WASHINGTON'S EPITAPH. WASHINGTON, THE DEFENDER OF HIS COUNTRY, THE FOUNDER OF LIBERTY, THE FRIEND OF MAN. HISTORY AND TRADITION ARE EXPLORED IN VAIN HE FOR A PARALLEL TO HIS CHARACTER. IN THE ANNALS OF MODERN GREATNESS, AND THE NOBLEST NAMES OF ANTIQUITY UNITED ALL THE QUALITIES NECESSARY TO AN ILLUSTRIOUS CAREER. NATURE MADE HIM GREAT; HE MADE HIMSELF VIRTUOUS. CALLED BY HIS COUNTRY TO THE DEFENCE OF HER LIBERTIES, LAID THE FOUNDATIONS OF A GREAT REPUBLIC. THE GLORIES OF THE FIELD, AND VOLUNTARILY RESIGNING THE SCEPTRE AND THE SWORD, RETIRED TO THE SHADES OF PRIVATE LIFE. A SPECTACLE SO NEW AND SO SUBLIME WAS CONTEMPLATED WITH THE PROFOUNDEST ADMIRATION; WASHINGTON, ADDING NEW LUSTRE TO HUMANITY, RESOUNDED TO THE REMOTEST REGIONS OF THE EARTH. GLORIOUS THROUGH LIFE, HIS HIGHEST AMBITION THE HAPPINESS OF MANKIND, HE LIVED THE ORNAMENT OF THE EIGHTEENTH CENTURY, MOUNT VERNON. 1. FAR from the busy walks of men, Joins with the beauty of the glade, The unbroken mirror of the skies, The FATHER of his COUNTRY lies. 2. No costly monumental pile Marks the immortal patriot's grave; 3. Immortal man! thy deathless name, Shall echo on the blast of fame From land to land, from shore to shore. Where young Ambition plumed his flight, 4. The catalogue of conquerors And heroes whom the bard has sung, In whose applause the world has rung, Of him who led his freemen brave, 5. Their hands were dyed with guiltless blood, Their aim, ambition's topmost round, The conqueror's fame their only god, Their throne, a vanquished world around. Enfranchised millions hailed HIS course His path was dewed with tears of joy- His motto, "Raise, and not destroy." 6. Sweet is the mighty chieftain's sleep, Baltimore Saturday Visiter. LINES ON MOUNT VERNON. BY REV. WILLIAM JAY, OF BATH. 1. THERE dwelt THE MAN, the flower of human kind, Whose visage mild bespoke his nobler mind; There dwelt the soldier, who his sword ne'er drew But in a righteous cause, to freedom true. 2. There dwelt the hero, who ne'er killed for fame, 3. And, O, Columbia! by thy sons caressed, CHAPTER LXXXI. THE HUSBAND'S COMPLAINT. 1. I HATE the name of German wool in all its colors bright; 2. I've heard of wives too musical, too talkative, or quiet Of scolding or of gaming wives, and those too fond of riot; 3. The other day, when I came home, no dinner's got for me; I asked my wife the reason, and she answered, "One, two, three!" I told her I was hungry, and I stamped upon the floor; She never even looked at me, but murmured, "One green more." 4. Of course she makes me angry, though she does n't care for that, But chatters, while I talk to her, "One white, and then a black, One green, and then a purple-(just hold your tongue, my dear; You really do annoy me so)-I've made a wrong stitch here." 5. And as for confidential chat, with her eternal frame, Though I should speak of fifty things, she 'd answer me the same; 'Tis "Yes, love- five reds, then a black-(I quite agree with you) 6. If any lady comes to tea, her bag is first surveyed; And if the pattern pleases her, a copy then is made. She stares the men quite out of face; and when I ask her why, 'Tis, "O! my love, the pattern of his waistcoat struck my eye.' 7. And if to walk I am inclined, ('t is seldom I go out,) At every worsted-shop she sees, oh! how she looks about, And says, "Bless me! I must go in the pattern is so rare ; That group of flowers is just the thing I wanted for my chair." 8. Besides, the things she makes are all such touch-me-not affairs; 9. Alas! for my poor little ones, they dare not move or speak; Maria! standing on that stool! it was not made for use; Be silent all. Three greens, one red, a blue, and then a puce." 10. Oh! Heaven preserve me from a wife with fancy-work run wild, And hands which never do aught else for husband or for child. 11. I'll put my children out to school,-I'll go across the sea; She's past all hope. These Berlin wools, I'll not endure them more ! CHAPTER LXXXII. THE MILLER OF MANSFIEld. Enter the King alone, wrapped in a cloak. I can King. No, no! this can be no public road, that's certain. I have lost my way undoubtedly. Of what advantage is it now to be a king? Night shows me no respectneither see better nor walk so well as another man. When a king is lost in a wood, what is he more than other men? His wisdom knows not which is north, and which is south; power, a beggar's dog would bark at, and the beggar himself would not bow to his greatness. And yet how often are |