With a mind unincumbered by care I arise, I take up my gun; honest Tray, my good friend, I snuff the fresh air; bid defiance to care, From the toils of the great, ambition and state, At noon, I delighted range o'er the rich soil, With a cup of good home-brew'd I sweeten their toil, And laugh at the joke or the tale. And whether the ripe waving corn I behold, Or the orchard, whose fruit is just turning to gold, I snuff the fresh air; bid defiance to care, From the toils of the great, ambition and state, At night to my lowly roof'd cot I return, When oh, what new sources of bliss; My children rush out, while their little hearts burn, My Dolly appears with a smile on her face, What more than health, plenty, good humour, and peace, Can the wealth of the Indies afford? I sink into rest, with content in my breast, From the toils of the great, ambition and state, 'Tis my pride and my boast to be free. AMERICA, COMMERCE, AND FREEDOM. How blest a life a sailor leads, To America, Commerce, and Freedom. And when arrived in sight of land, When the full flowing bowl has enliven'd the soul, And each bonny lass will drink off a glass, Our cargo sold, the chink we share, Who wants, we freely give it. And when 'tis gone, to sea for more, We earn it, but to spend it. Then drink round, my boys, 'tis the first of our joys, To relieve the distress'd, clothe and feed 'em; "Tis a task which we share, with the brave and the fair, In this land of Commerce and Freedom. TABITHA TENNEY. MRS. TABITHA TENNEY, the author of the popular Adventures of Dorcasina Sheldon, was born at Exeter, N. H., in 1762. She was the daughter of Samuel Gilman, whose paternal ancestors constituted a great part of the community of that place. Her father died in her infancy, and she was left to the sole care of her pious and sensible mother, who was a descendant of the Puritan stock of Robinson, which also composed a large portion of the early population of the town of Exeter. As female education at that time was very circumscribed, she had but few early advantages excepting those which she received from her mother's excellent example of industry and economy, and the few well chosen books which she selected for her daughter's improvement. Books and literary companionship were her greatest delight. She acquired a facility and correctness of language which gave her noticeable freedom and elegance in conversation. In 1788 she was married to the Hon. Samuel Tenney, then a resident in Exeter, and formerly a Surgeon in the American army during the Revolutionary war, He was elected a member of Congress in 1800. She accompanied her husband to Washington several winters, and her letters from that place are specimens of her talent at graphic description, as well as illustrative of the fashion and manners of the times. Her first publication was a selection from the poets and other classical writers, for the use of young ladies, entitled the New Pleasing Instructor. Some time after this she produced her romance of Female Quixotism.* This is, as its title implies, one of the numerous literary progeny of Cervantes' immortal satire. It resembles in one respect more closely its original than most of its family, turning like Don Quixote on the evils of reading romances. In place, however, of the leanvizored Don, we have a blooming, delicate young lady; and to continue the contrast, in exchange for the ponderous folios, in which even the light literature of those ages of learning was entombed, have the small volume novels of the Rosa-Matilda school of the past century, the vapid sentimental stuff which is now driven even from the bookstalls. Dorcas Sheldon is the only daughter of a wealthy father, and soon after her birth loses her mother. Left by a fond father to follow her own wishes she takes to reading novels, and so saturates her mind with their wishy-washy contents, that she determines herself to be a heroine. Her Female Quixotism: Exhibited in the Romantic Opinions and Extravagant Adventures of Dorcasina Sheldon. Felix quem faciunt aliena pericula cautum. In plain English Learn to be wise by others' harm, And you shall do full well. In 2 vols. Boston: J. P. Peaslee, 1829. The early editions of popular novels become exceedingly scarce. We have me: with no earlier copy than this. first step is to become qualified for a romantic career by metamorphosing her plain baptismal Dorcas into Dorcasina; her next to refuse a suitor, a solid man of property, of suitable age and approved by her father, whose wooing is of too straightforward and business-like a character to suit her Lydia Languish requirements; and her next, to repair daily to a romantically-disposed arbor to read and meditate. She has a contidante, not the white-muslined nonentity who would be naturally looked for beside a Tilburina, but a sturdy, sensible, country-bred waiting-maid, Betty, a female Sancho Panza. Time wears on with Miss Dorcasina. Her retired residence and equally secluded mode of life are unfavorable to her aspirations for adventures, and she reaches her thirty-fourth year without a second offer. At this period an adventurer, passing a night at the village inn, hears of the heiress and determines to carry her off. He dresses the next afternoon in his best, and repairs to the bower frequented by Dorcasina. An interview is thus obtained, the lady swallows the bait, the scamp forges letters of introduction, and is on the point of accomplishing his purpose when he is obliged to decamp. Dorcasina will believe nothing to his discredit, and is for some time inconsolable. Her next suitor is a waggish student, a youngster as full of practical jokes as his prototype of Boccaccio or Chaucer, or contemporary of Yale College. He somewhat ungallantly selects Dorcasina as his victim. He thickens his plot by appearing, after having made a powerful first impression in propriâ persona, as an injured female, making a violent assault on Dorcasina and Betty: The next day, as evening approached, Dorcasina desired Betty to attend her to the grove. Betty, being on many accounts unwilling to go, on her knees entreated her mistress to give up the project. But, finding her resolutely bent on fulfilling her engagement, the faithful creature, in spite of her aversion to the adventure, and of her apprehensions of ghosts and goblins, could not bear the idea that her mistress should go to the wood, at that hour unaccompanied. She therefore followed her footsteps, in silent trepidation. Being arrived at the arbor they seated themselves on the turf. They had not sat long, when, instead of the expected lover, a female entered, and placing herself by the side of Dorcasina, accosted her in the following manner: You will, perhaps, be surprised, when I inform you that I know you did not come here with the expectation of meeting a woman. Philander was the person whom you expected to see; but know, abhorred rival, that I have effectually prevented his meeting you this night, and am now come to enjoy your disappointment. I would have you to know, you witch! you sorceress! that you have robbed me of the heart of my lover; and I am determined to be revenged." Dorcasina, as might naturally be expected, was astonished at this address, and remained for some moments in a profound silence. At length, she attempted to justify herself, by saying that she was sorry to be the cause of pain to any one; that, from her own experience, she knew too well the power of love, not to commiserate any person who nourished a hopeless passion; that she had never yet seen Philander, to her knowledge; that this interview was none of her seeking; and that she had consent ed to it, at his earnest entreaty, on the express condition that it should never be repeated. She concluded by declaring that, as she now found he had been false to another, she would immediately retire, and hold no further intercourse with him. Those This mildness served, in appearance, but to irritate the supposed female. "I know your arts too well," cried she, raising her voice, "to believe a syllable of what you say. It is all mere pretence, and you will consent to meet him again the very first opportunity. But you shall not go on thus practising your devilish arts with impunity. Your basilisk glance shall not thus rob every man of his heart, and every woman of her lover or husband. bewitching eyes, that cause mischief wherever they are seen, I will tear them from their orbits." Thus saying, she laid violent hands on the terrified Dorcasina; tore off her hat; pulled her hair; and was proceeding to tear off her handkerchief, when Betty, seeing her mistress so roughly handled, started up in her defence, and attacking the stranger with great fury, compelled her to quit Dorcasina in order to defend herself. Dorcasina, thus liberated, darted out of the grove and fled towards the house with all speed, leaving Betty to sustain the combat alone. Finding herself deserted, and her antagonist much her superior in strength, Betty endeavored likewise to make her escape; but her attempt was unsuccessful. She was held, cuffed, pulled by the hair, twirled round and round like a top, shaken and pushed up against the trees, without mercy; the person who thus roughly handled her, exclaiming, all the time, "You ugly old witch, I'll teach you to carry letters, and contrive meetings between your mistress and my lover; you pander, you go-between!" Poor Betty begged for mercy in the most moving terms, protesting that she had said everything to dissuade her mistress from this meeting; but the enraged virago would not suffer her to go till she had stripped off her upper garments (her gown being a short one and of no great value), torn them to rags, and scattered them about the arbor. She then suffered her to depart, telling her, at the same time, that if ever she caught her engaged in the same business again, she would not only divest her of her clothes, but strip off her old wrinkled hide. In further prosecution of his deviltry, he persuades a conceited barber that Dorcasina has fallen in love with him at church. The gull readily agrees to repair to the usual trystingplace, where we introduce him to the reader : Monday being come, the barber, arrayed in his Sunday clothes, with his hair as white as powder could make it, set out, at four o'clock, for the arbor, which had been pointed out to him by Philander; who, previous to this time, judging that Puff would arrive at an early hour, had taken possession of a thick tree, to enjoy, unobserved, the coming scene. The barber found the hour of waiting very tedious. He sung, he whistled, and listened attentively to every passing noise; when, at length, his ears were saluted by the sound of female voices, which were no other than those of Dorcasina and her attendant. "Betty," said the former, "you may seat yourself with your knitting work, without the arbor, and at a small distance from it; for it would not be treating the young man with delicacy, to admit a third person to witness his passion." Betty did as she was desired; and the little barber no sooner discovered Dorcasina approaching the arbor, than, stepping forward and taking her hand, he addressed her with the utmost familiarity: "Gad, my dear, I began to be very impatient, and was afraid you had changed your mind; but I am very glad to see you at last! Pray, my dear, be seated." This familiar address, so different from what Dorcasina had been led to expect, and from what she had been accustomed to from O'Connor, so totally disconcerted her, that she was unable to answer a single word. She, however, did mechanically as she was desired, and seated herself upon the turf in silence. The barber placed himself by her, and still holding the hand which she had not attempted to withdraw, pitied her for what he thought her country timidity, and kindly endeavored to encourage her. "I suppose, my dear, you feel a little bashful or so! but don't be afraid to confess your love. Be assured you will meet with a suitable return; and that I shall be ever grateful and kind for being thus distinguished." Dorcasina, still more confounded by this strange speech, and wholly unable to comprehend its meaning, continued silent. The barber, after waiting some moments in vain for a reply, again began: Why, gad, my dear! if you don't intend to speak, you might as well have staid at home. Pray, now, afford me a little of your sweet conversation, if it is but just to say how much you love me." 66 Here Dorcasina could contain herself no longer. "I had thought, sir," said she, hesitating, "I had expected from your professions, a quite different reception from this." "Did you, indeed? Gad, my dear, you are in the right." Upon this he threw his arms round her neck, and almost stifled her with kisses. The astonished Dorcasina endeavored to disengage herself, but in vain; for the enraptured barber continued his caresses, only at intervals exclaiming, “Gad, my dear, how happy we shall be when we are married. I shall love you infinitely, I am sure." Dorcasina, at length, finding breath, in a loud and angry tone, exclaimed, "let me go this moment; unhand me, sir. I will not endure to be thus treated." Betty, who had hitherto sat quietly knitting upon a stump, hearing the angry voice of her mistress, darted towards the arbor, and instantly recognized little Puff, who had been once or twice at the house (though unseen by Dorcasina) to dress Mr. Sheldon, and whom she had observed to be a pretty, spruce young fellow. Her indignation being raised at the treatment of her mistress, she sprung upon him before he was aware of it, and gave him, with her large heavy hand, a rousing box on the ear; exclaiming, at the same time, in a tone of great contempt, "The little barber! as I hope to live, ma'am." 66 This unexpected blow had the desired effect. Puff, surprised in his turn, instantly released the mistress, and turning about to the maid, desired to know what the d-1 she meant. Betty did not deign to answer him, but "stood collected in her might." Recollecting with indignation the treatment she had so lately received in this very spot, of which she now supposed him to be the instigator, and incensed at his unpardonable insolence to her mistress, she now rejoiced in an opportunity of taking an ample revenge, in kind, for all the affronts they had both received. Rudely grasping him, therefore, under one arm (for though naturally mild, she was a virago when exasperated), " You pitiful little scoundrel," she cried," what is it you mean by thus insulting Miss Sheldon? You pretend for to inspire to love her, and decoy her here, on purpose to be impudent to her; besides setting some impudent varlet in women's clothes to insult me, t'other night." Thus saying, she boxed his ears with great fury, till the terrified barber bawled to her to desist; which she did not do till she was heartily tired. Meanwhile, the wicked scholar, perched on the tree (determined if matters should come to extremity to descend and take the part of Puff), enjoyed the scene with the highest relish; being obliged to stuff the corner of his gown into his mouth, to prevent laughing aloud and spoiling the sport. Other equally extravagant adventures follow, but all stop far short of matrimony. Meanwhile Dorcasina, by the death of her father, comes into possession of her thousand pounds per annum. Having exhausted her stock of sentimental fiction, she, in default of anything else, reads Roderick Random. Finding that hero to have, while a serving man, fallen in love with his mistress, she forthwith resolves that her hired man, John Brown, is in a like predicament, and being, of course, like Roderick, a gentleman born, is worthy of a like reward. John displays no love for the mistress, but is sensible of the agreeableness of the transition from master to man, and the banns are published. Dorcasina is saved by main force, a romantic abduction and imprisonment being planned and executed by her friends, one of whom, a lively young lady, vainly endeavors to supplant John by courting the susceptible lady in the disguise of a dashing young officer. John Brown is meanwhile bought off and sent off. Dorcasina at last finds that men were deceivers ever, that married people, even married lovers, have cares and troubles from which celibacy is exempt, and settles down at last to an old age of common sense. Mrs. Tenney affords a good example of the literary character, her discipline of mind being associated with prudence in her affairs. She was uniform and methodical in her habits, and so frugal of her time as to execute much plain and ornamental work with her needle. Among her practical good services to the place of her residence, was the establishment of an old colored servant of her family in a house which became a popular place of entertainment as a rural retreat, with its "cakes and ale," and was known as "Dinah's Cottage."* Mrs. Tenney died at Exeter, after a short illness, in 1837. JOSEPH BARTLETT Was born at Plymouth, Mass., about the year 1763, of a family of good Puritan standing. He became a graduate of Harvard in 1782, and with the reputation of a wit went to Salem to study law, which he soon abandoned for a voyage to England. There is a popular anecdote of his appearance in the metropolis, which is thus related by Knapp, who, in his American Biography, has presented an elaborate sketch of the man. "One night when Bartlett was in the theatre in London, a play was going on, in which his countrymen were ridiculed (I believe it is one of Gen. Burgoyne's plays); a number of rebels had been taken, and brought into the British camp; on the inquiry being made about their occupations, I believe the play says professions, before they became soldiers, the answer was, although many of them were officers, that they were of different callings; some were We are indebted for these interesting personal notices to a lady, a relative of Mrs. Tenney. barbers, some tailors, some tinkers, &c. At this moment Bartlett rose from his seat in the pit, and cried, "Hurra! Great Britain beaten by barbers, tailors, and tinkers!" The effect was wonderful. John Bull took it all in good part, and many of the bloods of the day introduced themselves to him; and he made the best of the occasion. Bartlett pursued the career of an adventurer in London; gambled, gained, spent, and got into prison, from which he extricated himself by writing a play which gave him funds for his release. He then went on the stage himself, and at Edinburgh acted under the assumed name of Maitland. One of his parts was Belcour in the West Indian. From an actor he became a merchant, and secured a large credit of goods for America, with which he was shipwrecked upon his return on Cape Cod. Knapp tells us, that on the voyage he frequently paraded his infidel opinions and his contempt of death; but that when the vessel struck, he displayed the most cowardly anxiety for his safety, saying "that it was not that he feared to die, but that he should dislike to be found dead on such a dreary place as the back of Cape Cod." At Boston he formed a mercantile connexion, which soon failed, when he turned again to the law. The movement for the suppression of Shay's rebellion gave him a brief opportunity to figure in the military line as captain of the Republican Volunteers; but his active services were not required. He was admitted to the bar, and opened an office at Woburn near Boston, where he affected oddity to attract attention, painting his house black, and calling it "the coffin." He next removed to Cambridge, where he bore a prominent part in the public altercations of the town, and busied himself in the affairs of the college. In 1799, he delivered a poem on Physiognomy before the Phi Beta Kappa Society of Harvard, in which, under an appearance of general satire, he is said to have taken off traits of individuals of note at the time. The poem is clever, and is not marked by any apparent personal scandal. Here are a few passages from it. GOD shows the force of his creative powers, The ROYAL LION, haughty beast of prey, The grateful Dog, who licks his master's hand, 灣 Look through the world, and every clime explore, eyes, From Humming-bird, to Ostrich's lofty size; Next the author takes up fishes, and follows with serpents:— Who views the SERPENT, crawling on the earth, Had but Lavater's science then been known, Perceiv'd the Devil, in the Serpent's skin, FORGIVE, my friends, if I presume to scan, * The author never speaks of individuals, but of classes, wherein he alludes to their foibles, for example: Behold the man who scents the drawing-room, His forehead short, his eyebrows wild, and thin 帶 Poor senseless being, let the idiot pass; In dress a For, in intellect an Ass. Of the critics: Make way, my friends, and give the CRITIC place, Who damns all genius with a haughty sneer; We leave the Critic, with his envious mind, We know the man, 'tis Freedom's favorite son, By and by he takes up woman : From men we turn, to view the FEMALE SEX, Made to delight, to pain, to please, to vex; Form'd by our God, to strew our path with flowers, To sooth our cares, to glad our passing hours, First on the list, observe that woman's form, Who looks a very monster in a storm. Her skinny lips, her pointed nose behold, And say if nature's marked her FOR A SCOLD! Observe her chin, her every feature trace, And see the fury, trembling in her face; By nature made to mar the joys of life, And DAMN THAT MAN who has her for a WIFE. * The mild blue eye, the round and dimpled chin, Bespeaks a mind incapable of sin, The laughing cheeks, the lips of coral dye, To this poem are appended, in the edition of 1823, at Boston, dedicated to John Quincy Adams, a number of Aphorisms on Men, Manners, Principles, and Things, which his various opportunities in the world had given him ample opportunity to collect. Here are a few of them, some of which, if we are to receive Knapp's view of his life, might have been profitable in his own career. SLANDER. Whenever you find a man endeavoring to lessen and destroy the reputation of another, be certain his own character is desperate. There never was a calumniator who was brave, honest, or just. I never found a slanderer, who dared to meet face to face the person whom he abused and vilified when absent. LAW. The man who, for any trifling injury, applies to a lawyer for redress, will soon be obliged to apply to the town for support. BOASTING. Whenever you hear a man boasting of his courage, be convinced he will be a coward in time of danger. A man who boasts of his honesty, or a woman of her chastity, are both to be suspected. WOMAN. Women possess less charity towards the foibles of. their own sex than the men. A woman, destitute of morals, will be more atrocious than a man: Devils were made from Angels. Let woman be conscious of her beauty, and she will usually be inattentive to her mind. Women possess stronger passions than men, less reason to govern them. FRIENDSHIP. Friendship is in every person's mouth-little understood, and less practised. A man frequently loses the affection of his friend, when he loses his property. Love is the attachment of bodies-friendship the union of souls. Confidence is the cement of friendship. PARTY SPIRIT. A party spirit in a small village, is the poison and curse of all social intercourse. Every social feeling, every generous emotion, every noble sentiment, is usually sacrificed on the altar of Party Spirit. In 1823, Bartlett delivered a voluntary Fourth of July oration in Boston, after which he recited a poem, entitled the New Vicar of Bray. Leaving Cambridge, Bartlett practised law and politics in Maine. He had before been in the Massachusetts House of Representatives, and was now elected to the Maine legislature. He was at this time a candidate for Congress, and nearly secured his election by his personal exertions as a speaker, and his political newspaper writings. He also practised law in Portsmouth, Mass., and finally settled down in Boston, a burden to his few friends in the last years of an improvident life. He died Oct. 27, 1827, at the age of sixtysix. Loring, in his Boston Orators, gives the following Epitaph, which Bartlett wrote on himself, and which he recited on his death-bed: "Tis done! the fatal stroke is given, Another stanza, which he is said to have recited while attending the funeral of John Hale, an estimable citizen of Portsmouth, exhibits, perhaps, feeling and compunction: God takes the good, Too good by far to stay And leaves the bad, Too bad to take away." JAMES KENT. JAMES KENT was born in the town of Fredericks, Putnam co., New York, July 31, 1763. His father was a lawyer by profession, and occssionally practised; but his main attention was devoted to his farm, a pleasantly situated estate on the banks of the Croton river. The beautiful scenes of this locality made a deep impression on the mind of the son; and years after, when the stream, like the boy who dwelt beside it, had become famous, it was his delight to stand at the window of his library and watch its waters leaping forth in the Union Park fountain before him. James Kent entered the Freshman Class of Yale College in 1777. His studies were inter * Loring's Hundred Boston Orators, p. 406. |