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LITCHFIELD ENQUIRER. -- ------... --- --- • ... :_____ '4i VOL. V. LITCHFIELD, (CONN.) THURSDAY, JANUARY 20, 1831. No. 52.—Whole No. 240. fi.ltc$fteltt Enquirer: PUBLISHED EVERT THURSDAY HORNING, By HENRY ADAMS. TERMS. To tillage and single mail subscriber* 2 dollars per year, payable before ilie expiration olsix mouths. To companies of any number over six, $1 50 per year, payable as abovK To companies less than six, i $1 75 per year, payable ns before. CJ’25 cents w ill be deducted from each of these prices when payment j is made in advance. These prices are exclusive of mail or stage charge for transportation. No papers will be discontinued until all arrearages nr* paid, except at the Hist relion of the editor. Notice of a wish to discontinue must be given hefure the expiration of the year. Advertising. One square, three insertions, $1, and the same proportion for to o or more squares.— Half it square 75 cts. Continuance over three weeks, 20 per cent per week. A liberal deduction made for advertisements continued 6 or 12 mouths. Administrators’ nod Executors’ Notices, $1 GO Commissioners’ Notices, 1 25 All communications must be post-paid. T1ie following excellent Tale lias been some time mi banil, bnl we have not before found room for it.— Jl was we believe first published in the Boston Tran script, nod ascribed to the pen of J. G. Whittier, ol Hartford:— THE SCOTCH PEDLAR. lit one of our August days,such as will come, in hotness ; when the sand dries the sitocs to parchment and sweats the brow with saturation, as though the brain was creeping out through skull-pmts and pore ; a man was seen coming into a faim-house, with a Runyan pack on his back. lie was on the wrong side of fifty, seemed fatigued, and looked as though heat and humanity wore at tremendous variance. Jt may not be known generally that he who is dry or hungry, by the simple asking, will obtain : meal and drink almost any where in our village ; and the fact of giving and receiv ing is considered neither charity nor beg ging. If you ask for water, the reply would i be, would you not prefer cider I and one is i as free as the other. If a family are not i ut dinner, 4 come and take a scat with us,’ is the common invitation of every day, if you tiro a stranger; ami so common are these practices, that they are not put down to the credit of hospitality, but considered as matters of course. The pedlar of whom 1 have spoken, with but little ceremony, disencumbered himself of his pack in the largo kitchen into which he had ushered himself, and after exercising his handker chief about his nose, face and cars with : great industry for a few moments, inquired of a lady somew hat near his age, w ho sat at n wheel spinning her 1 pound of llax,’ whether ‘ site ditma think it vera warm the day 1’ Sho stopped the circumgyrations <>| her noisy help-meet of industry, eleva ted her spectacles and said she thought it was. Cold water was asked for, and ci der was as usually produced. The stran ger, with a broad Scottish accent, inqui red how far it was to a tavern, for he was hungry, and was followed by a icply that it was five miles, and as it was 4 after tute,’ he would be too late for dinner, during which the table, 4 span clean,* of white pine, was spread, and the hostess placed on the board what had been left at dinner, consisting of boiled salt beef and pork, potatoes, cooler than the guest, brown bread, baked with care, and the w hole to bo washed dow n by • old orchard’ alias cider. The stranger fell to, and did justice to each. After this, was brought forth (the pride of our dairy woman) cheese. The stranger, as he dis cussed each and all, would throw curious and inquiring glances at the 4 gude w oman,’ as he called her, and he seemed to he peer ing about the room like a llthjf or n pur chaser. After having his inner man re freshed, he observed, 4 Madam, 1 maun pay I now for the dinner, and the vinegar, and the curds, and you maun as wcel tell me how much o’ the siller ye lack ?’ 1/ you ever saw a storm, now it was to be scon in its violence. 4 Curds !' quoth she, 4 my best new milk cheese to be called curds! Cheese I made with nty own hands! Cheese fit for the President ! and nty hus band’s cider called vinegar 1 you black guard pedlar you, go about your business ! and then she took a pinch of snuff and re sumed—4 talk to me about paying ! as though I wanted money for a meal of vict uals'; I’ll let you know who is who, and what is what !—And let me tell you my husband’s name it Jonathan Twist, and he’ll twist you my fine fellow ! I knew you was an outlandish man, the moment you began your lingo, and if there is any law, I will have you before the ’squire !’ The pedlar eyed her with most consum mate nnn-chalance on the occasion, and with great gravity, said, 4 the curds wltilk I gathered dOubiless were cheese, but be ing, as ye term it, an outlandish* mon, I gi it the wrang name ; and foreby a’ the rest, that it ha’ born made by yer ain scl’ to give to a pure pedlar like, the’ ye winne tak his money, 1 beg you to forgie nte. The ci der wltilk is unknown aniaist our bonte braes o’ Scotland, is very gude, even wer ye to ca’ it vinegar, to a puir traveller that hath'a weary pack o’ his shoulder. Had ye nae better lak the siller and let me gang 1 uwa V There was a softening in the good lady’s brow, and as she gathered up the dishes, she seemed to collect her good humor.— She avowed that the cheese might not have been so good es Iter last year’s and offered that he might try any that was cut in the cheese-room, and admitted that two deyebofore, she told her husband to tap a new barrel, but he could not find the apike (tablet. The pedlar declared * he dinna care as to the material o’ his dinner, for whilk he wur thankfu’ and to the leddy who had pro vided.- Biit,’ said he, * I wad like to ha a glimp at yere gude moil. He wad like to hear from an auld frien’. Did he nae gang upon the seas in ither days ?’ ; The dame nibbed her spectacles with 1 the cover of her apron, and said, * yes, hard I times he bad too, and w hen I married him i I stopped his sea fairing life: poor man, ho had to live on salt beef and no turnips and cabbages, nor nothing else for months, and then instead of drinking cold water fight out of the spring, he was obliged to take it out of a cask where it had been three months—and then on dark nights had to climb up rope ladders to haul in his sheet, and that too when he was almost froze—and then to keep a log book, when there was no wood to make a fire in the ship—and then to sec to the cook, when there was nothing to cal in the vessel.— Anil then, to cap all, ho went to Scotland where they stick up posts for people to rub their b.icks against, was himself oblige cl to use sulphur, and came home smelling terri bly of biimstone.’ During this speech the pedlar looked se rious and humorous, and once or twice rather winced under some undcfinable feel ing. • YVeel leddy,’ said be, * the people o’ Scotland are not watir folk after a’.— They like their kirk and kindred, and nev fir fasli themselves about ither folk matter.’ In reply, slio asked of what she termed [lie outlandish man, whether he belonged to Scotland. Upon an affirmative answer, she then told him that her Jouathan had re vived n great favor * in them are foreign jails’—and if lie come from ‘thereabouts,’ 10 was welcome to stay a month. While his conversation was in transitu, lie was ansacking his wallet and finally produced i silver thimble, which lie offered to the voman,observing that the 1 ane she had on, vas o’ brass and wad bring sores’—-she do dined and said she had worn her own wenty years and did not likn to change it. she then went to what is called the sink •com door, and blew a tin horn to summon icr father and progeby home from their lu joi*. » • • i . I __ t_ i ii n mi tin mil iiiv? 91111111 m ' iK* »*'is id by h sturdy weather beaten old man, a trapping sou of about 30, six feet high, a due-eyed youth of about 14, pale and sick y, nnd a young girl of a little more than L5, barefooted and beautiful,except that the mu bad kissed Iter cheeks too warmly.— Flie old man when he came in cast a look if inquiry upon his wife, and then on the ttranger. IIis wife said that * a pedlar 'pointing him out) bad come from Scotland, tear where Donald M’Saunder* lived, and lie thought be might like to ask after the nan who bad given him such a lot of inn ley when lie had not got but six cents in lis pocket.’ The old man shook hands villi the stranger—sent his six foot son to ap a barrel of bis best cider—and began in be true style of New-England, to com notice a conversation by observing it was rather warm—bad travelling,’ &c. In the mean while the eyes of the ped ar had twinkled over the inquirer, or rath 3r introducer of speech, and every body alse, and in broad Scotch replied, 4 It is line like the braes o’ Bannockburn.’ The old gentleman looking closer nt the pedlar, replied—4 No sir, and it seems that you are acquainted with those braes'?— have you any acquaintance in their neigh borhood 1’ ’ Vtdlar. 1 ken na mucle about them. Ptriffid. Do you know Donald M’Saund tlrs ? P. A leetlc—nap guile—nac guile. rJ\ Wliy, you will not say any thing a gainst him—lie was a rich and hospitable man—would do a favor to a stranger ? P. Then ye know mair about him than I ken and ye need na have speerctl at me. T. Who ore you ? P. A Pedlar that ha’ mad’ a glide bar giu wi* your gude woman for curds— cheese and the saut meat, and the vin—ci der, as she will attest. 7'. What is your name? P. Of nac consequence to you—tak’ your money for my cheer, or I gang about my business. T, No sir—no sir—you have slandered a friend of mine, and you shall answer for it—the friend of my young days shall not be traduced now. 1 have sons to protect him—If they cannot, I can. P. Veri week Let me gang my ways. 7’. No—you stir not till you tell more. P. Umpli—I am the man—and I will thank your lang legged chield for the cider —whilk is better than the last, begging your pardon Mrs. Twist aud ‘ Auld lang syne,’ to you but yankee wine. T. Are you Donald M’Saunders ?—but you look like bini—you a pedlar? and in this country too ? why this farm is yours and all 1 have. You carry a pack ! sons, daughter, wife—all of you! Here is he who owns all that we possess—his money has fed us with our labor for years. Do any thing and every thing which ho says you must do, unless against conscience, and I know he will not tell you to do any thing against that. Here he shook the pedlar bv the hand with no countiugroom grip. The pedlar preserving his gravity •aid! that ‘ lie didna like the ceremony ot having his shouldor dislocated, but he bo ned to be forgiven for the curds and the Vinegar. The sii feat fallow was first in (induced to him, of whom he asked the fol lowing questions : * What business wad you follow gin ye had the mind 1’ In answer, ' A farmer.’ Q. Ha’ ye got any siller V— * Yes, two hundied dollars by overwork in my father’s employ, and can now earn en ough to support the whole family and you too.’ Some snuff was used by the Scotch man on the occasion, and in reply, after long silence, lie said ‘ Braw lad—lie dinna need my care’—but slowly and carefully lie asked afterward, ‘should the auld man come to want and should the bairnes lack porritch, what should ye do, gin ye had the siller V Feed, clothe and watch over them, was the prompt answer. * Gang your ways my noble lad [leaving his Scotch] and there is a reward above and below, be yond that which I can afford.’ The pale young boy was next brought to him. His name was Henry ; there was thought on every lineament of his face ; weakness for agricultural pursuits in his limbs, but intel lect seemed to have embodied his whole frame. From this figure it would have seemed, that he was formed to have been early translated to another sphere. Ho never was cast for a farm house—he seem ed more like the ejements of nil exhalation, to bo carried on high from its precincts, than as one doomed to delve amid earth. The old pedlar asked his father, * and what do ye cu’ this !’ The father said he could make but lit tlo of him, as he was to weak even to manage a flail or a plough—he was given to study of hooks arid such nonsense, and even when they had sent him out of (he fields from home, he would sit up till twelve o'clock at night reading. It had spoilt him for business, though he must say he was kind and obliging to nil around him. If lie was like the elder brother for busi ness, 1 should never fear wan'.’ The pedlar placed his eye upon the boy, who was sitting in the corner of the room read ing his hook, and as ha looked at the wast ed lad, u twinkle of interest like a sunbeam through the corner of a cloud lit upon his brown hair from the eyes of the pedlar.— There was that visible, and plainly visible, which interests all who are not strangers to the strange formation of human intellect. It was a something fur beyond human rea •a.ltl,*!. III.,. i I,.. oliinili lui'lt'IIM soiling, which iikb ino stamp oi nniven, impressed a kindredncss on tlio heart that called the pedlar to show kindness to tlio hoy. He came to him blushing, und tlio pedlar told him that lie had tilings to sell, and asked what he should prefer! * A rib hen for Maria.' The pedlar replied * I can gio ye a glide one for the sma’ sum o' saxty rents.’ The little fellow declined, ns lie had but sixty two and a half, nnd ho owed It is mother four coins of the whole. The pedlar fumbled over his pack, told his youthful trader, there was one ribbon worth a’ the siller which he had to gi’ him, and he might pay him when ho liked—when he were able—or if he would take it from an auld, Scots pedlar us a free gift and gi’ it to his bonny sister, ho were right wel come.’ The lad hesitated and then bowed nnd received the ribbon. At this time the family were close urotind I his strange dealer of pedling wares. The father told his story of being in Scotland, away from his ship—of being robbed upon a moor— of meeting with a stronger his present guest —of his park and grounds, and hospitality, and courage of his friend there present, who had furnished many years since, the means whereby he was now at home, un der a roof of his own—that all he possess ed belonged to the pedlar before him, and that the least he could do would be to sup ply all his wants even at the expense of all that little he possessed. It wns rather laughable than other wise to see the good damo at once respectful and generous, offering her store of goods— stockings by the barrel, cheese by the toil, butter by the firken, and catnip by the bale. Next Nathan, the six f«v>t fellow, offering to work for him five years for his * vict uals,’ a* he termed it—the boy »tood with tears in his eyes in tlio corner and said nothing. 4 My young bairn,’ quoth the pedlar, 4 canna ye do naithiug for your fa ther’s frien’ l for-bye the ribbon I gio ye l’ ‘ No,’ said he, 4 I can only give you my gratitude.’ 4 Very weel said,’ replied the pedlar, 4 but your sma’ sliins can bring me iny pocktnanteau.’ It was brought instant ly by the sickly messenger. 4 What have you read my little frien’ !’ 4 Shakspear, ’and Burns, and Cicero.’ The twinkling eye of the Scotsman looked closer at the boy—4 Vera weel, nnd then ye ken the Latin; and how does the oration against Cataline begin !’ 4 Cano arma yirum’— 4 Toot tout moil, that is Virgil. The youth turned to his sister and burst into tears for his wild mistake. The pedlar called him again and asked him what was the beginning of Cicero—4 Quosque tan dem abuterc’—4 Stop,’ said the pedlar, 4 ye are a gude chid, and when I lack for the siller, I mun ca’ upon you. The rich man may lose a’ and ha’ his brain, while ye ha the' brain and the lo’ o’ God afore ye, the corn and the oil will be afore ye, and when the lung grass grows ower yere grave, it mun be a peacefu’ and honoured mansion o’ rest.’ The pack being brought he seemed anxiously engaged in examining us heterogenous commodities* wn^n lie drew from a corner of his portable shop, a small parcel neatly doue up, end holding it in one hand end bis snuff bux in the other, he •eked of the father, how much tiller it would eoet to send e bairn to college, gm he kept school i’ the winter T The old man replied that it would cost about four hundred dollars—his neighbor’s son had accomplished a graduation for that sum at a neighboring university by great prudence. ‘ Vera weel,’ said the pedlar, ‘your bairn there mun gang to college, lie is nae fit for any thing else, and there is six hundred ] dollars just to pay his way, and I will take i his note for twenty year, simple interest. ! Come here you pale faced loon, and say j winna ye gang to college V—The boy ! looked on him so gratefully that tiie pedlar ! took it for an answer, and with his usual; ‘ vera weel’ asked him, 'and what profess ion he would select 1’ The boy answered he did not know. * Whilk is the best— cannn be a minister to the kirk ?’ The lad i replied he could never be good enough for ! that. 'That proves,’ was the reply, ‘ that ye are amaist fitted already—but dinna ye meddle with physic and men’s lives—if ye are loo skilfu’ye will run hazards—if ye are ton ignorant, ye mon poison God's im age ; do become a Phoenix as they ca’ a bird wi’ lytreat tail and a lang nose—be an honest lawyer, and ye shall nivertyay the note for the six hundred dollar.’ The young scholar consented, and was sent off with a kindly pttll of the ear as happy as innocence and gratified desire could make him. Maria was then called upon, who came sidling up to the travelling vender, to whom in broad Scotch, he said—' Ye are i young lassie, and ye maun play the very Jeevil aiming the hearts o’ the young chiefs who will say very pretty things to ye—-I maun gi’ ye something to buy blank ets when ye shall marry some am*. It is muled in this parcel and line ane shall ken bow much—ye mun a’ o’ ye say tiaething ibout it. The rich man come to woo ye Maria and the gold and the land intice ye. The fop und the fule come, and by their gaud and finery deceive ye—let them a Innu lassie—chusc you one ol your sphere and line matter for his poverty, gin ho be licit in his mind and pure in his morals, and nviir than a’ that lie loes ye weel— tak* him, tak’ hint, if he be poorer than the puir pedlar seemed when he came for the water at your door—lassie the heart o’ sic an ane, has mail riches than is contain in that ragged pockmanleau—tak’ him lassie, and when his hair is gray as mine, he will still seem to you young and benutifu’—tak* him lassie, and when ye are mild yoursel’ and die, the prayer and the tear will gang up, like a pure gem to be worn on your brow in Paradise, und ye will look kindly down on (lie spirit that maun follow and kiss thee in the bright country above us.’ He then called Nathan and told him in his original droll manner, ‘Nathan, yo lang legged turf digger, wi’ big calves and two bundled dollar in siller, ye can get fodder enough and dinna lack the usseestance of a l»uir Scotch body.’ Nathan told him that in had already overwhelmed llio family ivitli benefits, and lie least required mon- j *y. ‘ Gang awa, gang uwa, yo loon,’ said j lie pedlar, 4 when ye lack the siller some ither mild fil'd o' a pedlar like ntysel’ will mine tiling and it to ye.’ The furnior began to make his acknowl edgements lor the fuvors received, and even begun to get out his pen, ink and pa per, to give notes for the amount, when he ] wns put down by the remark, 'Tout tout, mon, I ha nao kif or kin, and I hae liberty to do wi’ my money as I like s gin ye want to ho grncofu’ just yore ane scl, bring my pack for I mun be ganging.’ In spite ol entreaty, the offar of a horse, and every tiling else, he buckled on his pack, took his staff, and ‘glide even, I will gang this way sumo itlicr lime and tak’ a drop o’ your vine—cider, I think, glide leddy, ye ca’ it.’ ****** Yoars rolled on with their leamery ireau and like mountain streams passed unstamp ed with any remaining impress of event. The boy hud become n man—a young bridegroom—a lawyer of rising fame and distinguished talent. Maria was the bride of a virtuous, well educated farmer, nnd on the evo of their marriage broke the seal of the * pedlar’s gift,' as it was familiarly call ed, and found a draft of £600 on Scotland, which was cashed instantly by a broker.— On the eve of Henry’s marriage, a loud tap was heard at tho door, and in walked the Scottish pedlar, somewhat more grey, but still hale and hearty as ever. * How is a’ wi’ve the night V was his familiar ad dress, and he deposited his pack on the floor of the wedding room. Earnest to kens of affectionate remembrance were poured upon him, which he seemed to en dure rather than receive. * It’s a’ very we el,* said'he, * and now Maria yc ha’ les sened the pack o’ the Scotchman, and can ye pay the siller o* your wedding gift 1’— The husband stepped forward and said that ‘by the prudence of his wife,he had become able to pay hulf, and give him security for the remainder in an estate worth treble the amount of the whole debt.’ Tire Scotch man surveyed him from head to foot, nnd in answer replied—‘ Umph,’(and he took a long pinch of snuff,) an honest chid that— Maria remembers the direction.* Setting himself in the arin chair, unmindful of the minister, he askod Henry (who had mar ried) to step forth and * send awa* his bon ny bride.’ It was done. All but the fam ily were left. He then in tho fulness ol tone of an unawmmod vwice, and in broad English observed, * Read this—by it yt,u | will find that 1 am no pedlar—that I wu* I done end rieli in the well thronged etreeti of Edinburg—tlntt I was eccent ric— -t hat saw (it to leave the land that called me its own—my Scotticisms in this country were assumed—myself is my own—the ship waits to carry me to the land of my birth— I have become a Baron, and to the duties of the discharge of its office have I devoted the remainder of my days. I have known only one, and that is Henry, that 1 look upon worthy to inherit possessions, which to me are a pain. Henry, you and your bride must see me across the river, and when you come there you will meet not on ly with hospitality, but more than a father: yon must come within a year, for I find that the fountain of life is becoming dry, and that age is sending to death the poor Scotch Pedlar.’ Henry and his bride gavo the pledges, and they went over the waters soon niter the pedlar. Nathan went on with the farm and was comfortably rich ; Maria and her husband had a regular an nual visit front Scotland in the shape of gooj sound guineas, the old man and wife were comfortable and quiet in their aged hours, and the * pale boy' is now near the Golden Fleece in the good city of Glas gow, the successor' to the hewer out of his own high legal fame, and the successor to the fortunes of the eccentric baron aud the Scotch pedlar of America. Washington, January 4. The President’s house was open New Year’s day according to custom. About ten o’clock the multitude began to assemble. The day was rather fair than otherwise, hut somewhat cold. In about an hour, the spacious apartments exhibited n goodly number of beads. The Vice President, Mr. Calhoun, though in the city, is said not to have been there. That there ha* been a breach between him and the Pres ident, is true. It is thought that Mr. Me*Duffle’s joint resolution to amend tiie Constitution of the United States will be adopted. It limits the presidential term to four years—and provides that tio man shall be Prcsideul but .»• for ono term. The holidays are now over* and judging from the past experience, I presume the houses will now get prottv seriously to work, as they have but llttlo tirno befoio them. But should the trial ofJudgo Peck proceed at tlin rate it has done hitherto, T do not see how much else can he attended to. Both houses are now obliged to meet at eleven, in order to despatch the mere forms of morning business:, if tliey got in to serious debate, this brief hour will not servo for a single speech ; but the court meets at twelve, and both houses are pres ent. Mr. Meredith makes his opening speech to day., Mr. Wirt, I fear, will for some tinie be, in a general degree, incapa citated from giving much attention to for ensic duties, by the severe pressure of do mestic affliction. Tito blow lie lias now sustained is said, by those who are ueqaint ed with the lovely daughter ho lias lost, to be peculiarly severe. We are entering with great ardfnir on the usual course of winter dissipation. The dignitaries of the land, and its beauty, and fashion have been in solemn convocation to see a whetd-bar row rolled up a rope at the risk of n%eckr (of little value it is true) and they are from night to night packed in parlors and sa loons, where cotillions ate performed in a varying space of about nine feet square.— Thu corps of milliners and back drivers join in mutual felicitations, while the dry-good dealers feel a doubtful joy.—iV. Y. Sped. Bankrupt Dividends.—The anecdote of the Barbel ’s failure in Wednesday’s paper reminded a friend to call and tell us of i loss be met with a few days since by tho bankruptcy of a professional polisher of hoots. The disciple of Day & Martin had his only change pair of siiow-trackors in possession, for tho purpose of * gibid on ’em do reel shine’—but as they did not ap pear at his door in due time in the morn ing, ho put on the yesterday’s dull pair and found his way to tho shop of Cufl'ee Brush, which was fast its a door-nail could make it. Cuff, however, showed the dark of his couutenauce through a broken pane, and said, ‘ Good motnin’ massa.' ‘ Open the door, Cuff.’ | * Oh, Massa, I bery sorry 1 can’t admit your honor.’ ‘ Can’t, why not V • Whv, I met misfortine, and been'’bli ged to turn bankrup.’ •Ah, that’s bad,—how much have you failed for 1* ‘ Tirteen dollar sebenty-one cent, Mas sa.’ • Well, hand out my bools. Cuff, make an honest settlement with your creditors, and you’ll do well enough.’ • Here’s one, Massa.’ • Hand along the otbei.* • Oh no, Massa, I only pays dihidend ob fifty centon de dollar.’—Bost. Traiu. A Blacksmith in Alabama having been slandered, was advised to apply to the 1 courts for redress. He replied, with true 1 wisdom, “ I shall never sue any body for ! slander; I can go into my shop and work out a better character in six months than.I could g«t in a court bouse in a 3 oar.” If wa did not take great pains, and wee* not at great expense to corrupt our nature, our nature would never corrupt us.