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; 37. I:9IIIDMPDGIVoi
MI
[F r om the Democratic Union 4
“Ilow' End art Thou.", •
UT B• 31• MAILTIF.
Slowly wending my way through
j i brinth, under the guidance of my
r , we s uddenly came upon an old man
in years, seated upon this pillat; his
, pF ea loosely about him, and his head
u pon his bran. Observing us, he ma
a desire to rise. - I aided him. Lean
bliazly upon his staff, his snow-white'
w yj a z almost to the girdle that confi
'• ender garments. He regarded me a
gitS a look of fond affection.. "Young
s iid he, Slid his voice was husky "I
el; dice a lesson of wisdord: How
311 r' My thoughts hurried back over
!H o w old was I I Should I count
> or 'my virtuous actions !
:otthe days that have idly flown,
rears that were vainly spent, •
eik of the hours thou must bhuiti to own,
thy spirits stands befiire the throne,
ecount for the talents lent--
ar the hours redeemed froth sin,
meets employ'd for heaven
id evil thy dayt3 have been,
toilsome but. worthless scr'ne,
,bler purpose given=
-
hade go back on thy dial plate'
sun stand still on his way I
on—and thy spirit's fate
point of life's little date . :
vhile 't calp to-day—
hours, like the Sybil's page,
essen, in value rise;
and live, nor deem that man's age
length of his pilgrimage,
lys that are truly ,vvise.
'..PIIIA, Nov. 1843.
minter Pictaresi
I 2 BUS. SAIIAH J. HALL
Iles shed their !eaves,
summer days are fair,
wry show climes floating down,
lossoms through the air;
rthe earth, like angel's wing,
axing, white and pure,
. shield of power divine,
faith may read it sure, •
whe rules the year can bring
'le Ince kiness -of Spring:.
the bleak and storm-rob'd day
210 with cares and fears,
eh his prises -beast of cloud,
tting sun appears, . •
e peusive watcher's gaze, ..
Di of glory bears,
the noontide summer's prime
crr, never wears;
pe, Oat pours her light most clear,
'el . 's dark clouds are gath'ring near,
minds, like baravering host,
rk night fill with dread—
: may trimthe genial fire,
in4'snch banquet spread,
ife, VIATM3 of sorrow draw
tents more kindly near,
tre's stern frowns will make
lone nor? deeply dear. '
11 . '8 sad Hope, and Love are given
er Pictures, finned by Heaven.
[From the New Mirror.):
Fatcr 'neat!' the /biers.
tag her garland gaily
laid, in seeming play.:
ice whispered daily, •
le chain while yet you may:'
ied she, "'tis but a joy,
many a fragrant flower: '
its bloom enjoy,
ill it any hour."
Med freely, lightly,
soft and glowing chain,
lasPe my hearilio tightly,
teak the toy in twain?'
reLthe tiee that bound her,
'heath her straggling
;toms fell around her,
lingered still,
Mother's Request.
' l B SARAH C. iDGAIITOS.
ieet,mothet. that rgo--'-
when years are past,
'resent shame and ;aro; ,
trell'repaid.at last.
a crowns of tarns
more thy faithful heart,
iliapstinow'my shame,
" 1 7 then have part."
r ieller fixed than ,fame
thy molar bring;
t4titiona name,
.4 may mend thee cling; .
leek a sin* heart,
L one guilty shade, :-
Poor and seemed thou ad s
than well repaid.
The Bear Hunter vf Mt. Defiance.
BY F. BUCKINGHAM GRAHAM.
I am not a Roinancer—my duties are'
of a more humble, and less exciting
character; but my readers will bear
with me, trust, if from time to time,
I attempt to narrate, in my own way,
such little incidents as in a romantic,
roving,, and eccentric course of life,
may have come - to my knowledge.—
The novelist, or the elder sketcher may
think them of but little consequence to
a literary public ; but in the hope that
they may interest those whose dispo
sitions are similar to my own, I have
been . induced to give some of them pub
licity.
Years have flown by Since that beau
tiful morning in summer, ' when the ba
sis- of my Sketch was indelibly impies
aed upon my memory. Horicon pre
sented an ruffled surface, and the forest
trees by .which the sides and summit of
'Mt. Defiance were clad rustled softly in
the zephyr breathing . atmosphere. The
sun had not yet tinge d b the green foliage
of the tamarack and hemlock with his
golden hues, and the lark had just com
menced his matin and his voice echoed
through the wilderness and fell sweetly
upon the ear of the sturdy farmer and
plain lumberman as they w i nded their
way to the respective ' scenes of their
' day's toli
On the very summit of that Mountain,
and near the place where thebrave Al
len-,marshalled his - forces on the night
on which, "in the name of The conti
nental Congress and -the Great 'Jeho
vah," he
_took possession of the fort at
Ticonderoga, at the time of which I am
speaking, there stood a " log cabin"—
the happy home of a poor but respect
able family. I say happy home and I
soy so truly ; although in this age and
climate, some would seem to suppose
that a splendid mansion, luxurious en
tertainments; and extravagant furniture,
constitute the only .110113 q, sweet home,'
known on earth. , 1
But I have digressed. It was at this
early hour in the morning that the in
mates of the above described dwelling,
saw a tall, strongly built man,-approacri
ing. ' The cabin stood nearly in the
centre of a cleared space of ground, and
when the individual above alluded to
came near he paused suddenly, as' if
aroused froin a deep reverie. - As he
looked .up, he was recognised 'as the
old Indian Bear-hunter, the crack of
whose rifle oft echoed through the
dense forests of Mount Defiance. Be
ing the only remaining representative
of a long extinct tribe, and being also
generously and peaceably. disposed, he
had for years been the favorite of the
white inhabitants of that region, - All
knew him, and children would' listen for
hours to his ories of wild-woodadven
ture. .As as his usual custom he stop
ped at th little cabin, ' partook of a fru
gal brew fast and related some little in
cidents, one of which I . shall new for
the first time take the liberty to repeat :
"Many moons have come and gone,"
said he, " since I first crossed in my ca
noe , the waters of Horicon. I was
young and happy "then—for my squaw
and fair. pappoos were with me, and it
was on just such' a' morning as. this.—
When we landed, we heard 3 nothingbut
the merry song of birds, and saw no
thing but wild-flowers,. trees, and rocks.
The Great Spirit then breathed. pace
and love. in- our ears, as he does this
morning, and our hearts went upon the
windio him. 'But we were alone, and
kneiv no filen& here, and so we built
our little, hut of brush as well as we
coUld,.aod live lived and loved in that
same spot for many days.' Every mop
ing I went out to hunt, or fish, and be
fore night =I-would come back; 'and oh!
'how happy were my little family to,
see me.
,At last, one day when near
my, home, I, heard a loud scream, and
'I ran, but was too late. A large bear
stood aver.the body of my poor squaw.
One' ball from this same , rice that r
now carry passed Ihrmigh the head of
the bear,-and he fell by her side. This
to me, friends, was no- revenge,' but I
hoped to reicue'my wife, if still alive.
Alas, alas, that could 'not be, her flesh
_still trembled, but her soul had gone,
,
and her breath was mingled with the
gentle 'Winds. I looked around foi my
boy; but he, too, was gone, and I wai
indeed alone. I buried poor Urunko
in the shade, beside the tall oak, where
the sun cannot wither the wild-flow
ers.l plant on tier bosom, and where
the whip-po-will the bird she loved to
heir, ean come and sing to, her all night
1 long.". , .
, •
Here the t . ndian paused and wiped a
tear from his swarthy cheeks. The
Red-man of the wilderness," he again
continued," can cry. I,am old, now
Regardless - of 'Denunciation from an J
POIITEII.
iI'OVESMA9 DLIEDIFOMD OICNIZIPVO . IPiI s :o9 2Agii3MMIBIT Se 9 asiirdc;
--verfold ; but I have never .thought
of that dreadful day without weeping.
Day after day," said:he, " have - I sat;
upon the little mound which contains
the first and last object my heart claim
ed as its own, and there can I again be
Ilappy-sorrowfully happy." •
Here ended his story—and he took
up his gun; and Ooceeded on his
. way
down towards the Lake, again to take.
his station upon the grave of his wife,
and hymn the requiem taught , him in
youth. :We watched him until he en
tered the 'woods and in alew moments
we heard the report of his rifle . ,-and then
he passed for a time from ouramemor
les,' and we commenced Sour daily
youthful sports. a I was very young
then ; but the size and personal appear
ance of (he old man, are now present
with me : and I remember even the
effect which his sad story had upon my
mind, as well as if it were told to me
but yesterday. That day he p a ined
With us for the last time, and that day
we heard for the last time the sound
'of his gun. ,He was found a short time
afterwards in the woods, a lifeless
corpse-:and two mounds non appeaf
beneath the [{ranches of the oak against
whose trunk he oft had leaned. The
bear still growls near that spiit—the
'deer bounds lightly and quickly by,
unfrightened,—the whip-po-will night
ly sings there unlistened to. The re
mantic traveller walks up and down the
margin of Horicon a'nd gazes with won
der upon its pure waters, and its beaute
ous isles: the aged who dwelt in the
neighborhood, have nearly all died—the
youth have grown up and forgotten the
old Indian; and to me, a wanderer far
from those wild, romantic scenes,is left
the privilege of writing the story, and
perpetuating the memory of the " Old
Bear Hunter" of Mt. Defiance.
A SAD MISTAKE.—In the practice of
politely bowing strangers out of a pew,
where there is still room to • spare, is
there not a lack of even worldly courte
sy ? " Have you not mistaken the
pew, sir." blandly said one of these
Sunday Chesterfields, as with empha
tic gracefulness he opened. the dour.—
.. I beg pardon," replied the- stranger,
rising to go out, I fear I have; I tool
it for a Christian's."
SORROW.—Earthly sorrows are spir
itual rain-drbps, falliuE continually
through the whole day from the cheer
fulness and chilly north-eastern clouds
of adversity, without any prospect of a
single straying ray of comfort at hand ;
but PENITENTIAL ,SORROW'a 811171,171,er
shower, which on its cessation, produ
ces an inexpressible
the
aspect in
the atmosphere of the heart, ,
Hors.—Worldly hopes' are jacks-O'-
lantern, which beguile us to the treach
erous shoals of disappointment; but
the. eternal hope, a beacon kindled upon
the celestial highland,. for the souls to
find the anxiously-looked for, 'and, sure
landing place.
KxowiNo •ONE. —4 , Is Jonathan
Dumpy here ?" asked a rather country
looking fellow, bolting into -a printing
offie.. ” . 1 don't
,know such a man,"
replied' the foreman. Don't know
hiro,"'said he, why he's courting our
Sally."
DESPAIR.—A mental tornado, which.
blasts every flower of peace in the mind,
and uproots every germ of affection in
the heart, rendering the whole, like a
miserable suicide in the midst of his
unhappy family, an awful, desolate',
and affecting scene to contemplate.
SCENE IN A LONDON PRINTING OF
nvE.—" What are you engaged . in ?"
said the head' printer in a newspaper
establishment to one of his composi
tors. "hp an elopement." "Stop?'"
said his interrogator, "1 ,want you to
take a'share in a murder!"
- YANKEE GRIT.-" Marm, may I go
and play horse?" 4 , No youmust . stay:
home. ~ Now, look here, Marm, if
you' don't let me, I'll go and'eatch the
measels-4..know a big boy that's got
. . ."
'em firstrate." . .:'
LOVE Lrrrna.—Ronsseau L ile 'us
that to write a 'good love lette you
plight' to begin; without knowing what
you mean to say, and to finish w" . thotit
knowing what you have said.
v -•-?
SNORT SERMON.--If you catillo fa
vor for a neighbor; don't hesitate. Man
best secures his own happiness by con
tributing to that.of others;
DESPONDVIWY.---A south-western
timid,' overcasting suddenly the sunny
sky of life, threatens,us at: every nto
tient with a atom of affliction.
The OM Cabbage Patch. -
We recollect an excellent story illus.
trative of the "attachment of our good'old
Dutch "ancestry to their cabbage patch
es, which, in the hands of „Dietiich
Knickerbocker, that worthy andd vera
cious histdrian, would swell into a de-
lightful rorn'autique burlesque. But,
since Irving is not one of the editors•of
the Aurora, and we hate,, for our-rea
ders' sake, to lose the story, we shall
e'en tell it in our own way._
Derrick Von Schaussen then was one
of the most staid and respectable Mitch
-men that ever settled on the banks •of
the Croton; and his ..goedi , fratt"'was
as tidy a matron as evert knit striped
mittens, or taught her daughters the
mysteries of , 0 treading kraut"—in oth
er words, preparing cabbage for a cer
tain process, by, some called fermea 7
tation and by others rottitig—by tread
ing it down in a barrel with their nak
ed feet. For many years every thing
went well with this worthy couple.—
Their children grew and prospered—
promising to turn out as botineing a
set of Dutch boys and gals" as an y
'firm in the settlement—and their cab
bage patch, the delight of their goad
old hearts, and the comfort of their age,
each year increased the number and the
size of its vegetable stores.
About this time, a company of specu-
lators had formed' the idea of " laying
out a town" on a 'plat including the
very spbt occupied by'Von Schaussen's
cabbage patch. They accordingly wait ,
ed upon him and, determined to carry
the siege by a coup de main, Offered
the old gentleman at once,S2o,ooo for
the premises. At this magnificent of
fer, the worthy Derrick rubbed his eyes
in astonishment, and actually began
capering around the room for joy. The
deeds of transfer, were , made out and
signed—the money was-produced, and
nothing wanting to complete the bar
gan but the signature of Frau Katreen.
The-worthy old lady' was called in—
the money bags shown her, and the
deeds pointed out, awaiting but her
magic mark—the cross of St. Nicholas
—before she and her -husband should
be absolutely possessed of the chink.'
She hesitated a moment; and then,
throwing the paper froth her, she ex
claimed, with tears inl her eves, "I
know tish a great' heap of money—but,
Derrick, what will we do when we've
sholt out ?' Where-is another. cabbage
patch as that to be got ?" The appeal
was irresistable, and went home to Det-
rick'ssiomach. He tore his name
from the deed; and the speculators tte
parted with a, ilea in their ears.
The g ood old Derrick and his k Frau,'
now lieburried in 'one corner of their.
beloved cabbage patch "—which still
remains ; the speculators' fever having
died away; kind the proprietors' of the
new town having just come out from
the whitewashin e ,cr'process of bankrupt
law—a striking illustration of the pow
er of cabbage and natural
HINT TO TUE FAIR SE.X.AII Eng
nib paper received by the recent arri
val, says,i that the unmarried gentlemen
of Northumberland. have resolved to
form themselves into an Association to
be . detiominated
,the , ‘Shirt and Pie
,Chib," the principleobject of which is
to insure suitable wives. To- affect
this each member is bound -under the
penalty of £5O, not to marry any lady
who cannot by two Witnesses be prov
ed to be able to cut out and sew a shirt,
Make a pie, and darn a . pair of .stock
ings ; and must within six months after
his marriage, he able to establish that
his lady •his made at least a dozen of
/shirts, baked a dozen olpies, and'ilarn.
cd- a pair of- stockings. The idea, it
is said, has been borrowed from:
,a
club at the South, where, the scheme
has been eminently successful, as the
yOung ladies. seeing that what in mod
ern parlance, are usually denontinateil
accomplishments were at a discouht,
turned their attention to whatwas really
of use.
. , .
AWFUL StribtrioN.A notorious ti'l)-
ler, says the Boston' Courier, 'in
town not lofty miles from Boston, Ire
turned, home last washing day, with' a l
jug of rum, and : staggering into his'
wife's domain. mistook a tub of , well
warmed Water for a settee, and sudden!
ly settled himself into it, so that !its'
surging side's leaped merrily about him
—he being' a fast: iiriso'ner. In this
..
predicament he .called lustily for i Xan
cy. , His •• guide wife" ' seeing - hi
*deep' interest in her affairs, seizedth
jug, danced around the philosopher
pouring its contests over 'his head '
disregarding his. prayerful look, On
stretched arms, and, beseeching spite I
of . Nabliy, tare it! Sate- it NAV l'
to which she repiied,“ ; Go, , it, lee-hLlotig*
long life to yottehonor,",,,kc. •• •
•
• Finished.
A ward in 'general 'use and; of very
sinificant import.. - •
. A young girl who has passed three
years in a boarding school, gathered a .
superficial knowledge of her ciwn•lan
guage and the 'French ; acquired a pro
found knowledge,of music, is said to
be finished-=thatis ready for _'a hus
,band.
A student who has passed faur years
in a college, jearned to rob hen roosts,
drink arum, smoke cigars, play at games
of chance and spend the liberal allow
ance of a kind parent in every species
ofunworthy excese-Makes a Common
place speech, receives his diplinna and
is 4 finished. That is, ready for the
devil.
:The prodi g al ,
.who wastes at gam
ing and in the hauntsof debauchery, a
splendid patrimony, and then blows out
his brains in a fit of despair, is said, by
those who tempted him to his ruin, to
be finished.
It is finished, exclaims the man of
fashion, as he survives at the comple
tion of all the essentials of i splendid
'entertainment, which he is about to give
hundred men and women, who,so far
from indulging a 'friendly feeling for
their . host, will laugh at him in their
sleeves, s they sip his costly wines,
and imOudently Criticise his person and
air, 'while they are wasting antidevour
in,g his subsistence.
' It is finished, the poor widkw whis
pers, while hersuniten eyes 'dilate and
light up with a mournful joys as she
folds the, garment the nitlting of
which will give to herself and father
less ones, the coarse, and scanty loaf
,for another day's subsistence.
It is finished, the seedy, pale, and
emaciated author murmurs, as, with
trembling fingers, he gathers up page
after.page of the work, which he hopes
will give food, fame he Ipoks not for,
to the young, fi:ond wife 4t his side, and
the little babes that cluster around his
knee.
It is finished, with despairing vio-
fence, shouts the homeless wanderer,
as the sleet descends on his unprtifected
head, and the icy blast congeals the cur
rents of life. and he lays him down,
uncared for by his brother man.
It is finished, gasps out the man of
blood and violence; as he lays.his head
on the scaffold, and pays to the society
he has warred,upon, the forfeit of his
crimes.
Finished ! is ,the life-jonrney ; what
'oys are 'expressed by this one word,
what doubts made certain, what hopes
realized, what forebodings confirmed !
Finished, says the fond parents, as
the realization of all their prayers sleeps
sweetly in the cradle .they are bending
(aver.
FinishCd! ejaculates the weeping
woman, drooping over the tomb.
THE BIBLE.—Book of books ! deep,
wonderful mine. whose shafts ages have
ussaulted, ages have traversed, and *ill
yet traverse Holy lineage-roll,Ais
plaYing the record of the internal un
folding of the race of man from the hour,
ol his birth—gigantic drama of life's
be,ginning and end! Drama with dark
episodes and bloody scenes„ but whese
mornings are in light; which commen
ces with mun's infancy ; and' ends
where.begins ,a new life after death and
the grave. History of histories! how
often • have I not descended into its
depth with an ardent and inquiring
heart.
Long—long'was it to me dark, mys r
terions, and :incomprehensible, and I
could not seprate the precious metals
from the drosi and earth which adhei
ed to it, the great Pulse of reconcilia
tion steadily beating beneath the vary
ing weal and we of ,earthly life, amid
the selemn blessings - and - curses of the
wailing mind; was colicealed from me ;
long have strayed and dpubted,' often
despairing of ;the way and tie trutti. 7 -%
'Yet, the. eye became, by degrees, used
to see twilight: and even for. the least
of his inquiring children, does God,let
his:light shine! . , Now I will walk se
curely on the, worid4ful course ; and,
to my last hour, will I journey. on,
searching and praying. To effect
mans reconciliation with the true life;and
with God., the developement of his na
tdre and his farther pr9gress, he must,
in the present age,-especially, become
reconciled with the scriptures.---Fred
ericka,Bretizer. -
WIIAT 9 9:IN ' A NAME ?-4 • chap in
lowa, by the namelif New, recentiy
dot married , and being somewhat.of a
facetious tarp; of, mind; named his firs , t
born " , something," which Of course
was Something New., His sem(' W:fig'
christened Nothing; being\Noth . -
int New. I
- DV' llto ©o wacceztoul elcata
Ellll
National Ideas of Piritdise.).
Alinost all nations have united to
.make the future abode of good •spirits a
garden; a name among the Assyrians
synonymous, with . Paradise, The Ma
hoJnetans call the Paradise to which the i
faithfully will be called, Jannat le Nain
the Garden - of Pleasure ; ' Jannat wlden, ,
the Garden-of Perpetual Abode, and
not unfriquently by the -.simple name
of others. Thelaplander believes Par."
adise to he situated in the centre ditto
snows of Sweden The Muscogulees
imagine itarnona the island of.the vast
Pacific. The Mexicans conceived that
those who died ,of •wounds, or we're
drowned, went to a cool and 'de
lighted place, there to enjoy all manner
of pleasures; those who died . in battle
or in captivity, were wafted to the pal
ace of the ,suit, and led a life of endless
delight. After an abode of (*Our years
in this splendid habitation, the anima
ted clouds. - : and birds of beautiful fea
ther,. and of.sweet song; having at the
same time, liberty to ascend to Heavetr
or descend to earth. to suck sweet flow
ers and warble enchanting songs. The
Tompinese imagine the forests._ and
mountains to be peopled with a pecu.
liar kind of geni, who exercise an influ
ence over the affairs of mankind; and
in their ideas, 'relative to aetate of fu
ture happiness, they regard a delightful
climate, an atmosphere surcharged with
odors, with a throne profusely covered
with garlands of flowers, as the summit
of celestial_ felicity. A tnimg the Arabs,
a fine country, with abundance of shade
form the principal object oftheir *prom
ised bliss. There is a tribe in Ameri
ca who believe that the souls of good
men are conveyed to :a pleasant valley,
abounding in delicious fruit. The hea
ven of the Celts was called Fluth-innia,
the island of the good and the brave,;"
their hell, Ifurin, the island of cola
climate." The Druids, as we are in
formed by .4t mmiaitus Marcellinus, be
lieved trat the soul of good men were,
wafted, in progressive course, from
planet to planet, enjoying at every suc
cessive change a more sublime felicity
than in the last.
. .
•
-..- lobbies.
If you want to be happy,. mount.. a
hobby. This world is a dreary place
to a-man who has not a hobby. He
knows not what to do with his 'time, if
he has got any to spare, and if he has
got none to spare, he knows not °how
Ao•season. his labor so as to make it
palatable. A man will_ learn more in a
week niminted on a hobby,. than in ,
twelve months walking on h is leather
soles. Boys should by no means, cease
to ride hobbies when they become men;
they ought merely to procure more
manly hobbies, and ride on. In , fact,
the Most valuable portion of the life of
man is that, which he spends on his,
hobby. He himself is happy inliding
and most probably . be invents or dis
covers soinething which promotes the
happiness, of others. All great im-'
provemerits in art, all great discoveries
in 'science,: have been made by men
when riding, on their hobbies. in fine,
the, greatest luminaries of mind which
the world has produced., have Been
hobby riders; • men who apparently
sacrified themselves for the good of
ntankind,but who alter all, were Mere
ly consulting their own private happi
ness in-riding their hobbies. The silk
-0
worm
_that spins its cocoon o silk con
amore, is happier than, the t rmagant
.who decorates. h r 'person
with the'labor of that insect. It is an'
enthusiast, and wherever, there is any
happiness. We have no occasion to'
.pity
pity the' enthusiast; he is happier than
we are, if we are not enthusiasts. We
are yawning for want of excitement
and for want of. excitement, we take
to smoking. an d drinking, and gam
bling, and roaming. He, on the 'con
trary has found ainusnt,
,and time
flies sweetly over bia Weld as he feeds
da:the-hixuries of thop \ ght. , . .
POSING ' A PEDAGCIOIIE.--" Sally
Jones, kive you done the sum I set
_ •
you ?"
No thir, I can't do it." ,
"Can't do it? I'm ashamed of you:
Why, at your 'age. I could do any sum
that was set me. I hate that word can't !
for there.is no sum that can't be done,
can tell vou."
. . . .
I think, thin, that: I ktiowth a. thttiti•
you can't thiferout:" '
? well, Well. Sally let's -hear
•
It ith thith. thir c. If (me apple::
candied the ruin the
ratbe;:licier many thud) will it tale'4
Mike a' barrel of !ItUrea thider,
• 4 , Miss• Sally Jones, You may Unlit()
your parsthglesson.' l • .
• Yeth, thir," •
=I
MI
II
II
lacc-No