Class_~&&3_3_L 
 
 Book AlJLhj 
 
THE 
 
 A DIALOGUE, 
 
 *» 
 
 BETWEEN 
 
 HENRY — an intended emigrant. 
 MARY — his wife. 
 HEZEKIAH— his father. 
 
 HEPZIBAH— HIS MOTHER. 
 
 GEORGE— his son. 
 
 ALSO— 
 
 A SONG, 
 
 For the Anniversary of the Connecticut Agricultural 
 
 Societies, Cattle Shotos, Fairs, and Exhibitions 
 
 of Domestic Manufactures, 
 
 for 1822. 
 
 With all thy faults I love thee still" — Connecticut. 
 
 Speed to the Plough, the Wheel, the Shuttle and the 
 Hammer." 
 
 BY A DESCENDANT OF THE CONNECTICUT 
 PILGRIMS. 
 
 HARTFORD: 
 
 PRINTED FOR THE PURCHASERS. 
 
 1322, 
 
 UM ij 
 
CONNECTICUT EMIGRANT 
 
 A DIALOGUE, &c. 
 
 -+- 111 
 
 HENRY. 
 
 Come, Mary, we've six children now, 
 Dear pledges of our marriage vow, 
 
 As they are ours' we must be theirs". 
 
 And '* manage well our own affairs 
 
 In our own way." I think I'll show. 
 What's best for all of us to do. 
 
 Our neighbor Charles, some years ago, 
 
 Steer'd for the West, as well you know, 
 
 He "took up" farms and lands around. 
 
 No matter where they lay or bound, 
 
 Since he ha* got them, and can tell. 
 
 To those, to whom he wants to sell, 
 
 He's sold to many of our friends, 
 
 And still assistance freely lends, 
 
 To those who wish to emigrate, 
 
 To "try their fortune,'''' or their fate. 
 
 Could you but only take a walk 
 
 With Charles, and hear him "tell and talk" 
 
 About new countries, vales and rivers, 
 
 About the Indians'* bows and quivers, 
 
 About wigwams and Indian corn, 
 
 The largest since the world was born, 
 About mill-seats where saw-mills run, 
 
 And turn out lumber, all for fun ; 
 
 About wild Turkies, Wolves, and Bears, j 
 
 And Buffaloes as big as mares, \ 
 
 Polecats, Woodchucks, Minks and Hares, } 
 
 About the Pot. and the Pearl-ashes, 
 
 With which the Speculator dashes — 
 
 How folks there live just as they please, 
 
 While some cut down, some haul the trees ; 
 
 Some build log huts, of boss and oak* 
 
 With notch in roof, to let through smoke, 
 
 With here and there, a hole about, 
 
 To let wind in and let heads out. 
 
 With table made of logs well split, 
 
 As good as*cherry ev'ry bit. 
 
 With chetzrs made quick of shingle bolts, 
 

 3 
 
 To hold the children — strong as colts. 
 With beds made soft of leaves and grass, 
 On which the howling night to pass, 
 And hear the serenade without, 
 'Twixt Owls and Wolves, which hold a rout. 
 The gobling Turkies, in high mood, 
 Make echoes sweet around the wood. 
 Our neighbour Charles has got a map, 
 So big 'twould cover all your lap. 
 'Tis colour'd o'er with red and blue, 
 With green, and black, and yellow too. 
 'Twill tell where hills and vallies stand, i 
 And where a swamp is near at hand, > 
 
 And where you'll find the " best of land" S 
 'Twill tell whence rivers run, and where, 
 A fine mill-seat would flourish there. 
 'Twill tell where Court- House will be built, 
 And where the jail will punish guilt. 
 'Twill tell where Tavern- House will stand, 
 With sign and stable all so grand ; 
 In short, 'twould take the live-long day, 
 To tell you all that he could say. 
 
 Now Mary, will you frankly tell 
 Is it not be st for me to sell, 
 Our farm, and stock, and tools and all, 
 And take our children, young and small, 
 And to the Westward straightway drive, 
 And there to live — can't we contrive ? 
 Mary. 
 
 Henry ! 1 am to you a wife, 
 And you to me the staff of life. 
 We wed in early years together, 
 And through all winds and through all weather 
 We've travell'd on through peace pnd plenty, 
 Nor ever found our cup board empty. 
 When first we join'd, we both were wild, 
 Yet we've produe'd a lovely child, 
 Once in too years, and still though young 
 We have contiiv'd to *' get along." 
 Our form has fed and cloth'd us well, 
 As we and all our friends can tell ; 
 And His improving ev'ry day. 
 As they will also frankly say ; 
 And without any pain or trouble, 
 It now produces more than double, 
 What then it did, when I began, 
 
4 
 
 To act the wife, and you the man ; 
 
 And we may doable it again 
 
 In twelve years more — O ! what a gain s 
 
 Our growing children prattle round, 
 
 And bless us with the charming sound 
 
 Of innocence, and health, and joy, 
 
 And lighten labour's calm employ. 
 
 We here enjoy a fertile soil, 
 
 And near forget our gentle toil, 
 
 In the rich harvests from our ground, 
 
 Which now with flocks and fruits abound, 
 
 While you w ith health and jocund mirth, 
 
 Go forth to till the teeming earth, 
 
 I turn my wheel with pure delight, 
 
 And give you '• welcome home' ' at night. 
 
 Our parents near — advanc'd in age, 
 
 Delighted, see us both engage 
 
 in travelling the rounds they've pass'd, 
 
 And witness, e'en their joys surpass'd, 
 
 When they began the path of life, 
 
 Which they have trod without a strife. 
 
 Our early friends oft greet us here, 
 
 And at our board with joy appear ; 
 
 Their kindness we reciprocate, 
 
 And at the early hour or late, 
 
 We meet with friendship, peace and love, 
 
 An emblem of the joys above. 
 
 Then why should we now emigrate, 
 
 "To TRY OUR FORTUNE — OR OUR FATE ?" 
 HENRY. 
 
 Right "Yankee trick" — I ask'd a plain 
 And simple question — you again 
 Ask me the same. But have not I 
 Explain'd the wherefore and the why ? 
 That we should leave this antient state, 
 To try aur fortune and our fate." 
 Why Mary, this is not the way ! 
 We sha'nt, get through this talk to day. 
 
 Hezekiah. 
 You've talk'd enough — so I should say. 
 
 Henry. 
 Wby, Father ! must I hold my tongue, 
 Nor speak a word because I'm young ? 
 
 Hezekiah. 
 'Tis better, Son, to set as mute 
 
J 
 
 5 
 
 As yonder dog, your list'ning Bute, 
 Than to run on as you've began, 
 About your wild and frantic plan, 
 Why, Henry ! — are you not a man ? 
 Or are you an untutor'd child 
 Who would by sharpers be beguil'd ? 
 As 'tis a father's duty clear, 
 To give advice, and son's to hear ; 
 I will attempt, in language plain, 
 To ease my bosom of the pain, 
 Which now I feel 'pon your account, 
 Who seemeth not the ** cost to count." 
 
 For sixty-seven years of life 
 With her, your mother, and my wife, 
 I've liv'd in harmony and peace — 
 Have seen my substance much increase. 
 Upon this charming piece of land. 
 My children s children round me staud. 
 Here my Grand-father first began, 
 The works of civilized man. 
 Here, — on this fertile, tilled spot, 
 My honour'd father was begot. 
 The yelling savage then did roam 
 Around this civilized home. 
 Here years of labour were endur'd 
 By men, to hardships long enur'd. 
 They toil'd and labour'd — struggled hard. 
 And heav'n their labours, did reward. 
 My aged grand-sire, bow'd with years, 
 Then left this world, and lost his fears. 
 My Father then, with care pursued, 
 Improvements in the forest rude, 
 His labours too, were richly bless"d ; 
 And here I was by him caress'd. 
 When he his earthly course had ran, 
 I'd reach'd the age that's called Man. 
 A duty then devolv'd on me, 
 Nor did I from that duty fiee. 
 These fields have 1 enlarg'd and till'd, 
 And now you see them amply fill'd, 
 With herds and flocks, around the hills. 
 And plenteous foiage near the rills. 
 The corn, and barley, rye and wheat. 
 Each way th'e raptur'id eye wiil meet ; 
 And here, my Henry, vou were born, 
 1* 
 
Nor have you seen one day forlorn. 
 
 Your labours here have been repaid, 
 
 And well your table has been laid. 
 
 Your fields have furnish'd wholesome food, 
 
 Your flocks, with raiment neat and good, 
 
 You have been bless'd with offsprings fair, 
 
 Now objects of your tender care. 
 
 Look o'er our boundaries — look my son, 
 
 And see how much may yet be done 
 
 By gentle industry and toil, 
 
 To better much this fertile soil. 
 
 See yonder charming swelling hill, 
 
 See *pon its sides the forest still, — 
 
 But yet few little spots are seen 
 
 Where cows and sheep on pastures green, 
 
 Afford you food and clothing too, 
 
 And might for years and centWies through, 
 
 To your posterity untold, 
 
 When all its treasures shall unfold, 
 
 By cultivation, and by skill, 
 
 And arts — by which the earth we till. 
 
 See yonder rill, through yonder vale, 
 From springs which never dry or fail ; 
 See spreading meadows on its bank, 
 Behold the samplings wild and rank, 
 See withered oaks, which long have stoo.l,. 
 ? Gainst storms, and winds, and washing flood. 
 See shallow ponds, with reptiles fiill'd, 
 Which flee or die, where lands are tiii'd, 
 How soon these meadows might be clear'd, 
 And corn and grass be quickly rear'd — 
 Where hissing snakes and croaking frogs, 
 Hold sole dominion o'er the bogs. 
 You've read in Virgil's polish'd strains, 
 How Roman's made the lovely plains 
 Of Italy with riches flow. 
 And on the hills, the vineyards grow. 
 You've read of China's vast domain, 
 Where *' acres Jive,'' on hill or plain, 
 h land enough — when till'd with care, 
 For family — and some to spare, 
 To Fmpcror and Mandarin, 
 Who in a splendid palanquin, 
 Must roll around in gorgeous state, 
 The Empire's " Casts" to regulate. 
 
7 
 
 You've read of Europe's peasants too, i V 
 
 (God grant experience ne'er may shew \ 
 
 To our dear countrymen, or you) — ) 
 
 How much from little land they raise, 
 
 And give to pamper'd lords the praise, 
 
 For suff'ring them to toil for food, 
 
 And take the rest for "public good .'" 
 
 The land you till is all your own, 
 
 You reap yourself what you have sown. 
 
 No lordly landlond with his train, 
 
 Of stewards, robs you of your gain, 
 
 No prowling priest, with Tythmg Book, 
 
 Is grouping round for tithes to look ; 
 
 No Excise-man, with odious pow'r 
 
 Attempts your substance to devour. 
 
 The mod'rate takes that you pay, 
 
 Are not like those that's flung away, 
 
 To pamper sinecures and lords. 
 
 And " summer soldiers" with their swords. 
 
 No thieving vagrants wander round 
 
 To rob your dwelling or your ground. 
 
 The best society and friend 
 
 The best of comforts daily lend, 
 
 In this refined, settled land, 
 
 You may the purest joys command. 
 
 Our early ancestors, my son, 
 
 Who have their temp'ral labours done, 
 
 Were not thus bless'd — through toil and sweat. 
 
 Their hard-earn'd living did they get. 
 
 'Midst savages and dangers round, 
 
 For years they struggled on this ground, 
 
 And left it for us — what a prize — 
 
 None greater, sure below the skies. 
 
 Let those who cant these blessings share, 
 
 Forth to the wilderness repair. 
 
 Let Eu ropes wretched peasants come, 
 
 Driven from comforts and from home ; 
 
 And find some spot in nature's state, 
 
 And these new regions cultivate. 
 
 Let us enjoy what we have got, 
 
 And bless kind heaven for our lot 
 
 Now, Henry, let your anxious sire 
 Point to yon church and lofty spire. 
 Upon that consecrated ground, 
 Where savage yells once echoed round, 
 

 8 
 
 A church has stood, one stands there now, 
 Where man to heav'n may pay his vow. 
 There vows and pray'rs have e'er been made. 
 Since first its corner stone was laid, 
 Tnere you have worshipp'd in the seat, 
 Where our grand-sires were wont to meet. 
 Where, in the wilderness remote, 
 Can you the day of rest devote, 
 'Midst kneeling throngs of praying soul, 
 Whence pray's, and praise and anthems roll. 
 
 That School-house too, upon the green, 
 Where you in early life was seen, 
 With your companions by your side, 
 In useful knowedge taking pride. 
 There you obtain'd as useful knowledge. 
 As ever yet was gain'd in college. 
 'Tis there your children now repair, 
 Morals and learning to acquire. 
 Such privilege, in countries new, 
 Can be enjoy'd but by the few. 
 In this beloved growing state, 
 You can your children educate, 
 In science and in useful arts. 
 That they may all '•'■act well their partes" 
 As they advance along in life, 
 As So?i, as Daughter, Husband, Wife. 
 I'll add once more, tis here around 
 Your early friends, and mates are found, 
 And if experience is a guide, 
 You sure will find a difference wide, 
 'Twist early friends and friends late made, 
 As you will find 'twixt light and shade. 
 Each blessing that wc want below 
 Kind Heav'n on us doth here bestow. 
 Why then, my son, fix you your thought 
 On distant lands and goods unbought ? 
 But should you now this counsel scorn 
 And leave the land where you was born, 
 May you and yours be richly bless'd 
 And in old age find peace and rest. 
 
 HENRV. 
 
 Well mother, since this talk's begun, 
 You see we stand just two to one, 
 Father and Wife, in their discourse } v 
 Have us'd their skill and all their force, > 
 To urge me from my wished course, ) 
 
9 
 
 Now be so kind, my Mother dear, 
 To give your counsel while 1 hear. 
 
 HEPZIPAH. 
 
 I seldom doubt and ne'er oppose, 
 What counsel from your Father flows ; 
 As 'tis my pleasure to obey, 
 Whatever he has a right to say. 
 But you are thirty -Jive years old. 
 And may not like what may be told, 
 By Father, Mother, Wife, and Friend, 
 Who their best offices would lend, 
 But as you ask, I'll freely give 
 My best advice "as I do live." 
 
 Your Father's life is almost spent, 
 And I with care and age am bent ; 
 The grave will soon our prospects close, 
 And call our bodies to repose ; 
 We've liv'd for you, and yours my son, 
 E'er since your days were first begun. 
 Will you desert us in our age, 
 In projects distant to engage ? 
 When competence is at your hand 
 In this most favor'd lovely land ? 
 Why should you certain prospects cross 
 "A ro lling stone collects no moss" 
 Has not kind heaven o'er and o'er 
 " Bless' d you in basket and in store ?" 
 With patient industry and health, 
 You've sure enough, you may get wealth, 
 But what is wealth, without content, 
 When your own life, like mine is spent ? 
 When you're descending to the grave 
 In distant wilds, who will you have 
 To drop the sympathizing tear, 
 For you and for your offspring dear ? 
 From early friends your're far remov'd, 
 And those, from youth, you much have lov'd, 
 Cannot assuage your load of grief, 
 Or tendre friendship's calm relief. 
 Pray then, my son, remain at home, 
 Nor think to distant wilds to roam, 
 You know how many have returned, 
 Who prudent counsel proudly spurn'd, 
 Poor and dishearten'd and neglected, 
 
id, ) 
 
 10 
 
 Because good counsel they rejected. 
 
 They cast a longing wishful look 
 
 'Pon house and farm they once forsook, 
 
 And which a speculat&r took, 
 
 For land unseen, unsought, untried. 
 
 Upon some barren mountain's side, 
 
 Or in a morass stretching wide. 
 
 Let not the speculator's froth 
 
 Cheat you of home — then drive you forth 
 
 From competence., to want and sorrow, 
 
 In which you'll spend your latest morrow. 
 
 GEORGE. 
 
 Father since you this talk begun, -> 
 
 I've list* a'd as a loving son, 
 To all that's said, with open ears, 
 And oft my eyes have swam in tears. 
 My grand-pa there, and grand-ma too, 
 Have wonder'd what you're going: to do. 
 Must we our house and garden leave, 
 Our farm and flocks ? O ! how I grieve, 
 My brothers and my sisters young, 
 Who scarce can utter with the tongue, 
 What grief they feel — yet by the eye, 
 The artless sob, and mournful sigh, 
 They speak a language clear and plain, 
 While my dear Mother feels their pain. 
 Stay then, O 1 stay., my Father dear, 
 And we shall have nothing to fear. 
 
 HENRY. 
 
 Well, since 'tis so, I may as well. 
 Resist the torrent at its swell. 
 I find if I should emigrate, 
 
 " To TRY MY FORTUNE Or MY FATE." 
 
 I must a lonely wand'rer be, 
 
 Unless I force my own to flee, 
 
 Where I have dreamed of happiness, 
 
 And ev'ry kind of earthly bliss. 
 
 Should I continue thus to dream, 
 
 I'll make reality my theme. 
 
 Here will I stay where 1 began, 
 
 The course which heav'n allotted man. 
 
 Yes, Mary, thou best friend, and wife, 
 
 Thou dearest blessing of my life 
 
 My little ones — my growing joys, 
 
 My smiling daughters — hearty boys, 
 
 Here will we stay 'midst friends and peace 3 
 
Jl 
 
 And may our blessings still increase, 
 
 From year to year, as life rolls on, ; 
 
 And when our days on earth are gone, 
 
 May we with our forefathers rest, 
 
 Whose souls have gone to regions blest. 
 
 CONCLUSION 
 Connecticut ! O ! charming land, 
 Upon thy soil a people stand, 
 Who long have stood — and long may grow, 
 'Midst ev'ry blessing wish'd below. 
 The Vine that first was planted here, 
 Which patient labour first did rear, 
 Has been sustained by heav'n above, 
 Which granted it in peace and love, 
 O ! may his grace and love extend 
 To men unborn — and may he blend 
 With their existence ev'ry blessing, 
 Which here on earth is worth possessing. 
 May Justice here the balance hold ; 
 May Prudence here its wealth unfold j 
 May Fortitude, our rights sustain ; 
 May Temperance expel each pain. 
 
 SONG, 
 
 At the Anniversary of the Connecticut Agricultural 
 Societies, for Cattle Shows, Fairs, and Exhibi- 
 tions of Domestic Manufactures, for 1822. 
 
 Tune— u The Farmer." 
 
 I. See Fathers and Sons, and see Mothers and Daughters, 
 
 Come forward to grace this occasion ; 
 All's cheerful and lively, no sluggard now loiters, 
 Nor even do drones need persuasion. 
 
 A holiday charming — in honour of Farming, 
 
 No pompous parade, or commotion ; 
 
 Each object is pleasing, and no one is teasing, 
 
 For office, for rank ov promotion. 
 
 II. The roads are enliven'd with Swine and with Cattle, 
 
 The Sheep and the Lambs are all bleating ; 
 The proud neighing Steed fit for service or battle, 
 And neighbours each other are greeting. 
 
 The Farmers now sally, homhill and from valley. 
 
 To exhibit the fruits of their labour ; 
 
 With just emulation, to fill a good station, 
 
 With the farmers around, and his neighbour. 
 
 III. The well-fatten'd Oxen, the Swine and the Wether*, 
 
 The charming rich Cheese and sweet Batter, 
 
12 
 
 Shew clearly good farmers, make use of no tethers? 
 To make the nice epicure mutter. 
 Here's Beef, and here's Mutton — here's Pork for 
 
 the glutton,, 
 Here's Butter and Cheese for the Ladies; 
 Here's fruit and here V#<;ur to furnish each hour, 
 Some " nice things" for dandies and babies. 
 
 IV. The Matrons and Daughters, with Rugs and with 
 
 Carpets, 
 With Shirting and Sheeting and Bonnet ; 
 With Diapers, Flannels, and Linen, for market, 
 And every one asks — " fF/io /ias done tf . ? " 
 The rosy-cheek'd maiden, with industry laden, 
 Comes forward in bloom now to claim it ; 
 With modesty shows it-her mother well knows it, 
 Now, gentlemen, please you to blame it ? 
 
 V. "The Judges" now. march off to thick-penned pasture , 
 
 Where animals" owners are waiting ; 
 They talk of manures and rich Paris Plaster, 
 
 While wise folks are gravely debating. 
 The Buck and the Boar- - the Bull make a roar, 
 The Ewe and the Sow and the Heifer, 
 The Stud makes arumpuss, and boxes the compass 
 How Sires and Breeders will differ !! 
 
 VI. The throng now repair, to ihe place well appointed, 
 
 Where praise and where premiums are granted ; 
 No matter who wins them — no one's disappointed 
 Though both are by ev'ry one wanted. 
 With pride and with pleasure, some bear off their 
 
 treasure, 
 In silver cups rich — and in dollars, 
 With cash in the pocket,some round about knock it, 
 Some hang their rich cups on their collars. 
 
 VII. Sing-" Speed to the Plough, the Wheel, Shuttle 
 
 and Hammar," 
 To genius, and honest industry ; 
 Let "Peack, Health and Plenty," without any 
 clamour 
 Be the motto of Yeomanry trusty. 
 And may we thus yearly, with prospects most 
 
 chee.rly, 
 Keep advancing in wealth and in glory ; 
 May each act the neighbour, to those who shall 
 
 labour, 
 And harmony e'er be the story