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yfpS? 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.