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The Western Herald.
V'JL, I.
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JBY O. I*. Sii
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Planters” Fire Proof
WARE-HOUSES,
AUGUST.), GEORGIA.
ray, IE UNDERSIGNED having purchased the EIRE
3_ PROOF WARE-HOUSES, lately occupied by
Messrs. Sims, Williams and Wools y, respectfully tender
their services to their fro nds and the public in general, in
the v'are-House, Factorage and Commission Business,
under th< firm of
They will be prepared to extend the usual facilities to
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any Goods, which may be consigned to them for sale or
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, onvcnience. safety and the despatch of busiuess, is un
surpassed bf any in the City. The undivided attention
of the Subscribers, will he given to the above
with a pledge noi to engage in any speculation upon pro
duce.
They hope to merit and receive a liberal portion of pub
lic patronage.
WYLIE W.TWA.SON,
JOHN S. KINDLE.
February I.—l—4\v.
Wd t?'.V* pleasure in recommending the above gentle
m nto public enntid’ nci beli ving, as we do, in their in
egrity and qualifications for business.
JOHN HOWARD.
WM. JOHNSTON.
i\r thsnioclves ana other lute proprietors
MILiTAUY”
Wt ,; .i view to the promotion of .vtilitary science,
Aid the ‘.ncouragvment of Volunteer Corps, a
system of annua! Encampments is proposed.
Arrangyraen's aria progress for an extensive En
campment in this neighborhood, to commence on the scc
uid Monday in lay next, in which all the Volunteer
Corps of Infantry in the State, arc respectfully invited to
join us. The time proposed for the continuance of th”
Lnca in nine lit is one week. A beautiful location has been
selected, commanding an extensive view of the Town
and surrounding Country. An arrangement b- •
made for the cog -tnirtion of comfortable Tents and
-s, for the aceo.n>a illation of as many Companies as
■may >• le. Ac * raethas bean made with individuals
who AiiLictas Sutlers, and furnish the men with good
hoard on the ground, at 75cts. each, p.v day. On th
last day an Encampment Medal will b* *t for. Mi
first ot the proposed series of Encampments took place
noar .\lu‘’ o last Spring, and was attended with much
benefit tot hcconioaniespresent
L. D. BUCKNER, } >
I ROS. F. GREEN, j
E. K. PARK, 3.3
J.G.POLIiILL, c ~
JOHN MILLER. J
Georgia papers are requested to publish the
above 2or 3 times, as a matter of public accommodation.
Mill, M ville, March 13, IS33—J --ts
GOLD AMIi LMD MAP
OF THE
Comity of Cherokee-
SHAVE now in the hands of the Engraver, which
will he completed by the first of November next, a
gen al and accural iap of the Cherokee Country,
drawn from the returns of tho District Surveyors. Ow
ing to the great number of Lots, into which the country
has been divided, particularly the Gold Region, and the
I large dimension of the short it will require, to have all
those numbers distinctly and accurately laid down, 1 have
■ thought it advisable to form the Map into separate am!
I detached Sections • which I designate us Gold \lap and
| band Mop.
f All the Land Districts in the Territory are laid down
on one shev.% and constitute a distinct and separate Map
by themselves.'*
The Districts reserved and surveyed as Gold Districts,
are divided into three sheets or Maps. Districts No. 1,
3,4, o, 11,12, 13, 14, and 15, ol tnc first section, form
1 lac first Map.
Districts No. 1,2, 3,14,15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21, and
22, of the second section, form the second Map.
Districts No. 1,2, 3, 4,17, 18, 19, 20, 21, and 22, ofti.C 1
j tiird section, and Districts No. 1,2, 3, IG, and 17, of the
fourth section, form the third Map. On the se Maps will i
\ ,e found each District in the Territory, with every square i
-.ot of Land and Fraction distinctly laid down and number *
-4—all Mountains, Rivers, Creeks, Branches, Roads, For- ‘■
lies, . arc correctly and faithfully delineated.
Tho Map will he handsomely engraved, printed on
strong silk paper, coloured and put up in morocco cases,
at the following prices, viz: —
Land Map, c 5 00
J r°ld Alapa $3 50 each, or for tho three. $lO 00
i or Gold and Land Maps, comprising the
whole Territory, gls 0Q
, Pcr f,T desirous of obtaining this valuable Map, will
do w ell to inform the publisher soon, as but a limited
number can be obtained during the drawing of the Lot- j
j All communications addressed tn th,. -,„k.
■Milled^cvillc, Ga.
■prompt attention. Ok.vG-- --S™ 1
[ Mil! .‘dSeville, August 23,1932. “ GREEN. |
-J:
FANNV KEMBLE.
We experience unfeigned pleasure, says tho Philadel
phia Gazette, in presenting to the public, the subjoined
original ellhsion, trom the pen of Viiss Francis Ann Kem
ble. . e are sure that the stanzas will find an admirei
in every reader. They seem to us, to possess all that feli
citous grace of imagery and expression, for which the
productions of,Moore are so distinguished.
STANZAS.
When you mournfully rivet your tear-laden eyes,
That have seen the last sunset ofliope pass away,
On some brightorb, that seems, through the still sap
phire skies,
In beauty and splendor, to roll on its way.
Oil remember, this earth, if beheld from afar,
Would seem wrapt iti a halo as clear and as bright,
As the pure silver radiance enshrining yon star,
Where your spirit is eagerly soaring to night.
And at tiiis very moment, perhaps some poor heart,
l’hat is aching and breaking in that distant sphere,
Gazes down on this dark world, and longs to depart 1
From il3 own dismal home to a brighter one here.
THE ENTHUSIAST!
The pensive Enthusiast sat on a bill,
The winds they were hush’d and the ocean was still,
A nd nothing was heard hut the clack of the mill,
Near the pensive Enthusiast’s scat on the bill.
For tiie woes of mankind the Enthusiast wept,
And then overcome by soft sorrows he slept,
Till losing his balance, as sleeping folks will
The pensive Enthusiast roll’d down the hill.
His head it was dash'd on a .sharp pointed rock;
AH the brains that he had were beat out by the shock-
From which sad disaster this mor-d is found,
“When you sleep out of doors choose a flat piece of
ground.”
THE ROBBER’S WIFE.
This drama is a tale of crime, sorrow, and re
morse—tho hero and heroine, the once gay
Mark Redland, now Murdock the robber; Rose
Briarly, erst the pride of the village, the Rob
ber’s VV ifo. Alas l how changed their appear
ance and condition- their complexions stained,!
their hair dyed;—the miserable tenants of a j
wretched hovel, bearing the semblance of an |
inn, to lure the unwary traveller to plunder and j
outrage. The first crime of Rose was disobe- I
dience ; her father, to retrieve a ruined fortune,
-had journeyed to a far country, leaving his
daughter to the care oTafi oId _ 'friend,-whp had
promised her protection during his absence. In
defiance of duty she married his bitterest foe—
the man who had robbed him, and who (though
then she knew it not) was an outlaw and a fel
on. Poverty and mutual reproach followed
this act ol disobedience; and Rose, without hav
ing, lifted the dagger against the defenceless
stranger, was still the passive agent of her hus
band’s crimes, the sharer of his confidence and
guilt. M unlock is the chief of a gang of coin
ers among whom is Sawney Maefile, whose vo
cation is that of a guide to decoy travellers to
the Fox and Goose. This rogue, by virtue a
golden ingot, has brought considerable wealth
to the commt n stock—his plan is to pretend ig
norance of its real value, and offer it for sale to
some gull, whose cupidity c annot withstand the
temptation of taking advantage of a clown who
sells it as brass: and in truth Sawney keeps
his word, for while the bargain is being struck
he dexterously contrives to substitute in its place
a similar-lookiu-r wedge of the baser metal,
which the purchaser unsusp - tingly receives ;
and thus the. golden ingot is a continual mine of
Wealth to the gang. Travellers arfe on the
road ; and under the sure guidance of Sawney
Maefile, they reach the 100 ominous sign of the
!-ox and Goose. The one, a stranger, return
ing to his native village after a long absence ;
the other, his attorney, to hear witness, (when
every body thinks him dead and buried) that his
client is not his own ghost. A portmanteau —
M urdoek volunteers his services to take charge j
of it, which the stranger declines —■ pistols ! {
they must be disposed of, or the booty is doubt
ful. Seated “in the worst inn’s worst Room,” I
surrounded with dilapidated finery, the stranger
begins the oft repeated tale of his woes ; but
the lawyer, whose throat is as dry as a barns-i
ter’s brief, and whose stomach is as empty as the j
couits in a long vacation, threatens to enter an
action against the larder—and so wretched aie |
its contents, that the attorney, baffled in every j
attempt to eat, contents himself with grumbling;
and his weary client, seeing there is no other j
method ol allaying it, resolves to sleep away;
his appetite. Sawney Maefile, watching his op"-
portunity, plays off his old trick of the ingot; and
Lawyer Penfuddle is very pleasantly cheated
out of five guineas in the hope of gaining fifty.
At this moment Rose appears on the gallery
passage, and descending into the room, encoun
ters the attorney. She fixes her eyes upon him
as if she would search into his very— pocket.
He retires from her keen glance to look alter his
steed, and leaves her alone with the sleeping
i stranger. She cautiously approaches to remove
tin: pistols and sees the portmanteau. Gracious
i heaven ! cail It be ?—She drops on her knees to
j examine it—the bockles—the straps —and yet
Iso many years have passed, the recollection
may not be trusted. She turns her eyes on the
stranger—his tace is covered—the suspense is
horrible—with a trembling liana she draws away
the handkerchief—-she shrieks aloud—the stran
ger starts from his slumber, and seizing h' s pis
tols, demands the cause of the outcry. She ‘P- 1
sumes her presence of mind—she remembered
him in liis native village, and from his long ab
! sence, thought him dead. She entreats him
once more to compose himself to sleep ; she
will sit at the threshold of his door, nor again
disturb him, though her brain be on fire. He
regards her with sympathy— once, indeed, there
was a gentle creature who proffered all these
I*t cuia e .i, iii e Ifcr ui ii ol a th s> *<le si Wo r i <t.
AURAftgA, LUMPKIN COUNTY, APRIL 9 1833.
kind attentions—he had i daughter; but she had
neglected and forgot ism, and gone heknew not
whither. Rose now relates her own unhappy
story, between which and the stranger’s there is
a remarkable coincidence. She had been a dis
obedient child, an ! her father —ifhc slilHivecl—
lived but to curse her. Impossible,a father come
his child? No, no!—The stranger rushes to
wards her—gazes intensely and parts the hair on
her forehead—alas ! ’twas a trick of fancy—the
dark countenance and raven locks are not those
of his child. One question more—if hisdaughter
had married his enemy,would—would he forgive
her? JYever! —Her heart is smote, and sho/foll
senseless into his arms.
Among the many dupes of Sawney Macfile’s
ingot, is Lary O’Gig, an Irish adventurer, who
in travelling through these parts, had paid the
accustomed tribute to Sawney's ingenuity for
! teaching the difference between gold and brass !
j Determined to hunt out the impostor, he had
! commenced a search with two officers of justice,
and the first party he meets is Mr, Penfuddle,
who.lrointhe singular communicativeness of O’-
Gig, discovers that lie has also been playing the
like trick. The se ne is enlivened with the Irish
man’s brogue, the avyer’s vexation and a ruse
performed by Sawney in person, which places
Penfuddle in custody of the civil power, as a
ring dropper and rogue.
The Stranger having determined to set forth
on his journey, it is debated between Murdock
and a brother ruftian how he is to be disposed
of. Rose, driven to desperation by the impend
ing danger, declares to her husband that, if he
or his confederates give the old man one evil
eye, or one ruffian thought, he shall die the
death of the dog. Mutual recriminations and
defiances pas3 between them; and Murdock,
excited to a pitch of fury, swears, that, if her
father were alive again, he would dare a thou
sand deaths to en.oy his measure of revenge? He
I whispers the ruffian his instructions—in ten
| minutes the deed shall be done.
When Rose drew the handkerchief from the
| face of the sleeping stranger, she discovered
j with horror and amazement tie- features of her
fatherl Hence the start of terror —the shriek
—the overwhelming remorse, that convulsed
her frame, and laid her (though he knew it not)
a penitent at his feet. Not a moment is, (q be
lost—she mfonriTmm'oi the design against bis
life, and concerts means to save it. Murdock
and Rodoy now enter—she feigns sleep—is
this the wav to Ueiip watch i They examine
the pistols which are harmless, lor the charges
are drawn. She is command- ii (c> leave the
1 room—resistance is vain—she, however con
trives to dart behind the window curtain, and
j watch their movement.-. The robbers break
open the porimante.au, in which, j ney discover a
■ purse and some let- , - . during this. Rose gen
; t’y turns (' llo (able round upon its centre, which
1 reverses tho situation of the unloaded pistols,
1 and those of her tutshand —she makes a sign.
’ and the stranger, having the latter within his
1 reach, seizes them. Murdock now proceeds
1 to examine the letters—can it be? - Briarly slit!
living ?—Then is he within his grasp ? The
1 stranger rushed forth at the exclamation—Mur
dock snaps the unloaded pistol at him—he is
; foiled—the gang enter —when Larry O’Gig np
-1 pears most opportunely with his huge shileiah,
. and Murdock finding ali is lost, dashes through
the window, followed by the Irishman. Shots
are fired from without—a pause of terrror and
anxiety ensues—O’Gig -returns, iriumph
-1 antlybearing Rose in his arms- -the grateful fa
ther once more embraces his penitent child—
the robber has fallen. >
From the Comic Offering of IB.Ti.
THE MERRY FRIAR.
“I am a friar of orders grey.” —Song.
| On one of those warm evenings of July, when
j indolence reigns triumphant alike over the sun
burnt labourer and the lord for whom he tiiis and
I toils, a sleek, though humble son of die church
I (one of the class denominated mendicant iriui:--,
who, in the olden time had a “ roving commis
sion” to fight in the good cause of the established
i faith,) was solacing himselt in the agreeable
shade of a wide spreading dm, which extended
its projecting branches over a most inviting nook
j of green turf, beside which trickled a tiny rivuh t, I
j —this worthy priest-errant, I say. was solacing
himself with cheese of ewes milk and a dry crust
from his scrip, when a young knight, unattended,
came slowly winding through the green lane up
on his steed; both, in truth, appearing travelling
weary.
“ Good even to thee, father,” said the knight,
courteously accosting the friar.
“ Good knight, —good even,” —replied the
other.
“ By’r lady ! —father, thou hast chosen a coo!
retreat.”
“ And yet ’tis a marvel, sir knight, that thou
should’st admire that which thy valor should
scorn.”
“ How!—what should my valor scorn?”
“Marry, sir knight, a retreat to be sure,” said
the friar; “for a verity you of the sword and
buckler,notoriously prefer the use ofyourarmsto
your legs; while we, the servants of the church,
have (like scolds) only our tongues for our weap
ons.”
“ Beshrew me, sir friar but thou art a wag,”
cried the knight, “ and I’ll have a word with
thee.”
“Nay, I pray thee valiant, knight, have no
words with me,” replied the friar, “for I’m inclin
ed to no quarrel; lama preaeherofpeace who am
right glad to win a little piece for my preaching.”
“A quarrel!—by my knighthood. I’m more in
: dined to rest and good fellowship, holy friar.” (
“ And Ly iny monkdood !so am I! and yet!
v-'ho slia'll look upon os t wain and aver we are no;
- hostile !” said the friar; “the merest clown,that
• has no more brains in his costard than mywalk
• iiig-siafi', regarding thy casqc and my shaven
! crown, would in his obtuse perception, proclaim
■ a difference between us: and what’s a lim'.reuci
i but a quarrel ?”
! “ Nay then, let’s fall to, and fair word be our
’ weapons,” answered the knight, falling ; ; with
’ | Ins humor; an 1 dismounting, seated him Ifdown
: : by the friar.
ij “ Agreed!” quoth the friar, “and so begins
-and ends the contest in an—engagemcn:. Now
- couch thee on this green-sward comfortably, and
- far better is it for thee to be beside me, - : -ven a
1 j sane beggar, than beside thyself, for th a iiiou
’ wouldst be mad of a surety!”
“By my fay! an’ thou biy’s not as dr>” a clerk
as ever girded up his loins in sackcloth >. s : hemp.
But,'father how fits this humor with ‘d. serious !
vocation?”
“'i roly likea light heart and a clear conscience
upon a full stornar h. Garb him as yo'.iLa man's
still a man. It is my nature to he blithe; and,!
therefore, do I hold it sinful to sport a mask of:
- gravity. Some who wear a cowl, look upon it
■ as a symbol of sadness as well as sane lity; for my I
part I honestly confess I regard my cow! only as |
i a livelihood! and yet—” continued the friar, with ‘
; mock seriousness, placing his palms upon his ca-
I pacious corporation—“behold how my mirthful
ness and good humour runneth to— waist! 0! it’s
■ a sad world we live in, sir knight.”
t The knight laughed heartily at tile jocose con
ceils of the jolly friar; and almost imperceptibly
1 began to quibble in the same strain ; aibeit, h<
, preferred rather to provoke the good humored
■ garrulity of his companion than to hear himself
discourse.
“ Only to sec how wit engendered! wit,” cried
the friar, “ as naturally as beans bear I cans, or
wolves and churchmen—prey by St. Mary, sir
knight, we a e well met, and by thy good we’ll
i part not ere we drink a chirping-cup together.
■ A league hence stands an hostclrie, where- I
; purpose to spend tho night and a mark to o'.
! for beshrew me, if there be not as good a flag
on of wine to be had there as ever made a dull
eye or a lignt ucU-.
: ‘ “ Have with thee the_ knight,
. “ for I lack refreshment after a hard day’, Tftrfi’
i and would fain reach our destination ere r.ight
; fall.'’
“ And yet nightfall can have no terrors for
- thee, in thy time thou must have seen many a
- nightfall even at noon—day !”
’ “Ay truly many n bravo knight have I seen
c Cast from his seat, who hr.- borne his discoinli
i lure with a grace and equanimity worthy ”
“Worthy the thrown, r.uith! ■ s,” interposed
i the friar laughing, “ with n- tl-.tig but e cracked
, to.support hi* di- by willed’ *- this is
. ’.v-sat )-i men >f valor term spoil lieaven
? ; save rne from u - —s:.■ *tahe? A doughty
s knight making ano aer appear tooli h, hen-fore
I per-adventure the king male-th in.-n a foolish
j peer, and thus the game runs
“ Vay, I charge thee ’
r “ Charge me not, i prat th -c, sir knight,”
- quickly retorted the friar, “for l< ‘ I am r >;:tnn
,jed ; l bear neither arms nor mail alb- it in a
i j sort, I may myself be term -d a In; U r —so- mg
5 that lam a priest of Hymen and licensed to tack
Ii together the sexes.”
“Go to, friar, I am no match for thee.”
“ No, by St. Mary! the church allows us no
- match. The priest tad, but docs not tax
huii -elf with a wife. The progeny of mother
i church are all children by adoption! Put, I be
seech thee, mount, sir night, and let us jog on;
and thanks to thy company that will make the
wayfarer’s wav-fairer.
| Having, after a short progress, rendered short-
II or by the pleasantry of the friar, arrived at the
• afore named hoste'rie, ivhere the mendicant
- '<ys instantly re c aired uul right heartily wel
i ■ coined ; the knight provided his steed with good
, l quarters, and a liberal supply of corn, unarmed
■ j and sat down with the friar to the discussion
! of the promised flagon, which ivas agreeably
J accompanied by the corner of a coney
i pie and ilie remnant of a delieions pastry, to
I which a healthy appetite gave unusual relish.
Filling a horn w-ith the sparkling wine, the
knight said, “ I’ll give thee, friar, the Church of
England!”
“And I the— belles /” replied the friar signifi
cantly, quaffing liis measure at a single draught;
and it was evident enough by the thickness of
uis speech and the stupid glare of his small
gray eyes, that his wit was tottering on the very
brink of inebriation.
“ I fear inc, most delectable friar,” said the
knight, who was drooping as last ns his boon
companion, “ that thou art incorrigible. Thou
wilt assurdly drop into the embraces of sleep
with a jest in thy mouth.”
It’s all nature—and nature—the force of na
lurc most valient knight, is irresistible. 1 con
fess my errors—my errors ; —and here’s a par
alb !, —a parallel ’twixt my profession and ;
confessioij. My profession is—mendicant; —
my confession is mend / can't!'”
And so saying down rolled the -surly friar
and the sturdy night upon the floor of the hos
tlerie, in tiie rushes w hereof they found a sweet
and sound repose.
. I Fox Hunter is a Jumble of Paradoxes.
—He sets forth clean, though lie conies out i
of a kennel, and returns home dirty. He cares
not for cards, yet strives to be always with the
pack, lie loves fencing but without carte or
tierce: and delights in a steeple chase, though
fho does,not follow the church. He is anv thing
“Ut litigious, vet is fond of a certain suit, anil
- tiiis Scarlet. He keeps a running ac
- mint with Horse, Dog, Fox, and Cos. but ob
•ects to a check. As to cards, in choosing a
pj khe prefers Hunt’s. In the theatricals, he
favours Miss Somerville, because her namesake
wrote the Ghave, though he never read it. He
is no great dancer, though he is found of casting
off 20 couple; and no great painter, though he
draws covers, and seeks fora brush. lie is no
musician and yet is f ind of five bars. He des
pises doctors, yet follows a course of bark. He
professes to love his country, but is perpetually
crossing it. He is fond ofstrong ale and beer, bus
dislikes any purl.Heisgood tempered yet so l’ara
tartar as to prefer a saddle horse to a saddle of
mutton. He is some what rough, and bear hitr.-
s -ut insists on good breeding in horse and
dogs. lie professes the church catechism, ar.d
j countenances heathen dogmas, by naming his
ho units alter Jupiter, Juno, Mars, and Diana;
lie cares not fbr violets, but he doats on a good
scent, He sa;> - his with is a shrew, but objects
to destroying a vixen. In politics he inclines
to Pjtt, md runs aftei Fox. He is no inillt
-op, but h loves to tally. lie protects poul
i try, and preserves foxes. lie follows but one be
j siness, and yet ha* many pursuits. He pre
i ’ends to lie knowing,h ut a deg leads him by
the nose. He i3 as honest a fellow as neeeds
! be, yet his neck is oftener in danger than a
thiefs. He swears he can clear any thing, but
I i-s beaten by a fog; ho esteems himself prosper
i ous;and isalways going to the dogs. He delights
jin the hunter’s stakes,j but takes care not to
stake Ids hunter. He praises discretion, but
i would i-• Ler*’iet the cat'out of the hag than a
j tox. To conclude, he runs as long as he can.
j and then goes to earth, and his heir is in at his
heath. But his heir does not stand in his,
| shoes, for he never wore any’ thing but boot*.
| [Hood’s comic Annual.
i . ,
Indian Eloquence. A writer in the New-
I or!: Mirror, gives this lament of an Indian,
j :--i- oi the Yamassee tribe over the graves
- itiv fathers and the recollections and affections
of his youth. It is “the majesty of grief without
its weakness.”
“ They are gone—all—gone—the morning
find* them not ; the night covers them. My
feefii”° no companion in the chase ; the hollow
rocks --ive ii,‘C back only their echoes. Was
. hattco'; where art thou P u the far hills—thou
hast found the valley of joy, ami P,9 VCf ’
that arc forever in bloom. Who shall find tfiv
ones, my brother; who take off thy spoils ;
i hott ait all untended in the valley of joy, and
I tile ghosts o! tiie slain bend about thee with ma
jny fr nvns. Where is the maid of thy bosom ?
; Comes she with the smoking venison ; does she.
dress thy food at the board, where the hunter
. sits down at evening ? Thou art lain in the
morning, V\ ashattee, and thy sun forgot to rise
1 *>ing lor the hymn of death—thy war sorm f ur
i. uny victories. Thou wert mighty in the thaco.
me tug-, hill eid not overcome thee. Thy bov
-I';k t!l< ‘ manhood of other men ; thou
did st not sleep m thy childhood. Wc-Il did ffic-v
name thee Young Panther—the might and the
eye ot the young panther’s mother was thine
Sickness fled from the affrighted, and thou
lauged in scorn at the black drinks ofLstuto.
i he strong tide when thou swaramest bore the-i
not with it; thou did’st put it aside as an inf rr.
!'1 hou wert a long arrow in the - It\ a .
.light was on the strong winds'. W r../ j.
, thee, my hi other? What chieftai -tood
| tv ashattee ? and the day ofthvL.ory hs
; oh Huspah ! the father of many hi ,- 5 ‘ i j nas ’
see where wert thou sleeping v : .-i thy name
and thy nation expired ? Huspah. by da; l, a s
gone by in darkness and the stroi _• n tubt is o ter
thee. Canstthou wake up the brav. who are
sleeping : Const thou undo the .ve uhich is
sealed up, and kindle the sharp I ! t trati- hid
den ! What *hall restore thee, Yimns* , - :im l
where shall the brave men of Hu*pah now ’find
Heir abode 7 The wild grass tins taken root in
their dwelling-place, and the hill fox burrows
under the hearth of the hunter. The spirit has
no place in the wigwams of thy fathers ; silence
has made a home of their ruins, and lives lone-’
ly among them : O, spirit of many ages, thou
art vanished. Thy voice is sunk mice uv eojjj,
an-’ thy name is whispered on the hiP-tcp-L*
glorious are the giaves otinany enemies; thy ow n
grave is unknown.—Thou are scattered to tho
bioad winds, anil has iallen upon the waters
‘i hey have carried thee down with them awav,
and the hunters of the hill find thee not. A
curse is gone forth upon thee arid thdu art smit
ten w ith death!”
I am a character well known in England, and
tnen are few , cither high or low, rich or poor,
that are not acquainted with mo; 1 shun cities
and towns, and take up my abode towards tho
extremity of a village ; 1 am a stranger to virtue
and innocence, therefore, w ith the fair sex I ne
ver appear; in respectable society I am never
admitted, but in a gangof gypsies''and beggars I
am a principal character, and without me.srnug
ghng would be nothing ; I never appear in dav
time, but in the middle of night, and late in the
evening, andfalways in disguise ; I am fond of
gaming, and always end in cheating, stealiii"-
and plundering. It is the opinion of Burns and
Blackstono.tlint I should be put in jail, but leer
tai ily was never there yet. From what I have
-aid, you may suppose mo some thie'” or pick
pocket, but to prove that f am neither, I delight
not i:i a crowd, and no sooner appear befoj*-
one that! it gone.— The !!’ r (!.
BTO. Ir
