Posts Tagged ‘1823’

Runaway Indents

March 5, 2009


I guess indentured servants weren’t worth very much.

6 Cents Reward.

RAN away from the subscriber on the 24th ult. an indented apprentice to the Tanning Business named


About 17 years of age, 5 feet 8 inches high and slender made. His is quarrelsome and fond of liqor. The above reward, but no charges or thanks, will be paid for his apprehension.

September 3.

Ohio Repository, The (Canton, Ohio) Sep 11, 1823


These two were in the same paper:

One Cent Reward.

RAN AWAY from the subscriber, on Saturday the 1st inst. whilst on a journey:

Andrew Keyser,

An indented Apprentice to the Printing Business. He is slender made, about 19 years of age, 5 feet 7 inches high, dark complexion & much freckled in the face; is very talkative and sly, does not tell the truth, and has the prejudice that he knows a great deal, but, in fact is very ignorant; he cannot read correctly, and hardly can write his name, and that only in German — in short, he is as yet quite imperfect in the business, but very perfect in roguery. He had about two years to serve, and wore a drab coat and black cloth pantaloons, together with other clothing which he took with him. It is probably that he took his course to Somerset or Sunbury, Pa. where he has relations, and very likely will endeavor to get work there. All persons are hereby cautioned not to trust, harbor or employ said ungrateful wretch, as those who do will have to abide by the law, which I shall strictly put in force. The above reward will be paid to any person who will bring him back to the subscriber in Canton, or give information where he is, but no additional charges will be paid.

All printers are requested to give this advertisement a few insertions in their respective papers, and the favor shall be reciprocated in like cases.

Canton, Nov. 14, 1823.

1 Cent Reward.

Nov. 19.

RAN AWAY from the subscriber, on Sunday morning last, an indented Apprentice to the Shoemaking Business. named Jacob Snider, about 16 years old, 5 feet 2 or 3 inches high and of a dark complexion. The above reward, but no charges will be paid for his apprehension and return. All persons are forbidden to trust or harbor him on my account.

Ohio Repository, The (Canton, Ohio) > 1823 > November > 20

Take a Bath. Please!

March 1, 2009



Some persons think, that as soon as the hot weather abates, bathing may be discontinued without loss. But this is so far from being true, that there are some peculiar advantages to be derived from continuing the practice in that season. One is, the bath enables us to surmount the languor, which the preceding heat has induced.

Another is, that bathing prepares us to meet the approaching cold of winter without inconvenience and without danger; so that we never suffer from a sense of cold, nor fall sick from the gradual changes of the seasons, from Summer and Autumn to Winter. Bathing too is one of the greatest preventives of Autumnal fevers.

Dr. Coffin on Bathing.

Ohio Repository, The (Canton, Ohio) Nov 13, 1823

Orphan’s in Rhyme and Old-Style Print

February 24, 2009


I originally ran across this poem in a paper dated about the 1840’s, but when I went back to find it again, I couldn’t. I then stumbled across this earlier version, and had to laugh at the f/s usage. I have seen old census records with hand-written versions of this, but was surprised to see it type-written. If you would like to see more information on the old-style handwriting, here is a great link with several examples.

To make the poem easier to read, I have transcribed it using the  modern “S.”


THE frozen streets in moonshine glitter,
The midnight hour has long been past,
Ah me! the wind blows keen and bitter,
I sink beneath the piercing blast.
In ev’ry vein seems life to languish,
Their weight my limbs no more can bear,
But no one sooths the Orphan’s anguish,
And no one hears the Orphan’s pray’r.

Hark! hark! for sure some foot-step’s near me,
Advancing, press the drifted snow,
I die for food; oh! stranger, hear me,
I die for food; some alms bestow;
You see no guilty wretch implore you,
No wanton kneels in feign’d despair,
A famished Orphan kneels before you,
Oh grant the famished Orphan’s pray’r.

Perhaps you think my lips dissembling,
Of virtuous sorrows feign a tale,
Then mark my frame with anguish trembling,
My hollow eyes and features pale,
E’en should my story prove ideal,
Too well these wasted limbs declare,
My wants at least are not unreal,
Then stranger grant the Orphan’s pray’r.

He’s gone, no mercy man will show me,
In prayers no more I’ll waste my breath,
Here on the frozen earth I’ll throw me,
And wait, in mute despair for death,
Farewell thou cruel world, to-morrow,
No more scorn my heart will tear,
The grave will shield the child of sorrow,
And heaven will hear the Orphan’s pray’r.

But thou proud man, the beggar scorning,
Unmov’d thou saw’st me kneel for bread,
Thy heart shall ache to hear at morning,
That morning found the beggar dead,
And when the room resounds with laughter,
My famish’d cry thy mirth shall scare,
And often shall thou wish hereafter,
Thou hadst not scorn’d the Orphan’s pray’r.

The Centinel (Gettysburg, Pennsylvania) Jan 1, 1806


Here is another orphan poem; it is really sad!

From an English Paper.


Oh! lady, buy these budding flowers,
For I am cold, and wet, and weary;
I gathered them ere break of day,
When all was lonely, still and dreary;
And long have sought to sell the here,
To purchase clothes, and food and dwelling,
For Valor’s wretched Orphan Girls —
Poor me, and my young sister Ellen.

Ah! those who tread life’s thornless way,
In Fortune’s golden sunshine basking,
May deem that Misery want not aid,
Because her lips are mute — unasking;
They pass along — and if they gaze,
‘Tis with an eye of hope repelling —
Yet once a crowd of flatterers fawned,
And fortune smiled on me and Ellen.

O! buy my flowers, they’re fair and fresh
As mine & morning’s tears could keep them;
To-morrow’s sun will view them dead,
And I shall scarcely live to weep them!
Yet this sweet bud, if nursed with care,
Soon into fulness would be swelling —
And, nurtured by some generous hand,
So might my little sister Ellen.

She sleeps within a hollow tree,
Her only home — the leaves her bedding;
And I’ve no food to carry there
To sooth the tears she will be shedding;
Oh! that those mourners’ gushing griefs —
The pastor’s prayer, & bell’s sad knelling,
And that deep grave — were meant for me
And my poor little sister Ellen!

When we in silence are laid down
In life’s last fearless, deathless sleeping,
No tears will dew our humble grave,
Save those of pitying heaven’s own weeping.
Unknown we live, unknown must die,
No tongue the mournful tale be telling
Of two young, broken hearted girls,
Poor Mary and her sister Ellen!

No one has bought of me to-day,
And night winds now are sadly sighing;
And I, like these poor drooping flowers,
Unnoticed and unwept, am dying!
My soul is struggling to be free —
It loathes its wretched earthly dwelling —
My limbs refuse to bear their load —
Oh! God, protect lone orphan Ellen!

Republican Compiler (Gettysburg, Pennsylvania) Apr 9, 1823