Tallman zo
I!E=Eii
- TOWANDA:
Wancsban Sllornino, 3nne 27, 1819.
THE BATTLE WITH THE DESPOT&
II C• D. ITICAZT.
I bear across the dark blue sea
War's trumpet sounding
And Nations struggling to be free;
ike ocean-tides, resistlessly,
llainst Bayonets and serried spears,
And thrones blood-built a thousand years,
Are fiercely bounding!
Blood strews the trembling earth like rain,
From brace hearts gushing;
Wrath, woe and terror's - blent refrain
Pours from the mountain and the plain,
And hand to-hand, and face to face,
Tyrants and serf to Death's embrace
Are madly rushing !
Old Rhine's blue wave and Tineio's tide
Are crimson flowing;
Vineyards and farm-fields far and wide
NVith dark empufpling gore are dyed ;
Germans, and Scalves, and Savoyai-ds
Trampled for aye like hounded pards,
With vengeance glowing—
Link hand with hand! one common foe
To meet and battle;
Red Austria, swathed in crimson glow.
Must meet a murderer's fate—or woe
To those who dare the ensanguined field,
t4corning before her spears to yield,
And cannon's rattle !
4)1.1 Rome looks on ! the deepning fight
inspiring, valor—
Who, loving Freedom, God and Right,
Will shrink his task in fear or flight,
Until the AuFtrian torturer reels—
And Russia's soulless tyrant feels
Fear: - blanching pallor!
.Ir.ke one. strike all! for hearth■ and graves
The combat quicken;
Roll up your ranks like stormy waves,
Strike, a% ye would no. more be slaves!
For in .this battle all is lost,
Unless the tyrant and his host
To earth be stricken!
Give mice to throne, nor crown, nor king !
The death-torch lighted—
Your blades on Austnes morion ring.
Till from the shivered steel shall spring
t fire, whose dreadful light shall shine
Where freemen's vows on Freedom's shrine
In blood are plighted!
[From the - National Magazine.]
THE ('ALIPII'S DAUGHTER
Isy JAMV.eiI. 'DANA
Lan not heard of the vale of Cashmere,
IN oh .1, it.es the brlghtest that earth ever gave,
and grottos, and fountains as clear
love•bghted eyes that hangs over their wave."
ii.ALLA ROOK/I.
It was the afternoon of a sultry day, and two
t.'males, both lovely, were seated by the side of a
hash, in the gardens of a delicious pavillion, among
the hills of Perma. The sculpture adorning the
bath, and the roses that grew around, not less than
the attire of the females; bespoke luxury• and rank*.
The youngest and loveliest of the two had just
emerged from the water, and `with a loose robe
thrown around her, and one foot still dangling in
she cool liquid, sat in a pensive attitude, while her
companion who was evidently of lower rank, was
endeavoring to console her.
'. Nay, do not despair," said the latter. Your
father may relent. Surely, if you throw yourself
at his feet, and tell him that you love another, he
will riot force you to marry this strange prince."
Alas ! you little know the-Caliph," replied his
qughter. 4, When once she has resolved on a
course of conduct, he is inexorable. It seems I
was promised to this prince in infancy. There is
no hope." And she burst into tears.
The Princess Amra, or as the poets of Ispham
called her, " Gut sed Berk," the rose of a hundred
leaves, had lived to the age of seventeen without
her life had been spent wholly at the fa
vorite:country palace, or rather hunting seat of the
Caliph, a day's journey from the capital ; her only
-employment being to walk with her female slaves,
to play on the lute, and occasionally to go hawking,
a' sport still still followed in the East.
One day, however, while flying her falcon. Ara
m became separated, for a few moments, from all
her attendants except her favorite female compan
ion. Just at this crisis, a leopard, pursued by some
hunters, and mad with rage at the loss of her cobs,
broke from a neighboring thicket, and beholding
the young princess, with a fierce growl sprang up
on her. The beast alighted on the haunches of the
palfry which Amra rode ! and the next instant e the
fangs of the wild animal would have been fasten
ea in the princess had not a lance, hurled with un
erring aim whizzed by and transfixed the savage
assailant. Anira and the leopard fell to the ground
together, the first in a swoon, the last stone-dead.
The gunter who had thus opportunely come to
The rescue, was a remarkable handsome youth,
some four or five years oh* than the princess, but
evidently of inferior rank. His attire indeed was
that ola native of the hills, though worn with
more taste.than usual. Ile lifted Amra from the
groubd, carried her to a spring hard by, and sprink
ling her face with wate7, while her attendant stood
motionless, as yet bewildered with fright. Soon
the young princes.s opened her eyes. and finding
those of her preserver fixed ardently upon her,
blushed deeply. In a few minutes her train came
running, when the hunter resigned his lovely bur
den, and withdrew to pick up his lance. When
the tumult of Amm's attendants had subsided,.and
they came to look for the youth, they foOnd he had
disappeared.
For many weeks the young princess caused in
quiries to be.made after the huder, but in vain;
110 one could remember to have seen
i him, either
behre or since that day ; meantime, Amra thought
of him by day, and dreamed of him by night.—
Educated as she bad been, the romance of the res
cue was irresistible to her berrt. One day when
again a hawking, and when again separated from
/ I. =r train ; the hunter suddenly appeased before her.
THE BRADFORD REPORTE
The stranger implored silence, saying in tones that
Amra thought inexpressibly musical:—
" For many weeks I have followed you unseen,
whenever you have gone abroad; but dared not make
myself visible on account of your attendants. The
distance between the daughter of a Caliph and a
poor soldieris immeasurable, yet, nevertheless as
our forefathers could worship the sun unchecked,
so let me at the same distance worship you. I
have loved you from the moment I saw you
shrinking in terror from that wild beast."
As the hunter spoke, he stood respectfully, with
his head slightly bent„before Amm, so that she
thought she had never seen any one half so hand
some. She was silent, for she knew not what to
reply. Her heart, however, pleaded loudly in his
favor. In Persia the freedom of females is greater
than other oi iental countries, and Amra more
over had been taught to roam where she pleased
in the vicinity of the palace; so no wonder that,
is the end, love triumphed, and she yielded .a ta
cit assent to another meeting. No such interview
indeed was proposed by the hunter, but his eyes
at parting looked his wish, and Amra the very next
day, by accident as she tried to persuade herself
turning her steps to towards the tryating spot, ac
companied by her confidential attendant, met the
hunter there.
This was the beginning of a romance which
continued for several months. After a few inter
views, Amra no longer disguised her affections;
and thereafter, they met by explicit appointment,
as they had before by' a tacit agreement. What
language can describe the bliss of the first love?
The young Princess during these months lived in
a dream of Paradise. She forgot that her suitor
could never aspire to her hand, she ceased to re•
member she was plighted to another in childhood :
all she thought of was the felicity of the present
moment. But to this vision of happiness - there
carne a rude awakening. Her lover had long since
told her that he was an officer in the Caliph's ar
my: and now he informed her that he had been
summoned to join the troops waging war against
the Turks. She was almost heart-broken at the
separation. But this blow was nothing to what
followed.
One night, a courier arrived covered with dust,
at the pavillion. He bore a perfumed missive from
Amra's father, announcir.g his intention to visit ins
summer palace, the following day. The letter
concluded as follows : " The young Prince Ilafiz,
to whom you were betrothed in childhood, will
accompany me in order to consummate the nup
fiats. Be ready, therefore to greet us with your
richest attire, a train of your handsomest slaves,
and what will be even more flattering to your fu
ture lord, your sweetest smiles. The prince is no
ble looking, and as powerful as he is handsothe. I
am proud to give him my favorite daughter. Al
lah it aline?"
This epistle, as may be supposed, opened Am
ra't eyes to the folly, or if not the folly, the hope
lessuess of her love. Had her salter been within
call, she would have thrown herself into his arms,
willingly sacrificing wealth, rank and a father's
blessing for an humble:condition of life shared with
the young hunter who had won her virgin heart.—
But he was far away, and no shadow of escape
was open to her. She saw wki agony inexpres
sible, that submission was her only course; but
she thought day and night, how terrible would be
her lover's anguish, when on his return from the
wars, after seeking her in vain at the usual trysting
place he would learn that'she was lost to him for
ever. The conversation between her and her at
tendant, with which our story begins, had been on
this mournful theme ; and it was the last conversa
tion that they could ever hold on the subject; for
that evening the Caliph and Prince Hafiz were ex
pected 'at the pavillion.
It was.with many tears that the young princess
yielded herself to the hands of her attendants, to be
attired for the approaching interview. At last, ar
rayed in garments of the richest texture, and deck
ed with the choicest gems, she came forth from the
inner bower of the harem ; and took her seat on the
cushions of the rezeiving room. This was a large
apartMent, with walls painted in arabesques of blue
and silver and divans of blue satin running amend
it. The floor was tasselated marble. In the cen
tre of the apartment a fountain threw up its spark
ling jet, diffusing are freshing coolness around.—
Through the lattices a view was obtained of the
garden of the pavilion, which full of fragrant trees,
at every gush of the breeze sent its aromatic odors
through the apartment. :
The heart of Anna beat tart, for she knew that
while her slaves bad been attiring her, the Caliph
and his guest had arrived ; and.she expected, every
moment to see the Curtain lifted from the entrance
and hear the eunuch in waiting announce both her
visitors. But she was disappointed, for only her
parent appeared.
She sprang up with instinctive affection, forget
ting everything but that her father was before her,
and threw herself around his neck. On his part
he returned her embrace fondly, and then holding
her at arms' length, gazed proudly on his mvorite
child.
"Thou art beautiful as ever, my rase of roses,"
he said, "only thy cheek is paler than wont:—and
that too when I looked to see it so bright: for even
a Caliph's daughter may be proud of the alliance
I bring you."
Boor Antra, who at these words remembered GII
her troubles, b - urst into tears.
' 4
Weeping," said the Caliph in surprise and with
anger in his tones, " why, shame on you girl, this
will spoil your eyes! I have 'promised Prince
Mhz that he shall see you directly and now You
look like a fright. La-illah—il allah—this is too
bad."
Still the girl wept on, and now moreconvulgive-
ly than ever, till at last the father's heart was touch
ed, and this tone of anger changed. for one of con
cern.
What ails thee, darling ?" be said fondly. "la
it anything thy lather, the Caliph ; can do for thee
REM
PUBLISHED EVERY WEDNESDAY, AT TOWANDA, BRADFORD COUNTY, PA., BY E. O'MEARA GOODRICH.
-. ~~~'..;..~:.GFts:s^.tii^. x i.r..k~ ^^r.; x .r~n~da`til'r~%'!.'3'.i.~.
" SOGAIIDLIOS OF vortrprcunow mom AKT WARTY:IO
Are thy jewels scant, thy wardrote wanting, thy
slaves not handsome enough- 7 -what is it ?"
This tone of sympathy and affection went to
Amm's heart, and gave her taint hopes that the
revelation of her story, and an appeal to her fath
ers generosity might not prove unsuccessful. She
looked np, therefore, through her tears, and said—
"Oh ! father save me from this marriage. Ido
not love this strange prince, whom I have not seen,
but andther —."
" Whair' he said, "dare you tell me this!—
Love another! Where have you seen another, to
love? By Allah, the head of every servant here
shall pay for this indiscretion." And as be spoke,
he half unsheathed his scimitar. Then, sending
it back into his scabbard with a thrust that made it
ring he stalked furiously up to Amra, who had now
sunk on the divan, and continued—" hear, shame
on your race, and obey. I shall send Prince Hafiz
here. I bid you to receive him as you ought, for
this very night the nuptials shall be celebrated.—
And mark me, not a whisper of this mad love to
him, or, by the bones of my ancestors the prophet,
it shall be the last day of your life."
With these words the incensed parent turned and
left the apartment, bent on seeking out and pun
ishing the guilty. Amra watched him until the
curtain concealed him from sight, and then sank
back on the divan with a shriek. The room reel
ed round her the next instant, after which con
sciousness deserted her.
When she came to herself she was reclining in
some person's arms by the side of the fountoin,
and her face was profusely wet with water. She
opened her eyes. A well known face-4t was that
of her hunter lover—gazed down on her. She ut
tered a cry of joy, and made a feeble eflort to
cling closer to him.
'• Save me," she cried. " You can save me, or
you would not be here. IS the prince gone or has
he not entered ? Haste or it wiU be too late."—
And she gazed terrified toward the door.
" Fear nothing, dear one," said the hunter. " i am
both your lover and the prince. Yes r' be add
el, as she endeavored to rise, and gazed at him in
wild astonishment, "1 am Prince Hafiz, who
chose to woo his bride before receiving her, be
because be wished to be loved for himself and not
for his rank. Forgive the pain my stratagem has
caused you for a while ; for here I swear, by the
good Allah, never to give you anxiety again."
And Aiwa, unable to speak, with glad tears run
ning from her eyes, hid her face on her lovers bo
som, and in her heart blessed him for what he had
done, since it had purchased her the exquisite hap
piness of that moment.
The reader may well believe the nuptials were
not delayed, and that the princess never looked
lovelier than on the occasion. The Caliph forgot
his anger, and forgave every thing, when he heard
that the hunter and Prince Hafiz were one.
To this day the story of the Caliph's daughter is
the favorite lay of the maidens of Shirez ; and of
ten, as evening falls, the soft notes of their yokes
rehearsing it, float through the closed lattices of
their harems.
To THOSE WHO TAKE NO INTEREST IN POLITICS.—
In a letter written in 1834, Lamartine thus beauti
fully and religiously explains his motives for enter
ing political life :
When the Divine Judge shall summon us to ap
pear before our conscience at the end of our brief
journey here below, our modesty, our weakness,
will not be an excuse for our inaction. It will be
of no avail to reply, we were nothing, we could do
nothing, we were but a grain of sand. He will say
to us, I placed before you, in your day, the two
scales of a beam, by which the destiny of the hu
man race was weighed ; in one was good, and in
the other evil. You were but a grain of sand, no
doubt, but who told you that grain of sand would
not have caused the balance to incline on my side?
You bad intelligence to see, a conscience to decide,
and you should have placed this grain of sand in
one or the other y you did neither. Let the wind
drift it away ; it has not been of any use to you or
your brethren.
Ntorr.—Night is beautiful itself, but still more
beautiful in its association; it is not linked, as day
is, with our cares and our toils—the businese and
littleness of life. The sur_shine brings with it ac
tion; we rise in the moraine, and our task is be
fore us—and night comes, and with it rest. If we
leave sleep, and ask not of dress forgetfulness, our
waking is in solitude, and our employment is
thought. Imagination has thrown her glories
around the midnight—the orbs of heaven, the si
lence, the shadows are steeped In poetry. Even
in the heart of a crowded city, where the moon
light falls upon but upon pavement and roof, the
heart would be- softened, and mind elevated amid
the loveliness of Night's deepest and stillest hours.
MORE G01.D.-It was told "on 'change" yester
day moring, that one of the volunteers who went
from this city to California in Col. Stevenson's reg
iment, had returned with fifty pounds of the dust.
Like the rest of. the diggers, he had not shaved in .
months, and as a consequence carried a monstrous
pair of whiskers. Not wishing longer to sport
these, he went into one of the barber shops and had
them cut off. After he went out, the knight of the
razor brushed from the sandy-colored whiskers two
thousand dollars worth of told dust !
ENFORCING THCOHNERVANCE Or TIM SAHBATH
At a Sabbath Convention held in Kingston, New
Jersy, last week, resolutions were adopted against
the passage of boats upon the Delaware and Rari
tan Canal, and against the running of cars between
Philadelphia and New York, on the Sabbath day.
The convention also urged upon Judges and Grand
Juries to enforce the law against Sabbath profane.
tion. No exception was made in favor of the Sun
day mail train.
FREAK or Gr. Kitty, where's the frying
pan V' " Johnny's gut it, carting mud and clam
shells up the alley ; with the cat for a horse."
BE QUIET, DOI I'LL CALL MY MOTHER."
As I was sitting in a wood.
Ender an oak tree's leafy cover,
Musing in pleasant solitude,
Who should come up but John. my lover!
He pressed my hand and kiss'd my cheek;
• Then warmer growing. kiss'd the other,
While I exclaim'd, and strove to shriek,
. "Be quiet, do! ru call my mother!"
He saw my anger was sincere,
And lovingly began to chide me t
Then wiping from my cheek the tear,
He sat him on the grass beside me.
He feign'd such pretty amorous wo,
Breathed such sweet vows one after other,
I could but smile, while whispering low,
" Be quiet, do! rll call my mother r
He talked so long, and talked so well,
And swore be meant not to deceive me ;.
1 felt more grief than I can tell,
When, with a sigh he rose to leave me;
"Oh! John." said 1, " and must thou got
I love thee better than all other;
There is no need of hurry so;
I never meant to call my mother!"
The idea that a great portion of the soil derives
its origin from solid rocks, may, after all we have
said about it, be a poser to some. But carryon not
conceive of a fragment of a rock: so small as to be
invisible to the naked e) e ? And can you not con
ceive of another piece of that same rock, a little
bigger, another little bigger still--perhaps just big
enough to emerge into the region of visibility? And
can you not go on the ascending scale, until you
arrive in your conceptions at the size of a pin head,
and continue your progress, until you mount up to
one the size of a pea, and then to one as large as a
hickory not, and so on ? Well then, can yon not
conceive, that the ingredient; of wnich these little
bits of rock, are composed, may all be purchased
in a drug shop, the only difference being, that in
the one case, they exist in their original state of
combination, and iq the other, in d state of decom
position, or of re-composition ? As we find them
in the shops, they exist, for the most part, either in
a state of solution already, or else in estate in which
they are capable of being dissolved in water or
other liquids. As they exist in the soil, the pro
cess of solution through the agency of air and mois
ture, is necessarily very slow.
If, however, the requisite agencies could be
brought to bear, the process of decomposition in
the soil, might be hastened to an indefinite extent.
Of this some conception may be formed from the
fact, that a patent has recently been taken out for
an invention by means of which the potash in fel
spar rock, may be extracted for aictiltural and
other purposes .- Felspar is one 'of the three mine
nil substances Which constitute granite, and contains
different proportions of potash., but averaging about
fifteen per cent. The process consists in the ap.
plication of chemical agencies, as sulphuric acid
&c. It is a wise arrangement of providence, how
ever, that the mineral ingredients of the soil are
not, to any considerable extent, subjected to the ac
tion of these powerful agencies, as their solution
would be affected at too rapid a rate, for the pur
pose of vegetation.
To help your conceptions on this subject, sup
pose you take a piece of granite, one of the hardest
of all rocks, and subject it to intense heat, and
while in this state, poor water upon it, and you
will find, that you have reduced it to powd , and
prepared it for incorporation in the soil, Du tto
the same laws of decomposition through influ
ence of air and moisture, as other portions f the
soil, which have been derived from the same
source.
And what child is not familiar with the f t, that
solid limestone is reduced to powder by beingrab
jected to the heat of the kiln and 'exposed to the
_action of the atmosphere ? Previous to being heat.
ed the solid rock is simply carbonate of lime. By
the action of heat, the carbonic acid is liberated and
driven off, leaving the lime in a state to be incor
porated with the soil, as a fertilizing element.
And who does not know, that gypsum, (sulphate
of lime) as it is found in its native bed, exists in
the form of rock, and can only be made available
to the purpose of vegetable nntrition, to any consid
erable extent, by being subjected to a process of
pulverization? In this case, however, the change
is simply physical, the chemical change taking
place after its application to the soiL
Well then, if man can devise so many ways of
effecting the decomposition of rocks, and reducing
them to a state in which, as an integral portion of
the soil, they may become food for the growing
plant, think you, that nature has no way of bet
own to affect the !same object? Indeed she has,
and a far more excellent way than any of man's
devising. To besuret, we see none of that hurry
and bustle about her, which are so conspicuous in
the operations of man. She goes to work in her
own way, and in accordance with her own laws,
brings about the mighty result—deliberately indeed,
but in a far better manner, than coultbe done by
the hasty process of artificial appliances.
In Michigan, the mineral properties of the soil,
or rather of the subsoil, are about the same at the
depth of fifteen, twenty, thirty, and even forty feet,
or till you reach the solid rock, as they are near the
surface, insomuch that when thrown out from a
great depth in digging wells, they will, after being
exposed for a time, to the action of air and mois
ture, produce about as well as the original surface
soil. And there is no reason why it should not be
so, as those elements, and that depth, resulted born
the decomposition of the same parent rock, unless
we should find a difficult in accounting for the
fact, that a sufficient supply of orgur.io matter should
be absorbed from the atmosphere, to make those
elements available.
In the light of the above, we see the reason why
stones in a cultivated field, are actually a benefit to
e soil. It is rather a popular opinion, that they
are, in some way a benefit, but bow they produce
their beneficial effects, does not seem to be so well
understood. We have heard persons ascribe the
effect to their I met of attracting moisture. But
:~
Origin of the Soil.
they undoubtedly cause more etaporetion of mois
ture than they attract, by semen of the hest which
they absorb and retain, which heat, by the' way,
may be and doubtless, to some extent, beneficial
to the Mil. But the main benefit to the soil from
the presence of stones, results. undoubtedly
. from
their decomposition, by which means its mineral
elements, are, to some extent, constantly replenish
ed. Through the action of the carbcinic acid, and
the ammonia which descends in rain water, all
stones are constantly giving up a portion (small
though it may be) of mineral elements, and so far
they may be considered a part and parcel of the
soil itself. They exert preciselythe same agency
in the economy of vegetable nutrition, as the invisi
ble fragment of the rock above spoken of does only,
in proportion to the bulk, it is, of course, far less,—
less in proportion as the comparative area of the
surface exposed, is less ; and less too in proportion
as their exposure to moisture is less. Stones, how
ever; may be so plentiful in a field, that the remo
val of a portion of them would . do less injury, than
their presence would harm.
Death of Colima Hein flay.
But most sad, and yet most gloriourrof all, it was
to see the death of the second Henry Clay! You
shotld have seen him, with his back aping yon
der rock, his sword grasped firmly, as the con
sciousness that he bore a name that must notdie in
gloriously, seemed to fill his every vein and dart a
deadly fire from his eyes!
At that moment he looked like the old Man
For his brow, higliand retreating, with the blood.
clotted hair waving back from its outline, was swol
len in every vein as though his soul shone from it.
ere she fled forever. Lips set, brews knit, hand
firm—a circle of his men fighting round him—he
dashed into the Mexicans, until his sword was wet,
his arm weary with blood.
At last, with his thigh splinted by a ball, he.gath
ered his proud form to its HI height and fell. His
face ashy with intense agony, he bade his conimds
to leave him there to die. That ravine, should be
the bed of his glory.
Bat gathering round him, a guard of breasts and
steel—while two of their number bore him tender.
ly along—those men of Kentucky fought round
their tallen hero, and as, retreating step by step,
the launched their swords and bayonets into the
faces of the foe, they said with every blow
CLAY !"
It was wonderful to see how that name nerved
their arms, and called a smile to the dying hero,
How it would have made the heart of the old man
of Ashland throb, to' have beard his name, yelling
as a battle cry, down the shadows of that lobely
pm ! !
Along the ravine, and op the narrow path ! The
hero bleeds as they bear him on, and tracks the
way with his blood. Faster and thicker the Mexi
cans swarm—they see the circle around the fallen
man, even see his pale face, uplifted as a smile
crosses its falling lineaments, and like a pack of
wolves teeming, the frozen traveller at dead of
night, they•come howling up the rocks, and charge
the devoted band with one dense mass of bayonets.
Up and on ! The light shines ycmder, on the top
most rock of the ravine. It is the setting sun. • Old
Taylor's eye is upon that rock, and there we will
fight our way, and die in the old man's sight!
It was a murderous way, that path up the steep,
bank of the ravine Littered.with_ dead, slippery
with blood, it grew blacker every moment with
swarming Mexicans, and the defenders of the
wounded hero fell 'one by one, into the chasms
yawning all around.
At hue they reached the light, the swords and
bayonets glitter in sight of the contending armies,
and the bloody contest roars towards the topmost
rock. •
Then it was, that gathering up his dying frame
—armed with supernatural vigor—young Clay stair:
ted from the arms of his supporters, and stood with
outatreched hands, in the light of the setting sun.
It was a glorious sight which he saw there, amid
the rolling battle clouds; Santa Anna's formidable
array hurled back into ravine and gorge by Taylor's
little band ! But a more glorious thing it was to
see that dying man, standing for the last time, in,
the light of that sun, which never shall rise for him
again I -
Leave me!" be shrieked as he felLback on the
sod—" I must die, and I will die here! Peril your
lives no longer for me ! There is work for you yon
der !"
The Mexicans crowding on, hungry for slaugh
ter, left no time for thought. Even as he spoke,
their bayonets, glistening by hundreds, were level
ed at the throats of the devoted band. By the mere
force of their overwhelming numbers, they crush
ed them back from the side of the dying Clay. One
only lingered—a brave man who bad known the
chivalnc soldier, and loved him long; he stood
there, and, covered uhe was with blood, heard
these last words:
" Tell my father how I died, and give him there
pistols t"
Lifing his ashy face into light, he turned his
eyes upon his comrade's face—placed the pistols
in his hand—fell back to his death.
That bomrade, with the pistols in his gimp fought
his way alone to the topmost rock of the path, and
only once looked back. He saw a quivering form,
canopied by bayonets—be saw those outstreached
hands grappling with points of steal—he saw a pale
face lifted once in the light, and then darkness
rushed upon the life of the young Hauer Cr AT:
Of all actions of a man's fife, his marriage does
least concern other people ; yet of all actions of our
life, it is most meddled with by other people.
IT is a mark of a depraved mind, to sneer at de
crepit old age, or to ridicule any one who is de
formed in his person or lacketh understanding.
There is something so great in a simple, good ac
tion, that the man who, in his whole life, has per
formed even one, can never be wholly despicable.
RE
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beim a Ludwa s &Nit the take sit
, . .
There was in a quiet IMIe village through *her
the "great Natrona Hoed" through Ohio passed, a
Hold where'll:a* stages always dunaged, and the
passengers e2pccted to get breakfast. . Tim landlord
of said Hotel was noted for his " tricks upon trav
elers," who were. allowed to gel fairly seated at the
table, win the driver would blow his born (after`
taking hMorns,) and sing otft "stage ready; gen.:
tlemen !" whereupon the passengers were obliged
to hurry out and fake theft Seats, leaving a scarce
ly tasted breakfast behind them, lot which, howev
er, they had to fork over fifty cents. Oor hero was
one of nine male passengers in a stage coach . which
was slowly approahing the village above mention ,
ed, one cold morning in Febeary, Is 3— .-
" Gentlemen," said one of the nine, " I will cau
tion you against hugging the delusive phantom of
hope, as regards getting breakfast at the Hotel wears
approaching."
" What?—how No breakfast M. eaclahred the
rest.
" Exactly so, gents, you may as fen' keep your
seats and tin."
" Don't they expect passengers to breakfast!"
"Oh yes! they expect you to it, but not to eat it.
I am ander , the impression, that thereis an under
standing between the landlord
and driver, that, for
sundry and various drinks, etc., the falter starts be ,
fore you can scarcely commence eating?'
" Why, wot on earth you talking' Vbout t rt
you calkerlate I'm goin' to pay "four ninepeuees"
fur my breakfast and not Sit the Sallee on't, you , sir
mistakin !" said a voice from the bark sett% the
owner of which was one Hezekiah
" I'm goin' tew get my breakfast yere, and not pay
"nary red" till I dew."
•
"Then you'll be left."
" Not as you knows on, I won't!"
" Well, we'll see," said the other, a the stage
drwe np to the door, and the landlord " ready Id
do the hospitable,". says—
" Breakfast just ready, gents! Take a wadi,
gents! Here's water, basins, towels and.soap.'ir
Atter performing their ablutions, they all places , .
ded to the dining room, and commenced a fierce
onslaught upon the edibles, though Het took hiS
time. Scarcely had they tasted their coffee, when
they heard the unwelcome sound of the horn, and
the driver exclaim, "Stage ready!" Up rise eight_
grumbling passengers, pay their b 0 cts., and *take
their seats.
" All aboard, gents t" inquired Aber host.
"pee missing," said they.
Proceeding to the dining room, the host finds
Hez very coolly helping himself to an immense
piece of steak, the " size of a hone's lip."
" You'll be left, sir ! Stage it going in stmt."
" Wel, I halt got nothing tew say agin it !"
drawls out Hez.
. I
" Can't watt, sir, teller take our seat."
" Dew rent .
" Get in, sir."
- " I'll be gaol-darned et I de*, natter, 'till Vol
got my breakfuin ! I paid fur it. and I'm going' to
git the ranee (nip and of yew callete I ain't ; yew
air Enstakm."
So the stage did start, and left Hez., *be Conlin ,
ued his attack on the edibles. Biscuit, coffin., neaks i
&c., &c., disappeared rapidly before the eyes of the
astonished landlord.
" Say, Squire, them there cakes is 'hold East
fetch us nether grist on 'em. " You'!" (to the waft.
er,) 'nether cup oy that air coffee. Pass them
eggs." Raise yew're own Pork t Squire
hey
got much maple timber in these - parts, hey ye I
Dewin' 'right smart 'trade, squire, I callate.
lay yew re own eggs, dew ye?" and thus Hez kept
quizzing the landlord, until he had made a hearty
meal.
"Say, Squire, now I'm 'bout to conclude payin'
my devowens tew this ere table, but of yew'd juie
giv' us a bowl o'bread and milk tew sort top of!
with, I'd be obleegediew ye."
So out goes landlord and waiter for the bowl,
milk, and bread, and set them before Hez.
" Speten kw, if you please ?"
But no spoon could be found. Landlord was
sure be had plenty silver ones laying en the table
when the stage stopped.
"Say yew ! dew you think them passengers is
going' tew pay yew for a breakfinss and not get no
ammenarsitun."
"Ah ! what? Do you think any of the pae4en•
gers took them ?"
." Dew I think I No I don't think, but lam sartain."
"Ef they are all as green as yew 'bout here, I'm
goin' tew locate immediately tew wont."
The landlord rushes out to the stable, and starts
a roan oft after the stage, which had goner about
three miles. The man oovertakea the wage, and
says something to the driver ill s low tone. Ho
immediately turns back, meld am arriving at the
Hoteli Hez comes oat to take hies plat, and says—
" lieow air yerw, gents! Pm mites glad to. see
yew r'
Landlord says to Ilex, "Crag your point oat the
man you think has the spoons V .
" Pint him emit ? Seventy, I ken. • Say, Sqnire !
I paid yea four uinepences fur a breakfast, and I
eallate I got the pante oFel 1% Yew 'it find them spoons
in the coffee pot!" ? •
" Go ahead, all aboard, driver?'"
Tatrro.—A parent may leave an estate to his son,
but how , soon may it be mortgaged ! lie may leave
him money, bat how soon may it be squandered.
Better leave him a sound constitution, habits of in
dustry, an unblemished reputation, a good ednea
tion, and an inward abhorrence of vice, in any
shape or town ; these cannot be wrested from him
and are better than thousands of gold and silver.
Nothing is too good to be done. Nothing is too
oving for the heart. Nothing is too thoughtful fol;
the mind. Nothing is too powerful for the hanS,
There cannot be too much piety, um much patriot.
ism, too much philanthropy.
II
ME
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