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" VOLUME 1. Devoted to Total Abstinence, Morals, Education, Literatnre, Useful Arts, Domestic Economy, and General Intelligence. NUMBER 3. Btrictly Tee-total, and B*cln?ire of all Matters of a Political or Sectarian Character, and of all Advertisements of lntoxlc?tj^^^^M?lUiig Establishments. BY GEORGE COCHRAN & CO.] WASHINGTON, D. C., JUNE 21, 1845. [FIFTEEN CENTS PER MOUTH. ^ PUBLISHED BVBRY SATURDAY, BY GEORGE COCHRAN <fc CO., WASHINGTON CITY, D. C. PUBLICATION OFFICE ON 8IXTH STREET, SOUTH OF PENNSYLVANIA AVENUE. TERMS OF ADVERTISING. ONE SQUARE, one insertion, FIFTY cents, or FOUR insertions for ONE DOLLAR. ONE SQUARE, 3 months 50 ?? ?? 6 u 4 00 " <? 12 " 7 00 Longer advertisement* in proportion. W FOURTEEN lines, or under, called a square. VT BU8INESS CARDS, of SIX LINES, will bo conspicuously inserted for FOUR DOLLARS per year, in advance. Apothecaries, Stationers, and others, wishing a column or half column, will be accommodated at the lowest rates. POETICAL FOUNT. " Here Nature's minstrels quaff inspiring draughts." For the Washingtonian. OH! GO TO THE HILL SIDE. BY E. C. J., or GEORGETOWN. Oh! go to the hill side, and when the wave, Is leaping, forth from its hidden cave, Then drink, while thy heart shall rise to heaven, That blessed stream, by thy maker given. Give rosy wine to the debauchee, But the water bright let it be for thee, When the arm is worn, and the frame is weak, And labor's dew is upon thy cheek ; And thou lay for a season the hammer by, And the hile, and plane, on the work-bench lie, From the ample jug let the water pour, And nerve, and sinew, are thine once more. Would you bow in chains to a ruthless king ? Would you see your prospects withering ? Would you grieve the heart you have knelt to gain? Would you plant in your pillow a thorn of pain ? And Rcorn'd alike, by the good and brave, Repose, at last, in a drunkard's grave ? Oh! no, my brother, then rouse thee up, And war prorlaim with the deadly cup ; To the pledge away, and enroll thy name, On tho tablet bright of undying fame; 'And then go forth with a manly brow, And keep, till death, your ennobling vow. From the New York Organ. 'TIS THE BANNER WE'VE CHOSEN. O, say can you see, as aloft to the breeze, "With Heaven's best rays ortit iilently B&rmlng, * Our banner display'd, with its emblems of peace, Our hope and our pride, Whilst with radiance stream* >ng; The bright star of Temp'rance the shadows dispel O'er the vot'ries of the wine-cup which enchantingly fell. 'Tis the banner we've chosen, O long may it wave, As a signal of hope, the suffering to save. '.Mid the darkness of night, when our sons and our sires, fiow'd their necks to the yoke of tho despot, en chaining The heart's fondest treasures and purest desires, From home and from us our belov'd ones estranging; 'Twas then that appeared the bright glim'ring of morn, And mid day's coming glories our banner was borne. 'Tis the barter, &c. The rapture we feel as delivered and free, By the power of the pledge froiu tho winc-cup's op pression, Unite us as brother*, whilst our Order shall be, As a fast-anchor'd hope, the redeem'd one's posses sion; And our banner, the signal of victory achieved, Float in triumph the bearer to thousands relieved. 'Tis the banner, &c. Then aloft in our van, as the u Sons" in the fight, In tho blest cause of Temp'rance are for vict'ry con tending, Shall our proud ensign wave, and our emblems delight The wand'rer returning, the sad one befriending ; Whilst beneath its.broad folds, in rapture and peace, The pris'ners of habit hear whisper'd release. 'Tis tho banner, &c. THE GRAVE. BY ROBERT JOSSELYN. Why should the good go there ? 'Tii a cold and dark abode For the holy men of praise and prayer, Who have dwelt so long in pleasant air And sunshine of their God. Why go the learned or wise To a house so close and damp ?? They can gaxe not there at the mystic skies, Nor watch the stars as they fall and rite, Nor read by the midnight lamp. Why go the rich and goy To a hut so mean and small ? No chance is there for a proud display : There is scarcely room in the walls of clay For the busy worms to crawl! But for him who struggles on In wild ambition's race; Who feels that the goal cannot be won? That his spirits droop and his strength is gone? 'Tis a quiet resting place. As for him who has weary grown Of a world that loved him not; Whose joys havo vanish'd, whose hopes have flown? Whose only wish is to be alone? Indeed 'tis on envied spot. Lore is a solitary leaf, but neither storm nor blight can fade it. Like the perfume that a dead flower sends forth, it is sweet when all -^tlifrgay sun has departed; when all its bloom is past, it has the tragranee of memory; it is the last lingering beam that grows long after the sun ana star have set?a refuge from the tempestuous and bereaving storms of life. POPULAR SEIBOTIOITS. " From grave to gny, from lively to severe." Fronj the Southern Literary Meaaenger. ANDERSON HEPBURN. An Extraordinary MAN.?rThe passengers in the steamer Pocahontas, which plies on the Potomac between Washington and Aquia creek, the point where they are transferred from the steamer to the cars for Richmond, should they observe the persons on the wharf at Alexandria, where the bast atop* for about three minutes, , will generally seo a tall man, six feet threo inches high, of muscular proportions, a mulatto* who has something to do with the transfer of the way-mail. At other times he may be seen with his Horse and cart, ready to serve those who have occasion for the conveyance of heavy articles from one point to another. A person casually noticing him would not pcrceive any thing to distinguish him from other cartmen that might happen to be engaged in their hum ble employment about the wharves, unless, indeed, his unusual height should attract a passing glance. But there is no man in that whole region like him. Many men work as hard, many make more money, some men are as tall as he, many may be as good natured in temper and as benevolent in feeling, but no man can compare'notes with him in the matter of saving human life in one of the most alarming extremities which falls to the lot of man?that of drowning. If he be not, by his first nature, amphibious, he has appended that quality to it so completely as to cause it to deserve the appellation of a second nature. The water and the land, the sea and the shore, arc to him the same for all practical purposes. He can stand in water, walk in it, lie upon it as calmly as an infant in the cradle, with his face towards the clue arch above or towards the green depths beneath ; can swim in any position and in any direction ; can plunge deeper into the aquatic abyss, and live longor in the nether element, than any other man. If any other man doubts | this, let him make the attempt with him. His > name is Anderson Hepburn. When Anderson was a boy, on a certain oc casion he started to go into the country; coming to. a bridge that spanned a sheet of water of considerable width, the toll for crossing which was, I think, four cents for foot passengers, he suddenly recollected that his pockets were des titute of money. Being resolute, he instantly determined to overcome the obstacle by draw ing, like others in difficult exigencies, upon the resources of his own genius. Disrobing his. person and consolidating his garments in one compact bundle, he lashed them with his sus penders to his head, and, plunging into the creek, was soon on the opposite side, much to the amusement of the gate-keeper. Having I accomplished his business he returned and recrosscd the water in the same way. Such are the triumphs of genius ! Byron might ; write better poetry than Anderson, but with i all his Hcllcspontic achievements he must have yielded the palm to him in swimming. The Hellespont would be but an inconsiderable bathing-tub for such a swimmer when his boy ish limbs had expanded into the stalwart pro-! portions of a six-footer. Then, all fearless, | could he lay his hand on ocean's "mane" and | listen to its roar, as ona overjoyed with such majestic music. What would not Napoleon have given for a few regiments of such men in his German campaigns! Expert swimmers have prided themselves much on the skill and power with which they have sported with the "yesty waves;" but where are the trophies of their art] To sit like the swan on the crystal lake, or sail like j the nautilus on the tempestuous deep, "trust ing to the billows and wantoning with the breakers," may be a graceful and enviable dis tinction, but confers on no man the character of a utilitarian. A fine distinction it is, and something to boast of, but with our hero these qualifications are not, as with your fancy swim mer, an end, but only a means to an end. That end is the salvation of human life. Anderson Hepburn has rescued nineteen human beings from drowning! Happy is that man or boy on whose person his vigilant eye alights amid the perils of the submerging process. With the instinct of a noble humanity he plunges into the water, no matter how deep or how gusty, and snatches the scared, screaming, panting, trembling vic tim from the grasp of the destroyer. He never pauses to deliberate, to consult probabilities, to hold " parley with unmanly fears;" he forgets there is such a being as himself; imagines no dangers, and seems to take it for granted he. has a commission to save all who need this particular kind of help. How few can give it! It must be instant relief or none; and he is the man for instant action. How many fond hearts has he filled with gratitude to overflow, ing! Who can forget such a deliverer ? On one occasion he saved three drowning men, who clung to him with such fierce tenacity, such preternatural wildness, that he was well nigh strangled with their convulsive efforts. But, happily for him, ho teems to possess a sort of superhuman impenetrability to that most contagious cf all emotions, sympathetic fear in a common danger, and his energetic spirit triumphs over all. Hisfifst successful effort was the rescue of himself from drowning, after having tumbled over the sides of a ship into the bay. A fine little colored boy once fell into a well in a dark night* with such appalling suddenness that not a sound was hoard from the sufferer by those who were two rods dis tant. He must have shrieked, but it was in the dark depths bcneatK The aporture in the pavement, near the pump, made by his break, j ing through the rotten sleepers under the bricks, was so small that an umbrella, which the boy carried, was left standing, or rather spread, over it. Other feet had, a few minutes before, passed over tho same spot. Two days were spent by busy men sounding and raking for the body. At length Hepburn came; he descended into the well, disappeared beneath tho muddy waters, laid his hands on the child imbedded in the mud, reappeared above the water to take breath, went down again aod brought up the dead body. It was some comfort to the poor grief-stricken mother to receive again her dead child. The faithful man could not, like the Prophet, restore the child alive to his mother, but he did what he could. When Hepburn is asked what it is that prompts him to jump in after every body that falls in the water, his answer is, "I don't like to see any body in distress." It must be ad mitted that he gives the best possible proof of the reality of his compassion and the sincerity of his sympathy. He has Been eulogized in ! the papers, and probably his received some tokens of gratitude, but ougHt not such a man to wear a gold medal 1 Has even a silver one been presented to him? I hqve never so heard. With or without medals, a tfue philanthropist, with a dark skin, is Anderson Hepburn, and those who know him can testify that tho modes ty of his demeanor is not Surpassed even by the heroic daring of his benevolence. Alexandria, D. C. v A. B. C. From the Baltimore Saturday Visiter. THE" RAZOR STROP ARAN'S SPEECH, Beforf the ,W4*hjfrgtonians. Ilenry Smith, the famous ?' Razor Strop! Man,' spoke before the Washingtonians on Monday evening. Inasmuch as a deep interest has been excited with respect to the history of j this reformed inebriate, (for such he does not shrink from declaring himself, like some half way men,) we concluded to report the main facts of his " experience." Here they are : I will tell you, said he, how I came to be a teetotaler. One of my shopaates came to me one day, when at work, and isked nte to go to a temperance meeting with hin. I said I would if he would lend me a shilling to get some beer; he said he would if I would n>t spend it till the meeting was over. I told hm I wouldn't; he lent me one. When I goi home, I told my wife I was going to the tdfopcrance meoting, but I did not like to go in the old jacket; would she go and get the loan of her brother's coat ? she went and got it; I put it on ; asked how it fitted? She said very well; so it did, round tho waist, but the sleeves were some three or four inches too short. I found out a way to make that all right, by stuffing my bands in my pants' pockets. As I was goiig to the meeting, I did not think of being a tenperance man. I did not say, " wife, all the wretchedness and misery that I have suffered tias been endured through strong drink." I diJ not say, "wife, if it wasn't for strong drink, I might have always been respectable." I did not say, " if I do not leave off drinking strong drink I must come to the work-house, or prison, or to the gallows, for I get worse and ^orso." I did not say, " wife, it is all through strong drink that I have to shove my hands into my pants to hide the shortness of my coat sleeves!" No.' I did not say any of these things; but I had hold of the shilling, and I thought what I would do. with it when the meeting was out; got to the church where tho meeting was held ; 6ome one opened the pew door ; I should not if they had not; I kept my hands in my pockets. The meeting commenced; Mr. Whitaker, from Manchester, a reclaimed drunkard, spoke ; he told of the many troubles he had seen through strong drink, and said how happy and comfort able he might always have been, had it not ! been for strong drink ; and he said. " if there is any one in this meeting that has suffered from strong drink, I would say to him try tem perance, for," said he, "no man knows any thing about temperance except he try it." Then, for the first time, I began to think that all the wretchedness and misery I had suffered was through strong drink ? I began to think it was all through strong drink that I had to bor row the coat; I began to think it was all through strong drink that I had to set there with my hands in my pants' pockets. (Cheers.) When the meeting was over, I told my wife I would try it for one month ; I did, and at the end of the month I found myself much more comfortable. When I was a drunkard, wife cried, father cried, mother cried, Ann cried, Mary cried, Ted oried; but I had not been a temperance man only a month before wife sung, father sung, mother sung, John sung, j Ann sung, Mary sung, Ted sung, and grand j father sung, and I sung, and I bought a frying j pani and put a good steak in it, and that sung, and that is the singing for a working man, when he is hungry. Finding myself much t*??r, I went and signed the pledge for life, and with u 1 shall hold on. (Tremendous 1 enfibring.) If there should be any lady or geutleinan in this meeting this evening, that never saw a drunkard's home and furniture, I will tell them what sort of a place it is. [ Here Mr. Smith recited, wiih inimitable effect, the satirical poem, entitled "The Drunkard's Home," which we have, for con venience, caused to be inserted in our Humor ists' Book.] When I first got acquainted, with strong J drink, it promised to do great things for me. It promised me liberty?and I got liberty. I had the liberty to see my toes poke out of my boots?the water bad the liberty to go in at the toes and out at the heels?my knees had the liberty to come out of my pants?my elbows had the liberty to come out of my coat?I had the liberty to lift the crown of my hat, and scratch my head, without pulling my hat off. Not only liberty I got, but I got music; when I walked along on a windy day, the crown of My hat would go flippery flap, And the wmd whistle, " How do you do ?" (A Laugh.) A man that kept a beer shop in England, had the sign of the bee-hive hung up over his door, and some poetry under it. It was a very bad house, and a very bad man that kept it. This is the verse he had under the bee-hive : " Within this hive, we're all alive, Geod liquor makes us funny; If you are dry, step in, and try The virtue of our honey." | I think that poetry was not right. It ought | to have been something like this : j Within this hive, we're dead and alive, Had liquor makes us funny; ' If you're dry, *t*p in, and ?*??]< try To diddle you out of your money. ( Loud laughter and cheers.) The speaker illustrated a portion of his re marks with a retort or miniature still, with which he extracted the pure alcohol from wine, and burnt it, with admirable effect, in the presence of the audience. He also took occa sion to commend, in warm terms, the new order of teetotalers, known as the "Sons of Temperance." He was repeatedly interrupted with loud and happy applause, which made the hall ring again. It was a glorious time, not only for the Washingtonians, but the friends of Temperance generally, who were present in | immense numbers. GOOD. A journeyman printer lately set out on foot' in the interior of Ohio, a distance of five hun dred miles, with an old brass rule and three dollars cash in his pocket. He soon found himself in Pennsylvania, and being weary, called at the inn of a Dutchman whom he I found quietly smoking his pipe, when the fol lowing; dialogue ensued: " Veil, Mishter Valking Sthick, vat you want?" " Refreshment and repoje." "Sitpper and lodgings, I reckon?" " Yes, sir, supper and lodgings." " Pe you a Yankee pedler, mit chewelry in your pack to cheat the gals ?" "No, sir; no Yankee pedlar." "A singing teacher, too lazy to vork V' "Nosir." "A chenteel shoemaker votsthays till Satur day night, and lays drunk in de porch ofer Sunday 1" " No, sir, or I should have mended my hoots before this. But I am not disposed longer to submit to this outlandish inquisition. Can you give me supper and lodgings ?" "Tshertinly. But vot be you? A book achent; taking honesht people's money for a little larnin' dat only makes 'em lazy ?" " Try again, your worship." "A dentisht, preaking te people's chaws, at a tollar a scong, and runnin' off mit old Shambock's daughter?" "No, sir, no tooth-puller." "Kernolojus, den, feeling te young folks heds like so many cabbitch, and charging 25 cents for telling their fortunes, like a blamed Yankee?" " No; no phrenologist, neither, your Exccl lency." " Veil, den, vot do tide are you ? Choost tell, and you shall have some of the best sassage for supper, and sthay all night, free gratis, without charging you a cent, mit a chill of whiskey to sthart on before breakfast. "Very well, your honor. To terminate the colloquy without further circumlocution, I am i an humble disciple of Faust?* prefeesor of the art preservative of all arts?a typographer, at your service." ? Vol ish dat ?" i " A printer, sir, a man that prints books and newspapers ?" M A man vot prints boos papers! Oh! yaw ! yaw! By Choopiter?aye, aye, datsh it! a man vot prints noospapers?yaw ! yaw! Valk up, valk up, Mishter Bfinter! Cheems, take de chentleman's pack off. Chobn, pring some junks to de fire. A man vot prints noospapers! I vtih I may W snot, tf WMWt ilrtiA yvu vo? a tailor."?Pitt$burgh Gazelle. THE FUNERAL. 0?| M How dreadfully that young man sobs, and yet he does not seem to be one ef the famHy. Do you know whose funeral it is 1 Is the one who weeps so bitterly a relative ?" " No; but he was once in love with the young girl whom he is now following to the grave. He is no relation. Some years ago he courted her, but suddsnly fell into habits of Intemperance, when her father forbade him the house. Since then, the poor girl has pined away under an appalling consumption, which has at last carried her to the tomb. The news of her death only, awakened him from the deli rium of intoxication. Since then, only three days, he has become a sober man, and volun tarily signed the Temperance Pledge. But, as you see, he ib a mere skeleton, and cannot live long." ? And is it supposed that she died from love 1 That is, of a broken heart ?" ? There can be no doubt of the fact?for before he became addicted to drink, few men could compare with him.for beauty of counten ance, or grace and symmetry of form. But he had higher qualities than those to recommend him. He bad a kind and feelingjieart?a noble and cultivated mind?polished manners?and was altogether a ripe scholar. Poor Charles. A better heart never throbbed in a human breast." ? You interest me much in his fate. How came such a man to fall a victim to intoxica tion?for I cannot conceive it?" "By resorting to a fashionable hotel in Chestnut street, in company with young men of fashion, members of a Club. Nothing is easier than to contract a habit, even when that habit leads to death and dishonor." The funeral now moved, and the two friends walked arm in arm in the procession to the cemetary, wrapped in gloomy reflections on the ravages of alcohol. M It is a sad catastrophe, indeed. How can a man who has thus murdered a girl that loved him better than life, rest in his conscience! It is a hard fate." ? To judgo from his present agony, I should not suppose he enjoyed any rest." "What age was she!" "Only eighteen* and an only daughter, Alas! alas!" ? What a deadly curse is this vice and its | haunts and temples! How can a civilised people tolerate them ? One would suppose a sense of common danger, would combine all good men in society, to discountenace and expel them." The coffin had now reached the grave. A prayer full of power and pathos from the attend ing clergyman, struck deep emotion into the hearts of all. The reformed inebriate shook like a leaf, as groans and sobs burst from hie bosom, while two friends could with difficulty support him. The service for the dead is at last ended. The coffin was lowered through the rattling cords into the grave. A wild scream broke from the inebriate, who dashing off his friends with frantic violence, flung him self into the grave, exclaiming?" Oh! Maria! Maria!" Numbers rushed to his assistance, and with some difficulty his insensible body was drawn from the grave?but all started back with hor ror, as one of his friends cried out?" Gracious God! he is dead !" m poor Charles !" said the benevolent cler gyman, " what a lesson you have left for the good-hearted, who yield from a desire to please other*, to the ineiduous temptations of the un feeling Libertine, who, under the shallow pre text of fashion, allure* to perdition, the weak, vain, and good-natured."? Saturday Amer. It is perhaps not generally known that black neDDer is a poison for many insects, i he fol lowing simple mixture is the best destroyer of the common housefly: Take eoual portions of fine black pepper, fresh ground, and sugar, say enough of each to cover a ten cent piece; moisten and mix well with a spoonful of milk, (a little cream is better;) keep that n your room, and you will keep down your flies. One advantage over every other poison a that it injures nothing else; and another, seek the air and never die in the house?the windows being open.?Cincinnati Chronicle. Advertising.?An exchange says, with more truth than is generally palatable, people always like to patronise energy and enterprise. When they see a dealer advertise liberally, they naturally infer that he hat an assortment he is not ashamed to have examined by all.