Harpers-Ferry free press. [volume], January 08, 1822, Image 4

About Harpers-Ferry free press. [volume] (Harper's Ferry, Va. [i.e. Harpers Ferry, W. Va.]) 1821-1824

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__ POETRY._
DARBY AND JOAN.
When Darby saw the setting sun1,
He swung his scythe and home he run,
Sat down, drank off his pint, and said,
‘ My work is done,- I’ll go to bed;’
4 My work is done !’ retorted Joan—
‘ My work is done ! your constant tone ;
But hapless woman ne’er can say
‘ My work is done,’ till judgment day.
-Here Darby hemm’d and scratched his
head,
To answer what his Joan had said—
But all in vain, her clack kept on—
‘ Yes, woman’s work is never done !
You men can sleep all night, but we
Must toil.’ Whose fault is that ? quoth he.
41 know your meaning,’ Joan replied,
But, sir, my tongue shall not be tied ;
I will go on, and let you know,
Wflat work poor women have to do.
First, in the morning, though we feel
As sick as drunkards when they reel,
Yes, feel such pains in back and head
As would confine you men to bed ;
We ply the brush, and wield the broom ;
We air the beds,-and right the room ;
The cows must next be milk’d, and then
We get the breakfast for the men ;
Ere this is o’er, with whimpering cries
And bristly hair, the children rise :
These must be dress’d and dos’d with rue,
And fed, and all because of you.
We must5—here Darby scratch’d his head
And fast retreated to his bed:
But grumbled this, as on he run,
4 Zounds ! woman’s clack is never done.’
At early dawn, ere Phoebus rose,
O’c! Joan resumed her tale of woes,
V< hen Darby thus—‘I5!! end the strife,
Be you the man, and I the wife ;
Take vou the scythe, and mow, while I
Will all your boasting cares supply.’
‘ Content,’ quoth Joan, gh e me my flint
This Darby did, and out she went.
Old Darby rose, and seized the broom,
And whirl’d the dust around the room;
Which having done he scarce knew how,
He hied to milk the brindled cow.
The brindled cow whisk’d round her tail
In Darby’s eyes, and kick’d the pail;
The clown perplex’d with grief and pain,
Swore he’d ne’er try to milk again :
When turning round, in sad amaze,
He saw his cottage in a blaze—
For as he chanced to brush the room
In careless haste he fir’d the broom ;
The fire at last subdued, he swore
'l he broom and he would meet no more.
Press’d by. misfortune and perplex’d,
Darby prepared for breakfast next,
But what to get h scarcely knew,
The bread was spent, the butter too,
PI is hands bedaub’d with paste and flour,
Old Darby labor’d full an hour;
But, hapless wight 1 he could not make
The bread take form of loaf or cake.
As every door wide open stood,
In push’d the sow in quest of food,
And stumbling onwards, with her snout
O’erset the churn—the cream ran out.
As Darby turn’d, the sow to beat,
The slipp’ry cream betray’d his feet;
He caught the bread trough in his fall,
And down came Darby, trough and all.
The children, waken’d by the clatter,
Start up and cry, ‘ La ! what’s the matter ?’
Old Jowler bark’d, and Tabby mew’d,
And hapless Darby bawl’d aloud,
‘Return, my Joan, as heretofore;
I’ll play the house-wife’s part no more,
Since now by sad experience taught,
Compar’d to this my work is nought.
Henceforth, as business calls, I’ll take
Content, the plough, the scythe, the rake;
And never more transgress the line
Our fates have mark’d,while thou art mine
I’ll vex thy honest soul no more,
By scolding, as I’ve done before.
Let each our proper task attend—
Forgive the past, and try to mend.’
New York Cash Store.
THE subscriber has just received, and
is now opening a handsome assort
ment of
WINTER GOODS.
Consisting of Cloths of different colors
and qualities, from 50 cents to §7, Cas
simeres, Satinetts, Pelisse Cloths, Flan
nels, Blankets, figur’d, printed and twill’d,
and Caroline Plaid Bombazetts, from 18d
to 3s 9d, elegant Vestings, dark Cover
lets, Cassimere and Camels’ Hair LONG
SHAWLS, elegant Cotton do. men, wo
men and children’s lambs’wool Sc worsted
Hosiery, lambs’ wool and worsted Shirts,
Great Coats, Pantaloons, Roundabouts,
Baize Jackets ; also, Vests at from 80 to
150 cents, men’s Boots and Shoes, (stout
Shoes at 50 cents) ladies’ thick soal Boots
at 4s 6d to 5s 3d, children’s Shoes from
2s 3d to 3s 9d, &c.
Liquors of all kinds, pickled and smok’d
Salmon, Mackarel, Coffee, Sugar, Cheese,
(1st quality) Almonds, Filberts, Pea Nuts,
Raisins, Sec. See. Also, a few heavy Axes,
which I will warrant.
DAN’L. A. WEED.
Harpers-Ferry, Dec. 18.
RAGS! RAGS!
rjp^HRE cents per pound will be given
3 at this office for clean Linen and Cot
tan Rags.
N. C ‘
• $ , Aisafe,
MISCELLANY.
THE PARRICIDE PUNISHED.
FROM THE FRENCH.
The following very singular adventure
is related as a fact in “La Nou.velle Bi
bliotheque de Societe,” and is said to have
happened in one of theVprovufees of
France. Upon this sstory it is evident,that'
Mr. Wh alley founded his tragedy of “The
Castle of Mountval.”
The adventure which I am going to
relate to you, my dear friend, is of so
strange and dreadful a nature, that you
are the only person to whom I must ever
disclose the secret.
The nuptials of Mademoiselle de Vil
dac were celebrated yesterday ; at which,
as a neighbor, custom and good manners
required my attendance. You are ac
quainted with M. de Vildac : he has a
countenance which never pleased me;
his eyes ha e often a wild and suspicious
glare; a something which has given me
disagreeable sensations for which I could
no way account. I could not help observ
ing yesterday, that in the midst of joy
and revelry, he partook not of pleasure :
far from being penetrated with the hap
piness of his new son arid daughter, the
delight of others seemed to him a secret
torment.
The feast was held at his ancient cas
tle; and when the hour of rest arrived, I
was conducted to a chamber immediately
under the old tower at the north end. I
had just fallen into my first sleep, when 1
was awakened and alarmed by a heavy
kind of noise over-head. I listened, and
heard very distinctly the footsteps of some
one slowly descending, and dragging
chains that clanked upon the stairs. The
noise app roached, and presently my cham
ber door was opened ; the clanking of the
chains redoubled, and he who bore them
went towards the chimney. There were
a few embers half extinguished ; these he
scraped together, and said, in a sepulchral
voice, “ Alas, how long it is since I have
seen a fire.” I own, my friend, I was ter
rified ; I seized my sword, looked between
my curtains, and saw, by the glimmer of
the embers, a withered old man, half na
ked, with a bald head and a white beard.
Fie put his trembling hands to the wood,
which began to blaze, and soon afterwards
turned towards the door by which he en
tered, fixed his eyes with horror upon the
floor, as if he beheld something most hor
rible, and exclaimed with agony, “ God !
• God 1”
My emotion caused my curtains to
make a noise, and he turned affrighted:
“ Who is there ?” said he. “ Is there any
one in that bed ?” “ Yes.” I replied;
“ and who are you ?” Contending pas
sions would not for a while suffer him to
speak ; at length he answered, “ I am the
most miserable of men. This, perhaps,
is more than 1 ought to say : hut it is so
long, so many years since I have seen or
spoken to a human being, that I cannot
resist. Fear nothing; come towards the
fire; listen to my sorrows, and for a mo
ment soften my sufferings.”
My fear gave place to pity : I sat down
by him. My condescension and my feel
ings moved him ; he took my hand, and
bathed it with his tears.
“ Generous man,” said he, “ let me de
sire you first to satisfy my curiosity. Tell
me why you lodge in this chamber, where
no man has slept for so many years ; and
what mean the rejoicings I have heard ?
What extraordinary thing has happened
to-day in the castle ?”
When I informed him of the marriage
of Vildac’s daughter, he lifted up his
hands to heaven—“ Has Vildac a daugh
ter ! and is she married? May she be
happy ! May she never know guilt!”
He paused for a moment—
“ Learn who I am,” said he, “ you see,
you speak to—the father of Vildac—the
cruel Vildac ! Yet, what right have I to
complain ? Should I—-should I call man
or tiger cruel ?”
“ What! is Vildac your son ? Vildac 1
the monster 1 shut you from the sight of
man 1 load you with chains ! And lives
there such a wretch ?”
“ Behold,” said he, c< the power, the
detestable power of riches ! The hard and
pitiless heart of my unhappy son is impe
netrable to every tender sentiment:'impe
netrable to love and friendship, he is also
deaf to the cries of nature, and, to enjoy
my lands, has hung these eating irons on
me.”
“ He went one day to visit a neighbor
ing young nobleman, who had lately lost
his father; him he saw encircled by his
vassals, and occupied in receiving their
homage and their rents. The sight made
a shocking impression upon the imagina
tion of Vildac, which had long been
haunted with a strong desire to enjoy his
future patrimony. On his return, I ob
served a degree of thoughtfulness and
gloom about him that was unusual. Five
days afterwards I was seized during the
night, carried off by three men masked,
and lodged in this tower. I know not by
what means Vildac spread the report of
my death ; but I guessed by the tolling of
the bells, and funeral dirges, more solemn
than for inferior persons, that they were
performed for my interment. The idea
was horrid; and I entreated most ear-'
nestiy to speak, but tor a moment, to my
son; but in vain. Those who brought
me food, no doubt supposed me a crimi
nal, condemned to perish in prison. It is
now twenty years since I was first con
fined here. I perceived this morning that
my door was not secured, and I waited
till night to profit by the accident: yet I
do not wish to escape. But the liberty
of a few yards is much to a prisoner.”
“No,” cried I, “you shall quit this
dishonorable habitation. Heaven has des
tined me to be your deliverer, defender,
support and guide. Every body sleeps ;
now is the time, let us begone.”
“ It must not be,” said he, after a mo
ment’s silence. “ Solitude has changed
my ideas, and my principles. Happiness
is but opinion. Now that I am inured to
suffer, why should I fly from my fate ?
What is there for me to wish for in this
world ? The die is thrown, and this tower'
must be my tomb.”
“ Surely you dream,” answered T. “Let
us not lose t i e; the night is advanced;
we shall presently have but a moment.
Come.”
“ I am affected,” he replied, “ but can
trot profit by your kindness. Liberty has
no charms for my small remains of life.
Shall I dishonor my son; or in which
way has his daughter given me offence,
to whom I was never known, by whom I
was never seen ? The sweet innocent
sleeps happily in the arms of her hus
band, and shall Ibrerwhelm her with in
famy ! Yet, might I but -behold her!
might I but lock her in these feeble arms,
arid bedew her bosom with my tears !—
’Tis in vain ! It cannot be ! I never must
look upon her !
Adieu ! Day begins to break, and we
shall be surprised. I will return to my
prison.”
“ No,” said I, stopping him ; “ I will
not suffer that. Slavery has enfeebled
your soul; I must inspire you with cou
rage. Let us begone; we will afterwards
examine whether it be proper to make
the matter public. My house, my friends,
my fortune, are at your ser ice. No one
shall know who you are ; and since it is
necessary, Vildac’s crimes shall be con
cealed. What do you fear ?”
“Nothing! I am ail gratitude. But,
oh no ! it cannot be ! Here 1 must re
main i”
“ Well, act as you please; but if you
refuse to fly with me, I will go imme
diately to the governor of the province,
tell him who you are, and return, armed
with his authority and his power, to
wrest you from the barbarity of an inhu
man child.”
“ Beware what you do ! abuse not my
confidence. Leave me to perish. You
know me not—I am a monster ! Day and
the blessed sun would sicken at my sight.
Infamous I am, and covered with guilt—
guilt most horrible ! Turn your eyes upon
that Wall; behold these hoards, sprinkled
with blood—a father’s blood—murdered
by his son—-by me ! Ha 1 look ^behold !
do you not see him ! he stretches forth
his bleeding arms ! he begs for pity ! the
vital stream flows out! he falls ! he groans !
oh horror ! madness ! despair !”
The miserable wretch fell convulsed
with terror to the floor; and when fear
and passion in part subsided", he durst
j not turn his guilty eyes towards me,
I where I stood transfixed with horror. As
soon as he had the power, he approached
i the door. “Farewell,” said he, “be in
i nocent, if you would he happy ! The
| wretch who so lately moved your pity, is
i now become detestable to you, as well as
to himself; he goes unlamented to the
dungeon, whence alive he never shall re
turn !”
Afihorism.—Hypocrisy is the necessary
burthen of" villainy ; and affectation the
chosen trappings of folly : the one com
pletes a villain, the other only finishes a
fop.
Good Advice.—Quit your pillow, and
go about your business, if you have any,
is the first injunction ; if not, seek some.
Let the sun’s first beams shine on your
head in the morning, and you shall not
want a good hat to defend you against its
scorching rays at noon. Earn your break
fast before you eat it, and the sheriff shall
not deprive you of your supper. Pursue
your calling with diligence, and your cre
ditors shall not interrupt you. Be tem
perate, and the physician shall look in
vain for your name on his day book. If
you have a small farm, or trade, that will
support your family and add a hundred
dollars a year to your capital, be content.
hove one another.—A Welsh parson
preaching from this text, “ Love one ano
ther,” told his congregation'that in kind
and respectful treatment to our fellow
creatures we were inferior to the brute
creation. As an illustration of the truth
of this remark, he quoted an instance of
two goats in his own parish, that once
met upon a bridge so very narrow that
they could not pass by without one thrust
ing the other off into the river. u And,”
continued he, “ how do you think they
acted ? Why, I will tell you. One goat
laid himself down, and let the other leap
over him. Air! beloved, let us act like
the goats.”
CONJUGAL F&IEND8HIP.
‘ Celestial happiness ! whene’er she stoops
To visit earth,one shrine the goddess finds,
And one alone, to make her sweet amends
For absent heaven—the bosom of a friend.’
YOUNG.
While plenty smiles around, arid the
festive board is crowned with all the lux
uries which opulence affords, man may
be surrounded by flatterers whom he fond
ly cherishes as friends. But let misfor
tune strip him of his riches—or even
threaten the loss of them—he may seek
in vain for a remedy from these parasites
of his prosperity—instead of the proffers
of affection arid friendship, he meets with
nothing but scorn and repulsive coolness.
Disappointed, disheartened, and nearly
distracted, he returns borne. Then dread
ful indeed is his lot, if he finds there no
consolations from the fond endearments
* of a wife. Hope is lost. In sad ■sullen
ness he retires to his apartment—alter
nately blaming himself apd cursing his
deceivers—and, finally, seeks to drown
reflection in the poisonous glass. But oh 1
how different is the case of that man who
is met by the smiles of her, who, in glow
ing youth, while he held her trembling'
hand, with blushing cheeks and quiver
ing lips, vowed she would love and honor
him as the partner of her earthly happi
ness. She rushes into his arms-—and half
the agony of his sou! is lost in this em
brace of conjugal affection. In youth,
when he met the love kindling glances of
her soft blue eyes, he thought her beauti
ful—when he led her blushing to the al
tar, his happiness seemed complete. Ga
thered round the social fireside, he sees
her dispensing the bounties of hospitali
ty, and the affections of a mother, then he
knows she is dear to him. But now, in
the transports of love he exclaims : Oh !
woman, best of heaven’s blessings, thou
art man’s guardian angel while on earth i”
A Hit at the Faculty.-—-One the sons
of JEsculapius seems to have been-favor
ed with a presentiment of the success of
his practice. With all imaginable gra
vity, he informs the public in his adver
tisement, that he has “ removed from his
old station to a place, nearer the church
yard, for the better mmodation of his
patients.” ’. L
Cross Readingsowing cucl
ous sentences occui^HPrc journal of the
week, by reading acress two columns, in
stead of attending to the division. The
different printings show the divisions of *
lines:
A mechanic in this town eat for a wager
—the whole of the four regiments of Wor
cester Yeomanry Cavalry—four lb. of
bullock’s kidney, and eight lb. of potatoes,
in ten minutes-— under the command of
Viscount Eastnor.-The King arrive
safe at Calais about half past four,
a cucumber three feet and a half long^^
and four inches in diameter.-The liver
of a pig, which was killed at Claris brook,
weighed—about seven or eight hundred
tons, and carried 50 guns.
Grand National Lottery,
FIFTH CLASS,
NOW DRAWING.
GRAJVD SCHEME.
I prize of g 100,000
1 do. 25,000
2 do. 10,000
5 do. 5,000
100 do. 1,000
10 do. 500
105. do. 100
Besides an immense number of smaller
prizes, and not two blanks to a prize
This is the most brilliant scheme evi
offered to public patronage, and the o’
jects for which the funds are raised, ai
no less interesting to an enlightened a?
benevolent community, viz: the erect!
of a City Hall to beautify the Metropo
of the Nation, and a Penitentiary for tl
melioration of convicts, and the build'?
of School Houses for the education of .
poor.
Whole Tickets gl4 00
Halves 7 00
Quarters 3 50
Eighths 1 75 v
Tickets and Shares, in the greatest
riety of numbers, in the above Lott' ,
for sale at G. DAVIS’s
Truly Fortunate Lottery 01 re,
Bridge street, Georgetown
Where has been sold more high pi
than at any other office in the Distri
Columbia.
To the Public.
PETER CONLAN very resp
informs the public that his
now open. His stock of goods,
by himself, and purchased on t
terms, will be sold at reduced prk
He most earnestly requests that a
are indebted to him, will come fo
and settle their accounts, by note or i her;
wise, with James Garrett. The pr:.
ous state of his health renders it 1 t -
sary for him at the present time to mak ‘
the above request.
P. C. will deem it a favor, and 1> d sin
cerely obliged to all who will num e 'inp,
mediate payment, - ... V
December 25.
*