9üfIiniti0tiMitan
t
AJVD DELAWARE REGISTER.
Printed and Published, every Thursday by MEND Eh HALL W WALTERS, No. 81, Markct-st. (three doors above the Farmer's Bank,) at' %2 50 per annum , payable half yearly in adva nce , or $■" at the end of the year
No. 36.
1KZAV 26,1825.
VOL. II.
ed
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For tliu AN iliningtoniun
11 o v/ fresh and fair the rising day,
When Sol emits his cheering ray,
And cooling zephyr, blow;
When clouds in mildness smile on high,
Decking tlic meek cerulean sky
With their attracting glow,
latch plumaged songster fills liis throat,
And starts tlie sofi mellifluent note
To speak liis bosom's joy.
While op'ning flow'rs unfold their dress,
st, freshest, scents impress,
In streams that never cloy.
And sw
Such is the youth's enlivening day,
When hopes and joys around him play,
To hury up his heart;
Dome on the wir.gij of fancy's (light
From pleasure's, foil lit lie drinks delight,
Nar fears misfortune's dart.
MEDLEY.
Selected for the Wilmingtonian,
il V A LAUT.
1 once had launched a little barque,
Anil in it all my wealth consigned,
Nor thought, alas! of billows dark,
Nor of the angry, faithless wind.
Hut soon 'twas dashed upon a rock,
* And sunk—to rise again*—
ak to bear the storm's rude shock,
s lost forever.
That litt lu barque was e'en my heart,
Which oil the sea of life 1 cast;
With pride I saw it then depart—
The Storm was Disappointment's blast.
My every hope by Fancy deck'd
I put on hoard—return they'll never;
The rock was Fate, on which 'twas wreck'd
And lost forever.
It
It
—
~
i
never:
T<
w<
'Ti
Sail on, sail on thou fearless barque!
Wherever blows tlie welcome wind,
It cannot lead to scenes more dark
More drear than those we leave behind.
Each wave that passes seems to say,
"Though death beneath our smile may be,
Less cold are we, less false than they
Whose smiling wrecked thy hopes and tliec."
Sail on, sail on through endless space,
Through storm, through tempest—stop no
more;
The stormiest sea 's a resting place
To those who leave such hearts on shore.
Jiut if some distant land we meet,
Where never yet false-hearted men
Profaned a world that else were sweet,
Then rest thee, barque! fiut not till then.
EÜRIOXrS REFLECTIONS
~
HAPPINESS.
-"Happiness! our being's end and aim."
Could we in long pcrspcc ive view the
miseries consequent to a desertion from rec
titude—did they in all their dreadful accu
nidation, strike the mind of youth when
first lie stretches forth tlie hand to grasp thc
Circean cup, mcthinkslie would shrink from
it with more repugnance than tlie hand re
tracts from tlie electric shock. And that
they do not flash conviction is, to the exper
ienced pilgrim in life's sober journey, a cause
of astonishment. To Ins enlightened obser
vation present misery appears so unfailingly
to follow the footsteps of vice, that it ex
rites both liis censure and his pity to see his
fellow creatures running the mad career of
folly, unawed by example, unrestrained by
the lessons of wisdom.--Man lie secs inces
sant in the pursuit of enjoyment, yet turn
ing his back upon the means of attaining it,,
choosing the shadow while tlie substance is
offered, ami, so is tlie visual ray obscured,
looking upon thc flying meteor as a fixed
stir.—How comes it that we are thus ad
verse to our own felicity? Does it proceed
from an error in our nature? Certainly not.
—It were impious to suppose so. We are
furnished with ability to go aright, bat are
led astray by our own delusions, by mista
ken notions, respecting our "being's end and
aim." Happiness is not the proper pursuit
of man—though the daughter of Heaven,
she was appointed his attendant on earth;
but when made the object of adoration, like
the maid intoxicated by flattery, She as
sumes the air of a divinity, and rises far u
hove her idolatrous worshippers,
man, in the way that is set before thee; lis
ten with obedience to tlie voice within; and
though its pointings may seem unfriendly to
thy present repose, still, *
"-resolutely keep its laws
Uncaring consequences;"
and thou slialt find that Happiness will des
cend from those lofty regions whither she
had soared to receive the incense of vain
mortals, and will become thy lovely com
panion, thy faithful attendant in the journey
of life, soothing thy sorrows with her smiles,
and beguiling the length of the way by the
Prospects ahead.
Walk, O
CHARITY.
"Charity is an active principle." It is
confined to no particular station in life—at
tached exclusively to no circumstance, but
ls capable of being received into tlie bosoms
of the rich and poor, the wise and ignorant.
R should be extended to all, and its man
de will indeed cover a multitude of sins;
'here are none so perfect as to be exempt
Tom the necessity of its influence over tjie
\
minds of others in their intercourse with
them. None so profligate as to be exclutl-:
ed by their crimes from compassion. «Ti«
indeed like oil poured on the waters: it calms had
the angry passions of mankind, and readers the
ûs incapable of entertaining envy, malice, gree
or ill will, or fostering the desire ot revenge
towards tl, ose who have injured us; it teach- j to
es us, if not to fivgrt, at least to fi^ive. I
as often as we renumber, the trespasses of
ourhrctliren; and by showing us our own of
weakness, and need of forgiveness from God, as
it leads us to behold with an eye of compas
sion, the errors and follies ot* men. Inf.ro- the
portion as we suffer tins principle to pro
gress towards perfection, (which we are
taught to expect in another state of being)
we draw nearer to that faultless standard he
which Christians are taught to revere and the
worship, even Jesus, our Lord.
The sum of Charity is expressed in the
following words of an excellent writer. at
"Charity is the comforter of tile afflicted,
the protector of the* oppressed, the recnuci
1er of differences, the intercessor for often- t-u:
ders. It is faithfulness in the friend, public
spirit in the magistrate, equity and patience
in the judge, moderation in thc sovereign,
and loyalty in the subject. In parents it is
care and attention; in children it is reverence
and submission, lnaword.it is the soul of
social life; it is the sun that enlivens and
cheers the abodes of men. It is "like the
dew of Hernion," says the Psalmist, "and
the dew that descended on the mountains of
Zion, when the Lord commanded the bles
sing, even life forever more."
I
Fi um an English paper.
"Severer woes inv spirit steep,
■p not as 1 us
'Fhe tear bode s inv cheek no more
But lives within my heart's warm core;
What though it may not reach the eye,
It thrills my frame with agony;
And though the sigh may be repress'd
It swells within my aching breast."
Oh Christian! are they cherished there,
'File food of anguish and despair
And is not life too frail and brief
For time to feed on social grief
Hast thou no duties to pursue*
No sacred claim before thy view*
No task appointed for the day,
That hours may thus lie mourned away*
No preparatio for the morrow,
To steal one passing pang from sorrow *
No fellow-creature to befriend,
That thus life's interests seem to end?
No good to do—no hope to cheer
"Fuat, wan and lone, thou lingerest here*
Is nought of blessing to thee given*
No home on earth—no trust in heaven?
Oh! if those holy hopes, on tliec
Have poured their sacred agency,
Anil if thou hast a soul to feel
The mercies which such hopes reveal,
—However dark thy path may be,
With this world's passing mise ry,—
Go anil he faithful—murmur not
Over the sorrows of thv lot;
But, meekly happy, kiss the rod,
All grateful that thou hast a Und,
Ami let all eaithly grief he still,
— In the high aim to do Ills will;
All fear, all doubt, all woe discard,
~ And lie will be thy "great reward."
[Miss Koscoe, uf Liverpool, England.
1 to weep;
i
1
i
I
no
I
:
\
i
the
to
Q. Into what state will the love ot >' urT L
d an inordinate use of it bring mankind?
A. 1 he luve of ruin, anil an inordinate
use of it, will bring mankind into a forlorn
and wretched state.
Q. Vv'liat are the evils which in this lift
do either accompany or flow from an habit
ually immoderate use of
A. The evils which in this life do either
accompany or flow from an habitual indul
gence in ! lie use of rum, arc sickness, shame,
poverty and distress.
Q. What sli.'.ll be tlie end?
A. When the hard drinker shall have
state, ruined liis costitution, and
CATECHISM ON HUM.
Q. What is the chief end of rum?
A, The chief end of rum is to make tod
dy, flip and punch.
Q. What are the comforts which tipplers
receive from toddy, flip and punch?
A. Thc comforts which tipplers receive
from toddy, flip and punch, are ease of con
science, joy in tlie comfort r, and increase of
love thereto, and perseverance therein to
the end.
Q. Wherein consisteth that ease of con
science, which tipplers receive from toddy,
flip ami punch?
A; That ease of conscience which tipplers
receive from toddy, flip and punch, consist
eth in a forgetfulness of the past, a beastly
enjoyment of tlie present, and a stupid in
difference towards the fa ure.
rum?
wasted his
alienated tlie affection of liis friends; when
you sec his affairs falling into ruin and de
cay, liis children hungry and naked, his wile
•lien vou shall see
comfortless and in teal
all these things, then know that tlie end is
nigh, even at the door. Loss of appetite,
a bloated visage, trembling hands, and fee
ble knees, are but faint indications of what
lie feels within. Beastly, sottish, debased
in reason, and vile in manners, he sinks from
the character of a mail to tlie grade of a
All who once knew him, now pass
, diseases torment
brute.
by; his friends neglect hi
him, creditors tease him, sheriffs seize him;
till nature oppressed and overcome by con
tinual injuries, at length resigns her worth
less charge, and lie sinks unlamented to the
Surely it is an evil way, and the end
grave,
thereof is sorrow.
We extract thc following from tlie United
States Literary
of great merit published at Boston.
After tlie American revolution had ter
minated so successfully to the cause and the
principles, which Lafayette had so zealous
ly and efficiently espoused, he returned to
Gazette, a periodical work
France, and was soon called to witness the
terrible paroxysms of that nation during tlu
French revolution. But the French feo/Ur the
had neither the intelligence nor the vu tue of
the American people And the same de- | as
gree of liberty, which was a bless.ng to the-to
latter, would have been the greatest curse .
j to the former. Liberty can never precede
I knowledge and virtue in the people, hut it
must andre/// follow them. 1 he influence
of Lafavctte, therefore, though he was then a
as he is now, considered the very Apostle of
Liberty, was frequently felt on the side of
the crown, bracing and strengthening it a
gainst the too violent encroachments of the
people, the following extract from Mr.
IVknors memoir will show the p it which
he was frequently called to sustain dining y
the French revolution, and the manne! m
which ho Sustained it. It describes the at
tack of the populace upon the royal family,
at Versailles, on the night of the fifth of Oc
tôlier, l"t9. ,
He,[Lifayette] arrived at \ ersailles at
t-u: o dock at night, after tiaving been on
horseback trom before daylight in the morn
mg, and having made, dorm the whole in- S
terval, both at Pana and on the road, liicred-i h
lble,exertions to control the multitude and
culm the soldiers. The Marquis de Eafov- j
ette at last entered the chateau, says Ma- _
dame «.<■ StacI, 'and passing through the a
part.neut where we were, went to the king.
VVe all pressed round him, as if lie were the
master of events, and yct-the popular party
wils already more powerful than its chief,
and principles were yielding to factions, or
father were beginning to serve only as their
pretexts. M de Lafayette's manner was
I perfectly calm; nobody ever saw it otherwise:
but his delicacy suffered from the importance
of the part lie was called to act. He asked
for the interior post of the chatteau, in or
der that he might ensure their safety. On
lv the outer posts were granted to him.'
This refus .1 was not disrespectful to him
who made the request. It was given, sun
plv because the etiquette of the court rescr
ved tin- guard of the royal person and fam
il V to another body of men. Lafayette, there
fore, aoswere 1 for the National Guards, and
for the posts coaim.-.ed to them; but he
coul I answer for no more; and Ins pledge
I faithfully and desperately redeemed.
' anti three o'clock, the queen
and the mvul familv went to bed. Lafayette,
slept'alter the great fatigues of this
wn
Between tw
too,
fearful day. At half past four, a portion of
the populace made their way into the palur.e
bv nn obscuie, inferior passage, which had
i)c>. n overlooked, and which was not in that
port of thv chateau entrusted to Lafayette.
They w*ce evidently led by persons who
well knew the secret avenues. Mirabeau's
afterwards strangely compro
mised ill it, and the form of the infamous
Duke of Orica is was repeatedly recognized
on the great staircase, pointing the assas
1 sins t io wav to the queen's chamber. They
i easily found it. Two of her guards were
I cut down in an instant; and she made he
Lafayette inimed
as
I:
I escape almost naked.
: iatelv rushed in witli the national troops,
\ protected the guards from the brutal popu
i lace, and saved the lives of the roval family,
which had so nearly been sacrificed to the
etiquette of the monarchy.
The day dawned as this fearful scene of
guilt and bloodshed was passing in the mag
in
_She was vet young ; her seven
teenth tear bad scarcely passed bv ; and
thu' the attentions of some flattered her,
as she respected their talents or admired
their forms, vet it was long before she
really felt that absorbing passion which we
call love.—She had, however, been visited !
with strange emotions since the first ap
guilt and bloodshed was passing in the mag
nificent palace, whose construction had ex
hausted the revenues of Louis Fourteenth,
and which, for a century, had been the most
splendid residence in Europe. As soon as it
was light, the same furious multitude filled
the vast space, which, from the ricli mater
ials of which it is formed, passes under the
name of the court of marble They called
upon the king, in tones not to be mistaken,
to go to Paris; and they called for the queen,
who had but just escaped from their dag
gers, to come out upon the balcony. The
king, after a short consultation wi'h his min
isters, announced liis intention to set out for
the capital; but Lafayette, was afraid to
trust the queen in the midst of the blood
thirsty multi ude. He went to her, there
fore, with respectful hesitation, and asked
her if it were her purpose to accompany
the king to Paris. 'Yes,' she replied, 'al
though I am aware of the danger.' 'Are
you positively determined?' 'Yes.' Condes
ceru ^ then, to go out upon the balcony, and
'Without the
suffer me to attend vou.'
king?' she replied, hesitating—'Haile you
observed the threats?''Yes, Madam, I have;
but dare to trust me.'
tlie balcony. It was a moment of great res
ponsibility and great delicacy; but nothing,
he felt assured, could be so dangerous as to
permit her to set out for Paris, surrounded
iiv that multitude, uiiIpss its feelings could
lie changed. The agitation, thc tumult,
the cries of the crowd rendered it impossi
ble that his voice should be heard. It
necessary, therefore, to address himself to
the eve, and, turning towards the queen,
with that admirable presence of mind which
never yet forsook him, and with that ming
led grace and dignity, which were the pe
culiar inheritance of tlie ancient court of
France, he simply kissed her hand before
the vast multitude. An instant of silent as
tonishment followed, but the whole was im
mediately interpreted, ami the air was rent
with cries of'Long live the queen!' 'Long
live the general!' from the same fickle and
cruel populace, that only two hours before
had embrued their hands in the blood of tlie
guards who defended the life of the same
He led her out upon
■as
queen.
THE CONFLAGRATION.
A HlAflMEXT.
expression 1 ' of V hh eye and i site
mn P : . „t._ ' . <>v !
the aTq^XCns^su^ !
hilerating an > '. ' muh- old-ore
| as youth love.to ! anS
recollect. She would not admit et en to , an
. her pure oso • ' would lie ■
than any handsome young m "
but some how or other, when he enteicdthe j
room mwnc sie a., fine flashinv and
a more rosy hue and the fine fla hmg
spn it îat s lone ®_ t :n 'ri.,,
sparkling and more beautiful stll. I lie
wat eaty for' any
G _ ,,'nerceive that Edward ^vas very
_ P t her thoughts—that her
, ct ; ons wtre a)rt . adv beginning to
y t. ' , and that lier enthu- in
K suirit was at last bound in those
P iv slavery a greater pleas- a
freedom can boast ° P
Tt wi . s .. stormv winter night- the wind
was heard^^ Sing"round the lions"
. oft „ beat^ furiously against the
- ' mid the tempest without wasia
- ' th t . tu ^ uUu0HS S(mnds tha t
S | ,j nir va j„ c t0 thc . warm s | K .l
h • P h Caroline had vrt j ved
' . ' ! - . ' • an d the "balmv
j stcen >. that lights only on'l'ids unsullied with
_ ■ soon found a restin'-place on heis.—
• freed from every care soon be
' ' through the eav regions of im
h , . ' . wc S nmst ,', ot be surprised to
S ' ' 1 - w j th instinctive affection
• '* , r _ ' _f Edward. j t
. , however ringed in the novel
h«"* L uVvwe, ' h,£ dreams became
vo ' ts lll)e £ty winu her d. cams became
doubled, (.out sed id as ot st rm and
death pressed through her bra, i-a heavy
hand seem to pi ess on her biea.s . Sic
thciught she was standing upon a lug emi
nence. amnlst locks and ciaggy mon itams, ,
when the whole great mass tumbled v th a
tremendous crash to ruins adU .n the cf
fort to save hei self she awoke. -
tor an instant she thowght her
continued. A sti ange tumult l oared around
the llous c- '
smoke and a light gleam shone under the
«»«». I* »as not till she distinctly heard
tl J'' CI t °tl mdrràdfid tmth liuJst unon
of Haines, that tlhe dread uI t^ruth huist upon
her mind, bhesprangfronihcrbed-liasti
ly and tremblingly put on a few clothcs
and with a determination to rush out,opened
thc door. I he light and heat that now
hurst upon her was so great that she was
compelled to retreat to the farther cor
ner of the room ; and the sight that met her
view almost distracted her. The beautiful
arched ceilings and carved walls tedning
and crackling in the furious blaze—the floor
was burnt through—thc whole room seem
ed entirely surrounded with flames, timbers
fell crashing into the rooms below ; and
sometimes a gust of wind would bear to
wards her thick volumes of smoke, that
rolled like liuje waves wrapping every
thing—the very flames—in their dark
of
fold s.
The frantic girl found-it necessary to
close the door to preserve her from being
scorched to death. With some difficulty
she accomplished this ; aad her next step
was to open the windqw. Here she paused
in mute astonishment at the sublime sight.
Thousands of people were standing below :
on whose forms the light ot the burning
house fell so distinctly, that she could per
ceive the men engaged with their engines ;
some witli trumpets, shouting commands to
their companions—others busily employed
in carrying out the furniture ; and many
standing in inactive silence, watching the
progress of the Hamas, —She shrieked with
all her might; but what is woman's shriek
amidst the mingled tumult of shouting men,
crashing timbers roaring fire. She could
hardly hear herself. The room was heated
the door seemed fast burning away. She
screamed until her voice was half choaked in
convulsive efforts, and yet she was unheard.
The engines played briskly below, and they
alone would have drowned her feeble voice.
She almost sickened with anxiety. She
looked upon the multitude who stood be
neath. Immediately around thc house they
were in bright light. The fire flung its lu
cid ray over the collected crowd, until far
away the end was indistinct in the shadows
of night, and nothing was observable but a
dark mass, that liyaved like the billows of a
stormy ocean.
Her voice had now become sohoarse, that
she could scarcely speak, but one idea
glanced through her mind by which she
might catch the attention of those beneath.
She ran to her bed—with thc strength of
despair she dragged it to the window, and
pressed it through the unyielding aperture.
A cry arose as it darkened the light. Many
thought it was a part of the wall tumbling
from its Height ; but it fell harmless, and as
it reached the ground, every eye was turned
to the spot whence it came—the door of the
room burst through at the instant—and
Caroline stood lifted high among the désola
tions. The blaze shone brightly upon her
white garments, and many imagined that
he was actually in the inid-t of the flames ;
a buz of horror murmured beneath—a bus
tle ran through the mighty mass—exclama
tions of dismay broke from every lip—and
every one was anxious to preserve her.—
Ladders were instantly raised—one seemed
ready to rescue her, and she prepared to de
scend, when, with a cry of anguish, she per
ceived it was too short. The heat of the
room became agonizing—the flames were
fast proceeding towards her room—every
hope was banished from her bosom—her
cry grew wild—her senses began to forsake
her—the dreadful prospect of burning to
death—of being wrapped in the fierce bo
som of the blaze! It was too much; any
thing but that- -she sprang upon the thres
hold of the window, with the desperate ui
tention of springing from the dizzv height,
! hands were raised her white robe
streamed in the wind—-already was her
of
at
to
site was raidj^'to go, when her quick ear
caieht the bustle, the creaking as of a hasty
step^on the Crnh.^ floorlh las a ray of
hone piercing into the daiknessof despair,
anS she "topped to look: the figure of à
an * nd SC oched appeared, almost
enveloped in smoke and fire. Springing
"^" P a M fp iÈhtful chasm in the floor, hi
across a v C ^ d h „ j„ its fo lds>
and darted again like lightning through the
A , 0 * d shc S ut fro *, the
crowd who saw her disappear in his arms
crow the flames were seen
curling àroùnd the very spot where a mo
ment ago the lovely girl had stood—a death
like stillness pervaded the scene without
except as they saw a figure with something
in its arms pass a window one story lower
than the chamber of Caroline—then-indeed
a tumultuous exclamation arose; but it was
anxious, doubtful, and soon hushed down,
and all again was still. Every eye was
turned on the door-every bosom beat with
hope and fear—an instant elapsed—a brick
fell—another—and several more-and a
large piece of timber came crashing to the
ground. Hope almost vanished within, for
the greater part of the chimney thundered
from the top, and the whole building totter
ed and shook and seemed gradually sinking
into ruin, when he appeared at the door
staggering, and blackened, yet holding in
his arms the being lie had preserved. With
one convulsive spring he leaped from the
floor—a single moment of silence followed
—and the next—the thundering noise of the
building that crashed amjdst fire and smoke
to the ground was almost lost in the long
louJ sl , 0Ut that rung ont be rent air of that
am l seemed to shake the earth to its
^ mighty was the acclamation, that it
awabe|led the suspended faculties ofCaro
, inc _ shc stal . ted from the arms of her de
and was starting wildly away, when
avrested her attention. She
fixed her gaze upon him, and stood amo
^ withdelirium in every action. Her
silence was broken by his voice "Caroline?"
At the sound, the fierce phrensy of her looks
£ • be, eyes softened and filled with
c ' a faint sU riek-the name of
"Edward,''^burst from her quivering lips,
h * k overwhe lmed on his bo- '
som.
;
to
An account of the Ilcrudians, mentioned in
thc New Testament.
Thc Herodians were a' sect who derived
their origin and name from Herod the Great
King of Judea. Several of the ancient fath
and some modern divines , have imagin
ed, that the distinguishing tenet of this pro
fession of men was, their belief that Herod
was thc Messiah. Others have conjectured
that the courtiers, domestics, and friends of
Herod, from their attachment to their mas
ter, and to liis political measures, enjoyed
this denomination. Herod was a powerful
and opulent prince—the friend of Augustus
—and throughout the whole of his long reign
studied every artifice to ingratiate him
self with the Emperor, and to secure the fa
vour of tlie principal personages in the court
of Rome. He was a most insinuating syco
phant—wholly devoted to Rome—fond of
Romish manners and usages— destitue of all
Religion—sacraficing every thing sacred to
political principles, and to tlie mercenary
views of interest and ambition. Josephus
informs us, that his ambition and liis entire
devotion to Cssar, and to the leading men
at Rome, induced him to depart from the
usages of his country, and in many instan
ces to violate its institutions—building tem
ples in the Greek taste, and erecting statues
for idolatrous worship—apologizing for this'
to the Jew?s, that he was absolutely necessi
tated to do these things by the superior pow
ers. Many of the Jews, particularly ôf the
Sadducees, came into all his measures, es
poused his political maxims, joined with
him in flattering the court of Rome with the
servile adulation, abandoned all regards to
principles and obligations of the religion of
their country, and adopted heathen manners
and heathen vices. These (rom their ad
mission of the principles, and compliance
with the practices of the court of Herod,
received from the Jews the appelation of
Herodians , and were generally tlie most de
praved of men. We find the Sadducces,
who denied a future state, and consequent
ly who had little regard for the religion and
liberty of their country, being disposed by
their principles for any enormities, readily
embraced the tenets of this party-for tlie
same persons, who in one of the gospels - are
called Herodiam, arc in another called Sad-'
ducecs.
ers.
'
\
HEALTH.
Health is equally neglected, and with e
qual impropriety, by the votaries of busi
ness and the followers of pleasure.—Some
men ruin the fabric of their bodies by in
cessant revels, and others by intemperate
studies; some batter it by excess, and others
sap it by inactiv ty. To the noisy rout of
bacchanalian rioters, it will be to little pur
pose that advice is offered, though it requires
no great abilities to prove that lie loses
pleasure who loses health; their clamours
are too load for the whispers of caution, and
they run the course of life with too much
precipitance to stop at the call of wisdom.
Nor perhaps will they that are busied in
adding tliousandsto thousands, pay much re
gard to him that shall direct them to hast
en more slowly to their wishes. Y'et, since
lovers of money are generally cool, deliber
ate, and thoughtful, they might surely
sider that the greater good ought not to be
sacrificed to .the less.—Health is certainly
more valuable than money, because it is
by health that money is procured; but thous
ands and millions are of small avail to allevi
ate the protracted tortures of the gout, to re- ,
pair the broken organs of sense, or resusci
tate the powers of digestion. Psvorty is in
con
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