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\ tu'w edition of Dr. Peivivul’s poems,(says
the INew-Yoik Pomnic'itirtl Advertiser,) i- now
in flu; press. The first poem in the roljertion
is mi original tide, entitled, lhe Wreck,
wlin li extends to about lUOO lines. A can-tul
penis,.l of this performance has satisfied ns that
a vv'll do no discredit to the established repu
tation of tlie author. The plot of tlie title is
very simple . Two lovers me dividiLl !>y i)u*ir
parents on account of their uiicipial condition
lit;—whereupon the youth leaves his home
secretly, and utter a lout; absence retimisto he
wrecked in of port. In this slender plot
there is nothin'.’ very striking—hut the manner
of conducting it h made tlie vehicle, of many
fine description -, and tender and exulted sen
tiiiicnts in which bear the stamp ot a
highly gifted nud feeling mind. The follow ing
are sped nrus of the author’s power ot de
scription—it is a common object, yet genius
has here gifted it'with hues of such \ivid reali
ty that it comes to the mind w ith all the ze -t of
novelty: It is the rising ol a breeze, and the
departure of the ship which hears away the
love r.
They looked upon the waters, and below
Another sky swelled out, set thick with stars, .
And ehcipiered with light clouds, which from
the North,
fame Hitting o’er the dim-seen hills and shot
Like birds across the bay. A distant shade
Dimmed theclearsheet —it darkened, kit drew
Nearer. The waveless sea was seen to rise
In feathery curls, and soon it met the ship,
And n breeze struck her. Quirk the floating sails
Pus.- up anddrooped again. The wind came on
Fresher : (he curls were waves ; the sails w ere
filled-
Tensely ; the vessel righted to her course,
And ploughed the waters; round her prow the
foam [sides,
Tossed and went hack along her polished
And floated off, bounding the rushing wake,
That seemed to pour in torrents lrom her stern.
The wind still freshened, and the sails were
stretched,
Till the yards clicked. She bentbefore its force
And dipped her lee-side low beneath the waves.
. tr;light out she went to sea, as when a haw k
Darts on a dove, and with a motionless wing
t uts the light yielding air. The mountains
dipped
Their <i.n k walls to the waters, and the hills
Scarce reared their green tops o’er them.
One white point,
On \vh ( i a light-house blazed, alonestood out
In the broad sea.
All were glad,
And lunched and shouted, as she darted on.
And plnntred amid thetoain, and tossed it high
Over rhe deck, as when a strong-curbed steed
Flings t';e froth from him in his eager race.
Al! had been dimly star-lit, but the moon
La!*‘ rising, silvered o’er the tossing sea,
And lighted upits foam-wreaths, and just threw
One parting glance upon the distant shores.
They met his eye—the sinking rocks were
bright,
Ami a clear line of silver marked the hills,
vVlieia he had said farewell. A sudden tear
Gushed, and his heart was melted.
Again, this tender and faithful description of
young love •
To that point
Where the (lag waved,she often bent her steps,
And gazed upon the ocean earnestly,
Watching each dim speck on the farthest verge
Os sight, and deeming every cloud a sail,
And every wreath of foam her lover’s sigh.
Ttvo years had gone away, and she had thus
Sought the high cliff at morning, noon and
Ami guzt and in eager longing till her eye [night,
Was fixed and glazed. Her cheek grew thin
and pale ; [row
Her form was wasted, and all knew that sor
f’reyed on the blossom of her health,and eat
Her life aw ay.
Youth is the time of love,
All other loves are lifeless, and but flowers
Wreathed round decay, ami w ith a livid hue
Blowing upon a grave. The first fresh love
Dies never wholly ; it lives on through pain
And disappointment: oft w lien the heart
Is cm lied and all its sympathies pressed out,
This lingers and aw akens, and shines bright,
Even on the borders of a w retched grave.
REPARTEE.—i?v Swift.
Cries Sylvia to a reverend Dean,
\\ hat reason can be given
(Since marriage is a holy thing,)
That there are none in heaven ?
There are no women lie replied—
She quirk returns the jest—
Women there are,but Tin afraid
They cannot liifd a priest.
THE DRUNKARD TO IMS BOWL.
A PA BODY.
Vital droji of hellish flame
Enter quit k this mortal frame :
Trembling, reeling, belching, blinking,
Oli, the pain, die bliss of drinking.
Haste, sweet brandy, down my throat,
Nor let me languish for a It tout.
Hark ! they whisper! Tipplers say,
Brandy! Spirits! come ibis way.
What is this absorbs me quite,
Steals my senses, dims tuy sight,
Drowns my sorrows, gives me spunk—
Tell me my bowl, rail I be drunk ?
t lie room goes round—curb thing appears
\\ itb wrong end upwards—and irrv ears
F\v eet sounds satauic i atrli :
Lend! lend your arms! I riel 1 1 die
Oil, Hunt! w here is thy victors-,
Oh, Grog! where"is thy match!
V. OM \N—Fi trart from ,* Prize Poem.
There is a bud in life’s dark wilderness,
\\ ho e. beauties charm,\\ fragraiwc soothes
distress;
There i a beam in life’s o'errlouded kv
That gild- the starting tear it ertuiot dry.
‘I bet flower, dint lovely beam,on Kdeii’s grove
Blied tb’ full sweets ot heavenly light and love
Alas ! that aught so fair could lead astray
Man's wov’ring foot from duty's thornless way.
Vet lovely woman ! yet thy w inning smile,
M hir'i caus’d out carescnn every care beguile.
303 nax&Airxr
Mxtratramary trial for Robbery.
A gentleman, followed by a ser
vant in livery, rode to an inn in tlie
west ol England, one evening a lit
tle before dusk. He told the land
lord that lie should l c detained by
business in that part of the coun
try for a few clays, and wished to
know if there were any amusements
going on in the town to fill up tlie
intervals of the time. The land
lord replied, 44 that it was their race
and assize week, and that therefore
he would be at no loss to pass away
the time.” On the gentleman’s
making answer, “that this was
lucky, for, that he was fond of see
ing trials tlie other said, 44 that
a very interesting trial for a robbe
ry’ would come on the next day’, on
which people’s opinions were much
divided, the evidence being very
strong against the prisoner ; but he
himself persisting resolutely in de
claring, that he was in a distant part
of the kingdom at the time the rob
bery was committed. His guest
manifested considerable curiosity
to hear the trial , but, as the court
would probably be crowded, ex
pressed some doubt ot getting a
place. The landlord told him “ that
there could be no difficulty in a
gentleman of his appearance get
ting a place ; but that, to prevent
any accident lie would himself go
with him, and speak to one of the
beadles.” Accordingly, they went
into court the next morning, and
the gentleman was shewn to a seat
on the bench Presently after the
trial began ; while the evidence was
giving against him, the prisoner
had remained with his ey'es fixed
on the ground, seemingly very
much depressed ; till being called
on for his defence, he looked up,
and, seeing the stranger, he sud
denly fainted away. This excited
some surprise, and it seemed at
first like a trick to gain tirne. As
soon as he came to himself, on be
ing asked by the judge the cause
of his behaviour, he said, “ Oh ! my
lord, I see a person that can save
my life ; that gentleman fpointing
to the stranger) can prove I am in
nocent, might I only have leave to
put a few questions to him.” The
eves of the whole court were now
turned on the gentleman ; who said
“ he felt himself in a very awkward
situation to be called upon, as he
did not remember ever to have seen
the man before, but that he would
answer any question that was asked
him.”—Well then,” said the man,
‘don’t you remember landing at
Dover at such a time ?’ To this
the gentleman answered, ‘ that he
had landed at Dover, not long be
fore, but that he could not tell whe
ther it was on the day’ mentioned
or not.’ ‘ Well,’ said he, ‘but don’t
you recollect that a person in a
blue jacket and trowsers carried
your trunk to the inn ?’ To this he
answered, ‘ that ofcourse some per
son had carried his trunk for him
but that he did not know what dress
he wore.’ 4 But,’ said the prisoner
don’t you remember that the per
son who went with you from the
boat told you a story of his being
in the service, that he thought him
self an ill used man, and that he
showed you a scar he had on one
side of his forehead ?’ Duringthis
last question, the countenance of
the stranger underwent a conside
rable change ; he said, 4 he certain
ly did recollect such a circum
stance ; and on the man’s putting
his hair aside, and shewing the
scar, he became quite sure that he
was the same person. A buz of
satisfaction now ran through the
court, for the day on which, accor
ding to the prisoners account, this
gentleman had met with him at
dover, was the same on which he
was charged with the robbery in a
remote county. T he stranger, how
ever, could not be certain of the
time ; but said, that he sometimes
made memorandums of dates in
his pocket-book, and might possi
bly have done so on that occasion.
On opening his pocket-book, he
found a memorandum of the time
lie landed from Calais, which cor
icsponded with the prisoner’s as
sertion. This being the only cir
cumstance necessary to prove the
alibi, the prisoner was immediate
ly acquitted, amidst the applause
and congratulations of the whole
court. Within less than a month
after this, the gentleman who re
cognized the prisoner; the servant
in livery who followed him ; and
the prisoner who had been acquit
ted, were all three brought back to
gether to the same goal for robbing
the mail.
Troubles of our own making.
I here is in our nature such a rest
lessness of disposition, that we
commonly make to ourselvs more I
than half the evils we feel. Unsat-’
isiied with what we are, or possses
we are still cravingafter something
past or to come, and by regrets,
desires, and fears, arc perpetually
poisoning the streams of present
enjoyment. Ihe weather is too
hot or too cold, too wet or too dry.
If we have nothing to do, time
hangs upon us, an insupportable
burden. If our circumstance com
pel us to daily labor, we fret to
see others enjoying their leisure.
Although we have food and rai
ment enough, and good enough,
still we are dissatisfied that we are
not rich. If, on the contrary, we
chance to be rich, the weight of
cares, the pains of getting, the dif
ficulty of keeping, and fears of
loosing, give us incessant disquiet
anihfatigue.
Thus mankind, from a restless
disposition, render themselves
wretched when they might be much
at their ease.
It would be worth to one, more
than any or even all the arts and
sciences, to learn the art of living
happy. I don’t mean perfect hap
piness, which is to be enjoyed here ;
but such a degree of happiness as
our Maker has put in our power.
The art of living happily does not
lie in social apathy; tor as to the
real and sharp affections ot life,
while one ought “ to bear them like
a man, he should also feel them
like a man.”—Nor does he know
the sweets of friendship, who feels
little or no pain from being sun
dered from a near friend. Much
less does he who grovels in the lap
of gross sensuality ; for the enjoy
ment of the mere sensualist is no
higher than that of the pampered
horse in the stable or fattenen pig
in the sty. Indeed, the brute has
much the advantage, as it lives ac
cording to its nature and destina
tion, while the man is haunted
with a perpetual conciousness of
the shameful degradation of his
mortal and intelectual faculties.
The following maxims or rules
of action might, if strictly observed,
go far to increase the happiness, or
at least to diminish the iniquiet
udes, and miseries of life.
Live constantly in the unshaken
belief of the overruling Providence
of an infinitely wise and good, as
well as Almighty Being, and prize
his favor above all things.
Observe, inviolablv, truth in
your words, and integrity in your
actions.
Accustom yourself to temperance,
and be master of your passions.
Be not too much out of humor
with the world ; but remember, ’tis
a world of God’s creating and how
ever sadly it is marred by wicked
ness and folly, vet you have found
initmore civilities than affronts,
more instances of kindness towards
you than of cruelty.
Try to spend your time usefully
both to yourselves and toothers.
Never make an enemy, or lose a
friend, unnecessarily-
Cultivate such a habitual cheerful
ness of mind, and evenness of tem
per, as not to be ruffled by travail
inconveniences and crosses.
Be ready to heal breaches in
friendship and to make irp differ
ences ; and shun litigation your
self, as much as possible; for he is
an ill calculator who does not per
ceive that one amicable settlement
is better than two lawsuits.
Be it rather your ambition to
acquit yourself ivell in your proper
station than to rise above it.
Despise not small honest gains,
nor risk what vou have on the delu
sive propect of sudden riches. If
you are in a comfortable thriving
way, keep in it, and abide in your
own calling, rather than run the
chance of another.
In a word,” mind to use the world
as not ‘abusing it,” and probably
you will find as much comfort in it
as is fit for a frail being,who is mere
ly journeying through it to an im
mortal abode.
E.rlrart from Thnicher't Military Journal.
Captain Houilin, commonly pronoun
ced Udangis a Frenchman of singular
manners and character, and ludicrous
in his personal appearance, being rath
er tall but slender, his features are
sharp and irregular, complexion dark,
with small jet black eyes. His long
black hair is brought in a braid to the
top ol his head,which is constant ly cov
ered with powder ; he is never seen
without his small sword, nor in con
versation without a display of vanity
and affectation. lie converses in bro
ken English, with rapid articulation,
often perverting words from their le
gitiinate meaning. Drs. ifiomas ami
fjdang have at command an inexhaus
tible fund of merriment and humor,
and Udang once said to the doctor,
“ you can take me oil’better titan I can
myself.” On a return from Boston, in
1780, he related some incidents that
occurred to him, which have frequent
ly been repeated to aid in festive mil tit.
Some wag, knowing his vanity and af
fectation of consequence, had employ
ed a negro wench to make a familiar
address to him in some public place.
This was a severe mortification, and
destroyed all the comforts ol his visit.
In answer to an enquiry, how he liked
Boston, this vexation was uppermost
in his mind. “ I like Boston very
well al but one and and madam nig.”
On being pressed further; lie related
all the particulars with all the action
and irritation that reality occasioned.
“ One gentleman said to me, will )ou
take a walk to the market—’twas one
very line market—de poult, de geese,
ebery ting —one very fine assortment:
dere it was I hear somebody say be
liimi—How do you do Capt. Udang,
I look round one black bisli say again,
making reverence “ / hope you be
well Capt. Udong'H Who be you
speak to me in de market. You for
get, she say, l was vour sweetheart in
’77 110 l yo tongue, you d—d rascal
bish. You speak to me in de market,
when lam wid gentlemen, l cut off
your head, 1 will you rascal wench.
I was so ashamed, 1 put the hat over
my eyes and run right home tro five
thousand people. Next day some
gentlemen tell me, who ow n the black
bish dat spoke to me in de market,
and advise me to tell de mistress. 1 go
to the house and knock, knock—by bv
door open, How do you do Capt.
Udang —de same blacit bisli rascal
dat spoke to me in de market—who
own you —tell yo mistress one gen
tleman officer wislito see her. Mad
am, say I, do you own dat d—d madam
nig, dat spoke to me in de markejt.—
She say, if you had not been too fami
ilar with my negro wench, she would
not spoke to you in de market. I say
you be one d—d rascal yourself, mad
am.”
Jlnecdote of Curran*— It was by
giving proofs of the proud and indig
nant spirit with which this celebrated
barrister could chastise aggression
that he first distinguished himself at
the bar; of this, his contest with
Judge Robertson is recorded as a ve
ry early and memorabU instance.—
Mr. Curran having observed in some
case before that Judge, “ that he had
never met with law as laid down by
his Lordship in any book in his libra
ry”—“ That may be, sir,” said the
Judge, in an acrid contemptuous tone ;
“ but I suspec that your library is
very small.” llis Lordship, who like
too many of that time, was a party
zealot was known to be the author ot
several anonymous political pamph
lets, which were chiefly conspicuous
for violence. The young barrister
roused by the sneer at Ins circum
stances, replied, “ that, true it was,
that his library might be small, but lie
thanked heaven that among his books
there were none of the wretched pro
ductions of the frantic phamphleteers
of the day. 1 find it more instructive,
my Lord, to study good works than to
compose bad ones; my books may be
few, but the title pages give me the
writers’ names : my shelf is not dis
graced by any of such rank absurdity,
that their very authors are ashamed
to own them.” He was here inter
rupted by the ./udge, who said, —
“ Sir you are forgetting the respect
which you owe to the dignity of the
judicial character.” “ Dignity ?” ex
claimed Mr. Curran; “my Lord, upon
that point, 1 shall cite you a case from
a book of some authority, with which
you are perhaps not unacquainted.—
A poor Scotchman upon his arrival in
London thinking himself insulted by a
stranger, and imagining, that lie was
the stronger man, resolved to resent
the ailront, and taking oil'his coat, de
livered it to a bystander to hold ; but
having lost the battle he turned to ie
suine his garment, when he discovered
that he had unfortunately, lost that al
so ; that the trustee of his habiliment
had decamped during the affray. So,
my Lord, when the person who is in
vested with the dignity of the judg
ment seat, lays it aside for a moment,
to enter into a disgraceful personal
contest, it is in vain when he has been
worsted in the encounter, that he seeks
to resume it.—lt is in vain that he en
deavors to shelter himself behind an
authority he has abandoned ?”—Judge
Robinson—“lfyou say another word,
Sir, I’ll commit you.” Mr. Curran—
“ Then my Lord, it will be the best
thing you will have committed this
term.” The Judge did not commit
him; but he was understood to have
solicited the bench to interfere, and
make an example of the advocate, by
depriving him of his gown, but to have
received so little encouragement, that
he thought it more prudent to proceed
uo fuitiier in the affair.
Snip the tailor was pronounced
fellow of great capability, a gentk
man ol honorable habits, ami
ways suits every one. The shoe
maker bristled up at this, and wq,
ed exceeding wroth , swore the u
lor was but a half sou led fellow, and
that it was easy to shew he was no
cut out for a gentleman. The chf,
of ihe tailor was up in a minute
he swore by his thimble he would
never pocket such an insult—but
would baste any man who dared rt.
peat it. Honest Crispin said he
was determined to give the tailor
no quarters , and vowed he would
lose his all but he would gain his
ends ; he resolutely held on to th
last, and on his threatening to bad
strap his enemy, the tailor was com.
pelled to sheer off, declaring at the
same time he would have him bound
over.
Falling out. —A new married gen
tleman and lady riding in a chaise,
were unfortunately overturned—
A person coming to their assist,
ance, observed it was a very shock
ing sight. “Very shocking in.
deed,” replied the gentleman, “to
see anew married couple fall out
so soon.”
It is sometimes good for man t
withdraw himself from the busy
scenes of life, and wander among
the mansions of those whose spirits
have winged their flight to another
world. It inspires our minds with,
a feeling of solemnity, and as we
tread on the narrow mounds of
earth which here and there arise,
pointing out that it presses heavily
upon the/bosom of some clay-cold
tenant, we become absorbed in the
reflection of the present, past, and
future. Every action of a shoitand
transitory life recurs to our mind,
unrobed of their specious guise,
and we view them in all their reali
ty. They become associated with
the concerns of the future, and aj
we look beyond the narrow confines
of this state of existence, and view
on the one hand the brightened
prospects of the Christain, and on
the other the sinner’s doom, ouv
minds become impressed with a.
lesson which will influence it thro’,
out our lives. Such were my re
flections a few evenings since,
while wandering in a neighboring
grave yard. The beauty ot nature
at this season of the year had so
far attracted my attention, that I
unconsciously strayed out of ray
usual path, and soon found my
self surrounded by the moulder
ing monuments as they stood poin
ting out the triumphs of Death
over the victims beneath them.—
The pale light of the moon, as she
arose from behind the hills and res
ted her beams on the inscriptions
enabled me to discover the ages
and ranks ol the tenants of this
drearv mansion. I could perceive
that the smiling infant, the bloom
ing youth, the flower of manhood,
and decrepid old age, were alike a
prey to its destructive ravages.—
None could claim an exception.—
the man of wealth and honors, in
whose train the humble poor had
followed to deck with gaudy trap
pings his few short hours, had fal
len : the scythe of Death had done
its work of destruction, and he
now lay motionless in the tomb
The bewailings of his family, the
tears of his friends, were alike un
availing : the summons of death
could not be averted : the weeping
willow rose above him, overspread
ing by its drooping branches the
narrow spot ; the wild briar grew
luxuriantly on his grave ; the tomb
stone proclaimed in shining capital*
his virtues, but within the worm
banqueted on his now lifeless form-
By his side a little heap of earth
proclaimed the dwelling of some
poor cottager, whose life had been
that of the laborious poor.
monument reared its head abo’ - <‘
his grave, recording his virtue* >
hut his spirit had taken its fl*!?' 11
to realms where the specious Ap
pearances of this life are unknown
and where it centres before om
common God. I gazed upon tn
scene. The voice of instruction
arose from the grave, and sectne (
to whisper, though health, and hap
piness may crown the days ol man*
and honors adorn his brow, thoug 1
genius and beauty sparkle in bn
countenance, yet he must wither,
droop and die. The worm
soon prey upon his vitals, win L
his spirit ascends to Ilim vvhogaV
w 1 S-