Elizabeth-Town gazette. [volume], February 27, 1821, Image 1

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ELIZABETH-TOWN GAZETTE.
"■ ■ ■ - — — ■ ■ . .. ...■ ,
Vol. III.] ELIZABETH-TOWN, (N. J.) TUESDAY, FEBRUARY 27, 1821. | No. ISO.
• i I -I— ■mi. mi— '■ ' i i <1 I K'li" — n' 'I1' • r 1 ..
PRINTED AND PUBLISHED
BY J. & E. SANDERSON,
Two doors south of Rivers's City Tavern
ELIZABETH-TOWN, n.j.
TERMS.
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ages are paid.
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per square. A liberaldiscount will be made to
those who advertise by the year.
From Hannah Mohk’s Works.
Religion—Mistaken Views of it.
One cause which impedes the recep
tiou of religion even among the well dispo
sed, is that garment of sadness in which
people delight to suppose her dressed ; and
that life of hard austerity, and pining ab
stinence, which they pretend she enjoins
her disciples. And it were well if this
were only the misrepresentations of her
declared enemies ; but, unhappily, it is the
too fiequent misconception of her injudi
cious friends. But such an overcharged
picture is not more uuainiable than it is
unlike ; for I will venture to affirm, that
religion, with all her beautiful and becom
ing sanctity, imposes fewer sacrifices, not
only of rational, but of pleasurable enjoy
ment, than the uncontrolled dominion of
any one vice. Her service is not only
perfect safety, but perfect freedom. She
is not so tyranizing as passion, so exact
ing as the world,, nor despotic as fashion.
Let us try the case by a parallel, and ex
amine it, not as affecting our virtue, but
our pleasure. Does religion forbid the
cheerful enjoyments of a life as rigorously
as avarice lorbuls them ! Uoes she re
quire such sacrifices of our ease as ambi
tion : or such renunciations of our quiet
as pride ? Does devotion murder sleep
like dissipation ? Does she destroy health
like intemperance ? Does she annihilate
fortune like gaming ? Does she imbitter
life like discord ; or abridge it like duel
ling ? Does religion impose more vigilance
than suspicion ; or half B9 many mortifi
caiious as vanity ? Vice ha* her Marly tb;
and the most austere and self-denying
Ascetick (who mistakes the genius of
Christianity almost as her enemies) never
tormented himself with such cruel and
causeless severity as that with which en
vy lacerates her unhappy votaries.—
Worldly honour obliges us to be at the
trouble of reseuliug injuries; but leligion
spares us that incouvenience, by com
manding us to forgive them ; and by this
injunction consults our happiuess no less
thaD our virtue ; for the torment of con
stantly hating any one must be, at least, <
equal to the siu of it. If this estimate be
fairly made, theu is the balauce clearly on
the side of religion even in the article of
pleasure.
Religion.—The following sentiments of
an able divine deserve attention.
“ It is an error to believe that devotiou
nourishes a spirit of severity, in judging
of the manners and characters of others.
Under this reproach, indeed, it lias so
long suffered in the world, that, with too
many, the appellation of devout, suggests
no other character, but that of a sour,
recluse bigot, who delights in censure.—
But the reproach is uojust; for such a
spirit is entirely opposite to the nature of
true devotiou. The very first traces it
imprints on the mind, are candor and hu
mility. Its principles are liberal. Its<
genius is unassuming and mild. Severe
only to itself, it makes every allowance to
others which humanity can suggest. It
claims no privilege of looking Into their
hearts or of deciding with respect to their
eternal state. If your supposed devotion
produce contrary effects; if it infuse
harshness into your sentimeuts, and acri
mony into your speech, you may conclude,
that under a serious appearance, carnal
Ciassions lurk. Aud if ever it shall so far
ift you up with self-conceit, as to make
you establish your own opinions as an in
fallible standard for the whole Christian
world, and lead you to consign to perdi
tion, all who differ from you, either in
some doctrinal tenets, or io the mode of
expressing them ; you may rest assured
that to much pride you have joined much
ignorance of both the nature of devotion,
and of the gospel of Christ.”
MARV OF •THU MOUNTAIN.
[We are indebted for the following brief
Sketch and Epitaph to the pen of a Lady
who had several times visited the inter
esting character whom it pourtrays. Our
readers will doubtless sympathize with
the feelings which its perusal has excited
in our breast, and will unite with us in
sincere acknowledgments to the writer for
enabling us to record a just aud liberal
tribute to the memory of Mary of the
Mountain.]—Chris. Jour.
Maky Young, was a native of Ger
many.—She came to America some lime
about the year 1764-5, aud settled near
Germantown, in the state of Pennsylva
nia, together with her mother and several
sisters, all of whom were young womeu.
They bad suffered persecution in their
own country, and therefore sought an
asylum here. Finding that their peculiar
and secluded habits drew upon them the
gaze of curiosity, they left Germantown,
and sought out a sequestered spot among
the hills of Oley, in the county of Berks,
Pennsylvania, where, by the most incred
ible labour they cleared a few acres of
land on the side of a mountain,' aud there
erected a neat little cottage, in which they
passed the remainder of iheir days. A
small enclosure near the cottage, now
contains all that is left of their family of
love, the last of whom was Maty, who
survived her last relation near forty1
years, during which time she lived aloue,
passed her leisure hours in deeds of char
ity.and gooil will to her neighbors, and in
love aud adoration of her Maker. She
visited the sick, and administered to their
wants, but never tBrried to eat or to con
verse with them on any common topics of
conversation. Her language, which was
always in Her native tongue, was elegant;
her manner and countenance mild and
benevolent ; her opinions mild, liberal
and benevolent ; aud worship ardent and
pure. Her cottage was a temple hallow
ed to the Lord, from which ascended the
incense of prayer and praise, pure and
undefiled as could arise from the human
heart.
Her little territory was the abode ot
peace and tranquillity, oil the side of the
mountain; a few acres of beautiful upland
meadow surrounded it. For many years
it was enveloped in an impervious forest,
its cite could only be ascertained by the
smoke which curled above the tops of the
trees.—Not a cat or a dog, or any other
domestic companion had she except a
cow, for whose bed she collected the
dry leaves of Autumn. Her food was
composed of fruits ami vegetables, and
she quenched her thirst in the limpid
mountain spring—an apt emblem of that
Living-fountain of which her spirit drank
and* Whose stream leads to everlasting joy
and feiiciiy.
Finding herself weak and languishing
she crept to the edge of the mountain and
thel^wsited, with,unminquiring patience
till wie '<ww'pferccired to’ifrarve the char
ily she had so often bestowed on others.
She W&ifseen and pitied. A kind friend
attended on her to smooth her pillow, and
to witness her happy exit. She bore the
most excruciating pain without a murmur;
continually giving thanks to her Redee
mer for the grace which imparted forti
tude to resist complaint.
From the weakness of an infant, she was
endued with strength at Iasi to raise tier
self on her knees, and offer up an ardeut
prayer, after which she returned to her
bed, and closing her own eyes, fell asleep
in Christ Jesus, on Tuesday the 10th of
November, 1819, aged seventy-four years.
She had desired to be laid in the little
enclosure which contains the graves of
her mother and sisters, without parade,
and in a plain manner, but the affections
of her neighbours drew together a large
congregation who felt in her end how sweet
it was to die in the Lord.
Here underneath the mountain stone,
Lies Mary Young, who lived alone,
High on the lofty mountain’s side,
Belov’d and honor'd till she died ;
Lov’d and honor’d by the few
Who give to virtue virtue’s due.
Stranger ! she that’s buried here,
Was humble, pious and sincere j
The even tenor of her days
Was pass’d in grateful prayer and praise ;
Her heart was like the gentle dove,
That came from heaven with promised love.
Her heart, her hands, her cottage door,
Were open to the richand poor ;
Her faith confirmed, her will resigned,
So sweetly calm, so pure a mind,
The God of Mercy, fiom his throne
Look’d down and claimed her for his own.
ESSAY ON FBIENDSH1P, BY DR.
GOLDSMITH.
QNever published in his Works.]
There are few subjects which have been
more written upon and less understood
thau that of Friendship. To follow the
dictates of some, this virtue, instead of
being the assuager of pain, becomes the
source of every inconvenience. Such
speculists, by expecting loo much from
friendship, dissolve the connexion, and
by drawing the bands too closely, at length
break them. Almost all our romance and
novel writers are of this kind ; they per
suade us to friendship, which we find it
impossible to sustain to the last; so that
this sweetener of life under proper regula
tions, is by their means, rendered inac
cessible or uneasy. It is certain, the
best method to cultivate this virtue is by
letting it in some measure make itself; a
similitude of minds, or studies, and even
sometimes a diversity of pursuits, will
produce all the pleasures that arise from
it. The current Of tenderness widens as
it proceeds; and two men imperceptibly
find their hearts warm with good nature
for each other when they were at first
only in pursuit of mirth or relaxation.
Friendship is like a debt of honour; the
moment it is talked of, it loses Its real
name, and assumes the more ungrateful
form of obligation. From hence we find
that those who regularly undertake to
cultivate friendship tiud ingratitude gen
erally repays their endeavours. That
circle of beings which dependence gath
ers round us is almost ever unfriendly ;
they secretly wish the term of their con
nexions morp nearly equal ; and where
they even have the most virtue, as pre
pared to reserve ail their anccilous for
their patron, only in the hour of his de
cline. Increasing the obligations which
are laid upon such minds only increases
their burthen, they feel themselves una
ble to pay the immensity of (heir debt,
and their baukrupt hearts are taught a
latent resentment at tire hand that is
stretched out with offers of service aud re
lief.
Plautinus was a man who thought that
every good was to be bought from riches; j
and as he was possessed of great wealth,
and had a mind naturally formed for vir
(ue, he resolved to gather a circle of the
best men rouud him. Among the number
of his dependents was Misidorous, with a
mind just as fond of virtue, yet not less
proud than Itis patron. TIis circumstan
ces, however, were such as farced him to
stoop to the good offices of his superior,
and he saw himself daily amtxig a number
of others loaded with benefits and protes
tations of friendship. These, in the usu
al course of the world, lie tho’t it prudent
to accent; but, while he gave his esteem,
he could not give his heart. A want of af
fection breaks out in the mot trifling in
stances, and Flautinus had skill enough
to observe iiie minutest actions of the man
lie wished to make his friend. In these
lie ever found his aim disappointed ; for
Musidorous claimed au exchange of
hearts, which Plautiuus, solicited by a va
riety of other claims, could uever thiuk
of bestowiag.
It may be easily supposed, that the re-'
serve of our poor proud lian was soou
construed into ingratitude ; and such in
deed in the common acceptation of the
«arid it vss. W&creva;,Sv<l}fc*idorau8 ap
peared, he was marked as the ungrateful
man ; ho had accepted favors, it was said,
and still had the insolence to pretend to
independence. The event, however, jus
tified his conduct. Plautiuus, by misgui
ded liberality, at length became poor, and
it was then that Musidorous first thought
of making a friend of him. He flew to
the man of fallen fortune, with an offer of
all he had ; wrought under his direction
with assiduity ; and, by uniting their tal
ents, botli were at length placed in that
state of life from which one of them had
formerly fallen.
To this story, taken from modern life,
I shall add one more taken from a Greek
writer of antiquity:—Two Jewish sol
diers, in the time of Vespasian, made ma
ny campaigns together, and a participation
of danger at lengtli bred an union of hearts.
They were remarked through the whole
army as the two friendly brothers : they
felt and fought for each other. Their
friendship might have continued without
interruption till death, had not the good
fortune of the one alarmed the pride of
the oilier, which was in his promotion to
be a centurion under the famous John,
who headed a particular party of the Jew
ish malconteals. From this moment their
former love was converted into the most
inveterate enmity. They attached them
selves to opposite factions, and Bought each
other’s lives in the conflict of adverse par
ties. In this manner they continued for
more than two years, vowing mutual re
veuge, and animated with an unconquera
ble spirit of aversion. At length, howev
er, that party of the Jews to which the
mean soldier belonged joined with the Ro
maus, it became victorious, and drove
John into the temple. History has given
us more thau one picture of the dreadful
conflagration of that superb edifice. The
Roman soldiers were gathered round it;
i the whole temple was in flames, and thou
sands were seen amidst them, within its
sacred circuit. It was in this situation
of things that the now successful soldier
saw his friend, upon the battlements of
the highest tower, looking round with
horror, and just ready to consume with
flames. All bis former tenderness now
returned s he saw the man of hie bosom
just ready to perish, and unable to with
stand the impulse, he ran spreadiug his
arms, and crying out to his friend to leap
down from the top, and find safety with
him. The centurion (from above) heard
aud obeyed, and casting himself from the
lop of the tower into his fellow-soldier’s
arms, both fell a sacrifice ou the spot; one
being crushed to death by the weight of
his compauion, and the other dashed to
pieces by the greatness of bis fall.
GOOD ADVICE.
Rogues may he wade Honest Men, or be
expelled from Society.
It is a common, and a Very just obser
vation, that the prosperity and happiness
of a community, depend much on the in
dustry and economy of the people. But
something more is necessary to secure
that liberty and that happiness—I mean
morality in the people. The world is full
of unprincipled men. They abound in
every profession, art and calling. The
honest man and the dishonest man, are
both cheated, swindled and defrauded by
their neighbors. Is there no remedy for
this evil ? There certainly is. Every
person has ii in uis power iu ss
well as to promote the progress of vice.
Let every honest man resolve to have
no dealings, on any terms, with unprin
cipled men of any profession, art, myste
ry, or calling whatsoever.
If we go to Church, let ns go to hear
him whose daily walk and life corresponds
with the principles and doctrines of the
religion he professes to teach and incul
cate.
If we have occasion for legal advice,
let us go to the Lawyer, who is an honest
man io principle aud practice, and who
understands and attends to the duties of
Ins profession.
If we are sick aud need a physician,
let us not give encouragement to Quacks
and Indian Doctors ; but seod for one
who is skilleJ in his profession, and who
does not neglect his patients wbeu sick,
not- tax them with his “ visits” after they
are well. *
If we deal with merchants, let us deal
with those who deal fairly ; who lake no
advantage of our ignorance of the value
of their goods; aud whose charges do not
exceed the amount of their sales.
If we employ Mechanics, let us em
ploy those who are honest, punctual and
faithful.
Let us adopt, and as rigonrsly as pos
sible, adhere to the resolution, uot give
countenance or encouragement to any in
dividual who has the reputation of being
dishonest, or “ hardly honest,” in his deal
mgs.
If any man has deceived, defrauded or
cheated us, in ever so small a transaction,
or in any way, knowingly and designedly,
dealt unfairly with us, let us hare no
more to do wfrh that man.- -Let u* mark
him and avoid him as a nuisance to soci
ety.
And let us always remember, that it is
our duty to bestow our patronage, what
ever it may be, upon tiie virtuous poor
man, in preference to the man of wealth.
however virtuous or upright in his deal
ings he may be. By this rule, those al
ready rich cannot suffer, and the poor
will be stimulated to industry.
Let us adopt these principles, and prac
tice them ; arid those, who are not natur
ally disposed to be honest in their transac
tions with the world, from policy and hab
it will become so, or be compelled to seek
their living in a community of their own
character.
From the New-Haven Herald.
DKESS AND STYLE.
Of all competition, that for precedence
in dress and style is the most ridiculous.
Trifling as it is, however, more evil has
resulted from it to families, than from any
other source. Ou which sex the imputa
tion of this folly most deservedly falls, is
now worth asking. Suffice it to say, that
of this class of competitors, was Mrs. Bow
line. Mrs. Demurrer gave parties, and
Mrs. Bowline was invited. Politeness
requires a reciprocacy of attention.—
Madame Bowline gave her parties in re
turn. If Mrs. Demurrer had a new car
pet, poor Jack Bowline had no peace of
his life, until he found credit to get a bet
ter one for hie dulcinea. If he opposed
her inclinations in any extravagant plan,
the woman’s ready was at hand . “ Didu’t
her father give her a handsome settiug
out ? Wasn’t it necessary for her respec
tability, and that of her children to main
tain their rank in society ? Wasn’t it the
duty of a man to maintain his wife 1 If
ne cou;a not maintain tier way ata ne
marry her ? She had her choice—that she
had; and he little knew how many good
offers she had refused.” Against such
arguments backed by floods of tears, what
mao could staod ? Surely not Jack Bow
line, whose heart was ever ready to run
before his head. The consequence is ob
vious. Jack ran in debt : and soon gave
the sheriffleg bail.—The following letters
shew the result.
“ Mr. Broadcloth,
Sir—I hope you will pardon the liber
ty I take, in requesting of you a favor
for myself aud my wretched family. The
history of my life you know. My foolish
vanity has been the ruin of the best of
husbands. Our last dollar has gone to pay
Sheriffs ami Lawyers. For months I
have been on my family connexions for
bread. They are tired of supporting me;
and absolute necessity compels me, in the
uame of that friendship which you had for
my dear, lost Jack, to lax your goodness.
I can say no more—Read the enclosed.
Your obedient servant.
BETTY BOWLINE.”
" N-, Dec. 5, 1820.
“ Mr Dear Bett?,
In a few hours I shall be no more. My
life is lor felled to the violated laws of my*
country. Your extravagance involved
me in debt and debt in Grime. I am a pi
rate ! I have been taken. I am condemn
ed ! It was “ to maintainyonr rank in so
ciety,’' that Jack Bowline has lost ilia
honour and his life. You have a daugh
ter. Teach her economy—teach her in
dustry—above all, O teach her humility!
The love of fashion and the desire of keep
ing up appearances, have ruined more of
your sex, than any other propensities.—
They are the banes of civilized life. But
for these, I might now be honest and re
spected, and you Betsey, and my little
ones, comfortable and happy.—I forgive
you—may God. Your lost husband,
JACK BOWLINE.”
May the fate of poor Jack and his fash
ionable wife, prove a salutary warning to
some of our present gentry.
Police of Pans.—A curious fact which
occurred during the reign of Bonaparte
illustrating the state of perfec tion to
which the system of Espionage was
carried at that time.
A party sat down to dinuer at a pubtie
table, wheu a gentleman sticking his fork
iuto a fowl, began to dissect it, and as he
cut off the head, he said with a laugh,
‘ here goes the head of the Emperor.’
No observation was made and they pro
ceeded with their dinner; but in the course
of it the waiter came, and tapping the
gentleman on the shoulder, told him be
was wanted in the hall. On enteriugthe
■ini', he was aceosf'd by a gendarme, who
asked him if he was not the gentleman
who at dinner had said ‘ Here goes the
head of the Emperor V he replied he was,
hot * what of that ?’—‘ You must come,’
said the gendarme, 1 with me’—• with
you ?’ he exclaimed, and pulling his hand
to his pocket, presented it full of money
to the officer, and was turning away—
‘ Stay,’ said the officer, ‘ 1 am not to be
thus dealt with—you must instantly obey
my summons;’ ‘ Alas!’ said the geutlemaa
‘ I nm then to be torn from my wife and
children, and hurried to a dungeon, for
such a trifle as that—my life and liberty
are most precious and imporiaut to my
family—I will give you’—and lie named
an enormous sum, ‘ to liberate me arid for
ever coDceal the affair.’ * No,’ said the
inflexible gendarme, I am above the larg
est bribe you can offer, and you must in
stantly go, for I dare not parley with you
any longer.’ The gentleman then took a
card from his pocket, which he held up
to the view of the gendarme, who imme
diately made his obeisance to him and
departed. Now the fact is, the gentleman
himself was a superintendent of these spies.
The waiter in the tavern was in the pay
of the government'—he made the observa
tion respecting the head of the Emperor
to prove his vigilance—he was true to his
charge, and directly apprised one of the
gendarmes of the seditious and treasona
ble words that had escaped from the stran
ger’s lips. He then tempted the gendarme
with those liberal offers, and finding him
faithful, his object was accomplished;
and informing him by the card which he
carried about him, and which bore the
secret sign, who he was, there the matter
ended, to the satisfaction of ail the parties
concerned.—Who would live in such a
land as this ?—Raffle's Tour.
Ludricrous Punishment.—A few years
since the mayor of Cork, imagining, if
he could strip the beggars of the misera
ble and sickly appearance they generally
made, he should divest them of the stron
gest claim to the charity of the humane,
came to the following agreement with one
Geogbean, one of the constables, who was
by trade a barber, viz ;—He directed the
barber to seize all the beggars he found
strolling within the limits of the city, for
each of whom he promised a reward : but
instead of bringing them before him (the
mayor) he was to take them to Ins shop and
there shave, wash, dress, aud powder
them in the geuteelest manner. He siezed
about half a dozen, and with the assistance
of razors, wash ball, scissors, and powder
pulls, he so completely metamorphosed
them that those whom he apprehended as
mendicants when they left his shop, ap
peared like macaronies, at least about the
head. This laughable scheme was atten
ded with such success that the whole tribe •
(during squire Malone’s mayoralty) a
voided his jurisdiction as carefully as if it
was visited by a pestilence.
London paper.