.IJ2U wwata-aTaz.z))
n ~
~0
~~
[Fran the United Siates Gazette.]
The Printer's Doom.
DT T11074A8 ItIACKELLAD
A printer weary and wan,
11;.3 face all mortally pale,
he wearily plodded his homeward way
;faie the:break of early day; .
- Broke out in a bitter wail.
voice cu ss husky 'and low,
As though his lungs W'ete gone ;
cough'd and grasp'A and coo gh'd again
Ar 4 he presi'd hie hand on his heart in pa?n,
While thus his plaint ran on';
" A world of toil is this!
It hath no joy for me!
1 . 5 labor by day, and laboay night, ,
tr) light of the sun, and by - candle light—
. Labor continually. •
Some men a day of rest,
• But Sabbath for MP is not,
ha toil all the week, and toil on the day
That God has given to rest and to pray—
Lo ! this is the printer's lot !
. " When I was a boy," he
" I played on the hills of greefi;
I swam in the stream—l fish'd in the brook
And Messed wasi to set and look,
Unfetter'd on nature's scene
" For twenty. sad years or more,
My life has worn' away
in murky rooms'of poisonous air,
11htn I've yearn'd for a sight of the valleys
And the light of open day. [fair.
"An innocent prisoner doom'd,
My heart is heavy within;
Oh why should a man untaintrd ly gull?,
ho the blood of a creature never bath spilt.
Be pent, like a felon for sin ?"
The printer then cough'd and sigh'd
The stars were growing dim,
And he upwards glanced at the morning sky,
And he only thought'it were good to die,
And death would be wet tu him.
" His heart was tired of beating;
He pray'd the Lord above
To pity a man whose heart had been riven
By toil, for other men's interest given—
And he wept for his mercy and love.
He went to his humble borne;
. His infant awoke to cry.
'Oh fatherl. oh 'rnothefl I'm hungry for bread!'
And the printer bow'd down with an aching
On his Mary's lap to die.
Oh ye , who have known,
The richness that's in a cruet
nothing is found in the desolate shelf,
And` he sufferer's pocket is empty of pelf,
Receivi my story in trust.
- Say not in your careless scorn,
What hoots the tale to you!
The rhymer who traces these roughly-writ
rhymes,
flath known: of such sufferers in other day
- Mid the main of his rhymes. [times,
Remember this holy truth
The man who aloof bath stood
When a heart-broken brother for succortid
•
crave, [save
ALI he stretched not a finger to bless and to
Is verily guilty of blood !
Loving and Forgiving.
LDT CIL& ES SWAIN
Oh, loving and forgiving—
Ye angel-words of,e!irth,
Years were not worth the living
If ye too had f not birth !
Oh, loving Bind !forbearing—
How sweet ylmr - mission here;
The grief that ye are sharing
Hath blessings in its tear.
Oh, stem and unforgiving
Ye evil words of life,
That mock the means of living
With nevei-ending strife.
Oh, harsh and unrepenting—
How wOuld ye meet the grave,
If Heaven, as unrelenting,•
! Forbore not uor forgave I
Oh, loving and forgiving—
Sweet
sisters of the soul,
In whose celestial living -
The passions find control!
Still breathe your influence o'er us
Whene'er by palon croad,
And, angel•like, restore us
The paradise we lost
-. Bow to Lire.
BO should we live. that every hour
Should die. as dies s natural flower—
/ self reviving thing of power-. •
That every thought and every deed ~
May hold
0t future gocd and future meCd.
• vf.• .
•
e l '•,.:. I '.- .. .' .. ~ ' .-, . . --,
~
.. ~.,_
. .
... .
. i
, . 4 ,
._. •,: s. „ • , ..., _
k-49 , . .
~. - • • • „ •
:-.-
.. _
.. ~..
.. „.....,:er,,,
~.,
‘,
, , ..,...., .( 1 / 4 4,.7.,0.......,
....z.
%I 40
• . • • , .
,
. .
. . .
..
Washington's Formal to his Irmt, Decent
her 4, 179.
The Revolution was over. The
eight years' conflict had ceased, and
warriors were now to separate forever,
turning their weapons into ploughshares
and their camps into workshops. The
spectacle, though a sublime and glori
ous one, was yet attended with sorrow
ful feelings—for alas-! the remains of
that gallant army of patriot soldiers,
now about to disband without pay,
without support, stalked poverty, want,
and disease—the country had not the
means to be grateful.
The details of the condition of many
of the officers and soldiers at that pe
riod, according to history and the oral
tradition, were melancholy in the ex
reme. Possessing no means of patri
monial inheritance to fall back upon—
thrown out of even the perilous sup
port of the soldier at the commence
ment of 'winter, and hardly fit for any
other duty than that of the camp—their
situation can be as well imagined as de-
scribed. • . -
A single instance, as,a.sample of the'
situation of many of the officers, as re-- . 1
lated of the conduct of Baron Steuben, I
may not be amiss. When the main
body of the army was disbanded at
Newburg, and the veteran soldiers'
were bidding a parting farewell to each
other, Lieutenant Colonel Cochran, an
aged soldier of the New Hampshire
line, remarked, with tears in his eyes,
as he shook hands with the Baron,
," For tnyselfi, I could stand it ; but
mv wife and- daughters are in the gar
ret of that wretched "tavern, and I have
no means of removing them."
Come, come," said the Baron.
don't give way thus. I will pay my
respects to Mrs. Cochran and her
daughters."
• When the good old soldier left them,
their countenances were warm with
gratitude ; for he left them all he had.
In one of the Rhode Island regiments
were several companies of black troops,
who had served throughout the whole
war, and their bravery and discipline,
were unsurpassed. The Baron ob-'
served one of these wounded negroes
'on the wharf, at Newburg, apparently
in great distress.
"'What's the hatter, brother sol
dier?" •
/
Why IVlas I want a dol
lar to get .ow the Con-.
press has no further use for me."
-
The Baron was absent a few mo
ments, and returned with a silver dol
lar, which he had borrowed.
There, it is all I could get—take
Mii
The negro received it with joy, hail
ed a sloop which was passing down the
riser to New York, and, as he reached
the deck; took off his hat, and said—
God bless Master Baron."
These are only single illustrations of
the condition of the army, at the close
of the war. Indeed, Washington had
this in view, at the , close aids farewell
address to the Army at Rock Rill, in
November, 1;783.
'• And being now to conctu.d ( e -these,
his last public orders, to take his ulti
mate leave in a short time.of the military
character, and to bid a final adieu to
the armies he had so long had the hon
or to command he can only again offer.
in their behalf, his commendations to
their country, and his pray)r to the
God of armies.
"May ample justice be done them
here, and may the choisest of heaven's
favors, both here and hereafter, attend
those who, under Divine auspices,
have secured innumerable blessings for
others. .
With these wishes, and this bene
diction, the commander-in•chief is about
to retire from service. The curtain of
separation will soon be drawn, and the
military scene to him will be closed
forever!"
The closing of this military scene,"
T am about to relate.
New York; had been occupied by
Washington on the 25th of November.
A few dayseafter he notified the presi
dent of Congress. which body was
then in session. at Annapolis, in Mary
land. that as •the •war was now closed,
he should consider it his dity; to pro
ceed thence, and surrender to that body
the ecmmtssion which he had received
from. them more than seven years be
fiare.
The morningof the 4th of Decent=
'ber, 1783. was a satkand heavy one to
the remnant of the 'American
,army in
the city of New York. The noon of
that day was to vwitriess the farewell of
WashiUgton—l4 _was to bid .adieu to
his military ciimrades forever. The
officers' who had been with hint in the
solemn' conneil, the priYates who had
POWAIMUs. F343&1100Ma0 OZOISTAI79 11),&o9 caLIKAILLIEZ asl 0616 G
MI
Regardless of Denunciation from any Quarter.-Gov..Pormss.
fought and charged in the " heaiy
fight' under his orders, were to hear
his commands no longer—the manly
form and dignified countenance of the
4 , great captain." was henceforth to
!vie only in their memories.
As the hour of noon approached, the
whole garrison, at , the request of Wash
ington himself, was put in motion and
marched down Broad street to Francis'
tavern, his head quarters. His favorite
light infantry were drawn up in line
facing inwards, through Pearl street, to
the foot of White Hall, where a barge
was in readiness to ' convey him to
Powles' Hook.
Within the dining room of the tavern
were assembled the general and field
officers to take their farewell.
Assembled there were Knox, Greene,'
Steuben, Gates, Clinton, and others,
who had served with him faithfully and
truly in the ' , field ;" but alas i where
were others who had entered the war
with him seven years before. Their
bones crumbled in the soil from Canada
to Georgia. Montgomery had yielded
up his life at Quebec, Wooster at Dan
bury, Woodhull was barbarously mur
dered whilst a prisoner at the battle of
Long Island, Mercer fell mortally
wounded at Princeton, the brave and
chivalric Laurens. after displaying the
most heroic courage in the trenches at
Yorktown, died in a trifling skirmish
in South Carolina, the brave but eccen
tric Lee was no longer living, and Put
nam, like a helpless child, was stretch
ed upon the bed of sickness. Indeed,
the battle-field and time had thinned the
franks which had entered with him in
the conflict.
Washington entered the room—the
hour of separation had come. As, he
raised his eye, and glanced on the- laces
of those assembled, a tear coursed down
his cheek, and his voice was tremulous
as hesaluted them. Nor was he alone
—men,
" Albeit unused to the melting mood,"
stood arolind him whose uplifted hands
to cover their brows, told that the tea:,
hich they in ' vain attempted to con
ceal, bespoke the aaguisl► they could
not hide. .
After a moment's conversation, Wash
ington/ called fur a .glass of wine. It
was brought him—turning to .his offi
cers) he thus addressed them : With
a heart full of love and gratitude, I now
take my final leave of you. I most de
voutly wish your latter days may be
as prosperous and happy as your for
mer ones have been glorious and hon
orable." He then raised the glass to
his lips, drank, and added : " 1 cannot
come lo eaclOsif you to take my leave,
but shall be oViged to you, if each of
you will take me by the hand."
Peeral Knox, who stood nearest,
burst into tears, and advanced—incapa
ble of utterance. Washington grasped
him • by the hand, kind embraced him.
The officers came up successively and
took an affectionate leave. No words
were spoken, but all was•the silent
eloquence of tears." What were mere
words at - such a scene ? Nothing. It
was the feeling of the heart—thrilling
though unspoken.
When the last of the officers had
embraced him, Washington left the
room followed by his comrades, and
passed through the lines of light infan
try. His step was slow and measured
—his head uncovered, and the tears
flowed thick and fast as he looked from
side to side at the veterans to whom he
now bade adieu forever. Shortly after
an even occurrd more touching than all
the rest. A gigantic soldier, who stood
by his side at Trenton, stepped forth
from the ranks, and extended his hand :
Farewell, my beloved General,
farewell !"
• Washington grasped his hand in con
vulsive emotion, in both of • his: All
discipline was now at an end, the offi
cers Could not restrain the men, as • they
rushed forward to take Washington by
the hand, and the sobs and tears of the
soldiers told how deeply engraven up
on their affections was the love of their
'commander.
At length, Washington reached the
barge at White Hall, and entered it.—
At the first stroke of the oar, he rose
and turning to the companions of his
glory, by waving his hat bade them a
silent adieu •`` their answer was only in
tears; otficeis and men, with glistening
eves watched the receding boat until
the form of their noble commander was
lost it the distance;
Contrast the farewell of Washington to
his army at. White Hall, 1784. and the
adieu of Napoleon to his army at Fon
tainblean, in 1814 !' The one had ac
complished every wish of his'ncible ?.x
-ertions, had. achieved the independence
Of his country, and he longed tairetire
to the bosom of. his home-=his ambi-
tion was satisfied. He knight for no
crown sceptre, but for equality and the
mutual happiness of his fellow beings.
No.taint of tyranny, no breath of slan
der, no whisper of duplicity, marred
the fair proportions of his public of pri
vate lifebut '
"He was a man, take him for all in all,
We ne'er shall look upon his like again."
The other great soldier was the dig:
ciple of.
,selfish ambition. L He raised_
the iron weapon of war to crush only
that he might rule. What tcOlim were
the cries of the widows and orphans ?
He passed to a throne by making the
dead bodies of their protectors his step
ping stones. Ambition and self were,
the gods of his idolatry, and to them he
sacrificed the tombs of his fellow men
for the aggrandizement of personal glo
ry. Enthusiasm points with fearful
wonder to the name of Napoleon, whilst
justice, benevolence, freedom, and all
the concomitants, which constitutes the
true happiness of man, shed almost a
divine halo around the name and char
acter of Washington.
The Oak—Carious Experiment.
Take an acorn in the fall of theyear,
tie a string round it in suet) a way that
when suspended, the blunt end of the
acorn where the cup was, is upward.—
Hang it thus prepared in the inside of
a bottle, or hayacinth glass, containing
a little twitter, taking care that the acorn
does not reach the water, within an
inch; wrap the bottle all over in flan.
nel, so as to • keep it dark and warm,
and put it in a warm place. In three
or four weeks the acorn will have
swollen, its coat will have burst, and
a little white point will make its ap
pearance at the end opposite the water.
This point is the root ; the acorn is
now changing its nature and, becoming
an oak ; still, however, it must be sta
tioned in the dark, still it must he kept
clear of the water, and so it must con
tinue till the young root is • at least hall
an inch
Then the water may be allo i wed to
rise higher ; but it is only when from
the neck on the root, a point begins to
turn upward, that it is safe to.alrow the
water to touch it. At this time, the
acorn has ceased to be an acorn, and
has really become a young oak; for
the little point directing itself upward,
is lie beginning of that great trunk
which a century later may form the
timber of a frigate. As soon as the
young stein begins to shoot, the oak
will require a dose of light; a little,eve
ry day.; and it a!so yearns for more
forkd, so that its root, which in reality
islits mouth; 1; e allowed to touch the
water and drink it.
After these events have come to pass,
Our little nursling breathes, and must
have air ; digests and must have light!;
sucks greedily, and must have fresh
water given to its root, which, howev
er, should never be permitted to be
wholly covered ; just. that point where
the stem begins,should be kept out of
the water. The pet having been
brought to this, its first state of exis
tence, must be kept in the windew.-6
At first it will bea stout thread, whitish,
and covered with tiny scales, then the
scales will expandsa little, and the end
will become greener.
Next will appear some little leaves;
hair will begin to grow, veins will
branch ; the old scales will fall off, and
by slow degree the leaves will arrange
themselves noon the stem,•each unfold-,
ing from the bosom of the other. •; And
thus, out of a little starch and gum. for
the acorn was not much more,—mani
fold parts will be curiously produced
by the wontlions.creative powers of na
ture.— Gardner' 8 Chronicle.
. .
ROLES OF LIFE.—The following
rules of practical life were given by
Mr. Jefferson : •
1. Never put off till to -morrow what
cap be done to-day.
2. Never spend your money before
you have it.
4. Ne'ver buy what you do not want
because it is cheap.
Pride 'costs as much as ; hunger,
thirst and cold.
6• 'We never repent of eating too
little.
7. Nothingis troublesome that we
do willingly. .
8. How much pain Those evils Cost
Us, which never happen !'
`9. Take things by their s.nooilt han
dle. ,
. , .
. -
JO. W 'ten
angry, always count ten
- ! -
before.you speak, .-.
,•
Bless me," Raid an old lady, lately
as she read, all hail. Missouri Vi at
the:head•olan article in one- oldie po.
liticatimpersi—,. bleats mill. haipWtikey•
a very lam springthere,ifit.halit,yilt t'7
For What is a Mother Responsible.
'A mother • is usually also a wife, and
has the-management of a family and la
direct influence • over thosb within her
appropriate sphere. She, in subordi.
nation of course to her head, has the .
seat Of authority • and wields the sceptre
of government. From a position Of
entire dependence she has risen to•pow,
er. andlrank ; and though her throne
may, be in a cottage, and her dominion
the little world of household affairs, Yet 1
is shenot the less really responsible,
than is that youthful queen who now
sways 1 Sceptre over the four quarters
of the earth. But for what is she re,'
Sponsible!
She is responsible for the nursing'
and rearing of her progeny ; their exer
cise and proper 'sustenance in early
life. A child left to grow up deformed,
bloated or meagre, is an object of tria
-1 ternal negilence.
She is responsible fora child's habits;
including cleanliness, order, conversa
tion. eating sleeping, manners, and gen
eral propriety .of behavior. A child
deficient or untaught in these particu
lars, will prove a living monument of
parental disregard ; because, generally
'speaking, a mother can, _if she will,
greatly control children in these mat
ters.. •
She is responsible for their deport
ment. She can make them fearful and
cringing, she can Make them modest
or impertinent; ingenious or deceitful;
mean or manly; clownish or polite.—
The germ of all these things is in child
hood, and a mother can repress or bring
them forth.
She' is responsible for the princi
ples which her children entertain in
early life. For her it is to say whetli.
er ,those who go forth fro-hi t her fireside
shall be imbued with sentiments of vir
tue, truth, honor, honesty, temperance,
industry, benevolence and morality, or
those of a contrary character—vice,
fraud, drunkenness, idleness, covetous..
bees. These last will be found to be
of the most natural growth ; but on her
is devolved the daily, hourly task of I
weeding her little garden—of eradicat- I
ing these odious productions, and plant
ing"the human with the
_lily, the rose
and the amarattli, . that fadeless flower,
emblem of truth.
• She is to a very considerable extent
responsible for the temper and disposi
tion of her .children. Constitutionally
they may be violent, irritable, or re
vengeful ; but for the regulation or cor
rection of these passions a mother is
responsible,
She is responsible for the intellectual
acquirements of her children, that is,
she is bound to do what she can for this
object. Schools, academies, and colle
.ges open their portals throughout our
land ; and every mother is under heavy
responsibilities to see that her sops and
daughters have all the benefits which
these afford, and which their cireurri
stances will permit them them to enjoy.
She is responsible for their religious
education. The beginning of all wis
dom is the fear of God ; and this every
mother must teach. Reverence • for
God, acquaintance with His word, res
pect for the dillies and ordinances of
religion, are within the ability of every
parent to implant; and if children grow
up ignorant 'Or regardless of the Bible
•
and the Savour, what mother, when
she considers the wickedness, of the
human heart, can expect thein to rise
up. and call her blessed ?---dijother's
journal.
A Mrs. Beak wanted to insult a Mr.
Snaud, atulthus she did it. " Mr. 5.,"
said. she, " you say that you're a tem
perance man, yet you chews terbarker.",
" Hem—ayes mum !" he replied, feel.'
ing as if he had a pint of vinegar be=
tween his teeth, " but mum—l does'nt
squeeze my gizzard with stays, nor
stick•my back up with bags of meal and
cotton batting—l does'nt, hosi."
A PRINTEIi out West, whose office
is half a j rnile from any other 6uihting,
and who hangs his sign on the! limb of
a tree advertises for an apprentice.—
Ile says a-bOy from the country would
be preferred.
It is soiling one's hand to east mud
on a person wheat - - we effect t 4 despise
—when contempt would teach a real
gentleman to pass by on the other side.
It is quite as disgracetnl quai,rel with,
as,to dine with, a vagabond. -
"I am a broken inan," , aid a poet
one. day. "So Ushoold think,' was
tim ,repty . ". fur. Vltava ,seen.onr
Smell .thnige - often decides , rtratt's
destiny. as the rethlerof a. , sitip directs
. .
her course. 'o“ . ~..
tow 51v oo wool:mama a Ma
LEG AL . TECHNTEALITIEB.••• - M
Noah thus holds
. Ori. the absurditrof
the legal technicalities in use in most of
the , Northern States. It may not to
universally,
.known that in England they
have been-aliolished• iii.a much greater
extent than in 'some of our own States.
the worthy Major • thus sensibly rm.
.sons:
Why cannot we simplify the language
of the land—why not banish its old
black-letter Vandalism Sir, I give
you this orange," and:l- do give it—
should not that declaration and transfer
be deemed an absolute conveyance.—
Yet, to make it perfectly legal, it must
run thus :
• • , I • give you all and singularly my'
estate and interest, right, title and claim.
and advanta g e of and in that .orange.
with the rri d, skin, juice, pulp and
pips, and all right and advantage there
in with full power to bite, cut, suck, or
otherwise eat the same. or give tho
same away, as fully and effectually as
I, said A. 8., am now entitled to bite,
cut, or eat the same orange, or give the
same away, with or without its rind,
skin, juice, pulp and pipe, ' anything
heretofore or herein after,. or -:in other
deed or deeds..instrument or instru
ments, of whatever nature or. kind soev•
er, to the contrary in anywise. notwith
stand=with Much more of the same
effect." • -
Is not ttlie gravity supremely ludi
crbus
Who and What I have seen.
I have seen ..Incog," a Live Huo
sier," and
I have' seen a farmer's wife take the
last twenty bushels of, wheat from the
granary to purchase a new dress, when
her husband, at the same time, had an
execution, standing against him.
I have seen farmers that could go
twenty miles to a political meeting, but
would not go five miles to an agricul
tural one.
I have seen farmers that bad hut lit
tle except •• dog fence," but I coteld not
see that that they had better crops titan
those that had good rail - or board fence.
I have seen farmer& that burnedtheir
straw when threshing their grain in the
HI, and go begging the same article
before spring to keep their stock alive.
I have seen a farmer that travelled
one hundred and four miles in the
course of a year, to use his neighbor's
grindstone, wheu•t.wo days' lab,or would
purchase one that would last tin years.
I have seen a farmer's wife that would
prefer sour cream and a visit," to
sweet cream and home.
I have seen young 'men that pay ten
dollars for a "spree", that would not
pay one dollar for the Newspaper."
I have seen a mother that called her
child a s. brat" in the cradle, and in
two years the child called her a harder
MEM
The nappy Farmer,
There is something certainly very
captivating in the quiet, peaceful and
healthy life of a Farmer. We always
thought so and think so , none the less
now from the praises of a cotemporary
who sings t'6 the following lively tune :
It noes one's heart good to see a
merry, round-laced farmer. So inde
pendent, and yet so free from vanities
and pride—so rich, and, yet so indus
trious—so. patient and persevering in
his calling, and vet so kind, sociable
and obliging, There are a thonsand
noble trails t - *mi his character. He is
generally hospitable—eat and drink
with him, and be won't set a mark on
you and sweat it out of you with double
compound interest, as some I know do
—you are welcome. He . will do you
a kinduess without.expeeting a return
by way of compensation—it is not so
with everybody. He is generally more
honest aitd sincere=less disposed to
deal in low and underhand cunning,
than many 1 could name.. He gives
society its best support—is the firmest
pillar_that'supports the edifice of go
vernment—he is the lord of nature.—
Look at him in his homespun and gray
—gentlemen,!—langh.at him if you will
—but believe me, lie can laugh back if
be pleases.
A ALL'S OF ALL WORK.— ,, ..A Ynriii.!e
in the West- sacs the Saivville Gazette.
adiertises that mend-clocks, lec
ture . on phrenolng,y, preach at camp
meetings, milk cows at.the halves. keen - ,
bar, lecture on •temperauce, • and gtt
clamming at !Ow title.' He salts during
his leisure, he will have no ohjeetion to
weave; rock ha b it's to .steep, or edit a
pewspapc r.
A Philosopher tias-,504, thou 01
man Withot4 lTiclituy is Toiy, a man
with ith• ntithinti 1)14 tutilici-
I gOo ebo