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• ;|3OCH^>
•< If ever a man died for love, it was
Edward . Morten. The lady to whom
he became early attached iras turn > iet
to another. Morton was present at m
marriage, and was never seen to suite
afterwards. The lady, it is said, was
unhappy in her union, and did not sur
vive it many years. Morton died at
Corfu. A ‘portrait of the lady was
found in his portfolio, wrapped up in
the following lines.'’
I saw thee wedded— tl>u didst po
WHllin the snored sii-le,
Thv young clieeli in a blushing glow,
Betwixt a tear mid smile.
Thv heart was glad in maiden glee,
But it lov’d so fervently
Was faithless all the. while;
I hate him for the vow he o|H>ki
1 hate him lor the vow he broke.
I ldtlthe love that could not die*
Its doubts and hopes and fears,
Ami buried all mv misery
In secrecy and tear*;
And davs passed on, and lliou didst prove
The pang of unrequited love,
E'en in tin early yfflrs ;
Ami thou didst die, so lair and good !
In silence, ami in solitude !
While thou well living, I did hide
Allertion’s secret pains ;
’ I’d not have shock'd thy modest priue
For all the world contains ;
But thou hast perish'd, id the fur
That often check'd could tie er expire,
Again unhidden reigns;
It is no crime to speak my vow,
For uli I tliou const not hear it now.
Thou sfeep’st beneath the ‘owly stone,
That dark and dreamless sleep ;
And lie, thy lov’d and chosen one
Why goes he not to weep i
He does not kneel cohere i have knelt.
He cannot feel wlmt I have felt,
The anguish still and deep.
The painful thoughts of what has been,
The canker worm that is not seen.
Hut I—as o'er the dark blue wave
Unconsciously 1 1 ride,
Jiy thoughts are hovering o'er thy grave,
Aly soul is by thy side,
There is one voice that wails thee yet,
One hcuit that cannot e’er torget
The visions that have died ;
And aye. thy form is buried there,
A doubt—au anguish—< despair ! .
FRAILTY Os BEAUTY.
“•Aye beauty’s wreck
Is soon accomplished Ot crated things
nothing w as finished with tool so nice
As the moth s w ing. ”J is cover'd with fine nrt,
’Tis clothed in feathers to the quickest eye
Hardly perceptible Yet one -light touch
Defaces all. So woman’s beauty Hies,
.Brush and by the hand of sorrow or mischance.
Escapes it these ? Age will not let it pass ;
It fulls a victim to the theft ot time ;
And there is nothing permanent on earth
But Goodness. I have lived, Cecilia, long ;
’ sis almost ten years since I saw four score,
Expei n nee tells me, beauty is .1 shade,
Ar.ct all the pride ot youth a morning ch u 1.
\V ill you he taught to be forever fair,
Fpite of old ngc and w rinWles r Then be Good.
Trail, of air John Moort.
THINGS 1 DO NOT YNL) HAVE NOT
KNOWN.
A married man I do not know,
Who's free from noise and strife ;
A single man 1 do not know
V\ ho would not have a wile.
A woman-1 have never known,
Who would not married be ;
A woman 1 have never known
\\ho married ami was free.
I never knew an aged urn 1,
>\ 110 truly wish’d to die
I never knew a youthful man
YV.IIO never breath'd a sigh.
I never knew nn idle man,
Whom Satan could not hire ,
1 never knew n trailing man
Who never prov’d a liar.
I never knew a w itty man,
Who wealthy ever w as;
I never knew a simple man,
Bui meddled with the laws
lin ■vrr knew a -inging man,
Who did nol reli-h wine ;
1 never knew a rhyming man,
Who ne'er w ent out to dine
‘A homely timid I never knew,
Who so hersclt believed ;
A handsome maid I never knew,
W 110 could not he deceived.
is c til <mi>.
Anecdote of Dr. Dwight.
Some few years since, as Doctor
Dwight was travelling through N.
Jersey, he chanced to stop at the
stage ‘hotel, in one ol its populous
.tow ns, for the night. At a late hour
of the same, arrived also at the inn
Mr. Dennie ; who had the misfor
tune to learn from the landlord,
that his beds were all paired with
lodgers, except one occupied by
the celebrated Dr. Dwight.—t Show
me to his apartment, exclaimed
Dennie ; although I am a stranger
to the. Rev. Doctor, perhaps 1 can
bargain with him for my lodgings.
The J-andlord accordingly waited
•on Mr. Dennie to the Doctor’s
room, and there ksft him to intro
duce himself. The Doctor, ahho’
in his night gown, cap, and slip
pers, and just ready to resign him
self to the refreshing arms of Som
nus, politely requested the strange
intruder to be stated.—The Doc-
tor struck with the literary physi
ognomy of his companion, unbent
his aus'ere brow, and commenced
a literary conversation. The
names of Washington, Franklin,
Rittenhouse, and a host of literary
and distinguished characters, for
some time, gave a zest and interest
to their conversation,until the Doc
tor chanced to mention Dennie.—
“ Dennie, the editor of the Port
Folio, (savs the Doctor in a rhap
sody) is the Addison of the United
States—the father of American bel
les lettres. But, sir, continued he,
is it not astonishing that a man ol
such a genius, fancy, and feeling,
•hould abandon himself to the ine
briating Lowl, and bacchanalian
rdVels?” “Sir, (said Dennie) you
are mistaken : I have been inti
mately acquainted with Dennie for
several years : and 1 never knew or
saw him intoxicated.” 4 Sir, [says
the Doctor] you err. I have mv
information lrom a particular friend
I am confident that I am right, and
you are wrong.’—Denaie now in
geniously changed the conversa
tion to the clergy, remarking that
Doctors Abercrombie and Mason
were among our most distinguish
ed divines; nevertheless, he con
sidered Dr. Dwight, president of
Yale College, the most learned
theologian—the first logician—and
the greatest poet that America has
produced. 4 But, sir,’ continued
Dennie, 4 there are traits in his cha
racter, undeserving so great and
wise a man, of the most destable
description ; he is the greatest bigot
and dogmatist of the age !’ 4 Sir.’
said the Doctor, 4 you are grossly
mistaken ; 1 am intimately acquaint
ed with Dr. Dwight, and 1 know
to the contrary.’ 4 Sir, [savs Den
nie,] you are mistaken ; T have it
from an intimate acquaintance of
his, whom 1 am confident wot Id
not tell me an untruth.’ 4 No more
slander!’ says the Doctor, 4 1 am
Mr. Dwight of whom you speak !’
4 And l too,’ exclaimed Dennie,
‘am Mr. Dennie of whom you
spoke !’ The astonishment o 1 Dr.
Dwight, mat be lietter conceived
than told; suffice it to say, they
mutually shook hands, and were
extremely happy in each other’s ac
quaintance.
Among the first settlers of Bruns
wick, Maine, was Daniel Malcolm,
a man of undaunted courage ajid an
inveterate enemy of the Indians,
who gave him the name of Sungur
numby, i. e. very strong man. Ear
ly in the spring he ventured alone
into the forest for the purpose
of splitting rails from the spruce,
not apprehensive of the return of
the Indians so early in the season.
While engaged in his work, and ha
ving opened a log with small wedg
es about half its length, he wassur*
prized by Indians, who crept up
and secured his musket, standing
by his side, 4 Sungumuraby,’ said
said the chief, 4 now we got you;
long-we want you; you iong time
speak Indian, long time worn him,
me have got you now ; look up
stream to Canada.’ 4 Well’ said
Malcolm, with true sangfroid,‘vou
have me ; but just help me open
this log before I go.’ They all,
five in number, agreed. Malcolm
prepared a large wooden wedge,
carefully drove it, took out his
small wedges and told the Indians
to put their fingers to the partially
clef'ed wood, and help pull it open.
They did so; he then struck out
his blunt w edge; and the elastic k
wood instantly closed fast on their
fingers, and he secured them all.
Arnofd. The traitor Arnold
possessed undoubted animal cour
age—he could stand before a batte
ry and call on his men to advance.
He was once at a royal levee, di
rectly after the close of the Amer
ican war when lie was introduced
to an English 1 ortl as the Amer
ican General Arnold. “ What the
traitor Arnold /” exclaimed the no
bleman, turning on his heel with
disgust. A challenge was given
by the General, and accepted by
his antagonist, who received his
fire, and discharged his own pistol
into the air—“\Vhy did you not
-return the fire,” exclaimed the
General—“ Because lam not your
executioner,” replied the nobleman
folding his arms and looking dis
dainfully o\erone shoulderat bis
antagonist as he walked sullenly
irotn the ground.
Prodigality nvd its Effects.
It appears by the late I.ond* n >a
pers, Eoiuhill Abbey, which coai
Mr. Beckforct and bullion sterlifigTas
been sold to Mr. Farquhat, for
350,000/. Mr. Beck ford after
wards deducted 12,008/. for a se
lection of books. Besides, the Ab
bey and its treasures, there are
nearly 5,000 acres of land attached
to it in the highest state ot cultiva
tion, Mr. Bcckford having for many
years employ ed about -100 labour
ers in making improvements. In
iaddition to this expense, he lived
;at the rate of 30,000/. a year. D* s
loss, by defective titles to his M cst
India estates, and the expense of
1 several years law suits Btc. had re
duced him to the necessity of ma
king the present sale. It is said
that he quit the premises without a
sigh. 4 1 must leave it,’ said he,
and I prepared to meet the public
i surprise. Beckford, they will say,
has squandered his large fortune. —
To me it is a matter of perfect in
-1 difference.’
It is added, that the lazy vermin
of the hall, those trapping of his
folly swarmed at Fonthill. Mr. I>.
never moved without a circle of
them in attendance —they formed
an appendage ot his invincible
pride. His liveried retainers stood
in numerous succession, watchful
sentinels at his door, and, at fixed
period, anticipated their master’s
wants. It is also said, that, for a
lung time, his income yvas 160,000/.
per annum. When alone, with
jFranchi, his secretary, he had ne
ver less than twenty dishes of the
most costly kind. The London
papers contain hundreds of other
; anecdotes respecting this gentle
man, yvhich may, or may not he
! true. It is certainly true that he
has been rich, that he has spent
millions, a nd he is now a poor man.
v\ile‘s Register.
■^ooies>-
Reconciliation. — 4 Love’s blind,’
; they say, and I really believe he is.
I was forced to this conclusion
t from the following circumstance :
Walking in the Park yesterdav af
ternoon, 1 met Mr. James Blank,
who was mo\ing slowly along w ith
his arms folded over his breast, bis
eyes sorting at vacancy, and his
whole soul absorbed in meditation.
T accosted him :
4 How comes it, James, that you
are melancholic—you w ho have ev
er been the darling child of happin
ess—w hy do vour features were so
mournful an aspect ? Has any mis
fortune assailed ? What is it mars
your peace—Nav, nay no sighing
—communicate your sorrow.’
, They who cannot keep their own
secrets, need never expec * others to
do so. 1 will not tell why I am
miserable, hut miserable indeed 1
am!’
4 lam sorrv that this is your
resolution. Perhaps if you would
inform me of your trouble—your
secret — I might he of service to
you.’
4 Would that you could , but the
malady that is seated in m>j bosom
is beyond the reach of friendship.’
4 I am soirv that your disease is
incurable—Come, come, be honest
—\ ou are in love ?’
4 And vi hat if I w'ere ?’
4 Is your case hopeless ?*
4 It is indeed.’
‘ You acknow ledge, then that you
arc in love ?’
4 Is there anv harm in that ?’
4 No: hut who is the fair one ?’
‘Oil, she’s the most cruel, beau
tiful, seraphic creature you ever be
held—
‘That of course—descrihc her.’
4 She is tall ( and sylph like—her
hair is of the chestnut colour—
her e>es are black but there is more
of mildness than fire in them—
her skin is like the snow stained
with the die of the carnation—her
face is open , generous beautiful—
Oh, she is lovely, divine heaven
ly-’
4 That will do. Her name ?’
4 Emily, Emily, lovely, blooming
Emily ! By all my unfortunate
stars, \ onder she comes ! Let’s fly
her presence !’
’ Not i, hy Jupiter.’
‘ Then stay, hut I’m off!’
4 Not so fast—you must remain
and see her.’
! ‘ Not for the wealth of worlds.
Do not detain me ; she scorns—she
i hates me but I love her to distrac
tion notwithstanding. l.ctgo my
coat.’
While we stood wrangling Em
ily the blooming Emily,* came up.
I turned round to behold and adore
the divine perfection; but what
was my surprise, when I saw the
most abominable ugly girl these
eyes ever looked cn. She yvas
nearly six feet high, and as slender
as a maypole, she stretched her
long, flail-like arms out, at the
end of which dangled a slender
skeleton hand, in order to congrat
ulate my friend Jemmy on the hap
py occasion of their meeting so un
expectedly —then open her shark
like jaws,Which divided her head
(and I really thought Jemmy had
done her justice when he affirmed
that she had an \open countenance ,)
and commenced chiding him for
bis neglecting to call and see her,
etc. He apologized for his con
duct, she forgave him and they
marched off together —he as happy
as reciprocated love could make
him and she as vain as the gaudy
peacock, in her triumph over his
affections, leaving me standing a
mute statue of astonishment, more
firmly convinced that ever, that
Love as blind as a bat.
A*. Y. Mirror.
The following is the record of
the first blood spilt in \ ermont in
the revolution. It is at once a lite
ral y curiosity, and illustrative of
the times.
EPITAPH
On the. Monument at Westminster Vermont.
IN MEM) It Y Os WILLI VM FRENCH
Son of Mr. .Vuthuniel French II ho
was shot at Westminster March ye 13th
1775 bv tlie hands ot’Cruel Ministeical
tools oi George ye 3d in the Corlliouse at
alia Clock at Night in the 22d year ot
his Age—
Here William French his Body lies
For murder his blood for Vengeance cries
King George the third his Tory crew
tha with a bawl iris head biiot threw
For liberty and his countrys Good
he Lost his life his Dearest Blood
It is stated in the French Annales
de 1’ Industrie, that the Chesnut tree
bark contains twice as much of the
tanning principle as that of oak, and
nearly twice as much colouring
matter as logw ood. With iron it
forms an intensely black and dura
ble ink. Its coloring matters has
a stronger affinity than Sumack for
wool, and is not affected by air or
by light.
Exceptions, —Foote, travelling in
the west of England, dined one day at
an inn : when the cloth was removed
the landlord asked him how he liked
his fare ? “ l have dined as well as
any man in England,” said Foote.—
“Except Mr. Mayor, ’’ cried the land
lord. “ 1 do not except any body,”
said he. “ But you must,” bawled the
host. “ I wont.” “ You must.” At
length the strife ended by the landlord
(who was a petty magistrate) taking
Foote before the Mayor, who observed
it had been customary in that tow n,for
a number of years, always to except
die Mayor, and accmdingly fined him
one shilling for not conforming to this
ancient custom. Upon this decision,
Foote paid the shilling ;at the same
time observing that he thought the
landlord was the greatest fool in Chris- 1
tendon— -except —Mr. Mayor.
CAUSE OF THE CHEEKS
New-York, Dec. 3.
A meeting such both in point of
numbers and respectability as is
seldom convened, was held last
evening atthe Pontine Coffee House
for the purpose of devising the
means of most effectually promo
ting the success of the Greeks.—
Among the persons assembled, w e
were glad to recognise many 1
our lfev. Clergy, and some mem
bers of the Society of Friends, who
appeared alike zealous on this oc
casion, to manifest their interest in
so holy a cause. At the appointed
hour William Bayard, Esq. was cal
led to the Chair, • and Jonathan
Goodhue was appointed Secretary
when the objects of the meeting
having been briefly stated by Mr.
John Pintard, Mr. S. J{. Hard rose
to propose the first resolution ; and
in doing so, gave a feeling descrip
tion of the miseries and degradation
to which the Greeks of this da\
have been reduced by their Turk
ish oppressors.—fie spoke from
actual knowledge, having travelled
through Greece himself, under the
protection of Turkish Janissaries —
who made it a rule, whenever they
stopped, to select the best house
for the accommodation- of thoße
thev escorted, and to turn out of it,
without ceremony or reward, its
own lawful inmates and proprietors.
The most polished, elegant and
refined Greek, was at all times sub
ject to he treated with the most
brutality, by the last and lowest
Turk, and that without the possi
bility of redress of the power ©i
resistance.—Mr. 11. spoke at length
of what we owed as men and Chris
tians to this people—and urged a:-
RO additional motive for succouf
ing them, that as a nation we
nothing to the Turks—f 0r l ’ f ' l
a nation we were not known v 2 ’
acknowledged hv them, j t
not be a fact within the reca f
tion of all who heard him 1 f
therefore stated it, that the V
1 erican fag was rot recog n ; Zt^ ’
I the Turks ; and that American ‘
sels trading to the Levant
Archipelago, were obliged in ,’ t ‘
of need, to have recourse to if
; protection of an Fnglish, a I)
or Swedish Ambassador, p!”
those, and many other
tions which Mr. H. urged
warmth and effect, he hoped"/!!
consequences of this nights me et i n l*
would be such as Americans mils
be proud of, and the Greeks gaif!
by.
In seconding the motion M r r
Duer spoke at considerable len'J
and was followed by M r . Seldon
who at the close of his remarks’
read the following Address f ron J
the Greek senate of Calaniata.
To the Citizens of the. United State,
of America. !
Having formed the resolution to
live or die for freedom, w e arc
drawn toward you by a just svi>
pathy ; since it is in your land that
Liberty has fixed her abode, and
by you that she is prized as by ollr
fathers. Hence, in invoking her
name, \vc invoke yours at the same
time, trusting that in imitating you,
we shall .mitatc our ancestors, and
he thought worthy of them if we
succeed in resembling you. TV
seperated from you by mightv
oceans, your character brings veu
near us. We esteem you nearer
than the nations on our frontiers;
and vve possess, in you, friends,
fellow-citizens, and brethren, be
cause you are just, humane and ge
nerous :—just because free, gener
ous and liberal because Christian,-
Your liberty is not propped on the
slavery of other nations, nor your
prosperity on their calamities and
sufferings. But, on the contrarv,
free and prosperous yourselves,
you are desirous that all men should
share the same blessings ; that all
should enjoy those rights, to which
all are by nature equally entitled.
It is you, who first proclaimed
these rights ; it is you, who have
been the first again to recognize
them, in rendering the rank of men
to the Africans degraded to the le
vel of brutes. It is by your exam
ple, that Europe has abolished the
shameful ancl cruel trade in human
flesh, from you that she receives
lessons of justice, and learns to re
nounce her absurd and sanguinary
customs. This glory, Americans,
is yours alone, and raises you above
all the nations which have gaineda
name for liberty and laws.
It is for you, citizens of Ameri
ca, to crown this glorv, in aiding
us to purge Greece from the barba
rians, who for four hundred years
have polluted the soil. It is surely
worthy of you to repay the obliga
tions of the civilized nations, and
to banish ignorance and barbarism
from the country of freedom and
the arts. You will not assured!?
imitate the culpable indifference,or
rather the long ingratitude of some
of the Europeans. No, the fellow
citizens of Penn, of Washington,
and of Franklin, will not refuse
their aid to the descendants of Pho
cion and Thrasybulus, of Aratus,
and of Philopoetnen.
On motion, Resolved, that this
meeting esteem it highly becoming
the people of the United States to
sympathise with the Greeks
their present struggle for liberty;
and as far as can be done without
interfering with the prerogative •*
government, render them every p 05 ’
sible aid towards the promotion ol
their emancipation.
Resolved, That a committee be
appointed to solicit and recei' e
subscriptions on behalf of t' l '.
Greeks, from the inhabitants ot
this city, State, and neighbouring
States, and with this view, an Ad*
dress setting forth their object, an<
the manner in which it can be best
accomplished, shall be published
by the said committee.
Resolved, That the above com
mittee consist of 70 persons, with
power to add to their numbers, and
the same to distribute them i DtO
ward or sub-committees.
Resolved, That the Committee
already appointed be requested 1 ”
prepare a memorial to Congress
praying that die Independence 01
he Grejk nauon may be recog
n izecl bt the American Govern
ment. }