ry, was begun in 1771, and published || of the following year, excited some nomonthly, for a few months only, by John tice by the Rights of Man," written in Mac Gibbons. In January, 1775, was answer to Edmund Burke. This drew commenced the Pennsylvania Magazine, a prosecution upon him, and he fled to or American Monthly Museum, for which France, where he was chosen a memThomas Paine, author of Common Sense, ber of the National Assembly; but in was one of the principal writers. It was the time of Robespierre was thrown into published by Robert Aitken, upon whose prison, and narrowly escaped the guilloauthority Thomas has recorded a char- tine. During his imprisonment, which acteristic anecdote of the indolent pro- continued eleven months, he finished pensities of Paine. He had engaged to his infamous "Age of Reason." After furnish monthly, a certain quantity of his liberation, in November, 1794, he original matter for the Museum; but it wrote some political pamphlets, one of was often difficult to prevail on him to them a scandalous attack on the characcomply with his engagement. ter of General Washington. His politiIn one of these indolent fits, while the cal writings were exceedingly popular, press was waiting, Aitken went to his and beneficial to the American cause. lodgings, and complained of his neglect. He returned to America in 1802, and “You shall have matter in time," cool- || died June 8, 1809. His grave bas been ly answered the other; but the printer, outraged, and his bones have been reentertaining doubts, insisted on procee- moved across the Atlantic, for political ding immediately to business. Paine ac- purposes. It was no uncommon practice "cordingly went home with Aitken, and among the ancients, to exhibit the bleewas soon seated at a table, with writing ding and marred corpse of a favorite, to apparatus, and a decanter of brandy excite the popular fury, and it seldom "without which," says Aitken," he failed of success; but we question whethwould never write." The first glass er the same combustible tendency exput him in a strain of thinking; theists in the dry bones of a disorganizing printer feared the second would disqualify him, or render him untractable; but it only enlivened his mind; and when he had swallowed the third glass, bee the last. wrote with great rapidity, intelligence and precision; and his ideas appeared to flow faster than he could commit them to paper. What he penned from the inspiration of brandy, was perfectly fit for the press, without any alteration or correction. It may be presumed that his attacks on christianity were written under similar excitement. politician. The experiment, in the present instance, proved abortive. It is the first on record, and we trust that it may THE TATTLER. There is not a being that moves on the surface of the habitable globe, more degraded, or more contemptible, than a tattler. Vicious principles want of honesty, servile meanness, despical incidiousness form his character-Has he wit? In Paine was born at Thretford in Nor- atemping to display it, he makes himfolk, in the year 1737, where he receiv-self a fool. Has he friends? By unhesited a common English education, and was brought up to the business of his father, who was a stay-maker. By the advice of Franklin he came to America, and arrived in Philadelphia about the close of 1774. His pamphlet, entitled "Common Sense," which was written at the suggestion of Dr. Rush, appeared in January, 1776; and the legislature of Pennsylvania rewarded the author with 500 pounds. He also obtained a grant of land in the province of New York. In 1790 he went to London, and in March atingly disclosing their secrets, he will make them his most bitter enemies. By telling all he knows, he will soon discover to the world that he knew dut little. Does he envy an individual? His tongue, fruitful with falsehoods, defames his character. Does he covet the favour of any one? He attempts to gain it by slandering others. His approach is feared-his person hated-his company unsought-and his sentiments despised, as emanating from a heart, fruitful with guiie, teeming with iniquity, loaded with If he has never been run over, or conscious" envy, malice and revenge. Are there any parents, who wish a son of this des-ly in danger of it, he will peril his life in croscription? Let them encurage him in the beginning of his career. Listen to every tale he tells-declaim in his presence against the subject of it-condemn the slandered unheard-and if their desires are not gratified, it will prove an exception in the eommon course of nature. OBSERVATION. LONDON STREETS. BY J. B. VAN SHAICK. A mighty mass of brick, and smoke, and shipping, Dirty and dusky, but as wide as eye Could reach, with here and there a sail just skipping In sight, then lost amid the forestry On tip-toe through their sea-coal canopy, A huge dun cupola, like a fool's cap crown On a fool's head, and this is London town. Don Juan. When Dr. Kitchener concoctod his very excellent maxims for locomotion,' by some singular oversight he omitted giving particular instructions to facilitate the progress of the uninitiated thro' that uncompromising thing, a London crowd. The art of effecting a safe and tolerably rapid passage through human shoals, is no mean accomplishment in peripatetic navigation. A friend first called my attention to the theory of the thing, in some very laconic advice; Throw your shoulders forward, sink your polite habit of yielding to others, and wait for nobody-at your present rate, you will be two hours getting through Temple Bar.' He was right, and I experienced the benefit of "throwing my shoulders forward, dispensing with my politeness,' &c. ་ But on a first visit to a crowded street, the Strand and Fleet Street, for instance, it is almost impossible to keep the attention undistracted by the various objects around, instead of directing it to the important business of the moment, videlicet, a safe progress. Ever and anon, the hapless absentee is disagreeably aroused by a powerful collision with a chimney-sweep, a blind beggar or some equally unpleasant specimen of humanity. An incipient street-walker may proceed from Charing Cross to Ludgate-Hill, and see nothing but the shop windows on one side of the street. His most intimate friend may pass him unnoticed, and the most bewitching soubretle may trip by him unappreciated. He is liable to half an hour's embargo from a conglomeration of the lovers of the fine arts, collected at the window of a print-shop. Unskilled greenhorn! he could not go off the curb without muddying his trowsers, or brush through the throng without tearing off his vest buttons. sing the street by the ill-timed security of his faculties. If, fortunately, his perceptions have been awakened without mortal injury, he thenceforth flies across like a frightened maniac, darting uneasy glances at carts and coaches not within pistol-shot. I saw such a man once turn pale and tremble at being aroused from a reverie by an accidental touch on the shoulder from a plank carried by a porter. He, probably, for a moment, thought that it was either a 'bum bailey,' or an insult, and that he must go to jail or fight. It is a most unfortunate habit for a begin ner to walk, to fall into these fits of abstraction, which the mere consciousness of being in London is apt to induce. They are dangerous to Mr. John Raw, until he has acquired the art of locomotion on safe principles. An old stager may tickle his fancy, if he chooses, in building castles all the way from Bishopsgate to Holborn. He can indulge with ease and convenience. But nearly every body runs against a novice when under such hallucination, and almost all who do, observe his countenance lighted up with the complacent smile of some agreeable vision of broad day. The consequence is, that the canaille, having no sympathy with this sort of enjoyment, make no ceremony of cursing him heartily, for a rum one-not awake yet! An unitiated will traverse the business parts of the metropolis without raising his eyes above the level of the shop-windows, unless, perhaps, he went purposely to see St. Dunstan's strike. On the contrary, behold the experienced peripatetic; how delightfully he glides along; his practised and comprehensive eye takes in a thousand objects at a glance; his intense, but momentary stare, returns as much information to the head-quarters of his mind, as the contemplation of minutes would do for the green horn. In traversing either of the grand arteries of London, he will see a hun-. dred queer people, odd things, and often humorous little adventures, which would escape less experienced vision. Does he incline to stop? He fences himself in with a knowing adjustment of his umbrella or his cane in a noli me tangere style, most worthy of imitation. Is a street to be crossed? His rapid eye takes inventory of the impediments, and with a firm step, and not undignified haste, he traverses safely a Charybdis of carts and coaches, where an ignorant pilot would probably be wrecked. Such is the force of habit, that he may even harbor a reverie in the heart of the city. Though his mind should for a moment abandon the helm, his body sways with its accustomed skill, and his head would duck aside from intuition if approached by a threatening projection. Should he be on the look out for a friend? Not an individual can pass him unscrutinized, and he would detect the flap of a coat that he was acquainted with in the most crowded If you are to cross where there is a throng of vehicles, Fleet Market, for instance, or Ludgate Hill, take the opportunity when a great many are about doing so at the same time; for, though you will find plenty who would drive over a single individual, few have the hardihood to ride down half a dozen at once. Give a penny to a sweeper at a crossing, if you have it, but if you have it not, the best way is to cross rapidly without paying any attention to the claimant. 'Fine words butter no parsnips' with them, and they pursue a kind-hearted man with redoubled vehemence. part of the metropolis. Such is his habit of observation, that he could tell, if asked, the inscription on the pump in Cornhill in front of the Exchange, though he perhaps never stopped to read it all through at once. Everybody that has walked at all knows how multifarious are the impediments to a rapid and comfortable progress. Horrible, most horrible,' are the ills and disagreeable accidents which beset the path of the pedestrian in London. The disgusting importunity, and almost unquenchable zeal with which you are assaulted by the grimed and greasy' sweeper of a crossing, whom your most fervent protesta- The characteristic maxim of a Londoner tions cannot convince that you carry no cop- must be something like a translation of sauve per; the practical announcement of no tho- qui peut; for your real knowing one cannot roughfare,' from a long line of ten or twelve be decoyed into listening to shabby-genteel horses, with a coal wagon, which they drag beggars, with long rigmarole stories, who beset across your path from an archway, at the pace innocent strangers. The first symptoms of atof a wounded suake; detention, unavoidable tention is downright encouragement to vagranas it is annoying, by the 'jamque jamque ma- cy. Eschew it, therefore, and go on your way, gis cunctantem' of coaches and drays which asking nothing, and giving accordingly. Palchoke the streets, apparently masoned togeth-pable beggars you shun of course. er by the design and hearty good will of their respective drivers, and, like a new parliament, with a far-off prospect of their dissolution; the risk of being beheaded without a trial, by some reckless bearer of a beam, who approaches from behind, unconscious as he is careless of your danger-these are some of the less evitable perils which environ the lounger. To these, however, experience can be opposed with advantage; but as for the one hundred thousand transient persons,' I pity them. Ac cording to Mr. Leigh, there is always that number in London, most of them respectable 'walking gentlemen.' Poor devils! to be turned loose into the sluices of population, without proper rules of action' for their instruction. Permit us to give you a few hints. If you are walking east of Soho Square and Charing Cross, never lay to' from motives of courtesy or hnmanity to women or children. If you are a tall man, walk over them; if a short, force between. If a child gets between your legs, do not stop to let it disengage itself, but catch it up, and carry it to the next vacant shop-door or blind alley, where you can put it down without any diminution of speed. 6 Be not too ambitious of taking the wall; stick to the outside edge;' humility is often, like virtue, its own reward;' not but that you must have the faculty of twirling like a caterpillar; you might as well expect to go through the world without making enemies, as to go through the Strand in a right line. Learn to adjust your umbrella, your elbows, and the knuckle of your middle finger, so as to form a chevaux-de-frise for the protection of the rest of your person; one may then read nemo me impune in your face. If you come to a shoal at a print-shop window, and are doubtful of your physical powers to effect a passage, select some broad-shouldered pilot, and stick close in his wake, Avoid carefully the too violent exercise of being hustled in the street.' A safe place is a tradesman's shop; it is better always to resort to it upon the appearance of any commotion, even if it be at the expense of purchasing something you do not want. Taking a pinch of snuff, looking at your watch, using your handkerchief freely of a warm day, are luxurious habits, to be dispensed with as much as convenient, when walking east of Northumberland House. Piccadilly, except in the neighborhood of the White Horse Cellar, is a sort of debatable ground, where the rules are to be exercised a la discretion. But in Portland Place and Grosvenor Square, and such like streets, they are mostly unneces sary. Oxford Street, of a morning, is generally used by a tolerably genteel set of promenaders; but St. James's Street and Bond Street are ultra-tonnish, and the simple rule is to dress as fashionably, lock as dull, and behave as properly as you can, and then you will stand a very good chance of not being noticed. As for Thames Street, Fish Street Hill, Smithfield, Covent Garden, Billingsgate, Thornhaugh Street, and the like, if any curious American visits them, he must rely altogether upon the discretion of the moment for his propriety of proceeding. Our countrymen delight to see every thing in the way of queer sights, and with a knowing guide, they would explore London with high relish. I have seen them at the Cider Cellar, the Royal Saloon, and the Finish, but never heard of any who had pene trated to the Shilling Hotel in St. Giles, where the knives and forks are chained to the table, and clean straw and lodging-room may be had at two pence per night. MARCH OF INTELLECT.-Yesterday, two portly good humored dames were holding a public colloquy in Whipple street. One said A Mr. Brown, of Edinburgh, has satisfied himself that plants, wood, and even rocks, are composed of congeries of living atoms! "That man himself, the food he consumes, the clothes he wears, the buildings that shelter him, the air, perhaps, which he breathes, the dust that flies around his head, the solid earth that lies under his feet; with all the plants and animals it nourishes, are but so many groups or masses of animated beings; that matter, so far from being inert or dead, is pregnant with unextinguishable life in all its forms; that the whole globe, in short, is literally alive." The time we live ought not to be computed by the number of years, but by the use that has been made of it.-Addison. WORCESTER, SATURDAY, FEB. 7, 1829. We deem it an unpleasant and thankless task to criticise new publications—one in which it is difficult to please even a part of the reading community, for no one pretends to please all. The idea of Sterne, upon a good natured reader, is strongly expressive of that kind of satisfaction which many take in carping at the productions of the author they are reading. "I would go fifty miles on foot, to kiss the hand of that man, whose generous heart will give up the reins of his imagination into his author's hands, be pleased, he knows not why, and cares not wherefore," says he, and it is a remark worthy to be kept in remembrance by all who read for amusement.These remarks premised, will save us a long detail of reasons, &c. for liking some of the works recently published, and disliking oth Cupid and Hymen drive bargains with such rapidity at Gloucester, Mass. that rent has has risen from 6 to 10 per cent. Elsie Whipple, whose husband was shot in Albany two or three years since by Strang, her paramour, and who came near being hung with him, was recently married in New Brunswick, N. J. to a Mr. Nathaniel Freeman.They were once school-mates in that place. Some of the wags attribute the accident which befel Don Miguel to his having taken Madeira. A human skeleton, supposed to be an Indian has been found in Haverhill, Mass. in a garden on the bank of the Merrimack, a quarter of a mile west of Haverhill Bridge. The Essex Gazette thinks it has seen there 200 years -it was found in a gully, washed out by the late heavy rains. Six manufacturing companies were incorporated by the last legislature of North Caroli POETRY. THERE'S JOY WHEN THE ROSY MORNING. BY SUSANNA STRICKLAND. There's joy when the rosy morning floods The purple east with light; When the zephyr sweeps from a thousand buds The pearly tears of night: There's joy when the lark exulting springs To pour his matiu lay, From the blossomed thorn when the blackbird sings, And the merry month is May. There's joy abroad when the wintry snow When the floating clouds reflect the light There's joy in April's balmy showers, There's joy when the pale, pale moon comes out, With all her starry train When the woods return the reaper's shout, There's joy in childhood's silvery voice, When the laugh rings blithe and clear, And the sounds that bid young hearts rejoice, Are music to the ear: There's joy in the sweet romance of youth, To mar the soul's repose. There's joy in the youthful lover's breast, There's joy-above-around-beneath- The world's stern strife, the hand of death, But there's a deeper joy than earth THE SPIRIT'S LAND. The Spirit's land-where is that land, |