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"Nigh sweetest flowers enrich'il,
From various gardens cull'd with care•"
FOR TIIE GETTYSBURG!! STAR AND BANNER
THE SLAVE MOTHER.
SLEEP on, poor little careless tiling!
Enjoy thy sweet unconscious rest;
'Tis the last night thou E'er may 'st. lie
Upon thy mother's breast!
Thou'rt sold away—and we must part—
To-morrow I must see thee go !
Alas! this struggling, frantic heart—
Mad with the sternest woe !
I lov'd thy father fervently,
He was my Friend, tried, true, and kind;
His was a tender, generous heart,
A high and noble mind.
The bloody priest of Moloch came,
The noble, generous NI AN" WWI SON!
Hearts broken ! spirits agonized !
Immortal changed for gold !
Oh, what an hour of agony
Of ire, and horror, dread and wild ;
And yet for thee I calm'd my 4 soul,
Thou wert his much lov'd
Fondly I hop'd to guide thy youth,
To aid thy little awkward hands;
And screen thee from the cruel task
That goads our wretched hands.
I hop'd to teach thee to revere
The Lord, that came from Heaven to save—
Who labor'd, wander'd, bled, and died,
To ransom e'en the slave!
And I had hop'd to see thee free!
Ali, phantom hopes! so sweet, so wild,
Which, springing from, a mother's heart,
Cling round her infant child.
'Tis past—and I must hear thy cries
As struggling thou art borne away ;
Must see thy little.arms stretch'd out
Imploringly to me !
0, God! forgive a frantic slave
My heart is mad ! my brain is wild!
I feel a purpose stern, and dire,
To kill this sleeping child—
'Twill be but one short pang, my boy!
One moment's pain—and thou art free!
Where neither task, or lash, or scorn,
Can o'er be felt by thee.
He wakes! he smiles! Oh, Jesus! God !
Forgive, support, and soothe, and save—
Oh, be a parent to my boy !
Tho little ORPHAN EILA VE.—
Oh, aid the blest and glorious band
That nobly dare to plead our cause;
I know their words are sweet to Thee
As the blest turtle's voice !
Help them to raise their Banner high
With Abolition in the field—
&glorious day Star in the sky,
Pure freedom's sword and shield ;
'Till Slavery's lords and advocates
Shall hide from Freedom's scornful eyes
Their spirits, darker than the skins
Of their bound merchandize.
Their god is gold ! they sacrifice
Thy conscious Image at its shrine;
And with the trembling mould of clay
They crush the Breath divine!
Yes! for they lock the immortal mind
In ignorance's Cimmerian night ;
Knowledge and Virtue, with Thy Word,
Are hidden from our sight
Our blood, and tears, cry from the ground ;
Our ruin'd souls require their (loom
Thine ears have heard! We must be free!
Or vengeance's hour must conic.
To Thee, Oh Gun, I yield my child!
And day and night cry to Thee—
"rill Abolition's cause prevail,
And every slave be rues !
ThisAilessed hope is in my heart,
My stay in this extreme distress;
Thou wilt avenge the Widow's tears,
Altd save the Fatherless!
LYDIA JANE
LIBERTY, PA., October 15, 1836.
% . .t'a -.i31.-gI.P.DOLViT,OLT&G
For the Gel! ysburgh Situ. 4 Republican Banner.
Henry Stanley.
•
I•r was on one of those warm and sultry days in
the month of August, in the year 1815, when the
pernicious influence of the Dog-star is exerted to
the great detriment of the weak, that I was travel
ling leisurely and carelessly along through one of
those fertile and beautiful valleys so peculiarly
characteristic of the interior' of the Key-Stone
State. In; ttenti% e, almost, to the direction my
horse was pursuing, he nt lengthoinheeded by my
self, turned instinctively to the right, when, upon
awaking from the profound revery into which I
had insensibly fallen, I discovered that he had for
saken the main road, and wandered along a wind
ing path which led to a beautifully meandering
stream, whose gentle current glided softly through
the valley. Its bunks were covered with towering
and majestic trees, whose lofty and spreading
branches alluded a salutary and delightful shelter
from the scorching rays of an almost vertical sun.
.)
After my horse had allayed his thirst by drinking
copiously from the pure stream, I permitted him to
/ graze among the fine pasture which grew so luxuri
" ously around, whilst I seated myself upon the frag
ment of a rock in the cool shade.
The delicious odour of the wild flowers which
grew in such rich profusion around me, could just
ly compare with the delightful gales wafted over
the spicy fields of Arabia. The carolling Of the
feathered songsters, perched upon the widespread
ing boughs of the elm and beach, afforded a melody
more grateful to my enraptured ear than the en
chanting strain of the light guitar. These, with
the glassy stream which rolled its pure current
heedlessly along, furnished a banquet to my senses
that rarely falls to the lot of man to enjoy. Sure
ly, thought I, wrapt up as I was in the most de
lightful cogitations, surely such a svelte us this is
sufficient to dispel every gloom and sorrow from
the mind, and to direct it to that BaniticentSource
which is the pure unsullied fountain from which
alone real and unalloyed happiness can flow.— I
There was something :10 ctherial, and so divine, in
"I WISH NO OTHER HERALD, 'NO OTHER SPEAKER OF MY LIVING ACTIONS, TO KEEP MINE HONOR FROM CORRUPTION."-SHAIPI
the sentiments inspired by the lovely scene, that I
could not but despise the grovelling propensity of
those whose only earthly solicitude appears to be
the accumulation of perishable treasures. I envied
not the miser his corruptible gold, for which he
spent so many hours of bitter toil, and for which
he sacrificed all the little pleasure that poor mortals
arc destined to enjoy on this sublunary sphere ;
but I rather thanked Heaven f having, in the
plenitude of its goodness, Llcssed me with that
treasure above all price, a quiet and contented mind.
To a contented mind, this romantic and peaceful
grove aflbrdcd more real bliss than all the gold of
Ophir, or the troasures of both the Indies. The
farm-fanned fields of Arcadia came fully upon my
imagination; I fancied that I tasted the delights,
and enjoyed the pleasures of that delightful re
gion, whilst I was basking at my ease in the full
enjoyment of this enchanting spot.
Whilst thus wrapt up in my own reflections,
was suddenly aroused by a slight rustling noise
resembling the sound of approaching footsteps.—
Who, I eagerly enquired, would presume to ap
proach this hallowed place! Upon reflection,how.
ever, I seriously demanded of myself, by what au
thority I had entered the sacred precincts of this
Elysian grovel Unobserved, I soon perceived the
the object which had given rise to the foregoing
train of reflections. I espied at some distance to
my right,rambling amongst the shrubs and flowers
a youth, apparently about eighteen years of age,
clad in a loose habit, adapted to the season and to
his pursuit. Upon his approaching toward the
spot to which I bud been unconsciously rivetted,
my sight affinded me convincing evidence that he
was none of those ordinary beings which we are
daily accustomed to behold. He was the most an
gelic being I had ever beheld. Every endowment
that could render the human form attractive and
captivating, was to be met with in this fine form.
He was a temple that the Graces delighted to dwell
in. His elevated and expanded forehead was a cer
tain indication of the greatness of its intellectual
inhabitant. His beautiful hair, which vied in color
with the raven, hnng in careless disorder over his
tine shoulders. In his hand he held a hunch of
flowers he had gathered in the grove. At length,
raising his eyes for the first time from the ground,
he perceived me sitting on the rock, and attentive
ly gazing at him. With a kind of instinctive feel
ing, he endeavored to retrace his step,unconseious
of the fact that he had been seen by mortal eye.
When I perceived the agitation of his mind,which
he was unable to conceal from, my view, in con
sequence of the sudden change in his features
from the most calm serenity to the most violent
confusion, I beckoned him to come 'and seat him
self by my side, which he accordingly did, having
nt the same time the happy tendency to compose
the perturbed state of his feelings.
After he had seated himself,and made a few de
sultory observations on our unexpected meeting, I
could not avoid admiring the striking similarity ex
isting between the graceful exterior and the high
ly developed condition of his intellectual faculties.
He related to me the cause of his rambles to this
secluded spot, but with a diffidence almost culpa
ble. It appeared, that he came here to gather
flowers,that lie might indulge in a pursuit of which
he was immoderately fond—one indeed which can
not fail to interest every one who feels desirous of
acquiring a thorough knowledge of the real beau
ties of Nature. He descanted on the characters
and properties of the various flowers lie held in
his hand with so much ability,that I greatly doubt
whether the celebrated Philosopher of Upsal en
tertained more correct opinions on this interesting
subject.
Time sped on so swiftly, that before I could re
concile my feelings to take leave of a companion
so instructive and agreeable, the sun had already
been merged from our view beyond the western
mountains, and nothing but the glittering of the
golden rays of that refulgent orb upon the tops of
the tall trees gave indication of his not having yet
entirely sunk beneath the horizon. I arose from
my rocky sent for the purpose of taking my leave
of youthful and interesting stranger, and pro
ceed on my journey to some place where I might
remain for the approaching night; but no sooner
did I acquaint him with my intention, than he en
treated me with the most urgent and frequent so
licitations to accompany him to his paternal home,
which was not far distant. Ho assured me,in the
most undissembled terms of friendship, that I
should receive a hearty welcome from his father,
and share all the hospitality their humble habita
tion could ailbrd. No apology was required, for
with him for a companion the meanest hovel af
forded me more happiness than is to he met with
in the most splendid mansions of the most wealthy.
After some hesitation whether I should proceed on
my journey, I resolved to accompany him home.
After having partaken of a frugal, yet withal a de
licious supper, our conversation turned on various
interesting and important subjects, until the time
had arrived for repose.
HENRY STANLEY, for by this name I shall beg
leave to introduce to my readers this paragon of
excellence, was the son of a pious Clergyman,
whose condition in life was far from what might
be styled affluent. The scanty living of his fath
er, was insufficient for the maintenance of his fa
mily and to defray the expenses necessarily in
curred upon a constant attendance at college.—
The iron hand of penury denied Henry the privi
leges which the children of those in more opulent
circumstances enjoy. He was unable from the
surplus of his father's income to remain more than
a few months in each year at college. This short
period had, hoWever, the happy effect of giving a
new impetus to his efforts, and to arouse with re
doubled energy the mighty faculties of his mind.
The assistance thus afforded him, with the guar
dian protection of his pious parent, whose fervent
supplications were daily offered up to the Throne
of Grace, imploring the Divine benediction for the
welfare and prosperity of his fond and affectionate
son, were of more real benefit to him than whole
years spent at seminaries of learning is to others.
No obstacle could deter the rapid progress of im
provement; the chill hand of poverty had no ter
rors to intimidate him; but with an ardor and en
thusiasm rarely to be met with among mortals, he
braved the difficulties that he had to encounter on
the way to fame with giant strength, and trod the
thorny path with the most daring intrepidity and
heroic fortitude. He knew full well that diligence
and perseverance were mighty in surmounting die.
faculties; every effort he made was crowned with
a correspondent degree of success—then why
should he despirl He was well aware that the
carauttiqra.aiwzaxim. rPQa.. muoroalr. Mab7ll2MtillZßl2 sa. aaaa.
God of Nature had stamped upon his soul the same
faculties and attributes that had in others, when
properly cultivated, led them to eminence and use
fulness—for which they were honored and revered
whilst alive, and to whose names a grateful pos
terity had erected monuments and mausoleums, in
commemoration of their worthy deeds, after death.
He knew full that in this land of Liberty, every
man must be the architect of his own fame, and
that honor and preferment were solely dependent
upon intrinsic merit. His indomitable resolution
was ever the same—what would have chilled the
ardor of every other, only the more aroused the
faculties of his mind,
"Chill perury could not repress the noble rage
Or freeze the genial current of the soul."
After having spent an hour or so in agreeable
conversation, he conducted me into an adjoining
apartment which he occupied as a study. Here lay
n large collection of flowers; to which were added
those he had gathered during the day. A flue col
lection of choice minerals adorned his shelves,and
insects of almost every description were to be found
in his cabinet. He discoursed on those subjects
with a fluency and familiarity that at once afford
ed convincing evidence of his extended knowledge
of things. His library was well stored with
books, the selection of which manifested great
powers of discrimination and a judgment that
would have done honor to one of riper years. He
conversed with great ease on the most abstruse
metaphysical subtleties, as well as on moral and
natural philosophy; he displayed such an aston
ishing diversity of genius and talent, that I was
sometimes almost inclined, contrary to my own
conviction of the truth, to believe that his knowl
edge was, to a great degree at least, intuitive and
not acquired. - The sublime ideas and conceptions
of Socrates and Plato had made a permanent im
pression on his mind ; the refined philosophy of
Locke and Bacon had so deeply impressed his
youthful intellect, that the charms and fascinations
of the gay world were unable to allure him from
the path of rectitude which he had prescribed for
' himself, with the most rigid discipline, after his
favorite authors. The mathematical problems of
Euclid were to him like to his illustrious prede
cessor, the immortal Newton, self evident ; they
did not require the labored and tedious process of
demonstration, but as it were by intuition his
powerful and capacious intellect was able at a sin
gle glance to comprehend what to others required
immense toil and study. Neither was he a stran
ger to the sublime truths and precepts of the Gos
pel. He lived a perfect example of christian piety.
To do the will of his Heavenly Father, was his
chief delight. Before he closed his eyes in sleep,
on bended knee did he offer up his most fervent
and heart-felt prayer to God, and supplicate Him
for a continuance of His blessings. The Divine
Benediction was implored in such a holy and zeal
ous manner, that surely, thought I, a God of Jus
tice and Mercy, in the infinity of His goodness,
would not turn it deaf car to his petition. In the
morning, ere the golden rays of the majestic sun
streaked the eastern horizon, with the carolling of
the feathered songsters of the grove did he offer up
his orisons, invoking the blessing of his Heavenly
Father. There was something in all his words
and actions so truly noble and sublime, so pecu
liarly characteristic of the greatness and magnani
mity of his soul, that it was utteriy impossible to
contemplate his character without a feeling of ad-
mitati(in. Envy was struck dumb and transform
ed into love, in contemplating the goodness of his
heart ; he was so amiable in his demeanour, and
bore his faculties with so much modesty and meek
ness, that no one even dared to condemn.
Breakfast being over, I expressed my earnest
intention of setting out on my journey. To part
with so excellent family, was a matter of pain to
me. The sensations I experienced at the thought
of leaving this interesting family circle, and above
all, the agreeable and instructive young philoso
pher,may be more readily imagined than described.
Before I was permitted to
.take my final leave, he
made me give him the most solemn and frequently
repeated assurances of writing to him as soon as I
should reach home, with a faithful narration of ev
ery circumstance that transpired worthy of recital.
Whilst pursuing my journey alone, my thoughts
would oft recur with fond delight to the numerous
and various pleasing incidents that occurred dur
ing the brief period I passed with Henry Stanley.
As soon as I had reached home, and had look
ed after my domestic affairs that required my at
tention, agreeably to the pledge I had given my
friend upon my departure, I accordingly redeemed
it. I sat down and indited a long epistle, in which
I recounted every incident, in compliance with
his request, that I thought might prove interesting
to him. Amongst other occurrences, I gave him
the very flattering account I obtained from one of
the Professors, with whom I had unexpectedly
met, of the institution at which he spent the few
months (as I have already intimated)that his limi
ted pecuniary means would admit of. Ho assured
me, in the most unequivocal terms, that, combined
with the most gentlemanly and affable disposition,
he possessed talents of the rarest and most bril
liant order,and that it was his firm conviction that
he was destined at some future day, to become an
ornament to the human family, and ape of the
brigntest pillars in the temple of fame. Every sen-
dinent I had formed relative to the character of the
young student, met with a ready response from his
preceptor,who had watched with so much pleasure
the assiduity with which he applied himself to
study and the noble ambition that fired his soul.
Often had he watched the rapid progress of im
provement and the mighty efforts of his towering
genius. It was with the most enraptured emotions
of delight that his preceptor dwelt upon the great
ness and magnanimity of the young man.
Soon after I had written I received a reply; it
breathed such amiable and afibctionate, and withal
such noble sentiments, that the scenes I had left
with so much regret came fresh upon my recollec
tion, and I almost again fancied myself with him
to whom I had become so ardently attached. From
this time forward, we maintained .a regular corres
pondence—every letter I received gave indication
of the increasing vigor of his mind, the assiduity
with which ho labored, and the success which
crowned hie efforts. The time no sooner had ar
rived when his talents became known and appreci
ated,than they were called into exercise by the unan
imous desire of the community ; he discharge.), the
duties that were required of him with so much abil
ity end fidelity, that he increased daily in the affec
tions of the people, who valued him for his amiable
and estimable qualities as a man, by which ho had
endeared himself to all who knew him, and by his
invaluable services as a public servant. Every an
ticipation that had been formed of his future great
ness was fully realized: and had he been permitted
yet a little longer to remain upon the field of ac
tion, they would have been more than realized.
But death ever loves a shining mark!—then why
should he escape? By his premature decease, the
literary, scientific and political world was deprived
of one of its most valued members. 'lt appeared,'
(to borrow the phrase of a certain French writer,)
'that Nature is, as it were, alarmed at the keen scru
tiny of those who make the most rapid progress in
her secret stores of knowledge, and therefore ex
-acts of them a premature death.' In his early death,
we are forcibly struck with the allusion above
quoted.
In the above portrait, which I have thus hastily
and rudely sketched, I have endeavored to illus
trate the extent of the UNDERSTANDING — the la
bors it may achieve, the difficulties and obstacles
it may surmount, with the means necessary to be
employed. The most untiring assiduity and appli
cation will oftentimes be able to accomplish what
makes the vulgar stare with wonder and amaze
ment, regarding the individual who has been so
fortunate as to excite in their minds those feelings
of veneration and respect, as something more than
mortal—as endowed with supernatual abilities.—
Whereas, if they were to examine the subject in its
true aspect, they would immediately perceive that
every thing was effected by purely natural means;
means which they possessed as amply as those
they have admired so much. Every one should
set out with alacrity, enlist themselves with a zeal
commensurate to the work they are anxious to
perform, and success would invariably crown their
efforts. Q.
lii&DMOD
The Young Wife.
A woman runs a great risk of being spoilt by
the flattering period that proceeds marriage. She
is, of necessity, then, a first object; and custom
has added to the homage which love would wil
lingly render. An individual pf a family, who may
before have been but little considered, rises at once
into importance; and the person she most values
is ready to execute the slightest expression of her
will.
The sooner that n woman can divest herself of
'any unreasonable expectations which the devotion
of the lover may have excited, the greater the
probability of her securing permanent attachment.
Courtship is a dream, from which it is better to
awake, voluntarily, than to be reluctantly roused.
It is better to return to ordinary habits—to the
sober and calm fulfilment of daily business, in the
place assigned by duty—than to cherish ari arti
ficial excitement, and cling to a false position.
It is a proof of judgment in a woman, when she
bestows attention on her husband's character;
whet: she acts herself to study his peculiarities,
and to consult them to the utmost of her power.
This is the maruzgeinent which is not only allow
able, but praiseworthy; for its object is, not the
obtaining of sway, but the promotion of mutual
It is certainly much to be lamented when a
young wife yields to a timidity, of littleness, which
prevents her from making independent efforts,
when she nurses the nervousness which unfits her
for all useful services; when, whatever be the call up
on her she is herself in need of aid; and from never
having thought of exerting herself, is incapable of
doing so when the emergency arrives. Incidents
daily occur which mark either the helpless or ca
pability of every woman. Sudden alarms, trifling
incidents, throw one into uncontrolable agitation,
whilst another camly avoids or relieves the mis
chief. Ono is unable to put forth a hand to help
herself, the other, without appearance of effort, is
ready to help all besides. One cannot stir with
out support; the other is continually employed in
some useful or benevolent purpose. One reclines
upon a sofa, establishing no other claim on others
.but her own incapacity; the other by her perpetual
good offices, pays up a debt which is willingly
paid on demand, and thus provides in the best way
for her future exigence. It not unfrequently hap
pens that a young married woman is oftener alone
than she has been previously accustomed to be;
and that she misses the family circle with which
she has hitherto been surrounded. Let not this,
however, depress her spirits or render her too de
pendent on her husband for entertainment. Let
it least of all, lead her to seek too frequent relief in
company. Ono of the first things she should learn
is to be happy in solitude, to find there occupation
for herself; and to prove to her husband that, how
ever she may enjoy social intercourse, and espe
cially desire his presence, she needs not either a
sister or a friend to entertain her when he is away.
Behavior of Fernalea in Company.
One of the chief beauties in a female character
is modest reserve; that retiring delicacy which
avoids the public eye, and is even disconcerted at
the gaze of admiration. When a girl ceases to
blush, she has lost the most powerful charm of
beauty. This extreme sensibility which it indi
cates may bo considered as a weakness and incum
brance to the other sex, but in females is pecu
liarly engaging. A blushing is so far from being
necessarily attendant on guilt, that it is the usual
company of innocence. That modesty which is
so essentialto tho sex, will naturally dispose them
to be rather silent in company, especially in a large
ono; people of sense and discernment will never
take such silence for dulness. A person may take
a share in conversation without uttering a syllable
—the expression of the countenance shows it, and
this never escapes an observing eye. Converse
with men with that dignified modesty which may
prevent the approach of the most distant familiar
ity, and consequently prevent them feeling them
selves your superiors.
Wit is the most dangerous talent which a fe
male can possess. It mast be guarded with great
discretion and good nature, otherwise it will cre
ate many enemies. Wit' is perfectly consistent
with softness and delicacy, yet 'they are seldom
iound united. Wit is so flattering to vanity, that
they who possess it become intoxicated and lose
all self command. Humor is a different quality.
It will make your company much solicited—but
be cautious how you indulge it;—it is often a
great enemy to delicacy, and a still greater one to
dignity of character. It may sometimes gain you
applause, but it will never procure you respect
Beware of detraction, especially vrhcre your
own sex arc concerned. You ire generally charg
ed of being particularly addicted to this vice, per
haps unjustly; men aro fully as guilty of it when
their interest interferes. But as your interests
frequently clash, and as your feelings aro quicker,
your temptations to it are more frequent. For
this reason be particularly careful of the reputa
tion of your own sex.
Consider every species of indelicacy in conver
sation as shameful in itself, and highly disgusting
to modest men, as well as to you. The dissolute.
ness of some men's education may allow them to
be diverted with a kind of wit, which yet they
have delicacy enough to be shocked at when it
comes from the mouth of a female. Christian
purity is of that delicate nature that it cannot even
hear certain things without contamination. It is
always in the power of woman to avoid these; no
man hut a brute or a fool will insult a woman
with conversation which he sees gives her pain;
nor will he dare to do it if she resent the injury
with becoming spirit. There is a dignity in con.
scions virtue which is able to awe the most shame
less and abandoned of men. You will be re
proached, perhaps, with an affectation of delicacy;
hut, at any rate it is better to run the risk of be
ing thought ridiculous than disgusting. The men
will complain of your reserve; they will assure
you that a frank behaviour would make you more
amiable; but they are not sincere when they tell
you so. It might, on some occasions, render you
more agreeable as companions; but it would make
you less amiable as women, an importapt distinc
tion, of which many of the sex are not aware.
Have a sacred regard to truth. Lying is a
mean and despicable vim Some who possessed
excellent parts have been so much addicted to
this, that they could not be trusted in the relation
of any story, especially if it contained any thing
of the marvellous, or if they themselves were the
heroines of the tale.
There is a certain gentleness of spirit and man
ners extremely engaging in young women; not
that indiscriminate attention, that unmeaning sim
per, which smiles on all alike. This arises from
an affectation of soffitess, or from perfect insi.
pidity.
Our young female friends may perhaps think
that by persuading them to attend to the preceding
rules, we wish to throw every spark of nature out
of their composition, and to make them entirely
artificial. Far from it; wo wish them to posess
the most perfect simplicity of heart and manners.
They may possess dignity without pride; affability
without meanness; and simple elegance without
affectation. Milton had the same idea when ho
said of Eve—
"Grace was in all her steps, heaven in her eye,
In every gesture dignity and love."
To TUE LADIES.—John Neal, ,in one of his
rhapsodies, says—
There is no misfortune so great for a family of
girls, as to be all beautiful and all unmarried, about
the same time. They are sure to wane, perish,
die, of loneliness and ill humor. If one half of
them wore as ugly as the devil, another quarter just
passable, and the remainder all unlike each other
With only one beauty, the whole might get marri
ed at last. So, ladies, depend upon it, if there are
many of you marriageable, or not, my advice to
you is plainly this, draw lots fairly and honorably;
and blow up all your faces with powder, except
one. But if that be too terrible, take the small
pox. It is your only chance. In a few years too,
you will be, assuredly the more agreeable of the
two, you will have mind, in the wintry hour, when
the personal beauty of women is like the shadow
that hath gone—something that nobody will take
the trouble to run after, even in thoUght.
VARIETY.
PROM THE BOSTON EVENING GAZETTE
10LE . AiSth.Ldjai±la!ji: i Zitt . : E. Lail
BY B. BROWN, ESQ.
In the days of my boyhood, (I recollect well,
And others, no doubt, the same story can tell,)
Our tradesmen were honest; no one tho't of cheating;
And, what is still stronger, they all went to meeting!
There was Shoemaker Lot—
I remember tilt spot,
And the bench where he sot,
With his strap on his kneei—
Ile was upright and fair,
Ay, exact to a hair,
And a faithful old Cordwainer he.
On a moon shiny night, (Thanksgiving was coming,)
I mounted, in haste, Uncle Jeremy's mare;
'O6, Dobbin,' said 1, 'let your trotters be drumming
Toward Uncle Lot's,' and soon had me there.
0, good Uncle Lot,
I remember the spot,
And the bench, where be sot,
With his strap on his knee!
Our shoes were all ready,
For me, and for Noddy.
And Sally and Hotly,
And Dolly and Betty:—
What a faithful old Cordwainer he!
Then, there was the stitching, so strong and so nice;
Why, threads held the leather as firm as a vice!
There was none of your pegging,and none of your nail-
Andg ;
there was no fretting, no scolding, no railing,
When Shoemaker Lot,
He worked on the spot,
With the strap on his knee,
How strong he would sew them!
0, could he now show them
What a faithful old Cordwainer he.
And alas, now-a-days, 10, how changed is the matter!
Old honesty seems to go begging about!
For one scarce has a coat, or a shoe, or a garter,
That lasts more than three weeks,before it's worn out!
0, that some Uncle Lot
Would again take the spot,
And the bench where he sot,
With the strap o'er his knee;
Who would work at the trade,
And have shoes duly made;
No cheat, and no cozen,
Nor rips by the dozen—
Bow useful a Cordwainer hc? .
Our good Uncle Lot lately took his departure,
And went to inhabit the 'land of the Lest!'
No doubt but his, soul there will find better quarter;
But, then, ho has left us all 'down at the heel!'
0, blest Uncle Lot,
I do verily wot
You will ne'er be forgot,
Nor the strap on your knee,
Your making, your mewling,
Nor all your mast-ending
Adieu, Uncle Lot, now, to thee!
FILOX THE IIALTDIOILI: Vxsrrtn.
The Poor Man and the Rich Man.
There is too great a disposition among the poor
to envy the rich, instead of endeavoring to rival
them. That is a mean spirit that looks with
longing eyes upon other men's gtiods. He is only
the upright and independent man who wants
nothing but what his own honest industry will
gain him. Let parents instill this kind of reason
ing into their children, and they give 'them Wealth.
Every man who kas health, can, if ho will, be
rich. He may not be able to accumulate a f -rturle
[VOL. 7--NO. 34.
of half a million—nor does he want it. If he have
enough to supply all his reasonable demands, and
a few thousands, nay, a few hundred to lay by,
he is a rich man.
Our young mechanics are not saving enough of
their earnings. Those who are unmarried, might
if they would, lay by from one to three hundred
dollars every year. With this they would soon
begin business, and in n few years be compare
tively rich. Instead of this, by far too many think
it manly to spend their earnings in the (good coin
pony' that is found at taverns and other places of
public resort. They must attend the theatre once
or twice in the week. Enjoy their Sunday excur
sion, at the expense of one or two dollars. Dress
in the very height of the fashion, and sell their
half worn out clothing to the Jews!
It is worse than foolishness for our young men
who can earn only from eight to ten dollars in the
week, and that by hard labor, to ape the fashion
able dissipations of those sprigs of gentility whose
extravagance is annually met by heavy ili001.14P•,
on the pockets of their wealthy parents. If they
desire to possess the ample means whieh others
seem to enjoy, let them 'spare to spend. In a few
years they will enjoy a competency; and in the
end be able to number their thousands, when
those they at one time foolishly envied, may be re
duced to poverty. .
We have always noted those who were ready
on every occasion to cry out against the rich.—
They were invariable those who lived up - to or.
beyond their income. Generally such as could
lounge independently in a billiard room, and Lois
off their glass with the best. These are ever
raising the cry of the oppressions of the rich; and
they are such as are first to throw ungenerous im
putations upon every young man who is - rising by
industry and frugality above them.
Young man! if you desire to bo rich, save your
earnings. Do not visit taverns and theatres. Lay
by your first dollar, and others will gather around
it as if by magic. Spend only what is - necessary,
and you will be suprised to find how fast your
little hoard will - grow. If you are ashamed of be
ing poor, do not foolishly remain so all your life
by striving to seem independent. Rather seem
poor for .a while that you may be rich. Never
envy the rich, nor waste your time in idle abuse
of their oppressions of the poor. Be above them.
Take care of your own, and they will never rob
you of it. Again we say be honest, be industrious,
be frugal and temperate, and you will be
EXPEDIVNTB.-I despise expedients: they are
the gutter-hole of politics, and the sinks ivhore rep
utation dies.
Intemperance drives wit out of the livid, money
out of the pocket, elbows out of the coat, health
out of the body, and moderate drinkers to the alms-
The Arabs of the desert are the most hardy of
the htiman race, enduring the greatest fatigue and
exposure under a burning sun, and their habitual
drink is water.
PRIDE or A3rcasTar.—There Was much sound
truth in the speech of a country lad to an idler who
boasted his descent from an ancient family. “So
much the worse for you," said the peasant, as we
ploughmen say, "the older the seed the worse the
crop."
Cum./vv.—A long habit of not thinking a thing
wrong, gives it a superficial appearance of being
right and raises at first a formidable outcry in de
fence of custom. But the tumult soon subsides.—
Time makes more converts than reason.
A toper in the last stages of dropsy, was told by
his physician that nothing would save him but be
ing tapped. His son protested against the opera
tion, saying, "Father, do not submit to it, for there
was never anything tapped in our house which ever
lasted a week."
EXPERIENCE PETRIFIES TUE HEAR.T.-TllO
drops that trickle within the cavern, harden, yet
brighten into spars as they indurate. Nothing is
more polished, nothing is more cold, than that wis
dom which is the work of former years, of former
passions, and is formed within a musing and soli
tary mind!
AntemoTE.--“Whatever is just is honorable."
—Manual labor is esteemed at the South disgrace
ful. A circumstance showing to what an extent
this sentiment prevails among slave holders, re
cently occurred. A student from one of the Sou.
thorn States, in the Theological Seminary at An
dover, had purchased some wood, and was ex_
ceedingly embarrassed at being unable readily to
obtain some ono to saw it for him. Ho went to
Professor Stuart to inquire what ho should do in
so ufortunate a predicament. The learned Pro
fessor replied that he was in want of a job himself,
and ho would saw it for him.
In your intercourse with the world, you must
take persons as they aro, and society as you find it.
You must never oppose the one, nor attempt the
other. Society is a harlequin stage, upon which
you never appear in your own dress nor without
a mask. Keep your real dispositions by your fire
side and your real character for your private friend.
In public never differ from anybody, nor from any
thing. The agreeable man is one who agrees.
"What always struck me," says Mac Parkin",
"as something extremely romantic and mysterious,
was the noisless step of the camel, from the spongy
nature of its foot. Whatever be the substance of
the ground—sand,or rock, or turf, or paved stones,
you hear no foot fall; you see an immense animal
approaching you, still as a cloud floating on the
air; and unless ho wear a hell, your sense of hear
ing, acute as it may be, will give you no intima
tion of his presence."
GOOD SENTIMENT.—The Beaton Pearl says
that profane language is to conversation what ten
inches spikes would be to iieneeringlittiife
shivering, and defacing it. It is in bad taste, of.
fensive to a majority, and gratifying to none.
ODD TITLE.-L -A temperance pamphlet in Bar
'on is entitled “Tira Ilos, designed to uproot the
Bramble of John Gregory, of Woburn. By MI
Abstinence man." This is as quaint as the name
of one of Cromwell's books, which was, unooke
Eves for Believer's Mere:heel:"