the hum of industry, or
? the cheerful bustle of business. It is
said, indeed, that one old lady, pos
’ sessing more valor than discretion,
still resolutely remains in her house,
within the original infected district,
having supplied herself with proyi
■ sions for a long residence, and dis
-1 puling the empire over these deserted
1 dominions, with the cats and rats,
> who are her only neighbors. yhe
’ | sometimes, perhaps, during the night
1 hears the footsteps of the watchman,
: walking his lonely round, but proba
■ bly oftener, the silent tread of the
1 thief, whom even a the pestilence,
! that walketh in darkness, and wasteth
i at the noon-day,” cannot deter from
■ the commission of the most wanton,
‘ depredations, at the imminent hazard
of his own life.
From the Battery up the East Ri ■
’ ver, to Fulton street, some gleanings
of population and business yet i'C
main ; no case of fever having yet
1 appeared on this side of the town
1 Several stores are still open in Vv ater
street ; but our readers can judge
1 how generally the lower part of the
city has been deserted, when they are
Informed that the estimate of popula
tion south of Fulton street, which it
will be recollected extends from river
to river, is short of 3000. The or
dinary population is probably no
far from 30,000, making the number
of emigrants about 27,000. The
beautiful streets in the vicinity of the
Battery, Broadway as far up as the
Park, with the parallel and transverse
streets, from river to river, compris
ing one of the most wealthy, and in
ordinary seasons the most healthy