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Read Ebook: The Rural Magazine and Literary Evening Fire-Side Vol. 1 No. 06 (1820) by Various
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Ebook has 124 lines and 16833 words, and 3 pages
In 1792, the small pox broke out among the soldiers at Fort Washington, and one third of the citizens and soldiers fell victims to its ravages.--
Since the above period, the western country has increased in a ratio "truly astonishing."
In 1810, the population of Cincinnati was estimated at 2300; in 1813, at about 4000; and in 1819, at more than 10,000; "an increase truly astonishing." The greatest part of the population are stated to be from the middle and northern states; but there is also a mixed assemblage of emigrants, "from almost every part of Christendom; and it is not uncommon to hear three or four different languages spoken in the streets at the same time."
In 1819, in Cincinnati, there were 1890 buildings, many of brick and stone, of two stories and upwards; 10 places of public worship, a college, five banks, court-house, jail, two market houses, several manufactories, &c.
Some of the religious societies were formed in Cincinnati, with only ten members; and all have been created within 16 years. There are also several Bible societies, Sabbath school societies, a medical society, humane society, &c.
About 60 steam-boats, from 25 to 700 tons, and many of them finished in a style of elegance and taste, are now in successful operation, and most of them have been built within two or three years.
There are three auctioneers in Cincinnati, 25 attorneys, 22 physicians, 3 companies of "Independent Military," handsomely uniformed, whose appearance is "nowise inferior to the Eastern Military."
Three newspapers are now printed at Cincinnati, all upon an imperial sheet.
It is estimated, that 120,000 bushels of salt are sold annually at Cincinnati, which at .50 amounts to 0,000. The various kinds of lumber sold are estimated at 0,000 a year.
We might enlarge these items, and several other articles worthy of record, but our limits will not permit.
THE ROBBER DISAPPOINTED.
As this story is somewhat wonderful, I enclose you my name as a voucher for the truth of it, and am yours, &c.
It is hoped and believed, that exertions to promote so excellent an object, will be aided with ample and willing patronage.
This truly laudable enterprise, as well as many others of a similar character, is most essentially indebted to the enlightened zeal, and public spirited benevolence of one of the Vice-Presidents, ROBERTS VAUX, Esq.--The justice of this small tribute to distinguished worth, although dictated by friendship, will be cheerfully acknowledged by his fellow citizens generally.
THE DEAF AND DUMB BOY!
When smiles play around thee, why sad and forlorn, Amid all the transports thy fellows enjoy; In life's cheerful morning what prompts thee to mourn?-- Alas! he is SILENT--poor sad-fated BOY!
When nature is robed in her mantle of green, And winter has fled with his vapours & snows, Every bough has its vocalist gladd'ning the scene, He naught of this soul-cheering melody knows!
His ear never welcom'd the music of sound, His tongue never utter'd the wonders of thought, His DUTIES and END wrapt in darkness profound, Have ne'er to this child of misfortune been taught.
Perchance ere the period when heart-rending woes, To a premature grave had a fond mother brought, As maternal affection more fervidly glows, When our path through existence with sorrows is fraught!
Life's gath'ring ills were dispell'd by her smiles, For love an inaudible language can speak; But bereft of that friend who all suffering beguiles, The tear of affliction now traces his cheek.
His wants disregarded, his wishes unknown, Yet generous bosoms with sympathy feel, When they make his condition--a moment their own, His eloquent, silent, resistless appeal.
Though drear be his prospects, we view with delight, His sorrowing features now bright'ning with joy, For Mercy descending in vesture of white, Will solace the SPEECHLESS AND DESTITUTE BOY.
TO THE EDITORS OF THE RURAL MAGAZINE.
The following is a copy of Verses which I took from a manuscript above forty years ago. I think them good, and as I have never seen them in any printed book, I infer they are very rarely to be met with.
From your friend and well-wisher,
C. E.
ON MAN'S DEPENDANCE ON HIS CREATOR.
Through all the various shifting scenes Of life's mistaken ill or good, The hand of God conducts, unseen, The beautiful vicissitude.
He portions with paternal care, Howe'er unjustly we complain, To each his necessary share Of joy and sorrow, health and pain.
Trust we to youth, or friends, or power, Fix we our foot on fortune's ball; When most secure, the coming hour, If he sees fit, can blast them all.
When lowest sunk with grief or shame, Gorged with affliction's deepest cup, Lost to relations, friends, or fame, His powerful hand can raise thee up.
Before his throne the poor, opprest With slanderous rage, acquitted stand; He guides the exile to his rest, And country, in a foreign land.
His powerful consolations cheer, His smiles erect the afflicted head; His hand can wipe away the tear That secret wets the widow'd bed.
All things on earth, and all in heaven, On his eternal will depend; And all for greater good were given, Would man pursue th' appointed end.
This be my care. To all beside, Indifferent let my wishes be; Passions be calm, and dumb be pride, And fix'd my soul, my God, on thee.
TO THE EDITORS OF THE RURAL MAGAZINE.
ODE TO IMAGINATION.
Oh thou! whose power inspires the minstrel's song. And pours the tide of tuneful verse along, Whose rapid wings through ether speed their flight, While earth extended lies beneath thy sight, Send one bright beam of that celestial blaze, That round thy brow in dazzling lustre plays, One ray, to gild the gloom of mental night, And burst its shroud with thy refulgent light!
But who can tell how wide thine influence reigns? The weary captive, bound in galling chains, Cheered by thy light, forgets his dungeon's gloom, And seems to gaze on Nature's vernal bloom, The leafy grove, the blue ethereal sky, The flowery field, delight his wondering eye, While Nature's music breathes its thrilling notes, And on his ear in melting softness floats.
Fair Queen of Visions! I invoke thine aid, Whose wondrous force, what strain has e'er display'd? For who can trace thy wild eccentric course, Or paint of mental light the lovely source? As well might Art with feeble skill essay To paint the warm enlivening orb of day, With mimic hues its sparkling beams to light, And pour its radiance on the aching sight!
E'en though I gained that mountain's fabled height, Where Music breathes the soul of warm delight, I'd ask not power thy wondrous might to sing, So far beyond my thought's sublimest spring, But send one beam of that celestial blaze, That round thy brow in dazzling lustre plays, One ray to gild the gloom of mental night, And burst its shroud with thy refulgent light.
AN INVOCATION TO POVERTY.
BY CHARLES JAMES FOX, ESQ.
Oh, Poverty! of pale, consumptive hue, If thou delight'st to haunt me still in view; If still thy presence must my steps attend, At least continue as thou art--my friend! Whene'er example bids me be unjust, False to my word--or faithless to my trust; Bid me the baneful error quickly see, And shun the world, to find repose in thee: When vice to wealth would turn my partial eye, Or interest shut my ear to sorrow's cry, Or courtiers' custom would my reason bend, My foe to flatter--or desert my friend; Oppose, kind Poverty, thy tempered shield, And bear me off unvanquished from the field. If giddy Fortune e'er return again, With all her idle, restless, wanton train; Her magic glass should false Ambition hold; Or Avarice bid me put my trust in gold; To my relief, thou virtuous goddess, haste, And with thee bring thy daughters ever chaste, Health! Liberty! and Wisdom! Sisters bright! Whose charms can make the worst condition light, Beneath the hardest fate the mind can cheer, Can heal Affliction, and disarm Despair! In chains, in torments, Pleasure can bequeath, And dress in smiles the tyrant hour of Death!
GLORY TO GOD.
To thee, PROTECTIVE God, I owe, All that I have, or hope, or know, Each ray of mind that seems to shine Is but a clouded gleam from thine.
The lust'red heavens present thy zone, The peopled earth thy living throne, The globe, which nature holds of thee, Is bound by thy infinity.
Poor, and unbless'd, not mine the power To shield from want one frugal hour, Yet from thy rich regard I drew, The bread of peace, and promise too.
PRAYER AND PRAISE TO GOD.
O Thou, who ere the lapse of time Wert glorious, with unfading prime. Enduring God! thy pity give To me who but a moment live.
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