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The Wilmingtonian. (Wilmington, Del.) 1823-1824, January 08, 1824, Image 1

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NO. 17.
VOL. 1.
—payable half yearly in advance.
They were fv^qu^m ! '4
fill porticos with attendants? or will In this helpless situation, he was supported " like so many devils.
, of subscription ?2 50 per annum, paya
'Tx months!' advance , or, if not paid before
^ÄcrTpÄlV be discontinued until all
inserted fco« • J ™ s ., nserU0 n..-lf continued for
^months »2 50-for six months $4 50 or for
e year $8. _ | _
for THE
word required has two syllablea-the
is explanatory of the first syllable, the
of the second syllable; and the
it verse is
lond verse,
i-il of the word required.]
—has two meanings,
And one you will meet
Ry the side of i> lass,
Promenading the street.
The other once linger'd
In an actor's brass throttle,
Who to make it go clear,
Drank up all in his bottle.
sxcoxn the Big people
On my
Often look down,
Though as ofien its valour
Procures it renown
all the wide world,
From the west to the east
will find it
*Tis seen—you
'Twixt little and least.
The whole through all ages
Will beam fair and bright ;
Guide the lost, cheer the lone,
In the deep shades of night ;
But its beauty shines clearest
Arid brightest by far,
In the first transient glow
I of the morning's bright star.
[A solution is requested in the next paper.]
to "W. 1
ay Massa Printer, shall Cato just trouble you,
id one little song, while he sing him to W ?
t sing little song 'bout * O Brandywine,'
ul tell how he go dere on Summer day fine.
« tell Iimv he go on de bank's cooling shade,
ill pick little flowers before he do fade ;
ll see do small fish wat do play in de stream,
y! see on de water de Sun lay he beam.
E do not say any t'ing 'bout Cato dare ;
Cato's forgotten, for him he no care,
ut Cato remember, tho' long time ago,
nd his head now be white and his body bent low.
jes! he remember in youthful day
like de school, but he much love to play ;
île» me, "Come Cato, get hook, and get line
nd we 'll go ketch -'e little fish in Brandywine "
e go—and when tired ob set in de sun
to ile cool shade and hab de nice fun ;
• e go
c cut from de willow wid my little knife
ne slick, whicli he make into very good fife.
r e play all about, and den by *n by 1 tell him—
1 very much like for to go into swim."
de rock den, close down by de water,
id in lie go, head and heeljis like one Otter.
io like to get in wid very much base ;
lien he see dis, de water lie splash in my face.
I dis I remember, tho' long time ago,
ni my head be now whitened wid many a snow
I 'n by he grow up and he go far away,
ailde vine and de tree-leaf all turn to decay ;
very much sick at de heart
mrCato g
lien, wid W he play-fellow, he had to part :
sadness and sorrow away now he pine,
id neber go more to de sweet Brandywine,
tho' lie's come back we will neber more rove
; de cool, shady, green-bank nor under de grove;
I more will we swim, fish, or play wid de fife !
) more will w e taste ob de youtli ob our life !
> more will we play by de tree and de vine !
) more will we visit thee 0 Biiandywine !
i'll steady ray the cool moonshine
slumbering on the shoreless brine;
te pendant curling in the breeze,
tups unward through the foarqing seas.—•
Where'er l roam,
lured Girl ! my wandering mind
verts an eye to times behind,
And thee at home !
hen brooding tempests gather o'er
le heaving sea, without a shore ;
I night descends upon the deep,
id howl the giant winds, and sweep
Witli awful power—
hink how happy I could he,
I home—-or any where with thee;
At any hour !
ken storms are softened to repose,
id ocean's breast no ripple knows;
hen, weeping o'er expiring day,
in the south with holy ray,
The Evening star;
>'h ecstacy I gaze, and turn
'long departed days, and burn
For thee afar !
strong, blow steady, welcome breeze !
id hour ns thro* the weary seas,
Jtil In-fore our wistful eyes
"y azure hills, Columbia rise—
My native grove,
a k its summer pride I see
e cliD-o'ershaded cot, and thee,
My life !—My love !
'Ls the requiem of the closing year—
Tfe hollow dirge of Autumn's reign lias sped;
kowls the tempest to the startled ear—
••'top moanj the blast o'er summer's beauty
>Tis Winter-and I hail the monarch's reign ;
I love to gaze upon that rugged brow.
When 'neath its frown the slow descending rain
Congealing, glitters on those locks of snow.
1 love to gaze upon that stern, unalter'd eye ;
I love to grasp that cold and icy hand ;
To mark the embattled whirlwind of the sky,
When Winter waves the sceptre of command.
Winter, thou com'st not with a villain's smile;
Thou bring'st, unseen, no keen envenom'd dart;
Thy cold and bloodless lips are free from guile,
Thy frozen bosom shrouds a candid heart !
" See that you fall not out by the way,
the amiable Joseph's advice to bis brethren ; an
admonition no less important and seasonable a!
the present period, than when at first deliver
ed. It were well, did the disciples of the ble
sed Jesus give earnest heed to it, while on their
way to the heavenly canaan. A perfect uniform
to circumstantials in reli
ity of sentiment, as
gion, cannot be looked for in this state of im
perfection.' To be continually disputing, in ord r
to affect this uniformity, would therefore be ab
surd in the extreme; rather let us, in this « valley
of Bacca,' where our highest attainment is " to
know but in part," dwell together, and journey
Zionward, as brethren " forbearing one anothei
Believers are commanded to have then
in love.
conversation in heaven ; but ah ! how unlike citi
of that peaceful land, where all is love and
concord, to be jealous one of another, and given lo
evil speaking, envyings, whisperings, debate and
who know the gruce of God in
to what
railing. Ail
truth," notwithstanding their quarrels i
be nominated " meats and drinks,
are uni
ted in the gaeat doctrines of Christianity. This
diversity of sentiment, however, affords an oppor
tunity of exercising gentleness, meekness, pa
and forbearance ; the no last of which
cannot be exercised but on earth, for in
shall know even as we are known,"
heaven " we
here being " unblameable and umeproveable'
in the sight of God, and in our own, and each
other's estimation, there will be no room for thesi
amiable, needful, Christ-like qualifications. Lei
therefore, evidence that we are Christians,
not merely in name, but in reality. Let these
•ds of the precious Saviour, be imprinted or.
By this shall all men know that y >
" Tue
our hearts,
my disciples, if you love one another.
Spirit ot Christ confines not his saving operations
any one denomination ; let us be cautious,
therefore, of withholding our affections from
those in whom he resides. To confine our love
to those only of similar sentiments in every tiling
ith ourselves, is doing no more than Mahome
tans and Heathens. Let us embrace in the arms
of affection all who are partakers of " like pre
faith, who have tasted that the Lord is gra
cious," for with such we shall sweeily associate
through e joyful eternity. The funeral of atril
and contention in the Church of God, and the re
vival of that old confession, drawn fpom thi
see how these Christians
mouths ot enemies,
love one another!" would be a blessed occurrence
indeed : It might be considered as the preludi
of the better-day of glory, when the children ol
shall see eye to eye;" an expression which
if not implying a perfect uniformity of sentiment
hat may be termed the • minutix,' yet cer
tainly supposes greater measures of forbearance
and brotherly love. May we therefore, through
grace, manifest this excellent spirit in our whole
Being kindly affectionate, one
as to
toward another, in brotherly love, in honom
preferring one another"—Constantly assiduous
the pursuit ot what tends to love and edifies
Following after the tilings which makt
for peace.'
NO. I.
This is the season of the year that calls loudly
for charity and benevolence, and there is nothing
which so much adorns our character as tile exer
cise of these first of virtues. The weak and penu
rious miser, buried in the drawers of his own bu
reau, calculates nothing but the means ot accu
mulating and hording the glitter or the dross of
this transient and sordid world—he looks with an
eye of indifference and unconcern on the suffer
ings of his fellow creatures, and hears the peti
tions of the distressed widow and fatherless or
phan, soliciting a trifle for the support of their
sinking nature with as little uneasiness, as though
he was callous to all the feelings of humanity.—
He may have lost a friend—a relation ; but even
such a loss, although the most poignant to a sen
sitive heart, will hardly make him feel that he is
So completely is he absorbed in his
a man
schemes of aggrandizement, that he forgets all
other considerations, and would grieve more over
tlie loss of a single crown than fur the death of
his nearest relative.
How different is the character of tlie benevo
lent man, whose mind, ever alive to the dictates
of the Deity, feels all mankind his brethren,
is actuated by a spirit of philanthropy, and dis
carding every selfish motive, studies with a feel
ing heart the wants of the needy, and enjoys an
unspeakable gratification, which is alone experi
enced by such as he, in relieving their distresses.
His cheering benevolence enlivens the gloomy
habitations of sorrow, and wipes the big tear
from the pate cheek of grief. Ashe enters the
cot of misery, he is hailed as the ministering an
gel to its wants—joy pervades the little assembly
of objects of his compassion and every face wears
a smile of serene tranquility. Happy is he who
has the widow's blessing—happy is he who has
the orphan's prayer.
"What advantage arises from all this boasted
love of learning and study of Nature ?" said Cle
•in to Aristippus, as they were walking one day
aider the portico of Minerva's Temple, at AtheiiB;
* will they furnish us with splpndid equipages !
will they fill our porticos with attendants? or will
they enable us to give rich hrnquets to our some
friends'"—"Not one of all these." replied Aria, but
tinnis. "Will they protect us from legal out.
riîge ' will they lull the poisoned tongue ol cal im
will they render us so sacred that misfortune to
cannot reach us" Far from it."— •• What men,
then will they do for us !" enquired Cleon, with the
some degree 7 of exultation. " If there were no in
other advantages arising from them than Ihes- »
returned Aristippus, " it were sufficient : they
enable us to chastise the mean by our contempt,
flic envious by our smiles, the malicious by our-checks
silence, and the sordid by our scorn«."—"Enough, nf
enough' exclaimed Cleon, in an ectacy, "lead
me iifto the temple !" hut
The education of men is intended to answer I «her
know not how many purposes—that of womanjrentlv
only one; it is intended to improve the qualities!
with which they were born; it is intended to pre-imoment,
Tent modesty from dwindling into an
ing awkwardness, simplicity from becoming
crev to the ensnarer, and a mind unemployed
i U'iness from being absorbed by ignorance. She son
who is adorned with an education that answers ny's
these purposes, may without effort, secur to her- the
.elf that respect in the eyes of men, which refine-i
ment pursues, and aff elation sighs for in vain.-!
tor will these ornaments be thought of little p
value, when it is remembered, that in each of
them beauty finds an instrument of authority; nor
she part wilh one of them without proper
ionably diminishing her prerogative.
Oh the grave! the grave! It buries every er- he
ror- covers every defect; extinguishes every re-,one
sentment. From its peaceful bosom spring tioneiOn
iiut fond regret and tender recollections; who can'the
look down upon the grave even of an enemy, and [of
nnt feel a compunctious throb, that eve' he should'mission
Iv.'e warred witlilhr poor handful of earth that liesihe
mouldering before him ! But the grave of, those!
he LOVEU-What a place fur meditation! tU it
is we call up in long review the whole history of
virtue and gentleness, and the thousand endearJDixon,
ments lavishing upon us almost unheeded in
daily intercourse of intimacy !-then it is we dwell
upon the tenderness, the solemn and awful ten-by
lerness of the parting scene ; the bed of death,
with all the stifled grief; its noiseless attendance,
its mute watchful assiduities! the last testimonies'raps
of love; the feeble, fluttering, thrilling—Oh ! how
thrilling is the pressure of the hand; the last
find look of the glazed eye, turning upon us even
fom the threshold of existence; the faint, falter
mg accents struggling in death to give one morejnot
.ssurance of affection '-Aye, go to the grave ot
ouried love and meditate'.-There settle the ac
count with tliy conscience for every past endear
ment unregarded of that departed being who
: lever never—never can return to he soothed
bv contention ! If thou art a child, and hast evei
y >
,tided a sorrow to the soul or a furrow to the sil
ver'd brow of an affectionate parent-if thou art
a imssANii, and ever caused the fond bosom that «he
ventured its whole happiness in thy arms, to
doubt one moment of thy kindness or thy truth—
if thou art a fihenii, and hast ever wrong'd
if,ought, or word or deed, the spirit that gene
rously confided in thee-it thou art a lover, and
hast ever given one unmerited pang to the hue
heart that now lies cold and still beneath thy
lee»,—then b. sure that every unkind look, every in
ungracious word, every ungenteel action w ',||
hronging back upon thy memory, and
I. dolefully ... thy a-.ul—tliei éu sure tlnat
thou wilt be down so. rowing and Repentant on
the grave and utter the unheard groan, and pour
die unavailing tear, more deep, more bitter, be- r,
cause unheard and unavailing!
Knowledge is power—is wealth—is honour,
It raises the savage above the brute; and the
peasant, in civilixed society, much above the
savnge. While it exalts the* few, who posses its
richest stores, as far above the mass of the un-jhim
learned, as they transrend the brute creation.
Knowledge opens the surest path to usefulness;
and eminence. It confers a nobility which no he
.•editary rank can equal : and which kings and
princes cannot bestow. Knowledge, consecrated
to its legitimate end, constitutes the brightest
ornament of human na'ure. It is. and must be,
the main pillar of our republican institutions—..t
all civil and religious liberty-of nil that the pat
riot and the Christian liolds must dear upon
earth. It is a treasure, of which no adverse fur
tune, no persecuting power, no malignant friend,
can deprive its possessor. In poverty— in esilc—
it home—abroad—in the wilderness—on the p
•ean—in prison_in bonds_.it is his companion
md his solace : and like Cicero, and Luther, and
Knox, and Milton, and Locke, and a thousand
others, more unfortunate and more oppressed
[than they, he can even then, turn it to a profita
ble advantage. So far as this world merely is in
question, it is more desirable than any, or all
Other possessions. With wh it invincible perse
vering ardor then, ought, its acquisition .o be pro
secuted by every ingenuous youth, who aspires to
the perfection of his nature, and to the moat com
mandipg aphere of human action.
° 1
" 7 want a Newspaper ! !"
Says neighbor Rednose to neighbor Chatterbox
" I'll tell you now, I want to take this newspaper,
but fags I can't pay for it." Oh friend, says Chat
terbox, I'll put you in a way to pay for it." * Aye
how ?' There is going to be a shooting match
to-morrow. Now instead of going there and firing
away three shillings, and hustling away six, do
you go and haul wood enough to the printer to
pay fora year's paper. «Oh ! must go the shoot
ing ; I wish to see a man vyho has promised to
meet me there.'
Well, if you must go. I'll put you in another
way. You spend at the tavern on an average,
the price of one mug of ale every week. Reduce
that to three cents and you will have enough to
pay for your paper, and purchase an arithmetic
into the bargain,-* Well, 'poll my honour, I'll
do jt,' says Rednose.
The intensity ofcold in large tracts of country
removed beyond the meliorating influence of the
ocean, is well knuwn to be much greater than
any we experience, though situated in a more
northerly latitude. An instance of this is record
ed by Mr. Schoolcraft, in his Narrative of Travels
to the Sources of the Mississippi, in tlie coqrse
of which he found two Frenchman, who had set
tled in thjit region of gloom an4 desolation for
the purpose of trading in furs.
"In the persnn of one of these, (says the au
thor) we witnessed one of the most striking ob
jects of human misery. It appears that in tile
prosecution of the fur trade, he had, according
to toe custom of the country, taken an Indian
wife and spent several winters in that inclement
region. During the last, he was, however, caught
in a severe snow storm, and froze both his feet
in such a manner, that they droppei} off shortly
after his return to his wig« am.
In this helpless situation, he was supported "
some time by Ids wife, who caught fish in the lak. . on
but she deserted him, and on our arrival, he had the
subsisted several months upon the pigweed
which grew around his cabin. _ As lie was unable
to walk this had been thrown in by Ins country,
men, or bv the Indians, and appeared to have been
the extent of their benevolence. We found him
in a small bark cabin, on a rush mat, with thejderable
slumps nf his leg. tied up with dear skins, and all
wholly destitute of covering, lie was poor «id
emaciated to the last degree-ills beard was long lie
our-checks fallen in-eye. sfink, but darting a look the
nf despair—and every bone in Ins body visible
through the skm. He could speak no Englishihad
hut was continually muttering curses in his
I «her tongue, upon his own existence, and appa-|journey
womanjrentlv on all that surrounded him. |of
"We could only endure the painful sight for a'ces
pre-imoment, and hastened from this abode of human cun
unbecom-wrrtchedne»s_but before leaving the village, at
aGovernor Cass sent him a present of Indian goods,
in'groceries, and ammunition, and engaged a per-'soun,
son to convoy him to the American Fur Compa- c
ny's fort at Sandy Lake, where tie could receive
the attention due to suffering humanity. An
p rom Bradbury's Travels in the interior
„ „ .
°J America.
Colter came to St. Louis m a small canoe,
from the head waters of the Missouri, a distance
of three thousand miles, which he traversed m
thirty days ; 1 saw him on his arrival, and receiv.
ed from him an account of his adventures »'ter
er- he had separated from Louis'and Clarke s party .jh
re-,one of these, from its singularity, I shall relate^ a
tioneiOn the arrival of the party on the head waters of
can'the Missouri, Colter, observing the appearance j
and [of abundance of beaver being there, he got per
should'mission to remain and hunt for some time, which
liesihe did in company with a a man of the name of
Dixon, who had traversed the immense tract of a
it country from St. Louis to the head waters of the
of Miss' tri alone. Soon after he separated from
endearJDixon, and ' trapped in company with a hunter
tfiejnamed Pot's ; and aware of the hostility of the
Hlackfeet Indians, one of whom had been killed
Lewis, they set their traps at night, and took
them up early in the morning, remaining con
cealed during the day 1 hey were examing their
early one morning, in a creek about six
miles from that branch of the Missouri called
Jefferson s Fork, and were ascending in a canoe,
when they suddenly heard a great noise, resem
bling the trampling of animals; but they could
ascertain the fact, as the high perpendicular
banks on each side of the river, impeded their
view Co ter immediately pronounced it to be
occasioned by Indians, anil advised an instant re
Tea', but was accused of cowardice by Potts
who insisted that the nmse was caused by buffalo
|aml they proceeded on. In a few minutes after
wards their doubts were removed, by a party of
Indians making their appearance on both sides of
«he creek, to the amount ot hve or six hundred
to who beckoned them tocome ashore. As e reat
was now impossible, Colter turned the head of
incanoe to the shore; and at the moment of its
touching, an Indian seized the rifle belonging to
Potts; but Colter, who is a remarkably strong
n,an, immediately retook it, and handed^ it to
Po'.s, who remained m the canoe, and on receiv
in £ pushed oft into the river. He had scarcely
',|| quitt ed the shore when an arrow was shot at him,
and he cried out, Colter, 1 am wounded. Cpl
««' remonstrated with him on the fol.y ot attempt
on ing lo escape, and urged hint to come ashore
Instead of complying he instantly levelled his
r, A e at an Indian, and shot him <iead on the spot,
?'"* conduct, situated as he was may appear ,o
been an act ol madness; but it was doubtless
the effect of 9 udden, but sound reasoning 1 ; for if
taken alive, he must have expected to be tortur
ed to death, according to their custom. He was
the instantly pierced with arrows so numerous, that,
the to use the language ot Colter, "lie was made a
its riddle of.** They now seized Colter* stripped
un-jhim entirely P a . k J' t1 ' jj™) ,f?P n n ,!? ®°i"" | .î °£|! JÎ
manner in wjnch he should be put to death T ley
were first inclined to set him up as a mark, to
he- shoot at; but the chief interfered, and seizing
and him by the shoulder, asked him if he could run
fast ! Col'er, who had been some time a ™b n ?st
.Ue C,e.ka(.sa or^
be, erable degree acquired the Rlackfoot language,
and was also well acquainted with Indian eus
toms; he knew that he had now to run for h«
life, wuh the dreadful odds of five or six hun
dred against him, and tho* armer I Induins; there
fore cunningly replied that he was a % cry hid
runner, although he was^considered by e un.
tera as remarkably switt. T he chief now com
manded the party to remain stationary and led
Colter out on thethree °r
yards, and reified.him, bidding hun
self if he could At this instant the homd war
whoop sounded in the eans of Ç" p ^ u "« r *
urged wi the u>pe o pre *ng » He!
speed a w ic i , m- Fork «, having to
preceded towards the Jeflerson Fork.yhawng to
traverse a plain six miles m breadth, abounding
with the prickly pear, on which lie was every in
stant treading with his naked feet. He ran near
ly half way across the plain before he ventured
to look over his shoulder, when he perceived
that the Indians were very mueh scattered, and
that he had gained ground to a considerable dis
tance from the main body; but one Indian
much before all the rest, and not more than a
hundred yards from him. A faint gleam of hope
now cheered the heart of Colter; he derived con
fidence from the belief that escape was within
the bounds of possibility, but that confidence
was near being fatal to him, for he exerted him
self to such a degree, that the blood gushed from
his nostrils, and soon almost covered the fore part
of his body He had now arrived within a mile
of the river when he distinctly heard the appal
ing sound of footsteps behind him, and eyery in
stant expected to feel the spear of his pursuer.
Again he turned his head, and saw the savage
not twenty yards from him. Determined if pos
stopped 1 , "tiirned'round'and^spreati ou! SS
Th* Indian, surprised at the suddenness of the
action, and'perhaps at the bloody appearance of
Colter, also attempted to stop, but exhausted
with running, lie fell whilst endeavouring W
throw his spear, which stuck in the ground and
broke in his hand- Colter instantly snatched up
the pointed part, with which he pinned him to
the earth, and then continued bis flight. The
foremost of the Indians, on arriving at the place,
stopped till others came up to join them, when
fainting and exhausted, succeeded in gaining the
skirting of the cottoq w°od trees, on phe borders
of the fork, through which he ran ^nd plunged in
the river. Fortunately tor him, ? Jj't e e ow
lhis place there WH* an island, agftinst the uppei
point Of Which a raft of drift tirnler had lodged;
he dived qqder the raft, and after several efforts,
got his head above water amongst the tronks ot
trees, covered over with smaller ^004 10 thr
depth of several feet. Scarcely had he secured
himself, when the Indfans arrived on ihe riier.
reeebfng and yelling, as Colter expressed it,
They were fv^qu^m ! '4
" like so many devils.
on the raft during the day, and were seen themip \
the chinks by Colter, who wascongraudat ,.
himself on his escape, until the idea wosptha.
they might set the raft on fire, n '
pense he remained until night, when hearing i i
more o the Indians, lie dived from under th .
raft, and swam silently down the river Jo » fom ,
thejderable distance, when lie landed, and travelle
all the night. Although happy ,n having escap
from the Indians h.s situation was still dread . .
lie was completely naked under a burniug sun •
the soles of his feet were entirely filledw th th -
[thorns of the prickly pear; b< J .Jl *['
no means of killing game, » tho g '
mo-|bun<lanee around him, and was at least sevendaj \
appa-|journey from f. 1 «« s tort.on the Big jo -
|of the Roche Jaune river. These are cine i
a'ces under which almost any man but an Ame ■
cun hunter would have despaired. H r •
at -he fort in seven days, having subsisted on e
root much esteemed by the Indians of ip. -
per-'soun, now known by naturalists as Psoralea ps
c lent».
An extempore sermon, preached at the request
f , c hplars, (by a lover of ale) out of a
01 w '
hollow tree.
Beloved Let me crave your attention ; for I
am a little m>I)j come a t a short warning, to
pi-eacii a brief serroqn, upon a small subject, to a
thin congregation, in an unworthy pulpit,
m A nd now, belove d, my text is MALT, which J
cannot divide into sentences, because it has none;
nor j nl0 wort i 9j it being but one; nor into sylla
.jh lea, because (upon the whole matter) it is but
a monosyllable : therefore, I must, as necessity
of enforces me, divide it into letters, which I find
j n m y texl t0 g e on iy tfiese four«»bj, Ai L, T,
ma n
-J rmy beloved) is moral
of A is allegorical,
L is literal, and
T is theological
The moral is well set forth to teach you drunk
ards good manners ; wherefore,
L listen
T to my text.
M my masters
A all of you,
The allegorical is, when one thing is spoken,
and another thing is meant. Now the thing spo
ken of is bare MALT; but the thing meant is
strong beer, which you rustics make
L liberty, and
T treasure.
M meat,
A apparel,
The literal is according to the letter ;
L little
T tlirist.
M much,
A ale,
Much ale, little thrift.
The'theoiogical is according to the effect which
it works; which I find in my text to be of two
kinds. 1. In this world ; 2. In the world to come.
In this world the effects which it works, are ip
some, M murder, in others, A adultery ; in some
L looseness of life, in others, T treason.
In the world to come : In some, M misery, in
others A, anguish ; in some, L languishing, in
others, T torment :
Wherefore my first use shall be exhortation.
L leave
T tippling.
M my masters,
A all of you
Or else, 2ndly, by way of coqitnination, l say,
L look for
M my masters,
A all of you,
So much far this time and text ; only, by way
of caution, take this ; a drunkard is an aqno.yance
ot modesty, t!»e trouble o i civifiiy, the spoil ot
wealth, the destruction of reason, the breweria
agent, the ale-house benefactor, the beggar's
companion, the constable's trouble, his wife's
woe, his children's sorrow, his neighbour's scon,
his own shame, a walking swill-tub, the picture of
a beast, and the monster of a man.
Say-well and do-well end both with a letter,
Say well is good, but do-well is better.
T torment.
Bonaparte's raised to power by revolution, thus
^ r sentiments on that point : " A revo
c0llc i U( j e j the en) p e ror, "is one of the
u b hich man kind can be visited,
B tc y the - neriiUun by whpm it is
ahouf; and alMhe advantages it pro
make amends for the misery with
... j t emb ; ttera lbe |, ves of those who partici
^poor. who a U Vemaip
^J^ed.anditimpoveîishektlmriJh, who
t f t t [ )e i r downfall It subverts every
'""f* ^^commencement, brings misery
^ ^ h iness t0 nol)e- u eyon a a doubt,
true social ],\ppi ne sB consists in the harmony
peaceful possession of the relative enjoy
"" | a of P ra C h class of people! Inregu!ar J «nd
tran „ uil times, every individual has hfs share of
'fclicjlv; the cobbler in his stall is as contentas
tl)e so | dier i s not less hap
py t ha„ the general. The best founded révolu
tl " ons » at t,ie ous P x * bring universal destruction in
l,ieir train » tlie advantages they may produce
re3 ervedfor a future age."
reserved tor fu 3 Cases'Journal,
_ . . _ 4 ...
' Thl9 s î one the fact reveal d
That various coins were here conceal d j
Anri told the world, in language fair,
A Bishop s hand had placed them there !
To make such information Ifnown,
It must have been a clever stone;
So clever—that it p'haps can say,
Who 'twas that stole t he coins away,
> • ,
The Paris Gazette de Cante (Gazette
Q p jj eft l{h) mentiuns a remarkable instance
of wickedness and ignorance. 4 woman
in a^ village near Lherbourg, mother ol
four children,b»d thegopd sen9eand cour
age ( 0 | lave her young family vaccinated,
After some time the small pox made itg
^ ,h P villaa-e All the chil
appearance in t V g
dren, excepting tlie fouj vacpin^ted, Werp
infected, and many died,
rphe Women who had mocked at thfi
j prepaution of thp happy mother, mqr?
rtf r* ^
the .children to thoir houses, anu smeared
their fifces with variolus mattef. Their
rn alignity was only further embittered by
äee j n „ that all their efforts to communj
, ,. . i n i ;u. on
cate the disease to the vaccingted children
were onsucpegsful.
Bonaparte's opinion of Revolution.
Sinoular Boa Bert. —The coins recently de
posited by the hand of the Right Rev. the Bishop
of Chester, within the foundation stone of the
new church at Ashton-under-Line, were, a i'evy
nights since very ingeniously extracted from the
cavity of the stone, and a scrap of paper contain?
ing the following lines, was found in the place of
them :
'* No person is free, where <tny person
suffered to 4o wrung with impunity."

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