AM) DELAWARE REGISTER.
Printed and Published, every Thursday by MF..YI) F,.\ IIAl.l, Is" Wjll.TRR R, No. HI, Market-st. (three doors above the Farmer's Bank,) at ÿtll 50 per annum, payable half yearly in advance , or g3 at the end of the year.
WILMINGTON, DEL. AUGUST 5,1824.
TRUMS. — Aiivkutiskments not exceeding
• will be inserted four times for one
And why?—They shew me every hour,
Honour's high thought, Affection's power,
Discretion's deed, sound Judgment's sen- 1
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tion. ...If continued for three months, S2 5Ü — for
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pation, inserted in the Register, oiiatis.
description will he discontinued until all
paid, and mu week's nutice given.
TO MY WIFE,
Oil the anniversary of her wedding-day,
which was also her birth-day, with a ring.
nr sAMi nr. nntior.
f " Thee, Mary, with this ring I wed"—
So, fourteen years ago, I said
Behold another ring!—" for what?"
" Towed thee o'er again?"—Why not?
With that first ring I married youth,
Grace, beauty, innocence and truth;
Taste long admir'd, sense long rever'd,
And all my Molly then appeal'd.
If she, by merit since disclos'd.
Prove twice the woman I suppos'd,
I plead that double merit now,
To justify a double vow.
Here then to-day, (with faith as sure,
With ardour as intense, as pure,
And when, amidst the rites divine,
I took thy troth and plighted mine,).
To thee, sweet girl, my second ring
A token and a pledge 1 bring:
With this I wed, till death us part,
Thy riper virtues to my heart;
Those virtues which before untried,
The wife has added to the bride:
Those virtues whose progressive claim,
Endearing wedlock's very name,
My soul enjoys, my song approves,
For conscience" sake, as well as love's.
And teach me all tilings—but repentance.
ON THE DEATH OK AN INFANT.
From the Dutch of Dirk Smite.
Een n r vau Englcn zr.g.
A host of angels flying,
Through cloudless skies imped'd
Upon the earth beheld,
A pearl of beauty lying,
Worthy to glitter bright
In Heaven's vast halls of light.
They saw, with glances tender,
An infant newly born,
O'er whom life's earliest morn
Just cast its opening splendor;
Virtue it could not know,
Nor vice, nor joy, nor wo.
The blest angelic legion
Greeted its birth above,
And came, with looks of love.
From heaven's enchanting region ;
Bending their winged way
To where the infant lay.
They spread their pinions o'er it—
That little pearl which shone
With lustre all its own,—
And then on high they bore it
Where glory hath its birth—
But left the shell on earth.
I .ays of the Forty Martyrs.
THE WIFE'S ADIEU.
I I soar to the realms of the bright and
I Where the
mourners are solaced, the weary
J rise to my glories; while thou must remain
In this dark
vale of tears to dejection and
I And hence, though my heart throbs exult
I ant todie,
■ And visions of glory expand to my eye,
I File bosom that struggles and pants tobe
Still beats with regret ai d affection for thee.
I I fear not another, more fond and more fair,
AV hen I am forgotten, thy fortunes should
I Oil! find but a bosom devoted as mine,
my heart's latest blessing forever be
I I fear lest the stroke that
now rends us apart,
I From the faith of the Christian should set er
I thv heart:
seeking in anguish relief from despair,
I I he vain world should lure thee to look fin
I But oh! should it tempt thee a while to resign
I A treasure so precious, a hope so divine:
i Should the light of his glory be hidden fr
I In the hour of thy darkness, Oh! think upon
I Hçmcmbei.' the hope that enlivens me now,
Though the dews of the damp grave arc cold
on my brow :
The faith that has nerved me with transport
The hour of my doom, though it tears me
from thee !
expectations, and fast bound in the fetters of
death. The voung lie thick as dew drops
, ,■ , , , ,
on the ground, here and there only do wc
find a monument erected upon years and
wisdom; we wonder when we find it, and
vet this our wonder does not cure us of our
„ , „ ,
secunty and confidence. Perhaps even..low
thc scythe of time is lifted to cut down those
who little think of it, who are expecting the
departure of their friends, or preparing to
. .. . . . , ...
carry their fathers to the tomb. 1 o-mor
row, that idol deity, in which the world have
agreed to place their trust ; to-morrow, that
hair-spun thread on which they hang the
. , , ... . .
weighty ccncernments of eternity \\ hat is
to-morrow? No part ot our possessions, no
part of our inheritance—it is a part in the
»mat chain of duration, but perhaps no part j
r . ,,, ti l, i
of our present being. Clear, and bright and
steady, as it shines to-day, some sudden blast
may blow out the lamp of life—and to-mor
row mav have conveyed us into other com
, . „ T , , ,
nanv and settles us m other scenes. Boast
i • ,
not of to-morrow, till you have unrolled the
book of fate, and learnt what to day shall
bring forth.—Last night, it is probable, ma
... .i . i.ic „„ .i.,.
n y a trjiv \ outli threw hiiiibdi on the bed
- h • 3
whence he shall rise no more : and many a
busy head reposed itself upon that pillow,
where it shall sleep now and take its rest,
How sad and serious are many now, who,
, , \ ,
; but last night, were giddy, thoughtless, pre
sumptuous and vain ; how terrible lias this
to-morrow proved to many, who but vester
day said unto themselves, that it was yet soon
, , ,
enough to repent and he converted. • 1 hou
! fool, this night thy soul shall be required of
thee !' was a severe yet a gracious warning.
In every breeze that blows there is a Might
of human fates; in every breath wc breathe,
we drink in the deadly poison—every hour
we stand in jeopardy ; then every man in his
best estate is altogether vanity. In every
walk we take death treads upon our steps ;
he watches us in our retirements, he follows
us in our business ; he mingles with the an
; gels that stand round our beds ; in that very
! moment when our hearts are most attached
" WHAT IS YOUR I.1FK?"
Ask the aged to look back upon the scenes
through which they have passed, upon the
years which they have spent; intreat them
to tell you in what light they sec them—at
tend to their answer, for with the aged there
is wisdom. What is it they reply ? They
confirm the oracles of God. The weaver's
shuttle they say, is not more swift, the shoot
ing star is not more momentary, evanescent
and unreal. Some of you may consult your
children instead of advising your fathers ;
and all may ask your brethren, if time be
not very short. The registers of the dead
arc not unfaithful ; they cannot err ; they
■ are not interested ; consult then the regis
ter of the dead. Look upon the tombs—are
' their inhabitants all old ? No—not all.
ny ? No—not many. Babes there are, who
have been born to weep and die— babes there
are, who in all their sportive innocence, have
gone down to the grave ; youths there are,
! who in their gayest hours and amidst the
I most pleasurable scenes, have been recalled
! tu lie down in darkness and the dust Num
: hers too arc there, who, in the pride of man
i hood, the maturity of life, in the full career
of business and of hope, have been eased
of all their anxieties and defeated of all their
to this world—in that very moment when
wc arc i,. ast apprehensive of fate, then the
tyrant springs upon his prey, rejoicing toadd
to ],j s native horrors the necessary terrors of
surprise._In the midst oi life we are in Can
ger of some fatal blight—in the highest health
we may be nearest to some mortal malady.
What then is your life ? Is it not a fleeting
! cloud, an evaporating smoke, an exploding
meteor, a painted bubble.—Break, the hub •
hie must—in its greatest beauty it will break,
and it may break ere night.
From the Newhumpshirc Collections.
After the city of Charleston had fallen into
the hands of Lord Cornwallis, his Lordship
issued a proclamation, requiring of the in
habitants of the colony ; that they should no
longer take part in the contest, but continue
peacably at their homes, and they should be
most sacredly protected in property and per
son. This was accompanied by an instrument
of neutrality, which soon obtained the signa
tures of many thousands of the citzens of S.
Carolina, among whom was Col Hayne who
now conceived that he was entiled to peace
and security for his family and fortune,
it was not long before Lord Cornwallis put a
new construction on the instrument of neu
trality, denominating it a bond of allegiance
to the king, and called upon all who signed it
to take up arms against the rzbkls ! threat
cningto treat as deserters those who refused 1
This fraudulent proceeding in Lord Corn
wallis roused the indignation of every honest
and honorable man. Col. Ilayne being now
compelled in violation of the most solemn
compact, to take tip arms, resolved that the
in\ aders of his native country should be the
objects of his vengeance. He withdrew from
the British and was invested with a command
in the continental service; but it was soon his
hard fortune to be captured by the enemy,
and carried into Charleston. Lord Rawdon
the Commandant, immediately ordered him
to be loaded with irons, and after a sort of
mock trial, he was sentenced tobe hung!
This sentence seized ail classes of people
with horror and dismay. A petition headed
by the British Governor Hall, and signed by
a number of the Royalists, was presented in
hisbehalf, but was totally disregarded. The
ladies of Charleston, both whigs and tories,
now united in a petition to Lord Rawdon ;
couched in the most eloquent and moving
language ; praying that the valuable life of
Col. Ilayne might be spared; but this was al
so treated with neglect. It was next propos
ed that Col. Haync's children, [the mother
had recently expired with the small pox]
should in their mourning habiliments, be pre
sented to plead for the life of their only sur
viving parent ; being introduced into his pre
sence, they fell on their knees, and with clas
ped hands, and weeping eyes, they lisped
their father's name, aud plead most earnestly
for his life. (Reader, what is your anticipa
tion ? I)o you imagine that Lord Rawden
pitying their motherless condition, tenderly
embraced these afflicted children, and restor
ed to them the fond embraces of their father ?
N'o! ! the unfeeling man was still inexorable ;
he suffered even those little ones to plead in
vain !) His son a \ oulli of thirteen was per
mitted to stay with his father in prison, who
beholding his only parent loaded with irons
and condemned todie,was overwhelmed with
grief and sorrow.—' \\ hy,' said he, • my son
wi !}. you break your father's heart with una
vailing sorrow?. Have I not often told you,
t i llllt we camc into this world to prepare for
a better ? For that better life, my dear boy,
your father is prepared. Instead then ot
weeping, rejoice with me, my son, that mv
troubles are so near an end. 1 omorrow I
set out for immol tallity. You will accom
p an y me to the place of execution; and
when I am dead take me and bury me by the
s ' l 'e ^ y°ur mother." I he youth here fell
on his lather s neck, 'Oh! mv father! my
father , ï wm die with vou ! fwill die with
you !' Col. Hayne would have returned the
strong embrace of his son; but alas! his
bands were confined with irons. 'Live, said
he, my son live to serve your country ; and
, h .. J take care of your | n . others a ,f U little
sisters!* The next morning Col Hayne was
conducted to the place of execution, liis son
j Accompanied him. Soon as they camc in
sight ot the gallows, the lather strengthened
hi b mse lf and said : • Now, my son, show your
st .if ;l ll)aI1 1 that tree is the boundary of my
cease from troubling and the weary are at
rest. Don't lay loo much to heart our separa
.. ,. • T . , , , ,
tion from vou: It will be hutshort; it was
Hut lately your mother died : to-day I die,
and you, my son, though but young, must
shortly follow us.' * \ es, my father, rcpli
ed the Uroktd hearted youth,I shall shortly
«• ,. ,» » • . »•
follow you, for indeed I tccl that I cannot live*
i 011J r »
On seeing therefore, his father in the hands
of the executioner, and then struggling in the
baiter, he stood like onc transfixed aiulmo;
tionless with horror. 1 ill then he had wept
incessantly, but us soon as he saw that sight,
the fountain of his tears was staunched, and
he never wept more. He died insane, and in
>'! s "«!"«*■ often called on the name of
his father in terms that brought tears to the
Beyond that, the wicked
" If I had Leisure" —Ah, yes, if you had
leisure, what would you do ? Why says the
man who is engaged in business, If J had lei
sure, I'd prosecute this charitable object—
I'd aid in such and such benevolent plans—
I would do a great deal of good. But I am
so much engaged that I have not a spare mo
ment to devote eo any thing hut my business.
The man is innocent in his declaration—he
really believes what lie says—lie docs'nt
know, because he never experienced it, that
leisure is the mother of indolence, and that
if he had plenty of the one, lie would, ninety
nine chances out of a hundred, have the oili
er in exact proportion.
If I hud leisure, says the merchant I would
pay more attention to my accounts; and try
to collect my debts more punctually. Chance
if you are not mistaken, friend, if you had
leisure probably you would pay less attention
to the matter than you now do. The thing
you want is not more leisure, but more reso
lution. The spirit to do —to do now —my
word for it, after all, you waste, actually
waste, more time than would be necessary to
accomplish all your desires.
If J had Leisure, I-'d repair that weak
place in my fence said a farmer—he had no
leisure, however, and while he was drinking
cider with a neighbor, the cows broke in and
destroyed his crop. He found leisure to plant
If I had Leisure, said m y friend the wheel
wright, last winter, I'd alter my stove pipe.
He did not find leisure though—but when his
shop took lire, and burnt down, he had to take
time and build another.
If I had Leisure, I'd some times go to
meeting, old Tom Rattle used to say ; but he
found so much " better business," as he call
ed it, on Sunday ,tliat he never got there. He's
dead and gone now, poor soul—but he regret
ted at his dying day that he had played a
cheat oft'upon himself in that matter.
People are apt to lie very much mistaken
in this affair of "leisure," there are very
few men who put every hour of their time
to thb best possible use. Often those who
j have least to do don't half do that little,
j while those who are most engaged do every
1 i thing thoroughly. I'll give a plain illustra
tion, drawn from every day experience. If
you want any matter, whether of profit or
charity, or of what description so ever done
—done expeditiously and well done too ; go
to, not the man who, half his time, stands or
sits with his hands in his breeches packets ;
but to the identical person who, being a
thorough business doing man, is always at
work. That's the man for you. An idler
from habit regards every thing that requires
a little labor, study or confinement, as an ant
looks at a mole hill ; it seems a mountain,
But an industrious active man, from habit,
looks at the labour with the eye of a man ; is
not afraid of it; and herein lies the secret
spring of his ability ; lie does not loiter, or
hesitate: he acts, promptly, spiritedly, im
The following was written hy Josiah
Peirce, Esq. of Baldwin, Maine, (brother-in
law to Count Rumford) and contains direc
tions to his children on the formation of char
THE UOAII TO HAPPINESS.
Being fully persuaded that the most ra
tional happiness which intelligent free agents
enjoy, arises from a consciousness of having
properly employed their implanted powers
and passions—and as the virtues themselves
when carried to excess, either fail ot obtain
ing their objects, or degenerate into vices, it
is therefore my most ardent desire—that my
children may be—
Pious hut not Enthusiastic.
Religious but not Bigoted.
Just but not Vindictive.
Righteous but not Hypocritical.
Virtuous but not Ostentatious.
Charitable but not Weak.
Strict but not Austere.
Meek but not Mean
Humble hut not Abject.
Mild but not Effeminate.
Modest hut not bashful.
Complaisant but not Deceitful.
Affable but not Loquacious.
Polite hut not Ceremonious.
Condescending but not Undetermined.
Believing but not credulous.
Cautious hut not timid.
Watchful but not jealous.
Sensible but not Irritable.
Emulous but not Envious.
Learned but not Pedantic.
Benevolent but not Vain-glorious.
Generous but not Profuse.
Noble but not Prodigal.
Dignified but not Proud.
Spirited but not Haughty,
Bold but not Assuming.
Brave but not Savage.
Valiant but not Fool-hardy.
Resolute but not Obstinate.
Confident but not Boasting.
Industrious but not Avaricious,
Prudent but not Parsimonious.
Economical but not Covetous.
Refined but not Affected.
Soft but not Simple.
Neat but uot Foppish.
Communicative but not Tale-bearers.
The following is said to be a fragment of
an ancient Egyptian king found at Thebes.
1 never denied justice to the goor for his
poverty ; neither pardoned the wealthy for
I nev er gave reward for affection, nor pun
ishment upon passion.
I never suffered evil to escape unpunish
ed, neither goodness unrewarded.
I never denied justice to him that asked it,
neither mercy to him that deserved it.
I never opened my gate to the flatterer nor
mine car to the hack-biter.
1 always sought to he beloved by the good,
and feared of toe wicked.
I always favored the poor, that was able
to do little, and God, who was able to do
much, always favored me.
The writer of this Poem was one of that
multitude of gallant young men, who, on the
raising of the Prussian volunteers threw up
their studies and took the field against iluo- |
imparte. After distinguishing himself in se
veral desperate actions in the beginning of
1813, and obtaining for his bravery, a com
mission in the Hussars, he died of wounds
received, we believe, in the great battle of
Juterbach, the engagement by which Berlin
was saved, and the final blow given to the
French predominance in the north of Germa
ny. In the intervals of the campaign, and
on his dying bed, he occupied himself by the
pursuits natural to bis accomplished mind ;
and sonic of the most striking national poetry
of his brief day was from the pen of Korner.
Father of earth and li.uven, 1 call thy name.
Round me the smoke and shout ot battle roll;
Mine ties are dazzled with the rushing flame;
Father sustain an untried soldier's soul;
Or life, or death, whatever be the goal
That crowns or closes round the struggling
Thou know'st if ever from my spirit stole
One deeper prayer, 'twas that no cloud might
On my young fame ! —O hear, God of eternal
God, thou art merciful —the wintry storm,
The cloud that pours the thunder from its
But show the sterner grandeur of thy form;
The lightnings glancing thro' the midnight
To Faith's raised eye, as calm,
As splendours of the autumnal evening star,
As roses shaken by the breeze's plume,
When like cold" incense comes the dewy air,
And ou the golden wave the sunset bums.
At the Fulling Mills in the town of War
wick, Rhode Island, is a peculiar curiosity of
this kind, which has been frequently visited,
though not deservedly celebrated. A mi
nute description of this stone, accompanied
with a correct drawing, was published in Silli
man's Journal, No. 2,vol. 7, furnished by Mr.
Steuben Taylor, of this town—the drawing
by Mr. Partridge. Its form resembles that
of a tortoise, convex at the bottom, and some
what concave on the top, placed in a horizon
tal position ; about 10 feet in length, six in
breadth, and two in thickness.—It reposes
on another rock, which rises a few ieet above
ground, and supports it at two points, form
ing a double fulcrum near each end. Upon
these points it is so exactly poised, that it
laterally with the gentlest touch ; and
although its weight is estimated at 4 tons,
yet a child five years old may set it rocking,
so that one of the sides will describe an arc,
the chord of which will be 15 inches. The
easiest way of rocking it is by standing upon
it, and inclining the body alternately to eith
er side. What renders this rock peculiarly
remarkable is, that when one side descend»
it gives four distinct pulsations, as if hitting
at as many dretiuct points. The sound pro
duced, is much like the heat of a drum,
though much louder, and this has given it the
appropiate name of " The Drum Rack."
The noise, in a still evening, has been heard
It was evidently once united to the rock on,
which it rests, but whether placed on its
present situation by some convulsion of na
ture, or a combination of mechanical skill,
is uncertain. It has been attributed to the
Indians, and for aught we know might have
served to lull-a-hy the royal Jiafiooses, and
cradled the infant genius of Massaoit and
Philip ; though it would seem to have requir
ed the aid of machinery to effect its removal,
beyond the mex'e labour of hands. This rock
is fortunately so situated that neither a band
of nimble sailors, nor the 4th. of July Bloods,
or even the Roxbury workmen, could remove
it without great labour, and we may there
fore hope it will long remain, a subject of in
quiry and a place of resort for the curious.
Near the top of the mountain, under the firsf
cliff of rocks, about a mile and a half from the
road leading to Niagara, (onjthe Canadian
shore) is situated a large Cave, within which
about a rod of its mouth, is a spring which
flows the whole year. About the end of
March, the water i ssuing from the rocks free
zes, forming large pieces of ice. During the
heat of summer the ice continues to form. In
the Fall of the year, about the end of Sep
tember, as the weather gets cooler, the ice
disappears, and there is no ice formed, dur
ing the cold winter months, until the ensuing
spring. The water is quite pure issuing out
of the rock.
Professor Luigi Metcxa, of Romehas pub
lished an account ot some singular experi
ments made by him on snakes. Among ci
thers he endeavored to ascertain the truth
of the assertions of the ancients respecting
the predilection of Snakes for music and
dancing. In the month of July 1822, about
noon, he put into a large box a number of
different kinds of Snakes, all quite lively,
with the exception oi' some v ipers, which
were enclosed in a separate box. As soon
as they heard the harmonious tones of an or
gan, ail the lion-v enomous serpents became
agitated in au extraordinary manner; they
attached themselves to the sides of the box
and made every effort to escape. The ela
fihis and the coluber Fscu/a/iii turned to
wards the instrument. The vipers for their
part exhibited no symptoms of sensibility.
This experiment Iris been frequently re»
peated, and always with the same results.
In a work entitled Letters .Yormandee ,
published in Paris, in 1820, the following ac
count is given of a mode of torture practised
in the Inquisition at Toledo, which may
claim at least the praise of ingenuity,
" General Lasalle, being at Toledo, went
to visit the palace of the Inquisition; for in
Spain the huinilit) of inquisitors is like that
| of other monks, it wears a coarse cloak and
dwells in a marble palace. At sight of the
instruments of torture, the General, as well
as the officers who were with him was seen
to shudder, for it was more horrible than
any thing presented by a field of battle. A
mong these instruments, there was one which
more particularly fixed the attention of the
visiters, by giving the impression of a sacri
lege. At the further end of a subterraneous
dungeon, near the chair of the inquisitor,
whose duty it was to interrogate those who
were accused of heresy, there was placed in
a niche, a statue of the Virgin.
A golden halo surrounded her head, and
her drapery descended in silken folds from
her shoulders to her feet. In her right hand
she held the ancient standard of the kings,
and a breast plate was just \ isible under the
folds of her robe. Altogether the statue re
sembled that of Joan of Arc at Orleans. On
examining it a little nearer, .they perceived
that the breast plate was glistening with
points of a vast number of little knives, and
of nails sharpened like needles.
The arms of the statue were moveable,
and a handle placed behind the partition re -
gulated its motions. General Lasalle gave
orders for putting the machine in operation,
and the sack of a Polish granadier was put
in the place of the heretic.—When the han
dle was turned, the statue extended its arm?
and pressed the sack closely to Its breast.
When it relaxed its grasp, the sack was found,
to be a perfect seivc ; it was pierced with a
thousand holes, and the knives hgd e»teref
some lines in depth.
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