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'the faithless husband.
BY PERCIVAL.
He comes not-I have watch'd the moon go down,
But yet fae comet not—once it was not so.
He thinks not how these bitter tears doth flow,
The while he holds his riot in that town.
Yet he will come, and chide, and I shall weep ;
And he will wake my infant from its sleep.
To blend its feeble wailing with my tears.
O; how I love a mother's watch to keep,
Over those sleeping eyes, that smile, which
cheers
My heart, though sunk in sorrow, fixed and
deep. !
J had a husband, one who loved me—now
, He ever wears a frown up >n his brow,
And feeds his passion on a wanton's Up, i
As bees from laured flowers a poison sip;
But yet cannot hate—O! there were hours,
When I could hang forever on his eye,
And time, who stole with silent swiftness bv,
Strewd, as he hurried on his path with flow
ers.
1 loved him then—he loved me too; My heart
Still finds its soundness kindle, if he smile.
The memory of love will ne’er depart
And though he often stung me wilh a dart
Venom’d and beard'd, and wastes upon the vile
Caresses, which his babe and mine should
share;
Though he should spurn me, I will calmly'
bear '
His madness, and should sickness come, and
lay
Its parlycuig hand upon him, then
I would with kindness, all my wrongs repay.
Until the penitent should weep and say;
. How injured and how faithful 1 had been.
From the New York Ulirror.
THE UNEDUCATED WIFE.
CHAPTER I.
A« the close of a gloomy day in No
vember, Albert Fitzgerald, a young man
of very elegant aod interesting appear
ance, found he had missed his way, and
was descending a lonely hill that ended in
a thick forest. He stopped before he en
tered the dreary road and cast an inqui
ring and eager gize around ; but saw no
alternative except to go on, or retrace ais
steps and ascend the long, tedious hill.
“This is abominable,'* said he, as he
pulled the reins to stop his tired beast; “I
should be quite unwilling to make a sup
per for some hungry wolf or bear ; it
would be a most inglorious end to my
journey, & not at all consistent with deeus
of noble du ing ; but perhaps there are no
such prowlers here, and at all even s it is
a straight path—l can try it a mile or two,
and if I see or hear any thing alarming 1
can re'uro ; it will not be very soldier
like, to be sure, to run £r«m the enemv ;
but there is none to trumpet my fame in
this wood—so come on, my tired dapple!”
The evening was fast closing, and he
could only ride slowly, and with great
caution, as the stumps of the trees often
stood many feet high and much impeded
his progress. After he had been riding
for some time, the snow commenced full
ing, and Fitzgerald began to be seriously
alarmed, when, suddenly, a bright light
shone through the underwood a no great
distance. He golloped quickly on, and
saw, to his surprise and deligh’, a very
comfortable-looking log house with gla
windows, quite an uncommon thing
in the back country.
“I suppose,” said he, “ I shall share
with some dozen little white heads, each
Striving by dirt and clamor to mike me as
uncomfortable as possible—well ! I shall
at least have a shelter from ihe bears and
the weather.”
So saying, he threw the bridle around a
stump, and, springing over the fence, was
just about knocking at the door, when a
Voice of great melody de sweetness struck
on his ear, singing the “ evening hymn.”
He stopped; but the music had ceased.—
He approached without noise to the win
dow, and what was his surprise, bis emo
tion, at beholding, in a secluded place like
this, the most exquisitely beautiful crea
ture he had ever seen. Her dress was
that of a rustic, and her slight person, <ho’
thus unadorned, more faultless than the
finest models ho had ever gazed on in the
halls of fashion aud elegance.
Fitzgerald almost doubted his senses ;
for nothing mortal had ever seemed to
him half so lovely. Her little whue hands
and dimpled fingers weic smoothing the
gray hairs of a most noble louki.g old man
who sat before a bright fire. His face
was pale and care worn. His large, ex
pressive eyes were turned on his youth
ful companion with a tenderness that
seemed to affect her mttoh, for she kissed
his wrinkled cheeks again aud again ; and
seemed trying, by a thousand winning
ways, to divert him from his sorrows.—
He was dressed like a farmer ; but round
his chair was thrown a large military
cloak, apparently to skreen him from the
weather, one corner of which covered his
foot that rested on a bench before him.—
The room was clean and comfortable,the’
it contained nothing but some chaiis, a
table, and a shelf with books. A rush mji
was spread under the old mao’s seat, and
a few cooking utensils placed in the cor
ner of a large, stone fire-place.
Fitzgerald stood riveted to the spot,
scarcely daring to breathe lest he should
bieak the charm that seemed to detain
these objects in his sight ; but the snow
was falling fast, and the horse began to
grow tesiive. He stept back and
knocked at the door.
“Come in,*’said the old mao, and Fitz
gerald entered.
“ Will you giro me shelter for the
night sir,” said he, bowing, “I have lost
my way, and tny horse is worn out with
this day’s travel 1”
“With pleasure, sir,” was the reply—
“We can afford you a shelter; but we
have no shed for your tired beast.”
“ Well then, he must take his chance
under the forest trees : I am so happy not
to be obliged to share the same fate, that
I -fear I shall not feel the sympathy for
him I ought.”
“Isadore, take the gentleman’s coat,
shake off the snow, and throw it over 'he
rail to dry, and place a chair by the fire.”
She moved from bis side, where she
had nestled like a young fawn or a timid
dove, and placing a seat, reached out that
beautiful little hand for the coat ; but he,
bowing as low as if she had been a prin
cess, said, “By no means,” and laid it a
side himself, while Isado’re, blushing and
composed again, drew close to her aged
companion.
Fitzgerald had never felt so much at a
loss for coaversatiots i o meet two such
beings in a thick forest, so far from any
human habitations, seemed so strange that
he scarce knew how to address them; but
the old gentleman began asking him about
the road, how far he had travelled, &c.
&c. and told him he was more than thir
ty miles from the place hi had inquired
for, and which be thought of reaching
that nigh’.
“But,” said be, “if you can be content
ed with a little bread and milk, and a bear
skit) for a bed, you are most heartily wel
come.”
“ I wish no better fare, sir, and shall
feel grateful for your hospitality.”
“You see I am almost a ctipple, so my
little grand daughter must do the honors
of my humble abode.”
The white table was set befofre him with
bread, milk an I dried venison ; and Al
beit thought be had never made a more
delicious met I. They were soon all qui
etly settled for the night; and the old man
was helped to his room by his gen'le child;
and Albert lay before the fire wondering
and thinking who they could be, until na
ture could no longer support him and he
sunk to sleep.
When he awoke in the morning a bright
fire was snapping and cracking iu the
room, and the old man was in Iris arm
chair with the table before him.
“We were sorry to distuib you, sir,”
seid he; “but our place is not a very com
modious one* It reminds me of the old
song—-‘lt served him for parlor, for kitch
en, and hall.’ ”
While he was speaking Isadore enter
ed, her beautiful hair covered with snow
flakes, and her whole face radiant with
smiles and beauty. An Indiati came with
her, bearing a basket. He remained some
time talking with tho old gentleman, who
understood the language, and Fitzgerald
knew enough of it to hear him sav,
“Who is he 1* He turned aud said,
“I think, Sir, you have a right to know
whom yon have so kindly sheltered—my
name is Albert Fitzgerald.”
“Fitzgerald I was the name of fa
ther Campbell Fitzgerald ?
’•lt was.”
“Young man,” said he, “you are more
than welcome. Your father i-as my ftiend
and as brave a soldier as ever marched to
battle.”
•‘You knew my father then, sir t” and
Fitzgerald stept before him.
“Yes, and well do I remember the day
on which we parted—parted to meet no
more—it was after a glorious victory ’ 1 1
called to say farewell, as at day break I
was to leave that part of the country.—
lie was stretched on a pallet—the sur
geon preparing lo dress bis wounds. lie
opened his eyes as I entered, and told my
purpose. “General,” said he, stretching
out his hand to me, and all the fire of (he
soldier spa'kling for a moment in his hea
vy eves as he spoke, ‘we shall drive these
intruders from our land. Heaven bless
you, farewell!’ He was never well enough
io return to (he army, and I never bad an
opportunity to return to him again.”
Albert listened with surprise. The
old man forgot his lamenoss--he stood up,
aud his tall tiguie seemed almost gigantic,
while tho whole expression of his face
was changed ; it gl ,wed wilh animation
as he took Fi'zgerald by the hand—
‘Thrice welcome to my home & heart,*
said he, ‘thou son of an bld ftiend. Young
man, poor and forlorn as I now appear, I
once commanded armies, and this arm,”
extending it as he spoke, “was ever ready
to draw the sword in defence of this un
grateful country. My name is Charlton.”
“General Charlton 1” said Fitzgerald,
pressing his band between both his own.
“I have ofieti heard my beloved mother
speak of your covering my fa<her with
your cloak, and coming for him with a
litter, by which you saved his invaluable
life.”
“These, my son, were the chances and
changes of war ; but” and he sighed deep
ly, “we who have toiled and bled, spent
all!—yes, al), even our paternal inheri
tance, in tho countiy’s service, cannot
choose but weep almost tears of blood,
when we find out selves beggars on the
soil we have so warmly defended—find
ourselves unnoticed and unknown by the
sons, who at ease in their possessions feel
not, Care not for the pangs of th<>se who
obtained for them their choicest blessings.
Picture to yourself, sir, a young man well
born, well educated, rich, of great expec
tations, sacrificing all for the cause of
freedom, .• nd losing all for hia country ;
and when in old age, worn out, crippled,
unable any longer to be useful, looking to
that couniry for support, feeling that jus
tice demands a prompt attention to his
claims; waiting day after day, week after
week, year after year 4 until weary, beart-
sick and disgusted, he retires to some sol
itary abode, and finds among Savages a
better home than his countrymen are wil
ling to bestow. This—this I yotirtg man,
is the fate of the veterans of the revolu
tion.”
The General covered his face with his
hands, and sunk back exhausted by his e
motions. Albert felt the blood mounting
into iiis face at tha recollection of the in
gratitude of the government.; yet remem
bering that he had done all in his power
to aid the cause of these disinterested but
unfortunate men, he told the General, af
ter a pause of some moments, that he
should feel proud to assist him in any
way ; that his fortune was ample, and that
he could not use it more to his satisfaction
than in making the friend of his father
happy- , . , k-
“ Happy !” said he, as he raised his
mournful eyes to Albert; “I am almost
at my journey’s end ; could I but behold
this forest flower, this only tie to earth,
safely situated in the World, I should die
contented.” He pressed the beautiful
creature to his bosom and sobbed audibly.
‘My dear father,’ said Isadore, “grieve
not for me, we are very happy here, aud
you have a new friend now, who will not
let your little—”
She Stopped, blushed, and hid her face
on her graud-fathei’s shoulder, fearing she
said too much.
Albert wished she had finished the sen
tence, and thought that to shelter her
from harm he would willingly pass the
rest of iiis days in the forest.
Hunting Exploits.— Putnam’s well
knowu adventure in the wolf's den has
suggested a record of ihe following,which
appears in the last nutnberof the Western
Monthly Magazine. They are prououccd
authentic.
Many years ago a Frenchman, with his
son was hunting in a part of Missouri,dis
tant about 40 miles from St. Louis. Hav
ing wounded a large bear the animal took
refuge in a cave, the aperture leading in
to which was so small as barely to admit
its passage. The hunter, leaving his sun
without, instantly prepared to follow, and
with some difficulty drew his body through
the narrow entrance.—Having reached
the imet ior of the cave, he lischarged his
piece with so true an aim as to inflict a
mortal wound upon the bear. The latter
rushed forward, and passing the man, at
tempted to escape from the cave, but on
reaching the narrowestpart df the passage,
the strength of the animal failed, and it
expired. The entrance of 'he cavo was
now ’completely closed by the carcase
of the animal.—The boy ou the outside
heard his father scream for assistance,and
attempted to drag out the bear but found
his strength insufficient. After many un
availing efforts he became much terrified,
and mounted his father’s horse with the
determination of seeking assisiance.There
was o > road through the wiLlerness, but
the sagacious horse taking the direction
of St. Louis, carried the alarmed youth
to that place, where a party was soon
raised and despatched io the relief of the
hunter. But they searched in vain for
the place of his captivity.—From some
cause not new recollected, tho trace of
the horse was obliterated, and the boy
in his agitation had so far forgotten the
landmarks as to be totally unable to lead
them to the spot. They returned aftei
a weary aud unsuccessful search; the hun
ter was heard no more, and no doubt re
mained of bis having sperisited mierably
in the cave. Some years afterwards, the
aperture of a cavern was discovered, in a
spot so hidden aud so difficult of access
as to have escaped the notice of those who
passed near to it. Near the mouth was
found the skeleton of the bear, aud with
in the cave that of the Frenchman, with
his gun and equipments, all apparently
in the same codi'ion as whan lie died.
That he should have perished of hunger,
from mere inability to effect his escape
by removing the body of the bear.seems
improbable ; because, supposing him to
have been unable by main strength to es-.
feet,it would have cost him but little labor
to have cut up and removed the animal,
by piecemeal. It is most likely ehher
that he was suffocated, or, that he had re
ceived some injury which disabled him
from exertion. The cave bears a name
which commemorates the event.
Anecdote.—An incident in tho infancy
of Lady Orkney might furnish a hint to a
melo-dtamatic wriiet: “The countess,
her mother was deaf aud dumb, aud was
married by signs. Shortly after the birth
of her first child,(tho lady now deceased,)
the nurse,with considerable astonishment
saw the mother approach <bo cradlu in
which the infant Was sleeping, evidently
full of some deep design; Tliecoun'ess,
having perfectly assured herself that the
child really slept, lifted an immense stone
which she bid under her shawl, and to,
the horror of the nurse, who like ail per
sons of the lower order in her country,
wasfully impressed with an idea of ihe pe
culiar cunning and malignity of “dumbles,”
lifted it with an evident intent to fling it
down vehemently. Before ihe nurse
could interpose, the countess had flung
the stone ; not, however, as the servant
had apprehended, at the child but on the
floor, where of course, it made a gieat
noise. The child immediately awoke
and cried. The countess who had leok
ed with maternal eagerness to the result
of the experiment, fell on her koees in a
transport of joy; she had discovered that
her child possessed the sense which was
wanting in herself. On many other oc
casions she exhibited similar proofs of in
telligence, but none so interesting.”
Gold.— Christopher Bechtfer, a gold
refiner in Rutherford county, (N C.)
states, that he has coined at his establish
ment, since the 18th of June, 1821, as
follows: •
Coined in $5. ®2 50 pieces, 104,-
S3O dwts.
k Fluxed . . . . 259,780 dwts.
from the Charleston Courier.
ASSAULT ON THE PRESIDENT OF THE
UNITED STATES.
It is wilh unfeigned regret, that we are
called upon to record an outrage of the
most disgraceful character, committed up
on the person of the President of (he U
nited States, by Mr. Randolph, late a
Lieutenant iu the United States Navy.—
The perpetration of such and unwarraota-.
ble act, will reflect disgiace only on him
who was so regardless of his own charac
ter as to attempt it, and furnishes strong
evidence that the President had the inter
est of the Navy at heart, when he stiuck.
from its roll of officers, one who has thus
proved himself unworthy of wearing its
honors. The course which Mr. ft. seen
fit to pursue io avenge his injuries, real
or imaginary, can only result in effectual
ly removing from the breast of every hon
orable and high minded man, all the sym
pathy which his case may have excited.
This brutal and unmanly outrage on the
illustrious veteran, who, after having won
unfading laurels in battle, fought for the
honor and independence of his country,
has beeu twice rewarded by grateful
people with the highest honor of the Re
public, holds up Mr- R to public view
as oue who has not scrupled to wound the
national digrjiy in the reckless inaulgeuce
of his own unbridled passions, and cannot
fail to elicit the universal indignation of
the American people, thus wantonly in
sulted in the person of their chief magis
trate.
The particulars of the assault are given
in the following letter from our Washing
ton Correspondent:
WASHINGTON, May 7.
A circumstance, without precedent in
our history, took place yesterday. As the
President was going on board the steam
boat which conveys the Southern Mail,
and in which he was about to depart for
Fredericksburg, to assist at the ceremony
of laying the first stone of tho monument
about to be erected there, some person
not ;ecognized at the moment, made his
way violently through the sui rounding
people, and throwing himself between
General Jackson and the boar, made a
dart at the President’s face and caught
his nose between his fingers, squeezing or
twisting it with so much force as to make
the blood start. Some expresion is said
to have escaped from the perpetrator of
the outrage, as he commuted he act, and
who was immediately discovered to be
Lieutenant Rand lph, who was (he ft iend
of purser Timberlake, (Mrs Eaton’s for
mer husband,) who has been charged with
being a defaulter, who has beeu tried and
acquitted of the cliatge, which made a re
cent publication,in a handbill, of a leter of
Dr. Randolph, reflecting severely on Mr.
Eaton, and also a week or two ago, was
dismissed from ihe Navy. This
dismissed officer, it is known, has beeu
very inveterate in his feelings and his lan
guage, against those to whom he owes l,is
discharge; and being a reckless iiun, and
smarting under the sense of recent injur
ies, it is scarcely wonderful, although
much to be regretted, that he should have
resorted to this desperate scheme of re
venge. It is probable that he will be put
on liis trial for the outrage, but as it is on
ly a case of common as-ault and battery,
the punishment which the law prescribes
will scarcely be such as to induce any feel->
ing of regret in the bosom of the offender,
who has thus signally gratified his passion
for vengeance. The instant departure of
the President, the boat being suddenly
pushed away from tho wharf, leaves us in
ignorance of the extent of the outrage, &
of the measures which may be taken to
bring llie perpetrator to punishment.
Another circumstance, which has just
occurred, has also caused some surprise.
Dr. Watkins has been released from pris
on in consequence of ihe incessant and
able efforts of his counsel Mr. Uoxe, and
Mr. Jones and Mr. Brent, by which the
illegality of bis imprisonin'ut has been
made clear. A few days after this release
had taken place, one of the suds of Dr.
Watkins sent a challenge to Mr. Coxe.
and all the ciiy has been perplexing itself
to discover the cause ofihis singular affair.
Mr. Coxe declined accepting the chal
lenge, bu>, aS I understand, handed the
challenge, and iho parties concerned io
the penning &deliverii)g of it, over to the
Grand Jury,who happened to be sitting,
and bills have been, in consequence, found
against these violators of the public peace.
I do not know by what strange process
the feelings of gratitude has beeu *hus
suddenly transformed into hatred, and- a
desire to take away the life of the indi
vidual who had beeu mainly ins'runienta:
in rescuing the father of the challenger
from a prison. The moon may have
“come more near the earth than sho was
won»,” or theie may be some good reason
for the act, which has not yet reached
<he public ear, or the public eye.
The report is still prevalent that W. J.
Daune, of Philadelphia, is to be the new
Secretary of the Treasury, but .1 cannot
learn that the fact is certain. Mr. Liv
ingston’s sale took place on Thursday.—
Mrs. Livingston remains in the Presi
dent's house until the return of Mr, Liv
ingston from the north, whither he is
bound on agtour. Sir C. R. Van han, the
British Minister, was a principal purchas
er at the sale, and has taken possession of
the House.
The following statement of ths attack
on tho President, is from the Wash
ington Globe, and was communicated by
a gentleman who had just reached Wash
ington from Alexandria:
“ The steam boat Cygnet, in which the
President and several members of the
Cabinet,accompanied by manyother gen
tlemen, were going to Fredericksburg,
stopped on her way for a few minutes at
Alexandria. Many persons from the
wharf came on board, and among them
Randolph,la'eja Lieutenant of the Aavy.
He made his way into the Cabin, where
the President was sitting reading a news
paper, and advancing towards him, as if
to address him, began to draw off his
glove?. The President,not knpwinghim.
and supposing it was some person about
to salute him,4c, seeing him at some diffi
culty in gening off his glove,stretched out
his hand towards him, saying,‘nevet mind
your glove, Sir.’ Randolph, having then
disengaged himself from his gloves, thrust
one hand violently into the President’s
face, and before he could make use of the
other, received a blow from a gentleman
standing near with an umbrella. Almost
at the same time, two other gentlemen
in the cabin sprung upon Him and
he was pulled back aud thrown down.
The moment he was assaulted, the Pres
ident seized his cane, which was lying
near him on the table, and was forcing
his way through the gentlemen who- had
now crowded round Randolph insisting
that no man should stand between him <Sc
the villain who had insulted him: that he
would chastise him himself. Randolph,
by this time, had been borne towards the
door of the cabin, and pushed through it
to the deck. He made his way through
the crowd on the deck and the wars, be
ing assisted, as is’believed.by some ruffian
confederates, and made his escape. He
stopped for a few minutes at a tavern, in
Alexandria, aud passed on beyond the
District line. The Grand Jury then in
session, in a few minutes found a present
ment against him, and the Court issned a
Bench Warrant. A Magistrate had just
previously issued a Warrant; but before
the officers could arrest him, he was
gone.”
The Alexandria Gazette makes tha
following remarks on the subject.
“At the first blow, we understand al
most a hundred arms fell upon the essail
ant, and he was with difficulty rescued
and carried on shoie. We have never
known more excitement nor more feel
ing to be manifested by all our citizens.
So great was the public indignation at
ihis outrage, that we believe almost any
measure would have been adopted to ex
press it. The President was naturally
highly excited and exasperated. He de
parted amidst the cheers and good wishes
of he great crowd which had assembled,”
AUGUSTA.
WEDNESDAY MAY 15 1833
Cucumbers were served up at the Mansion
House iu Savannah on the 13th inSt. '
The Honorable Levi WooDBURy, Secretary of
the Navy, arrived here last Friday the 10th inst.
and departed the next morning.for Savannah,
lie was accompanied by Col. Hsndersox of
the Marine Corps.
l¥e regret it is not in our power to furnish aur
readers with the continued proceedings of the
Convention. We give an extract below which
comprises all the information we hnve received
iu relation to the proceedings of that body:
Milledgeville, May 13.
Eleven substitutes have been moved,
for the Renert of ihe Committee of the
whole, ou Saturday. The last, moved by
Mr. Mays, of De Kalb, is, substantially,
the same wilh Judge Harris’, moved on
Sa'urday. A Hug, skirmishing debate,
has ended in taking up this substitute by
sections. The first gives a Senator for
every two Counties. The only question
taken has been on the motion to strike
out “ twos and insert “ three. u The
question was divided. Ou striking out,
the yeas and nays were called, and the
motion was lost, yeas 114, nays 128. I
give you the vole of Richmond, Burke
and Columbia.
Yeas- Messrs Byne, Carter, Crawford,
Evans, Gould, King, Lam ir, McCraven,
Pemberton and Ramsay, 10.
Nay—Mr. Walker, 1.
From another Correspondent.
Here I am in a whirl of political strife
and conflicting interests; a liti-le animated
no doubt by party calculations, in a strug
gle for supiemacy. I am now surrounded
by “Projets,” Reports, Resolutions, com
promises jobstiiuies, dec. dec. the variety
of which haVt> heretofore neutralized all
honest efforts to process in the business
for which we have met. but for the
happy circumstance that we have to pay
our own expences, God only knows when
we should escape from this unpromising
place. I think I can see now, however,
the reso.t of our deliberations. The
Hoijse will be reduced t«> about 130 mem
bers ; and this I think'upon a basis of free
whue population, he ratio is not finally
fixed i thmV, however, it will be upon
a ratio of two members for every 4,000
free while population, and 3 to 8,000
each County to be allowed one mem
ber, and none more than three. The
Senate will be composed of 45 members,
elected from districts composed of two
counties each, except Murray, which bill
form a district. The combinations will be
oicde without regard to territory or popu
lation, and whether the districts will be
formed or left to the Legislature is a mat
ter of some uncertainty, I think it likely
however, they will be formed.
I somewhat regret that the federal basis
was disturbed, as a change to a hasis of
white population, changes but very little
the relative influence of any part of the
state, and can be productive of no possi
ble good, though as I believe it to be the
most correct basis, and more in harmony
with the principles of our government,
the only objection which I have to it is,
that it is not called for by that urgent ne
cessity which alone should induce a
change iu a constitution. It will be 1
impossible to obtain what will satisfy the
views and wishes of all, but we shall evi- t
dently carry a very considerable reduc- <
tion, and I hope most sincerely, that al” i
though the people may not like some of I
the details that they will (both parties) '
join in its ratification and relieve the fi- 1
nances of the State from the enormous
and useless draws that are made on them
to administer the government. i
Sully, the artis’, of Philadelphia, has
just painted an admirable Portrait of Miss
Kemble as Juliet
FOR THE GEORGIA COURIER.
Mr. Editor— Tho following corollary
to Juvenis, No. 1, was written as soon .as
the last came to light. Modesty, nothing
but literary modesty sir, has kept it thus
long on my table. I began to think that
Juvenis bad with the best intentions, done
mischief, and 1 resolved to stifle the in
fant in his cradle. But a week’s experi
ence has taught me that -no real oftenco
has been given—-and I will venture to af
firm, that a close observer might have
traced upon the countenances, of two or
three of tny fair readers, while gazing up-
I on the young bantling of my virgin brain,
the dimpliog smiles of their lovely models,
expressing approbation, rather than a,
contraction of (hose delicate frontal mus
cles, which would have been more terrific
to me, than the horse-shoe frowu of Red
gauntlet—and for one of those smiles
Heavens what dangers and mortificationf,
would 1 not endure ? But let this pass.
There is another consideration to change
the fate of my second effort. } lt is that
themes ate growing and increasing apace
for rny pen. Other pic-nics and other
fetes champetres, ate on the tapis— and lo
these Juvenis respectfully solicits an in
vitation, io order that as a bidden eye
witness of convivialities in which he never
indulges, his descriptions may be more
accurate and graffic, more general and
less particular, and less subject, on thaj
account to animadversion.
No. 2.
I have made rny debut. I have attempt
ed to pass the Rubicon of public opinion,
I have dared the inquisitorial scrutiny’©!
this dread tribunal,' and barely avoided
absolute devour-ation (excuse my new
coin) from this voracious and omniverous
monster. I have indeed escaped “with
the skin of my teeth,” and have some
thing of the sensations of a man, who has
been recently shakeo over the verge of a
precipice—if Sam Patch after one of his
miraculous feats, or of honest Sancho af
ter a few hearty bounces in a blanket.
The struggle has been severe, and I am
amazed at finding myself less dead than
alive Whether I have been vanquished,
or not, my modes y will not allow me lo
determine, and if so, I only add another
unhappy companion to the long catalogue
of disappointed literary aspirants, and my
only comfo* t is, that
. •'nec lam,"
• Turpe fu.it vinci, quam contendissc decorum esl.’
But who is the public Cerberus, whose
aspect is so appalling and uninviting th
me and my green brethren of the .quill ?
r I have heard hint described as a divine
genius, who exists in every spot and Steals
a look at every thing, who holds in his
hands the sword and scales of Themis,
weighs the pretensions of authors, acquits
(though but tarely) at discretion, and con
demns without appeal. I have heard
him again represented as a hideous de*
mon as huge and ungainly as Polyphe*
mus—a thousand snakes hiss from his
head—rage, envy, malice and hatred fol*
low in bis train—the groans and shrieks
of self love are music to his ears, and ho
immolates a victim with pious cruelty and
devours a lean author with epicurean
gusts. His chief atttibute is übeqnity.
A brazen trumpet proclaims the extent
and power of his dominion, he thunders
in the large assetnbly and whispers io the
private Cuierit, brawls in the bar-room,
shouts and groWs riierry with the circula
tion of the sparkling,tapering-necked bot
tle (which by the by, contains a most
powerful agent io the Shape of caibonie
acid gas) and sneaks unceasingly through
its devoed organ, the public press.
Your friend Juvenis, Mr. Editor, has
but shared the common lot, he has beets
assailed by his five hundred friends, has
been requited with ingratitude, where ho
meant to bestow kindness, has been accu
i sed of quizzing and burlesqueing, because
forsooth, his praises tvere prompted by a
Ico vivid conception of the beauties he
attempted, and as he believed, failed in
describing. The fact is, they thought
“ I laughed at them,’* because they
thought “ I laughed immoderately.” But
Sir, my good friends should exercise a lit
tle cbu'ifV for a poor youth in my state
of mind. ’ vid J nJ? say that I »»» des
perately in love with a Yenus, a lovely
Madoone and a tripping fair/ Are | her£.~
not charms enough here to ravi»b.
der and unsettle a stronger imagination/
than poor Juvenis can boast oi I And
what else than rhapsody, born Oast, fus
tian, tropes, figures and towering subli
mations—(l begin now to feel its effects) 1
can be the offspring of such a mother /
But here is the best critique I have heard.
Some have most unaccountably jumped
to the conclusion that Juvenis did not
write in sober earnest—that the (eqpr of
his style was really semi-comic, semi-se
rious, and that he actually and in truth
intended to trace as nigh as possible the
line of demarkation between the ridicu
lous and sublime, vascillating towards
either. Is it possible ! What a triumph
of penetration ! Surely a mill-stone is as
transparent as an icicle to such supernat**
ural discernment ! But Lord, what and
goish have I not suffered from the jibes,
the sneers that have been passed upon
me. “What an ass” says one, “to write
for a newspaper,” “ how profoundly
learned” says another. “What in the-
Devil’s name induced the Courier to pub
lish such ridiculous nonsense,” echoes a
third. The vocabularies of opprobrium
and slander don’t contain half the epithets
I have received.—But thank Heaven!
these are only the expressions of the men.
If they hate me, the other sex will be
sure to take me under their
and indeed there is a secret sympathy ex
isting between inyself and neatly one
half of the human race, which renders
abuse and denunciation towards inyself,
morally impossible, and contrary to the
-immutable laws of animal magnetism.—
If 1 dared to dro;* my domino, I should
seek a fair defender from among those
graces, whom it is pretended, I have ridi
culed. Perhaps I have no mercy to ex
pect from the Auguita beaux, and Ido
bless my happy stars, that I am writing