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and his life upon a single throw? If Pinckney had been supported we should not have incurred this hazardous we should have had several votes to spare, and President Adams would have been Vice-President. Thus we should have excluded Jefferson and combined the talents and virtues of two distinguished northern and southern federalists; although from our personal acquaintance and local attachment, we may greatly prefer Mr. Adams, can any candid man deny that this would have been the safest, most honest, and most prudent part? Suppose Jefferson who had only two votes less than Adams, had succeeded, what would the southern federalists have said to us? "They might have charged us with deserting the cause to secure the election of a northern man. If you had joined us. the federal constitution would have been safe; now it is in the hands of the Machiavellian philosopher who is resolved to break its "Lilliputian ties." But tho' these might have been Hamilton's ideas, it is notoriously untrue, that he opposed Mr. Adams , If he had any influence any where it was in New York, and yet all the federal voters in New York were for Adams at the last choice ; and it is well known that Col. M-n, an able and virtuous federalist in New York assured his relation in this town and a friend of the President's. that Hamilton exerted his influence for the New-York list of Electors who voted for Adams.

If such were the dangers to which a division exposed the federalists at the last election, what must be their situation at the ensuing one if a like dissension should take place. Then we had 12 votes from New York, and succeeded by a majority of one only ; now we shall lose all the votes of that state, and no man without a spirit of divination can tell where we shall acquire any accession.

Is Gen. Hamilton then to be stigmatized as the enemy of Mr. Adams, the friend of royalty, a partizan of Britain, an ambitious intriguer, because he would honestly support two federal candidates, Adams and Pinckney? a mode by which, if the confidence in the President is not diminished, we shall gain his election. and secure that important point of a federal Vice-President.

I Shall consider Gen. Hamilton's great and distinguished service hereafter..

"NO JEALOUS RIVAL"

From the Connecticut Courant.

TWILIGHT MUSINGS.

Full many a flower is born to blush unseen,
And waste its sweetness on the desert air.

GRAY

AT length I've reach'd my custom'd walk.
How still,
Save when the evening breeze, in passing sighs
Make sacred murmurs in the mountain tops,
Curling the stream below! Thou nameless rill,
Roll on thy unseen wave, till thou art lost
In the vast mass of waters! Though the spring.
With dewy fingers, decks thy fairy brink,
With nodding violets, and the lonely roe;
Though oft, oh willows bending, o'er thy stream,
As they would see their images below,
The solitary red bird, and the thrush,
Slow winging to the breeze, in wild accord,
Disburthen their full souls of sweetest song ;
Thou'rt nameless still, and to the world unknown.

Perhaps some wandering, melancholy man,
Stung with the memory of a grievous wrong,
Will sit upon thy bank, and hold his eyes
Fast fixt upon thy stream, that steals away
Without a murmur Or, perhaps some swain
Of tender years that loves the woods to rove,
Sighing and musing, as he wends along
Or gains, with restless foot, the mountain's top,
And, while he gazes, on all the scene below,
A wishful look. feels. in his labouring breast,
The budding germ of thought, yet immature,
And oft attempts the inexpressible strain
Of future song —will muse along thy bank.
And feel his soul touch'd by the goodly sights,
And mellow sounds, that cheer thy lonely course.

How like thine unseen life, O Bruce, nature's
loved child !
Even in thy prime, she drew her veil aside,
And sweetly smiled upon thy ardent gaze;
Taught thee her language bade thee tune thy
lyre
To notes of wildest minstrelsy- , But soon,
Like that frail flower thy youthful hand had rear'd
And taught to creep, in many a winding bout,
Thick o'er thy latticed cot, thy bloom decay'd,
Yet, ere the hand of death had cut thee down,
Thou sung'st, like dying swans, thine own farewell

Sleep on, blest Bard! The long last night will end.
And morn will come, in Heaven's own splendours drest.

Sleep on, blest Bard! The village Swains shall come,
That erst did listen to thy melting strains,
And cheer thy lonely grave, with earliest flowers:
Shall plant the ranger here; and, pensive, say,
"OUR MINSTREL SLEEPS BENEATH THIS RANKLING GRASS"

* Michael Bruce, a Caledonian of high
poetic powers, who died of a consumption,
at the age of twenty one.

He wrote a poem in expectation of his
own death

(See an Extract from the poem, in the
Mirror No. 36.)