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THE SERAPH VIRTUE.
Written after viewing Penle's celebra
ted painting of “ The Court of
Ucatli .”
Yes! there she stands in virgin loveli
ness,
The bright, the fair-haired Daughter ol
the Skies!
“Beauteous in innocence, and soft anti
mild . ...
As. she is beauteous —in her sky-blue
robe
Thrown loosely o’er her form of heav
enly mould,
She comes before the dark, stern power
of Death,
Unmov’d —untrembling, —for his ter
rors die
Before her potent beauty. She beholds
The tyrant frown that sits upon his
brow,
Awed but not terrified, and to her
view,
His seems'’ a face rather of placid rest
Than darksome horror.—Uiose beside
his seat
(Form’d of the foldings of a whiten’d
shroud)
Fearless and calm and unappalled she
stands.
There she supports the patriarchal form
Os age, submissive bending at the foot
Os the dark monarch : while her soft
blue eve,
Up-turned to heaven, radiant in the
calm
Os holy resignation, seems to say,
In the deep language of unuttered
thought,
“ Almighty Father, be thy pleasure
done !” *
0! she is mild and lovely as the light,
That lingers round the avenues of Day,
“When he comes on in glory ! Yes ! that
cheek,
Is like the rose and lily in their bloom,
And yet more sweet than either ; and
those lips
Seem blushing in their fragrance! Glo
rious Art !
Anddiappy artist! that can thus array
The hearts of men to aid thee in thy
- cause;
‘Say, was not virtue with thee, when
that form
Came from thy glowing pencil ? Did
not she
“With her own hand impart that heav
enly grace
To make it more than earthly? Or per
haps,
She beamed her smile of approbation
there,
And gave it mildness-sweetness —ra-
diance—all!
lie who can gaze upon that beauteous
shade,
That beatific semblance, and not feel
That he loves virtue better than before,
Must be alike untrue to taste and
sense,
To feeling and to Nature—let him go.
TO MY FRIEND EMMA.
*Tis past! ‘tis gone! the drop thathung
CUittVmg in pleasure’s early ray,
Like love’s delusion, idly flung
Its brightest smile, and fled away.
Yet why should I this sadness feel,
Os older times distracting token—
Since incm’rys balm can never heal
The wounded heart, or spirit broken!
Should lovelier midnight vigils keep
O’er some illusive ruin’d hope,
The frantic heart must inly weep,
Or break, to give its madness scope.
The-blasted shrub in spangled dew,
A thousand lovely diamonds wear :
But soon those gems of burning hue
Are lust amid the morning air.
In life, they say that many a flower
Our tangled errant path adorns ;
Hut 1 have sought them hour by hour,
And found instead a world ol thorns,
EDWARD.
122 D'^&Airr*
From the JV. I”. Com. Advertiser.
KoNXNGSM ARKF. THE LoNG-FIKNE.
An original work bearing tins singu
lar title, is now in press in this city.
We have been favored with the perusal
of J7~ pages of thf .first volume —the
work, thus far, (with the exception
of a part of one chapter) has afforded
v.s much amusement and satisfaction ;
and we have no doubt but it will be
universally relished by the flourishing
school of the Laughing Philosophers.
It is intended as a pleasant satire up
on various “ matters and tilings,” but
more especially upon the style of mod
ern fashionable novels. In the intro
ductory chapter, the merry author, in
order that his readers and himself may
at once come to a proper understand
ing, thus frankly states his views of
novel writing, and the mode he shall
uiinselt pursue. In the first place, he
says—“ We set down to write this his
tory before we have thought of any re
gular plan, or arranged the incidents.
Another principle of the author’s which
he says, we have seen fully exempli
fied in the very great success of cer
tain popular works, advertised lor pub
lication before they were begun iO be
written, is that it is much better for an
author to commence his worx, without
knowing bow it is to end tnan to bam*
per himself with a regular plot, a suc
cession of prepared incidents, and a
premeditated catastrophe.” Another
sore obstacle in the way of the free ex
ercise of genius, is, for a writer of his
torical novels,(such as I have reason to
suspect tliis will turn out to be,) were
to embarrass his invention by an abject
submission to chronology, or confine
himself only to the introduction of such ,
characters and incidents really exist
ed or took place within the limits of
time, and splice comprised in ground
work of history.” “So far, therefore,
as we can answer for ourselves, in the
course of this history, we honestly ad
vertise the reader, that although our
hero is strictly- an historical personage
having actually lived and died like
other people, yet in all other respects,
not only lie, but every character in the
work belongs entirely to us. We
mean to make them think, talk and act
just as we like, and without the least
regard to nature, education or proba
bility.” In short, we are fully deter
mined, by the example of the Great
Unknown, that so long as we hold the
pen, we will never be deterred from
seizing any romantic or improbable
adventure, by any weak apprehension
that people will quarrel with us be
cause they do not follow oil in the na
tural course, or hang together by anv
probable connexion of cause and ef
fect.” “ Another determination of ours
of which we think fair to apprise the
reader, is, that we shall strenuously
endeavour to avoid any intercourse ei-j
ther directly or indirectly, with that i
bane of true genius, commonly called !
common sense,” “We intend that all j
our principal characters shall indulge j
in as many inconsistencies and eccen-,
tricities, as will suffice to make them ’
somewhat interesting, being altogether •;
assured that your sober, rational mor
tals, who act from ordinary impulses,
and pursue a course of conduct sanc
tioned by common sense, are no better
than common-place people, entirely j
unworthy of the attention of an author i
or (ns readers, &c.
Hie scene is laid in a village called ;
Elsingburgh, said once to have exist-,
ed in the Swiss settlement on the !
banks of the Delaware.
From the quotations and extract Ave
have made, the reader will perceive
something of the style of the work ;
and tve can assure the public,that there
is much of the genuine flavor of Knick
erbocker, and raciness of Salmagundi
about it.
Extract, &c.—Chapter VI.
What! shall not people pay for being
govern’d ?
Is’t not the secret of the politic
To pigeon cits, and make the rogues
believe
’Tis for the public good? By’r Lady sirs,
There shall not be a flea in an old rug,
Or bug in the most impenetrable hole
Os the bedstead, but shall pay
For the privilege of sucking Christian
blood. \_The Alderman ; or.
Beggars on Hors back.
Wolfgang Langfanger.the long-head
ed member of the council of Elsing
burgh, having as we stated before,
brought his private affairs into great
confusion, by devoting too much of his
time to the public good, began, a year
or two before our history commences,
to think it high time the public good
should repay some part of its weighty
obligations, lie had accordingly in
vented, and persuaded the I leer Piper
to put into practice, a system of inter
nal improvement, which has been imi
tated, from time to time, in this coun
try, ever since, with great success.—
The essence of his plan consisted in
running in debt for the present, and
living afterwards upon the anticipation
of future wealth.
it happened, about the time we re
fer to, that a schooner arrived from
some part of New-Kngland, with a car
go of oild notions, commanded by a
certain adventurer, who designated
himself as follows, to wit:
“ Captain John Turner,
Master and ow ner
Os this cargo and schooner.”
The sasre Langfanger hailed this event
as furnishing unquestionable augury
that the town of Elsingburgh was des
tined to monopolize the commerce of’
all the dominions of his Swedish Ma
jesty in the new world, provided pro
per” measures were taken to improve
its natural advantages. He accord
ingly planned a great wharf, tor the
accommodation of thirty or forty large
snips, with stores for goods, and every
matter requisite for carrying on a great
trade.
Having provided for the external
commerce of Elsingburgh, Langfanger
nex*:/ (Erne,* his attention io its intci -
ii at/trade, which consisted, as yet, in
the cargo's of a few bark canoes, ill
which the Indians brought down musk
rat and/bear skins, to barter for aqua
vita’. In order to accommodate these,
lie planned a canal to connect the
Brandywine with tue Delaware, by a
cut that would shorten the distance at
least six miles. By this he boasted
that the wliyle trade of the interior
would centie at Elsingburgh, to the
complete abandonment and destruc
tion of Coaquanock, which must neces
sarily dwindle into utter insignificance.
The Ilcer was excessively tickled
with the idea of being so effectually re
venged upon Shadrach Moneypenny,
and the rest of his old enemies, the
Quakers.
Illflhiext project was that of beauti
fying the town, which, it must bo con
fessed, was rather a rigmarole sort of
place, built at random, the streets
somewhat crooked, and the houses oc
casionally protruding themselves be
fore their neighbours, in somewhat of
an unmannerly manner. Langfanger
proposed to revise the whole plan, wi
den many of the principal streets, lay
out several others upon a magnificent
scale, and pull down the houses that
interfered vitli the improvement of
the city, as lie soon began to call the
great town of Elsingburgh. The fleer
w as rather startled at this project, con
sidering the Expense of purchasing the
houses to be pulled down, and the pro
bable opposition of the good people
who inhabited them. But Langfanger
was never at a loss on these occa
sions.
lie went forth among the villagers,
with a string of arguments, deductions
calculations, and anticipations, enough
to puzzle, if not convince, much wiser
heads, than those which grew on the
shoulders of the simple inhabitants.—
Admitting only that his premises were
true, and that what he predicted umuld
certainly come to pass, and there was
no denying his conclusions. Accord
ingly, the good people became assured
that the pulling down their houses,
and cutting up their gardens and fields
into broad streets and avenues would,
in u little time, make every soul of
them as rich as a Jew. It was curious
to see the apple trees cut down, the
grass cut up, the lots carved into the
most whimsical shapes, by Wolfgang’s
improvements.
The beautiful grass-plots p;uve place
to dusty or muddy avenues, branching
off in ail directions, am! leading no
where, insomuch that people could
hardly find their way any where.—
Houses, that had hitherto fronted the
street, now stood with their backs to
it, or represented a sharp corner; and
the whole world was turned topsy-tur
vy at Elsingburh. But the genius of
Counsellor Lanfanger appeared to the
greatest advantage 1:1 respect to cer
tain obstinate persons, who did not
choose to have their houses pulled
down over their heads without being
well paid for it. YVolfang settled mat
ters with these, by causing the houses
to be valued at so much, and the im
provement of the property, in c nse
quence of pulling them down, as equi
valent to the lossof the houses. These
unreasonable persons were, by this
equitable arrangement, turned out of
doors, and left to live very comforta
bly upon the anticipation of a great
rise in the value of their estates.
Crider the magnificent system of
Counsellor Wolfgang, the village of
Elsingburgh grew and flourished, by
anticipation, beyond all former exam
ple ; ai tr.ough, since that time, many
similar wonders have been exhibited
to the world. But there are always
drawbacks upon human prosperity—
an inside, and an outside, to every
tiling. The mischief was, that these
great improvements cost a great deal
of money, and there was very little of
it to be had at Elsingburgli. Improve
ments brought debts, and debts are as
naturally followed by taxes, as a cow
is by her tail. It became necessary,
at least, to provide for the payment of
the interest upon the debt contracted,
in consequence of these invaluable im
provements, in order to keep up the
public credit, and enable Counsellor
Langfanger to carry on his schemes
and improve the town, by running up
a still heavier score. And here we
will take occasion to remark upon a
great singularity, which distinguishes
the man who lays out his own, from
him who disburses the public money.
How careful is he, in the first instance,
to make the most of it, to turn every
penny to his advantage, and to weigh
the probable gains in employing it,be
fore he parts with a dollar!’ Whereas,
on the contrary, w hen he hath the ma
nagement of the public funds, it is as
tonishing how liberal he becomes—
how his generosity expands, and upon
what questionable schemes he will ex
pend millions, that do not belong to
him. There is another peculiarity,
which ever accompanies the manage
ment of tlie public wealth, which is,
that let a man be ever so honest before
hand, or ever so desirous to exhibit to
the world a pure example of disinter
ostedues?, some <Si’ this money v.ill
stick to his lingers in spire of bis teeth,
and bring his integrity into question.
This is doubtless the reason why men
are so unwilling to undertake these
matters, and that only the warmest pa
triotism will induce them to have any
thing to do with the public money.
But to return to our history. I' he
worthy Counsellor Langfanger, by di
rection of Gov. Piper, forthwith set
about devising the ways and means to
keep up public credit, and go on with
the public improvements. Political
economy, or the art of picking the pac
kets of a community, avus not much
understood at tliis time ; but genius
supplies the Avant of precept and ex
ample. Counsellor Langfanger devi
sed, and the fleer Piper adopted and
enforced, a system of taxation, more
just and equally proportioned than any
ever before known. Nobody was to
be taxed above one percent on his
property; but then, the lleer reserved
to himself to value the said property
agreeably to his discretion. Accord
ingly, to make his revenues meet Iris
improvements, he was obliged to rate
things at a sort of imaginary prospec
tive value, at least three times greater
than any body -would give for them. —
7'lie good people of Elsingburgh Ave*e
highly astonished at finding themselves
so rich, and paid their taxes cheerful
ly, until the perpetual drain upon their
pockets, to pay for Counsellor Lang
iauger’s improvements, made it con
venient to sell some part of their pro
perty, when they Avere utterly con
founded to find themselves rich only
according to the lleer Pipe’s tax
list.
But agreeably to the homely old
saying, “In for a penny, in for a
pound.” Wolfgang assured them that
if they stopt short in their improve
ments before they had got half through,
all the money hither expended would
be utterly lost; but if they only perse
vered to the end, they could not pos
sibly fail of reaphig a glorious harvest.
The good folks scratched their heads,
and paid their taxes. In the mean
time, the lleer and his Counsellor
every day discovered some new article
to tax, until at length it came to pass,
that every tiring necessary to the exis
tence of the people of Elsingburgh,
every thing that belonged to them, to
the very heads on their shoulders, and
the coats on their backs, were loaded
with imposts, to contribute to the great
end of public improvement, it will
be only anticipating the course of
events a few years, to say, that many
of these projects of Counsellor Lang
fanger never realized the advantages
he predicted, and of others that did,
the profits were never reaped by those
who paid for them, since a great por
tion of these Aveie, ir. process of time,
compelled to sell their property by
piecemeal, to meet the perpetnal exac
tions of the Heer Piper and Iris long
headed Counsellor.
From the Charleston Courier.
THE OAK TREE.
We know not of aught that is
better adapted to indicate the
literary and commercial impor
tance of an increasing and polished
community than its Newspapers.—
I’hey are not only a kind of custom
house thermometer, exhibiting, by
the rise or by the depression of
marine intelligence on their co
lumns, the actual state of imports,
expoits, and reports, the nature
and essence of which are sure to
excite and interest the attention of
active, inquiring, busy man—but
they are also indices of population.
Like members of Congress, they’
multiply in the direct ratio of the
increase of numeicle representa
tion. Hut, where inhabitants are
few and scattered, and business is
limited, information equal to the
demand is easily supplied ; and a
sheet of white paper, suitably in
scribed in capitals, public notice,
&c. nailed to au oak is not to be
found, or when neither is at hand,
to aach side of the much frequen
ted door or piazza posts of the far
famed village ale house, fully an
swer the purpose of satisfying a
circumscribed curiosity.
It is thus in the infant state of a
settlement. Settlements, however,
like the individuals of which they
are composed, when they com to
manhood put away childish things.
We remember, and who cn for
get the happy scenes, incidents and
hours of his youth? u ’Tis thirty,
vears since,” in boyhoods’ halcyon
days, we well remember a venera
blh oak stood on the Bay street in
Georgetown, hard by the tavern
then known by the name of the
Oak Tavern, in honor of its inajes
tic neighbor, that by the numerous
hand bills continually tacked
against its ragged trunk, usually
served all the purpose of a gnerul
intelligence office. Like the my
tic leaves at the cave es the Sybil
like the oracle of Delphi's, th.,-
oak told of things present an]
foretold of things to come, q;
neglect daily to repair to its friend
ly shade, betrayed no goodly dis.
position to the public Aveal. Und ,
its Avide spreading and luxuries
boughs, politicians Avere duly wont
to meet, to discuss the affairs 0 f
state ; merchants to examine the
latest price current article that had
arrived from Charleston ; doctors to
consult on the saving importance
and expediency of a free bill; and
lawyers to argue moot point. F 4Vci)
the aged, and children, not unfa,
quently there assembled together
tiie former to rest, the hitter to sitn
beneath its branches.
Alas ! where is now that venera
ble oak ? and Avhere are the groups
of friendly villagers that loved to
visit it? Has not the axe of th
laborer levelled the oak to the
ground ? Has not the scythe of
death brought down most of the
villagers to the grave? Must not
the fetv of us that yet remain, frail
monuments ol the years that are
gone shortly follow them ? Shall we
also not soon be cut down, wither
and die ?
Laughing.—“ I never satv a
Frenchman laugh—they smile, they
grin, they shrug up their shoulders,
they cry Ha ! and Ciel! but they
never give themselves up to bois
terous and unlimited laughter
They have always a reign upon
their lungs, and their muscles are
drilled to order.— Their mirth does
not savour of flesh and blood. I
do not mean to contend for that
pampered laugh which grows less
and less, in proportion as it is high
fed—(so gin given to children stops
their growth)—but for a good bioad
humorous English laugh, such as
belong to a farce or a fare. The
Germans laugh sometimes, the
Flemmings often, the Irish always:
the Spaniard’s face is fused, and
the Scotchman’s face is thatvedinto
a laugh; but a Frenchman never
laugns—They smile indeed, but
Avhat then ? Their smile is like
their soupe maigre , thin; their mer
riment squeezed and strained;
there is something in it of the acid
of their salads, something of the
pungency of their sauces, but noth
ing substantial: it is neither solid
nor ethereal—but a thing between
wind and water, nor of earth nor
heaven—good nor bad, but villair.-
ously indiffei ent, and not to be ad
mitted as mirth.”
Ctesar has the testimoDVof ages to
his bravery, and yetlie refused a chal
lenge from Anthony. He very calmly
answered the bearer of the message ;
“ If Anthony is Avcary of Iris life, tell
him there are other Avays o! death be
sides the point of my sword.” llow
well would it be if there were more
instances of the like imlepedence of
mind. But it is a mark of cowardice
to refuse a challenge—cons* quently,
according to modern chivalry, Casa:
was a coAvard !
During the traitor Arnold's preca
tory operations in Virginia, in 1781,
he took an American captain prisoner.
After some general conversation, he
asked the captain “ what lie thought
the Americans would do with him it
they caught him.” The Captain de
clined at first giving him an answer;
but upon being repeatedly urged, he
said, “ Why, sir, if I must answer you
your question, you will excuse my tel
ling vou the truth ; if my countrymen
should catch you, I believe they would
first cut off your lame leg, which was
wounded in the cause of freedom and
virtue, at Quebec, aud bury it with
the honours of war, and afterwatds
hang the remaider of your body on a
gibbet.”
liad wages. —Doctor S. began a ser- I
mon on this text, “The wages of sin
are death,” as follows—“ Poor wages
indeed that a man can’t live by.”
‘flic following dialogue is said t 1
have passed between two Virginia ne
groes, soon after the surrender o. Coni’
wallis at York town.
Mingo. Halloo, brudder Sam —non
you do ?
Sam, 0 dont know, brudder Minfi’ -
—mighty poorly.
.If. Poorly ! indeed ! you no hear o
news den ?
S. No, what sorter news ?
M. Why, dont you know dat g rCl *
man dey call Cornwallis.
S. Yes, 1 hear null'bout him shoot. •
white folks all over de country.
M. Well, 1 tell you what ; he
Cornwallis now, he C’oft-wallis
ml Washington done shell all de ‘
off* him too slick.