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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.’