About The Athenian. (Athens, Ga.) 1827-1832 | View Entire Issue (June 15, 1827)
POET3&3T. FROM THE BOSTON LYCEUM. In the year 1697, a body of Indians attacked the town of Haverhill, Mass, and killed and carried into captivity 40 inhabitants. A party of the Indians ap proached the house of an individual who was abroad at his labour, but who, on their approach, hastened to the house, sent his children out and ordered them to fly in a course opposite to that in which danger was approaching. He then mounted his herse, and determined to snatch up the child with which he was unwilling to part, when he should overtake the little .flock. When lie came up to them, about 200 yards from his bouse, he was unable to make a choice, or to leave any one of the number. He therefore de termined to take his lot with them, and defend them frtmi their murderers, or die by their side. A body of'the Indians pursued and came rp with him, and when at a short distance fired on him and his little company. Ho leturncd the fire, and retreated al ternately, still however, keeping a resolute face to thoonomy; and so effectually sheltered his charge that he finally lodged them all safe in a distant house. I* THE FATHER’S CHOICE. Now fly, as flies the rushing wind— Urge, urge thy lagging steed ! The savage yell is fierce beliind, And life is on thy speed. And from those dear ones make thy choice— The group he wildly eyed; When “father!” burst from every voice, And “ child!” his heart replied. .There’s one that now can share his toil, V And one he meant for fame, p* And one that wears her mother’s smile, ’Ytnd one that bears her name. AAj one will prattle on his knee, flu- slumber on his breast, Anyone whose joys of infancy, Ai’e still by smiles expressed. ,T.hey, feel no fi nr while he is near, He’ll shield them from the foe ; But oh! his ear must thrill to hear Their* shriekings should he go. v' In vain hjfefcpiiv’ring lips would speak,— No woMs his thoughts allow; There’s bV-ning tears upon his check, Death's jnavble on his brow. And twic«The T sTr.ote his clenched hand— Then lp.de his children fly! And turned, aryl e’en that savage band Cowered at his wrathful eye. Swift as \e lightning wing’d with death, Flashed lyrtli the quivering flame! warrior bows beneath deadly aim. * rie9.that.rend the sl^pe, •r purpose Yno*c; diildreni or it dies e of hire, i. ads tllB conqueror ^ 9 the inwde^er’e duty, these jalon the good man's 1 Their fierce The fathi Not. the wih His heart He saves The sacr Ambition Hate But lot Can ft. iMU at strikes, sweet love, Thev come! they comet—he heeds no cry, Save the soft child-like wail,— “O, father save!” “My children, fly!” Were mingled on the gale. And firmer still he drew his breath, And sterner flashed his eye, As fast he hurls the leaden death, Still shouting, “ children, fly!” No shadow on his brow appeared, Nor tremor shook his frame, Save when at intervals he heard Some trembler lisp his name. In vain the foe, those fiends unchained, Like famish’d tigers chafe, The shelt’ring roof is neared, is gained, All, all the <Jear ones safe! FROM “ EVENINGS IN GREECE,” A NEW- WORK, BY THOMAS MOORE. / I saw, from yonder silent cave, Two fountains running side by side, The one was Mem’ry’s limpid wave, The other, Cold Oblivion’s tide. * Oh Love!’ said I, in thoughtless dream, As o’er my lips the Lethe pass’d, ‘Here in this dark and chilly stream, Be all my pains forgot at last.’ But who could bear that gloomy blank, Where joy was lost as well as pain ? Quickly of Mem’ry’s fount I drank, And brought the past all back again: And said, * Oh Love! whate’er my lot, Still let this soul to thee be true— Rather than have one bliss forgot, . Be all my pains remember’d too l’ Compliment to a newly married pair, by the edi tor of the Connecticut Mirror. I saw two clouds at morning, Ting’d with the rising sun; And in the dawn they floated on, , And mingled into one. I thought that morning cloud was blest, It mov’d so sweetly to the west. I saw two summer currents Flow smoothly to tbeir meeting, And join their course with silent force, In peace each other greeting; Calm was their course through banks of green, While dimpling eddies play’d betwocn. Such be your gentle motion, Till life’s last pulse shall beat; Like summer’s beam, and summer’s stream Float on in joy, to mectf A calmer sea, where storms shall cease— A purer sky, where all is peace. SKETCHES OF DISTINGUISHED FEMALES. Catharine Sedgwick—Author of two very popular novels, the “ New-England Tale,” and “ Redwood,” is the daughter of Judge Sedgwick, and was born at Stock- bridge, in Massachusetts, in the year 1798. She issdpservedly ranked among the most elegant fyose writers of the day ; and is un- derstood'to be now engaged in the prepara-, tion of a series of Tales, founded on scenes in New-England. Madia ^dgeworth—Is the daughter of Rithard Lovell Edgeworth, Esq. of Edgewoith-town; Ireland, a gentleman dis tinguished in the literary world for his tal ents and writings.. The daughter is said to excel her parent in talents ; she has devo ted herself to literary pursuit^ with zeal and ardour. |One of her objects has been to per feet the | ; ystem of female education, in which she has in pari succeed ■ ’ f \ * / iter" ' iVl * 0 ' V ' ' -*• v > ■*#. ::*v • vel writer she ranks among therabst erni nent, and. the Irish character has rflfvcr bee^J^^ntering appearance at Drury-lane theatre, in 1782, her success was complete, the public was astonished at her powers, end she was ac knowledged to be the first tragic actress of thea<K. For more than twenty years she retained hifr high rank as an actress, and Continued, during that period, to enchant the loters of the drama. She also pos sesses considerable merit as a sculptor. Mrs. Siddons has accumulated an ample property, with which she retired from the Etage to the quiet of domestic life. Jane and Ann Maria Porter.—These ladies, are sisters, and daughters of Sir ‘Robert Porter. They have long held a high rank among the female novel writers of the day. The former has written “ Thaddeus of Warsaw,” “ Scottish Chiefs,” and other works which have been well received by the public, and very extensively read. The younger sister has published “ The Hunga rian Brother,” “The Recluse of Norway,” and more recently, the “ Fast of St. Mag dalen.” Until the appearance of that splen did series of works, the Waverly novels, these sisters had gained a great degree of popularity.. They have, however, with others, been obliged to yield to the unrival led merits of the “ Great Unknown.” Anna Letitia Barbauld.—This lady is the daughter of the . Rev. John Aiken, an English dissenting clergyman, and wife of the Rev. R. Barbauld, master of a school in Norfolk. She was born in the year 173.4, and was early instructed in the Latin and Greek languages by her father. She is distinguished for her learning, as well as for her numerous works which" have gained her great celebrity. She is now far ad vanced in life, and yet retains great vigor both of intellect and of body. Asa writer of prose, she has surpassed almost every female of her time and is equalled for ele gance of diction, and soundness of seriso, by few of the other sex. Madam D’Arblay.—Better known by her maiden name of Miss Frances Burney, is the daughter of Dr. Burney. This lady has deservedly attracted public attention, and gained a high reputation for herself, by her writings. She unquestionably ranks among the first female novel writers of the a«*e. Her first work was- Evelina, publislied°in 1777. To this succeeded Cecilia; she has also written a tragedy, which has been per formed on the English stage, and recently a novel, called the Wanderer, or Female Dif ficulties. Madam D’Arblay is now a widow, and resides since the death of her husband, in England. serve drpwn with equal truth and spirit .one. writer. Her publications wl numerous, have been well received on both sides the Atlantic. ^ Joanna BailLie—Is a single’fady, who resides chiefly in her native country, Scot land. She is distinguished for her talents and writings, and has published a series of plays in several volumes, illustrative of the strong passions of the mind. She has also written a collection of metrical legends of eminent characters, in one volume. Madam Angelica Catalini—Is, pro bably, the most distinguished female singer of the age. She was born near Rome, in 1782, and educated in a convent. Her fa ther, who was a silversmith, becoming em barrassed in his pecuniary affairs, his daugh ter became a public singer at Milan, at the age of fifteen and was highly applauded by the Italian and French critics and journals. O11 her first app<^ ta qnee in England, in IfJOG, she was fouir c f doubt’ to all the continen tal panegyri ^ as at | pn pt?ver since ceased to be greatly^. to \ Her voice is singularly powerful, equally melodious in the high and low tones. Her figure is finely formed, and her deportment majestic. She is still heard with delight/ Vpth in Great Britain and on the continents \ v Mrs. Opie—This lady was born in 1771. She is the daughter of Dr. Alderson, an eminent physician of Norwich. She early evinced superior talents, by composing poems and descriptive pieces, at an age when young ladies have not Usually finished their education.—In 1798 she married Mr. Opie, -a celebrated painter, and soon after his death, in 1S08, she published a memoir of his life prefixed to the lectures he had road at the Royal Academy. By this and other publications, she has acquired con- Vers siderable reputation, both as a prose and poetical writer. Mrs. Siddons—Is the daughter of Mr. R. Kemble. She was bora about the year 1749. This lady commenced her career as a singer, but she soon relinquished that om- ploymeut, and attempted tragedy. Oii; the whip. Hafk ! already he “age—the horn sounds—the bng the street,^and out runs bj to bid him welcome. Ob- ance*r-to $ome he gives a grim nod, to others a smile of recognition ; but* thrice happy is lie who is honored with “go it Jemmy.” Beatified James! thou hast lived eternity in a moment. “ Felix, heu, nimium felix, tua si bona noijs !” In the nature of his vocation the Coach man bears no indistinct resemblance to the Poet. The one gives the rein to his hor ses, the other to his imagination ; and, when either run wild, the consequences are equally hazardous. The poet drives his steed along the high road to Parnassus; the coachman, more terrestrial in his call ing, rattles them along the King’s highway. The poet is the child, of feeling, ditto the coachman. The one feels, what he writes the other whathe drives—the one gets drunk with inspiration, the ether with gin—and, finally, the one gives spur to his Pegasus, the other to his leaders. Independently of these poetical associa tions, our hero is illustrious from liis con nexion with classical lore. Pelops was a coachman, and has been immortalized, for his ability to drive at the rate of fourteen miles an hour, by the first Grecian bards, rr " history of his ivory arm is nothing The THE COACHMAN A SKETCH. The Coachman’s eye, in a fine phrenzy rolling, Doth glance from right to left, from left to right: And as imagination bodies forth. The distant vehicle, the dexterpus Jehn Keeps his own side, and gives the passer by A nod of congratulation or contempt. There is something in the nature of a Stage-coachman that smacks, like his own whip, of conscious importance. He is the elect of the road on which he travels, the illustrious, imitated of thousands. Talk of the King indeed! the King, even on his highway, is but hut “ cakes and gingerbread to the Jehu* For him John Boots whistles welcome; not so much through the good ness of his disposition, as through his teeth —and the publican waxes honest in his gin; for him, Betsey the pretty bar-maid displays the symmetry of a well turned ankle, and the landlady speaks volumes in a squint. Survey him as he bowls along the road, fenced in coats numerous as tho seven bull hides of Ajax. Listen to the untutored me lody of his voice, as he preaches the word of exhortation tfl(nis tits, and enforces his more than a metaphorical illustration of the merits of his whip hand. He fractured it in driving for a wager against King iEnomans, a brother whip ; but it was so well set by Esculapius, the first surgeon and accoucher of his day, that popular ignorance, unable to account for the cure ascribed it to Ceres. Hippolytus, with whom Diana herself was detected in a faux pas, was another notori ous coachman, and kept the most fashiona ble curricle of his day. I might quote di- other instances which, as Valpy’s Grammar expresses it, “ a familiarity with the best writers will easily suggest; but there would be no end to my essay, for in good sooth, “ hills peep o’er hills and Alps on Alps arise,” when I attempt to enu merate the charioteers whom in my school days I have been taught to reverence. But in addition to such classical advanta ges, the coachman is celebrated for the morality w r ith which his name is associated. “ All the world’s a stage,” says Shaks- peare ; and Time may be considered as the Jehu who rattles it along the high road, of life to eternity. To“ reflective minds this association will appear obvious, and in his more serious moments the philosoper will love to consider a journey to Path as a type of his journey <0 eternity. Turn we to survey another instance of the importance of the coachman, in the ten der affections with which his vocation is connected. He is the winged Mercury of love, the Cupid of Valentine’s-day, the le gal conveyance of reciprocal esteem from friend to friend. He alone can “ speed the soft intercourse from soul to soul,” af the sensible pace of eight miles an hour, (inclu ding stoppages) and bring the travelled hus band to the anticipative optics of his wife. Sweet to behold him, in a calm summer evening, bowling along the village enshrin ed like Ixion in a cloud—of dust, with a crew of breathless urchins screaming avel- come as he passes. A smile is on the face of the hamlet, and even the school master doffs his hat at his approach. The maid servant rushes out in hope of a packet from her lover and the barber, with the weekly newspaper tossed down to him from the box, flies pregnant with greatness, to be de livered at the village ale-house. With respect to his accomplishments, the coachman is deservedly illustrious. If his conversation has-not the copious elegance of Coleridge, it has all the easy copiousness of nature, with expletive beauties more pecu liarly its own. It is at once nervous, flow ing, and anecdotal, enforced with energetic anathemas, and garnished with technical ob scurities. In music he is no mean profi cient ; his school, as Byron said of Christa- bel, is “ wild and singularly original and beaatiful,” and not unfrequently contrives $0 “ snatch a grace beyond the reach of art.” Some, however, prefer the Italian, others the Irish, others the English—but I prefer the whip school of music ; for, like the in strument from which its name is derived, it is striking, flexible, and melodious ; and 1 can imagine nothing more touching than to hear a coachman as he travels along the road, “ warble his native wood notes wild” to the pathetic .tune of the Lass of Rich mond Hill, or the more impassioned canzo net of Sally in our Alley, An Ill-Matched Couple.—At the Police Office, Union Hall, London, a tradesman named Maskall, 45 years old, was lately charged with having turned his wife out of doors, and refused her any support. Mrs. Maskall was only eighty years of age ; she said she had been married about a twelve- month ; that her husband squandered her property, beat her, and turned her into the street without a pinny. The brother of the young lady, said that the defendant had wheedled his sister into matrimeny, secret ly, and afterwards made her part with her money by terrifying her in a most extraordi nary manner. When the hypocrite got into bed with his wife, he would alarm her al most into fits by pretending to have a con versation with tlie Devil, and declaring that Old Nick would'.certainly appear to her, un less she consented to give up all the money shaking wittTtfie(palsy, fhe looked towards fter husband, an^jjdded, “ 1 think, r.fter all, you will stand a‘chance of seeing the Devil in earnest, yourself; you are a base man, to have treated me in the manner you have.” To a question from the magistrate, she re plied, “ I have had three husbands before him, God help me ! I’m sure I don’t know what tempted me to throw away myself upon him,—it must have been his wheedling ways.” The magistrate said, “ this should be a lesson for oid ladies not to think of venturing into the bonds of matrimony, at any rate, after having arrived at threescore and ten.”—The defendant was ordered to pay his wife six shillings a week ; when put ting his hand in his pocket, he drew out a week’s payment and gave it to her, observ- ing, he hoped she would live just to spend that and no more. she had in tliei funds. By this expedient, and by personal violence,—for he was in the habit of beating her with a haqi-bone,— he at length succeeded in getting every farthing she pbssessed, which be spent at public houses. The wife said, § Ay, in deed, every word my brother said fc true then putting ou her spectacles, W head General Picton—The gallant General had been for some time under a cloud, the principal cause of which is stated to have been his rough and unpliant temper. The third division had always been called par excellence, “ the fighting division,” being ever foremost where danger was the great est. During the late advance, however, they had been saddled with the scaling lad ders, and other necessary lumber cf the army, and this had greatly annoyed Picton, and contributed to produce still greater ebullitions of temper which it would have been more prudent in him to have restrained. On the march, head quarter’s baggage has the privilege of continuing its route, with out turning aside to allow any troops to pass it. One day, Picton overtaking it with his division, ordered it off the road until he had marched by. A part complied, but Lord Wellington’s butler refused to obey, pleading head quarter privilege. Upon this, it is said, that Picton struck him with the umbrella which he usually carried to de fend his eyes, which were weak, from the sun, and accompanied his castigation with a threat of having him tied up and flogged by the provost-martial if he did not immediate ly give way to the division. In the battle of Vittoria, Picton did not think that such a post was assigned to his troops as their oft- tried valor seemed to challenge. An Aid- de-camp of Lord Wellington riding up to him shortly after the engagement had begun, and about the time Lord Dalhousie was expected to debouche, inquired of the Ge neral, “ whether he had seen his Lordship ?” Picton’s voice was never musical, and on this occasion it was absolutely hoarse. “No, sir,” was the reply, “ I have not seen him- but have you any orders for me, sir ? “ None,” said the aid-de-camp. “ Then, pray, sir, what are the orders you bring V* “That, as soon as Lord Dalhousie shall commence an attack upon that bridge, the fourth and sixth divisions are to support him.” Picton, drawing himself up and putting his arms a-kimbo, then said, “ You may tell Lord Wellington from me, sir, that the third division, under my command, shall, in less than ten minutes, attack the bridge and cprry it, and the fourth and sixth divisions may support, if they choose! Upon this the gallant General mounted his horse, and putting himself at the head of his troops, waved his hat, and led them on to the charge with the bland compellations of “ Come on, ye rascals! come on, ye fighting villains !” The bridge was carried in a few minutes. These particulars I bad from Colonel , who was badly wounded in the battle, and is at present laid up at Vittoria.”—Personal JS'an-ative o f Adventures in the Peninsula during the War of 1812-12. Johnson and Burke.—No great man ever praised another more than Johnson praised Burke. Remarking, in conversation, that the fame of men was generally exaggerated in the world, somebody quoted Burke as an exception, and he instantly admitted it— “ Yes, Burke is an extraordinary man—his^ stream of mind is perpetual.” “ Burke’s talk,” said he, at another time, “ is the ebul lition of his mind; he does not talk from a desire of distinction, but because his mind is full.” An argumentative dispute with him, he seemed to think, required such ex ertion of his powers, that when unwell at one time, and Burke’s name was mentioned, he observed, “ if that fellow were here now, he would kill me. Burke (added he) is the only man whose common conversation cor responds with the general fame which he has in the world. Take up whatever topic you please, he is ready to meet you.!’- Of all the triumphs of Mr. Burke, it was per haps the greatest to compel the admiration and personal love of a man whose mind was at once so capacious and so good, so powerful and so prejudiced, so celebrated and so deserving of celebrity.—Prior’s Life of Burlcc. A Precious Relique.—They show many reliques in the churches here (Brussels,) but none that are of great curiosity or in terest. I was told that at Cologne they have the first animal that drew blood and thus broke the general peace—viz. the Flea that bit Eve the Eight after her fall, and to her great dismay, for it is said to be nearly as large as a well-grown prawn. I, cannot say that I believe this entirely, yet as I have seen so many wonderful things, I cannot say that I disbelieve it. The unusual size of the creature is in favour of the truth of the story, and of the antediluvian -origin of the insect, for there were giants in those days, ?nd men reached a prodigious age; but, since the deluge, both ourselves and our fleas are a stunted, short-lived, aguish race.—Joumql of a Traveller on the Con tinent. state of matrimony, and who had turned his attention to tho i gilded ’ be auties of the day —selected at length, for his particular ad dresses, a lady, who was reputed rich, as well in the ‘ matter of lucre,’ as in personal and mental .accomplishments. He felt the charms of hi^ fair one stealing over his senses, and pasting a ‘ witching spell ’ upon all his faculties. But, like a discreet young man, before he was too far gone, he wanted to make assurance doubly sure—and to leave no ‘ loop whereon to hang a doubt ’ touching the worldly possessions of his be loved. Fame, it is true, had spoken her wealthy, but Fame had a cruel fashion of exaggerating in these matters. In a word, if the truth must be told, our lover was'not so madly in love, but he was able to preserve some * method ’ in it. And before the glori ous passion reached its crisis, he lmd the sin gular prudence to examine tho records, and so obtain an exact knowledge of the wealth of his charmer. How happy was he to find that her estate was clear; and for once even more valuable than rumour had proclaimed it. Flying, then, on the wings of love to the dwelling of his lair one—in good set phrase, he declared his affection for her—made a tender of his heart and hand—and besought her to smile upon his pdssion, and make him happy. But the ‘ flattering tale of Hope; was not to be raized.’ The star of our lover’s happy fortune had, alas! not yet cast its silver light above the horizon ! By some means, it happened, that the young lady had been apprised of the extent of her lover’s curiosity—and in the midst of his descant upon flames, darts, and cupids—she very composedly drew from her reticule a small piece of money, and approaching him made this reply— 4 Although I may not profit by your very favourable sentiments towards me—still, cannot think of your being a loser on my account. As you have been at the expense of a 4 search ’ I must insist upon being allowed to replace the amount so ex pended !’ So saying, she put an eighteen penny piece in her lover’s hand, and he— went his way! Love and Prudence.—A young gentle man who was desirous of entering the holy A little comedy is in representation at Paris, called 27ie Husband of Five Years Old. Two children, about five years of age, ask their parents if they cannot be married. The father feigns his consent, and pretends to marry them. The two children are delighted at first ; but thev soon quarrel about the possession of a play thing. They then plead for a separation before their parents, who grant them a di vorce, to their great mutual satisfacton. The dialogue of this piece, which is perfect ly natural and characteristic, renders it ex tremely amusing. The intelligence of the two children, who play the parts of husband and wife, is said to be truly astonishing. A lady has petitioned for a separation from her husband, he being not^ over 25, and she less than 20 years*.of age. The wrongs she complains of are as follows : his refusing her a franc (less than 20 cents) to to complete the purchase of a hat; his hav ing kept her encharte privee, on the 16th of July, from 9 o’clock in the morning to 7 in the evening ; and his having extinguished the light before she had finished reading a romance, which interested her. Her pe tition was not allowed.—Fr. paper. Ingenious Defence.—At the? late Lime rick Assizes, a man of the name of Patrick Magrath was tried for stealing the great coat of the prosecutor. After this fact had been proved, the learned Judge called upon him for his defence, when the prisoner addressed the court: “ My Lord, he saw what a bad way I was in for clothes, being almost naked, and he said, 44 1 would advise you, Pat, the first coat or blanket you can get, to throw it over your shoulders;” I did so, my Lord, and now he is prosecuting me for following his own bad advice, and this is my defence, please your Reverence’s Lordship.” The Court was convulsed with laughter.—Bell’s Weekly Messenger. A Judicial Anecdote.—Not many years ago, a judge in the interior of Pennsylvania, whose character for parsimony was well known, went into a shop to buy a horn comb. The lady waiting on him, asked eight cents for it: The judge offered six, which was finally accepted. He took the comb, and laid flown a five penny bit, which is exactly six and a quarter cents. After staying an unusual length of time in the store, a servant entered with information that dinner was on table— 44 I’ll be there presently,” .said the judge—another mes sage came, the judge still lingered behind— “ Why do you stay l” said the lady. “ I am waiting for my change,” said the judge. “ W hat change Sir ?” inquired the Lady— “ Why, the difference between six cents, and the f’penny bitsaid the judge !— 44 I know not how to accommodate you, but by cutting a cent into four equal parts, and giv- you one of them,’’ replied the lady ! Os, saying which, thfcjudge stepped up to a box containing snuff) and putting his haft cl into it, observed— 44 Well then, I’ll take it out in maccouba /” He took a cents worth! Bless ine,” said the lady— 44 like a hound on a scent, you pinch hard, and give no quarters/” - 1 An article has been “going the rounds,” respecting a certain Mrs. Hamilton, who is said never to have displeased her husband during forty-seven years of married life. A correspondent of the Charleston Mercury explains the wondrous event by saying— Maj. Gen. H. was ordered off on duty be fore tho expiration of the honey-moon, and did not return until’ his wife was dead.
