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WASHINGTON'S EPITAPH.

WASHINGTON, THE DEFENDER OF HIS COUNTRY, THE FOUNDER OF LIBERTY, THE

FRIEND OF MAN.

HISTORY AND TRADITION ARE EXPLORED IN VAIN

FOR A PARALLEL TO HIS CHARACTER.
IN THE ANNALS OF MODERN GREATNESS,

HE STANDS ALONE,
AND THE NOBLEST NAMES OF ANTIQUITY

LOSE THEIR LUSTRE IN HIS PRESENCE.

BORN THE BENEFACTOR OF MANKIND,
HE 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,
HE TRIUMPHANTLY VINDICATED THE RIGHTS OF HUMANITY,

AND ON THE PILLARS OF NATIONAL INDEPENDENCE

LAID THE FOUNDATIONS OF A GREAT REPUBLIC,
TWICE INVESTED WITH SUPREME MAGISTRACY,
BY THE UNANIMOUS VOICE OF A FREE PEOPLE,

HE SURPASSED IN THE CABINET

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 ;

AND THE NAME OF

WASHINGTON,

ADDING NEW LUSTRE TO HUMANITY,
RESOUNDED TO THE REMOTEST REGIONS OF THE EARTH.

MAGNANIMOUS IN YOUTH,
GLORIOUS THROUGH LIFE,

GREAT IN DEATH,
HIS HIGHEST AMBITION THE HAPPINESS OF MANKIND,

HIS NOBLEST VICTORY THE CONQUEST OF HIMSELF, BEQUEATHING TO POSTERITY THE INHERITANCE OF HIS FAME, AND BUILDING HIS MONUMENT IN THE HEARTS OF HIS

COUNTRYMEN,
HE LIVED THE ORNAMENT OF THE EIGHTEENTH CENTURY,

AND DIED REGRETTED BY A MOURNING WORLD.

MOUNT VERNON.

1. Far from the busy walks of men,

Beneath a spreading cedar's shade,
Where the wild grandeur of the glen

Joins with the beauty of the glade,
Where silent rolls the glassy tide,

The unbroken mirror of the skies,
On fair Potomac's grassy side,

The FATHER of his country lies.

2. No costly monumental pile

Marks the immortal patriot's grave ;
No marble from Hellenic isle

Records the glories of the brave;
An open, grated, archéd room,

Of simple masonry alone,
His modest, unpretending tomb-

His epitaph is - WASHINGTON.

3. Immortal man! thy deathless name,

When Gallia's glories are no more,
Shall echo on the blast of fame

From land to land, from shore to shore.
Marengo's plain of tears and blood,

Where young Ambition plumed his flight, Shall yield to Trenton's wintry flood,

Where patriot valor fought for right.

4. The catalogue of conquerors

And heroes whom the bard has sung,
His royal kings and emperors,

In whose applause the world has rung,
Shall lose their lustre by the side

Of him who led his freemen brave,
With INDEPENDENCE for his guide,

To liberty or to the grave.

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 bosom was compassion's source,

His motto, “ Raise, and not destroy."

6. Sweet is the mighty chieftain's sleep,

Under the fragrant cedar's shade,
While summer birds like guardians keep

Their tuneful vigils round his head.
The wood nymphs hymn their song of love

In pensive strains amid the trees,
And sweetly through the neighboring grove
Their echoes float upon the breeze.

Baltimore Saturday Visiter.

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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,

Yet gained more glory than a Cæsar's name;
There dwelt the statesman, who, devoid of art,
Gave soundest counsels from an upright heart.

3. And, 0, Columbia! by thy sons caressed,

There dwelt the father of the realms he blessed ;
Who no wish felt to make his mighty praise,
Like other chiefs, the means himself to raise ;
But there, retiring, breathed in pure renown,
And felt a grandeur that disdained a crown.

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CHAPTER LXXXI.

THE HUSBAND'S COMPLAINT.

1. I Hate the name of German wool in all its colors bright;

Of chairs and stools, in fancy work, I hate the very sight.
The shawls and slippers that I've seen, the ottomans and bags,-
Sooner than wear a stitch on me, I'd walk the streets in rags.

2. I've heard of wives too musical, too talkative, or quiet

Of scolding or of gaming wives, and those too fond of riot ;
But yet, of all the errors known, which to the women fall,
Forever doing fancy work, I think, exceeds them all.

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) – I've done this wrong

-seven, eight, nine, ten- - an orange, then a blue.”

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, 'T is, “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 ;

I dare not even use a stool nor screen ; and, as for chairs,
’T was only yesterday I put my youngest boy in one,
And until then I never knew my wife had such a tongue.

9. Alas! for my poor little ones, they dare not move or speak ;
'Tis “Tom, be still ; put down that bag. Why, Harriet,

where 's your feet?
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.
Our clothes are rent, our bills unpaid, our house is in disorder,
And all because my lady wife has taken to embroider.

11. I'll put my children out to school, - I'll go across the sea ;

My wife, so full of fancy-work, I'm sure, cannot miss me.
E'en while I write, she still keeps on her “One, two, three,

and four ;'
She's past all hope. These Berlin wools, I 'll not endure them

more !

CHAPTER L X X XII.

THE MILLER OF MANSFIELD.

- I can

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Enter the King alone, wrapped in a cloak. 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 respect neither 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 ; his power, a beggar's dog would bark at, and the beggar himself would not bow to his greatness. And yet how often are

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