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For as with gentle winds still waters curl, So fades at sorrow's touch young beauty's bloom

Thou art too pure and fair for this cold earth, A thing too guiltless long to dwell below, Thy voice has lost its cadences of mirth,

The glory has departed from thy browAnd youth's pure bloom has left thy virgin heart,

And beauty like a phantom will depart.

I would that thou wert dead, for life to thee Is as a broken reed-a wither'd flower; Dark shadows rest upon thy destiny,

And storms of fate around thy fortunes low

er-

Wedded to one thy bosom cannot love,

Banished from him thine every thought employs,

Thou art in heart a bruised and wounded dove,
And earth to thee can yield no future joys,
Wearily passes life and time with thee,
A dusky shadow dims thy destiny.

I would that thou wert dead, devoted one,
And thy bright spirit disenthrall'd of clay;
E'en as the dew-drop wastes beneath the sun,
Thus by disease thy being wastes away-
Oh, who that knew thee when thou wert a
child,

With a glad voice and heaven unfolding

eye,

A creature as the snow flake undefiled,

With a bright lip and cheek of rosy dye, Oh, who that knew thee then,can see thee now Nor wonder for the beauty of thy brow.

I would that thou wert dead, and sanctified

Thy spirit with high elements is fraught, And that which scorn and cruelty defied, The lingering stealth of pale disease has wrought

Yes death is near thee now, sweet Genevieve,

And thou shall haste to meet him with a smile;

It is in vain thy gentle sisters grieve,

Thy soul shall soon flee by each starry isle, That glitters brightly through the calm blue skies,

Like white lids lifted from pure spirits' eyes.

Thou soon shalt die, sweet martyr, and the earth

Will nurture gentle flowers above thy grave,' Sweet emblems of thy being and thy birth, With cypress leaves around thy tomb shall

wave

And when the pensive stranger wanders nigh
His lips shall waft a tributary prayer,
For her who soon shalt prematurely die,
For her whose seraph form shall moulder

there

Farewell, sweet Genevieve-'tis sad to part, Farewell, thy beauty shrouds a breaking

heart.

Philad. Monthly Magazine.

THE LATE MATURIN.-A gentleman once called on this eccentric but talented divine, who found him in his study, perusing the let ters of his literary correspondents. The perusal of letters from our absent and deceased friends," said Maturin, "often creates reflections that are painful to memory and friendship. I seldom in my life felt more gloomy thau at this moment." "Engaged as you ap pear to be," replied his friend; "tis natural that a number of recollections should revive in your mind, but I trust they are associated with no bitter or painful reflections ?"-" I have more to complain of than the degeneracy of friendship. Do I not," continued the dramatist, "look more gloomy than usual?”— "I must confess you do," replied the visitor, "but I hope you have no serious reason for appearing so?" "I have many reasons to appear gloomy, nay, more, to be discontented, when I reflect, that, as curate of St. Peter's, I have only a hundred and thirty pounds a year, while the bishop's cook is allowed a hundred and fifty."

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A GOOD HEART.--A good heart feels for the misfortunes of others, and commiserates all those, whom inability prevents him from assisting. He, who possesses a good heart, puts the best face upon little errors, and is ingenious in concealing the defects of mankind. He considers the defects of his neighbor as a persuade himself, that misery is a sacred thing. letter of recommendation, and endeavors to If his eyes be shut to the weaknesses of others, his ears are also deaf to the malevolent insinuations of evil minds. His tongue moves only in the praises of every one, and he is mute when called upon to support the maledictions of others. He endeavors to promote universal felicity, and sincerely rejoices when he has it in his power to extend it. It is with grief he sees differences among friends, and he spares neither time nor pains to bring them to a right understanding of each other.

WORCESTER TALISMAN. Published every other Saturday morning, by DORR & HOWLAND, Worcester, (Mass.) at $1 a year, payable in advance.

Agents paying five dollars will be entitled to receive SIX copies.

Letters, intended for THE TALISMAN, must be post paid to insure attention.

GRIFFIN AND MORRILL....PRINTERS.

THE

Worcester Talisman.

NO. 21.

ORIGINAL.

FOR THE TALISMAN.

JANUARY 10, 1829.

Instead of the multitude of Novels which young persons are suffered to read, I would recommend history, biography, books of travels and voyages. The study of history is generally very interesting, and by a judicious system of reading it may be rendered of great advantage. History spreads before us the actions of distinguished men, the origin, rise and progress of nations, the peculiar traits and circumstances of each age, as well as the principal events. To those who are preparing for a public life it is of essential use, because they can here trace those minute causes which have given the first impulse to the great undertakings, both of men and nations. The experience of all ages and of all nations is collected and spread before the inquiring eye on the page of history. It is a matter of no small curiosity, to trace the progress of the human mind from its first faint dawning of reason, step by step, through the various stages of science to the finished education; and it is a subject of as great interest to read the progress of nations and countries through the past ages, to see how slowly they have advanced to their présent perfection in arts and sciences. Mankind are naturally emulous and ambitious, and we all, after having read the life of any distinguished person feel a desire of rivalling their good deeds and avoiding their bad. Far better were it for a person to confine himself to the plain sober facts recorded in history, and the lives of eminent individuals, than to wander through the flowery pages of fiction. The consciousness which a person feels that the greater part, if not all, that is told in biography and history is correct, would more than balance the pleasure of reading the highest wrought scene of fiction.

FOR THE TALISMAN.

There is an untiring propensity to action in the human mind, implanted by the God of Nature, that continually excites us to be busy in some employment or other. This propensity of the mind, properly guided, makes the learned man, and the virtuous and moral; it forms the warrior as well as the artisan; and, if entrusted to the guidance of chance or accident, it alike makes the pickpocket, the

VOL. I

rogue and the villain. How necessary is it therefore, that the youthful mind, while it is yet pure and unpolluted by the contaminating influence of vicious examples, should be properly directed; that the principles of right and wrong should be deeply and firmly inculcated. To the want of this early attention to the morals of children may be traced most, if not all those offences and crimes that fill our prisons with the violators of the laws of God and man. The education of a child may be commenced at a much earlier period than is generally supposed. Scarcely does the child begin to lisp its first words ere its mind is capable of some instruction "just as the twig is bent the tree's inclined." As he grows older, and his strength of mind increases, the quantity and quality of instuction should also be increased.

The mind should not be suffered to lie idle, waste and desolate for want of instructions for months and years, when it is capable of receiving and retaining much. I would not be thought to convey the absurd idea that books may be used as soon as a child can utter half-formed words; no, far be it from me to advance such an idea. It is at this tender period that the mother's influence and example,and her instructions by mouth avail more than would a host of masters and their books. Early instruction to a child will save to parents much trouble when he is older. If we wish to train a plant to a particular shape, or to grow in a given direction, we commence the training of it at as early an age as possible, and while it is yet tender and pliant. It is so with the human mind, a child may be trained to virtue and wisdom, or may be suffered to run waste and follow every vicious example he pleases. It is education, not genius, that makes the man of worth.

SELECTED.

NOVEL READING.
Extract from Pelham.

"Ma foi," cried Mons. de G., (who was a little writer, and a great reader of romances) "why you would not deprive us of the politer literature, you would not bid us shut up our novels and burn our theatres." "Certainly not!" replied Vincent; "and it is in this particular, that I differ from certain modern phi

losophers of our own country, for whom, for the most part, I entertain the highest veneration. I would not deprive life of a single grace, or a single enjoyment, but I would counteract whatever is pernicious in whatever is elegant; if among my flowers there is a snake, I would not root up my flowers, I would kill the snake. Thus, who are they that derive from fiction and literature a prejudicial effect? We have seen already-the light and superficial; but who are they that derive profit from them? They who enjoy well regulated and discerning minds: Who pleasure? all mankind! Would it not therefore be better, instead of depriving some of profit, and all of pleasure, by banishing poetry and fiction from our Utopia, to correct the minds which find evil, where, if they were properly insructed, they would find good!

Whether we agree with Helvetius, that all men are born with an equal capacity of improvement, or merely go the length with all other metaphysicians, that education can improve the human mind to an extent yet incalculable, it must be quite clear, that we can give sound views instead of fallacious, and make common truths as easy to discern and adopt as common errors. But if we effect this, which we all allow is so easy, with our children; if we strengthen their minds instead of weakening them, and clear their vision, rather than confuse it, from that moment, we remove the prejudicial effects of fiction, and just as we have taught them to use a knife, without cutting their fingers, we teach them to make use of fiction without perverting it to their prejudice. Common sense is all that is necessary to distinguish what is good and evil, whether it be in life or in books: but then your education must not be that of public teaching and private fooling: you must not counteract the effects of common sense by instilling prejudice, or encouraging weakness; your education may not be carried to the utmost goal: but as far as it does go you must see that the road is clear. Now, for instance, with regard to fiction, you must not first, as is done in all modern education, admit the disease, and then dose with warm water to expel it; you must not put fiction into your child's hands, and not give him a single principle to guide his judgment respecting it, till his mind has got wedded to the poison, and too weak, by long use, to digest the antidote. No first fortify his intellect by reason, and you may then please his fancy by fiction. Do not excite his imagination with love and glory, till you can instruct his judgment as to what love and glory are. Teach him, in short, to reflect, before you permit him full indulgence to imagine.

If we are wise, we may thank ourselves; if we are great we must thank fortune.

What a rare gift, by the by, is that of manners! how difficult to define--how much more

difficult to impart! Better for, a man to possess them, than wealth, beauty, or talent; they will more than supply all. No attention is too minute, no labor too exaggerated, which tends to perfect them. He who enjoys their advantages in the highest degree, viz., he who can please, penetrate, persuade, as the || object may require, possesses the subtlest secret of the diplomatist and the statesman, and wants nothing but opportunity to become "great."--Pelham.

Our neighbors of his majesty's province of New Brunswick, have viewed the newspaper warfare upon the late Presidential question in quite a different light from those engaged in the contention. It would seem that it has afforded them some amusement, at least, we judge so, from the tenor of the following remarks, copied from "The Weekly Observer:"

"When the Presidential question was set at rest, we began to feel something like sympathy for our contemporaries on the other side of the Lines, thinking that they would be sadly in want of materials for their pages which had been for so long a time almost wholly occupied with matter relating to that great national question. We observe, however, that in one shape or another it still makes its appearance. It may soon be said of some Editors, that "thrice they slew the slain." Others are engaged in endeavoring to justify their conduct in taking a certain side in the late grand controversy, and reprobating those who were opposed to them. A third party are full of speculations as to the probable character and results of the new Administration. And it will not surprise us to witness the subject of the next President brought upon the tapis, at no distant period, there being no way of getting along without the aid of that paramount theme of polemical disquisition. It is in fact, kept, as sportsmen keep a bagged fox, to let loose whenever they want a run. Much good may it do them! We thank our stars that our resources are of a more abundant and less exceptionable character.

NARRATIVE OF A CONVICT.

The following Narrative was given by Thomas Williams, of Bampton, who was apprehended for being at large in the country, after having been transported to New South Wales, but who produced his discharge and pardon. "November, 1826.

"I was sentenced to transportation for life having been convicted of a capital felony (sheep stealing,) at the Taunton Assizes, in 1825. I sailed for New South Wales in the Medway transport, Captain Wright, and upon my arrival at Sydney, as I had been all my life employed in the farming business, I was sent about forty miles up the country, to take

charge of about fifteen hundred sheep, belong-|| diers, and eight of them out of the ten were ing to a gentleman, who was a magistrate, of the name of Lawrence.

"Just before I arrived, great depredation had been committed by some runaway convicts, who had formed themselves into a gang of ten men; they were the terror of the countrythey were armed with muskets, pistols, and swords, and made no scruple, if the least resistance was offered to their plunder to murder a whole family. A proclamation had been issued by the Governor, offering a reward of one hundred guineas, and a free pardon, to any convict who assisted or was instrumental in taking either of these men, dead or alive; and my master had told me to keep a good look out for them, because my situation was near their haunts.

either killed or taken prisoners. The other two escaped by swimming, but lost their firearms. My fellow-servant, who gave the information, received the hundred guineas and his free pardon.-About a fortnight after this, I was one morning surprised by the appearance of a man, who came creeping cautiously out of the wood near my hut. When he saw me, he asked me, in a most submissive manner if I would give him something to eat, as he was very hungry, and had not had any food for two days. I did not immediately recognize him as one of the bush-rangers, as he was so much altered, but I told him I would give him some meat, if he would go with me into my hut; this he refused to do, and I went and brought him some mutton from my hut. After he had the meat, he asked me if I knew the names of the bushmen who had been taken. I said I did not know

came out of the wood, and met Cody. Being then two to one, their conduct was quite changed. Donne had a pistol and a sword they ordered me to give them what mutton I had killed, and I was obliged to comply. They then said they should call on me again on the following day, and told me to kill a sheep to have ready for them when they came, As there were several detachments of military upon the look out for these men, I went in the evening in search of them, but I could not find them.

"The place to which I was sent to live was the most lonely and dismal one I ever saw in my life. I lived in a rude hut, almost in the midst of a wood, and without a chance of see-the names of those who had been taken, but ing a fellow creature for weeks together. 1 that the two men who had escaped were calhad my allowance of flour, tea, and other com- led Richard Donne and Michael Cody. The mon necessaries sent to me once a month-all man said, my name is Michael Cody-have the animal food I had was mutton, which I you seen any thing of Donne? I said I had killed as I wanted it; I had no other instru- not; but very soon afterwards, whilst Cody ment of defence than a hook. In this lonely and I were talking, we heard a whistle; upon state I used to think upon my wife and chil-which Cody started and said, that is Donne's dren in England, until I was almost mad-whistle, and he returned it, when Donne death itself would have been welcome to me; and I determined to risk myself in endeavouring to take one of these bush-rangers,' whenever I could get an opportunity. In the season of sheep-sheering the shepherds were collected together from their different stations, and travelled from one flock of sheep to another to shear them. About two months after my being upon my station, the sheep-shearing took place, and six other men with me went to shear the different flocks. As we were returning, we met by accident with the bushrangers, and never did I see such a set of terrible fellows: they were all armed with guns and pistols, and as soon as they saw us they said we must go to a neighbouring farm with them, which they forced us to do. The farm-he expected him every minute, as he had fixer and his son and children were obliged to ed to meet him there. In the mean time Cogive up all they possessed to these devils, who dy desired me to get ready some mutton chops. kicked and drove them about in search of what I had made up my mind, as I said before, to they wanted, and threatened to shoot the far-risk my life to get my liberty. When I first mer if he murmured at what they did. They ate and drank and carried away whatever they liked. After we had left this farm they let us go our way again, but told us if ever we mentioned that we had seen them, or gave any information about them, they would surely kill us. I had an opportunity of knowing them well during this meeting, and could have indentified either of them again.

"On the following day the bush-rangers did not come according to their appointment, but the day after Michael Cody came alone. He asked me if I had seen Donne; he said

saw Cody, I resolved to make an attempt to take him, though he was a much stronger man than I am. I now began to think that this, perhaps was the only opportunity I might have-but still Donne might come to his assistance; and then I knew that my life was gone. However, I now thought upon my wife and children in England, and I made up my mind. When Cody there desired me to make "A few days after this, one of my compan- up a fire to fry his mutton chops, I went out ions, who lived near a station where some for some wood and brought in with it a strong military were quartered,gave information of his cord which I threw down carelessly on the having seen the men; and, in consequence of floor. Cody waited a long time for his comsuch information, the bush-rangers were sur-panion, but he did not come-the chops were prised on the banks of a river, where they were resting themselves, by a party of sol

ready, and I placed them before Cody and he began his meal. He asked me to put a kettle

ly apparelled "for it was a plain cloth suit, which seemed to have been made by an ill country tailor. His linen was plain, and I remember a speck or two of blood upon his lit. tle band, which was not much larger than his collar; his hat was without a hatband, his stature was of a good size, his sword stuck close to his side, his countenance was swollen and reddish, his voice sharp and untunable, and his eloquence full of fervour. Yet I liv

of water on the fire to make him some tea. When the tea-kettle boiled I was at some distance from it, and Cody being nearer I desired him to take it off the fire. He rose from his seat and stooped to take off the kettle-as be was in the act of doing so, I came suddenly behind him and struck him with my fist with all my force behind the ear-he fell forward with his head against the rough stones of the wall of my hut, and I got upon him and struck him three or four blows upon the head. Weed," he adds, "to see this very gentleman— struggled a long time together, and once I really thought he would have mastered me, but at length got the better of him. I got my cord and bound his hands behind him, and his feet tied to his hande. My greatest fear had been all through the struggle that Donne might arrive, and then I knew that my doom would have been settled.

"I never felt myself so free as when I found myself in the open country on my way to a farmer's house, about five or six miles distant, where I knew I could gain assistance, for there were four or five able-bodied men, who had fire-arms. I soon got there, and three of them took their arms and came back with me. We found Cody still lying on the floor-he had|| bled a great deal from the wound be received in his forehead when I first struck him, but he would soon have gained his liberty if we had not come. He was now secured and taken away to the military station-tried, convicted and executed.

"It was said that these bush-rangers had murdered upwards of one hundred and fifty innocent people, besides plundering, burning, and destroying property to an immense amount. I received from the Government one hundred guineas and my free pardon, and I returned to England in the same ship that took me out. If I had remained in New South Wales I might have had a large allotment of land, and I could have reaped much greater advantage from the exploit than I did. Cody had been distinguished as the most daring as well as the most cruel of all these outlaws, and his name was a terror to all the country settlers. He had been the leader of the gang, and if he had not been taken there is no doubt he would have formed another party. The inhabitants, therefore, would have rewarded me liberally if I had applied to them, but I thought of my home, and I was in a great haste to see it again."

The above account conveys a very inadequate idea of the story as told by Williams. He is a fine athletic man, about forty, very intelligent and clear in his description, and there is a determination and earnestness in his manner of telling his story and fighting the outlaw over again, that carries conviction with it that he is relating nothing but what is perfectly true. J. W.

DESCRIPTION OF THE PERSON AND HABITS OF CROMWELL.-Sir Philip Warwick describes Cromwell in his house as being very ordinari

whom out of no ill will to him, I thus describe ||—by multiplied good successes, and by real though usurped power, having had a better tailor, and more converse with good company, in my own age, when, for six week's together I was a prisoner in his sergeant's hands, and daily waited at Whitehall, appear of a majes tic deportment and comely appearance. Even, however, during his most humble state, the eyes of the discerning discovered a promise of his future exaltation. Hampden said to Lord Digby-' that sloven will be the greatest man in England.'-"The following is Wellwood's character of Cromwell:-" He had a manly, stern look, and was of an active healthful constitution, able to endure the greatest toil and fatigue. Though brave in his person, yet he was wary in his conduct, for, from the time he was first declared Protector, he always wore a coat of mail under his clothes. His conversation among his friends was very diverting and familiar, but in public reserved and grave.He was sparing in his diet, though sometimes would drink freely, though seldom to excess. He was moderate in all other pleasures, and for what was visible, free from immoralities, especially after he came to make a figure in the world. He writ a tolerable good hand, and style becoming a gentleman; except when he had a mind to wheedle under the mask of religion, which he knew how to do when his affairs required it. He affected for the most part a plainness in his clothes; but in them, as well as in his guards and attendance, he appeared with magnificence and pomp upon public occasions. No man was ever better served, nor took more pains to be so. As he was severe to his enemies, so was he beneficent and kind to his friends. And if he came to hear of a man fit for his purpose, though ever so obscure, he sent for him and employed him; suiting the employment to the person, and not the person to the employment. And upon this maxim in his government, depended in a great measure his success."

TOO HANDSOME FOR ANY THING.

"Mr. Ferdinand Fitzroy was one of those models of perfection of which a human father and mother can produce but a single example -Mr. Ferdinand Fitzroy was therefore an only son. He was such an amazing favorite with both his parents, that they resolved to ruin him; accordingly, he was exceedingly spoiled, never annoyed by the sight of a book,

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