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VOL. XXI.]
tscrllancoitr<.
THE HEART’S SACRIFICE,
j AN INCIDENT AT THE BATTLE OF
GERMANTOWN.
BY LAWRENCE I ABRF.F..
We have heard the story of a young man
who lived during the perilous times of our
country. He was ardent and patriotic, and
thirsted to he a shater in those glories which
our brave armies plucked from the bristling
bayonets of tiie enemy; yet he had been
,fiii.r.i:oGJEvri,LE Georgia, .irrie is. i§si.
Mo.
Rut what consternation did the morning's j mGn t, and then, looking earnestly in her
dawn bring to the hearts of his wife 8nt ] j eyes, said:
parents! His non appearance was at fi r8t “Mary, you have disgraced me! I can
scatcely noticed, tili the former percej ve j never look man in iheface again!”
a letter lying on the table directed to Hrr- I cu i , . . . , , • ,
ic • c ,< ! She spoke not, hut returned his glance
self, wherein George informed her of his „ ■ , ,, ,
. . , ° , ■ ' 11,3 with a proud eye, and suddenly quitting
resolution, and urged the necessity of* j,; s j ■ r • • - ’ - J 1 - - s
li-nea " , B
puners. for the fall space of three months—tor coi
ncUitig titles from Executors or Administrators,
where bond has been given by the deceased, the
full space of thru months.
Publications will always be continued according
0, these, the legal requirements, unless otherwise
ordered.
All business of this kind will receive prompt at
leation at the Federal Union Orrict.
Letters on business must be post paid 1o en-
jitle them to attention.
%3 o r t r ».
THE SEASONS OF LOVE.
BY J E. CARPENTER.
I will love thee in the spring lime,
For ‘twasspring when first we met,
All on earth seem'd bright around us,
And that brightness lingers yet;
It is true that we were younger.
But so joy ous was the scene.
We have scarcely felt that Winter
With his chilly breath has been.
O’er our days of springtide weather
Joy’s sun has scarcely set.
Then I'll love thee in the spring-time.
For ’twas spring when first we met.
I will love thee in the summer.
For. when the spring w as o'er,
In the summer of thy beauty
Thou wert fairer than before;
And now the fruits of autumn
Are ripen’d oil the bough.
And autumnal days creep o er us,
I will love thee dearly now.
Though our spring of life is over.
Riper fruits life’s branches fill;
Then in summer and in autumn,
I will love thee dearly still.
And now winter is approaching.
And tile sunshine must depart.
If we closer cling together,
He can never touch the heart.
For the days that are departed
Uh! we never will repine.
While we live and love together,
And such joys are thine and mine.
All the seasons I will love thee,
All the days thou shalt be dear—
Spring—Snnmief—Autumn—Winter—
Yes—I’ll love thee all the year.
[Colburn’s New Monthly.
*17 a c t rt!2.
The Late Mr. Grizzle.—A very worthy
fisherman by the name of Grizzle was
drow tied some time since, and all search for
bis body was unavailing. After it had been
in the water some months it was discover-
ed floating upon the surface, and taken to land, with i
no defendet of their helplessness, he would j
sigh for the destinies of his country, and 1
resign himself to the duties or the small j
farm that was their only support. He could *
| not desert them, and leave them to the j
| mercy of the vagabond stiagglers from the j
enemy’s camp, and those traitors to his
j own country. Instances were too fresh in
j his memety of reverend heads and hoary
locks having been ciushed to the dost bv
I midnight plunderers and assassins, and his
I love for the authors of his being left him
| nothing hut prayers lor his oppressed coun-
i try.
1 But he had other affections growing in his !
| breast like spring flowers, shedding a per-
I fume of holiness upon his spirit, like the i
j Christian’s inspiration. There existed, j
since their childhood, an attachment he- |
j tween him and the only daughter of a wid- j
j ow who resided hrit a few rods from his I
I father’s; and that attachment had ripened i
j to a mutual declaration of love when the
j parties became sufficiently old to appteciate !
j the glow of true devotion. A time was set !
| for the consummation of their vows, which j
I was the evening of the ever memorable !
j 25tli of December, 1776, at the at time that j
j Washington was making his perilous but
triumphant passage across the Delaware,
amid floating ice, and suffering from the in- j
| tense cold of tlie season,
j The two families were now united, I
i George removing his bride and her mother j
j to the house of his father. But still lie
j was not happy—he could not banish from
: his mind an oppressive anxiety for the wel-
, fare of his country, and the doubtful strug
gle which she was maintaining in the hopes
of acquiring that freedom for which eveiy
noble heart so warmly prayed.
In a week from the night of the passage
of the Delaware, Washington met a de
tachment of the enemy at Princeton, which
he defeated with small loss, with the excep
tion of several officers, among whom was I
the gallant and btavoGen. Mercer,while that i
of the enemy was upward of one hundred |
killed, and the remainder, about three hun- |
deed, taken prisoners. The General then I
retired to winter quarters at Morristown, I
which he did not leave until the latter end
of May, with an army amounting to but
little over seven thousand men, although
Congress had offered recruits bounties in
ncreased pay.
assisting in the struggle for freedom
“If 1 fall,” it said, remember me—I shall
die in a just and glorious cause. If J ]{ ve
—trust me it will be in the enjoyment of a
freeman’s glorious privileges.”
Ere the letter was concluded, the forsa
ken wife had fallen senseless on the floor.
The father felt a glow of patriotic pride
thrill his heart at this devotion in his son,
whiie the mother knelt and clasped her
hands in silent prayer.
The poor wife at last came to her senses,
hut it was to wander about the house weep
ing, continually calling upon her husband,
insisting that she should never see him
more, and marvelling at his cruelty in de
serting her. She was not of Spartan mould,
and possessed not those stern virtues which
prompted those ancient heroines to lay the
last particle of affection upon the altar of
their country’s freedom! No; she asked
nothing more than the love and presence
of her husband—a devotion that remained
paramount in iter heart,permitting the pies-
ence of none else. Grief! she could not
submit to he left thus alone. The act must
he revoked that made nim one of the army.
She would seek him—she would implore
him to come hack to those who loved him,
and to whom he was all the world.
On that same day. ere the sun had reach
ed his meridian, unknown to any one, she
left her home, and after three hour’s weary
travel she stood beside her husband in the
camp, beseeching him to return. Those
who witnessed her earnestness were melted
by her tender entreaties—those rugged
soldiers that would rush madly on bayonet
; the room, she left her husband Wondering
! at the strangeness of her behavior. Her
: absence was but for a moment, ami return
: ing, she placed in the hands of George the
I gun and knapsack with which he had ac-
I coutred himself the previous night.
“•There, George, return to the camp,
! Tell General Washington tfiat the wife
i gives her heart for the cause ofher country,
i If every American gave as much, we should
i be invincible! Go! God bless you! this is
my sacrifice! You will bid me farewell—
you will now speak to me—you will look
as you used to do! That is some hap
piness. Oh, I could not bear your dis
pleasure!”
Need we say how the heart of the young
patriot leapt with exceeding joy, and how-
lie pressed the yielding form of his beanti-
ful wile to his bosom? Shall we describe
the tender parting and affectionate farewell?
or shall we cover with the veil of silence
scenes so sacred? We prefer that the im
agination of the reader should supply a
| seene that description cannot do justice
! to.
George Madden was once more enlisted
in tlie ranks of his countiymen, where he
w as received with applause.
At this period Philadelphia was occupi
ed by the British under General Howe,
who, annoyed at some forts on the Dela
ware, detached a portion of the royal army
to reduce them. Washington improved
this opportunity to attack the remainder of
the Btitish army encamped at Germantown.
'I he attack was made on tiie fourth of Oc
tober, and was maintained on the part of
MURDER OF MISS M’CREA.
The incident and particulars of the death
of this unfortunate young lady may well
claim a place in the romance of American
History. The intelligence ofher murder
shocked the pufilic ear in this country at the
time of the catastrophe, and the eloquence
of Burke made the story familiar to the
European world. The following version is
taken from the “Life and Treason of Bene
dict Arnold.”
This young lady was the daughter of a
clergyman, who died in New Jersey before
the Revoluf.on. Upon her father’s death,
she sought, a home in the house of her bro
ther, a respectable gentleman residing on
the western hank of the Hudson river, a-
bout four miles below Fort Edward. Here
she formed an intimacy with a young man
named David Jones, to whom it was under
stood she was engaged to be married.—
When the war broke out, Jones took the
side of the royalists, went to Canada, re
ceived a commission, and was a captain or
lieutenant in tiie provincials in Burgoyne's
army.
Fort Edward was situated on the eastern
) trophy. Let it be imagined what were the
' feelings of the anxious lover, waiting with
joyful anticipation, the arrival of his intend
ed bride, when this appalling proof of her
death was presented to him. The innocent
had suffered by the hand of cruelly and vio
lence, which he had unconsciously armed;
his most fondly cherished hopes were blast
ed, and a sting was planted in his soul,
which time and forgetfulness could never
eradicate. His spirit was scathed hnd his
heart broken. He lived but a few years, a
prey to his sad recollections, and sunk into
the grave under the burden ofhis grief.
The remembrance of this melancholy
tale is still cherished with lively sympathy
by the people who dwell near the scene of
its principal incidents. The inhabitants of
the village of Fort Edward have lately res
moved the remains of Miss M’Crea from
their obscure resting place, and deposited
them in the public burial ground. The
ceremony was solemn and impres
sive. A procession of young men and
maidens followed the relics, and wept in sis
lence when the earth was again closed over
, them, thus exhibiting an honorable proof of
margin ol Hudsons River, within a few i sensibility and respect for the dead. The
yards of the water, and sutrounded by a j little fountain still pours out its clear waters
r„e l Li- . . near the brow of the hill, and the venerable
and cannon — march hare-looted over frozen i the Americans with great severity but they
ground and through deep snow, sustained J were eventually repulsed with twice the
nly by fervent patriotism—they wept as ! l“ ss of ihe enemy, owing to the inexperi
bey beheld this fond but timid wife cling
ng to her husband, ami with eloquent en-
lenrment, begging him/ for the love he
■ore her, to letum once more to the deso-
ate hearth now left without a protector.
Impossible! he had enlisted for the war—the
mny could not spare any of its number,
which, even at the best, was even too small
o cope with a larger foice, better disciplin
ed and better clothed. Impossible ! he
could not with any decent grace, retreat
Irotn a position so recently assumed. He
consoled her as best be could, but assured
ence of part of the troops and the presence
of a thick fug which embarrassed their
movements, it was ascertained that the
American loss amounted to two hundred
killed, six hundred wounded, and about
four hundred prisoners.
But how fared George Madden? How
fought the new recruit?
An old mar,—a survivor of the ranks —
told us that he fought with the ferocity of a
tiger, and that just previous to the com- ,
raencement of the attack, a young stripling
plain 'of considerable extent, which was
cleared of wood and cultivated. On the
road leading to the north, and near the foot-
of the hill, about one-third of a mile from
the fort, stood a house o cupiedby Mrs.
M’Neil, a widow and acquaintance of Miss
M’Crea, with whom she was staying as a
visitor at the time the American army was
in that neighborhood. The side of the hill
was covered with a growth of hushes, and
on its top, a quarter of a mile from the
house, stood a large pine tree, near the
root of which gushed out a perennial spring
of water. A guaid of one hundred men
had been left at the fort, and a picket under
Lieutenant Van Vechten was stationed in
the wood on the hill, a little beyond the pine
tree.
Early one morning this picket guard was
attacked by a party of Indians, rushing
through the woods from different points at
the same moment, and rending the air with
hideous yells. Lieut. Van Vechten and
five others were killed and scalped, and four
were wounded. Samuel Standish, one of
of the guard, whose post was near the pine
tree, discharged his musket at the first In
dian he saw, am) ran down the hill toward
the fort, but lie hail no sooner reached the
plain, than three Indians, who had pursued
him to cut off his retreat, darted out of the
her of the impracticability of leaving the j quested to be placed side by side with the
army. She must submit ; it would be a hardy battlers for liberty. His request was
sacrifice no greater than had been made by j granted—for no time was allowed ‘for ques
*" lions or considerations—and he was placed
by the side of Madden who only noticed
thousands. 1 here was no remedy hut to '
the shore, whereupon Mr. Smith was dis- At this time George burned *tu enlist in
patched to convey intelligence to the afflict- (| ie ranks of his countrymen, and share
ed widow.
Mr. Smith — Well, Mrs. Grizzle, we have
found Mr. Grizzle’s body.
Mrs. Grizzle—You don't say so!
Mr. S—yes we have: the jury has sot on
it, and found it full of eels.
Mrs. G—mercy, you don’t say that Mr.
Grizzle’s body is full of eels.
Mr. S—yes it is, and we want to know
what you will have done with it.
their sufferings and their glory. But his
1 young wife looked in his face with weeping
eyes, whose eloquence, added to the infirm
ities of his parents, deterred him from the
sacrifice. Besides, as the roads became
j mote passable, and the season more tempe
rate, robberies and midnight excursions of
straggling Hessians and skinners were
j more frequent, and the house of one of
their neighbors bad been pillaged, the in-
Mrs. G—why bow many eels should you mates brutally murdered, and the dwelling
think was in him?
Mr. S—why, about a bushel.
Mrs. G—why then 1 think you bad bet
ter send the eeis up to the bouse, and set
it again.
How to Dress Well.—Dr. Johnson, speak
set on fire, within sight of their friends,
who could offer them no assistance, expect
ing, as they did, every moment to meet a
I similar fate.
In this state of inquietude passed away
the summer, until the intelligence reached
ing of a lady who was celebrated for'dres- \ George c.f the engagement between the
.....It rpmartpJ- “The lies! evidence T America
sing well, remarked: “The best evidence I American and English armies at Brandys
can give you ofher in this respect is, that wine, on the 11th September, when the
one can never remember what she has on. . republican forces were compelled to retire
Delicacy of feeling in a lady will prevent after a day’s hard fighting, with a loss that
her putting on anything calculated to at- was estimated at three hundred killed,
tract notice; and ye‘l a female of good taste about six hundred wounded, and between
will dtess so as to have every part of her ; three and four hundred made prisoners.
Thus while she avoids’ This reverse of the American arms arous-
d attractive, everything , ed anew the patriotic feelings of George,
and he at once communicated his intentions
to bis father, who offered no impediment to
bis immediately joining the army and help
dress correspond
what is showy and attractive, everything
will be so adjusted as to exhibit symmetry
and taste.
Miss Snooks says, it’s with old bachelors
as with old wood. It is hard to get them
started, but when they do take flame, they
burn prodigiously.
A happy home is a glorious and instruc
tive sight; one which it does the heart good
to see, and which, once beheld, leaves an
ineffacable impressijnon the mind.
Nothing is more unjust than to jud^e of
a man on too short an acquaintance, and too
slight an inspection; for it often happens,
that in the loose, and thoughtless and dis
sipated, there is a secret radical worth
which may shoot out by proper cultivation;
that the spaik of Heaven, though dimmed
and obstructed, is yet trot extinguished *>ut
may, by the breath of counsel and exhorta
tion, be kindled into name.
An Irishman travelling iu a street that
was paved, was accosted by a duff with a
ing to retrieve what had been so unfortu
nately lost.
“Go, ray son,” said lie, “I am beyond ser
vice mvself; but, like Abraham of old, 1
am willing to offer my son to the sacrifice.
Let the plea of protection to your patents
lie no longer an excuse to keep y<>u from
the ranks of those brave and devoted men j
who follow Washington, but receive our j
blessing, and bid farewell to your young j
wife, whose lot e of her country I am sure j
cannot be less than her affection for your- j
self. If you fall it is in a just and holy j
cause.”
This was heroic advice, but nowise un-'
common in the mouths of our venerable !
sires. George communicated his design to j
his mother, and afterward to his wife; but i
the latter would not listen to his arguments, I
and wept, and beseeched him not to leave j
them to the mercy of the metcenary rob- j
threatening growl. The traveller attempt- bets that overrun the country in the neigh
ed to pull up one of the paving-stones to 1 1 ’ ' ” ” ’’
#1 - ... L.I U.„» .t oe (act “As rnh ** cil.l
Paddy, “what a country is this, where stones
are tied and dogs let loose.”
Once commence doing gooJ, and you
will find it, in a short time, as easy as lying.
Lav it down a' a rule, never to smile, uftr
in any way show approval or merriment, at
any trait in a child which you should not
wish to grow with his growth, and strength
en with his strength—Mrs. E. C. Allen.
A lady, meeting a girl who had lately left
Her service, itiquiicd, “Well, Mary, where
do you live now?” “Please, ma’am,” an
swered the girl, “I don’t live now. I'm mar
ried now.”
borhood of the British armies. Earnestly
did lie plead the sufferings of his country
men and the necessity of his presence a-
mong those who were battling for the bles
sings of liberty—to nothing would she lis
ten—no argument could convince her.
What was a single arm in the mighty
strife? Despairing and impatient, our tiero
resolved to leave for the army the ensuing
night, and for this purpose he made ali ne
cessary prepat atioti for his secret departure.
His gun and knapsack were deposited in
| the barn, and a letter of farewell written
| which be would leave to be read after his
j departure.
j Midnight at length came, melancholy and
I gloomy to George; but he arose frutn his
] bed, to which lie had tetired in the eariy
part of the evening to lull suspicion, and
A beautiful Orientul proverb runs thus
With time and patience the inulberty leaf | j.j ss j tl g h| s wife affectionately as she lay
becomes satin. j asleep, he hurried to the barn, accoutred
An Italian picture-dealer in London late . i,i, nst >|f as well as his few equipments
ly bought au old picture for a song. It prov- j would allow, and was soon on his way to
ed to be a portrait of Princess Colonna, and j (| ; n t (, e arm y. H e had not far to travel, as
“ 1 ’ 1 ' - ‘ L J Washington had encamped within eighteen
miles of Germantown, and but half that dis-
is valued at thirty thousand dollars
A divine in Kent, seldom in church, but a
rigid Justice of the Peace, having a vagrant
brought before him, said surlily: “I’ll teach
you the law, you vagabond, I’ll warrant
you.” n
“It would be much more becoming,
auswered tbe fellow, if you would teach
roe the gospel.”
lance from his own residence, and long ere
daylight on the first of October, be had
presented himself within the lines of the
American army, and made known to his
desire to enlist, and that morning’s reveille,
as it beat the time to rise, was answered
also by the presence of George Madden.
wait in hope—the end was certain, and the
consequences would be glorious. But
what could the poor wife do? Ah! a thought
has struck her. She will seek the tent of
Washington—at his feet she will lay her
petition.
Behold tiie hero in his tent—the great,
the god-like, in whom are joined all virtues
—created for the age and for the cause, do
ing what none else could. Before him is
kneeling the wife of George Madden.
Her petition has not been in vain, her tears
have riot been without effect. She holds in
her hand a paper .hat will restore her
husband; but before she goes to the officer
of his regiment she reverently takes the
band ofher benefactor and presses it to her
lips; a tear falls up in it which the good
man suffers to remain, and sends her from
bis presence with a benediction, and words
of hope and comfort!
Again she is in the presence of her hus
band—she shows hirh his discharge with a
beaming countenance, and words of joy.
“Now you will go home with me,
George, and wo will again be happy—oh,
so happy!”
But no glow of satisfaction lit up bis eye,
no gladening emotions shed their radiance
over his features.
The discharge was recognized, and she
led her husband front the ranks of his de
voted companions; hut he went not forth
with that manly dignity and firm step with
which he entered the camp as a volunteer.
The eyes of the hardened soldiers were
upon hirn—he fancied scornfully—his head
dropped upon his chest, and suppressed
whispers hissed in his ear like so many ser
pents, each a voice of reproacli and shame;
but the timid and loving woman that led
him forth from that camp of war was un
conscious of all this. She heard no whis
pers of reproach, she saw no scornful eyes
—she was only conscious that she had re
covered her husband, and what cared she
for eyes and lips! — The pickets were pass
ed, and the last guard stared rudely in her
face as she approached nim, and muttering
something that she did not hear. She prat
tled ramhlingly to her husband, fond crea
ture, all the way, telling bow happy she
should be, and father, and mother: but he
auswered her not, still walking gloomily by
her side. Little cared she though, and still
she wended along, and still she prattled.
Poor, timid,tender creature! She did not
imagine what a load of shame she had piled
upon the head of her husband! She could
not think how deeply he was wounded.
She had him safe—all her own again, at
last, and she could not dream of any future
woe, or brooding sorrow! But he thought—
he brooded over his desertion of his com
rades and remembered the expression of
their faces, as he suffered himself to be led
out of the encampment. And that night,
in his dreams, he beard the booming can
nonade, the crack of musketry, the clash of
steel, and the pealing about of victory; but
be had suffered a child to tie his hands, and
when he had struggled to free himself, he
heard a cry of “Shame! shame!” that awoke
him from his uneasy slumber with cold |
sweat upon his brow, and his tender wife
presented himself to the officers and re-i bushes, fired and wounded him in the foot.
One of them sprang upon him, threw him
to the ground, pinioned his arms, and push
ed him violently forward up the hill, lie
naturally made as much haste as he could,
and in a short time they came to the
spring, where several Indians were assem
bled.
Here Standish was left to himself, at a
little distance from the spring and the pine
tree, expecting every moment to share the
same fate of his comrades, whose scalps
were conspicuously displayed. A few
moments only had elapsed, when he saw a
small party of Indians ascending the hill
and with them Mrs. M’Neil and Miss M’
Crea on foot. He knew them both, having
often been at Mrs. M’Neil’s house.
The party had hardlyjoined the other In
dians, when he perceived much agitation
among them, higli words and violent ges
tures, till at length they engaged in a furi
ous quarrel, and beat one another with their
muskets. In the midst of this affray, one
of the chiefs, apparently in a paroxysm of
rage, shot Miss M’Crea in the breast. She
instantly fell and expired. Her hair was
long and flowing. The same chief grasped
it in his hand, seized his knife, and took
off the scalp in such a manner as to include
nearly the whole ofher hair, then springing
from the ground, he tossed it in the face of
a young warrior, who stood near him watch
ing the operation, brandished it in the air,
and uttered a yell of savage exultation.—
When this was done, the quarrel ceased;
and as the fort had already been alarmed,
the Indians hurried away as quickly as pos
sible to General Frazer’s encampment on |
the road to Fort Anne, taking with them
Mrs. M’Neil and Samuel Standish.
The b 'dies of the slain were found by a
party that went iu pursuit, and were cars
ried across the river. They had been j
stripped of their clothing, and the body of ;
M iss M’C rea was wounded in nine places,
either by scalp knife or tomahawk. A mes
senger was dispatched to convey the afflict- !
ing intelligence to her brother, who arrived
soon afterwards and took charge of his sis- j
ter’s remains, and had them interred on the
east side of the river, about three miles be
low the fort. Tee body of Lieutenant Van j
Vechten was buried at the same time on the
him by a look of approval as the troops were
wheeling into line. He fought bravely and
well—foot to foot, sometimes—breast to
breast. But in vain the contest—useless the
struggle. History tells of that disastrous
struggle, and how, like the waves of the
ocean, the brave troops of Washington,
under their heroic leader, gathered and
broke, again and again, upon the resisting
forces of the enemy, but without effect,
only to meet defeat and death ! Night
shrouaed the victory of our oppressors, and
hung gloomy and thick over the camp of
our desponding, but not discouraged coun
trymen.
But the eaily light of the succeeding day
beamed upon a spectacle of worse horror.
There lay heaps of the dead, the wounded,
and the dying. But a little apart from the
rest, upon a green mound, stained only
with their own blood, lay two forms clasped
in the faithful embrace of death. The eld
er and more manly form of the two was
recognized as that of Madden, the other the
fair volunteer of the preceding day. They
were locked in a last embrace, and, in try
ing to part them, it was discovered that the
slender and delicate form was that of a wo
man!
The hearts of the veterans grew big as
they gazed upon this melancholy spectacle,
and they forebore to part them, but they
placed them, locked in each other’s arms,
in the same grave, and as the earth was
thrown over them, no sacred rite was per
formed, but tbe tears of brave soldiers
were sufficient pleaders at the bar of Heav
en, and their sad thoughts ait appropriate
funeral prayer for the sweet rest and per
petual happiness of two such rare spirits!
“SMALL SWEET COURTESIES OF
LIFE.”
Extract from a Letter of the late William
Wirt to his Daughter.
“I want to tell you a secret. The way to
make yourself pleasing to others, is to show
that you care for them. The whole world
is like Hie miller at ISIansfied, ‘who cared
fir nobody—no, not lie,—because nobody
cated for him.’ And the whole world will
serve you so, if you give the -ame cause.
Let every one, therefore, see that you do
care for them, by showing them, what
Sterne so happily calls, ‘the small sweet
courtesies of life.’—those courtesies in
which there is no parade;—whose voice is
too still to tease and which manifest them
selves by tender and affectionate looks, and
little kind act3 of attention, giving others
the preference sn^every little enjoyment
at the table, in the field, walking, sitting or
standing. This is the spirit that gives to
your time of life, and to your sex, its sweets
est charm. It constitutes the sum total of
all the witchcraft of women. Let the
world see that your first care is for your
self, and you will spread the solitude of the
Upas tree around you, in the same way,
by tbe emanation of a poison, which kills
all thejuices of affection in its
pine is yet standing in its ancient majesty,
broken at the tup and shorn of its branches
by the w inds and stoi ms of half a century,
but revered as marking the spot were youth
and innocence were sacrificed in the trag
ical death.of Jane M’Crea.
neighbor
hood. Such a girl may be admired for her
lumbering peacefully by his side, with her ; understanding and accomplishments, but
white and delicate arm clasping his panting 1 s e VV1 Wl np ' f “ r e mp ‘
chest!
When the morning dawned and the day
called him to his duties, it found him a
strangely altered man. The caresses of his
wife seemed loathsome to him—he could
not bear her presence, but sought every op
portunity of shunning her. But once du
ring that day did he speak to her. The [
poor creature could not bear his coldness,
and her heart ovei flowing with feelings that
became insupportable, she seized bis hands
and looking earnestly in his face while her
eyes glistened with tears, she exclaimed:
“Oh, George! why, why do you behave
so coldly? It is killing me, George—you
must look kindly—you must speak to me,
or I shall die!”
He pressed her to his bosom for a mo-
she will will never be beloved.
The seeds of love can uever grow but
under the warm and genial influence of
kind feelings and affectionate manners.
Vivacity goes a great way in young per
sons. It calls attention to her that displays
it; and if it then be found associated with a
generous sensibility, its execution is irre
sistible.
On the contrary, if it be found in alliance
with a cold, haughty selfiish heart, it produs
ces no further effect, except an adverse
one. Attend to this, my daughter. It
flows from a heart that feels for you all the
anxiety a parent can feel, and not without
a hope which constitutes a parents highest
happiness.— May God protect and bless
you. Your affectionate father.
Wm. Wirt.
FALSE PRIDE.
A Young lady of big accomplishments
(and no pride) in the absence of the servant,
stepped to the door on the ringing which
announced a visit from one of her admirers.
On entering, the beau, glancing at the harp
and piano which stood in the apartment,
exclaimed, ‘i thought I heard music! on
which instrument were you performing,
Miss?” ‘On the gridiron, sir, with an
accompaniment of the frying pan!” she re
plied; “my mother is without Help, and
she says that I must learn to finger these
instruments sooner or later, and I have
this day commenced taking a course of
lessons.’
The system of domestic education has
less of common sense in it than any other
arrangement iB social life. Tho false idea
that it is ungenteel to labor—especially for
a lady—prevents thousands from taking
that kind and amount of bodily exercise on
which sound health and a firm constitution
so much depend. Those who are brought
up to woik in the country, and go to the
city and make a fortune, indulge in the
false pride of training their children to des
pise labor, whieft was the birthright of their
parents, and make it a point to decry hon
est toil, in which they were themselves
reared, and to which all their relatives are
still devoted. This is a mushroom aristoc
racy, and the most contemptible of all.—
Young men willingly become clerks, and
roll and lift boxes, and so long as they are
clerks in a mercantile house, and can wear
a standing dickey, they despise an appren-
t ce to a business perhaps far less humilia
ting and subservient—all because they are
merchants, or intend to be.
The successful merchant is a laborer, but
so long as his efforts are not regarded as
iabor, it does not wound his pride. He
toils for thirty years as vigorously as a me
chanic, but not exactly understanding that
his work is really labor, he feels that he
has just as good a right to despise it as
does the man that is born to fortune; and
he teaches his wife and daughters to des
pise every useful occupation, and goes to
his store daily to sweat and toil, not doubt
ing the respectability of his efforts, howev
er onerous, so long as the world does not
brand it with the disgraceful name of labor.
For such men—for any men to despise the
ennobling subsistence, is making war upon
the natural institutions and best interest of
society, and treading sacrilegiously and
contemptuously on the ashes of his grand
father who tilled the soil. Young men!
you are fostering a false pride wnich will
ultimately rankle the core of your happi
ness and make you slaves indeed. Off with
your coats, and in the name of reason and
liberty rush with manly strength into ar
chitecture, or the manufacture of works of
utility, and leave the measuring of tape to
those whose souls aie as ‘short as the yard
stick and as narrow as the tape.’ Be men!
cease to crowd into clerkships and starve
your way through life iu the vain hope of
being the fortunate one who shall become
rich out of the five thousand who remain
poor. Ladies, if you would be worthy of
your age, of the genius of a noble country,
and of an exalted civilization, set an exam-
same spot. P* e wisdom by employing your time on
History has preserved no facts by which ; something useful to the world. Are you
we can ascertain the reason why Miss M’- ! r ' c I'I thank God, then you have your time
Crea should remain, as Bhe did, in so expos- j at y ou r command to bless and benefit your
ed and unprotected a situation. She had [ ^ e3s fortunate sister of want, and their
been reminded ofher danger by the people | helpless offspring. \ou can thus become
at the fort. Tradition relates, however, i angels of mercy, almoners ^ofgood, and
and with seeming truth, that through some i mer *^ *he benedictions of God s poor while
medium of communication she had promts- y ou h ve > an( I their tears when they die.
ed her lover, probably by his advice, to re
main in this place until the approach of the
British troops should afford her an opportu
nity to join him, in company with her hostess
and friend. It is said that, when she saw
the Indians coming to the house, they were
at first frightened and attempted to escape:
but as the Indians made signs of a pacific
intention, and one of them held up a letter
intimating that it was to be opened, their
fears were calmed and the letter was open
ed. It was from Jones, and it contained
a request that they would put themselves
under the charge of the Indians, whom he
had sent for the purpose, and who would
guard them in safety to the British camp.—
Unfortunately two separate parties of In
dians or at least acting independently of
each other, had united in this enterprise,
combining with it an attack on the picket-
guard. It is incredible that Jones should
have known this part of the arrangement
or he would have foreseen the danger it
threatened. When the prize was in their
hands, the two chiefs quarreled about the
mode of dividing the reward they were to
receive; and according to the Indian rule
of settling disputes in the captives, one of
them in a wild fit of passion killed the vic
tim and secured the scalp. Nor is it the
least shocking featuie of the transaction that
the savage seemed not aware of the nature
of his mission. Uninformed as to the mo
tive ofhis employer for obtaining the per
son of the lady, or not comprehending it, he
regarded her in the light of a pri oner, and
thought the scalp would be an acceptable
A FAIR AND HAPPY MILK MAID.
A fair and happy milkmaid is a country
wench, that is so far from making herself
beautiful by art, that one look of her is able
to put all face-physic out of countenance.
She knows a fair look is but a dumb orator
to commend virtue, therefore minds it not.
All her excellences stand in her so silently,
as if they had stolen upon her without her
knowledge. The lining of her apparel,
which is herself, is far better than outsides
of tissue, for, though she be not arrayed in
the spoil of the silkworm, she is decked in
innocence, a far better wearing. She doth
not, with lying long in bed, spoil both her
complexion and condition; nature hath
taught her, too, immoderate sleep is rust to
the soul; she rises; therefore, with Chanti
cleer, her dame’s cock, and at night makes
the lamb her curfew. In milking a cow and
straiuing the teats through her fingers, it
seems that so sweet a milk-press makes the
milk whiter or sweeter; for never came al
mond glore or aromatic ointment on her
palm to taint it. The golden ears of corn
fall and kiss her feet when she reaps them,
as if they wished to be bound and led pris
oners by the same hand that felled them.—
Her breath is her own, which scents all tbe
yearlong of June, like a uow made bay-
cock. She makes her hand hard with la
bor, and her soft with pity; and when win
ter evenings fall early, sitting at her merry
wheel, Bhe sings defiance to the giddy
wheel of fortuoe. She doth all things with
so sweet a grace, it seems ignorance will
■ reiiiis '
not suffer berUtalo ill, being her wWii to
do well. Sbwbestows her year’s wages, SC
next fair, and in choosing her garments
counts no bravery in the world like decen
cy. The garden and the beehive are ail
her physic and surgery, and she lives the
longer for it. She dares go alone, and an*
fold sheep in the night, and fears no manner
of ill, baoauneshe means none; yet, lossy
truth, she iaspver alone, bur is stiff se<om-
panied with|£d songs, honest thoughts, and
prayers, but flkort ones; yet they have their
efficacy, in that they are not palled with en
suing idle equitations. Lastly, her dreams
are so chests that she dare tell tbem; only e
Friday’s dream is all her superstition; that
she conceals for fear of anger. Thus lives
she; and all her care is she may die in tbe
spring-time, to have store of flowers stuck
upon iter winding-sheet.—Sir Thomas Over-
burg's Characters.
“ SAUSAGES WITH THE TEA. "
From" Confessions of a Housekeeper''
BY MRS. JOHN SMITH.
For sometime past, I ha^e had a treasure
of a cook; a fine Bucks County girl, whose
strongest recommendation in my eyes, when
1 engaged her, was that she had never been
out of sight of land. But week before last, she
left my house for a belter place, as she
said. 1 might have bribed her to remain,
by an offer of higher wages; but experi
ence has demonstrated to my satisfaction,
that this kind of bribery never turns out
well. Your servant, in most instances,
soon becomes your mistress—or at least,
makes bold efforts to assume that position,
So I let my Bucks County girl go to her
“better place.” As to how or why it was
to be a better place, I did not make enqui
ry. That was her business. She was a free
agent; and I did not attempt to influence
her. In fact, being of rather an indepen
dent turn of mind, myself, I sympathize
with others in their independence, and rare
ly seek to interfere with a declared course
of action.
My new cook, unfortunately, had been
out of sight of land, and that for weeks to
gether. She w s from the Emerald Island.
When she presented herself, I saw in her
but small promise. Having learned on en
quiry, that her name was Alice Mahony, I
said—
‘How long have you been in this coun*
try, Alice?’
There was a moment or two of hesita
tion. Then she answered,
‘Six months, mum.’
I learned afterward that she had arrived
only three days before.
‘Can you cook?’ I enquired.
•Och/yis! Onything from a rib of bafe
down till a perate.’
‘You’re sure of that, Alice?’
•Oc.h, sure mum.’
‘Can you give me a reference?’
‘I’ve got a character from Mrs. Jordan,
where I lived in New York. I’ve only
been here a few days. Biddy Jones knows
me.’
And she produced a written testification
of ability, signed Mary Jones, No. — Wil
liam street, N Y. There was a suspicious
look about this character, but, of course, I
had no means of deciding whether it was a
true or false document.
After some debate with myself, I finally
decided to give Alice a trial.
It so happened, that on tbe very day she
came, an old lady friend of my mother's,
accompanied by her two daughters, both
married and housekeepers, called to spend
the afternoon and take tea. Aa they lived
at some distance, I had tea quite early, not
waiting for Mr. Smith, whose business kept
him away pretty late.
During the afternoon, my butter man
came. Occasionally he brings some very
nice country sausages, and I always make
it a point to secure a few pounds when be
does so. He had some on this occasion.
‘Alice,’ said I, as I entered the kitchen
about four o’clock, ‘I want you to hurry and
get tea ready as quick aayou can.’
‘Yes, mum,’ was the ready r°ply.
‘And, Alice,’ I added—We’ll have some*
of these sausages with the tea. They si s
very fine ones—better than we usually get.
Be sure to cook them very nice.’
‘Yes, mhm, promptly answered tbe gir!,j
looking quite intelligent.
A few more directions as to what we were
to have were given, fed then I went up to
sit with my company.
It was not my intention to leave all to
the doubtful skill of my new cook, but eith-|
er the time passed very rapidly, or she waaj
more prompt and active than is usual among
cooks, for the tea bell rung before I was it
expectation of hearing it.
‘Ah,’ said I, ‘there is our tea bell,” and
arose, adding, ‘will you walk into the di-j
ning room, ladies?’
The words were no sooner uttered, that
a doubt as to all being aa I could wish croaj
sed my mind; and I regretted that I had nr
first repaired to the dining room alone.-
But it was too late now, or rather, I did nc
happen to have sufficient presence of mil
to recal my invitation to the ladies to wal^
in to tea, until I had preceded them a fe«
minutes.
Well, we were presently seated] at th^
table. My practised eye instantly saw tha
the cloths was laid crookedly, that the dial
es were placed in a slovenly manner.
I couldn’t help passing apology, on t!
ground of a domestic, and then proceec
to the business of pouring out the tea.-
Tbe cups were handed around, and 1
noticed that ray guests were sipping fro|j
their spoons in a very unsatisfactory matt
ner. I was in the act of filling my own cc
from the urn, when I missed tbe plate
sausages, about which I had boasted to
lady friends as something a littlo better tha
were usually to be obtained. So I rung tl
table bell. Alice piesently made ber
pearance.
’Alice,’ said I, ‘where are the sausage
told you to cook. You surely havn’t forgt
ten them?’
‘Och, no, indade, mum. They’re ther^
‘Where? I don’t aee them.’
And my eyes ran round tbe table.
‘They’re wid tbe lay, mum, sure!’
‘With the tea.’
‘Sure, mum, they’re wid the tay. 1
towld me yees wanted the sasagea with t
tay; and sure they’re there. 1 boiled ’«
well.
A light now flashed over my mindJ
Throwing up the lid of the tea urn, I thra
in a fork, which immediately came in ca
tact with a hard substance. I drew it for]
and exhibited a single liok of a “well bij
sausage.”
Let me draw a veil over what follow!
A story ia going the rounds, of a lraw
ler coming to a swollen stream, fiudinj
floating log fastened with a grape vitMi
each shore, but a strong, heavv current
tween each end of the log and tbe t'
and after spending half a day and
a dozenjduckings in getting across, be j
posted up on a post the following j *
“Two Dollars fine for croetii
bridge faster than s walk!”