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Jttis GJKH&MTT*
liberty.
Breathes tlicro the man whose servile
breast
Is sunk in languor’s fatal rest,
Whilst o’er him ’mid the gth ring
storm,
Oppression rears her hateful form r
Who, when her l’uot to earth would
tread
Those rights for which his fathers hied,
Hopes nut, nor strives to stay their
fall.
lint one by one resigns them all •’
Breathes there such a man? 1 “ill not
ask
What country gave him birth :
He did not spring from English mould;
For such a soul, thus tame, thus cold,
Would rouse his angry sires ol old,
And drag them back to earth.
Breathes there the wretch whose fee
ble eye
Ne’er pierced the film of slavery—
Who never felt the glow of shame
O’erspread his cheek at Freedoms
name—
Nor blush to sec him accurst,
Os slaves the veriest and the worst,
Breathes there such a wretch: O’er
Eastern climes,
Unheeded, let him roam ;
His law a haughty tyrant’s frown,
A den of slaves his home.
There lei him dwell! for climes like
these
May well the dastard spirit please;
Where burning suns and deserts dry,
Parch up the springs of energy;
Where even language owns the sway
That tramples on the soul’s decay.
And cannot find a word to tell
That sound which freemen love so well,
T here let him dwell, to Freedom lost,
Contented if he can :
Whilst nature, shrinking from his
shade,
Shall view with scorn the thing she
made,
And blush to call it—Man.
But I, who in J Northern climes have
reartl,
Whose cneek the cutting wind has
sear’d,
W hose ear hath fancied, as it past,
That freedom spoke in ever} blast ;
Whose foot hath wander’d with de
light,
O’er Snowden’s cliff and Skiddavv’s
height,
Where Britain’s ancient sons defied
The haughty Roman's baffled pride ;
AN ho oft have trac’d th‘ historic page
(The record of a former age,)
AV hich paints iny hardy sirco of y ore — j
The hopes they felt,the fears they bore,
Shall 1, thus nurtur’d, basely tame,
Renounce the glories of their name,
And quit the path they trod ?
AVhilstbusy infamy shall trace
The recreant level of his race,
His children's scorn, his sire’s dis
grace —
The outcast of his God.
Never! O! never! —cusc the thought
That dwells on case by freedom
bought !
Wither the heart that does not burn
AVlien Justice weeps o’er freedom s
uru ;
And be that eye in darkness set,
Which views nor views it with regret!
Al ine be the choice my lather s made— —
lie mine their battle cry.
When, lighting for their rights of yore,
Dauntless and brave, each warrior
swore
To conquer or to die !”
[ tCuglish paper.
“From the Milledgeville Recorder.
SPRING.
“ A devotee to Nail he ; and felt
Intensely all its loveliness ; ami luing
Delighted on its wonders; not with
dumb
And thoughtless ecstacy, but with aiv
eye
That read a Soul within them .”
It is not the gift of the poet only
to see this soul in Nature; or to
feel its inspiring influence. He who
will abstract his mind from baser
things to contemplate her 1 loveli
ness,’ will feel it stealing into the
heart, and, as it were, blending her
music in varied strains ot “grand,
beautiful, and tender” with the
feelings. This is the music ot na
ture which speaks to the soul with
out the aid of the ear. And speaks
too in “ deeper meaning” than that
which ravishes only the senses. —
They not only give the response,
hut the heart acknowledges that it
has been lilted by sublunary things
up to the Soul born whence they
emanated. Nature has discovered
to the untaught savage, the exist
ence of a Being above himself ;
confounded the speculating infidel;
and strengthened the faith or the
believer. The learned may look at
it with its mysteries revealed, yet
the savage equally sces
“ swift and secret working hand.
Each season lias its moral, and
has had its thousand moralists. But
while feeding the mind on the
thoughts ol others, the loveliest
season, in its most enchatidngdiess
of words, carmot create those feel
ings which lied and glow when the
book of nature is spread before us,
artd we
* * Gaze on the work divine,
A blending of all beauties ; streams
and dells,
Fruit, foliage, crag, wood, oornnelu,
mountain, vine.”
It is then only that the mind roves
unconfined ; draws its own images,
from the true source, and traces the
subject through its immensity of
varied objects.
The season in which we most see
the hand of Nature ; whose moral*
is most forcibly spoken to all, is
(“Sweet daughter of a rough and
stormy sire,
Hoar Winter’s blooming child,) de
lightful Spring.”
Winter retires with its “vapours,
clouds, and storms.” The joyous
spring looks forth, and earth, late
so desolate and. dreary, is clothed
in smiles — u with breath all in
sence, cheek all bloom. ’ Increas
ing life and animation is seen in
every thing. The opening bud,
the spreading leal and the springing
herb clothe and ornament the trees,
the fields, and the gardens. ihe
insect spreads its many-coloured
wing, and the feathered race tune
i their sweetest notes, and fondly
watch the helpless brood till it
gladly soars on untijpd pinions.
Ihe scaly tenant of the stream
leaps from its element in duftib ex
pression of joy—the brook and the
waterfall seem to give a more pleas
ing murmur—“ all is a sound, and
sense and sight of sweetness.”
The moral of every season is vain
onl\ to the vain. Bat that of spring
speaks to age and youth in accents
too forcible to be unheeded but by
stupidity or the most hardened re
solution. Let age go forth nto na
ture’s walks and contemplate the
innumerable green shoots that now
are in full life and promise—but see
also that but here and there can be
found an ancient tree that has with
stood the storms of many winters
see how frail is their hold on earth
—how they totter in every t
But a few more years and the last
of these venerable monarchs of the
forest will be laid low. To youth,
(the season of sensibility and leel
ing in man) how pointed is the in
structions to be drawn from nature !
In this great mirror oi human life,
they will see themselves reflected
in every feature ol their existence.
In her solitudes send abroad the
thoughts, and they will return, like
Noah’s dove, with the symbol of
peace to the soul. Look but to the
{ffcodness that has commanded from
the bosom of the earth the herb
and the flower, and the imagination
will soar to their author on the
wings of love. It is not, thus, soli
tude to be alone. It is not terror
that is to drive you from Nature to
its God, but the pleasure of con
templating the work, will uncon
| sciously lead to the love and adora
tion of its author. But when the
heart is lifted up, remember, that
this season is short—that these
flowers fade while you admire thtir
beauties—that they are wasting
away as they throw their perfume
around them : and sec in them the
picture of your own inevitable des
. tiny: and resolve now to begin, if
you have not already, to prepare
for its even tide. K.
A CURIOUS SERMON.
[The following curious sermon is
6aid to have been delivered in
Virginia, and was first published
in the Columbian Magazine.]
GENESIS xxx 1.2.
And Rachel said unto Jacob, —
Give me children, or else 1 die.—
And Jacob’s anger was kindled
against Rachel.
From these words, my brethren,
I beg leave to make a few observa
tions, which may tend to unfold
some new ideas of the female char
acter.
The first remark that occurs is
the unreasonableness and folly of
Rachel’s request to her husband. —
She asks for children as the condi
tion qf her life. “ Cue me cjul
dren, says she, or else I die. An •
i weak and inconsiderate woman .— *
Little didst thou know the dreadful
connexion that was established in
the book of fate, between thy death
and the birth of children. IL'f
Heaven often curses human folly
bv answering its prayers. Kachel s
desires for an increase of her fami- j
ly are gratified, but alas! Kachel
knows onlv a short-lived joy front
ibis event.
She dies in childbed with her se
cond son. Her lovely boy drops
from her breaat. His smiling in
fancy and prattling childhood at-,
ford her no pleasure —for Kachel s*
remains have descended into the J
grave and mixed with the clods of
the valley.
A second remark that is sugges
ted by the words of my text, is,that
upon certain occasions, anger is a
necessary passion, and that it may
be exercised, with peculiar proprie-]
tv, by husbands, when the loll)’ ol
their wives requires it.
Jacob was a man of uncommon
dignity of character. He was wise,
prudent and religious —and yet Ja
j cob was angry, fie was a fond, in
dulgent husband —and vet lie was
angry at his wife, for we read
that the anger of Jacob was kindled
against Rachel.
But let us examine a little further
and inquire in what manner Jacob j
discovers and gives vent to his an-i
ger. Does he stamp upon the floor,
and call his wife bv any improper
names?—No. Does he drag her
across the floor by the hair of the
head, or threaten to throw her be
hind the fire?—No. Does he pinch
her—or kick her—or beat her with
his fist ?—No—for Jacob was a
brave man, and never disgraced his
character as a soldier by striking a
woman. He rebukes his wife by
reasoning with her. “ Ain I, (says
he,) in Clod’s stead, who hath with
held from thee the fruit of the
womb ?”
Learn hence, ye husbands, from
the example of Jacob, to treat your
wives as reasonable creatures —in
this way only, you will not only re
form them, but secure theirperpet
ual esteem and affection for you.—
We have heard the end of Rachel,
the wife of Jacob; but unhappily
for mankind her posterity did not
die with her.
There are Rachels still alive in
every part of the world. While
one cries out, give tne children, or
else I die—there are hundreds of
lici descendants, who cry, out give
me no more children, or else I die.
Nor is this ail—how many wives do
we find, who urge their requests to
their husbands, with the same pow
erful, and, as they suppose, dis
tressing arguments. Give me says
one, anew house, or else I die —
Give me, savs a second, another
7 J # ,
house-wench, or else I die—Give
me, says a third, a weekly route, or
else I die—Give me, says a fourth,
a trip to the Virginia Springs, or
else 1 die —Give me, says a fifth, a
winter in New-York or Philadel
phia, or else I die—Give me, says
a sixth, a service of plate, or else I
die—Give me,says a seventh, a set
of China, or else I die —Give me,
says an eighth, anew siik gown, or
else I die —Give me, says a ninth —
but I forbear, for the day would fail
me, should I attempt'to enumerate
all the instances of female folly and
extravagance, which display them
selves in conjugal anddomestic life.
I shall conclude with one remark,
which I hope will he profitable to
the ladies who compose a part of
my audience —and that is, that this
kind of petulance never fails to cool
the affections of husbands. Os this
we have a striking proof in the con
duct of Jacob —we read that his
wife died on her journey with him
to Eprath. But we read of no marks
of respect paid to her memory, by a
splendid, or even a decent funeral.
We do not find that Jacob secludes
himself even for a single day, from
his ordinary pursuits, in order to
mourn over her. AYe only read,
that he placed a pillar of stone over
her grave—probably to prevent her
rising from her grave to teaze him
with her ill humor —and hence pro
bably, may be derived the origin of
Tombstones.
DESPICABLE MUMMERY,
Strip m-a jest-y of its externals
and what is it, says a celebrated
writer, but a jest? The more we
hear of the royal trips to Ireland
and to Scotland; of the splendors ol
levees or of the sycophancy of cour
tiers ; monarchy appears the most
despicable of all farces. Made of
the same flesh and blood as his sub
jects are —with no extraordinary
novel ’ pretensions to recommend
him—a man both worse and more
ignorant than thousands who ap
’ proacli him, vet such is the fasetna
tion which 'the glare of royalty
j throws around him, that they bow
land kneel before him, almost as if
he were a god. Strip him ol the
veil which is thrown around him,
i and what is lie ? a weak and coirup*
ted mortal.
Some anecdotes are related ol
the English King on his late trip to
‘Scotland, which show’ in striking
colours the effects of this infatua
tion. Two will suffice: A person
who was on board the vessel which
conveyed him, relates the follow
ing.
“ Every thing w'as shown us, ex
cept the roval sleeping-room ; and
for this omission we were obliged
; to the ultra-loy lty of the ladies \\ ho
had gone before us. Not contented
with looking’ at a plain bed with cali
co curtains, many of them pressed
| their lips to the quilt and their cheeks
to the pillow ; nay, some of them
even went so far as to commit the j
crime of petty larency by plucking
| small quantities of wool from the |
English blankets, and concealing j
the same within their gloves, and
j altogether the work ol dilapidation
; was going forward so last, that it
was deemed advisable to turn the
ke\ in the royal sleeping’ apartment .”
The following is related of Wal
ter Scott; who, if He be the author
of the Waverly novels, is the first
man in the British Empire—and as
far superior to the King, as a King
is to a clow’n —and yet we find the
spell so strong upon him as to make
him guilty ct the most disgraceful
weakness—as weak as the loval old
Lady, in his own novel of “ Mor
tality
u The same day Sir Walter Scott
arrived on a well-known mission.—
When his name was announced, his
Majesty exclaimed, “ the very man
of all others I wish to see,’ and
honored the “ mighty minstrel” with
a cordial welcome. W lien the
splendid gift of which he was the
bearer, was tendered and accepted,
his Majesty called for a glassol wine
that, lie might pledge the Sisters of
the Silver Cross ; on which Sir
Walter humbly requested, that he
might be allowed to carry home and
preserve the glass from which his
Majesty drank, as a precious relic.
The request was granted ; but un
fortunately, on going ashore; the
pocket of the Baronet’s coat came in
contact with a harder substance, and
completely demolished the highly
prized glass.”— Rich. Enq.
• It was lately stated in the English
Court of Chancery, ancl proved by
affidavits, that Lady Portsmouth,
wife of the Earl of Portsmouth, who
is rather weak in mind, was in the
habit of whipping her husband, both
when he was dressed, and in bed
undressed ; and that she kept a whip
for that purpose.
Anecdote of a Nun. —At the time
the English army was in Portugal
under Lord Townsend, and count
de Lippe, the following adventure
happened to an ensign in a regi
ment there.
One morning as he was at break
fast, a friar, much of the same lib
eral turn of mind in regard ol gal
lantry, with Dryden’s father Domi
nic, waited on him, and after the
usual jargon of poverty and pen
ance, tolcl him he had a letter for
him from one of the sisterhood of
his convent, which he brought out
of pure charity, supposing it to
contain some wholesome admoni
tions tending to reform him. The
young gentleman then opened the
letter with great eagerness, and to
his utmost surprise, found it writ
ten in English, and from a lady
begging in the most earnest terms
that he would contrive t deliver
her from the miseries of her con
finement. The officer, thinking his
fair incognita was well acquainted
with her messenger before she
would have trusted him, asked the
friar if he could see the lady. Not
unless you put on the habit of our
order, replied the priest, which I
have prepared for you.
It may he imagined that our gal
lant Englishman .complied, lor in
about half an liouT he was introdu
ced to a lovely young creature, who,
with tears and blushes hoped he
would forgive the method she took
to obtain his protection, that she
was an English woman, and i ?c f
daughter to a Homan Catliol i 0
chant of immense fortune, wE; 1
her ns it were on a visit ol pie
to Lisbon, and then burred la n *o
monastery, in order to* grant) 9
ambition in the matching of
I dost sister. ■
The ft iar is an Irishrr. ,*p, .1
knows tny family ; he will d 0
in his power to assist my cccj-S
as, if it be efleeted 1 can amply
ward him. A council °£ war J
now called on the means of geitjj
out of the convent ; when it
agreed that the fiiar should 1..1
them out at midnight, and
to prevent inquiry or pursuit, ro<J
that she drowned herself, a
which foreigners think happens eV(
ery day in England to youngs
men disappointed in love, or xvour,,
ded deeply by other strong passion*.
T he plot succeeded, and the oft U;
was married next morning to tl (
fair apostate to perpetual virginity
However, it was thought nio
advisable, while the troops contip,
ued in Portugal, for the lacly to a;,
pear in men’s apparrel. Upon he
returning to England, she fount
i her elder sister dead, and her fa.
I ther in deep despair, for being,?
jhe supposed, the cause of his *r.
■ cond daughter’s making wav with
herself, she waited upon him wit!,
her husband, and new relation he
had never seen. The old man faint,
ed in his daughter’s arms; and
this meeting terminated in the re
conciliation and happiness of a?,
parties.
Sign of Flodden Well. —A Scotci
innkeeper, who had determined or.
adopting the sign of Flodden Wei
was much puzzled for a suitable in
scription. At length he waited on
Walter Scott, and asked aid, observ
ing, that “as he had written so
much about it, he might ken some
thing that would do for an inscrip
tion.” The worthy poet immedi
ately replied, “ Why, man, I think
ye cannot do belter than take a verst
from the poem itself.” The inn
keeper was very willing to do this,
when Mr. Scott said to him, “ Why
then, you have just nothing to do,
but to leave out one letter, and put
for a motto,
“ Drink weary traveller —drink and
pay!”
instead of pray, which you might
not attend so punctually.
Dumfries Courier.
Anecdote ‘of Dr. Ahtched. It is
said, the celebrated Dr. Samuel L
Mitchell, travelling in the stage, and
happening to be the only passenger,
was very sociable with the driver,
asking him many questions, some
of which the driver, considered ra
ther philosophical, and not a little
puzzling. The “ knight of the
whip,” in turn, put the following
question to the learned Doctor: -
“ Why, Sir, do white sheep eat
more than black sheep t ’ “ Indeed
said the Doctor, I was not a\vare
that they did.” The Doctor was
proceeding in a very philosophical
manner to account lor the differ’
ence, by supposing the white sheep
had less oil in their fleeces, than the
black sheep.—You are not right,
Sir,” said Jehu. “ friend
said the Doctor, after a few niO’
ments reflection. “ can you tell ?
“ I can, Sir; there are more ct
them.”
Curious Dialogue. —“ Vv here t^ f
do you come from ?” said
Wilkes to a beggar in the Isle o’
Wight. • e
“ From the lower regions.
“ What is going on there ?”
“ Much the same as here.”
“ \yivat is that ?”
“ The rich taken in and the pot:
kept out.”
When Handel, the celebrated
musiejan died in London, the pa'”
lie were filled with tli”
praises of the deceased. Cap*-
Dashwood, who had lately gained
great applause by the exhibition o’
tire works at a public festival,
into company one cl the
and read aloud a paragraph
jymteh after many encomiums o
the genius and virtues of Ilanclei,
cdftfcluded ‘that he had gonto the
only place where his harmony com' 1
he exceeded.’ ‘ Yes,’ said a Inch
present ‘ and when you die, Capi
tain, they will have it in print, th;>
you have gone to the only ph' ct
where your lire works can be e’
cecded.’