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• H jiiiiin* WBP rviuium bt 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