50 ORIGINAL ANECDOTE OF GEN. WASHINGTON.

at the metropolis, before Robert Turner's great and famous house, where are built ships of considerable burden; they cart their goods from that wharf into the city of Philadelphia, under an arch, over which part of the street is built, which is called Chesnut-street.

"There are above thirty carts belonging to that city, four or five horses to each.

"All sorts of very good paper are made in the German town, as also very fine German linen, such as persons of quality ne d not be ashamed to wear.

"There are very fine and delightful gardens and orchards in most parts of this country, but Edward Shippey (who lives near the capital city) has an orchard and gardens adjoining to his house that equalizes (if not exceeds) any I have ever seen, having a very famous and pleasant summer house erected in the middle of his extraordinary fine and large garden."

I shall conclude with the following testimony in favour of the antiquity of canvass-back ducks:

"Here is curious diversion in hunting, fishing, and fowling, especially upon that great and famous river Suskahanah, which runs down quite through the heart of the country to Maryland, where it makes the head of Chesepeck bay, in which place there are an infinite number of sea and land fowl, of most sorts, viz. swans, ducks, teal (which two are the most grateful and delicious in the world) geese, divers," &c. &c.

Yours,

Q.

FOR THE PORT FOLIO.

GENERAL WASHINGTON AND FATHER THOMAS.

ONE summer's afternoon, during the war of the revolution, daddy Thomas (a name that will be familiarly recollected by the numerous visiters of that peaceful retreat called Bethlehem) the late bishop Ettwein, and a Mr. Von Schweinitz (one of the united bre-thren, who had married a daughter of count Zinzendorf) were

smoking their pipes at the old man's door (who then followed the trade of a joiner, in addition to his more ostensible occupation of conductor to the guests) when two officers on horseback, attended by a single servant, rode up the main street, toward the tavern. As they passed the door, or porch, where the brethren were sitting, daddy Thomas, in his working dress, jumped up and made a low bow to the principal personage; up-. on which the bishop asked him if he knew who that was? "No," savs he, humorously, "but I'm sure the tall gentleman looks as if he was somebody." They had no sooner alighted than young R-, son of the late governor R, who was then boarded at Bethlehem to learn Dutch, came running up to tell them that general Washington was come to town: he had seen him at his father's, in Philadelphia. The general would, otherwise, have passed through incog. having ordered his servant not to give his name at the inn. The bishop and his friend immediately walked over to pay their respects to the commander in chief, to whom the little fellow introduced them in due form, as soon as the general's fondness for his juvenile acquaintance would permit. The gentlemen begged his excellency to spend a few days with them, and repose himself, in their tranquil abode; but the reply was decisive: "I must go." The light horse had already been waiting for him some days at Easton. He pressed them to sit down and dine with him. They had been to dinner, and chose to withdraw till he had done. When the bishop returned he invited the general to stay all night, and he and Mr. Von Schweinitz would accompany him to Easton in the morning. "No, sir," said Washington, "you are a churchman, and I am a soldier; my early hours would not suit your habits. But, since it is known that I am here, I'll stay and visit the place, if you please." Daddy Thomas was now despatched to have all things in readiness; and when the general arrived at the church, he was received by the brethren and sisters, in full choir, with a pious anthem. He expressed himself highly gratified with the solemnity of their sacred music; and on visiting the brethrens' and sisters' houses, he commended their industry, economy, &c. in the strongest terms of approbation. On his return to the tavern,

and calling for his bill, he was told that the bill was paid, to which he made no reply. Next morning the bishop and his companion were at the door by four o'clock, and they attended the general to Easton, and from thence to their settlement at Hope, on the Delaware, where he, and his suite, were hospitably entertained by them for several days.

The above simple story will recommend itself to the feelings of every American, by its characteristic touches of the unassuming manners of our truly republican chief. It was taken down from the mouth of the well-known daddy Thomas, in the taproom, at Bethlehem, in the summer of the present year (1813.) It is merely stripped, by the narrator, of the broken English of a native of Wirtemberg, in the eighty-first year of his age, who has resided, for half a century, at the principal Moravian settlement in Pennsylvania, where the German language is still the vernacular tongue.

"Iff cheneral wass here now (said the good old man, in the simplicity of his heart) we wou't n't haf hat tiss trouple. But we haf no Washington more."

THE FEASTS OF THE POETS.

THE following very beautiful poem, after having circulated through this country for some time in manuscript, has been published in a more correct and authentic form in the Boston Messenger, a very able and spirited journal, of which a portion is regularly withdrawn from politics, and devoted to the interests of literature. Although the Feast of the Poets appears anonymously, yet it will be recognised on the slightest inspection as the work of an accomplished poet; and were we to hazard a conjecture as to the author, we should incline from internal evidence alone, to ascribe it to lord Byron. Besides the vigorous tone, and the boldness of touch which characterize equally this and his avowed productions, the total omission of his name among the poetical visiters of Apollo, as well as the general strain of the criticisms upon his contemporaries, warrant, we think, the supposition. If however, we err in this conjecture, we shall rejoice that England has another poet able to produce s delightful a model of composition.

T'OTHER day, as Apollo sat pitching his darts,

Through the clouds of November, by fits and by starts,

He began to consider how long it had been,
Since the bards of Old England a session had seen.
"I think," said the god, recollecting-and then
Fell twiddling a sun-beam, as I would my pen-

I think-yes it was-let me see—I declare,
As far back as the time of that Buckingham there,
And yet I can't see why I've been so remiss,
Unless it may be-and it certainly is,

That since Dryden's true English and Milton's sublime,
I have fairly been sick of their reason and rhyme.
There was Collins, 'tis true, had a good deal to say,
But the dog had no industry-neither had Gray;
And Thomson though best in his indolent fits,
Either slept himself stupid or bloated his wits;
But ever since Pope spoilt the ears of the town,
With his cuckoo song verses, one up and one down,
There has been such a prosing or rhyming by Jove,
I'd as soon have gone down to see Kemble in love:
However, of late, as they've rous'd them anew,
I'll e'en go and give them a lesson or two;

And as nothing's done now-a-days there without eating,
See how many souls I can muster worth treating.

So saying the god bade his horses walk for'ard,

And leaving them, took a long dive to the norʼard:
T'wards the Shakspeare he shot, and as nothing could hinder,
Caine smack on his legs through the drawing-room window,
And here I could tell, if it was not for stopping,
How all the town shook as his god-head went pop in;
How the poets' eyes sparkled, and brisk blew the airs,
And the laurels shot up in the gardens and squares.
But fancies so grave, though I've scores to supply me,
I'd better keep back for a poem I've by me,

And shall merely observe, that the girls look'd divine,
And the old folks within doors cried, bless us how fine!

Apollo no sooner had taken a chair,

And rung for the landlord to order the fare;

Than he hears a strange noise and a knock from without,
And bowing and scraping in came such a rout!

There was Reynolds, and Arnold, Hook, Dibdin, and Cherry,
All grinning as who should say shan't we be merry?
And mighty dull Cobb, lumb'ring just like a bear up,
And sweet Billy Dimond a putting his hair up.
The god for an instant sat fix'd as a stone,
But recov'ring, he said, in his good-natured tone,
Oh, the waiters, I see―ah, its all very well,
Only one of you'll do, just to answer the bell!
But Lord! to see all the great dramatists' faces,
They star'd at each other, and made such grimaces,
Then running about, left the room in vexation,

And one, I'm told, could'nt help mutt'ring-damnation!
'Twas lucky for Coleman, he was'nt there too,

For his tricks would have certainly met with their due,
And Sheridan also, that finish'd old tricker,

But one was in prison, and both were in liquor.

The god fell a laughing to see his mistake,

But stopp'd with a sigh, for poor Comedy's sake;

Then gave mine host orders, who bow'd to the floor,
And presented three cards that were brought to the door.
Apollo just gave them a glance with his eye,

Spenser, Rogers, Montgomery, and putting them by,
Begg'd the landlord to give his respects to all three,
And say, he'd be happy to see them at tea.
Your majesty, then, said the host, does not know,
That a person nam'd Crabbe has been waiting below,
He's been looking about him an hour, I dare say—
Indeed! said Apollo, oh pray let him stay,

He'll be much better pleased to be with you down stairs,
And will find you all out with your cooking and cares.
However, you'll treat him as well as you're able,
And let him have part of what goes from the table.

A hem was then heard consequential and snapping,
And a sour little gentleman walk'd with a rap in: