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See those pallid cheeks of sorrow,

And those limbs which know no rest.

Once, those eyes were fraught with pleasure,

Once, those cheeks were coral red,
But bereft of the mind's treasure,

These more treacherous beauties fled.

Once, proud Fortune on him smiled,

And bright Hope his thoughts did train;
When alas, of both beguiled,

“ Maddening fury" seiz'd his brain.

Now he roams poor and unfriended,

None his wayward steps to guide,
All his wishes unattended,

All his wants are unsupply'd.

So speak those tatter'd garments on him,

And his shaggy matted hair,
Oh do not with disgust turn from him,
He was once, as you now are.



Lines written on a blank leaf of “Downman's Infancy”-a didactic Poem, pre

sented to a lady a few weeks after her marriage.

If, much lov'a fair! who late with tremb'ling foot,

the threshold of that hallow'd fane
Where Hymen holds his court, and where the Loves
And Graces join in sweet accordance,
Weaving chaplets gay of blooming flow'rs,
Thrown by the liberal hand of smiling Hope,
To grace the brows of those whom Love impels
To bend before his altar-If haply, “born
• Beneath the beam of some propitious star,"
Lucina's mystic rites should ere reward
The fond embraces of thy faithful spouse,

With prattling pledges of your mutual love;
0! then, with eager eye, and heedful pause,
The following strains didactic oft peruse.
For know, their little tender frames demand
Unceasing care-their future health and strength,
A form erect, the roseate bloom of youth,
Athletic firmness, with a vigorous mind,
Or, dull and moping imbecility,
Distorted joints, and nerves of feeble texture,
Complexion wan, with aptness to imbibe
The various taints of fell Disease's train-
All these, with num'rous other joys or woes,
Depending on the treatment they receive,
At their first entrance on the stage of life,
And, during helpless Infancy. Here then learn
Those various pleasing duties to discharge,
Which th' endearing name of Mother doth enjoin;
And which, observed, will crown your future days,

With ample recompense for all your care.
Philad. Aug. 30, 1808.



General John S. Eustace, with whom I was intimately acquainted for some time, previous to his death, and who formerly held a major general's commission in the French armies, gave me the following as a genuine copy of the celebrated speech of Logan, the Mingo chief. He informed me that he was acquainted wit' lord Dunmore in Virginia, and frequently an inmate of his house, and that the speech, as I now send it to you, was presented to him personally by lord Dunmore.

I do not consider myself an accurate judge of Indian eloquence, yet it appears to me, that the speech, as published by Mr. Jefferson, is not worthy of those high encomiums which he bestows

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upon it. I leave it with you to judge of the correctness of my opinion.

Yours, &c. Luzerne, September ilth, 1810.

B. T.C.

me for

Speech of Logan, a Mingo chief, before lord Dunmore, formerly

governor of Virginia. My cabin, since first I had one of my own, has ever been open to any white man, who wanted shelter: my spoils of hunting, since first I began to range these woods, have I ever freely imparted to appease his hunger and clothe his nakedness; but, what have I seen? what! but that at my return at night, and laden with spoil, my numerous family lie bleeding on the ground, by the hands of those who had found my little hut a certain refuge from the inclement storm; who had eaten my food, and covered themselves with my skins: what have I seen? what! but that those dear little mouths, for which I had sweated the live-long day, when I returned at eve to fill them, had not one word to thank


toil! What could I resolve upon? my blood boiled within me, and my heart leapt up to my mouth, nevertheless I bid my tomahawk be quiet, and lie at rest for that war, because I thought the great men of your country sent them not to do it. Not long afterwards, some of your men invited our tribe to cross the river and bring their venison with them; they, unsuspicious of design, came as they had been invited; the white men then made them drunk, killed them, and turned their knives even against the women. Was not my sister among them? was she not scalped by the hands of that man, whom sh had taught how to escape his enemies, when they were scenting out his track? What could I resolve upon? my blood now boiled thrice hotter than before, and thrice again my heart leapt up to my mouth, no longer did I bid

my tomahawk be quiet, and lie at rest, for that war, because I no longer thought the great men of your country sent them not to do it. I sprang from my cabin to avenge their blood, which I have fully done this war, by shedding yours from your coldest to your hottest sun; thus revenged I am now for peace, and have advised most of my countrymen to be so toonay! what is more,

I have offered, and still offer myself as a victim, being ready to
die if their good require it.

Think not that I am afraid to die, for I have no relations left to
mourn for me. Logan's blood runs in no veins but these I would
not turn on my heel to escape death, for I have neither wife, nor
child, nor sister to howl for me when I'm gone.


On Sunday, January 20th, at his seat near Trenton, New jersey, departed this life, in the sixty-sixth year of his age, the reverend' HENRY WADDELL, D. D. rector of St. Michael's Church; in the cemetery of which his body was deposited on the 22d.

Dr. WADDELL had received a liberal education, and graduated at the University of Pennsylvania, then the College and Academy of Philadelphia, after which, he applied himself to the study of the law, of which he was, for several years, an able and successful practitioner. His mind however, being of a serious

and contemplative cast, his reflections and researches induced
him to relinquish the profession of the law, and devote the re-
mainder of his life to theological investigations—and, wishing
at the same time to render himself useful to the community, he
applied for, and obtained holy orders. His amiable and affec-
tionate deportment towards his flock, during the course of a
long, a virtuous, and well spent life, and his exemplary discharge
of all the relative duties in the important characters of husband,
father, master and friend, endeared him to all who had the.
privilege of being in any degree connected with him:-while
the urbanity of his manners, and the effusions of a well informed
mind, rendered him the delight of the social circle, and a distin-
guished ornament of general society. He expired without a
groan, in all the triumphant calmness of christian confidenee
ind resignation.

His God sustain'd him in his final hour!
“ His final hour brought glory to his God!
6. You saw the man, you saw his hold on Ileav'n!"

Young's N. T.


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Died on Saturday, the 22d of Dec. 1810, after a short illness, in the 63d year of her age, Mrs. MARY Weed, relict of the late Elijah Weed, esq. of this city. This venerable and truly pious lady, was deeply impressed with the importance and worth of her soul in early life; which enabled her through the whole tenor of her protracted existence, to place a conscious rectitude on the merits and atonement of her Saviour. Impelled by the powerful influence of that true religion of which she was a firm and zealous advocate, constrained by the love, and animated by the example of her blessed Lord, she went about liberally dispensing donations and assistance to those who were deserving of them, particularly to the virtuous poor, to whom she was a distinguished friend and benefactor. It would be difficult to point out all those inestimable qualities which she possessed; they will long live in the memory of her relatives and friends.

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Her remains were solemnly interred on the Monday following, in the first baptist church burial ground, attended by a numerous concourse of friends and relatives.

“ This is the bud of being,
The twilight of our day, the vestibule.
Life's theatre as yet is shut, and Death,
Strong Death, alone can heave the massy bar,
This gross impediment of clay remove,
And make us, embryos of existence, free.
From' real life but little more remote
Is he, not yet a candidate for light,
The future embryo, slumb'ring in his fire.
Embryos we must be till we burst the shell,
Yon ambient azure shell, and spring to life,
The life of Gods, O transport! and of man."

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