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KEAXU CHAHL'TOJf.
Thnratfay Evening
, STANZA-
J Cannot mourn that time ha* fled,
Though in iu flight some joy* Wtepe
risli’d;
I cannot mourn that hopes are dead
Winch my young heart too dearly eke
vish’d.
For time has brought Jttc as it past
Mor»* valued joys than those it banish’d,
And hope has o’er the future cast
Suh brighter hues, as others vanish’d.
Nor can 1 mourn that days are gone
With many a heart-felt sorrow laded—
Nofwill I grieve o’er pleasures flown.
That early glow’d—and quickly faded.
For Time with kind and gently sway,
Still softens every passing sorrow*
And though it steals one joy to day,
It salds another on the morrow.* A.
■ mm QSM*—»
wVVr. Kean.
'The fell owing obtervationt on Mr. Venn’s
acting, are of no old u date at June, 1815,
•when they defeated in the • Critical Re-
Wro.”
That Mr Kean -possesses an active un
tutored genius we arc desirous to admitt
but we deny tliat he possesses s judg
ment to model its course. His great forte
is originality) and originality of concep
tion, unite d with grandeur of action, are
powerful theatrical attributes. Hut to
whi.t object is this talent directed! To
r.ew readings of Shakspeave by a very
young man, whose life, like that of Syl
vester Dnggerwood, has been devoted to
the enaction cf every species of dramatic
rhumnu-ry from Alexander the Great, to
Harlequin, in a petty provincial theatre.
Persona accustomed to look through
false optics, and flattered in their debt*
«*cn, seldom like la peep into the mirror
us truth. We do not, now, hold it up
»HC wound, but to amend.” Not to be
diffuse in our retrospect, we will select
Garrick from the old school, sad inquire
what were his deficiencies in the resding
us Shakspeare. Dramatic critics tell us
be v. as a scholar, a wit, a gentleman, and
■so peculiarly gifted by nature, that he
vvus, equally, the chaste representative of
tragedy, anil of comedy.
May we not, therefore, presume he
could read Slrakspeare as well ss Mr.
Kean? we will put the latter to the tesl._
Wr well remember being half killed, in
crowding to the third row of the pit, on
Mi Kean’s debut in Hamlet. It was the
Aral time we bad seen him, and the ini
Ji cession, at his appearance, was indeed un
avourablc. His approach ws.s not marked
with the deep toned melancholy of the
Diunsh prince; hut with an air of shrewd
Suspicion, which the vivid glances of his
inquisitive eyes, proclaimed to be the
ruling action of his mind But this no
velty was soon lost in others, equally ab
sur«U till in his scene with Ophelia, n lieu
he rudely desi r * her to retire to ahe
nunnery, •utld»n)> arrested his hurried ex
it n i UI » solemn pace, returned to kiss
the lady’s han ;
, ,» nut easy to dfscribe the pealing
applause, that almost, without ceasing,
thundered through the house. It now
vibrates on our ears What shall we
f In candour we will admit that the
treatment Ophelia receives in this
Mcene, from llamle', is always repulsive to
our finer feelings; but’we went to see tbe
illustration of Slukapeare’s text: and the
piopriety of this, as it were unpremedita
ted tenderness, is contradict) d by the
subsequent speech from the king, on
quit t ing his concealment with Pnionius.*
If, therefore, this new reading were a
gtseable, it was evidently unciassical. We
Wid not speak of the person and accom
plishments attributed by our immortal
poet to his Hamlet; for Mr Kean’s physi
cal deficiencies are not the objects of our
tft iticismi but we will say, that all the
Sublime soliloquies in Ilwudei, require the
polished declamation of a scholar; and,
that a prince should always bear the out
ward and visible characteristics of a gen
tleman. In this reasonable expectation,
however, we were much disappointed,
particularly in the grave scene.
Mr Kean’s fencing has been loudly ap
plauded. But we were taught by the late
Angelo, that safety ought never to be sa
crificed to grace; and Mr. Kean’s suit tides
constantly exposed him to danger—his
Mongement is much beyond the power of
recovery. But, then, he dies so admits
hly! Granted.
In Uichard, Mr. Kean has a more natu
ral scope fur his abilities. His counten
iffice is peculiarly susceptible of great va
riety, and hit eyes are irresistible* The
meaner pensions of human nature are
best suited to bis talents His hypocrisy
is admirable; but when uichard is divest
ed of all art, and appears towards the
She close of the play, in his natural cha
ncier—the brave, lofty, and desperate
tyrant, is lost in insignificance.
Mr. Kean has uo skill indignity.
In Othello, be wants every attraction.
The magnanimous Moor displays his vir
tues in grandeur. The beautitul ttesde
mona, full of her sex’s softness, yet
capable of fortitude, could never have
fallen in love with such a black own as
Mr Kean.
On Macbeth, we shall be silent; it is an
effort ol temerity which, we presume,
noil ting but blind popularity could ever
induce Mr. Kean to attempt; but of Ro
meo, we will say a few words
We ate told, in panegyrics laboured
thorough whole columns us the daily
press, that in this character, Mr. Re.an
Surpassed himself* He gave new beauties
Cu his Romeo— h« was, forsooth, a heroic
lover.
Monstrous idolatry! Romeo—the pretty,
whining, romantic, love-sick, Romeo—a
heroic lover! “ O tell it not in Gath; nor
publish it in the streets of Aakalon!”—
These are, indeed, new reading! with a
Tenge snot!
Luke is unquestionably Mr. Kean’s beat
performance. Like the M'Sycophant of
Cooke, ilaeemsto be altogether his own.
Li that character he may be tame without
servility, and imperious without nobility.
No one will ever ask him to look like a
gentleman.
*&taa— u Love!—bir affections do not
that way tend;
For what he spake, though it
lack’d form a little,
Was sot hie Bl4))g§f’aa«
* ON AMERICA.
From the Edinburgh StateimCn.
for her* the exile met from every clime,
And spoke in friendship every'distant
tongue*
Men from the blood of warring Europe
sprung.
Were but divided by the'running brookt
And happy where no Rhenish trumpet
sing.
On plains no sieging mine’s volcano
shook.
The blue-eyed German chang’d his sword
to prunning hook.
CAMPBELL.
Thk extraordinary emigration
from all quarters ut the world to
America, at this moment, is a fact
perhaps more truly characteristic of
the moral and political feelings of
the European Nations, than any
other that could be mentioned. It is
impossible to look at the vast multi
tudes of alt conditions and profes
sions, who are throwing up their
prospects in their native country, and
crowding to the Land of Promise,
without a sensation of wonder. 11
is a spectacle without a parallel
since the time of the t'rusades; and
in describing it, we might ad pt the
language us the Princess Cummona,
and say, ‘‘that Europe appears torn
up by the roots to be precipitated up
on America.” The time, too. is re
markable. No sooner has peace re
stored mankind to the undisturbed
exercise of industry and the bless
ings of repose, than men appear to
be driven from their homes by an
universal feeling of discontent, as
if some malignant spirit had chosen
this auspicious moment to blast the
hopes ot the Old World. And who
can doubt that this has been done?
Who can doubt that a feeling of dis
gust and indignation has been rooted
in the minds of the honest and dis
cerning, at the profligate scenes so
lately exhibited on the political The
atre, by those who call themselves
the liberators of Europe; and that
men are flying, under the impulse
of terror At hatred, from the scourge
of legitimacy—happy to find one
asylum in the world undefited by its
blood-stained foot-steps. Europe
has had changes and revolutions
enough during the last thirty years;
but nothing resembles this, in
these the passions and interests of
Rulers were generally the moving
principle, always the directing and
contruling power; but in this we
see the influence of a new settle
ment, and that has grown up in si
lence, in the bosom of private life,
and is now making unprecedented
(‘.fleets on the character,and eventu
ally on the destinies of man. A
passion for LIBERTY—a thing
scarcely known in tbe world, even by
name, two centuries ago, has not on
ly sprung into existence, but seems
to occupy the place of all its votaries
on the Western Continent, as on a
chosen sanctuary. In every coun
try its prevading energy is felt,
and its effect manifested. It has
subdued the National vanity of
the Freuch, phlegm of the German,
the ardent love of country of the
Swiss and the Irish, and the self-suf
ficient spirit of the English. In all
these it has severed the thousand
ties that bind our affections to the
land of our birth. It is no doubt
true, that high wages and cheap
lands, are the inducement with some
whogo to America; but when wc re
collect that Russia has been invit
ing settlers from the civilized na
tions of Europe, to (the Crimea, for
twenty years past, and that the pro
mise of free lands with protection
and immunities, has scarcely pro
duced any effect in turning the
stream of emigration in that quarter,
although so much nearer, we shall
be satisfied that the multitudes
who are pouring into the United
Slates, are swayed by motives of a
very different deenptiou. Indeed
we believe no careful and honest ob
server will deny, that as the love of
religious liberty first planted civili
tiou in the American solitudes, so it
is the love .of civil liberty that con
tinues to draw to them the popula
tion of Europe. Yet it is in this
age, when new principles of action
require new social arrangements,
that exploded abuses, the most offen
sive to the moral eye, are dug up in
their corruption, and re-enthroned in
the world.
Even considering America merely
as an outlet for the redundant popu
lation of the older States of Europe,
it is impossible to estimate too high
ly its beneficial operation on the
condition of mankind. As the ex
cess of population arising above the
means of subsistence and employ
then t, is the source of a great pro
. portion of all the other evils that
afflict humanity; the friend of man
who wished to improve the state of
society, would desire nothing so
mochas an unlimited outlet of this
kind to carry offits surplus numbers.
There is no doubt, however, a mate
rial loss in rearing citizens for ano
ther community The populatiot
of « country ia » put of its capital,
rind those who ore carried olTby emi* I
gration belong chief)/ to the niosi
productive classes. The/ cons;»*
for the greater part of men in the
prime of life, with the powers of
their habits formed, and their pro
fessional skill perfected. Such men
are evident!/ the nerves and sinews
of National strength; and this truth
becomes still more obvious, when we
recollect that not more than one
third of those who are born reach the
age of thirt/ six, and eonsequently,
that the value to society of an active
man, at that period of life includes
nut only the expence and trouble
which it has cost lo bring him to this
state of full maturity and Usefulness,
but likewise the expense and trouble
bestowed on the other two thirds
who have per;shod before society
could reap any benefit from their
labors. It is evident, that to lose a
given number of such men,-is ave
ry different thing from losing.an
equal number of negroes taken in*
discriminate!/ ftom both sexes, and
from the old and young. Notwith
standing this, however, the sound
est views of political science teach
us, that a country may have too ma
ny citizens, even of the most use
ful classes: and that, when this is
the case, the superfluous numbers
are a source of misery to the class
they beleng to, and of poverty and
weakness to the Stale. As this is
probably the condition of most of the
older European communities, emi
gration, with all the advantages enu
merated, becomes beneficial; and, at
the present crisis in particular, when
a combination of change in the situ
ation of the industiious classes, we
think it indisputably salutary, and
we arc glad to think that there is a
land of refuge to receive at least a
part of those unhappy sufferers, who
have been jostled out of their places
and exposed to misery and w nt,
by causes ever which they had no
control. If Ministers deplore the
loss of so much skill and industry
so the country, let them recollect
that their own rashness and extra
vagance have been instrumental in
creating that state of things which
hat forced many abroad who might
have remained at home; and let
them also recollect, thatas political
feelings induce many to emigrate
who have no reason to complain of
their worldly circumstances, a great
deal o! discontent (and well grout d
ed discontent too) finds its escape
through this channel, which would
not be for the benefit of them and
their system to confine within the
country.
To America, on the 'other hand,
who has a boundless territory, and
wants nothing so much as men to
occupy it, the influx of people from
Europe is a positive and unmixed
good. She does not fence round her
shores with alien acts, {but opens
her arms to receive all those whom
oppression, intolerance and distress,
have forced to seek an asylum within
her boundaries. She is enriched and
strengthened »y perpeinal supplies
from the skill and talent, and the
capital of the old world. And in
this enumeration of advantages to
America, perhaps it should not be
forgot, that at a time when her situa
tion, as the great protectress and
conservator of free principles, like
ly to muster up against her the ven
geance of confederated legit imaev
it is fortunate that the thousands
who are thronging to her shores, ge
nerally carry with them a deep de
testation of European despotism.
There was a time when the com
posed of ail nations fixed their hopes
on England; when every act of tyran
ny in continental Europe sent multi
tudes to this country for refuge and
protection? and when, as Burke
said, “the worshippers of freedom
in whatever quarter of the world
they were found, turned their face
to England.” But this proud dis
tinction is lost, and| the stream
of emigration now flows in another
direction. Twenty years of un
ceasing exertion as the champions
of unlimited monarchist power a
gainst popular rights, have opened
the eyes of mankind to our true
character; and henceforth we may
rest assured, that those who forsake
their native country from the love of
liberty, so far from seeking refuge
here, will shun us as the most dead
ly enemies of the cause they cherish.
Thanks to Pitt, to Perceval, and to
Castiereagh; the spell that made our
country the idol of patriots and le
gislators is dissolved. We need not
barricade our coasts with alied acts
to include the Carnots and Koscius
kos, the suffering .patriots, the vic
tims of persecution, and the mar
tyrs of principle, religious or politi
cal, as if wa dreaded contamination
from their presence. It is to Ame
rica such men now turn their eyes;
and every wish they breathe for the
good of mankind binds them the fir
mer to her destinies, i They love
not our principles; they disdain our
protection; and when circumstances
compel them to remain in Europe,
they choose rather to live in Prussia,
in Austria, or in Spain itself, then in
the land of Hampden, and Sidney
ind Locke. But to whatever quar
ter of Europe they go, they We
the insolation of finding thou Bands
Who Join cordially in execrating the
conduct and principles of England.
\nd is this the final result of all our
exertions and triumphs? Our loans,
.iur subsidies, our unexampled sacri
ces of bio id and treasure, so far
from gaining the good will of any
one ot the nations whose cause we
affected to serve, have made us the
object of that universal indignation
which crushed Bonaparte with all
his legions, and which would now
crush os ih torn-, did circumstances
favor its operation. This is what
the continental Press tells u* when
it dare; and what facts speak where
the Press is silent. V\ e may de
claim against the prejudices, and af
fect to pity the ignorance of those
who view us with such a feeling;
but neither experience nor history
will bear us out in our complaints ;
for it is without example ih the
world, that the mass of civilized so
cietv should conspire to regard their
best friends as their worst enemies.
But if we have lost the confidence
of the people throughout Europe, the
Princes, great and small, from Lis
tmh to Petersburg, whether they
rule by open force, or pious fraiid
whether they sell their subjects by
the head, or exchange them in the
gross, are our firm friends as far as
they dare avow it. They are the
w orshippers who turn their faces to
England. Fed by the riches of her
country, the encircle her with their
homage, whispering their vows of
eternal gratitude.
They look op to her as the tutelary
genius that inspires their counsels
and prompts their enterprises—-and
they resort to her for precepts of le
gislation and examples in policy,
suited to their system. They feel
•themselves linked to her fortunes by
a community of views and principles
by holy leagues—and above all by
a conviction that she is a firm sup
porter of their object and their in
terest to perpetuate. This indeed
may be beyond their power. But
should the gathering storm of popular
in ’ignation overthrow another sys
tem, and once more scatter the ad
herents of legitimacy and social or
der, they w ill know where to look
for shelter and support —The doors
tha* were shut against the exiles of
liberty, will naturally be opened to
them. They will recollect the warm
welcome given to a host of priests
and nobles who came flying to us
under the broken banners of fallen
despotism: how our sympathies flow
ed to them; how we relieved their
wants, soothed their sorrows, cheer
ed them with hopes, and at last
made their cause our own—no‘>ly
disdaining to reckon either the cost
or danger.
Winter in the Arctic regions
The darkness of a prolonged winter
now broudsl impenatrably over th«
frozen continent, unless the moon
chance at times to obtrude her faint
rays, which only discover the hor
rors and wide desolation es the
scene. The wretched settlers, cov
et ed with a load of bear skins, re
remain crowded and immurred in
their huts, every chink of which they
carefully stop against the piercing
external cold; and however about
the stove or the lamp, they seek to
doze away the tedious night. Their
slender stock of provisions, though
kept in the lame apartment, is often
frozen so hard, as to require to be
cut with a hatchet. The whole ol
the inside of their hut become lined
with a thick crust of ice; and if they
happen for an instant to open a win
dow, the moistnre of the confined
air is immediately precipitated in the
form of a shower of snow. As the
frost continues to penetrate deeper,
the rocks are heard at a distance to
split with loud explosions. The
sleep of death seems to wrap up the
scene in utter oblivious ruin.
At length the sun rc-appears above
the horizon—but his languid beams
rather betray the wide waste, than
brighten the prospect. By degrees,
however, the further progress of the
frost is checked. In the month of
May, the famished inmates venture
leave their hut, in quest of fish
*m the margin of the sea. As the sun
acquires elevation his power is greatly
increased. The snow gradually
wastes away—the ice dissolves a
pace—and vast fragments of it, de
tached from the cliffs, and undermin
ed beneath, precipitate themselves
on the shores with the noise and clash
of thunder. The ocean is now un
bounded and its icy dome broken up
with tremendous rapture. The en
ormous fields ot ice, thus set afloat,
are, by the violaoce of winds and
currents, again dissevered and dis
persed. Sometimes, impelled in op
posite directions, they approach and
strike with a mutual shock, like the
trust of worlds, sufficient, if opposed
to reduce to atoms in a moment, the
proudest monument, of human pow
er, It is impossible to picture a
situation more awful than that of
the poor crew of a whaler, who see
their frail bark thus fatally enclosed,
expecting immediate and inevitable
deletion.
Bknbvgh Bniesf.
Savage Patriotism.—TTi« following"
anecdote is given in “ Notes on the
Michigan Teritorj,” lately publish
ed. The Indians of Fond du Luo—
a small tribe of about 50 men—from
their pacific disposition, were bran
ded by their neighbours by the Sioux
with cowardice Feeling indignant
at this, thirteen of them, without
consulting their friends, who were
then negociating a peace with the
Sioux, formed a league, to rescue
their tribe from the imputation on
their courage, and secretly penetrat
ed into the Sioux country Unex
pected they came up a party «f 100
Sioux, and beg!*n to prepare for bat
tle. But the Sioux, seeing their
small number, adviced them to re
turn home; that they admired their
valor, and intimated to them, that if
they persisted their destruction was
inevitable. “The Fond d.e Lac In
dians replied, that they had set out
with a determination to fight the first
enemy they should meet, however
unequal their numbers might be, and
would have entered their villages if
none had appeared sooner—they had
resolved in this manner to show their
brethren that the stigmas that
were thrown upon them were unjust,
4 for no men were braver than their
warriors’; and that they were, ready
and would sacrifice their lives iu de
fence of the character of their tribe.
They encamped a short distance from
the Sioux, and during the night
retreat and fight to the last extrem
ity. They appointed one of theii
numbers (the youngest) to take
a station at a distance and witness
the struggle, and instruct him to
make his escape to (heir own coun
try, when he had witnessed the
death of ail the rest, and slate the
circumstances under which they had
fallen. Early in the morning they
attacked the Sioux, in their camp,
who immediately sallying out upon
them, forced them back to the place
of retreat they had resolved upon.
They fought desperately and im*re
than twice their own number were
killed before they lost their lives.
Eight of them were tomahawked in
the holes t« which they retreated;
and the other four fell on the fiel 1;
thirteen returned home according to
the directions he had received, and
related the foregoing circumstance
to his tribe. Th- y mourned their
death, but delighted with the unex
ampled bravery of their friends, they
were happy in their grief.
I cannot mourn that time has fled*
From the National Intelligencer.
Tbc Xort\\ West Coast.
Gentlemen .—Public attention having
been called to the Northweat coast of Ame
rica, by your late publications from Mr
Itobinson and Commodore Porter, and by
the bill now pending before the House of
itepresentatives, it appears to be a suita
ble time to produce some information, in
my possession, respecting the discovery
of the great river the Columbia, and to
shew whence it derived that name.
In the year 1787, a company of gentle
men of Boston projected an expedition to
the Northwest Coast, and despatched two
vessels on that voyage ; the first voyage
of circumnavigation undertaken by Ame
ricans. The ship Columbia, Capt. Ken
drick, and sloop Washington, Capt Gray,
were employed in ibis service. They
proceeded to the coast, and passed seve
ral seasons in procuring skins; Capt. Gray
took charge of the ship and carried the
skins to Canton, and thence conveyed a
cargo of teas to Boston, from the proceeds
of the furs. As the avails of this cargo did
not more than reimburse the expenses of
the expedition, the owners determined to
profit by the experience of Capt. Gra»,
and, in hopes|of better success, dispatched
the Columoia a second time, under his
command. In this voyage, he discovered
a great river on the coast, entered it with
his ship, went on shore and took posses
sion of the country, by raising the Ameri
can flag 6l other ceremonies, and gave the
name of his ship to the river. This name
has been acknowledged and recognized
by European navigators, sad is found on
the English charts—but they Lave not re
tained the names given to the capes at the
entrance, or, at most, only one of them.
As there can can be no doubt of Capt.
Gray’s priority of discovery, which is ac
knowledged, though reluctantly, oy Van
couver, it seems but justice to the mem
ory of the oatriots, Hancock and Adams,
that the permanent compliment, in
tended to them by Capt. Gray, should be
realized; and that our government should
direct that these capes should bear thos<
venerated names; by such means, doing
honor to those distinguished individuals,
and confirming the first discovery as the
fruits of Americsn enterprise.
The following extracts with true nsut'
cal simplicity, give the particulars of lb*
discovery of this river. C. B.
Extract from the Log-book of the ship Co
lumbia, commanded by Capt. Robert
Gray, on a voyage to the Northwes
coast of America, in 1792.
After expressing an earnest wish to find
a safe harbor, the journal proceeds—
Friday, May 11,1792—At 4 A. M. ss«
the entrance of our desired port, bearing
E. S. E. distance 6 leagues; took in steer
ing sails, and hauled our wind in shore :
at BA. H. being a little to the a • .idvanl
of the entrance of the harbor, bore
away and run in, E. N. £ between the
breakers, having from 5 to 7 fathoms wa
ter. When we came over the bar we
found this to be a large nver of fresh wa
ter, up which we stcei ed: many canoes
came alongside.
At 1 P. M. came to with the small bow
« r in 10 fathoms, black and white sand:
<he entrance between the ban bore W. 8.
W. distant IG miles The north side of
the river half a mile wide from the ship,
the south side two sad » bflf mite di>
t*nce; • village on the p~c H
mer W. by N. distil
a mile. Vast rumbei* i
ionss.de. People *a.ifoS ts «
die salt water out u
order to fill with fresh,
floated in. * J - C - Ce^B
May 12.— Many natives »v • Ha
fresh wiud ; l c t g* tl.c
and veered on both Cki ; . ;
the main top gsli*,,.,■ .' <: BK
watcrcasks’inV;/'
heavy gales and rainy dim
May 13.— Fresh wu.d;
the.-, many natives
May M —At nom, , 2 B»
to sad. rtadingupthtm^’B
we found tae channel t«v., 'W
P. M. we had sailed
miles, when Hi- channel --V
row. that it was almost
in it. Having ftom oto l'- /
sandy bottom; at half Plil4 ‘““B
U.e ground, but she oid not
tore she c.,m e off widiom lrv : <H '
fte backed her off f '. T M **Hl
fathoms, and let go thcsnait?*S
ed ship Will, kedge
ly boat was sent to sonrd the r .
but found it not navigable
so. of course, we must Iweuß
w rang channel. * u h;H
May 16. Light si s I
ther; many natft«, ffont
came alongside. At IQ y J
and dropped down with tL e uwtH
m.le,toa better anchor,
and other tradesmen cc- s t. ' ■
In the af-.en.oon, C s? t
Hopkins, in the joUv-W,'; V, *H
to take a short view 0 f the cawj H
tinned to refresh until the 1R s 1 H
May 18— At 1, came to sail J
of the ebb tide and drifted dov ■
side, with light airs sud
three quarters past, a
from the northward ; wort
into the mer again. At 4,
fathoms, goon holding gJjH
7 miles up; many csmoaaW'zH
May IS—Fresh wind*
ther ; ca.-iy a numbe r of
si arm n and tiad» amen taink..
various department. cL'fv H
M CViLvi'■
a,Hi the north s.dc of the M
f.uncock', die sooth side ddw n J|
Msy 20—Tintle bjttzt aid -,!?H
weaihvr. At 1 p M . beingfbhaLU
up the anchor and umie
down river. ’
Medals were struck ießosisr, ft H
on occasion ot this expedition. V?Bj
seen one of their, in possaMn of iS
tlemsr, of this city, ft bean, o; ore k H
ship and sloop—lege,,d, » C«ctfcsH
kfuifiingt'.n, conm. aided bv J
On the reverse—‘FutcJ w b «„. ■
America, for the Pacific Oceau-feß
Burrell, S. Brown, 0. BuKock, Lff-B
C Hatch, S. M Pintard, 1787 ” ■
The iSuhscriltfil
RESPECTFni.LT iiifmoiLdiJ
and the public, that they Lwt fl
med a connexion, in the ■
Carriage Makinl
Business, I
under the firm of JOHNSON k diH
-lie business will be carried cc *1 ikß
slsncl formerly occupied by ,'uus iufl
son, wb- re all ord* rs in their hut ti sß
wiil be fad* fudy attendedtc. B
r'ages repaffed at the shortest 9oaoc,ifl
in the neatest manner. ■
Johnson $ Crane. I
Just received, a handsome mtiiiil
of Newark made Gig* and ctniagn, B
a few Barrels first rate Newark c.Jtr B
January 15 I
jrgw j ffitu.rß
•fcSSiiiX I
‘visnSnv Jt* StnAq ‘JatLaoamlfl,
3J X||njt|ueq) aq H»w oiSaa >"-■
uo' ; 4teuuoyu| - sa«id jctji et
4«q» poo*Bjap«n a.’-vq ' l3 B
‘uo;saji«qj o» *aif oj jumutß® 1
aits jo sasaAoC t IKM 7 , : °l a*! 0 ® 1
jjoo[ tusop « ‘sa.fa a>-vj i-fl
‘apcui ta ija *t;3iq “B
jo auiwu oqt jfq ueci * *■*! -~9
jo q)uoui aqi ui -a- - B
•pjc.uan Qg y
AtteiffioD. I
Will BE SOI V, I
To the highest belief, ” " V
lurch rest. U..1 well
Sweet M r ater, coottuunf *“7. J
pine lantl, in Wairen and Co!
ties; cbout 100 acre* cMcr l
•he rest well timbered, I
. ..ad leading from
VJ miles above the former, a.J
uelow the latter— $
s;w and Grist Mills, and («r.
a 75 Saw Gin, ail
•he stream is permanent a;*:!
ail; worcs, al! in &** *!*?
Dwelling House, witfi
lie comfoitable accotnmoci- •-
ers; cxceUer.l stables e
ient bouses—Gocd s! ,°‘' '.
Counting Boom, savrouadifl "
ing oaks, forming » rj&f*
grove. This is kac wn to
tar a Tavern sad S‘?re, (iC3s
neiglibourhood for parci*g,
Thl paymenusriilbe^^ u i
equal laments :
January neat* s»»J P ‘
the other two payments u> --
and two years thereafter. .
goods to be sold at attcuoa.
riven till the Ist January ft 1
purchaser of the
modsted with household
nitare, sufiicient for the -
as well as the cattle f ct i
wmd f»cteT €s■**
Febru-rj 8