*tar ittiossibittatt litateemtt.
VOL. 6--NO. 41.]
THE GARLAND.
-"‘Vitit sweetest flowers enrich%
From various gardens with care."
FROM TIIE FRANKLIN REPOSITORY.
"I stood amongst them—but not of them."
Couto there have been another heart
In all that gay and smiling crowd,
Whose MACS like mine, were those of art,
Assum'il tho inward grief to shroud?
Oh no—their eves contirm'd the tale,
Which words and smiles had both express'd
While mine in silence strove to veil
My thoughts that all my mirth repressed
Touc by that street, familiar strain,
My soul went back to early days;
And liv'd those joyous hours again,
Which brighten'd youth's delightful maze.
Again I heard the mingled sound
Of voices, now to earth unknown:
Again the eyes came beaming round
Which death, alas! has seal'd his own.
Through every scene of sportive glee
On wing uncheck'd, my fancy flew;
Affectiun breathed its welcome free,
Or sadly sigh'd a short adieu—
And when, awaking from the trance,
From all those happy triflers met,
v heart could claim nu answering glance,
The past more deeply woke regret.
O blessed hours of early youth!
When every pulse with joy beats high,
When pleasure wears the look of truth,
And sorrow lightly passes by!
Alas—too soon we feel her power.
Too soon she lingers round our way,
Stealing the bloom from pleasure's bower,
And darkening hopes resplendent ray.
Yet still, on memory's faithful leaf
The records of the past remain,
And brighter joys, and deeper grief,
To dim those records strive in vain;
For every present scene and word,
Can•but recall some, hallmed spot,
Some tone, in other moments heard,
Oh, could they only be forgot!
Too dearly is the wisdom bought
That sheivs us all its fleeting hem—
Too sadly is the lesson taught
By loss of all we hold most dear.
And yet, we vainly strive to find
The pleasures that we knew of yore,
Although the feelings of the mind
Which gave them—can be ours no more
CILAMBEIMUIIO, PA.
ALT AIVIUSXNG TREAT.
LNO. XXVIII.]
JAPEET,
IN SEARCH OF A FATHER.
Ce. 7" CONTINUE!) FROM OUR LAST.
Having finished my letters, I set off to Parke
street, to call upon Lady (le Clare and Cecilia.
It was rather eArly. hut the footman who opened
the door recog , iced me. and I was admitted up
on his own retponhibility. It Mali now more
than eighteen months since I had quitted their
house at Richmond, and I was very anxious to
know what reception I might have. 1 followed
the servant up stairs, and when he opened the
door, walked in, as my name was , announced.
Lady de Clete ruse in haste, so •did Cecilia,
and so (lid a third person, whom I had not ex
pected to have met—Harcourt. "Mr. Newland,"
exclaimed Lady de Clare, "this is indeed unex
pected." Cecilia al.° came forward, blushing
to the forehead. Harcourt held back,ss if wait
ing for the advances to be made on my side.
On the whole, I never felt more awkwardly,and
1 believe my feelings were reciprocated by the
whole party. 1 was evidently de trop.
"Do you know Mr. llarcoute" at last said
Lath de Clare.
"If it is the Mr. Harcourt that I once knew,"
replied I, "I certainly do."
"Belli ve me it is the same, Newland," said
Harcourt, coming to me, and offering his hand,
which I took with pleasure.
"It is a long while since we met," observed
Cecilia, who lelt it necessary to say something,
but at the same time did not like to enter upon
my affairs before Harcourt.
"It is, Miss de Clare," replied I, for I was not
exactly pleased at my reception; 'but I have
been fortunate since I had the pleasure of seeing
you last."
Cecilia and her mother looked earnestly, as
much as to say, in what? but did nut like to ask
the (location.
"There is no one present who is not well ac
quainted with my histor observed I, "that is,
until the time 11.1 at I left you and Lady de Clare,
and I have nq W etill to create m)atery. I have
at last discovered my father."
"I hope we are to congratulate you, Mr. New
land," said Lady de Clare.
"As lar as respect ability and family are con
cerned, I certainly have no reason to be asham
ed," replied I. "He is the brother of an earl,
and a general in the army. H a name I will not
mention until I have been him, and I am formal
1y and openly neknow ledged. I have also the
advantage of being an only son, and it 1 am not
disinherited, heir to considerable property,"
continued I, smiling sarcastically- "Perhaps I
may now be better received than I have been
as Japhet Newland the Foundling; hut, Lady
de Clare, I ant afraid that I have intruded un
seasonably, and will now take my leave. Good
morning;" and without waiting for a reply, I
made a hasty retreat, and gained the door.
Flushed w nth indignation, I had nearly gained
the bottom of the siairs. when I heard a light
footstep behind me, and my Ural was caught by
Cecilia de Clare. I tut tied round,and she look
ed me reproachfully in the face,us the tear stood
hi her eye.
"What have we done. Jariet,that you should
treat us in this manner?" said she, with emotion
"Miss de Clare," replied I, "1 have no re
proaches to make. I perceived that my presence
was not welcome, and 1 would no further in
trude "
•lare you then so proud, now that you have
found out that you are well burn, Japhet P'
"I am much too proud to intrude where 1 am
not wished forAtiss de Clare. As Jrtphet New
land., came here to see the Fleta of former data.
When I assume my real name, I shrill always be
moat happy of an introduction to the daughter
of Lady de Clare."
"Oh! how changed," exclaimed she,fixing her
large blue eyes upon me.
"Prosperity changes us all, Miss de Clare. 1
wish you a very gnarl morning;" and I turned
away, and crosser! the hall to the door.
As I went out I could not help looking hack,
and I perceived th.t Crciliu's handkerchief was
held to her eyes, , s she slowly mounted the stairs
I walked home to the Piazza in no pleasant hit.
mor. I was angry and disgusted at the coolness
of my reception. I thooght m% self ill-used, and
treated with ingratitude • So much for the
world," said I, a- I vat down in my apaqment,
and spun my hat on the table. "She has been
out two seasons, and is no longer the same per
son. Yet how lovely she has grown! Batih •
this change—and why was Harcourt ere?—
Could he have prejudiced them against me?
Yery possibly." While thcse ideaii were r u .
ning in my mind, and I was maki rfi comparisor
between Cecilia de Clare and ussnnah To'.
ple—not much in favor of the former--and look
ing fora and prospectively to the meeting with
my father, the doubts as to my reception in so
ciety, colouring every thing with the most som
bre trots, the door opened, and in walked Har
court, wnnuticed by the waiter.
"A Chair for Mr. Harcourt," said Ito the wait
er, with formality.
"Newland," said Harcourt, "I come for two
reasons: in the first place, I am commissioned
by the ladies, to assure you"—
"I beg your pardon, Mr Harcourt, for inter
' rowing you, but I require no ambassador from
the ladies in question. They may make you
their confi.lent if they please, but I am not at all
inclined to do the same. Explanation, after
what I witnessed and felt this morning, is quite
unnecessary. I surrender all claims upon either
Lady de Clare or her daughter, if I ever was so
foolhardy sa to imagine that I had any. The first
reason of your visit it is therefore useless to
proceed with. May I ask the other reason which
has procured me this honor?"
'•1 hardly know," Mr. Newland, replied Har
court, colouring deeply. "whether, after what
you have now said, I ought to proceed with the
second—it related to myself?"
"I am all attention, Mr. Harcourt," replied I,
bowing politely.
"It was to say, Mr. Newland, that I should
have taken the earliest opportunity after my re
covery, had you not disappeared so strangely.
to have expressed my sorrow for my conduct
towards you, and to have a c knowledged that I
had been deservedly punished; more perhaps
by my own feelings of remorse, than the dan
gerous wound I had received by your hand. I
take even this opportunity, although not appa
rently a favorable one, of expressing what I con
sider it my dutv,as a gentleman who has wrong
ed another, to express I certainly was going
to add more, but there is so little chance of its
being well received, that I had better defer it to
some future opportunity. The time may come,
and I certainly trust it will come, when I may
be allowed to prove to you that I am not deserv
ing of the coldness with which I am now receiv
ed. Mr. Newland, with every wish for your
happ'ness, I will now take my leave; hut I must
say, it is with painful feelings; as I feel that the
result of this interview will be the cause of gr, at
distress to those who are boon,' tot ou, nut only
by gratitude, but sincere regard."
Harcourt then b-wed, and Tutted the room.
"It's all very well," muttered I, '•but 1 know
the world, and am not to be ttool lied down by a
few fine words: I trust that they will he sorry
for their conduct, hot see me again inside of
their doors they will not," and Is .t down, trying
to feel %ati-fied with myself but I was not; I
felt that I had acted harshly, to say no more.—
I ought to have listened to an explanation sent
by Cecilia and her mother, after her coming
dos n stairs to me to expostulate. They were
tinder great obligations to me, and by my quick
resentment, I rendered the obligations more
onerous. It was unkind of me—and I wished
that Harcourt had not left the room. As for his
conduct, I tried to find fault with it, but could
not. It was gentlemanly and feeling. The fact
was, I was in a very bad humor,. sod could not,
at the time, discover the reason, which was
neither more wiz. less than that I was more jeal
ous of finding Harcourt so intimate at Lady de
Clare's than I was at the unpalat.ble reception
which I had met. The waiter came io„ and
brought me a note from Mr. Masterton.
"I have this morning received a summons
from your father, who returned, it appears, two
days ago, and is now at the Adelplikllotel. 1
■m sorry to say, that s' epping out of his carriage
when traveling, he missed his footing, and has
snapped his tendon Achilles. He is laid up on
a couch, and, as you may suppowe,his amiability
is not incieased by the accident, and the pain
attending it. As he has requested me to bring
forward immediate evidence as to your identity,
and the presence of Mr. Cophagus is necessary,
I propose that we shall start for Reading to-mor
row at nine o'clock. I have a curiosity to go
down there, aiid having a leisure day or two, it
will he a relaxation. I wish to see my old ac
quaintance, Timothy, and your shop. Answer
by the bearer.
I wrote a few lines, informing Mr. Mssterton
that I would be will, him at the appointed hour,
arid then sat down to my solitary meal. How
different from when I was last at this hotel!—
Now I knew nobody. I had to regain my footing
in society, and that could only be accomplished
by being acknowledged by my father; and as
soon as that was done, I would call upon Lord
Windermesr, who would quickly effect what I
desired. The next morning I was ready at nine
o'clock, and set off with post horses, with Mr.
Stasterton,in his own carriage. I told him what
had occurred the day befure,and how disgusted
I was at my reception.
"Upon my word, Japhet, I think you are
wrong," replied the old gentleman; "and if you
had not told me of your affection for Miss Tem
ple, to see whom, by-the-by, I confess to be one
of the chief motives of my going down with you,
I should suppose that you were blinded by jeal
ousy. Does it not occur to you, that if Mr.
Harcourt was admitted to the ladies at such an
early hour, there is preference shown him in
that quarter? And now I recollect that I heard
something about it. Harcourt's elder brother
died, and he's come into the property, and I
heard somebody say that he would an all proba.
bility succeed in gaining the handsomest girl in
London, with a large fortune—that it was said
to be a match. Now, if such is the case, and
you brake in upon a quiet reunion between
two young people about to be united, almost
without announcement, and so unexpectedly,
after a lapse of so loog a time, surely you can :
not be surprised at there beings degree aeon
fusion and restraint— more especial!) after what
had paused between Harcourt and you. De
pend upon it that was the cause of it. Had
Lady de Clare and her daughter been alone,
rour reception would have been very different;
indeed, Cecilia's following you down stairs,
proves that it was nut from coldness towards
you: andliarcourt calling upon you, and the
conversation which took-place, is another proof
that you have been mistaken."
"1 never viewed it in that light, certainly,sir,"
observed I '"I merely perceived that I was
comidered intrusive, and finding in the compa
ny one who had treated me ill, and had been
my antagonist in the field, I naturally supposed
that he had prejudiced them against me. I
hope I may be wrong; but I have seen so much
of the world,)oring as I am, that I have become
very enspicious."
"Then discard suspicion as fast as you can, it
will only make you unhappy, and not prevent
your being deceived. If you are suspicious,
you will have the constant fear of deception
hanging over you, which poisons exiitence."
After these remarks I remained silent for some
time; I was analysing my own feelings, and I
felt that I had acted in a very absurd manner.
The'fact was, that one of my castle buildings
hail been, that 1 was to marry Pieta as soon as 1
bad found my own father, and this it was which
BY ROBERT WEITZ) lIIMIDLIBTOII I EDITOR, PI:723LICEER AVM PROPRIETOR.
{VISIT NO OTHER HERALD, NO OTHER SPEAKER OF MT LIVING ACTIONS, TO KEEP MINE HONOR FROM CORRUPTION."-SHARS.
C}aYPt`mazatin3Ca ® rpa., arwproQrair o acaoral23r aa, a 'such
"J. MASTERTON."
had actuated me, almost without my knowing
it. I felt jealous of Harcourt, and that, without
being in love with Miss de Clare, but actually
passionately fond of another person; I felt as if
I could have married her without loving her,and
that I could give up Susannah Temple, whom
I did love, rather-than that of a being whom I
considered as almost of my own creation,should
herself presume to fall in love, or that another
should dare to love her, until I had made up my
mind whether I should take her myself; and
this after so long an absence, and their having
given up all hopes of ever seeing me again.—
' The reader may smile at the absurdity.still more
at the selfishness of this feeling; so did I, when
I had reflected upon it, and I despised myself
for my vanity and folly.
"What are you thinking of, Japhet?" observed
Mr. Master ton, tired with my long abstraction.
"That I have been making a most egregious'
fool of myself, sir," replied I, "with respect to
the De Clares." -
"I did not say so, Japhet; but, to tell you the
truth, I thought something very like it. Now
tell me, were you not jealous at finding her in
company with Harcourt?"
"Exactly so, sir."
"I'll tell Susannah Temple when I see her,
that she may form some idea of your constancy."
replied Mr. Masterton, smiling "Why, What a
dug in the manger you must be—you can't mar
ry them both. Still, under the circumstances, I
can analyse the feeling—it is natural, but all
that is natural is not alwayrk creditable to human
nature. Let us talk a little about Susannah, and
then all these vagaries will be dispersed. How
old is she"'
Mr. Masterton plied me with so many ques
tions relative to Susannah, that her image alone
soon filled my mind, and I recovered my spirits.
"I don't know what she will say to my being in
this dress, sir," observed I. "Fled I not better
change it on my arrival?"
"fly no means; I'll fight your battle —I know
her character pretty well, thanks to your raving
about her."
We arrived in gond time nt Reeding, and as
soon as we alight , d at the inn, we ordered din
ner. and then walked clown to the shop, where
we found Timothy very busy tying clown and
latrelmg. Ile was delighted to see Mr. Master
ton.and perceiving that I had laid aside the qua
ker's dress, m.de no scruple of indulging in his
humor, making a long fare,and due ing and thou
ing Mr. Masteiton in a very absurd manner.—
We desired him to go to Mr Coohagus, and heg
that he would allow me to bring Mr. Masterton
to drink tea, and to call at the inn and give us
the answer. We then returned to our dinner.
"Whether they will ever make a quaker of
you Japhet, 1 am very doubtful," observed Mr.
Masterton, as we walked back; "but as for mak
ing one of that fellow Timothy, I'll defy them."
"He laughs at every thing," replied 1; "and
views every thing in a ridiculous light—at all
events they will never make him serious."
In the evening we adjourned to the house of
Mr. Cophagus,having received a message of wel
come. 1 entered the room first. Susannah came
forward to welcome me, and then drew back,
when she perceived the alteration in my apparel,
colouling deeply. I passed her, and took the
hand of Mrs. Cophagus and her husband, and
then introduced Mr. las terton.
"We hardly knew thee, Japhet," mildly ob
served Mrs. Cophagus•
"I did not think that outward garments would
disguise me from my friends," replied I; "but
so it appeareth, for your sister bath not even
greeted me in welcome."
"I greet thee in all kindness, and all sincerity,
Japhet Newland," replied Susannah, holding
out her hand. "Yet did I not imagine that, in
so short a time, thou wouldst have dismissed the
apparel of our persuasion, neither do I find it
seemly."
"Miss Temple," interposed Mr. Masterton,
"it is to oblige those who are his sincere ft fends,
that Mr. Newland has laid aside his dress. I
quarrel with no creed—everyone has a right to
cliontie for himself, and Mr. Newland has per
haps not chosen badly in embracing your tenets.
Let him continue steadfast in truth. But. fair
young lady, there is no creed which is perfect,
and even in yours we find imperfection. Our
religion preaches humility, and therefore I ob
ject to his wearing the garb of pride."
"Of pride, sayest thou? bath lie not rather put
off the garb of humility, and now appeareth in
the garb of pride?"
"Not so, young madam: when we dress as all
the world dress, we wear not the garb of pride;
but when we put on a dress different from oth
ers, that distinguishes us from others, then we
show our pride, and the worst of pride, for it is
the hypocritical pride which apes humility. It
is the Pharisee of the Scriptures who preaches
in high places, and sounds forth his charity to
the poor; nut the humility of the Publican, who
says, "Lord, he merciful to me a sinner" Your
apparel of pretended humility is the garb of
pride, and for that reason 1111 Vi we insisted that
he discards it, when with us. Hi 4 tenets we in
terfere not with. There can be no religion in
dress; and that must indeed be weak in itself',
which requires dress for its support."
Susannah was astonished at this new feature of
the case, so aptly put by the old lawyer. Mts.
Cophagus looked at her husband, and Cophagus
pinched my arm, evidently agreeing with him.
When Mr. Masterton had finished speaking, Su.
sannah waited a few seconds, and then replied,
"It becomes not one, so young and weak as I
am, to argue with thee, who art so much my se
nior. I cannot cavil at opinions which, if not
currect,are at least founded on the holy writings:
but I have been otherwise instructed."
"Then let us drop the argument, Miss Susan
nah; and let me tell you, that Japhet wish-d to
resume his quaker's dress, and I would notliper
mit him. If there is any blame it is to be laid to
me, and it's no use being angry with an old man
like myself."
"I have no right to be angry with any one,"
replied Susannah.
"But you were angry with me, Susannah," in.
terrupted I.
"I cannot say that it was anger, Japhet New
land—l hardly know what the feeling might have
been; but I was wrong, and I must request thy
fergiveneas;" and Susannah held out her hand.
"Now you must forgave mo, too, Miss Temple,"
said old Masterton, and Susannah laughed against
her wishes.
Tho conversation then became general. Mr.
Masterton explained to Mr. Cophagus what he re.
quired of him, and Mr.Cophag us immediately ac
coded. It was arranged that he should go to town,
by the mail, the next day. Mr. Masterton talked
a great deal about my father, and gave his charac.
ter in its true light, as ho considered it would be
advantageous to me so to do. He then entered
into conversation upon a variety oftopics.and was
certainly very amusing. Susannah laughed very
heartily before the evening was ovor,and Mr. Mas.
tenon retired to the hotel, for I had resolved to
sleep in my own bed.
I walked home with Mr. Masterton; I then re
turned to the house, and found them all in Ihe par.
lour. Mrs. Cophagus was expressing her delight
at tho amusement she had received, when I en-
I tared with a grave face:—"l wish that I had not
loft you," said I to Mrs. Cophagus; "I am afraid
to meet my father; ho will exact the most mylic.
it obedience. What am I to do? Must not I obey
him?"
"In all things lawful," replied Susannah, "most
certainly, Japhet."
"In all things lawful, Susannah! now tell me,
in the very ease of my apparel. Mr. Masterton
says, that ho never will permit me to wear the
dress. What am Ito do?"
"Thou bast thy religion and thy Bible for thy
guide, Japhet."
"I have: and in the Bible I find written on ta. '
blets of stone by the prophet of God, "Honor thy
father and thy mother;" there is a positive com
mandment; but I find no commandment to wear
this or that dross. What think you?" continued
I, appealing to them all.
"I should bid thee honor thy father, Japhot,"
replied Mrs. Copliagus, "and you, Susannah—"
"I shall bid thee good night, Japhot."
At this reply we all laughed, and I perceived
there was a unite on Susannah's face as she walk
ed away. Mrs. Cophagus followed her, laughing
as she wont, and Cophagus and I wore alone.
"Woll,Japhet—see old gentleman—kiss—shake
hands—and blessing—and so on."
"Yes, sir," replied I, "but if ho treats me ill I
shall probably come down here again. I am afraid
Susannah is not very well pleased with me."
"Pooh, nonsense—wife knows all—die for you
—Japhet, do as you please—dross vourself—dress
her—any dress—no dross like Eve—sly puss—
won't lose you—all right—and so on."
I pressed Mr. Cophagus to toll me all lie know,
and I found from him that his wife hnd question
ed Susannah soon after my departure, had found
her weeping, and that - she had gained from her
her ardent affection for inc. This was all I
wanted, and I Wished him good night, and wont
to bed happy..; I had an interview wi:h Susan
nah Temple before I loft the next morning, and
although I never mentioned love, had every rea..
ROD to be satisfied. She was kind and affection
ate; spoke:, to inc in her usual serious manner,
warned me against the world, acknowledged that
I should have grout difficulties to surmount, and
oven made much allowance for my peculiar situ.
tion. Sho dared not advise, but she would pray
for me. There was a greater show of interest
and confidence towards me than I ever yet receiv
ed from her: when I parted from her, I said,
"Dear Susannah,- whatever change may take
place in my fortunes or in my dress, believe me,
my heart shall not he changed; and I shall ever
adhere to those principles which have been instil.
led into. ne since I have boen in your company."
This was a phrase which admitted of a double
meaning, and ehe replied, “I should wish to see
thee perfect, Jsphet: but there is no perfection
now on earth: be, therefore, as perfect as you
"God bless you, Susannah."
"May the blessing of the Lord be on you al
ways, Japhet," replied she•
I put my arm round her waist, and slightly
pressed her to my bosom. She gently disengaged
herself, and her Isrgo eyes glistened with tears
as she left the room. In a quartet of an hour I
was with Mr. Mastodon on the read to London.
"Japhet," vaid the old gentleman, "I will say .
that you lia7e boon very wise in your choice, and
that your little quaker is a most lovely creature;
I am in love with her myself, and I think that she
is far superior in personal attractions to Cecilia
de Clare."
"Indeed, sir !"
"Yes, indeed : her face is more classical, and
her complexion ie unrivalled; as far as my pres
ent knowledge and experience go, she is an em
blem of purity."
"Her mind, sir, is as pure as her person"
believe it; she has a strong mind, and will
think for herself."
"There, sir, is, I am afraid, the difficulty; she
will not yield a point in which she thinks she is
right, not even for her love for me."
"I agree with-you she will riot, and I admire
her for it; but Japhet, she will yield to conviction
and, depend upon'it, ehe will abandon the out.
ward observances of her persuasion. Did you
observe what a spoke I put in your wheel last
night, when I stated that outward forms were
pride? Leave that to work, and I'll answer for
the consequences : she will not long wear that
quaker's dress. How beautillil she would be it
she dressed like other people! I think I see her
now entering a ball-room."
"But what occasions you to think that she will
abandon her persuasion ?"
"I do not say that she will abandon it, nor do I
wish her to do it, nor do I wish you to do it, Ja
phet. There is much beauty and much perfec
tion in the quaker's creed. All that requires to
be abandoned are the dress and tho ceremonies
of tho meetings, which are both absurdities. Re
collect that Miss Temple has been brought up as
a quaker; she has, from the exclusiveness of the
sect, known no other form of worship, and never
heard any opposition to that which has been in.
culcated; but let her once or twice enter the es
tablished church, hear tho beautiful ritual, and
listen to a sound preacher. Lot her be persuaded
to do that, which cannot be asking hor to do
wrong, and then let her think and act for herself,
and my word for it, when she draws the com
parison between what she has then hoard and the
nonsense occasionally uttered in the quaker's
conventicle, by those who fancy themselves in.
spired, she will herself feel that, although the ten.
eta of hor persuasion may be more in accordance
with true Christianity than those of other sects,
the outward forms and observances are .imper
feet. 1 trust to her own good sense."
"You make me very happy by saying so."
"Well, that is my opinion of her, and if she
proves me to be correct, hang me if I don't think
1 shall adopt her."
"What do you think of Mrs. Cophagus, sir 7"
"I think she is no more a quaker in her heart
than I am. She is a lively, merry, kind-hearted
creature, and wculd have no objection to appear
in feathers and diamonds to-morrow."
"Well, Sir, I cau tell you that Mr. Cophugus
still sighs aftor his blue cottonnet pantaloons and
Hessian boots."
"Moro fool he! but, however, lam glad of it,
for it gives me an idea which I shall work upon
by and by: at preaont we have this oventful
meeting between you and your father to occupy
us."
We arrived in town in time for dinner, which
fr. Masterton had ordered at hie chambor.
the old gentleman was rather tired with his two
day's travelling, I wished him good night at an
early hour.
"Recollect, Japhet, we are to be at the Adelphi
hotel to-morrow at one o'clock—come in time."
I called upon Mr. Mastarton at the time ap
pointed on the ensuing day, and wo drove to the
hotel in which my father had located himself.—
On our arrival, wo were ushered into a roma on
the ground floor, where we found Mr. Cophagus
and two of the governors of the Foundling Hospi
tal.
"Really, Mr. Masterton," said ono of the latter
gentlemen, "ono would think that wo were about'
to have an audience with a sovereign prince, and
instead of contbrring favors, were about to re
ceive them. My time is precious; I ought to
have been in thn city this half hour, and here is
this old nabob keeping us waiting as if we were
petitioners."
Mr. Mastereon laughed and said, "Let us all go
up stairs, and not wait to be eont for."
Ho called ono of the waiters, and desired him
Ito announce them to General De Bonyon. They
then lollowdd the waiter, leaving me alone. I
must say, that I was a little agitated: I heard the
door open above, and then an angry growl like
that of a wild boast: the door closed again, and
all was quiet. "And this," thought I, "is the re.
stilt of all my fond anticipations, of my ardent
i wishes, of my enthusiastic search. Instead of
expressing anxiety to receive his eon,he litigious
ly requires proofs, and more proofs, when ho has
received every satisfactory proof already. They
say his temper is violent beyond control, and
that submission irritates instead of appeasing
him: what then ill resent? I have heard it said
that people of that description are to be better
met with their own weapons:—suppose I tiy it:—
but no, I have no right:—l will however be firm
and keep my temper under every circumstance:
I will show him, at least, that his son has the spi
rit and the feelings of a gentleman."
As these thoughts passed in my mind the door
opened, and Mr. Masterton requested me to fol
low him. I obeyed with a palpitating heart, and
when I gained the landing place up stairs, Mr.
Masterton took my hand and led me into the
presence of my long-sought-fur and now much.
dreaded parent.
PTO BE CONTIMTV:D.I
'I'E M PEDANCE DEPA RTM ENT.
ADDRESS
Delivered before the Fairfield Temperance Society
on the 25th December, 1835.
BY 111 R. FRANCIS SPRINGER.
AN immorality is a violation of any of
the laws of God. These laws are so
framed, that obedience to them produces
present, certain and continued happiness.—
But the use of strong drink.—except as a
medicine in case of bodily sickness, produ
ces misery by prostrating our strength and
creating remorse of conscience: therefore,
the use of strung drink is an immorality.—
And if the use of them, except as a medi
cine, is immoral, then also, the manufacture
and sale of them, for any other than me•
dicinal and scientific purposes is an immor
ality.
There is always a distinction to be ob
served between the breaking of a law, and
the guilt of so doing. If two men of equal
strength of mind, and possessing equal in
telligence on the subject of moral duty,
&iould be arraigned for some heinous crime
—say murder, and it were found in evi
dence that the one alone had committed the
deed, and the other had persuaded him to
it;—these two men would share exactly e
qual degrees of guilt.
Butt!' the one possessed a more enlight
ened and culttvated judgment in relation to
right and wrong—it matters not which, the
actual perpetrator or the persuader—his
guilt would be greater, just in proportion as
' his knowledge and ability to resist the temp
tation were greater, although the deed it
self which he has performed is exactly the
same that it was in the former case where
we have supposed both to be equal in know
ledge and mental strength. Here it ap
pears that the degree of violence done to
any law of nature does not determine* the
degree of guilt in him who does the wrong;
and every violation of law perpetrated in
ignorance is just as complete as if commit
ed in the clearest knowledge, but the de
gree of guilt in each case is nut the seine.
If it can be shown, therefore, that the prac
tice of manufacturing and trafficing of alco
holic liquors, fir the purpose of making it
an article of common beverage, • is an im•
morality, i. e. a violation of any law of God,
—in the case of one man, or when one man
does it; then it follows that it is equally so
in every instance where it is done—irre
spective of the fact whether the different in
dividuals engaged in it have enlightened
consciences on the subject or not. The
deed of destroying a man's life by an idiot,
would be as great and complete as if done
by a wise philosopher, christian, or states
man. The immorality of the practice of
distilling, as well as that of selling strong
drink, for an article of common beverage,
must appear evident when we consider the
injuries which they cause. Still-houses, al
cohol taverns, and grog-groceries, exert a
withering and cursing influence on all with
in the'reach of their contamination. Sor
did avarice, or ambition to make a display
of wealth, are, in must instances; the only
motives for their establishment. Pollution
reigns within them; and poverty, disease,
broken hearts, blasted hopes, stupidity, and
disgrace and premature death keep up the
shriek of woe without.
The human family is divided into an infi
nite number of societies, such as political,
religious, literary, dr,c. But beside these
great and obvious divisions, there are thou-
sands of others, equally important but of
less notoriety. The citizens of any given
village in the land embrace persons of differ
ent employment, habits, thoughts and tem•
peraments; and all those in the same village
of similar employments, opinions and feel
ling will naturally incline to associate to
gether, thus forming as many distinct cir
cles or societies as there are diversities of
character in the place. Each family, as
such, is a society, but each member of ev
ery family may belong to a half a dozen or
more other societies, as the different pre
vailing characteristics of his mind and feel
ings may lend him. Thus, a son who is in
full membership with his father's family or
society, may at the, same time be employed
as a clerk in a store—he may he a member
of a christian church—of a debating club--
a temperance association—a society for the
cultivation of music; and in these several
capacities, he will seek the companionship
of his associates in each. If he be a drun
kard, then he will have superadded to all the
rest, fellowship with the society ofdrunkards
—if a gambler, then also that of a gambling
[WHOLE • NO'. 301.
Iclan. In all these various circles of kindred
spirits, there is to each one a governing in
fluence in the person ofsome one distinguish
'ed member. In every drunken club you
see, there is always one individual of supe
rior prominence, whose influence, though
imperceptibly, is certainly, felt by all. But
at the head of all the tippling and drunken
squads in any given village or neighborhood,
some distiller or whiskey retailer stands
conspicuous as the chief or president of the
whole. Not that he is necessarily a drun
kard himself—because many in Pilch em
ployments are sober, respectable men —brit
they become supreme chiefs of the furious,
wretched and debauched squadrons in virtue
of supplying them with liquor. '
No one can rightly deny this statement of
the ['Mir, because it is a matter of palpable
observation to every one who looks carefully
into the organization of society. But on
whom does the guilt of this gross immorality
rest? Surely, the drunkard himself must
bear some of it—yes, ho must; but he who,
for the sake of mere filthy lucre, furnishes
him the means to bestialize himself, more.
This becomes evident, (especially in regard
to distillers) when we consider that the pro
prietors of distilleries are, with few excep
tions, men of respectability, wealth and in
fluence—and some even belong to the visible
church of Christ. Of course, whatever is
done by men of this character will exercise
extensive sway over others. Drunken men
are those usually of the weaker sort—for if
even they had some manly resolution and
worthy independence once, their minds are
now withered, shrivelled and powerless, be
cause shut up in a defiled whiskey-burnt
body. Manufacturers of alcoholic liquors
have the greater guilt, just as the president
or ring-leaders of any band of men found
chargeable with any crime. Their guilt is
that of raising and maintaining an insurrec
tionary army against the prosperity and:
order of the community—against all that is
good and-great in the human family—and
against God the Almighty Ruler of men.
If they know it not, their guilt is less, but
the crime is no less destructful and enormous.
Some of these very men are—piety weeps
to hear it--m full communion with the church
of Christ; and the language of their voice
to God is, "bless our children"—"let thy
kingdom come on earth!" whilst they are
themselves sendihg amongst their fellow
men floods of liquid death and woe, inflam
ing the passions of men, polluting their intel
lects, and blotting from their hearts and
countenances :pie -moral image of the Al
mighty. Influenced by these and similar
weighty considerations, 3000 manufacturers
of the poison have ceased the business in the
United States; and more than 7000 dealers
have abandoned the traffic.
The ruin that is done even to the tempo•
ral worldly interests of w.en, demonstrates
the enormity of the manufacture and traffic
of strong drink as a common beverage.,-
Fancy to yourselves all the drinkers of the
product of tfle still assembled together in one
community—living, with their wives and
children in one town or village. They have
their still shop in their midst and can . pro
cure the deadly stuff when and in what quan
tities they please. This would boa town of
tipplers—bloated faces,red eyes—trembling,
quivering nerves, and stupid intellects. if
they all had money plenty when they first
congregated there, the income of the manu
facturer would be certain and enriching.—
But a few years roll by, and all, is gone; and
with their money is departed also their
strength of mind to contrive and their nerve
of health and body to work. They must
then be removed by the State Government
to the country poor houses,and there sup.
ported by the hard earnings of the sober and
virtuous portion of the citizens, while the
distiller has filled his coffers with their
wealth.
The crime and gu;lt of the abuse of na
ture's bounties, thus traced to their proper
source, the distiller, and in some degree,the
retailer—though to the former belongs most
of the sin; our thoughts naturally turn in
search of a remedy. For this purpose vol
untary associations have been formed, tracts
and periodicals have been circulated—meet
ings held, addresses delivered, and agents
employed. The majority of our citizens,
we trust, are awake to the evil, and see that
a few only compared with the whole popu.
lation of the State,are at the root of the mat
ter. The question to be determined is, how
shall we prevent those who manufacture and
deluge the State with drunkenness, and draw
from its honest and virtuous majority, me.
ney to maintain paupers and criminals in our
alms houses and prisons--made so by the
poison they are distilling?
Public sentiment is law. Let this fear
lessly and constantly be expressed—in de.
bate, by the way-side, at the fire side, in the
leg;slative hall, and in the pulpit—till by its
omnipotence, .the manufacture ofardent spi
rits, except as an article of use in the arts,
shall be utterly abolished. Let public opin.
ion, enlightened by free discussion, pass into
a law,that he who dares knowingly to menu.
facture or vend any of the liquid for a corn.
mon beverage, shall be execrated as a foe►
to srciety—to all decency—to God and man
—that he shall be regarded with the same
odium and abhorrence that the righteous in..
dignation of a virtuous public now casts up.
on a traitor to his country. I mean net to :
wound the feelings of any one—but let whtlt.
is true be spoken. The correctriessofyour
grief, if any you have, (1 spealc to ihstillenrj
and the sincerity of your repentance can be;
shown by an immediate abaisdoninent of the
cursing business. Let the specters' emsta
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