That x'ov rmiH iil is (he host which govern lentil."
vnt.rrun .i.r rruLisitLit)
" BY LEVI TATE. 5
BLOOMSBURG, COLUMBIA CO., SATU11DAY, MAY 12, 1819. 1
volTsTSumbeu 8.
it '
Columbia EDcmacvat,
Itallatl of Montrose.
Th following extracts from the I'm Execu
tion or Montrose, t poem liy I'rufessor Aytoun,
of Eilinburg, contain aume of the finest stanzas
we have teen lately. An old Highlander is tell
ing the (tie of the death of the (.rent Mar ina,
to lu a grandson :
'A traitor mid him to his foes
Uh, deed of deathless shame!
I charge ihee, boy, if e'er thou meet
With one ol Assynt's name
Be it upon the mountain side,
Or Vet within the glen,
Stand he in martial gear alone,
Or backed by armed men
Face him at thou wnuld'st face the man
Who wrutigcd thy site's renown,
Remember ot what blond thou art,
And strike the caititl down !
"They brought him to ihe Watergate,
Haid bound with hempen span,
An though they held a lion theie,
And not a 'fencelss man.
They set him high upon a cart
The hangman rode below
They drew his hands behind hit back,
And bared his noble brow,
Then, as a bound is slipped from leash,
They cheered the common throng,
And blew the note with yell and shout,
And bade him pass along.
'lt would have made a brave man't heart
Grow sick and snd that day,
To watch the keen, malignant eyes
Fiend down on that array ;
There stood the Whig West-country Lords
In balcony and bow
There sat their gaunt and withered dailies
And their daughters all a row;
And every open window
Was full as full might be,
Wilh black robed covenanting carles,
That goodly sport too see.
"But when he came, though pale and wan,
fie looked so great and high,
So noble wan his manly front,
So calm his steadfast eye
The rapple rout forbore to shout,
And each man held his breath,
For well they knew the hero's soul
Was face to face with death.
And then a mournful shudder
Through all the people crept,
And some that came to sen II at him,
Now turned aside and wept."
JWe must pass the description of his progress
up the Cannongate, the scene in the Parliament
House, where his death-sentence is read, and his
noble address to the "perjured traitors" theie,
and come to the execution of the sentence :
"Ah, God ! that ghastly gibbet !
How dismel 'tis to see
The great tall spectral skeleton,
The ladder and the tree !
Hark! hark! it is the clash of arms
The bells begin to toll
He is coming ! he is coining !
God's mercy on his soul !
One last, long peal of thunder,
The clouds are cleared away,
And the glorious sun once move looks down
Amidst the dazzling day.
He is coming ! he is coming !
Like a bridegroom from his room,
Came the hern from his prison
To the scalfold and his doom.
There was glory on his forehead.
There was limtre in his eye.
And he never walked to battle
Mure proudly than to die ;
There was color in his visage,
Though the cheeks of all were wan,
And they marvelled as they saw him pass
That great and noble man !
"He mounted up the scaffold,
And turned him to the crowd ;
But they dared not trust the people,
So he might not speak aloud.
But he looked upon ttie heavens,
And they were clear and blue,
And in the liquid ether,
The eye of God shone through ;
Yet a black and murky battlement
Lay resting on the hill,
Ami tnough the thunder slept within,
All else was calm and still.
"The grim Geneva ministers
With anxious scowl drew near,
As you have seen the ravens Hock
Around the dying deer.
He would not deign them word nor sign,
But alone he bent the knee,
And veiled his (ace for Christ's dear grace,
Beneaih the gallows-tree.
Then radient and serene he rote,
And cast his cloak away,
For he had taken the last look
Of earth, and sun, and day.
'Abeam of light fell o'er him,
Like a glory round the shriven,
And he clinud the lofty ladder.
As it were Ihe path to heaven.
Then came a Hash Irom out the cloud,
And a Dunning thunder mil,
And no man dared to look aloft,
For fear was on each soul.
There was another heavy sound,
A hush, and then a groan ;
And darkness swept across the sky
The work ot death is done !"
There it not one circumstance in this ballad
which is not del ived from contemporary mem
ories, and a stronger proof that reality is superior
to fiction, could hardly be desired. It would not
have escaped the reader to observe with what art
the innohle manner ol the hero's death is mana.
ted. It seems to be veiled from the reader as it
was from the spectator:
"He did i.nt dare to look aloft,
For tear was on his soul.
Thera was another heavy sound,
A hush, and then a groan ;
And darkness swept across th t-ky
The work ol death it done!"
ORIGINAL.
Random Shots -No- Vi.
BY NONDSCRIPT.
Conversation.
One of the most dilficult as well as one of the
most necessary accomplishments in the world, is
the art of conversation. To shine w ilhout daz
zling to instruct without offending to lead
without appearing pedantic or egotistical to dis
cuss a subject without appearing to engross the
time of the company, is a most difficult matter.
All men are in some 6ort vain. Kach prides him
self upon being able to do some things at well as
another; and in a mixed company of (ho young
and old of both sexes, a nun will make more
Iriends by conversing indill'erently well, than by
anyextraordnurydisplayof conversational powers.
F.very man w ishes to be, and appear, superior;
and where superior merit forces applause, Kuvy
with-holds friendship.
On account of the peculiar constructions of the
human mind therefore or its petursion, it is al
most impossible to please in this particular. The
magisterial air of Dr. Johnson took away from
conversation, that easy and lively tone and man
ner, it should poises and gave it rather Ihe ap
pearance of a sett of short lectures on different
subjects. The talent of Franklin, gave to him
the power of shining in conversation, but his
kindness and affability rendered him pleasing and
entertaining and modest, even while delivering
the most sententious maxiint.
To converse well, is an almost indubitable
mark of a gentleman; for it reiiiires talent, rea
ding, ease, kindness anil affability. Beside this,
in order to converse well a man should know
when to talk, and when to remain silent. Most
people know middling well how to talk, hut the
fewest number know how to be Dili. The one is
an art as well as the other. It is said that still
water runs deep, and that a wise man lalkej but
little that an empty bairel makes the most noise
and that he whotalkes much must necessarily of
ten talk lo no purpose.
I most humbly beg leave to dissent, at least
partially, from this very generally received o
pinion. There are inure persons silent in Com
pany from the want of something lo say, than be
cause they think it a waste of lime and breath, to
display their knowledge. If a man has nothing
in his head it will be taken fur granted that
nothing will come out. AnJ all observers of hu
man natur will, and must acknowledge, that
the inmate propensity of man to excel, will
prompt him to defend an opinion or a measure
that has been controverted or deceived.
In conversation as in poety "nothing so diffi
cult as a beginning, unless perhaps the end."
The beginning of a conversation is '.he J'oni As-
imorum yd' our boy beaux an I girl coquetts, in
this go ahead age. They will nlten sit and stare
themselves and the carpet out of countenance ;
and be as silent as if they were veritably in a
Quaker Meeting. As a whig protective Taritl
will bring every ihing up right, no matter how
much out of order, so the never faili ng subject ol
the weather, 'aids and comforts' the terror strick
en beau, and .sets him once ag-iin upon his legs.
What a scape-goat is this weather almost inva
riably, accompanied by two or three "hems and
haws," it is the introduction to a lender love
scene or an actual proposal. It connects itself
as a preface to almost every conversable subject.
As a general thing, the first teinark that, is
made upon encountering an old friend in the street
is, "this is a fine day ?" or some other observation
to the same purport. I havo often wondered
what would he done, in case '.here was not some
thing (or every one thus to pitch up( n, for want
of something belter. What kind of enjoyment
is there for a man of cultivated intellect in thee-
ternal round of nonsensical and insipid conversa
tion, which characterizes our evening soirees and
assemblies? Sometimes when you get a Lady a
lone you con get up a right sensible "talk" but
if she thinks you susceptible, ten chances to one
she will bore vou to death with some of Turn
Moore's seiitimertality.
Not but that I am myselfrctnaikably fond ol quo
tingTomMooreupon occasion.bttt oneshouldknow
when such a bent can properly be given to a con
versation. However I care nothing about private
converse, but intend applying the above observa
tions only to public demonstration. There, it is,
where a man's capital must be made, and opin
ions lormed concerning his character and qualifi.
cations. There, then, let him display his learn
ing, his breeding and his modesty.
Fright.
At the ha'tle of Waterloo, two French ofTicers
were advancing to charge a much superior torce.
The danger was immenent, and one ol them dis
played evident signs ol fear. The other obser
ving it, said to him "Sir, I believe you are
frightened." "Yes," returned the other, "I am
and if you were half as much frightened, you
would run away." This anecdote exhibits in a
happy light the difference between moral ami
physical courage.
Proof Heading.
Proof-readers are sometimes very negligent
In speaking ol (iov. McDowell's speech, the ma
nuscript said, "many members wept, and atnnong
them Mr. Speaker Winthrop more than once
gave w, to his lei lings in a flood of tears." The
printed copy read,
nted copy read, "Many members nhpl, and
. Speaker Winthrop more than once gvi way
Mr
to hit fe.iins in a mug of beer"
Editor's Correspondence.
Jcrsi-y Shoiik, May 2, lM'J.
Dear Col: Any thing that is world seeing,
is also worth telling about. I am not writing to
you a set of travels on the West Branch, butshall
try and tell you all that I saw worth while writing
If the Muncy Hills were a little more awfully
tteep and dangerous, I might try and tell you a
hard yarn about them; but as it is, I shall only
say they are a confoundedly hard hill to travel
over. As soon however as you arrive at the fuot
of the Hills on this, the Muncy side, the whole
face of. the country is changed the fields look
green and every thing has a decidedly improved
appearance. This is a rich part of the country.
Muncy Borough is alt that the Star Correspon
dent, claims for it, so far ns I have been able to
judge. Ilelowthi townashortdistancf , Muncy Creek
is crossed by tho road It, the creek, falls into the
river a short space below. It is quite a large and
never failing stream, and has upon its banks nu
merous Grist Mills, Saw Mills, Wollen Fartoiies,
ic, tc. The road to Williauisport runs through
a most beautilul country, and a number of hand
some and comfortable dwelling houses skirt the
river Bank.
Montourville is a little Village lying upon the
Loyal Sock, which empties into the river a short
distance below. We came next to a considerable
stream of water known as Lycoming, and the
little village of Newbury, I think, lies upon its
bank. The valley retains all its original beauty
and verdure. The Grain, generally, looks re
markably well, although there are, here and there
some very sickly looking pieces.
You will by this time no doubt think that the
celebrated Borough of Williamsport has been en
tirely lost sight ot. But I just kept it back till I
began a new paragraph. To my notion it is a
most beautiful town Court is in Session at pres
ent, and they expect a term of two weeks. I had
the pleasure of meeting Col. firindle and Captain
Dan here. They are both looking quite well.
The town was well filled with people, and the
Kagle Hotel kept by Mr. Ivremer is an excellent
stopping place. Something might be said upon
the Bank, but that would in' le than likely lead to
political remarks, and in them I do not wish to
indulge.
It is a little difficult to find, in a part of the
country that is so unvaried in its appearance.
sufficient matter lor a letter. It struck me how
ever, that a man might live quite comloilablv on
any one of those numerous farms upon Ihe banks
of the west Branch of the Susquehanna. Upon
allsides.lhe Farmers were busy at their spring
work and as tho evening drew on, and the shad
ows grew lengthened along the hills,
'The ploughman homeward plods his weary wav.
And leaves the world to dai k net's and to me,"
The road from Williamsport to Jersey Shore is
made so far up on the ridge, that (n my notion, it
is decidedly hilly. It is a long way round the
bend to Jersey Shore, but when you gel there it is
a mighty pleasant little place. Many of Ihe build
ings in the. place are really cli-gunl, or if not so
in the full extent of the term, approach it neailv.
If there is any thing more of importance you
shall hear from (). 1'.
('oo(lAlvicc to young Women.
Trust not to uncertain riches, but pre
pare yourselves for every emcrnnrv in
lifi;. Learn to work and be not dependent
on servants to make your bread : sweep
your own floor and darn your own stock
ings. Above all, do not esteem too highly
these very, honorable youuir men who
sustain themselves and their acred parents
by the work of their own hands, while you
caress, and receive into your company
those lazy, idle popinjays, who never lift
a finger to help themselves, as they can
keep body and soul together, and get funds
sufficient to live in fashion. If you are
willing, look at this subject in the way we
do and when you arc old enough to become
wives, you will prefer the honest mechanic
with not a cent to commence life, to the
fashionable loafer, with capital of ten thou
sand dollars. Whenever we hear remark
ed 'Such a young lady has married a for
tune, 'we always, tremble for her future
prosperity. Riches left to children by
wealthy parents turn out to be a curse in
stead of a blessing. Young women re
member this, and instead of sounding the
purse of your lover and examining the cut
of their coats, look into their habits and
their hearts.
Mark if they have trades and can depend
upon themselves : see that they have minds
which will lend them to look above a but
terfly existence. Talk not of the beautiful
while skin and soft delicate hand, the
splendid form and the fine appearance of
the young gentlemen. Let not these fool
ish considerations engross your thought.
(rj- "Tr do on a child in the wav he should go,
I an, wnen he is old he will n' t
j f tPmrted to ri glort iivental r
depart from it.
r's'raipt, ren em
ber Lli's in, and Kli's sorrow.
Selections.
AVojiian' Constancy.
BY CI.AHA,
CHAPTER I.
There arc swift hours in lilc idrong rushing
hours,
That du the work of tempests in their might.
Mas. IIk.mans.
'Twas night a dark and terrible night
in mid winter. The snow was falling
thick and fast, and the rude north winds
played many a strange and fantastic game
with its fairy flakes. Now here, and there
they danced about, till, like a weary child,
they slept at last upon the bosom" of their
mother earth. Not a sound, save Ihe fu
ry of the storm king, disturbed the gloomy
hours.
Tho village clock had just tolled the
hour of ten, when a man, wrapped in a:
cloak, and with mullled face, issued from a
low hovel by the way side. As the door
closed after him, a soft voice murmured,
'Cod help you, Frank,' and again all was
still. With much effort he braved the pit
tiless storm, and crossing to another slreet,
ascended the steps of an elegant brick buil
ding. He hesitated a moment then rung
the bell. A servant obeyed the summons.
'Is your master within?' asked he in a
disguised voice.
'He is ; your name sir."
'Tell him a gentleman wishes to speak
with him.'
Soon the servant returned, saying his
master would wait upon him directly.
With trembling step he entered the room,
and not daring to look around him, sunk
upon the nearest seat, and covered his face
with his hands. Soon an approaching
step and the opening door announced the
expected inmate.
'Is your business with me, sir .'' asked
the old gentleman, approaching his visitor
who had involuntary risen on his entrance.
'It is, sir.'
Then please be expeditious, as compa
ny awaits me.'
The young man did as he was desired,
and throwing aside his disguise, revealed a
pale and haggard countenance, w hich at
first made the beholder start wilh horror.
Hut immediately recovering himself, he ex
claimed in a harsh voice.
'Frank Delaval, this is no home for you .
be gone !'
'Oh ! father, spam me not from you now.
Help ! only help ." and as he said this, he
threw himself on his knees before him.
'('all me not father '.'exclaimed Mr. De
laval, in a voice almost suffocated wilh rage.
,1 no longer acknowledge you as a son."
'But," replied tin; man, 'hear me for hu
manity's sake for the sake of Flla, niy
wife !'
'Breathe not her name,' exclaimed the
old man, striking his clenched lists ; 'let
her suffer: she deserves it,' and shutting
the door violently, left the room.
For a moment Frank seemed motionless,
then rising, he cast a glance at the portrait
of his sainted mother, and left the house an
altered man. The iron had entered his
soul. Hitherto he had hoped his father
would relent Would forgive him.althoiigh
he had wed the poor and lowlv F.I la Mor
lv Ella Mor-
ven. I5ut alas ! there are some hearts
which will not relent : woe ! woe ! to those
who conic within their influence.
CA.UTER II.
To hear unshrinking all the blows of fate.
Nor dream that woe, which thou cans'! leel is
still
Home wilh him This is woman's love,
Mhs. N'uUTON.
On a scanty bed, in a room, slept an in
fant. A smile was playing on its dimpled
chin, ami its hands were clasped as if in
sportive glee. Bending over if, wilh a
pale and anxious eye, was the wasted form
of the once beautiful Ella Alorven. A
tear was on her cheek as she kissed the
fair forehead of her child, and hushed it
quietly to rest. Then rising, she exclaim
ed :
' Rest, ihee there my child, and mav
thy young heart ne'er know the sorrows
of thy mother.'
Wearily, wearily, passed the time to this
lone and silent wvehrr. Th
e clock pursii- !
Cil its
Uliccasin-r enin-pp
fpuii huur, to
hour, and yet she was alone alone ! and
he who should have been with her there,
sat at the gaming table over the wine cup.
Oh! man, where is thy heart! where
Ihe vows fondly pledged scarce three years
I since when thou didst lead that gentle girl
j lo the bridal altar! Alas! where manv
l,nlw...n 1....... ,r,... .1...... I V
wun it u.iv; "win; iuiuiu uiciu , UlliZutlllUr
will follow thee.
The clock struck three, and ns its last
ringing died away, a step was heard ap
proaching the door. The wife flew to o
peti it, and clasping her anus about him ex
claimed :
' Oh ! I am so glad
.on
have
come,
Frank, fori have been lonely,vcry lonely.'
And the bright tears gathered in her eyes.
The husband gazed upon her a moment,
then casting her from him, exclaimed, in a
harsh voice: "Why have you awaited
my coming ! did I not bid you do other
wise V
'But I thought you would be cold and
hungry,' replied she, meekly.
'Hungry! Ella, hungry! no; I've had
enough for one night. Iain ruined ut
terly ruined.'
'But Frank, why do you play?'
'And what would you haveniodo Ella !
Work I cannot beg I will not. There is
no alternative. And my father has done
it he has made me what 1 am.and may'
'Stay, stay, Frank ; curse him not; he
is thy father yet. But say, only say that
you will relinquish tho gaming table, and
all will be well.'
Saying this ihe led him to the bedside
of the sleeping child. For a moment his
heart seemed softened : then again his fu
ry returned.
A ml my father can know this,' mutter
ed he through his clenched teeth, 'and yet
wilhold his helping hand !'
His wife saw the change, end gently
leading him away, placed before him a
neat but simple repast. He ate but little,
for his heart was full, and soon retired.
Ella kneeled by his bedside, and offered
her nightly prayer. It seemed to touch
his heart, and make him resolve to lead a
different life. But alas! for man's resoiu
lions ! How oflen are they broken !
CHAPTER III.
"I go wilh thee, I will he thine,
In weal, in want, in woe."
'Yes, Frank, where you go, there will I
go : your home shall be my home." And
she threw her arm around his neck, and
wept in the very fulness of grief.
The ollicer pitied her distress, but duty
compelled him to the task. Frank was
conveyed to prison, and the wife followed.
There, like a ministering angel, she hover
ed about him. Once and once only, did
the father visit him, and then it was to
upbraid.
'You were ever a curse to me !' exclaim
ed he, 'and now may the law avenge me.'
In vain the wife pleaded with all the el
oquence of affection and impassioned sor
row. He left them, and hope seemed fled.
Still the wife clung to him with a woman's
itndving love : and this, together with the
sportive laugh of his child, served to keep
his heart from despair.
' Oil, Ella,' he would often sav, 'how
i ,1:UT 1 wronged you !'
' Say not so, Frank : 'tis yourself you
have wronged. But return now to the
path of duly; 'tis not too late.'
Thus did this genlle wife, with her deep
love and persuasive tones, try to win back
the erring one. Hers was no force of law,
but the simple distates of the heart love's
suasion, if you will.
But ihe husband's health and spirits
sunk beneath his misfortunes : and ere
one week had passed away he was in the
grasp of a raging fever. Dalirium seized
him, and it was truly heart-rending to
hear his calls for mercy and lamentations
for the past.
' Oh my father !' he would exclaim,
'behold thy work ! AVith one word of
kindness you might, have saved me : hut
new I go down down' and shuddering
he would conceal his face beneath tho bed
clothes.
All this while Ella stood over him.
He knew her not, yet believpil her some
one sent i
own to save. him. But the frvrr
spent its rage, and h". recovered
I
CHAl'TLU IV.
"The clouds may be dsik, but there's tunsbiot
b yoiid if,
The m.h inaj be oYr us, but morning it near."
In a neat and comfortable dwelling were
seated a woman and child. Tho latter
slept, but the former was engaged in read
imr. Soon the door opened noiselessly
and an arm was gently laid on her shoulder
ere the intruder had been perceived.
'Ah! Frank, you have returned early.
But how is your father f
'He will die, Eliza; he will die j and
oh ! such a death' Hi only consolation
seems to be, that he is able to leave mo an
immense property. But it liitle eases his
reproaching conscience. He is continually
speaking of hs wrongs njiiust you, and
begging me to bring you hither, that 1)
may obtain forgiveness, and bless you ere
he dies.'
'And let us go, Frank ; let us go now
though sinning he shall not be sinned
against.'
They went; and the old man raising his
feeble head, and beged forgiveness of her
whom he had so-long scorned. Need it bu
said that it was cheerfully granted.
The lamp of life was extinguished, and
tho old man was gathered to his fathers.
His immense property was left uucuuiber
cd lo his sou. As the will was read, E1U
clasped her hands, exclaiming:
'Now we can repay the debt of gratitude
we owe him, who, though poor, freely lib
erated us from prison. He shall never
know a want whilst it is in our power to
assist him ; and long mav lie live to relieve
those whom the uiikindne&s ol'others drives
on to despair.'
'Amen,' repeated the husband ; and
throwing his arms around both mother and
child, tiiey kneeled in pruyer ; and the
heart of each was too full for words ; but
the recording angel registered it us a doed
worthv the noblest sous of earth.
Prayer lor .Sleep.
In a beautiful hymn computed by Sir Thcrnnt
rirown.as a half adieu lor each night to the woiid,
are these striking lines:
"Sleep is a death j 0 make me try,
liy sleeping, what ii is to di,
.And as 1 gently lay my head
On my grave as now my btd j
Huwe'er I rest, great G id, ir-l ilo
Awake agon, at lust with ue.
And thus asured, behold I ho
Securely,- or to wake or iii,
'I hese are my diowsy day ; m viin
I do now wake lo sleep g:iin
0 come that huur when i sliall nevir
Sleep again, but wake fouvi r."
Hoodwinking.
A friend has sent us the following, which, we
are quite sure, has been in print Im i,,. Mill
it is no less 'culi lor that. I he letter is li.od lo
have been written by a newly-inanied lady, to her
Iriend and confident. Her husband was a' jcali.u
old curmudueon, and insisted upon l.er shoeing
him every letter she wrote. Ol course he v;nv
nullum; but honey ml he. whole thing lie could'nt
taste a bit of gall in it. Aiihoimh deception h
always wrong, yet we canm I I, tie the heart lo
blame Ihe poor thing much ; for, as lar as our nb.
servation goes, wives are generally "mom sinned
against, than sinning."
"I cannot be satisfied, my dearest friend,
blest as I am in the matrimonial stale,
unless I pour into your friendly bosom,
which has ever been in unison with mine,
the various sensations which swell,
with the liveliest emotioni of pleasure,
my almost bursting heart. I tell you, my dear
husband is the most amiable of men.
1 have now been married seven weeks, and
have never found the least reason to
repent the day that joined us. My hunband ii
both in person and manners far from iceinbling
ugly, cross, old. disapieeable, and jealous
monsters, who think by confining, lo secure
a wile, it is his maxim lo treat s a
bosom friend and confident, and not ss a
plsythm; or menial ulave, u,e woman
chosen lo be his companion. Neither party
he says, should always obey implicitly,
hut each yield to the other by turns.
An ancient maiden uunl, near seventy,
a cheerful, venerable, and pleasant old lady,
lives in the house with lis. She is the de
light of both young and old; she is ci
v,l I'i all the neighborhood rounj
eenerons and charitable to tha poor.
I am convinced my husband ioves nothing morn
thin he does me; lie flatters me rnm ,
than a nhss, and his intoxication
(for so I must call the rxcesj nt his love.)
often makes me buish for the unworthinen
of its ol j.-i . and w ish I could he more derrriri
of the man whose rinine I hear. To
say nil in one word, inv dear, and to
crown the l"d.. my former snlljn: lover
is now pi) oidolL'enl husband ; n y fondness
js returned, and I minht have had
a prune, without the felicity I find in
li i in . Adieu ' nuy you he as bkl s I am un
happy '"
N B To fivp nor fader In i" unlrrlc tV
errit of this letl-r Head lh fiiM and every
j sltf -rii.ne Inn- ..ly, and the mak. a ill be seen.