(Tl)f Ham-aster iJntcllicjcnaT.
VOL. LYIII.
INTELLIGENCER & LANCASTERIAN.
PUBLISHED EVEET TUESDAY, AT HO. 8 NOETH DUKE STREET.
BY GEO. SANDERSON.
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SYMPATHY.
A knight and a lady once met in a grove,
While each was in quest of a fugitive love ;
A river ran mournfully murmuring by,
And they wept in its waters for sympathy.
“ 0 never was knight such a sorrow that bore "
1 ' 0 never was maid so deserted before !”
“ From life and its woes let us instantly fly,
And jump in together for company.”
They gazed on eaoh other, the maid and the knight;
How fair was her form, and how goodly his height;
“One mournful embrace sobbed the youth, “ere
wo die!”
So kissing and crying they kept company.
“ 0 had I but loved such an angel as you !“
“ 0 had but my swain been quarter as true !“
“ To miss such perfection how blinded was I ["
Bure now thoy were excellent company !
At length spoke the lass, twixt a smile and a tear—
“ The weather is cold for a watery bier ;
When summer .returns may we easily die—
Till then let us sorrow in company.”
THE CHARGE OF MAY.
A LEGEND OF MEXICO.
BY GEOIIGE LII'I’ARI)
There was a day when an old inan with
white hair sat alone in a small chamber of
a national mansion, his spare but muscular
figure resting on an arm-chair, his hands
clasped, and his deep blue eyes gazing
through the winter sky. The brow of the
old man furrowed with wriukles, his hair
rising in straight masses, white as the
driven snow, his sunken cheeks traversed
by marked lines, and thin lips, fixedly
compressed, all announced a long and
stormy life. All the marks of an iron
will were written upon his face.
His name I need not tell you was
Andrew Jackson, and he sat alone in the
White House,
A visitor,' entered without being an
nounced, and stood before the President
in the form of a boy of nineteen, clad in
a coarse round jacket and trousers, and
covered from head to foot with mud. As
he stood before the President, cap in hand,
the dark hair falling in damp clusters
about his white forehead, the old man could
not help surveying, at a rapid glance, the
muscular beauty of his .figure, the broad
chest, the sinewy arms, the head placed
proudly on- the firm shoulders.
“‘Your business'!” said the old man, in
his short, abrupt way.
“There is a Lieutenancy vacant in the
Dragoons. Will you give it to me ?”
And dashing back the dark .hair which
fell over his face, the boy, as if frightened
•at his boldness, bowed low before the
-President.
The old man could not restrain that
smile. It wreathed his firm lip, and shone
from his clear eyes.
“You enter my chamber unannounced,
covered from head to foot with mud—-you
tell that me that a lieutenancy is vacant,
and ask me to give it Jo you. Wno are
you ?”
“Charles May!” . The boy boy did not
bow this time, but with his right hand on
his hip, stood like a wild young Indian,
erect, jn the presence of the President.
“What claim have you to a commis
sion?” 'Again the Hero surveyed him,
again he faintly smiled.
Such as you see!” exclaimed the boy,
as his dark eyes shone with that dare-devil
light, while his form swelled in every
muscle, as with the oonscious pride of his
manly strength and beauty. “Would you
—” he bent forward, sweeping aside his
curls once more, while a smile began to
break over, his lips—“ Would you like to
see me ride ? My horse is at the door.—
You see I came post haste for this com-
mission !”
Silently the old man followed the boy,
and together they went forth from the
White House. It was' a clear cold Win
ter’s day; the wind tossed the President’s
white hairs, and the leafless- trees stood
boldly out against the blue sky. Before
the portals of the White House, with the
rein thrown loosely on his neck, stood a
magnificent horse, his dark hide smoking
foam. He uttered a shrill''neigh as his
hoy-master.sprang with a bound into the
saddle, and in a flash was gone, Bkimming
like a swallow down the road, his mane
and tail streaming in the breeze.
The old man looked after them, the
horse and his rider, and knew not which to
admire most, the athletic beauty of the
boy, or the tempestuous vigor of the horse.
Thrice they threaded - the avenues in
front of the White House; and at last
stood panting before the President, the
boy leaned over the neck of his steed, as
he coolly exclaimed —“Well—how do you
like me 1”
' “Do you think you could kill an In
dian 1” the President said, taking him by'
the hand, as he leaped from his horse.
“Aye —and eat him afterward!” cried
the hoy, ringing out his fierce laugh as he
read his fate in the old man’s eyes.
“You had better come in and get your
commission,” and the hero of New Or
leans led the way into the White House.
There came a night, when an old man
—President no longer—sat in the silent
chamber of his Hermitage Home, a pic
ture of age trembling on the verge of
Eternity. The light that stood ' upon his
table revealed his shrunken form resting
against the p'illows which cushioned his
arm-chair and the death-like pallor of his
venerable face. In that faoe, with its
white hair, and ' massive forehead, every
thing seemed already dead, except the
eyes. Their deep gray-blue shone with
t he fire of New Orleans, as the old man with
his longj white fingers, grasped a letter
post-marked “Washington.”
“They ask me to designate the man who
shall lead our army, in case thetmnexation
of Texas brings on a war with Mexico”—
his voice, deep-toned and thrilling, even
in that hour of decrepitude and deoay,
rung through the silence of the chamber.
“There is only one man who can do it, and
his name is Zachary Taylor.”
It was a dark hour when this boy and
this General, both appointed at the sug
gestion or by the 'voice of the Man of the
Hermitage, met in the Battle of Resaoa
de la Palma.
, By the blue of cannon, and beneath the
canopy of battle smoke, we will behold the
meeting.
“Capt. May, you must take that bat
tery ! ”
As the old man uttered these words he
pointed far across the ravine with his
sword. It was like the glare of a volcano
—the steady blaze of that battery, pouring
from the darkness of the chapparal.
Before him, summoned from the rear by
his commander, rose the form of a splendid
soldier, whose hair, waving in long masses,
swept his broad shoulders, while his beard
fell over his muscular chest. Hair and
beard as dark as midnight, framed a de
termined face, surmounted by\a small cap,
glittering with a single golden tassel. The
young warrior bestrode a magnificent char
ger, broad in the chest, small in the head,
delicate in each slender limb, and with the
nostrils quivering as though they shot
forth jets of flame. That steed was black
as death.
Without a word, the soldier turned to.
his men.
Eighty-four forms, with throats and
breasts bare, eighty-four battle horses,
eighty-four sabres, that ro3e in the clutch
of naked arms, and flashed their lightning
over eighty-four faces, knit in every fea
ture with battle fire.
“Men, follow !” shouted the young com
mander, who had been created a soldier by
the hand of Jackson, as his tall form rose
in the stirrups, and the battle breeze
played with his long black hair.
There was no response in words, but
you should have seen those horses quiver
beneath the spur, and spring and launch
away. Down upon the sod with one terri
ble beat came the sound of their/hoofs,
while through the air rose in glittering
circle those battle scimitars.
Four yards in front rode May, himself
and his horse the object of a thousand eyes,
so certain was the .death that loomed be
fore him. Proudly in his warrior beauty
he rode that steed, his hair floating from
beneath his cap in raven curls upon the
wind.
He turns his head —his men see his face
with stern lip and knit brow; they feel the
fire of his eyes, they hear—mot “Men, for
ward !” but “Men, follow !” and away, like
an immense battle engine composed of
eighty-four men and horses, woven to
gether by swords—away and on they dash.
They near the ravine; old Taylor follows
them with hushed breath, aye, clutching
his sword hilt he sees the golden tassel of
May, gleaming in the cannon flash.
They are on the verge pf the ravine.—
May still in front, his charger flinging the
earth from beneath him, with colossal
leaps, when, from among the cannon, starts
up a half-clad figure, red with blood and
begrimmed with powder.
It is Ridgely, who, to-day, has sworn to
wear the mantle of Ringgold, and to wear
it well! At once his eyes catch the light
now blazing in the eyes of May, and
springing to the cannon, he shouts—
“ One moment, my comrade, and I will
draw their fire I”
The word is not passed from his lips
when his cannon speak out to the battery
across the ravine. His flash, his smoke
have not gone, but hark ! Did you hear
that storm of copper balls clatter against
his bannon, did you see it dig the earth
beneath the hoofs of May’s squadron.
“Men, follow !” Did you see that face
gleaming with battle fire, that scimitar
putting its glittering circle in the air 1—
Those men can hold their shout 3 no longer.
Rending the air with cries. Hark! The
whole army echo tnem. They strike their
spurs, and, worried into madness, their
horses whirl on and thunder away to the
deadly ravine.'
The old man, Taylor, said, after the
battle, that he never felt his heart beat as
it did then.
B’or it was a glorious sight to see that
young man, May, at the head of his squad
ron, dashing across the ravine, four yards
in advance of his foremost man, while long
and dark behind him was stretched the
solid line of warriors and their steeds.
Through the windows of the clouds some
gleams of sunlight fall—they light the
golden tassel on the cap—they glitter on
the up-raised sword—they illumine the
dark horse and his rider with their warm
glow—they revealed the battery—you see
it, above the further bank of the ravine,
frowning death from every muzzle.
Nearer and nearer, up and on ! Never
heed the death before you, though it is
terrible. Never mind the leap, though it
is terrible. But up the bank and over the
cannon—hurrah! At this dread moment,
just as his horse rises for the charge—
May turns and sees the sword of the brave
Inge on his right, turns again and reads
his own soul written in the fire of Sacket’s
eye.
. To his men once more he turns, his hair
floating back behind him, he points to the
cannon, to the steep bank and the certain
death, and as though inviting them, one
and all, to his bridal feast, he says—
“ Come !”
They did come. It would have made
your blood dance to see it. As one man
they whirled up the bank, following May’s
sword as they would a banner, and striking
madly home, as they heard, through the
roar of battlo they heard it, that word of
frenzy, “Come !”
As one mass of bared chests, leaping
horses and dazzling scimetars, they charged
upon the bank; the cannon’s fire rushed
into their faces ; Inge, even as his shout
rang on the air, was laid a mangled thing
beneath his steed, his throat torn open by
a cannon shot, Sacket was buried beneath
his and seven dragoons fell at the
battery’s muzzles, their'blood and brains
whirling into their comrades’ eyes.
Still May is yonder, above the cloud,
his horse rioting over heaps of dead, as
with his sabre, circling round his flowing
hair, he cuts his way through the living
wall, and says to his comrades, “Come 1”
’ All around him, friend and foe, their
swords locked together—yonder the blaze
of musketry showering the iron hail upon
his band—beneath his horse’s feet the
deadly cannon and ghastly corse, Btill that
young soldier riots on, for Taylor has
said “ Silence that Battery,” and he will
do it.
The Mexioans are driven from their
guns ; their cannon are silenced, and May’s
heroic band, scattering among the mazes
of the'Chaparal, are entangled in a wall
of bayonets. Once ; more the combat
deepens, and dies the sod in blood.—
Hedged in by that wall of wood, May
gathers eight of his men, and hews his
way toward the oapfurethbattery. As his
charger rears,Jus sword Icircles above his
head and sinks blow after blow into the
foemen’a throWa. 10-'m/left a shout ia
II TRAT COUNTRY IS THE MOST PROSPEROUS w “ icRH LABOR COMMANDS TfcLs GREATEST REWARD.”—BUCHANAN.
LANCASTER CITY, PA., TUESDAY MORNING, MARCH 31, 1857.
heard ; the Americana, led on by Graham
and Pleasanton and Winship, have si
lenced the battery there, while the whole
fury of the Mexican army seems concen
trated to crush May and his band.
As he went through their locked ranks
so he comes back. Everywhere his men
know'- him by his hair, waving in dark
masses ; his golden tinseled cap ; his sword
—they know it too, and wherever it falls
hear the gurgling groan of mortal agony.
Back to the captured cannon he cuts
his way, and on the brink of the ravine
beholds a sight that fires his blood.
A solitary Mexican stands there, reach
ing forth his arm in all the frenzy of a
brave man’s despair; he entreats his
countrymen to turn, to man the battery
once more and hurl its fury on the foe.—
They shrink back appalled before that
dark horse and its rider, May ! The Mex
ican, a gallant young man, whose hand
some features can scarcely be cistinguished
on account of the blood which covers them,
while his rent uniform bears testimony to
his deeds in that day’s carnage, clenches
his hands, as he flings his curse in the
face of his flying countrymen, and then,
lighted match in hand, springs to the
cannon. A moment and its fire will scatter
ten American soldiers in the dust.
Even as the brave Mexican benda near
the cannon, the dark charger, with one tre
mendous leap, is there, and the sword of
May is circling over his head.
“ Yield !” shouted the voice which only
a few moments ago, when rushing to the
death, said—“Gomel”
The Mexican beheld the gallant form
before him, and handed Captain May his
sword.
“ General La Vega is a prisoner ” he
said, and stood with folded arms amid the
coarses of his mangled soldiers.
You see May deliver his prisoner into
the charge of the brave Lieutenant Ste
phens, who—when Inge fell—dashed
bravely on.
Then would you look for May once
more—gaze through that wall of bayonets,
beneath that gloomy cloud, and behold
him crashing into the whirlpool of the
fight, his long hair, his sweeping beard,
and sword that never for an instant stays
its lightning career, making him look
like the embodied deamon of this battle
day.
In the rear of the battle behold this
picture; where May dashed like a thun
derbolt from his side, Gen. Taylor, in his
familiar brown coat, still remains. Near
him, gazing on the battle with interest
keen as his own, the stout form, the stern
visage of his brother soldier, Twiggs.—
They have followed with flashing eyes the
course of May, they have seen him charge,
and seen bis men and horses hurled back
in their blood, while still he thundered on.
At this moment the brave La Vega is led
into the presence of Taylor, his arms fold
ed over his breast, his eyes fixed upon the
ground.
As the nobig-hearted General expresses
his sorrow that the captive’s lot has fallen
on one so brave, as in obedience to the
command of Twiggs, the soldiers, arrrnged
in battle order, salute the prisoner with
presented arms, there comes rushing to the
scene the form of May, mounted on his
well-known charger.
“ General, you have told me to silenoe
that battery. I have done it.”
He placed iu the hands of Zaohary Tay
lor the sword of the brave La Vega.
From Dr. Livingstone’s Travels in Africa.
A Desperate Conflict between a
Lion and a Gemsbok. —Dr. Livingstone
gives a very interesting description of a
fight he witnessed in Africa between a lion
and antelope. The Doctor and his guides
had just emerged from 'a narrow defile be
tween two rocky hills, when they heard an
angry growl, whioh they knew to be that
of the “ monarch of the forest.” At the
distanoe of not more than forty yards in
advance of them, a gemsbok stood at bay,
while a huge, tawny lion was crouched on
a 'rocky platform, above the leVel plain,
evidently meditating an attack on the an
telope ; only a space of about twenty feet
separated the two animals- The lion ap
peared to be animated with the greatest
fury, the gemsbok was apparently calm
and resplute, presenting his well fortified
head to the enemy.
The lion cautiously changed his position,
descended to the plain and made a circuit,
obviously for the purpose of attacking the
gemsbok in the rear, but the latter was
on the alert and still turned his head to
wards his antagonist. The manceuvering
lasted for half an hour, when it appeared
to the observers that the gemsbok used a
stratagem to induce the lion to "make the
assault. The flank of the antelope was
for a moment turned to his fierce assailant.
As quick as lightning the lion made a
spring, but while he was yet in the. air, the
gemsbok turned his head, bending his neck
so as to present one of his spear-like horns
at the lion’s breast.
A terrible- laceration was the conse
quence ; the lion fell back on his haunches,
and showed a ghastly wound in the lower
part of his neck. He uttered a howl of
rage and.anguish and backed off to a dis
tance of fifty yards, seeming half disposed
to give up the contest, but hunger, fury or
revenge once more impelled him forward.
His second assault was more furious and
headlong ; he rushed at the gemsbok and
attempted to leap over the formidable
horns in order to alight on his back.—
The gemsbok, still standing on the defen
sive, elevated his head, speared the lion
in his side, and inflicted what the specta
tors believed to be a mortal wound, as the
horns penetrated to the depth of Bix or
eight inches. Again the lion retreated,
groaning and limpiDg in a manner which
showed that he had been severely hurt;
but he soon collected all his energies for
another attack. At the instant of collision
the gemsbok presented a horn so as to
strike the lion immediately between his
two forelegs, and so forceful was the stroke
that the whole length of the horn was
buried in the lion’s body. For nearly a
minute the two beasts stood motionless;
then the gemsbok, slowly backing, with
drew his horn, and the lion tottbred and
! fell on his side, his limbs quivering in the
| agonies of death. The victor made a tri
i umphant flourish of his heels and trotted
| off apparently without having received the
! least injury in the confliot.
Proverbs.—He is the gainer who gives
over a vain hope.
A mighty hope is a mighty cheat.
Hope is a pleasant kind of deceit.
A man cannot leave his experience of wis
dom to his heirs.
Fools learn to live at their own ooat, the
wise at other men's.
FAREWELL ADDRESS
OF GOVERNOR GEARY, TO THE PEOPLE OP
KANSAS TERRITORY.
Having determined to resign tho Execu
tive office, and retire again to the quiet
scenes of private life and the enjoyment of
those domestic comforts of which I have so
long been deprived, I deem it proper to
address you on the occasion of my depar
ture.
The office from which I now voluntarily
withdraw, was unsought by me, and at the
time of its acceptance, was by no means
desirable. This was quite evident, from
the deplorable moral, civil and political
condition of the Territory—the discord,
contention, and deadly strife which then
and there prevailed—and the painful anx
iety with which it was regarded by patriotic
citizens in every portion of the American
Union. To attempt to govern Kansas at
such a period, and under such circum
stances, was to assume no ordinary respon
sibilities. Few men could have desired to
undertake the task, and none would have
been so presumptuous, without serious fore
bodings as to the result. That I should
have hesitated is no matter of astonish
ment to those acquainted with the facts;
but that I accepted the appointmentf was
a well-grounded source of regret to many
of my well tried friends, who looked upon
the enterprise as one that could terminate
in nothing but disaster to myself. It was
not supposed possible that order could be
brought, in any reasonable space of time,
and with the mean 3 then at my command,,
from the then existing chaos.
Without descanting upon the feelings,
principles and motives which prompted me,
suffice it to say that I accepted the Presi
dent’s tender of the office of Governor.—
In doing so, I sacrificed the comforts of a
home, endeared by the strongest ties and
most sacred associations, to embark in an
undertaking which presented at the best
but a dark and unsatisfactory prospect. I
reached Kansas, and entered upon the dis
charge of my official duties in the most
gloomy hour of her history. Desolation
and ruin reigned on every hand. Homes
and firesides were deserted. The smoke
of burning dwellings darkened the atmos
phere. Women and children, driven from
their habitations, wandered over the prai
ries and among the woodlands, or, sought
refuge and protection even among the In
dian tribes. The highways were infested
with numerous predatory bands, and the
towns were fortified and garrisoned by
armies of conflicting partizans, each excit
ed almost to phrepzy, and determined upon
mutual exterminanon. Such was, without
exaggeration, the condition of tbe Terri
tory, at the period of. my arrival. Her
treasury was bankrupt. There were no
pecuniary resources within herself to meet
the exigencies of the time. The Congres
sional appropriations, intended to defray
the expenses of a year, were insufficient to
meet the demands of a fortnight. The
laws were null, the courts virtually sus
pended, and the civil arm of the Govern
ment almost entirely powerless. Action—•
prompt, decisive, energetic action—was
necessary. lat once saw what was needed,
and without hesitation gave myself to the
work. For six months I have labored
with unceasing industry. The accustomed
and needed hours for sleep have been em
ployed in the publio service. Night and
day have official duties demanded unremit
ting attention. 1 have had no proper
leisure moments for rest or recreation.—
My health has failed under the pressure.
Nor is this-adj; to my own private purse,
without assurance of reimbursement, have
I resorted, in every emergency, for the re
quired funds. Whether these arduous
services and willing sacrifices have been
beneficial to Kansas and my country, you
are abundantly qualified to determine.
That I have met with opposition, and
even bitter vituperation, and vindiotive
malice, is no matter for astonishment. No
man has ever yet held an important or re
sponsible post in our own or any other
country and escaped censure. I should
have been weak and foolish indeed, had I
expected to pass through the fiery ordeal
entirely unscathed, especially as I was re
quired, if not to come in. conflict with, at
least to thwart evil machinations, and hold
in restraint wicked passions, or rid the
Territory of many lawless, reckless and
desperate men. Beside, it were impossible
to come in contact with the conflicting in
terests which governed the conduct of
many well-disposed persons, without be
coming an object of mistrust and abuse.
While from others, whose sole object was
notoriously personal advancement at any
sacrifice of the general good and at every
hazard, it would have been ridiculous to
anticipate the meed of praise for disinter
ested action. And hence, however palpable
might have been my patriotism, however
just my official conduct, or however bene
ficial its results, I do not marvel that my
motives have been impugned and my in
tegrity maligned. It is, however, so well
known, that I need scarcely record the
fact, that those who have attributed my
labors to a desire for gubernatorial or sen
atorial honors, were and are themselves the
aspirants for those high trusts and powers,
and foolishly imagined that I stpod between
them and tbe consummation of their am
bitious designs and high-towering hopes.
But whatever may be thought or said of
my motives or desires, I have the proud
consciousness of leaving this scene of my
severe and anxious toil with clean hands,
and the satisfactory conviction that He
who can penetrate the inmost recesses of
the heart, and read its secret thoughts, will
approve my purposes and aots. In the
discharge of my executive functions, I have
invariably sought to do equal and exact
justice to all men, however humble or ex
alted. I have eschewed all sectional dis- !
putations, kept aloof from all party affilia
tions, and have alike soorned numerous
threats of personal injury and violence,':
and the most flattering promises of advance- ;
ment and reward. And I ask and claim
nothing more for the part I have acted
than the simple merit of having endeavor
ed to perform my duty. This I have done
at all times, and upon every occasion re
gardless of the opinions of men, and utter
ly fearless of consequences. Occasionally
I had been forced to assume great respon
sibilities, and depend solely upon my own
resources to accomplish important ends ;
but in all such instances, I have carefully
examined surrounding oircumstances,
weighed well the probable results, and aot
ed upon my own deliberate judgment; and
in now reviewing them, I am so well satis
ed with the policy uniformly pursued, that
were it to be done over again, it should ,
not be ohanged in the slightest particular. 1
In puting with yon, I oan do no leu
than give you a few words of kindly ad
vice, and even of friendly warning. You
are well aware that most of the troubles
which lately agitated the Territory were
occasioned by men who had no especial in
terest in its welfare. Many of them were
not even residents; whilst it is quite evi
dent that others were influenced altogether
in the part they' took in the disturbances
by mercenary or other personal considera
tions. The great body of the actual citi
zens are conservative, law-abiding and
peace-loving men, disposed rather to make
sacrifices for conciliation and consequent
peace, than to insist for their entire rights,
should the general good thereby be caused
to suffer. Some of them, under the influ
ence of the prevailing excitement, and
misguided opinions, were led to the com
mission of grievous mistakes, but not with
the deliberate intention of doing wrong.
A very few men, resolved upon mischief,
may keep in a state of unhealthy excite-;
menr- and involve in fearful strife an en- ,
tire community. This was demonstrated j
during the civil commotions with which the !
Territory was convulsed. While the peo
pie generally were anxious to pursue their >
peaceful callings, small combinations of;
crafty, scheming, and designing men suc
ceeded, from purely selfish motives, in
bringing upon them a series of most la
mentable and destructive difficulties. Nor
are they satisfied with the mischief already
-done. They never desired that the present:
peace should be effected; nor do they in- j
tend that it shall continue, if they have
the power to prevent it. In the constant
croakings of disaffected individuals in
various seotions, you hear only the expres
sions of evil desires and intentions.—
Watch, then, with a special, jealous and
suspicious eye those who are continually
indulging surmises of renewed hostilities.
They are not the friends of Kansas, and
there is reason to fear that some of them
are not only the enemies of this Territory,
but of the Union itself. Its dissolution is
their ardent wish, and Kansas has been
selected as a fit place to commence the ac
complishment of a most nefarious design.
The scheme has thus far been frustrated ;
but it has not been abandoned. You are
entrusted, not only with the guardianship
of this Territory but the peace of the
Union, which depends upon you in a great
er degree than you may at present suppose.
You should, therefore, frown down every
effort ,to foment discord, and especially to
array settlers from different sections of the
Union in hostility against each other. All
true patriots, whether from the North or
South, Hast or West, should unite together
for that which is and must be regarded as
a common cause, the preservation of the
Union ; and he who shall whisper a desire
for its dissolution, no matter what may be
his pretensions, or to what faction or party
he claims to belong, is unworthy of your
confidence, deserves your strongest repro
bation, and should be branded as a traitor
to his country. There is a voice crying
from the grave of one whose memory is
. dearly cherished in every patriotic heart,
and let it not cry in vain. It tells you
that this attempt at dissolution is no new
thing ; but that, even as early as the days
of our first President, it was agitated by
ambitious aspirants for place and power.—
And if the appeal of a still more recent
hero and patriot was needed in his time,
how much more applicable is it now, and
in this Territory.
“ The possible dissolution of the Union,”
he says, “ has at length become an ordinary
and familiar subject of discussion. Has
the warning voice of Washington been for
gotten 1 or have designs already been form
ed to sever the Union l Ltt it not be
supposed that I impute to all of those who
have taken an active part in these unwise
and unprofitable disoussions, a want of pa
triotism Or of public virtue. The honora
ble feelings of State pride and local attach
ments, find a place in the bosoms of the
. most enlightened and pure. But while
■ such men are conscious of their own in
. >.tegrity and honesty of purpose, they ought
i never to forget that t|he citizens of other
. States are their political brethren ; and
• that, however mistaken they may be in
; their views, the great body of them are
[ equally honest aud upright with them
> selves. Mutual suspicions and reproaches
! may, in time, create mutual hostility, and
i artful designing men will always be found
■ who are ready to foment these fatal divis
• ions, and to inflame the natural jealousies
• of different sections of the country. The
. i history of the world is full of such exam
i: pies, and especially the history of repub
r ! lies.”
When I look upon the present condition
of the Territory, and contrast it with what
it was when I first entered it, I feel satis
fied that my administration has not been
prejudicial to its interests. On every
hand, I now perceive unmistakable indica
tions of welfare and prosperity The hon
est settler occupies his quiet dwelling, with
his wife and children clustering around
him, unmolested, and fearless of danger.
The solitary traveller pursues his way un
harmed through every public thoroughfare.
The torch of the incendiary has been ex
tinguished, and the oabins which were
destroyed have been replaced with more
substantial buildings. Hordes of banditti
no longer lie in wait in every ravine for
plunder and assassination. Invasions of
hostile armies have ceased, and infuriated
partisans, living in our midst, have em
phatically turned their swords into plough
shares, and their spears into pruning hooks.
Laborers are every where at work—farms
are undergoing rapid improvements —mer-
chants are driving a thriving trade—and
mechanics pursuing with profit their vari
ous occupations. Real estate, in town
and country, has increased in valne al- I
most without precedent, until in some
places it is commanding prices that never
could have been anticipated. Whether
■ this healthy and happy change is the re
-1 suit solely of my Executive labors, or not,
it certainly has occurred during my admin
tration. Upon yourselves must mainly
depend the preservation and perpetuity of
the present prosperous condition of affairs. \
Guard it with increasing vigilance, and |
protect it as you would your lives. Keep ;
down that'party spirit, which, if permitted ;
to obtain the mastery, must lead to desola-!
tion. Watch closely and condemn in its i
infancy every insidious movement, that 1
oan possibly tend to discord and disunion. i
Suffer no local prejudices to disturb the
prevailing harmony. To every appeal to i
these turn a deaf ear, as did the Saviour
of men to the promptings of the deceiver.
Act as a united band of brothers, bound ;
i together by one common tie. Your inter-.
' ests are the same, and by this course alone!
can th»y be maintained. Follow this, and 1
your hearts and homes will be made light
and happy by the richest blessings of a
kind and munificent Providence.
To yon, the peaceable citizens of Kan
sas, I owe my grateful acknowledgments
for the aid and comfort your kind assur
ances and hearty co-operation have afforded
in many dark and trying hours. You have
my sincerest thanks, and my earnest prayers
that you may be abundantly rewarded of
Heaven.
To the ladies of the Territory—the
wives, mothers, sisters and daughters of
the honest settlers—l am also under a
a weight of obligation. Their pious pray
ers have not been raised in vain, nor their
numerous assurances of confidence in the
policy of my administration failed to exert
a salutary influence.
And last, thongh not least, I must not
be unmindful of the noble men who form
the Military Department of the West.—
To General Persifer F. Smith and the offi
cers acting under his command I return
my sincere thanks for many valuable servi
ces-. Although from different parts of the
Union, and naturally imbued with seotional
prejudices, I know of no instance in which
su.ch prejudices have been permitted to
stand in the way of a faithful, ready, cheer
ful and energetic discharge of duty. Their
conduct in this respeot is worthy of uni
versal commendation, and presents a bright
example for those executing the civil pow
er. The good behaviour of all the soldiers
who were called upon to assist me, is, in
fact, deserving of especial notice. Many
of these troops, officers and men, had served
with me on the fields of Mexico, against a
foreign foe ; and'" it is a source of no little
satisfaction to know that the laurels there
won have been further adorned by the
praiseworthy alacrity with whioh they aid
ed to allay a destructive fratricidal strife
at home.
With a firm reliance in the protecting
care and over-ruling providenoe of that
Great Being who holds in his hand the
destinies alike of men and of nations, I bid
farewell to Kansas and to her people,
trusting that whatever events may hereaf
ter befall them, they will, in the exercise
of His wisdom, goodness and power, be so
directed as to promote their own best in
terests and that of the beloved country of
which they are destined to form a most
important part.
JOHN W. GEARY.
Leoompton, Maroh 12th, 1857.
A Doctor as is a Doctor. —A self
sufficient humbug who took up the busi
ness of a physician with a deep knowledge
of the healing art, was once called to visit
a young man afflicted with, apoplexy.—
Bolus gazed long and felt bis pulse and
pocket, looked at his tongue and his wife,
and finally gave vent to the following sub
lime opinion :
“ I think he’s a gone fellow.”
“ No, no!” exclaimed the sorrowful
wife, do not say that '.l
“ Yes,’ exclaimed Bolus, lifting up his
hat and eyes heavenward at the snme time,
“yes, I do say so ; there ain’t no hope, not
a mite; he’s got an attack of nihil flit in
his lost frontis—”
“ Where 1 dried the startled wife.
“ In his lost frontis, and he can’t be
cured without some trouble and a great
deal of pains. You see his whole planeta
ry system is deranged ; firstly, his vox pop
uli is pressing on his advalorem ; secondly,
his catracarpal cutaneous has swelled con
siderably, if not more ; thirdly and lastly,
his solar ribs are in a concussed state, and
he ain’t got any money, consequently he
is bound to die.”
For the Inteiligenoer.
THE FLOWERS IN THE GROVE
When Spring did bloom within thy breast
Like as the mountain flow’r,
And pleasures smiles o'er thee did rest.
In summer’s fleeting hour;
Then did 'at thou far excel the rose,
The lily fair and gay,
Or loveliest flower on earth that grows,
In summer's genial day.
Bright sunny pleasures purer yet,
May still through life be thine;
And ere thy summers orb doth set,
It may yet brighter shine.
But whilst the rays of noon-day sun,
Around thy path did play,
A well belov’d aDd precious one,
From thee was called away.
Then, ere the autumn winds were come,
The tear drops filled thine oyes,
And whilstthe fiow’rs were gathered home,
Thy voice was hush'd in sighs;
Thy burning grief was then severe,
Since death had robb’d thy heart,
And with a loving friend most dear,
was thy lot to part.
Alas! the winter’s shivering frost,
Doth freely ravage now,
And Arotio winds with frozen blast,
Have girded on the snow.
I grievo for thee, those wintry boon,
In my own favor'd home ;
Ho more I'll sing of summer flowers,
Bnt ohime of winter’s gloom.
Oh! ■ let life’s darken’d path once more.
Lead baok from wintry shores,
Until again bright summer’s bower,
Is olothed in blooming flow’n.
Oh 1 hasten speed, tbon weary night,
And haste returning day,
On swifter with thy dawning light,
And speed drear night away.
Bat may’st thou tread those dreary ways
With none to call a friend,
Or want a heart to sympathize
When grief thy feelings rend ?
Has not fond hearts their chords entwined,
And closely bound to thee,
In love and friendship both oombin’d,
What e’er thy fortunes be.
Although thy summer bloom may fade,
‘Thy beauty may deoay,
Or that dear youthful heart grow sad,
Which onoe appear’d so gay ;
That nimble foot with step so fret.
It may forget to tell,
The merry note so joyously,
That onoe it told so well.
E’en should thy sparkling eye grow dim,
And blooming oheek turn pale,
As when the blighting frosts had eome,
And autumn winds did wail;
Or should all outward charms be gone,
And youthful bloom depart,
Yet flow’ry Spring still blossoms on
In thy kind loving heart.
But why should I e’er wish for morn.
And long for coming day,
Or sing of glories to adorn
t And debit the tallies gay T
Unless again amongst the flow'll,
Thou loveliest one I’ll see!
Or brief Indeed will bn the houx%
'Kn tU Uwh Joy» ihaU fief
HOME, SWEET HOME
Though the trite old song, “ Homo,
Sweet Home,” has been sung within the
household, yet how few persons of all who
have heard its sweet strains, know who was
the author of the beautiful words—
“ Hid pleasures and palaces, though we m&j roam.
Be it evor so humble, there’s no place liko home."
It has perhaps never occurred to the
mind ol any one acquainted with the oir
oumstances, that the writer of a song
which has found an echo in so many hearts,
could be other, than one who had experi
enced all the pleasures of a happy home ;
but sad as is the reflection, it is neverthe
less true, that John Howard Payne, the
author of “ Home, sweet Home,” though
he has contributed to the happiness of
many homes, never had a home of At 3 own.
We clip the article below, suggesting
that a monument be ereoled to the memory
of Payne, from the Boston Olive Branch,
and give it a place in our columns, believ
ing that it will find a response in the
hearts of our readers.
The Author op “ Sweet Home.”—As
I sit in my garret here in Washington,
watching the course of great men, and the
destiny of party, I meet often with strange
contradictions in this eventful life. The
most remarkable was that of John Howard
Payne, author of “ Sweet Home.” I knew
him personally. He occupied tho rooms
under me for some time, and his conver
sation was so captivating that I often spent
whole days in his apartments. He was an
applicant for office at the time:—consul at
Tunis—from which he had been removed.
What a sad thing it was to see the poet
subjected to all the humiliation of office
seeking ! Of an evening we would walk
along the street. Onoe in a while he
would see some family circle so happy, and
forming so beautiful a group, that he would
stop, and then pass suddenly on.
On such occasions he would give a his
tory of his wanderings, his trials, and all
his cares incident to his sensitive nature
and poverty. “ How often ” said he once,
“have I been in the heart of Paris,. Berlin,
and London, or some other city, and heard
persons singing, or the hand organ playing
“ Sweet Home,” without a shilling to buy
the next meal, or a plaoe to lay my head.
The world literally sung my song, until
every heart is familiar with its melody. —
Yet I have been a wanderer from boyhood.
My country has turned me ruthless from
office ; and in old age I have to submit to
humiliation for bread.” Thus he would
complain of his hapless lot. His only wish
was to die in a foreign land, to be buried
by strangers, and sleep in obscurity.
I met him one day looking unusually
sad. “ Have you got your consulate V’
asked I.
“ Yes and leave in a week for Tunis 1 I
shall never return.”
Tho last expression was not a political
faith. Far from it. Poor Payne ! his wish
was realized ; he died at Tunis. Whether
his remains have been brought to this coun
try, I know not. They should bo ; and if
none others would do it, let the homeless
throughout the world give a penny for a
monument to Payne, I knew him, and will
give my penny for an inscription like the
following :
HERE LIES
J. HOWARD PAYNE,
The Author of “ Sweet Home.”
A wanderer in life ; he whose songs were
sung in every tongue and found an
echo in every heart,
NEVER HAD A HOME.
HE DIED
In a Foreign Land.
A Murrain Approaching.—A corres
pondent.of the London Times says that an
exceedingly fatal epidemio has been for
some time ravaging the herds of Central
Europe, and has now reachod Konigsberg,
where one proprietor is said to have lost
three hundred head in a night. The wri
ter says :
“In 1745 the same or a like epidemic
was introduced into England by means of
two calves from Holland. In the second
year after its introduction ov'er 40,000
eattle died in Nottinghamshire and Leices
tershire, and almost as many more in Ches
hire. During the, third year remuneration
was given by the government, who had or
dered the destruction of diseased cattle,
for no fewer than 80,000 head, while twice
as many more, according to the report of
one of the commissioners, died of the mal
ady. In the fourth year it was equally
fatal, nor does it appear to have complete
ly disappeared till eight years after.”
On the Continent every exertion is being
made to arrest the progress of tho infec
tion, and military detachments are charged
to destroy all cattle that become infeoted
in Prussia. If only one of a herd should
be attacked, the authorities order the
whole to be slaughtered ; and sordona
samtairea are established along the fron
tiers to prevent the ingress of cattle from
districts in which the disease exists. If
these statements are not exaggerated, the
loss of so many cattle must seriously di
minish the supply of food in Europe, and
may give rise to insurrectionary movements
on the part of the people.
CARDS.
Dr. John. IPCaUa, DENTIST— 4 tout
King Rtreet, Pa. fapl 18 tf*lB
JUNIUS B. KAUFMAN, ATTORNEY AT LAW,
has removed his office to his residence, in Duka street,
first door south of the Fanners’ Bank’ near the Court House,
ap 1 Xy, 11
Removal.— william s. amweg, attorney
AT LAW, has removed his Office from hie fonnerplacv.
Into North Duke street opposite the new Court House,
apr 8 tfl^
DR. 8. WELCHENB, SURGEON DEN
TIST.—Office, Kramph s Buildings, second floor,North
East corner of North Queen and Orange streets. Lanes**
ter, Pa. jau 20 tfl
Newton lightner, attorney
AT LAW, has removed bis Office to North Duke street,
to the room recently occupied by Hon. I. E. Hieater.
Lancaster, apr 1 tfll
Removal.— ISAAC E. lllESTER—Attorney at Law
n*e removed to an Office in North-Duke street, nearly
pposlte the new Court House, Lancaster, Pa,
spl dm-12
Aldus ON Neff| Attorney
B. A- Shasffer, Esq., south-weet corner of Centre Square,
next door to Wager’s Wine Store, Lancaster, Pa.
may 16,1865
Jease Landis,— Attorney at Law. Office one 'doo,
east of Lechler’s Hotel, E. King Bt., Lancaster pa.
tinds of Scrirenlng—such as writiog Wills,
Mortgages, Accounts, Ac-, will be attended to with
oorreetness and despatch. may 16, ’65 tf-17
tTTILLIAM WHITESIDE, SURGEON
VV DENTIST.—Office In North Queen street, 8d door
from Orange, and directly orer Sprenger k Westhaeff&r’a
Book Store.
Lancaster, may 27,185(5,
Removal* —WILL AM B. FORDNJSY, Attorney at
Law has removed his office from N. Queen cLtotbe
building in the South East corner of Centee Square, uw
merly known as Hubley’s Hotel.
Lancaster, april 10 . I,
Dr. J. T. Baker, Hbuiepathle Phjiidrn, rate***
to Dr. ITAllUter. „ . _
Offlcaln E. Ormogs Bt, naul? oppoaJU tie Krat Gee
man Batoned CDurob. atm
Uaaajtteo, A*» »
NO 11