From the United States Gazette.
THE PRINTERS DOOM
{"newspaper_name": "The Washingtonian.", "edition": "01", "page": "p1", "byline": "BY THos. MACKEEKAR."}
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A printer weary and wan,


His face all mortally pale,
As he wearily plodded his homeward way
Before the breaking of early day,


Broke out in bitter wall.


His voice was husky and low,


AS though his lungs were gone;
And he cough'd and gasp'd, and cough'd again,
And he press'd his hand on his heart in pain,
While thus his plant ramon;


"a world of toll is this!


1t hath no joys for me:
IT'S labor by day, and labor by night,
By the light of the sun, and by candle Light
Labor continually.


Some men have a day ofres


But Sabbath for me is not;
1t is toll all the week, and toll on the day
That God has given 10 rest and to pray
Lo this is the printers lot!


"When was boy" he said,


81 play'd on the hills ofgreen;
swan in the stream-I fish'd in the brook
And blest was to sit and look


Unfettered on natures scene.


"For twenty sad years and more,
My life has worn away
In murky rooms of poisonous air,
When I've yearn'd for sight of the valleys fair
And the light of open day.


"An innocent prisoner doom'd,


MY heart is heavy Within
Oh, why should man untanted by guilt,
Who the blood Of q creature never hath split,
Be pent, like a felon, for sin -


The printer then coughd and sigh'd-


The stars were growing dim,
And he upward glanced at the morning sky,
And he inly thought that it was good to die,
And death would be rest to him.


His heart was tired OF beating


He prayed to the'Iord above,
TO pity man whose heart had been rven
BY toll, for other mems interest given
And he wept for his mercy and love.


He hed to his humble home


His infant awoke to cry,
aOh, father! oh, mother! I'm hungry for bread !"
And the printer bowed down with aching head,
On his Mary's lap to die.


Oh We who have never known


The richness that's in crust,
When nothing is found on the desolate shell,
And the sufferers pocket is empty ofpelf-
Receive my story on trust.


Say in your careless scorn,


What boots the tale to you
The rhymer who traces these roughly writ lines,
Hath known Of such sufferers in other day times,
And the main OF his rhyme is true.


Remember this holy truth


The man who aloof hath stood,
When heart-broken brother for succor did crave
And he stretched not finger TO bless and TO save
Is verify guilty Of blood