"At two o'clock in the evening, Oct. 19th, 1781, the British army, led by General O'Hara, marched out of its lines with colours cased, and drums beating a British march.

which he could reproach his brave and faithful army; why then not appear at its head in the day of misfortune, as he had always done in the day of triumph?

The British General in this instance, deviated from his usual line of conduct, dimming the splendour of his long and brilliant career.

It will be seen in the sequel, that O'Hara, and not Cornwallis, surrendered the British army to the Allied forces of France and America. In this affair, Lord Corn- Thus ended the important co-operation wallis seemed to have lost all his former of the allied forces. Great was the joy magnanimity and firmness of character-diffused throughout our infant empire." he sunk beneath the pressure of his misI cannot end this interesting detail as fortunes, and for a moment gave his soul up to chagrin and sorrow. recorded by Henry Lee, without giving you his panegyric on the Father of our country.

sion.

The road through which they marched was lined with spectators, French and American. On one side the commander in chief, surrounded by his suite and the "This wide acclaim of joy and of confiAmerican staffs, took his station; on the dence, as rare as sincere, sprung not on other side, opposite to him, was the County trom the conviction that our signal sucde Rochambeau, in like manner attended. cess would bring in its train, the blessings The captive army approached, moving of peace, so wanted by our wasted counslowly in column with grace and preci- try, and from the splendour with which it encircled our national name, but from Universal silence was observed amidst the endearing reflection that the mighty the vast concourse, and the utmost de- exploit had been achieved by our faithful, cency prevailed; exhibiting in demeanour beloved Washington. We had seen him an awful sense of the vicissitudes of human struggle throughout the war with inferiour life, mingled with commisseration for the force against the best troops of England, unhappy. The head of the column ap-assisted by her powerful navy; surroundproached the commander in chief. O'Ha-ed by difficulties, oppressed by want; ra, mistaking the circle, turned to that on never dismayed, never appalled, never his left, for the purpose of paying his re- despairing of the commonwealth. spects to the commander-in-chief, and We have seen him renouncing his fame requesting further orders; when quickly as a soldier, his safety as a man; in his discovering his error, with embarrassment in his countenance, he flew across the road, and advancing up to Washington, asked pardon for his mistake, apologized for the absence of Lord Cornwallis, and begged to know his further pleasure.

The General, feeling his embarrassment, relieved it by referring him, with much politeness, to General Lincoln, for his government. Returning to the head of the column, it again moved under the guidance of Lincoln to the field, selected for the conclusion of the ceremony.

Every eye was turned, searching for the British commander-in-chief, anxious to look at that man, heretofore so much their dread. All were disappointed.

unalloyed love of country, weakening his own immediate force to strengthen that of his lieutenants; submitting with unanimity' to his own consequent inability to act, and rejoicing in their triumphs, because best calculated to uphold the great cause entrusted to his care; at length by one great and final exploit under the benign influence of Providence, * lifted to the pinnacle of glory, the rewards of his toil, his sufferings, his patience, his heroism, and his virtue. Wonderful man! rendering it difficult by his conduct throughout life, to decide whether he most excelled in goodness, or in greatness."

* When I trace the heroes of seventyCornwallis held himself back from the six through all their countless difficulties humiliating scene; obeying sensations and hardships; when I behold all the danwhich his great character ought to have gers and plots which encompassed them, stifled. He had been unfortunate, not their "hair breadth escapes," and final glofrom any false step, or deficiency of exer-rious triumphs-I am as strongly imprestion on his part, but from the infatuated sed with the belief that our cause was policy of his superiour, and the united guided by Heaven, as that Moses and the power of his enemy, brought to bear up- Israelites, were directed by the finger of on him alone. There was nothing with God through the wilderness.

Poetical Department.

"COLUMBIAN MUSE, ADVANCE AND CLAIM THY RIGHT.

ORIGINAL.

[IT is with undissembled pleasure, that we again welcome "G." into our poetical columns. We like every thing that comes "from home;" and although, as the old adage goes-" Dear bought and far fetched, suits the ladies," we really admire the native productions of our native country and state. We owe it to this writer to state, that "Sympathy"-" Last Look," and "Despair," in our second number, although over different signatures, came from the same genius, (unknown to us,) who has offered the following poetical productions.] Ed.

FOR THE RURAL MAGAZINE.

THE POWER OF BEAUTY.

Whene'er on Beauty's cheek we see,
Soft Pity's gently falling tear,
How soon our calm sensations flee,
How soon our cheeks bedew'd appear

For beauty such an influence holds,
O'er minds of pure and tender frame-
As smiles or tears a charm unfolds-
Then our affections move the same.

The sweetest joys that cheer life's morn,
The youth, to beauty's blossom owes ;
The sunshine that his hopes adorn,
From this bright source of pleasure flows.

I would surrender all desires

That wealth, or power, or honour give,
For one calmn hour, when hope inspires-
In beauty's arms, I love-I live.

FOR THE RURAL MAGAZINE.

THE TEAR OF THE HEART.

How sweet is that pity, which tremblingly flows,
In tears, for the sorrows of neighbours or friends;
'Tis a tribute to Heaven which Virtue bestows,
As down the pale cheek the soft torrent descends,
And Charity breathes in the half-rising sigh;
With pity it swells in the soul to impart,
A Balm to the mourner, and tenderly dry
The tear of misfortune-the tear of the heart.

To steal from the world, and in solitude mourn,
O'er wretchedness, misery, want or despair;
And feel every fibre of tenderness torn,
For sorrow of others, in which we've no share-
Shews the dearest of love-a love for mankind,
In which interest, fancy, or pride bear no part;
'Tis the mark of a noble-a generous mind,
When the tear flows thro' pity-the tear of the heart.

G.

G.

[In the following production, "G." speaks the language of the pastoral poet. The editor has himself, "Rov'd on the banks of White River," and has felt the raptures which are so elegantly expressed by "G." This lucid stream and the enchanting scenery of the adjoining country, is well calculated to infuse into the mind, the "inspiration of poetry ;" and although but few can write poetry, (although many understand "the tintinabalum of rhyming,") it is thought all must be charmed by the following description.] Ed.

FOR THE RURAL MAGAZINE.

On the banks of White River, I pensively rov'd,
Till the stars mark'd the hour for retiring;
I gaz'd on the stream so serene-so belov'd,
While the scene my fond heart was inspiring-
I reclined my head at the foot of a pine,
And wish'd time could stop its swift motion--
So lovely the twilight--the calm so divine,
My heart was enwrapt in devotion.

The west glow'd in beauty, which fled by degrees,
Like life half extinguish'd and dying;

I rose to return to my home, as the breeze
'Thro' the branches above me was sighing;
When lo! from the east the fair shining moon,
To her throne of the night was arising;

I linger'd again, till she rode in her noon,
The darkness of midnight disguising.

Then a moment I paus'd, while I gaz'd on the stream,
As the moon-beams before me were playing:

How much sweeter thought I, would this loveliness seem,
Which God so divinely's arraying,

Was the friend which I love, and almost adore,

But with me to feel my emotion:

It would kindle a flame, where a spark shone before-
My whole soul would expand with devotion.

G.

[The following communication, with the signature of “Laurent,” we have just received. As this is the christian name of the amiable deaf and dumb French gentleman who has, under the direction of Mr. Gallaudet, assisted in establishing and conducting the "Deaf and Dumb Asylum" in this city, we suspect it may have come from

Vol. I.

18

1

him, or some of his friends. This induces us to give it a place not for any peculiar excellence it possesses; for "Friendship" has long since been as much exhausted by poetry, as it has by interest. Every body sings or says—

"Friendship to ev'ry willing mind,

Opens a heav'nly treasure;
There may the sons of sorrow find,
Sources of real pleasure."

And, as another poet says--"It follows wealth and fame, and leaves the wretch to weep." This reads well enough in poetry, and sounds well enough in music; but what is called Friendship, neither follows or leads any thing but passion and interest; and as to the "heavenly treasures" it "opens," it is much safer to rely upon a bountiful heaven, than upon capricious and avaricious man.] Ed.

S. PUTNAM WALDO, Esq.

SIR-The following original lines, (if you think worthy of notice) you may insert in your useful Magazine, and oblige

A SUBSCRIBER OF YOUR'S.

FRIENDSHIP.

FRIENDSHIP! the most delightful guest,

Which nature e'er bestows—

Where rays have warm'd the savage heart,
And check'd their hostile Bows.

When Friendship's wreath is knit together,
And naught but happiness claims ;
It's hard-hard, for it to sever,

So long as life remains.

LAURENT.

POSTSCRIPT TO THE MISCELLANEOUS
DEPARTMENT.

WADSWORTH'S WASHING MACHINE. | jenney, to the churn and the washOur inventive countrymen ing machine. And, although the have exercised their ingenuity, mobs of English manufacturers ' upon almost every object suscep- and labourers may demolish them. tible of improvement. They have as the means of depriving them invented or improved labour-sav- | of the privilege of working, the ing machines, from the spinning- ladies of Connecticut, at least, are