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WEDNESDAY, OCTOBER 15;1845
I.Erren room Ito nEIIT DALE OWEN.—At the Demo•
rratic meeting published in our last, a resolution was pas•
~td that a committee be appointed to procure the publi
cation of a letter from Robert Dale Owen, setting forth
the fact that Col. R. Nf. JOHNSON was the slayer of Te
cumseh; and refuting partly the slanders of the Whig
press recently put forth. The following is the letter of
the committee addressed to us, accompanied by Mr.
Owen's letter.
EAFT SMITHFIELD, October 6, 1845..
To the Editors of the Bradford Reporter—Gentlemen:
In accordance with a resolution of a large democratic
meeting holden in this place on the 30th of September,
we haw procured and herewith forward you, for publi
a co py of a letter, front the Hon. Robert Dale
oven, to Cal. e . . Sofisbery.written in 1842, establish
beyond co ntroversy, an historical Tad highly interesting
to the Amencan public, namely, that Cul. R. 31. John.
met in single combat, and slew Tecumseh in the
battle of the Thames."
Since a pinion of the public press in the United
States, have seen proper, with great earnestness, to raise
the q uestion. and gravely urge upon their readers, that Col.
Jolooon did not kill, that celebrated Indian warrior, Te
ra,,,,,e/t, it is incumbent on the friends of this illustrious
man, to.npel these bold charges, and forever settle the
question.
Col. Owen's letter, then, is in point, the facts are
most conclusive, and well stated.
As a matter of national.history fully authenticated, it is
eminently worthy, in the language " of Col. Owen, of rec
:
and and peen-era/ inn,"
To the end. therefore, that this desideratum be OrCOM
plished, it is our intention to forward a copy of the
Bradford Reporter" containing Mr. Owen's letter, to
.the Hon. Henry H. Gilpin, late Attorney General of
the U. and distinguished member of the Historical
Society at Philadelphia; and, as the let ris an "inter
esting end authoritive historical remin . ce,"reopectful
ly request Mr. Gilpin to adopt such m ures as will in
sure its "prescrralion" in the archives of the Society.
The country are under high obligations to Col. Owen
'for the facts which he has presented with so much clear
ness and ability. As a gentleman of acknowledged in
tee! ity of purpose, a scholar and patriot, he ranks among
the most eminent of his countrymen ; his letter, there
fore, FO overwhelming in proof that Col. Johnson did kill
Tecumseh in the victorious battle of the Thames will be
read With
deep and absorbing interest.
With sentiments of high regard,
we are truly, yours sincerely,
• • TRUMAN M. BEACH.
CHAUNCEY GLITHRIE,
V. E. PIOLLET,
J. L. WEBB,
' WM. ELM ELL.
Nenhannony. Indiana, Sept., 10th, 1815
Stn:—lour kind invitations on behalf of the State
Ventral Committee of Pennsylvania, to unite with our
fellow citizens throughout the Union, in the approach
ing celebration at Danville, of the anniversary of the
memorable battle of the Thames, has been duly received.
I deeply regret that my duty as Trustee of the State ISni
‘ersity of Indiana, which imperatively requires my atten
dance at Bloomington, during commencement week, (five
days only previous to your celebration,) compels me to
forego the gratification I should have experienced in
meeting, and such an occasion, the distinguished men
who will assemble to welcome in their midst, our valna-
Ids friend, Col. R. M. Johnson.
Since f have alluded to the death of Tecumseh, by
ido3o.'B hand, I may be pardoned on this occa
sion, for adding, in proof of a fact which nothing but par
ty jealousy ever disputed, evidence-of the most direct
chiracter, which chance enabled me to procure, and which
has never before, that I know of, laid before the public.
Levi Gritton, an humble farther, now living about three
miles cash of Evansvile, in this state, was present, then
quite a youth, at Winchester's defeat; was takenprison-
Cr and carried to Malden and had there frequent oppor
tun:ties of seeing Tecumseh, and of receiving at his
hands, a degree of kindness, not imitated by those who
called themselves the civilized allies of the Indian chief.
Tecumseh's appearance then, was stamped upon Mr.
liotton's recollection, by that which is never forgotten,
deeds to a captive in a strange land. After a time,
an oath was tendered to the prisoners at Malden, not to
rerve again. Gritton and two others, who refused to
~ 1C It, were hurried to Montreal and sold for goods to a
f , mcir trader there ; but after five or six weeks captivi
ty Gritton seibed a skiff, descended the St. Lawrence,
and returned by way of Buffalo, after enduring many
harlhips, , to his home in Mercer Co. Kentucky.
There he enlisted as one ofllcAffees compa4' , and
was afterwards present at the battle of the Thames.
These parcticulars, and those I am about to relate, I had
from his own lips, noting them down at the time; and,
after reading them to Gritton, causing him to append to
them his signature.
'The young soldier, then not yet twenty one, wasse
leered as one of the forlorn hope, which, as every one
knows, was led u p against the Indians, in advance of the
mounted. Then by Col Johnson in person. Next to Col.
Johnson, rode Col. Whitley, and immediately behind him
Levi Craton. Whitley, se is well known, fell &lid at
the first fire; and it W 3.4 Gritton who afterwards carried
home to his widow the rifle and shot pondh of the fallen
soldier. The same fire which killed Whitley, brought
to the ground every man of the forlorn hope, Col. John
son and one other excepted. Gritton received a wound
in the left leg, and had his horse shot from under him.
"hen CoL Johnson turned round and saw' the forlorn
hope d'own• he called out to the rest of his•men, to dis'
"mei and fight the Indians after their own fashion.
Each man who wasmot disabled then took to a tree ; and
a desult,iry combat was kept up for some quarter of an
hour; Johnson's' men still advancing from tree to
upon the Indians. About that time it was, that
tuition who had taken his station behind a beech, saw
Cot Johnson ode round the top of a fallen tree about
len or twelve yards in advance of him, and perceived an
Indian whom he instantly recognized as Tecumseh, stand
ing s few steps from the root of the same tree. He saw
Tecumseh raise his tomahawk as in the act to throw, and
at that moment Col. J. shot him with his pistol. He
saw Tecumseh fall .and die on the same spot. Next
morning Gritton's men, knowing that be was acquaint
.d with Tecumseh„ induced him to go with them about
, uprise to the scene of combat, and there they still found
the body where it first fell.. About the same time An
thony Shane, the half /breed interpreter, who had known
"Tecumseh for years, mated the body, and recognized it
m ga° ll .V. I irked Gritton if he had ever heard it doubt-
V, in the army, that Tecumseh was the Indian shot by
"Never," said he indignantly, "no man ever
doubted or disputed it, there. It was as well known and
2Ckn"Ple dged. as that the Col. was in the battle at aIL
,
saw the encounter with my own eyes, and am as cer
tain of it, as of my existence." Gritton met his old
ehier, during his visit to Evansville, whither I accompa
nied Col. J. in the autumn of 1840. His eyes filled with
tetra as he grasped Col. Xs hand; and his emotions was
ea Crest he could not articulate a word. .
AB an interesting and authentic histo rical reminisence,
vouched for by an eye witness, who yet survives to con
firm his story, I trust it will be deemed worthy of record
and preservation. As such, hail I been able -to attend
the celebration, I should have sought an occasion to re-
Pea it, and, being denied that pleasure, I take the liber
ty of Incorporating it in this communication, at the 'la
_
extending it to a somewhat unwarrantable length. I beg
to offer "to your - committee my.thanks for the honors of,
.the invitation so courteously extended to me, and to re-.
peat the expression of my regret that I cannot avail my
cltheir kindness. lam Fir your fellow citizen,
ROBERT DALE OWEN.
TilE.:.-• - •BRADFORD, :REPORTER.
[For the Bradford Reporter.]
Thoughts for Young Men.—No. 2.
Every young man should know, what every old one
can tell him, that there is ordinarily a great waste of the
powers of human life. Probably not one in ten thou
sand does nearly as much for himself and others as his
abilities and opportunities would have enabled him to ac
complish.
In reflecting upon the losses thus sustained, we natu
rally Inquire if there is any general cause for such an evil;
any at least, that we may hope to see extensively remo
ved. One we may readily discover in the almost uni
versal want of any sufficient stimulus in the develop
ment and application of the powers bestowed upon us.
The common gains of life, pleasures, honors, riches, pow
er, are not adequate rewards for the high and continued
efforts of which men are capable. In some cases they do
indeed appear so, but in general they are more truly ap
preciated.
But there is another defect in the stimulus to activi
ty which they afford. They do not call for the use of
our higher faculties. Inspired wisdom has taught, what
common observation might also suggest, that “ that out
the heart are the issues oflife The affections must be
set upon proper objects, and regulated by the compara
tive value of those objects, or it is but a show of life, lit
tle better than the galvanic excitement of a corpse, that
we attain at best. It is a fatal error, the common one of
mistaking the pocket for the bean; and equally fatal in
result to mistake animal pleasures for well-being,Mpow
er amongst men for dominion over the powers of evil in
and around us.
The amount of it is, with most young men, they mis
take the end of their being. The consequence is, that
while each has been constituted a machine of wonderful
power, and curiously adapted to produce the greatest re
sults, the working of this machine is irregular, and often
quite nugatory. Sometimes the strength of one part is
expended to the injury of another, wheels are left out a
year, perhaps the balance wheel itself; or foreign sub
stances are allowed, in the more delicate parts, quite to
impede the operation of the whole. All this must hap
pen where the real object o the machine isnot regarded,
and where the whole operation is not directed to that
grid. He that should mistake an ordinary steam engine
for a flouring mill, would not err 'more signally than
the most do in the economy of their lives.
If young men could be persuaded to learn and lay to
heart the first question and answer in the Westminster
Assembly's Shorter Catechism, it would save them and
the world from losses greater than any that the best poli•.
cy of this world's insurance can cover. The question is,
‘' What lat he chief and of man . 2 ". and the answer, in
words not unworthy of inspiration itself: '• The chief
end of man is to glorify God, and enjoy himforever."
Is this too serious fot a newspaper of essay I Let it be
made then a theme of the next Sunday's meditation.
Whoever will draw from it his rules of life, employing
the requisite aids of reason and revelation, will find him
self in the end a new creature, intellectually no less than
morally he will escape the greatest losses to which men
are exposed, and attain the best treasures that men can
enjoy.
Towanda, Oct. 8. C. S. A.
Setting Posts—Fences—Harrows
MR. 'nick - En—Posts for fences or other pur
poses, set into the ground, will last double the
length of time by being put into the middle of
the hole. The space around the post filled
with small stones instead of earth. the earth
does not come in contact with the post, and the
air is also admitted to the hole, both of which
probably tend to prevent decay. In con
structing fences, the earth taken from the hole
is placed directly under the line of the fence,
thus forming airidge which is asaving equal to
twelve feet of boards in four lengths of fence.
The stones should be raissd three or four inch
es around the .post above the surface of the
ground. The posts will not be very firm at
first, but after standing through one winter their
firmness will be much increased, and will con,
tinue to increase for several years.
A post and rail fence, constructed in this way
forty-five years since, in the vicinity of Bost,
ton, is now standing, with the exception of one
post,, and will probably stand a dozen years
more.
The common zig-zag rail fence is much more
durable with upright stakes than with cross
stakes. My •method is, to connect the stakes
before the top rail is put on, with iron Wire.
say one-fourth of an inch an diameter. which
is done after the stakes are set, by bringing the
tops of the stakes as near together as the fence
will admit; then take the measurement with a
cord, which will show the length to cut the
Wire. which is easily done with a cold chisel ;
the ends of the wire are then hooked around
each stake : the top rail being then put in eoni
pletes the fence. With an iron a foot or more
in length. with a hole near one end to admit
the end of the wire, the operation is quickly
performed. This is a much cheaper method
of securing upright stakes than the usual• way
with a piece of scantling.
The, Harrow, svhethei square or triangle,
should be constructed entirely of iron, (except
the points of the teeth, which are steel ;) bars
of iron, of proper thickness, width and weight,
and selected and welded together so as to form
the desired shape for the. frame ; the tops of the
teeth being rounded about an inch and a half
doWn, pass thr9ugh the iron plate or frame,
and are made fast on the upper ride by a nut.
The teeth this way are always kept tight,
which is very difficult in a wood-framed har
row. With the exception of the teeth, a har
row thus constructed, will endure a century
without being housed.
A CLEVER. ONE.—An infidel. once meeting a
boy who had er.joyed the advantage of. having
a pious mother—sarcastically said to him—
" Well Jack—l'll give you an orange if you'll
tell me where God is." To which the boy
meekly replied—" I'll give you two. if yoti'll
tell me-where'he is not!"
7CAuptt-LEcTuRED.—A gentleman who has
only been married two weeks. - was so " Cau
dle-LeCtured " the other night, for being out
till ten o'clock; that he vows be will never be
married again. He says he " wont go home
till morning," if the practice is kept up.
PUBLISHED EVERY WEDNESDAY, AT TOWANDA, BRADFORD COUNTY, PA., BY E. S
" REGARDLESS OF DENUNCIATION FROM ANY QUARTER."
Address Delivered by Mr. Booth,
Before the Borough Temperance Society, Monday Even
ing, Sept. 29. Published by Request of the Society.
[CONCLUDED FROM OUR LAST•
Have you a father that is proud to call you
you hij son—have you a mother that loves the
child she has borne and nourished ? There is
no-sentiment more pure and ennobling in the
sighi'd heaven, than that partial love which is
bestowed by an affectionate parent upon thi
teous child; and there is no obligation resting
upon your soul so sacred as that which binds
you to repay that love with answering tender.
ness and care. Are you willing to bring down
the grey hairs . of those parents with broken
hearted sorrow to the grave? You do not
alone, and by your own sufferings pay the
price which Nature exacts for your vicious
pleasures; but you force all those who have
ever loved you or taken any interest in your
welfare, by the pain and natural anxiety they
feel, to contribute largely to t he amount.— I
When with rash and s cidal hand you rend I
your own bosom, you a \ the same time pierce
through the bosoms of your parents and friends
with many sorrows. Will you give your pa
rents reason to feel that your existence has
been to them a curse ; that instead of paying
that natural debt of affection and care which
you owe to the authors of your being, you
have mingled for them the bitterest cup of
wretchedness that the -whole course of their
lives has ever commended to their lips ? Are
you willing to inflict this curse upon your own
soul ?—of having stung the parental bosom
with your ingratitude and profligacy ?—of hay
ing embittered the last years of life—those
years that are always but too destitute of cheer
ing circumstances, with the knowledge of your
infamy and shame ? If you can do this with
no misgivings ; if you fear no voice of con
cience in after. days to harrow up your soul
with the recollections of past conduct, then go -
on, brave youth, and enjoy with a relish what
ever gratification is to be found in the region
of sensual pleasures, for you have calculated
the price and have coolly concluded to pay it.
You can make your own bargains, and although
your friends may agonize for the consequences,
yet they cannot prevent it. But it is a terrible
reflection to think how - deeply asman may curse
himself by his own acts.
Are you a married man? If so, then the
price that you must pay for indulging your
appetite for intoxicating drinks will be materi
ally modified by that circumstance. You have
a wife, Whom in the presence of High Heaven
and witnesses, ypu Solemnly promised upon
the faith.of a man, to honor, love, cherish, and
protect; and whom you persuaded in the ar
dor of her affection, to leave the parental tool'
and that band of sisters and brothers who doated
on her, and to unite her fortunes with yours,
thenceforth trusting to you and you alone fur
happiness, rank, station, and character in so
ciety, wholly blending her being with yours,
and theneeforward possessing by the laws of
her country and the estimation of society no
separate existence or character distinct from
that of her chosen lord. In the profession of
a pure and manly character, unstained by vice
and guiltless of excess, you wooed and won
her love. There was at least a tacit under
standing that in future time you should never
act beneath the character that you then pro
fessed, that you would never in after life do
aught that might not become the man that you
then studied to appear in the eyes of her whom
you sought to win.
NVlien, therefore, you indulge in those ex
cesses of which we an speaking, there is spe•
cial reason why you should weigh well the
price that you are to pay. Though you may
j consider it a small matter so far as you are
personally concerned, to become transformed
into a beast—though you may think it a mat
ter of trivial moment to obliterate the image of
God in your person—and though you may
consider character and reputation of no account.
which you are at liberty to sacrifice as may
suit your pleasure. yet when all the circum
stances of your situation are weighed. you are
not, strictly speaking, free to brutalize your
self, whatever may be your inclination. The
I degradation which you inflict upon yourself,
attaches also to another. Those excesses in
which you indulge, render the•trusting,sim ple
hearted maiden whom you persuaded to be
come united to you, the wife of a drunkard.—
And are you prepared to make such a sacrifice
to a beastly appetite ? Will you pay this
price also for your gratification ; Will you
be so' scurvy a fellow as to inflict this irrepara
ble injury upon the woman who loved and
trusted you ? Are you prepared to see that
love changed into scorn and loathing, for the
man who has forfeited all claim to her regard
and degraded himself to the condition of a
brute ? 1 have no conception of such sublimi
ty of affection in woman as is able to with
' stand the shock of seeing a husband transform
ed into a drunkard. That woman may well
be considered as wanting self-respect who can
still entertain her affection for the man who
has become so lost to character, so debased,
so destitute of the better feelings of humanity,
as to sicken her sight with the disgusting ex
hibitions of habitual drunkenness. Nature
stands checked, rezolting at such loathed, de
tested union of thriving with the dead ! Are
you willing that your bosom companion should
regard with abhorrence and well-deserved coo
-1 tempt ? This, too. is a portion of the price
that Nature exacts from those who transcend
the limits of temperance and sobriety for those
tumultuous gratifications that lie in the regions
of excess. .
Are you a father? If so, then you know
something of the affection, something of the
pride with which a parent regards his chil&--
the bright, young boy that has arisen in his
pathway of life to cheer and to comfort him ;
to sustain him under the infirmities of age, and
continue his name and memory among the liv
ing, when he shall have paid the last debt of
Nature. Would you inflict upon that boy the
disgrace of having a drunken lather 1 \ Woeld
you stand humbled and abased in the 'presence
of your own child Would you have that
child flee from your presence with dread and
apprehensions of your brutality? Would you
have him avoid your sight with expressions of
loathing and abhorrence ? All this, and much
more you are preparing for yourself and those
whom you love, while you yield to the fascina
lions of the intoxicating bowl. Have you
friends'? and would you see them avoid 3ou
as though you were smitten with leprosy ?—.
Have you property and would become a beg
gar in these streets where you now walk with
a free and independent footstep Have you
a reputation, and would you become mlamons
among your fellow-men? Have you health?
and would you transform that rigorous body
and those active limbs into a mass of putridity
and disease ? Would you become a miserable
outcast from soeiety, lust to happiness and to
virtue, accursed of Cod, abhorred by men, and
bearing in your own breast a hell of malignant
passions—a burning appetite insatiable as the
grave? Possibly you may hesitate a little.—
Perhaps you may be inclined to think all this
too great a price to pay for the gratification of
the palate. It is nevertheless the p r i ce th at
Nature deriaands, and thousands have paid it.
No man ever suffered himself to be lured far
among the enchanted islands of intemperance, I
without being forced to meet a reckouing,which
if not minutely similar, was substantially the
same. lam not laboring to amuse you with
pictures of the fancy. I only tell you what
you already know, what your own eyes have
seen. There are beings living in this commu
nity and in every community, who exemplify
the troth of every word that has been uttered.
Hardly a day passes, but that we see men, be
ings clothed in the human shape, who have
made all these sacrifices in order that they
might drink—drink damnation to their tempo
ral and eternal welfare. We are indeed, so
familiarized with such facts, that we are scarce
ly sensible to the strange infatuation of these
persons. We see men with i staggering forms,
bloated visages, maniacal Icioks, and red eye
balls ; ragged, squalid and vicious—without
property, without character without friends ;
lost, miserable miscreants—without one. ray of
intellect or feeling to enliven the grossness of
their besotted faces: and so familiar have, we
become with such scenes, that we are almost
accustomed to regard them as incident to the
lot of humanity—as part and parcel of those
co nsequences that were entailed upon our spe
cies by the first fall or some other fall that
mankind has experienced. And, yet these
men have run their race of pleasure. They
have had their - frolics ; they have enjoyed all
that glorious excitement that wine, brandy and
jovial company can give. .They have seen
the time in their better days when the night
was too short for their carousals—when they
could proking their revels until the daylight
streaked the east, and feel scarce a transient
head-ache to warn them that they had violated
Nature's law; so sound were their constitu:'
uons, and so bland were the spirits of youth
to endure for a season the encroachments of
excess. They were perhaps favored sons of
Nature, upon whom she had lavished a capi
tal of health and vitality, a strength of constitu
lion and a mental vigor, sufficient with pro
dent usage to nave maintained them in comfort
and happiness until extrette old age. But
they chose to take up the funds which Nature
, had in store for them at a ruinous discount be-
Ifore they were due, and to waste in a single
drunken debauch more of vital energy than
I would have sufficed for the ordinary wear of
existence during many months. At length
the time arrives when the treasure of their ex
-1 istence is spent, and they bankrupt in fortune,
in health and in reputation, are forced to repay
by the racking pains of bodily tlisease and the
fiercer tortures of remorse those penalties that
Nature exacts for the treasures Which they
have improvidently squandered. A tiound
constitution .for a time may have preserved
them from experiencing the consequences of
excess ; but the hour at length arrives, end
Nature's penalty is exacted with many stripes.
It is useless to think of evading the universality
of these conditions. No man has ever yet
escaped them or ever will. When a man has
once tasted of this fatal fruit of excess, she ne
ver forgives the debt—she follows him silent
ly through every, lane of life, and while the
Iman perhaps fancies that the transgression is
, forgotten, she extorts the penalty in extreme
old age, even upon the verge of the grave. The
laws to which she holds us amenable, are laws
of universal sway—laws that pervade all space
and cotrol all mind, that govern our physical,
moral and intellectual being.
But it will perhaps be said that these con
siderations which 1 have now presented, indeed
constitute an argument against excess in the
use of intoxicating drinks as well as every
other kind of excess. but ItirniA no .reason for
the entire abandonment of them.
It is not necessary for our purpose to inquire
why ikis that the use of alcaholic liquors in
any oltheir varieties, is so dangerous to man ;
it is sufficient fur us to know the fact. Ana
-1 tourists and men of medical science can es-
plain how it is that alcahol, by its anon upon
the nervous system, and the various parts of
the human frame, becomes such a subtle. in
sinuating and deadly foe to the health and hap
piness of man. A reference to mental science
might give us another solution of the problem.
He who has once accustomed himself to one
degree of excitement. finds it necessary to his
present cornfort..and will not easily he satisfied
with a less degree. On the contrary, the
stimulous that to-day was sufficient to give him
a pleasurable elevation of spirits, to-morrow is
inadequate to string his nerves to the proper
degree of tension, and thus having once dis
turbed that equable flow of life wherein Na.,
ture lia,s placed our rational happiness, there
is a kind of necessity upon the unhappy vic
tim tb persist until his ruin is apparent in a
.debauched frame and wasted health. I say it
is not .necessary to inquire why this is so. It
is sufficient for us to know the foet—whieh is
clear and undeniable, that the use of alcaholic
liquors of any, description and in ever so small
a quantity is extremely tlangeroue No No .
who makes use oftheru In any degree, can say
with propriety that he is free from danger.—
GOODRICH & SON.
Does any man pride himself upon the strength
of his character, the potency of his will ? 1
tell him that stronger men than he have fallen
Has he pride of family, or character or intel
lect to sustain him ? Is he man of brilliant
parts, of high principles, of noble sentiments ?
All these qualities, these barriers in the road
to ruin, have vanished before the breath of this
demon, like mountain show in the hot smith
wind, or dew before the meridian sun. Per
haps the whole history of human actions be
sides, does not present so many humiliating
examples of the weaknesit of man's resolution
when opposed to his passions, as have occur
red in impotent attempts to resist an appetite
for intoxicating drinks when it has once been
formed. The strongest. tne most gifted, the
noblest. have fallen as powerless and as low as
the - humblest and the weakest. Alexander
having desolated Asia and carried the terror of
his arms to the extreme boundaries of the
known earth, having overthrown and establish
ed kingdoms. having demolished and built up
cities—the world's great master, expires in the
flower of his age in a fit of drunken debauch.
Mark Anthony. the hardy Rotnan soldier, who
by his valor had arisen to the honors of the
triumvirate, who had the imperial purple in
full prospect before his eyes, drowns the hero
in luxury and wine, becomes a victim to the
wiles of a lacivinus, artful woman, loses the
empire and ingloriously stabs himself to es
cape being dragged after the triumphal' car of
Caesar. Think of 14ttleton, the younger—
think of Sheridan and Fox, men of the most
brilliant genius. but rendered desperate and
wretched by their excesses. Think of the
poet Savage—of poor Burns. Think of Tho
mas Campbell ; who in early youth sung of
the Pleasures of Hope," whose genius pro
duced some of the noblest lyrics ever compos : -
ed in thisAr any other language ; whose glo
rious o is, whether sung upon the sea or upon
the d, have a magic power to inspire a ten
martial fury in British hearts, and have
added a new and undying lustre to that flag
of England that—
'
"Has stood a thousand years,
The battle and the breeze."
For the noble spirit that breathes in his earlier
productions, he will be rethembered so long as
'ode single human bosom feels the lava-flood
coursing its arteries at the tale of oppression,
or so long as the sacred name of Liberty is
known among the nations of the earth. His
beautiful poem has caused one of the most
beautiful vallies in America—the sweetest val
ley through which our noble river flows, to
become classic ground. The story of Gertrude
has been told in other lands than this, and in
other tongues than ours ; and that sweet vale
.. on Susquehanna's side," adorned and dres
sed in the beautiful coloring of the poet's fan
cy, together with its happy tenantii„ the dear
old Albert, young Waldegrave, and his love—
ivhose innocent beauty seems to him who reads
the poem, like a familiar face—will be remern
bered so lung as there remains one natural hu•
man bosom a wake to the beautiful or pathetic in
sentiment, or alive to the charms of nature and
art. Yes, think of Campbell; in early life
stringing his lyre to some of the finest melo
dies that ever vibrated upon the human ear ; and
think of i linn, too, in his maturer years, when
that lyre was hung in silence upon the wit.'
lows\ the bands that swept its chords palsied
by intemperance, and its master transformed
into a drivelling, drooling sot. Was this the
end to which Thomas Campbell looked forward
when in the morning of youth, he sang the
Pleasures of Hopei Yet this was the end that
he lived to see. The visions of his ambition.
to have his name enrolled among the bards of
England, were in part realized ; yet faithful
history will have to record of him, that lie was
consi g ned at the same time to the poet's cor
nerand the drunkard's grave. Shall this be
the end of any here present ? Whose .. Plea.
sures of Hope," perchance, have not been
written, but in whom the passion is as strong
as it was in Campbell, and points as bright a
future 1 Would any man be content to take
Campbell's fame, together with his ignominy?
—to feel the gradual annihilation.of such pow
ers by . the fell influence of an accursed habit—
thus to become his " own soul's sepulchre ?"
For myself, were such a fate in reserve for me.
no matter how brilliant the career of fame or
pleasure that might lead to it, I would say in
the poe' own language,
~ 3
en melt ye elements that formed in vain,
'I is troubled pulse and visionary brain ;
Fade ye wild flowers, memorials of my doom,
And sink ye stars, that light me to the tomb!"
There is no end or limit to the victims of
Intemperance. From every occupation, trade,
profession, or station in society, have been
taken its brightest ornaments. The bar, the
bench, the pulpit, the senate chamber, the halls
of legislation, have each furnished forth their
distinguished victims. Our own country has
lost many noble sons—hut charity bide as draw
a vail of oblivion over the failings oldie living,
and the memories of the dead. All human ex,
perience of the high and the low, the strong
and the weak, in every age and land, proves
beyond all question that in die use of aletiliolic
liquors as a bevarage. there is no safety. lie
who endeavors to persuade himself to the con
trary, commits a fatal mistake. There is that
in , the nature of this element, so unfriendly to
the human system: that no strength of constitu-
tion is sufficient to resist its poisonous activity
when used in any considerable quantity ; and
so subtly and insensibly does it operate to lix
the chain of habit, and so powerful is that chain,
thnt it requires a strength of resolution and 'a
self.control to set its victim free, such as no
man can safely count upon possessing. When*
a man has once formed the habit, thnugfi under
the influence of some strung motive he may be
persuaded to give up his 'cups, yet lamentable
proof has( been given in numerous instances.
that theieis no absolute security for hire. Even
the pledge, assumed in .the most soleMn man
ner,. has u too,often proved an ineffectual bar
rier ae inet this unnatural appetite. The only
perfectly Safe ground upon which any man can
stand, is never to acquire the appetite.
WD3III3S@IS3IIE a.
A quite common circumstance in my child•
hood, enforced upon my consideration the va
lue of the temperance pledge. My road to
school led me by the door of a drunkard's dwel
ling. I had often been witness to his drunken
delirium—been disgusted and perhaps frighten
ed, by his abuse and blasphemies. I had seen
the terror and unhappiness of his family, and
also their want, not unfrequently having been
keen with some charity in the shape of food
for his children. These scenes, witnessed dai
ly, young as I was, produced a strong impres
sion upon my mind. Though I had scarcely
ever tasted of intoxicating drinks, I was im
pressed with the fear of becoming a drunkard.
I knew that no man would willingly become a
drunkard, and yet I saw drunkards around me.
It seemed to me, therefore, that there was some
fatality in the thing, that some men would be
come drunkards perforce, and that no one—
and consequently not even myself could be
considered secure from such a fate. I distinct
ly recollect that the thought was horrible to
me, and brooded upon my mind, so as frequent
ly to depress my spirits. About this time, a
temperance movement was made in my native
town. It struck me that it was just the thing
desired. became it member of a temperance
society at the age of eight years. I can keep
my pledge, thought I, and I shall never be a
drunkard. I have kept that pledge, and have
still no fears of becoming intemperate. As a
taste for intoxicating drinks, in my case, had
never been formed, it required no self-denial to
sign the pledge, and if I have ever thereby
missed the enjoyment of any rational pleasuro
or gratification of any kind, I have yet to learn
what it is. The audience will pardon me for
this digression, this episode of my own per.
sonal experience, and with which I will bring
these remarks to a close. When it is an estab
lished fact that in our nation, containing a pop
ulation of about twenty millions, there are at
least half a million of inebriates, who have been
sunk to that condition from every rank and sta
tion in society, a prudent man might feel it
worth a slight sacrifice to occupy a position of
safety. It is not bravery, in view of the disas
trous results that have always attended upon
moderate drinking. to neglect this precaution
—it is iashness—it is fool-hardiness ; unless
the man has coolly concluded to close in with
this kind of bargain with Nature—to make this
use of his life, health, and the powers which
she has given him—and then it is madness.
-For her penalties dreadfully outweigh the pur
chased gratifications, and these penalties will
be exacted. In this connection, all considera
tion of punishment inflicted in another state of
being, is waived—it is'enough for the argu
ment to be able to trace the unfailing operation
of this law of compensation in this life ; and it
is a safe caution to those, who, in the thought
less levity of youth, make .large drafts upon
Nature's bounty, .to say to them : Remember
—remember, your reckoning day. -
PRIMITIVE.-A correspondent of the New
York Spirit of the Times tells about a happy
valley in East Tennessee where the people
live out all their days undisturbed by politics,
and very field= going out into the world.—
They are contented, simple in their tastes, and
of course given to wondering at and respecting
very much those of their neighbors, who have
travelled beyond their own narrow bounds.—
One of the inhabitants sometime since returned
from a journey, when his presence was an
nounced at meeting " on Sunday,' by the
aged minister, in the following impressive
words : Brethren, there is a a man among
you who has just got back from New Orleans,
where he saw two dead men at once 1"
A DELICATE ARRANCEMET.—In China the
married women, it is said, lie under a sort of
interdict from the presence of their husbands'
fathers, who may not speak to them, or enter
their rooms, except on particular days. The
father-in-law retains, however. an unlimited
right of chastising the lady when she does any
thing which he thinks wrong ; but bow is he to
flog if he may not approach her ? An ingeni
ous expedient is resorted to ; the old man flogs
his son, who receives the castigation with all
meekness, duly returns thanks for it, and then
aoes to make a complete transfer of it to his
spouse, being careful to hit her just as hard and
as often as he has been h it himself..
CHARCOAL DCBT.—Extract of a letter from
Mr. S. Camp, Plainville, Ct.---.. 1 will mention
an experiment made by myself about eighteen
years ago. Having a piece of hill land, of
about three acres ready ploughed,
: I seeded it
down to timothy. It produced about one ton
to the acre. It has been mowed once every
year, since, has had no manure, and has not
been pastured at all. It has gained ONE THIRD.
and remains the same grass. About five years
after sowing. I burnt coal near the - i)lace ; I
took from the bed, dry dust and fine coal in
my earl, and with a shovel sowed twice thro'
the niece, which has increased-the quantity of
grass un those streaks ever since nearly one
half."
KEEP Goon COMPANY.—There is a certain
magic or charm in company. for it will assimi
late and/make you like to them by much con
versation witn them. If they be good compa
ny, it is a great means to make you good. or
confirm von in goodness ; but if they be bad.
it is twenty to one but they will corrupt or in
fect you. Men or women tint are greedy of
acquaintance or hasty in it, are often shared in
ill company before they are aware, and en
tangled so that they cannot easily get louse
from it after, when they woul.l.
Prrry Pam.' sa.— The Angelica Reporter
gives an intimation of two respectable Milk*.
living in the same neighborhood in ne of the
towns of Allegheny county. and in prosperous
circumstances. Swapping wives-411e ladies
taking to their homes all the property they bad
on their first matrimonial allisuGe. The above
Journal,further states that, no difficulty ,bad
ever occurred between any of the parties, and
that no reason is•given for the strange recipro
cation. "- "