From the New York American.
AND THOU WERT FALSE!
And thou wert false! so let it be!
If o'er that shrine of beauty rare,
There bends uncheck'd a stranger 9 kee;
A strangers's heart may worship there!
Thy wizard wreath is changing fast,
As fades at eve the sunset sea;
And Memory, when it views the past.
Must skip the page that tells of thee!
I little thought when o'er thy heart.
My Spirit poised her raptur'd wings;
And trembling tried, with guileless art,
Ti wake the music of its str ngs;
That every chord, where passion slept,
An echo gave of heedless swell;
That evety string the Angel swept,
Another's touch might wake as
That, like the lyre, which hangs alone,
Where summer winds are wont to play;
^Twould yield to every breeze its tone,
Which o'er its bosom chanc'd to stray !
Forget'st thou, in that stilly bower,
Which drooping myrtles whisper d o cr,
The .pledge we gave of glowing power.
In token of the vow we swore?
When o'er thv yielding form I hung,
And crav'd it far my spirit's shnne;
And gathered from thy trembling tongue,
The low response that seal'd thee mine.
And thou wert false!—so let it be,
If o'er that shrine of beauty rare,
There bend'st uncheck'd a stranger s knee—
A stranger's heart may worship there!
Harp of the Isle.
From the Lady's Book
Lady! sleep for thy lover's sake, .
Though Heaven is bright and the air iS balm—
The «Stars look down on the sleeping lake,
For the wind is hush'd in a holy calm.
Sleep! and the visions of bliss attend,
That visit the couch of the pure and fair—
The sportive legions of Fancy lend
Their si>ft enchantment to bless thee there.
Sleep! for the world has nought like this
In the weary circuit of busy day—
No joy like that of the dreamer's bliss,
No light like the flashings of Fancy's ray.
Then 3leep in safety, while stealing round,
The soften'd note of my light guitar
Shall charm thy slumber with gentle sound,
Till Phoebus shall mount 1rs golden car.
Sleep! till the fingers of rosy Morn
Shall draw the curtains that veil the sun,
'Till the young day from the skies be born—
Then wake in beauty, my fairest one! S.
From the Emigrant, Ann Arbour.
The seceders who formed the Le Roy Con
vention deserve the gratitude.of the Country.
After this dark tragedy of the death of Mor
gan, masons thought they had sent the mon
ster back again safely to his den, from which
Morgan had died to draw him.
'The light that shone on the dark caverns of
masonry seemed extinguished forever,
the Masonic peal of triumph rang along its
But the purposes of God are unknown to man.
Eighteen months after the death of Morgan,
we behold thirty five men coining out before
the pubic, and in defiance of masonic vengeance
so amply exemplified in Morgan's death, pro
claiming the secrets of masonry to the world.
act of self-devotion which A
merica will remember with gratitude, the names
:n should be written upon the page
of our history, among the benefactors of the
These were the Apostles of anti-masonry—
and their ministry was not in vain—well has
that light been improved which they shed
Akhough it is not in the power of subse
quent seceders, to be as effectual
this good cause, as these men were—still they
may do much—enough fully to redeem their
names from the obloquy attached to masonry.
It has been the purpose of masons to blacken
th characters of seceders—'perjured wretches'
was the common appellation among masons—
and strange as it may seem, the publie, at
tim« . were so led away with this mystery of
iniquity, as to join in that cry.
But masonic craft can 1
on an enlightened people.
longer impose up
It is no lon-er sale
to denounce these me. 1 -—and the hatred felt
towards them by mason* must be confined in
their own hearts, or expressed in more mea
to us alone superfluous at this time
of day, to defend seceders from these charges
—Lmt we are sorry to see that there are still
some apparently not attached to masonry, who
regard beceders with aversion and suspicion,
ivvoui jewel tor those persons to remem
er. that it anti masonry is not fake in its char
nV.K not 0 ■ of , v8e maaon8
An ,;' 0 ro, ." c out and renounce.
_their tésti mn«vT« e fK lt < ,eXl8 | te " te l ° feeders
it is built n« ,hfJ e ,)Umia,lon upon which
an Hiiencv in de str »vfm'rtW » S ,° clet,p f
nothing at the hands ofdîeir coum " deServe t,
If masonic obligations are t i "
can he bound by them, unless tfman m°av 1^
bound to do impiously—if they are immoral
nobtrlv can he bound bv then, „nt. 11 >oral
mavbc bound toacf StÄ^W^
subversive of law. nobody can be bound 1 v
ther, unless a man can be bound toactilZ
g-all v Ue
It is a common expression among
that nmimnsnns- despise Seceders-lthi,
1 much of a piece with their general conduct.
They find their account in throwing all pos
sible odium upon Seceders, for fear masons
should secede—just as the Jews were said to
have a custom of spitting upon the image ofjmay
the Nazarcne-, for fear Jews should become
When Jews became Christians they were as
Seceders—the Jews called them vile traitors—- the
and made a mock funeral and buried them in
These Hebrew Christians broke their obli- a
gâtions to the religion of their fathers, but du
ty required it. If a promise could have bound
them, they would have been bound to Judaism e d
all their lives—in the language of masonry as
they were "perjured wretches." arc
Every convert from Idolatry breaks his
promises to the Idol faith—but no moral or
religious obligation. Let us look abroad
through the world, the light from Bethlehem we
is spreading over the world—thousands are
turning from the worship of Devils to the true
faith—they are all seceders—they were bound
as firmly to their false worship as masons to
masonry—and in the language of Masonry are
all "perjured wretches."
When Washington drew his sword for his
country, he broke the oath of allegiance to the
King, he and all the Patriots of the Revolution,
were, in the language of Masonry, "perjured
The glorious Polanders
liberty, are in masonic language, all "perjured
All, who from time immemorial have resist
ed Tyranny,' all who have burst the bonds ol
sin—are just such "perjured wretches." Com
mend us to these "perjured wretches"—we
would live and die with them—When this is
perjury, truth is a lie.
Masons hate these men. vice hates virtue
always; but if antimasons despise them, antf
masons should he ashamed.
But where is the evidence that antimasons
despise them? Is it in fact that Seceders are
among the most respectable of our fellow citi
zens? Because, Colden, Meriek, Ward. Holly.
Rush, and a host of others are secede s
The seceder Ward is one of the three mem
bers of the National Antimasouic Committee
—this we Anti masons call a high post of ho
nor—there is no contempt here.
Meriek was President of the Massachusetts
Antimasonic Convention— Antimasons thought
that an honorable situation.
The seceder Rush, is talked of for the An
timasonic candidate for the Presidency of the
United States—We are not ashamed of him.
But there is one class of people we are asham
ed of—there is one class who if not "perjured
wretches," have at least forfeited all claim to
consistency and truth—We mean those masons,
who pretend to disregard maionrv, are these
perjured wretches ; pretend to be willing to
give it up, and at the same time most bitterly
What shall we say of these men? Accor
ding to their own statement, they arc "perjur
masons look upon them? In what light will
the world regard this duplicity?
what light will anti
regard this duplicity?
You have sauntered, perhaps, of a moon
light evening, out of the precincts of the living.
ring world, to linger and contemplate
mong the grass grown memorials of those who
are gone from among os. and whose earthly re
mains have been consigned to this their last
and certain inheritance.
''The body I
And the soul
And the rest is God's ul
An appalling chill shoots through the cur
rent of life, at the undisturbed and universal
silence of the scene—the stars tranquilly shi
ning on the white marble, and freely illumina
ting the name which friendship had carved for
the slumberer beneath; here the grass waving
in rank luxuriance, as if to hide the triumphs
and the trophies of death, and there a human
bone unearthed from its time-worn sepulchre,
a ghastly visitor to the realms of day: a wood
en tablet, making the repose of the humble, a
cross, the sign of the believer, and lofty and
magnificent memorials over the mortal relics
of the wealthy and the great. Ah! who. in
such an assemblage as th '13 can lie accounted
great: What gold survives the crucible of
We can learn nothing from the living which
the dead do not teach us. Would beauty he
modest and unpretending, let her quit the ball
and the festival for a moment, and carrv her
toilet to the tomb. Would the proud learn
humanity: the penurious charity; the frivolous
seriousness; the bigoted philanthropy; would
lie scholar ascertain the true objects of know
kdgc; the man of the world, the true means of
happiness here and hereafter; and the'ambi
f ! OU8 * true 80UrceH of greatness, let him re
t, 'V , * hile f '° m livin S on '> communicate
" ' th „ e <U ' ad ' " e must 8,1 come to 'be
"'""T™ and S, ' Cnt ® rave - °" r ,K>n " "?»»*
l !" on . e . c °T* on mass ', ° ur affections
should travel in the same path, for thev must
W* ? ^ VT* • ^
von wn.'.U YM of ha PP"?®"i and w j? en
n ,hem - go purtfy your affec-|ther
ttons. and humble vour pride, and leave vourj
nww.ns'Äinin^mZVf't* *1 ^ star.!
is.rdigiÄÄ»^« otÄ" ^
One of the strongest and tnost prevalent în
centives to virtue, is the desire of the world s
esteem. We act right, rather that our actions
ofjmay he applauded by others, than to have the
approbation of our own conscience—we retrain
from doing wrong not so much from principle.
as from the fear of incurring the censure ot
the world. A due regard ought, indeed, to be
paid to public opinion; but there is a regard
we owe ourselves, of far greater importance—
a regard which keeps us from committing a
wrong action when withdrawn from the obser
vation of the world, as much as when ejepos
e d to its broad glare,
as others—and it is our own fauit if we
arc not so—why stand in more fear of others
than of ourselves? What is there in other
men that makes their approbation and fear their
censure more than our own? In other respects
we are apt to overrate ourselves, but surely
when we pay such blind and servile respect to
the opinions of others, we forget our own dig
nity and undervalue ourselves in our own es
teem. I admire the sentiment of Cassius when
speakiug of the Imperial CæsarJ*he exclaims,
are as good
live to be
; such n tiling as I myself."
" I had ns lief
Desert not your friend in danger or distress.
Too many there are in the world whose attach
ment to those they call friends, is confined to
the day of their prosperity. As long as that con
tinues they are, or appear to be, affectionate
and cordial. But as their friend is under n
loud, they begin to withdraw, and separate
their interest from his. Jn friendship of this
sort, the heart, assuredly, has never had much
concern. For the great test of true friendship,
is constancy in the hour of danger—adherence
in the sei
of distress- When your friend
is calumniated, then is the time openly and
boldly to espouse his cause. When his situa
tion is changed, or misfortunes are fast gath
ering around him, then is the time of affording
prompt and zealous aid. When sickness or
infirmity occasions him to be neglected by oth
ers, that is the opportunity which every real
friend will seize of redoubling all the affec
tionate attention which love suggests. These
are the important duties, the sacred claims of
friendship, which religion and virtue enforce
on every worthy mind. I o show yourself
warm in this manner in the cause of your
friend, commands esteem even in those who
have personal interests in opposing him. This
honourable zeal of friendship has, i
age, attracted the veneration of mankind. It
has consecrated to the latest posterity, the
names of those who have given up their for
tunes, and have exposed their lives, in behalf
of the friends whom they loved; while igno
miny and disgrace have ever been the portion
of them who deserted their friends in the hour
of distress.— Blair.
Of all the myriad sources of enjoyment
which nature unfolds to
qual to those elicited by a balmy summer sun
set. The idea is old, hut the reflections it
cites are perpetually varying. There is some
thing in this hour, so tender, so truly fraught
with simple, yet sublime associations that it
belongs rather to heaven than to earth. The
curtain that drops down on the physical, also
descends on the moral world. The day with
its selfish interests, its common-place distrac
tions, has gone by, and tile season of intelli
gence, of imagination, of spirituality, is daw
ning. Yes, twilight unlocks the blandusian
fountain of fancy; there, as in a mirror, re
flecting all things in added loveliness, the heart
surveys the past; the dead, the absent, the
tranged, come thronging back on memory; the
paradise of inexperience, from which the fla
ming sword of truth has long since exiled us,
again in all the pristine beauty of its
flowers and verdure; the very spot where
breathed our first vows of love ; the slender
girlish figure, that, gliding like a sylph beside
us, listened entranced to that avowal, made in
the face of heaven, beneath the listening eve
ning Star; the home that witnessed her decline;
lie church yard that received her ashes ; the
grave wherein she now sleeps, dreamless and
happy, deaf alike to the syren voice of praise,
and the withering sneers of envy—such sweet
hut solemn recollections, sweep in shadowy
pomp across the mind, conjured up by the
spells of twilight, as he waves his enchanted
wand over the earth.
an, I know none e
To the honour of the sex, be it said, that in
the path of duty, no sacrifice is with them too
high or too dear. Nothing is with them im
possible, but to shrink from what love, hon
our, innocence, and religion, require. The
of voice of pleasure or of power may pass by
unheeded; but the voice of affliction
re- The chamber of the sick, the pillow of the dv
mg, the vigils of the dead, the altars of reli
'be >5 ,on ' nevcr missed the presence or the sym
P««W« of women. Timid though she be, yet
on such occasions site loses all sense of dan
ger, and assumes a preternatural courage,
Ä kn ,° wa a "'> ^ »»* consequents',
en S , he ''»plays that undaunted spirit which nei
affec-|ther courts difficult, es nor evades them; that
resignation which utters neither murmurs nor
regtet; and that patience in suffering which
Constantly for sale at Edward Bringhurt'.*
■ Drug and Chemicel Store, No, 137 Market
Cheap nwV Seasonable OooAs.
7 TM. M'CrAUlLEY,
(Near the Brandywine Flour Mills)
Offers for sale a large assortment of Dry
Goods, Groceries, &c. &c., among which are
the following articles, to wit :
Superfine Black, Blue, Olive, Brown and Cla
Marselles, Silk, and Toilonette Vestings;
Gentlemen's and Ladies worsted Hose,
Brown and Cotton do
Cambric, Dcmi-Crambric, Jack on et, Mull,.
Plain and Figured Muslins,
Book, do Plain and Figured,
Calicoes, (great variety,)
Linens and Lawns,
Books and Stationary,
China, Glass, Queen and Earthen Warty
Sugar, Coffee,'Chocolate, Liquors, &c.
Drugs, Paints and Oil,
Hardware and Cutlery,
Flannels, Baizes, and Swan Skins, •
Ready made Clothing,
Traces. Plow lines'Clothes lines, See.
IS hereby given, to all persons indebted to f
the Estate of Peter Peterson, late of Christi
ana Hundred, Newcastle County, Dec'd. to
make immediate payment; and all those having
demands against said Estate, are requested to
produce their accounts properly authenticated
for settlement, to
JOHN B. PETERSON, Atfmr.
Sept. 30, 1851.
Chemicals, YomlYj Mcùicines,
Sold Wholesale and Retail at E. BRING
HURST'S Drug and Chemical Store. No. 137
Market Street, opposite the Bank of Delaware.
N . B. A regular supply of Osborn's Su
perfine Water Colors, for sale as above.
Sept. 23, 1831.
jFtTflô ©««tor <SW,
In bottles by the Gross, Dozen, or single^
CelcbvatetV V'H>s\ca\ Tiroes,
composed of roots and herbs, for the cure of
coughs, colds, Jaundice, bile and weakness of
Also Quinine warranted pure, in Powder,
Pills or Solution to suit purchasers.
The above with a Fresh assortment of Medi
cines, Chemicals, &c. for sale at E. BRING
HURST'SDrug and Chemical store, No. 137
Market Street, opposite the Bank of Delaware.
Sept. 23, 1831. s-tf.
Respectfully informs his friends and the
public generally, that he continues to carry on
at No. 6 East Second Street, two doors from
Market Street, where customers may depend
on having their orders promptly attended to
and neatly executed, to any fashion required,
on reasonable terms.
A large assortment of ready made
clothing, constantly on hand, for sale* cheap,
for cash only,
PETER A1T2 AGUE DOSE.
The above is a very valuable and efficacious
remedy for the Ague and Intermittent fevers.
Sold wholesale and retail at ED. BRING
HURST'S Drug and Chemical store, North
corner of Market and Hanover Streets,
site the Bank of Delaware.
. Sept. 23, 1831.
A t THIS OFFICE,
A lew volumes of the proceedings of the
United States Anti-Masonic Convention, held
Philadelphia, on the 11th of Sept. 1830.
'Vo a\V whom it ma; concern.
THE lad JOHN N. DENNING, whom I
have had as an assistant in my store, has not
been with me since the 19th ult. He, there
fore, has not been authorized to transact
business whatever for me since that date.
Brandywine, Oct, 7, 1831. 7 -it,
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