Fowle's New Hampshire Gazette And General Advertiser

From a late Irish Paper.

A few evenings since, Major Rogers, a Major in the American Service (who had the command of a small fort, in which one of the regiments not on duty here were prisoners during the war) went into Daley's chocolate house: as soon as he came in he observed five of the officers belonging to that regiment in the room, from whom, on account of the exceeding good treatment he had given these gentlemen during their captivity, he expected every politeness; but, alas! how soon do we forget our benefactors!—the Major, with his wonted complaisance, saluted them; one in a manner which would disgrace the gentleman, with an air of risible contempt, turned away his head, another smiled, and some began to whistle. The Major stood amazed, and was for some minutes motionless; at last he sternly looked at him whose ingratitude bore most forcibly on his mind, and asked him, "Do you not recollect me?" the officer carelessly answering in the negative, the Major (not to leave him or them in the smallest loop-hole) told his name; one of the officers then came up, and instead of thanking him for the kindness they so recently experienced, said—Sir, we suppose your business in this country is to draw that rebellious sword, which in your own you have but just sheathed. The Major discovering the baseness of men to whom he had endeavoured to afford every pleasure the time and his situation would admit of to render their captivity light, scornfully replied, gentlemen, I see you are, one and all, the most ungrateful set of beings existing: I came here not for the purpose of rebellion, nor was my sword ever the sword of rebellion, but the sword of liberty, and I sheathed it on the completion of it; but gentlemen, my word was to you a sword of mercy and protection, and since you are forgetful of it, mark me, for I cannot refrain telling you that this is my native country, and it would be my greatest bliss to see it rid of every enemy, foreign or domestic. At this one of the officers said—poh! poh! Sir, you mean to be insolent! Then the fire of indignation caught his aged breast;—he laid his hand on his sword, and said—ye young scoundrels, your insolence is as unbounded as your impudence is conspicuous—in the tented field it would be my pride to inflict on you the punishment you deserve; or, as a man, I should teach you the respect due to age, and how to treat a benefactor; and if you are gentlemen, DRAW:—The bucks slunk off.