Newspaper Page Text
* —— X
■ A poet’s hand and prophet’s fire,
“ Struck the wild warblings of his lyre.”
'< ' '-'' js&x ~i> tT ~'-+ : ■,"*& i •,mv
There is no spot upon this earth,
Whose landscapes seem so fair,
As that ■w herein I had my birth,
And breathed my native air.
Its azure skies seem purer far,
Its sun more brightly shines,
And with more radiance glows each star,
Than those of other climes.
The foliage that adorns the trees,
Seem lovelier to my view,
Than that where autumn’s blighting breeze
Ne’er fades its summer hue.
-Its hard-faced rocks more precious seem,
Along its wave-wash’d shore,
Than those rich gems that brightly gleam
Among Peruvian ore.
Thus Providence has lent a charm,
To home—wherever plac’d,
<Xn climes where summor heats alarm,
Or mid some frozen waste.
I had been talking with my little boy--
My second one, just past his accend year—
And talking seriously, for even a child,
So young, oft loves and wears the serious mood,
Adopting it most naturally and sweetly,
I had been tolling liirn, that if he proved
A good obedient boy, loving and mild,
And innocent, lie would be loved of God,
And God would take him up at last to heaven,
He knows that heaven’s a glorious happy place,
What more indeed, do any of us know !
And his eye brightened, as it answered urine,
'But soon an anxious shade passed o’er its light,
And looking steadfastly, he said,
And brother too 1
My child, my precious child,
Let it ever Ire thus. Still crave to share
All happiness, reward and holiness,
With him, and we your parents, will bo blessed.
.From “Curiosity,” a poem—by Chas. Sprague,
The churl, who hold it heresy to think,
VVho loves no-music but the dollar’s clink,
Who laughs to scorn the wisdom of the schools,
And deems the first of poets first of fools—
W ho never found what good from science grew,
Save the grand truth that one and one are two ;
And marvels Bowditch o’er a book should pore,
Unless to make those two turn into four; [-sky
Who placed where Catskill’siforehead greet the
Grieves that such quarries all unhewn should lie;
Or, gazing where Niagara’s torrents thrill,
.Exclaims “A monstrous-stream—to turn a mill.”
\\ ho loves to feel the blessed winds of heaven,
Hut as his freighted barks are portward driven; '
Even he, across whose brain scarce dares to creep
Aught but thrift’s parent pair—to get, to keep ;
Who never loarn’d life’s real bliss to know—
Vi ith curiosity even he can glow.
Go, seek him out on yen dear Gotham's w alk,
A here traffic’s venturers meet to trade and talk,
VN here Mammon's votaries bend of each degree,
The hard-eyed lender and the pale leudee ;
\\ lie re rpgues insolvent strut in whitewashed
And shove the dupes who trusted them aside,
Hew thro’ the buzzing crowd he threads his way,
To catch the flying rumors of the day :
To learu of changing stocks, of bargains cross’d,
Of breaking merchants and of cargoes lost;
The thousand ills that traffic’s walks invade,
And give the heart-ache to the sons of trade.
How cold he hearkens to some bankrupts’woq,
Nods his wise head, and cries, “ 1 told you so—
“ The thriftless fellow lived beyond his means,
“He must buy brants—l make my folks eat beans
\\ hat cares he for the knave,the knaves sad wife,
The blighted prospects of an anxious life;
The kindly throbs that other men control,
Ne’er melt the iron of the miser’s soul,
Thro’ life’s dark rood his sordid way he wends,
An incarnation of fat dividends ;
lint w hen to death he sinks, ungrieved, unsung,
Buoyed by the blessing of no mortal tongue, °
No worth rewarded and no want redress'd,
To scatter fragrance round liis place of rest,
V hut shall that hallowed epitaph supply—
The universal woe when good men die 1
Gold Curiosity Shall linger there.
To guess the wealth he leaves his tearless heir;
Perchance to wonder what must he his doom,
In the far land that lies beyond the tomb,
Aias! for him, if, in its awful plan,
Heaven deal with him as he hath dealt with man!
“Mirth, that wrinkled care derides,
“And Laughter, holding both his sides.”
A friend of ours informs us, that an acquain
tance of his assures him, that lie has often
heard his granfather tell how an officer in the
Revolutionary war used to relate the follow
ing story. It therefore comes from good au
thority, and we hope nobody will take the lib
erty of doubting Hs ta*th.
Colonel , an officer in the “times that
tried mens souls” and horses’bodies, owned a
faithful steed which had served him through
the wars, and had arrived at tlie mature age ot
twenty-five years. Being on a visit a tew
miles irom home, while his master was enjoy
ing a glass of cherry bounce with his host, the
.horse got to a pile of cherries which had just
been emptied from the cask, and as they were
well saturated with spirits, they soon made
bun as drunk as David’s sow.” If our readers
know how drunk that means, they will be able
to judge the condition of the poor old horse.
11 not, we must inform them he was so badly
iffias to lie taken for dead ; and in this state
deprived of his shoes and stripped of his hide.
The Colonel hired another horse and re*
hmicd home,ssadlv lamenting the fate of his
venerable anil faithful steed. The misfortune
•fthe animal was ttiked over between the Co
lonel and his wife, and though they aeverelv
blamed hi in for getting so beastly drunk, it
was concluded on the whole, that as this was
die only instance of intemperance during a
long and useful life, they should net visit his
memory too severely. With these reflections
- trhoj- r tired. But what was their astonish
"c ‘ “bout midnight at being nwakened by
Till'* MAH IN AinfliiTlSEii, AMI AGRHi LTUBAL AMI MKIIUANTJLE IN I’KLLiGEN(LIt.
A wealthy manufacturer from the west of
Scotland, while at Edinburgh on business,
called upon Ir. Gregory for his advice. He
was a man of middle stature, rather corpu
lent, with a rosy complexion, and whose ex
terior altogether hespoke the comfortable li
ver. After seating himself the following di
Gentleman. Well, Dock Gregory, I ha’
come up to Ldinbro’ in the way o’ business,
and J just thought I would take vour advice
about my health.
I)r. Your health, sir? What’s the matter
GV/g. Pm no just sat! wcel i’ the stomach
as Id like-to be.
Hr. Ihe stomach! I suppose you ere a
drunkard or a glutton then, sir.
Gent. Na, na, Dr. Gregory, ye canna say
that ye cannk say that; ye maun ken that
1 m a sober man, and a deacon of the kirk, as
my worthy father was afore me.
Dr. Well, let us see: what do you eat
and drink? wh it do you ake for breakfast?
Gent. I true coffee or tea wi’toast, a fresh
egg or a Up o’ salmon, though I have no
much appeti e tor nreakfast.
Dr. fes- and then you take
bv way ol .uncli ,et\voen broakfast and din
Gent. I canna say I care ower much
about the lunch; but can take a bit o’ bread
and cheese and aglass o’ ale, if it be there,
but 1 canna say I care ower much about it.
Dr. \\ ell, w hat do you eat for dinner?
Gent. O! I’m no very particular, though
I maun sny I like my dinner.
Dr. I suppose you take soup first?
Gent. Yes, I can say I like my soup.
Dr. And a glass of porter or brandy and
water with it? .
Gent. Yes, I like a glass of something wi
Dr. And then you have fish or bcof, and
then mutton with vegetables?
Dr. And a glass of ale or porter with
Gent. Yes, I take a glass o’ ale now aii
then wi my meat.
Dr. And then you have boil- and fowl and
bacon, or something of that sort, I suppose?
Gent. Y r es, I maun say I like a bit of fowl
and bacon now and then.
Dr. And a glass of something with them?
T9** And after the fowl rou have a pud
ding? * .
Gent. I’m nave feud o’ the pudding, but
I can take a bit,, if it be there.
l)r. And you must drink wine with your
Gent. I cam a take ower much o’ the wine
but if I ha’ a friend wi’ me, I take a glass
And then you have cheese or nuts?
, Gent. "Ves; the gude wife is over fon<F
o them, but I canna say I care much about
Dr. But you take a glass of wiuo or two
with your nuts?
Gent. Yes, a glass or two.
Veil, do you finish your dinner with
out whiskey punch?
Gait. I firiduny dinner sots better on mv
stomach with a little punch, so I take a glass
Dr. And you have tea, I suppose?
Gent. Yes, I maun take my tea wi’ the
• And a bit of something with it?
Gait. \ es, I can take a bit o’ something
if it be there.
Dr. But you do not go to bed without
y’ enf ' na i Hr, Gregory, I eanna say
1 like to gang to bed and without my woe bit
Dr. And w hat do you eat for supper?
, Gcnt ' O! a bit o’ ony little tiling—a bit
o salmon, or boiled tongue, or cokl fowl.
Dr. And a glass of something-with it 7
Dr. And can you go to bed without a night
cap of hot punch?
Gent. I maun say I sleep the better for a
glass o hot punch, though t* canna say I’m
ower fond o’ the habit.
Dr. \\ ell. Sir, you are a flnedVUow; you
are mdeod a fine fellow. You rome to me
with a li*m your mouth, and telhme you arc
a temperate man, and a deacon cf the kirk,
as your worthy father was before you; and'
you make yourself out, by your own r ate,
inent, to be a a tet ne-bibba, and
the neighing of a horse, which sounded pre
cisely like that of the one whose death they
had been so deeply lamenting.
** Husband ! htisband!” said the old lady,
giving the Colonel a nudge “ is’nt that our
old boss ? It whinners jest like him.”
“Our old horse, replied the Colonel. “How
do you think, wife that the poor old horse could
coine here, after being dead and skinned ?”
“ I don’t know how, I’m Sure,” returned the
old lady, “ but it sounds jest like our old boss;
and if it isn’t he, it must be his ammunition,
The good woman meant apparition.
But while the worthy couple were yet talk
ing, the same noise was heard again, and in
the most piteous tones of a suffering horse.—
The Colonel was no believer in ghosts, but
the neighing was too much like that of his old
favorite to be any longer disregarded. He
got up and went to the door, and there—what
a sight for sore eyes!—he saw indeed the very
identical old horse, shivering in the night air
and looking most reproachfully in bis niastt rs
face* The heart of the old Revalutioner smote
him—fur it was nmv apparent that the poor
beast had never been dead—hut only dead—
drunk—and that he had acted with too
much precipitancy in divesting him of his
hat was to be done ! The horse begged
most piteously in such language as he -could
use, and asked, as plainly as a dumb bc£st
could, to have his skin put on again. The
old lady was consulted, and being very handy
with her needle, she readily sewed the hide
on again, which being still moist, soon grew
as fast as ever to the flesh of the animal, who
lived sevwn years afterwards—and never a
gain was guilty of eating rum-cherries.
a whiskey-tippler, and a drinker of that most
abominable of all compositions, called punch.
Go home, Sir, and reform yourself, and be
come temperate in your eating and drinking,
and you will have no need of my advice
An Irishfishing smack coming alongside
of an American ship, off Cork, one of the crew
asked the captain of the ship if he did not want
a fine fish ! The captain asked Pat what he
would take for the one in his hand. “Be me
shout,” says Pat, “you may have it for nothing
ftt all & so you may, if you will give me a bot
tle of rum;” which was accordingly given him.
He then showed the CapU another fish and told
him he would make him a present of that for
another bottle of rum; to which the Captain
agreed; when Pat looking him full in the
face, observed, “sure, Mr. Captain, I know
your name.”''“What is my name?” says the
Captain. “ Oh botheration,” says Pat, “ you
know as well as I do; why need you ask?”
Coxjrovi. Affection. —After the heat of
the late contest in the streets of Paris had
subsided, a woman was seen running about
and eagerly examining every dead body in
tier way—she was looking for her husband.
A gentleman who bad watched her progress
for some time, endeavoring to console her
witht!ho hope of his being yet alive. “No,
he must be killed; I have not set eyes on
him since the morning ; I hope in God I shall
find his body, for he has got tkt key of the
street door in his pocket.
r 1 * ll 0
Charles 11. was once told by a courtier,
that someone had observed, that “ his nia
jesty noversaid a foolish thing, nor did a
wise one.” The king- replied “that is easily
enough accounted for, since my acts arc my
ministers, and my speech is my own.”
From the Portland Advertiser.
ADVENTURES OF A NEWSPAPER.
You hare all heard of the adventures of a
penny, a sixpence, a shilling ; but none of
you ever read of. the adventures of a news
paper. lam one of the hebdomadals ; and
and you will just give an ear, I will tell you
Know ye tlien that lam being of might
and meanness—jiowefful and weak—saucy
and servile. Igo every where—from the es
critoire of the lady to the palace of the king.
1 raise up and knock down kingdoms ; tell
and truths, prodigies, and littlenesses ; am
abroad at all times, talking to every thing.
Sometimes 1 speak in inuendoes,then in point
blank sarcasms, then in formidable para-,
graphs, then in joyful captions. Sometimes
lam hurrahing loi one state gained, then
crying for another lost. Sometimes intoxi
cated with joy, and then as mad as a “ march
Some say lam not refined. Not refined —
pho. Why, scraps of me this very moment,
are waving in the ringlets of the queen of the
dance as she courtisies through the cotillion.
1 am touching her neck (aye, what kings dare
not do) lam kissing her cheeks; I am float
ing all around her; and she ever keeps me
in her company, cherishes me and would not
part with me on any consideration. No mat
ter if I do talk boisterously of politics, and
cry out “ All hail Ohio,” or “ hurrah for Ken
tucky,” on the very piece she lias folded up
so beatufully and this too in flaming capitals,
she keeps me—even though she should be
flirting with Van Buren and talking wiih the
President. Yea I have danced with the ad
ministration when I was ferrretting out all
their secrets and they have looked upon me
with the utmost* tenderness, even when I was
ferretting out all their secrets ; and they
have looked upon me with the utmost ten
derness, even when 1 was ringing their death
And then I go to the palace itself; the
great ones praise me or censure rue stoutly,
just as 1 puli'them. Now you will hear one
calling mo “ able;” another ** scurrilous.”—
The Kentuckian -says I am “ ring-tailed
roarer the Congressman from Missouri “a
Mammoth;” the man from Maine “ a capital
fellow ; ’ the one from Massachusetts “ a
whale.” Thus talk they, if they be friends :
hut if enemies some call me “ a ditnder
head others a “ fool .” others “ a devil;”
others “ a liar.” But I bear it all, and am
neither pulled up nor depressed. My editor
thinks ho is the character of importance ;
but the-fool of a man little thinks that I do
all the talking and he only the writing; he
is the Clerk and lam the Master. Ayo, I
Igo where ho is nor admitted. They let me
into all kinds of society. I aofcwelcome with
the greatest, and visit them weekly ; and he,
poor soul with all his importance is never ad
mitted into their company ; I tell thewfaults
point out where they go wrong; and tell
them to got fight; but he dare not open his
mouth before them. Every body runs after
me; lam not only invited but paid for,
(querc, when you are borrowed by a whole
neighbourhood ? tod.) Enemies, and friends
are indiscriminately glad of my company.
Every body knows me; I am famous and im
mortal. See the multitude waiting for the
mail to get a peep at me; see them staring
at what I say; see how they push to get a
first sight; hear thousands echoing and re
echoing all my stories. How is it .with mv
editor? lie might travel forever and no one
would know him; notone would ask for him ;
no one would take the trouble to look at him.
And he might talk till the 1 judgment day in
propria iwrsona, and not a Soul would’ think
of repeating ins sayings; but only let me put.
them m print, and then see how important
they became. lam the man and lie is the
tool I-work with.- * i
True this omnipresence of mine might sub
ject some to mortification. Go to the tavern
and - see How I am maltreated. Hear two
bumpkin* canvassing my merits. (I hear the
whole.) Ilear two village politicians not re.
gardirtg my presence, lashing and praising
me just as their ideas happen to be. Oh that
I could tell my editor w hat some folks say
about him, lie would not sleep a wink for ten
years to come, for he by the way, is a mealv.
mouthed man, and cant put tip with jibes
thrown out by word of mouth, though he is
impervious to printed bullets. lam as tough
as India rubber ; and have not a superabun
dance of feeling.
Occasionally, I must eonfess, I do-descend
from my high estate, for 1 line trunks, make
bandboxes, paper rooms ; am used to wrap ar
ticles ; hold medicines of all kinds, sugars,
teas, coffee ; am put round ribbands, calicoes
silks, sarsnetts, bombazines—yea, a.ound old
shoes and new ones—but then there is re
demption for allthis degradation. The ladies
are glad to get me into their sleeves,a nd now
the “ leg of muttons” are in fashion, they take
hundreds of me under and round their arms.
And the gentlemen would give millions to be
where I am. lam often in the crown of
their bonnets; often in his excellency's
pocket. The honourable Mr. is glad to
look over me ; and all the Esquires in the na
tion are ever talking about me. But then the
rogues often forget my sarviees w hen I have
grown a little old and turn me to some menial
purpose. I will have revenge on them. Y'ou
often can see me in the libraries bound up in
leather, in elegant calf, moroeco, perhaps;
and then lam kept till a good old age, and
posterity looks at me with wonder ; and the
statesmrn searches me for history and facts.
I have fine times a journeying, and prome
nading. Igo from Maine to Illinois*, at the
public expense, and ride in the best carriages.
I go too, with the greatest rapidity, and tell
the backwoodsman on the Arkansas all that
is doing on the Atlantic. I shew him Lafay
ette at the head of the National Guard; I tell
of I’olotechnies, of the “great week," the
bloody contest under the embattlements of
the Tuillerics. I tell him of the insurrection
of the Belgians, the troubles in Saxony—and
I catch up words as they drop from the
mouths of kings, .and send them to the remo
test quarters of Christendom. See me trum
peting the -speeches of Wellington ; sec me
conveying parts of the speech of Sir R.
I’eelc to the Indies, or Americas, before his
honor has sat down. See what. I have done
in France, I have dethroned Charles X and
put Phillipon the throne. lam this moment
rocking Europe, and every crowned head is
startled at my presence. Talk not of armies
where I am. I can put them down in a
twinkling. I can-rouse up the whole people
—Furor ministrat arma —and nations shall
be in collision by my mandate. I work w ith
an instrument called Public opinion. I form
it and guide it—and it lays hold of thrones
with the grasp of a Hercules, and tumbles
them to the earth.
Some call me a tattler ; but what of that;
it is my business; I am paid for cronicling
every thing; and I think it as important
to tell what John Randolph did before the
Autocrat and the Empress of the Russians,
as to tell of the wars and troubles in the
Netherland. I give you marriages k deaths.
I tell you of shipwrecks, and offcasts and il
luminations. I puff your scholars, your au
thors. I raise you to the skies and tumble
you to the earth; I carry your advertisements
to every mans house; give you prices currents
and shipnews, “ good luck” and bad luck.”
In short I am a very potent sort of a being
Fools give me a kick, & swear about “libels”
and “ editors” and turn up therr noses at news
papers ; but there is not one that does not
tremble at my nodding, and whom I cannot
put in passion and make him “ tear it to
rags.” Yes,'gentlemen, you cannot do with
out me ; you must take me, good, bad, or iti
differeut; lam a friend to you all, except the
villain “ borrowers” and reading thieves, that
go to the barber shops and taverns to get a
squint at me—and them, by the soul ofFaus
tus, my purchaser is a fool not to blow them
sky high; yes,sky high sir, I wish every Scrap
of news they steal from my sheet were so
many porcupine quills tearing tfeeir way
through the eyes to the brains. I warrant
you they would not steal longer.
TIMES GONE BY.
The times of old—the good old days of
frankness and honesty and singleness of heart!
Their memory lingers around us like sun
shine upon ruins, or like the incense of flow
ers whose beauty has been trampled beneath
the feet of the spoiler ? We fear the glorious
days of our country have gone by—that the
characteristics of her children have departed
—that the luxuries and vices and fashions of
strangers, have usurped the beautiful plain
ness and simplicity—the freedom, the gene
rosity and the bravery of the nation.
A false and evil spirit has gone over the land,
undermining tjie foundations of her strength,
and despoiling her real beauty—lopping away
the noble oaks of her forests—the rough-fea
tured but useful products of her soil, to give
place to the graceful, but worthless exotic
It has penetrated every where —from the
thronged village to the isolated farmhouse;
and the plough has been exchanged for the
insignia of professional life, and the spinning
wheel for the piano.
’Tis an evil change;—and we fear that
there is no going back to out original ground
Strange—that the young farmer—he, whose
associations of life’s purest and dearest en
joyments are with the homestead of his an
ceetors should so readily -leave the beaten
and proved track of honourable industry, for
the uncertainty and dangerand mortifications
of more fashionable pursuits. Strange, that
he can thus leave the hills and streams ofhis
boyhood—the blue skies that bent like a
blessing above hirchildhoori—the sanctuary
of his father’s fireside—the open communion
of his neighbours—the playmates of his in
fancy—the companions of his opening' man
hood—the very graves of hisfathere—Whore
will ho again find the deep affection of the
friends he is leaving ?—Where again will the
eye of love beam so kindly on.him, and where
will the grasp.of friendship be ns warm ahd
as sincere as in his own beloved birth-place?
Does-her hope to find them in the gay circle
of fashionrble folly ?—Miserable will be his
disappointment. For him there will be no
vexation—and changing hope—and fear—
slight, indignity,-'resentment, and hate—con
fidence misplaced,-and vows broken, and af
fection outraged. It is in the solitude and
awful beauty of nature that heart answers to
heart, thrilling with a passionate touch the
mysterious chords of human sympothv—■ rath
er than in the artificial beauty and the heated
atmosphere of fashionable existence.
His life net spared by a British officer, at
Brandywine, as has been stated.
Mr. Cooper, the distinguished American
author, has addressed from Paris, under date
of 28th January, a letter to Mr. Skinner, Ed
itor of the American Turf Register and Sport
ing Magazine, on the subject of taming wild
horses; and takes the occasion to correct an
historical error by the following observa
“While troubling you with this letter, I
will take an opportunity of correcting an er
ror, which has been very generally circulat
ed, and is even in numberless magazines.—
Among others who have fallen into the mis
take to w hich I allude, Bigland, in his “View
of the World,” relates an adecdote, by which
if would appear, that at Brandywine, the life
of Washington was at the mercy of the cele
brated British rifleman, Major Ferguson, who
was too generous to profit by his advantage.
“Mr. J. P. De Lancey, (father of Mrs.
Cooper,) though of a well known American
family, was regularly educated for the British
Army, in which he received a commission at
eighteen. In 1774 he was quartered.at Phi
ladelphia, with a part of his corps, the tßth
of the Roy.il Irish. Washington was then a
delegate in Congress; and in consequence of
his having dined w ith the mess of the 18th,
and of the intercourse which naturally existed
between gentlemen of the different provinces,
through then- family connections ami ac
quaintances, Mr. De Lancey had a perfect
knowledge of his person. When the army
of Howe was preparing to embark for the
Chesapeake, a corps of riflemen was organiz
ed, by drafting picked me n from the different
regiments, and was placed under the com
mand of Major Ferguson, who had invented,
several improvements in the Rifle, and who
had acquired great skill in the use of that
weapon. Of this corps, Mr. De Lancey was
appointed the second in command. During
the manoeuvres which preceded the battle of
Brandywine, these riflemen were kept skir
mishing in advance of one-ol'the British co
lumns. They had crossed some open ground,
in which Ferguson was tvounded in the arm,
and had taken a position in the skirt of a thick
wood. While Mr. De Lancey was occupied
in arranging a sling for the wounded arm of
Ferguson, it was reported that an American
officer of rank, attended only by a mounted
orderly, had ridden into the open ground, and
was then within point blank rifle shot. Two
or three of the best marksmen stepped for
ward, and asked leave to bring him down.
Ferguson peremptorily refused; but he went
to the skirt of the wood, and, showing him
self, menaced the American with Severn! ri
fles, while he called to him, and made signs
for him to come in. The mounted officer
%aw his enemies, drew his rein, and sat, look
ing at them attentively for a few moments.
A sergeant now offered to hit the horse,-
w ithout injuring the rider. But Ferguson
still withheld his consent, affirming that it
was Washington reconnoitering, and that he
would not be the instrument of placing the
life of so great a man in jeopardy, by so un
fair means. The horseman turned, and rode
slowly way. When the British army reached
Philadelphia, Mr. De Lancey was promoted
to a majority, in another corps, and Fergu
son, not long after, went to the South, w’here
he was killed at King’s Mountain. To the
last moment Major Ferguson maintained that
the officer, whose life he spared, was Wash
ington; and it is probable that the story in
circulation has proceeded from this opinion.
But on the other hand, Mr. De Lancey, to
whom the person of Washington was so well
known, constantly affirmed that his comman
der was mistaken. I have often heard Mr.
Dc Lancey relate these circumstances, and
though he never pretended to be sure of the
person of the unknown horseman, it was his
opinion, from particulars of dress and stature,
that it was the Count Pulaski.
Though in error as to the person of the in
dividual whom he spared, the merit of Major
Ferguson is not at all diminished "by a knowl
edge ol the truth. I correct the mistake, on
ly because the account is at variance with the
probable situation of Washington, at so im
portant a moment; and because every cir
cumstance codneeted with the public or pri
vate history of that illustrious man, has great
interest, not only with his country, but the
whole civilized world.
Very truly yours,
J'. fenmore cooper.
Puberty. —There is a wild, buoyant feel
ingrjf independence, a strange mixture of
sadness rand enthusiasm, that alternately
sways the mind at the idea of throwing off
forever the trammels of scholastic bigotrv,
and putting on instead the togi virilis of
manhood. While we are at school—it is
useless to mince the matter—we are, in eve
ry sense of the word, children, with whom
ladies may venture to be familiar before com
piny; superannuated nurses to visit and sa
lute by some old nursery abridgement, that
adds any .thing but grace or dignity to our
patronymic; and indescribable grandmothers
—those venerable and grotesque abomina
tions to treat half-price, to the pantomime
of some minor thcatrfc. But when once we
have bidden adieu to the school-room, the
scene becomes altogether' Changed. In an
instant we take our proper sttßion in society.
We rise to the moral altitude of manhood bv
virtue of our incipient whiskers-and instinc
tive impudence; are no longer cyphers, but
have a stake in the great affairs of life, and
may even go the extreme length of sporting
a political opinion.
A weighty Jury. — I’he officer whoso pro
vince it is to summon the County Court Ju
ries for Preston, having been found fault with
at the last Court lor bringing together so poor
a jury, was Requested on tho next occasion
to invite a more weighty ahd substantial class
-of men. Accordingly,on Tuesday last he in
troduced into court a set of jolly looking fel
lows, whose weight and substance wHI not be
questioned, when it is known that the twelve
good men- and trud,-on being put into the bal
ance at the close of the days business, were
found to weigh no less than 1 ton 7 cwt. 21
lbs or 3,045 lbs. the lightest man anion" them
being 225 lbs.
Of all the vices, vanity and the lovq oflawi
suits arc the most difficult to correct.
“.Other employments and artjfw
bellishment, but Agriculture isJh „
lit;.” - ■
The first employment of the first inhabitants of
the world was agriculture: it gave direction t ■
their labors and supplied their Wants. Their dc*
scendants, the greatest potentates of the.earth i.
nil civilized countries, have not disdained to fol
low the plojigh—-and in many countries, at
presen day, husbandry is at once the amusemtu '*
and delight of the affluent, and the support of that
numerous and important class which constitute?!
the strength and bulwark of a nation. From th
(lays ot Chinenoung, 3000 years before Christ tl
Emperor ol China has annually held the plough
and been honored as the head husbandman of th
empire. The heroes and statesmen of arteier?
Koine were found to-day in the-camp and the fo
rum,and to-morrow at the plough. It is n- i
strange that the eulture of the earth has been the
business and pleasure of the world in all ages: u
is the parent, the basis and support of all other
arts: without it civilization ceases, aud popula
tion fails. Other employments and arts serve fat
the embellishment , but agriculture is necessary fo:
the support ot human life. It is an employment in
w hum too many persons cannot be engaged. Th.
literary professions may be crowded;"trade and
commerce may be overdone; too great a number
engaged in these starve each other. But in anew.
fertile & extensive country like the United States,
every one who industriously and skillfully tills the.
ground, while lie adds fo the public good, secures
liia own ladqiendvmce.
it docs one 9 heart good to see a tnerry
rouiid faced former. So independent and
yet so free from vanity and pride. So rich,
and yet so industrious, so patient and pers< -
t ering in his calling, and yet So kind, social
and obliging. There are a thousand noble,
traits about him which light up its character.
He is generally hospitable ; eat and dunk
with him, and he wont seta markon you,and
sweat it out ot you with a double compound
interest at another time—you are welcome.
He will do you a kindness without expecting'
a return by way of compensation, it is not so
with every body. He i 9 generally more, he
nest and sincere—less disposed to deal ir
a low underhand dinning than -many I could
name. He gives to society Its best support
—he is the edifice of government and th.
lord of nature. Look at him in homespun
and gray black, .gentlemen; laugh as you wilt
but believe me, he can laugh buck if ho
“Not one immoral, one corrupted thought,
“Gtw wwd, when dying, hewould wish to blot.*
“ It is good for us to be here.” —Matt, xxii, 4.
It was indeed good for the little band of
disciples, to witness the rise and natural and
glorious transfiguration of their friend arc
master. To hear a celestial voice prole aim,’
the meek and lowly Jesus, Son of flic Most
High God—in whom he was well pleased—
and directing them with more than human?'
eloquence to hear him, “ who spake as never
Doubting and timid as they were, a vision
so transeendently glorious, must have d.s
pellcd the mist of darkness and the niisgiv -
ings which brooded over their minds. Well
then might the ardent and impetuous Apos
tle, always foremost in expressing the nature
and sentiments of hi* heart, exclaim—“ Lord
it is good for us to be here.”
But although the ef Gfed has long
since ascended to the bosom of his Father,
and opr Father—his Gd and our God—tin
spirit and the institutions of the holy religioK
thus established, remain as imperishable as
their founder, exerting a mighty influence
the character and prospects of men. The
spire rears its head in every part of the h; .
bitable globe—and although no miracle in,
parts the wonderful works of God in differ
ent languages, education fostered by Chris-’,
tianity has scut forth the oracles of God, anti
heralds to declare them to every kindred an.’
tongue under the canopy of Heaven—Thou
sands weekly assemble within the consecra
ted walls of these houses of God, and gates o'
Heaven, to render-up the tribute of grateftj
and adoring hearts. To listen to the learner,
exposition of men, deep in sacred literature
l’o the splendid and powcrftf! diction and tin
persuasive eloquence of God’s ministers.---
These lcel as did Peter when he addressed t-
Messiah the ejaculation—“ It is good for
to he here."
The good man, who at the dawn and clos
of each day, assembles-with hisr beloved par V
ncr, and the dear objects cf their fondest cf.
fections, around the family altar, to raise tl .
voice of praise and thanksgiving tot-lie Grc. .?
Father and Founder of Families, for that ws.
profusion of good which has been so bounti
fully scattered around them, feel that it is
good for them to be there. It is good to
visit the bed of languishing— to go to tl .
house of mourning, and to follow to thegwu -i
the “ friend bcloned,” foroccasions like tin
weaken the heart’s hold on existence, lead i.r
correctly to estimate the value-of sublunar ,
tilings, and mi** our thoughts and wishe* ti
those mansionwthere all tears will cease *o
flow, and where every eye shall sparkle wilt
ineffable joy. Where angels, and the spirt -
of the just mad# perfect, unite with the rrx ,
rapturous acclamation in the Bcntij*ent, •“
is good to he ht rje.”
It is observed that all the virtues are rrpr -
sent.-d by pairfnrs; and statuaries under I
- forms; bit if any ef them have a more
particular title 0 that sex, it is modesty,
Do yon wish|<t happiness 1 Enjoy
possess, withou'ironsuming life in vain exphny ,
tions; learn to bipatient, and set proper bourn 7 * V
ries to your desfes. Without moderation; nr'
filing can be reaijy enjoyed.