BY D. A. dk C. H. litrElitEß.
VOL. %Xl-12.1
GREAT ATTRACTION
AND GREATER INDUCEMENTS
than ever, at the Dry Geode Empo
rium qf
A B. KURTZ,
a. Z. 00111.318 R °MITRE SQUARE, GETTYSBURG.
THE undersigied has just received,
and has in store, a very largo and su
perior stock of
Dry Goods,
both Fancy and Staple, suitable for the
coming seasons. Having purchased our
stock, on advantageous terms, we are pre
pared and determined toward' them at very
groat bargains. Our stock, on examina
tion, will be found to contain all that is
new and fashionable, comprising a general
variety of
Ladies Dress Bilks, Cashmeres, Alpacas,
Mous' do Ulnas, plain and figured,
Linea Lustre, do.
Madams, Dombasinms, Gingham,
Mourning. French and Domestic Calicoes,
Are Ate. Also a full and complete variety of
Gentlemen's Cloths, Cassi
meres & Vestings, is ,
In a word, suffice it to say, that we have
on band a full and complete stock, which
we shall take pleasure in exhibiting to all
who may call. At the same time we
would return sincere thanks for the libe
ral patronage bestowed.
A. B. KURTZ.
April 5.-8 m
IW Country Produce taken in exchange for
Goods.
CONFECTIONS.
KELLE R. KURTZ
HAS just opened a variety of choice
CONFECTIONS, comprising the
following choice varieties of French can
dies, to wit :
Hon Bons, Sugar Almonds, Prefer/8d Almonds,
Preiterved Plums, Jelly Cakes, Portuguese Drops,
Combs, Ste. i also the following medium quali-
ties : Cream, Lemon, Vanilla, Horehound, Sour
Drops„ Mint. do., Chocolate do., Mint in Twist,
Nuga candy, Cocoa do., Cinaroon do., Almond
do., &e. &c.,
with all the usual varieties of Common
Candies ; also Ground Nuts, Cream do.,
Pecan do., English Walnuts, Filberts, Al
monds; with choice Raisins, at 18i cents
per lb.; Prunes at 25 cents ; Figs, fresh
and best quality, at 25 cents Citrons, at
31 cents ; Oranges, &c., &c.
April 5.
'LAST NOTICE.
A 8 it is my desire to have my Books
settled with as little delay as possi
ble, I request those indebted to me, either
by Note or Book Account, or otherwise,
to have their accounts closed by the isr
of January next, as it is not my wish to
add costs. D. HEAD Y.
717P.111T17RZ.
As I did not succeed in disposing of my
stock of Lumber and Tools at my sale in
August last, I determined to have the lum
ber worked into FURNITURE. There
fore, persons wishing furniture will do
well by calling at my Shop in Carlisle
street, or at my Furniture Room in Cham
bersburg street, where can be had the best
bargains you ever had, c.:her for Cash
or Country Produce.
D • HEAGY.
Oct. 10, 18419.--tf
REMOVAL.
DR. J. LAWRENCE RILL,
DENTIST,
HAS removed his office to the building
opposite the Lutheran Church, in
Chambersburg street, 2 doors east of Mr.
Middleroff's store where he may all times
be found ready and willing to attend to
any case within the province of the Den
tist. Persons in want of full sets of teeth
are respectfUlly invited to call.
REFERENCES.
Dr. O. N•Dituoyour, I Res.C.P.Knotre,D.D
" D. H Prof. M. Joyous,
O. A. Covreirs, H. L. Bayeux',
" D. " Wx.H.Rassomos
WATioi,D.D... M. L. STOIVILII.
July 7. 1848.
EMMY&
THIS WAY FOR BARGAINS I
0130.8. swaps
IlAlf.E this opportunity of tendering
,* id the Public his thanks for the libe
eel encouragement heretofore extended to
Ito hirn, and would respectfully remind
4hetri that% still continues to manufacture,
at his old stand, in East York street, a few
doors last of the Globe Inn, all kinds of
NEW I , - t g 4 4.811101441LE
NOMIIMA
item AS
sores,
Ossrlral 1 . 4054111. I, BilltiedMit
i
CARD " sousTseurs.
Es. , ' 1 ~ , turestno Baumann,
He_ 1, 4 " t IghllTADi o , .
Plea l. OsAoris.
Dunn!' 4 ,1 W . A , IOIIWANINI,
BilyeAKTAirr la ' ,
together With all of er *idols* 'Usually
Inside ii his Hite of bitsineda. All *work
den* at his establishment will. be warrant
ed-L.-will bromide tf 'the beat material and
by the' best of wookmen.
.:Troia his-knowledge of the business the
subscriber: , flatters himself with -tbe idea
that ,be . . is ,able to, eontpete successfully
with any other establishment inane coun
ty:lW the elyle , and qiiklity dr hid work:
• ott , t)rif P , IN li—Mthtigsny, ()berry, or
treinults.ntwie in the best style, and at the
Amitewitwiltice, ' 4 ( ' •
•' .. for 1. .r ~, OEOi,. H. , SWOPE.
Oellgeinirg. Jill. 1e,•,1850.—tf ,
tladings.
$4O , wi a full assortment of
bOom ' Tools.
JOHN FAVNE4TOCK.
iFrom the Philadelphia Sun
I'm Thinking Of Thee.
BY AMANDA.
What soft stars ace dancing
Along the blue sky.—
And breeue are wafting
'Moir warm breathings by—
When moonlight is stealing
O'er ocean and Its,
My thoughts are not roaming—
I'm thinking of thee.
When wild waves are dashing
Against the lone shore—
When billows are foaming,
And deep thunders roar :
When fierce storms are waging
A war with the sea—
My thoughts are not straying,
I'm thinking of thee.
When morn in her beauty,
Is flushing the earth,
And nature—bright nature
Seems brigand of mirth :
When sweet birds are trilling
„ . Their mild notes of glee—
Mo thoughts still are faithful,
I'm thinking of thee.
When gently the dayheame
Are sinking to 'ed—
am their gorgeous tinting.
Have died in the west:
When twilight's soft shadows
Steal o'er earth and sea—
My thoughts still are thing love,
I'm thinking of thee.
In the gay festive throng,
And the wild, wary dance,
My heart has no pleasure,
They fail to entrance :
And while the stars glisten—
And stars fill the sea—
I still will keep dreaming
And thinking of thee
[ For the Star and Banner
Light and Darkness.
When grief the eye has filled with tears,
And low the heart bas bowed with trouble,
To entertain and nurse our fears
Is sure to make their number double.
Yea, oft as one by one they rise
Our spirits with their gloom to cumber,
By tea each misery multiplies,
And even by a greater number.
But let us drool each picture drew
In drapery of light and beauty,
Forgetting all our sorrows here
In joys that spring from Chistian duty.
To happy uses turn we thus
The lemma we are ever learning
As grace and nature unto us
Their leaves of truthful light are turning.
The season, which, of all the train,
Appears the loveliest and dreamt,
Surrenders soon its chilling reign
Unto the loveliest and the dearest.
We turn the black, unsightly earth.
Exposing it to suns end showers
Lot from its bosom springs to birth
A multitude of laughing flowers.
Milk clouds shut out the sapphire height;
A glorious crown of colors seven
In molten of the bets of light,
And set upon the brow of heaven.
On every hand the sense discerns
Effulgence out of darkness springing •
Deformity to beauty turns,
And silence wakes the joyful singing
And turn we to the joys serene—
Those joys to joys immortal growing,
How often from the darkest scene
Do we observe their blessings flowing.
Though weeping for the night endure,
While pressed beneath a weight of sorrow,
Upon the hoping heart is sure
To dawn a glonous to-morrow.
Those joys which grace divine gives birth,
Possess a power all supernal ;
E'en from the dust and damps of earth
They upward spring to life eternal.
Gettysburg, Pa. M. S
RECOLLECTIONS OT 11031 E.—We find
the following passage in a late reprinted
speech of Judge Johnson, of Ohio, candi
date for Governor. The speech was made
somewhere in the Reserve, we believe in
Cuyahoga county :
"There is a spot of earth amid the rude
wild hills of Yellow Creek, whither my
heart turns when groundless fears beset
me. There ate the scenes and the friends
of my childhood and youth. There are
the .dreams where I bathed, the woods
where I hunted, the brooks where I fished,
the fields where I toiled, the shades where I
reposed, the springs where I drank, the
rocks where I climbed. There the song
of the bird and the gush of the fountain
first inspired my soul with poetry, and the
loftiness of the hills first filled my soul
with ambition. There the rustic beauty
first taught my soul to love, and rustic hon
esty first taught my heart to confide.—
Thither I look for courage, knowing that
from the mouth of old Yellow Creek,
where Dunmore's bloody war began, to
her highest some, where the ehalybeate
fountains gush from the barren hills, ev
ery man and every Imam' who was ac
quainted with mein youth, would hang
down their heads in confusion, if they
were told that I feared to speak the, toad"
is it is in me—here or elsewhere---North
or South,"
Put a single Bible in a tovvir—nay, in
nation, and it shall prove like leaven, per
vading gradually thsentire thaw, , and set
ting theist all to require Bibles. As our
°riunity enlarges, thedemand increases,
an it is our glorious privilege to meet
an supply that ever growing demand.--
It is the greatest work on earth, and'' with
the greatest prospect of success that is en
joyed by any moral commie. It is the
grentasclumor, that God over , entrusted to
man. , Our Society stand,. nom a lock.
whotiei base is .the provident* sadynomias
of God, and round whose top mdminams
and aldose the glory of Christian trutttr--
SPech 6iPis aßiMe Society.
"I. Wm to See the word of God Well
thumbed ' its If it had
,been read until the
inside 'g o t dirty. Bit' there, are some, I
grave to say, whose Bibles lie in a corner;
so outwardly covered with dust that dam
nation may be traced on it with the fingers
in legible characters."—Whitjkld.
The closer we follow nature the longer
shall we live; tho farther we deviate the
sooner we shall die.
When thou ■peakest In another. look at
the eyes ; when another epealteth to thee.
upon the mouth.
GETTYSBURG, PA. FRIDAY EVENING, AUGUST 2, 1850,
THE ORPHAN BOY.
The bustle of the fight was over : the
pritioners had been secured, and the decks
washed down, the watch piped, and the
schooner had once more relapsed into mid
night quiet and repose:' I sought my ham
mock and soon fell asleep. But my slum
bers wore disturbed by wild dreams,
which, like the visions of a fever, agitated
and unnerved me; the last strife, the hard
ships of my early life and a thousand oth
er things mingled together as figures in a
phantasmagoria. Suddenly a hand was
laid on my shoulder, and starting up I be
held the surgeon's mate.
"Little Dick, sir, is dying," he said.
At once I sprung from my hammock.—
Little Dick was a sort of protege of mine.
He was a pale, delicate child, said to be
an orphan, and used to gentle nurture; and
from the first hour I joined the schooner,
my heart yearned towards him, for I too
had once been friendless and alone in the
world. .He had often talked to me in con
fidence, of his mother, whose memory he
regarded with holy reverence,
while to'
the other boys of the ship he had little to
say ; for they were rude and coarse, he
delicate and sensitive. Often, when they
jeered him for his melancholly, he would
go apart by himself and weep. He never
complained of his lot, though his compan
ions imposed on him continually. Poor
lad I his heart was in the grave with his
lost parents.
I took a strange interest in him, and
had lightened his task as much a possible.
During the late fight I owed my life to
him, for he rushed in just alit sabre stroke
was levelled at me ; and by interposing
his feeble cutlass had averted the deadly
blow. In the hurry and confusion since,
I had forgotten to inquire whether he was
hurt, though, at the time, I had inwardly
resolved to exert all my little influence to
procure him a mid-shipman's warrant in
requital for his service. It was with a pang
of reproachful agony, therefore, that I
leaped 'to my feet.
"My God I" I exclaimed; "you don't
mean it? He is not dying?"
I fear, sir," said the messenger sadly,
"that he cannot live till morning."
"!Ind I have been lying idle here !" I
exclaimed with remorse. "Lead me to
him."
"He is delirious, but at the intervals of
lunacy he asks for you, sir," and as the
man spoke, we stood beside the bed of the
boy.
The sufferer did not lie in his hammock,
as it was hung in the very midst of the
crew, and the close air round it was so sti
fling, that he had been carried under the o
pen hatchway and laid there in a little open
space of about four feet square. From
the sound of the tirde, I judged the ven
irel was in motion, while the clear blue
sky ' seen through the opening overhead,
•
and dotted with myriads of stars, betoken
ed that the fog had broken away. How
calm it smiled down upon the wan face of
the dying boy. Occasionally a light cur
rent of wind—oh I how deliciously cool
in that pent up hole—eddied down the
hatchway, and lifted the dark cheanut
locks of the sufferer, as with his head re
posing on the lap of an old veteran. he
lay in an unquiet slumber. His shirt col
lar was unbuttoned, and his childish bo
som, u white as that of a girl, was open
and exposed. He breathed quick and ,
heavily. The wound, of which he was
dying, had been intensely painful, but
within the last half hour had somewhat
lulled, though oven now his thin fingers
tightly grasped the bed clothes. as if he I
had suffered the greatest agony.
A battle-stained and grai-haired seaman
stood beside him, holding a dull lantern in
his hand, and gazing sorrowfully down
upon the sufferer. The surgeon knelt
with his finger on the boy's pulse. As
approached they all looked up. The ve
teran who held him, shook his head, and
would have spoken. but the tears gathered
toe ehokingly in his eyes.
The surgeon said—
"He is going fast—poor little fellow—
do you see this 1" As he spoke he lifted up
a rich gold locket which had lain upon the
boy's breast. "He has seen betterdays."
I could not answer, for my heart was
full—here was the being to whom a few
hours before, I had owed my life—a poor,
slight, unprotected child—lying before
me, with death already written on his
brow—and yet I had never sought him
out after the conflict. How bitterly my
heart reproached me at that hour. They
noticed my agitation, and his old friend—
the seaman that had held his bead, said
sadly:
"Poor little Dick—you'll never see the
shore you wished (or so long. But ther'll
be more than one. when your log's out."
he spoke with emotion—.."to mourn over
"
Suddenly the little fellow opened his
eyes and looked vacantly around.
"Has he eons yet V" he asked in a low
tone. "Why dont he come 1"
"I am bete," said I, taking the Bide
fellow's hand, »dont youlnow me, Dick 1"
He smiled &Judy in my face. He then
said—
" You have been kind to me, sir—kinder
than most people are to a. poor orphan boy.
I hate no way. to show my gratitude—
unless you will inks tha. Bible you will
find in my trunk. We a small offering, I
knowi buties *III have."
. burst into tsars.; he 'resumed—
*Doctor, I'm dying; lint I 1" said the
little fellow, 'for my sight )(rows dim—
God bless you Dr. Danforth." •
"Gas I too,: nothing for .rm. , Giekr
said ; .!“you raved my' I. would
eohitay block, to buy yews."
• 44 have nothing wask-.4 doat want to
if "possible, let me be bulled by
my mother.v,you will find the name of the
place andel' about it in my trunk."
"Anything, everything, my poor lad," I
answered, ehokingly. •
The little fellow smiled faintly—it was
like an angel's smile—but he did not an
swer. His eyes were fixed on the stare
flickering in that patch of blue sky over
head. Ilia mind wandered.
"It's a king—long ways up there—but
there are bright angels among the m•—
'FSAEJ4M AND PIMWO
Mother used to say that twould meet her
there. How near * they come, and I see
sweet faces smiling on me from among
them. Hark! is that musick?" and lifting
his finger, he seemed listisulog for a mo.
ment. He fell back, and the old veteran
burst into tears—the ohild was dead.—
Did he, indeed, lieu angel's voices ?
God grant it.
THE LAST` HERRING,
"Root sway &pair.
Never yield to sotrow—
The blackest sky msy dear
A smiling face to•Mokrow."
IT was Saturday night, and the widow
of the Pine cottage sat by her blazing fag
gots, with her five tette*: Children at her
side, endeavoring, by listening to the art
lessness of their jimentlelirattle, to dissi
pate the heavy gloom pressed upon
her mind. A long yelit'fier own hands
had provided for her hhipless family, for
she had no supporter--she thought she
had no friend in alt tbewide unfriendly
world around. That mysterious provi
dence, the wisdom of Whose ways are a
bove human comprehension. hafi visited
her with wasting sickness, and her little
means had become exhausted. It was
now mid-winter, and the snow lay heavy
and deep through the surrounding forests,
while a storm seemed gathering in the hea
vens, and the driving wind roared through
the bending pines that Socked her puny
mansion.
The last herring smoked upon the coals
before her ; it was the only article of food
she possessed ; and no wonder if her des
olate state brought up in her lone bosom
all the anxieties of, melba when she look
ed upon her children; and no wonder,
forlorn as she was, if she Suffered the heart
swellings of despair to rise, even though
she knew that He whose promise is to
the widow, and to the orphan, cannot for
get his word. Providence had, many
years before, taken from her an elder son,
who went away from his forest home to
try his fortune on the seas; since which
time rhe had heard no tidings of him ; and
in latter times she had been, by the hand
of death, deprived of a companion and staff
of support in her husbind. Yet to this
hour she had been upbortie ; she had been
not only able to provide for her little flock,
but had never lost one opportunity of min
istering to the wants of the miserable and
destitute.
The indolent may well bear with pover
ty while ,the ability to gain a sustenance
remains. The individual who has but his
own wants to supply, may suffer with
fortitude the winter of want his etre°.
Lions are not wounded, his heart is not
wrung. The most desolate in the popu
lous cities may hope, far charity has not
quite closed her hand and heart, and shut
her eyes on misery. But the industrious
mother of helpless and depending children,
fa: from the reach of human charity, has
none of these to console her. And such
au ono was the widow of the Pine Cottage:
but as she bent over the tire and took
up the last scanty remnant of food to spread
before her children, her spirits seemed to
brighten up, as by some sudden and mys
terious impulse, Cowper's beautiful hues
came uncalled across her mind :
Judge not the Lord by feeble sense,
But trust him for his grace,
Behind a browning providence,
Ho hides a smiling face.
The smoking herring was scarce laid
upon the table, when a gentle rap at the
door, and the loud barking of the dogs at
tracted the attention of the family. The
children flow to open it, and a weary tra
veller, in tattered garments. and apparent
ly in indifferent health, entered and begged
a lodging and a mouthful of food, "for,"
said lie, "it is now twenty-four hours since
I tasted bread." The widow's heart bled
anew, as under a fresh complication of dis
tress ; for her sympathies lingered not a
round her own fireside. She hesitated
not even now—rest, and a share of all, she
proffered to the stranger. "We shall not
be forsaken," said she, "or suffer deeper
fur an act of charity."
The traveller drew near the board, but
when he saw the scanty fare, he raised his
eyes towards heaven in astonishment—
" And is this all your store," said he--"and
a share of this do you offer to one whom
you know not I then never saw I charity
before—but madam, do not wrong your
children by giving part of their last mouth
ful to a stranger.". "Ah," said the poor
widow, and the tear drops gushed into her
eyes as she said it, "I have a boy, some
where on the free of the wide world, un
less heaven has taken hint away, and I
only set towards you as I would that oth
ers should. act towards him. God who
sent roannefrom heaven, can provide for
us as He did fiir Israel—and bow should I,
this night. offend Him. if my son should be
a wanderer.destitute as you. and He should
have provided for him a home eves as this,
were I to turn you unrelieved away."
The widow ended sad dm stranger
springing from_ his seat clasped her in his
arms, "G od has indeed provided just such
a home for your wandering son--and has
given him wealth to reward the goodness
of his benefactress—My mother. oh my
mother.'f
• • It waa her lost son ; returned to her bo
som froni•tbe Indies, aboundingin riches.
lie had chosen this 'disguise, that he might
the more completely surprise her, and ne
ver was surprise more perfect,or followed
by a *water, cup of :1 0 Y.,: That humble
,midence in the pareo : exchanged for
.on more imaginable and, indeed beautiful
in the *ley • and the widow Jived long
with her affectionate son, in the enjoy
ment of worldly plenty, and in the delight
ful' employment of virtue i Intfat this day
the passer by is often pointed to the luxu
riant willow that spreads its branches
broad and green above her grave, whilst
he listens to the recital of this simple and
homely, but not altogether worthless tale.
A Dutchman being called on to help to
pay for a lightning rod for the village
chord', toward the building of which he
had liberally subscribed, exclaimed :
have helped to build a house for de Lod,
and if be chooses to donder on it and knock
it down, he mush' do it at his own risk."
The Romance of Barlelgh House,
Once upon a time, about 'Sixty years
since,' or perhaps More, an English noble
man married a farmer's daughter. This
was the Earl of Exeter, who had been dis
gusted with fashionable life, on account of
the infidelity and disreputable behavior of
his first wife, from whom he at last pro
cured a divorce. After this, he journed a
bout incognito, somewhat after the man
ner of Burchill, in the Vicar of Wakefield,
determined, with a certain wilful eccen
tricity, which is said to belong to his order,
to look for a gentle and more obedient
wife among the humble daughters of the
land—one who !ould love him for him
self alone. Thew wandering about—a sen
timental pilgrim in search of a new sensa
tion—he sojourned for a time in the house
of Farmer Hogging of the village of Hod
ret in Shropshire. Here he fell in love
with the farmer's eldest daughter, Miss
Hogging, (Phobos, whet a name I) a fair
simple-hearted girl—a good specimen of
England's lowly born but beautiful coun
try maidens. He proposed for her at last,
and though nobody knew who he was or
whence he came, his agreeable manners
and his apparent possession of a little cow
petence, had due weight with the family
—the more readily that Miss Hoggins her
self sincerely returned the attachment of
modest suitor. In such a case—as Tom
My Moore says—
When once the young heart of a maiden is stoke,
The maiden herself will steal after it soon.
And so, in a little time. her father having
consented and Miss Hoggins having very
sensibly changed her name for one that he
assumed for the oecasion—Oecil—we be
lieve—she set off with her bridegroom for
his distant residence.
They travelled Cover the hills and far a
way for a great many hours, till at last they
came by Stamford, and passing through,
stopped before the gates of Burleigh Park.
Open the latter flew, as the bridegroom pop
ped his head out of the chaise, and on they
went, through a grand avenue of trees, till
they reached the front of the Earl's baron
ial Hall, when he alighted and handing
out his bewildered bride, told her that was
Burleigh House—her husband was a belt
ed Earl—and she was Countess of Exeter
They say the poor girl was so affected by
the shock of this wonderful surprise that
she never recovered it; but died very soon
after, leaving her husband inconsolable and
the touching pathos of her story to the heart
of generations to come. And it his not
been lost on our bright-eouled poets,—lor,
all English speaking bards are ours. Our
readers have no objection to read, once
more, the 'most musical, most
poem of Tennyson on the subject :
LORD OF DIURLRIGIL
In her ear he whispers gaily :
"If my heart by signs can tell.
Maiden, I have watched thee daily,
Aud I think thou lov'st me
She replied in accents fainter,
"There ie none I love like thee."
He is but a landscape painter,
And a village maiden she ;
He to lips that (badly falter,
Presses his without reproof ;
Leads her to the village alter,
And they leave their father's roof.
"I can make no maritiesse present ;
Little can I give my wife ;
Lows will bra k e our cottage pleasant,
And I love the, mom then life."
They, by parks and lodge, going,
See the lordly ca ties stand :
Summer winds, about them blowing.
Made a murmur in the land.
From deep thought himself he rouses,
Says to her that loves him well :
"Let us see those handsome houses
Where the wealthy nobles dwell."
So she goes by him attended,
Bears him lovingly converse,
Sees whatever fair and splendid
Lay betwixt his home and hers.
Parks with oaks and chestnuts shady,
Parks and ordered gardens great.
Ancient homes of lord and lady
Built for pleasure and for state.
All he shows her makes him dower
Evermore she seems to pm
On that cottage growing nearer,
Where they twain will spend their days.
0, but she will love him truly
He shall have a cheerful home ;
She will order all things duly •
When beneath his roof they come.
Thus her heart rejoice, greatly.
Till a gateway she discerns.
With armonial bearings stately,
And beneath the gate she turns;
Sees a mansion more majestic
Than all those she saw before ;
Many a gallant gay domestic
Bows before him at the door.
And they speak in gentle murmur
When they answer to hie call ;
While he treads with footsteps firmer
Leading on from ball to ball.
And while now she wonders blindly
Nor the Henning can divine.
Proudly turns he round, and kindly
"All of this is mine and thine."
Here he lives be state and bounty
Lord of Boleigh fah and flee;
Not a lord in all the county
Is as great a lowl as he.
All at once the color Studies
Her sweet face from brow to chin;
As it were with shame she Mabl,
And bet Spirit changed Within , .
Then ber countenance all over
Pale again as death did prove ;
But be clasped , her like • lover, ,
And be cheered her met with lOC
So she strove againrt her weakness
Though at times her spilt sank ; ,
Shaped her heart with 1,01111.01 meekness,
To the duties of hat rank.
And a gentle consort made he.
And her gentle mind was such,
That she brew *noble lady
But
people, loved her much,
But irtrquble weighed upon her
And ;perplexed her, night and monk
With the !Willed of an honor
VOW which she was not born.
Faint she grew, and eves fainter,
, As she mormurcd-o , would that be
Wens once more that landscape painter.
Which did win my heart from me.
.80 she drooped and drooped before Wet
Fading slowly from his side ;
,i • Thme'fair Children first she bore him,
Then, before her time, she died.
Weeping, weeping late and early,
Walking up and pacing down,
Deeply, mourned the Lord of Burleigh,
Burleigh house by Stanford town.
And he came to look upon her,
And he looked at her and said
"Bring the dress and put it on her,
That she worn when she was wed,"
Then her people, softly treading,
Bore to earth her body droll
In the dress that she was wed in,
That her spirit might have rest.
Bum Virrii.... , ~Affitery...ollte
newspapers front all ludo& ofthe WWI,
come to us filled with eulogies on . the late
President; bin mostly with nothing new
in them. One, however.• pronouneed st
Salem, Mass., on the 18 inst. by the Hon.
C. W. Upham; contains an account of
the celebrated flag of truce, which, during
the battle of Buena Vista, was sent from
Santa Anna to n. Taylor. This ac
count presents 'solo* new facts, end u it
was derived from the lips of the late Pres.
Went, it wilt hereafter pass into history.—••
The passage is as follows:
As this incident of the battle may, pos
sibly, if the secret history of the war is
ever fully' revealed, be found to 'hod light
upon it, I will here record the facia related
to me by Gen. Taylor himself. , Doring
the height of the eondiet a flag was seen
approaching. The etnergencies of the dey
had so stripped him of his staff, that, hav
ing no one to send, he went himself to
meet it. As the young aloe? who bore
it could not speak English. nor the Spanish,
the conference took place in French.—
The communication was this ;—"General
Santa Anna desires to know what Gen.
Taylor wants r Feeling somewhat in
dignant* that a message so apparently im
pertinent should have been sent at such a
moment, and regarding it as perhaps a
device merely to gain time or some other
illegitimate advents's, or at the best as a
species of trifling, believe se eniwer dic
tated by the Feeling of the momesto...'
owhat Gen. Taylor Wats Is Gen. Ganta
Anna's Army.' -
Here the conference closed and the
Mexican officer withdrew. Upon a
meet's reflection, he regretted that he had
given an answer so undiplomatic, and hay.
ing so much the, air of a repartee. He
called to mind the fact that his Government
had advised hint that they had favored the
return of Santa Lana th Menke, from a
belief that he was disposed to promote and
might have influence enough with his
countrymen to effect a termination of the
war, and it occurred to him as :eally,design
ed to open the way for negotiation, and,
perhaps, a pacificiation—an object ever near
to his heart. He rode over the field in
search of Gen. Wool, made known the
circumstances to him, and suggested,, if
not too great a personal exposure, the ei•
pedieney of his carrying a flag to the Mex
ican lines and ask an explanation of the
me
Tsao
send an officer of his rank, charac
ter and position, would remove-the-indig
nity, if it should be so regarded, of his
blunt and summary answer. Gen. Wool
readily and gallantly undertook the service,
and rode forth to execute it. but the fire of
the Mexican batteries could not again be
stopped, and no further parley took place.
The next morning when Col. Blies was
Bent with a flag to the Mexican heed quer
tars, he was requested to ascertain what
I had been intended by the - message on the
1 1 previous day, but he found the ante of
things such as to render it rant t 0 enter
upon the subject. The import Of the mes
sage remains unriddled to this day, Sa
te Anna can undoubtedly solve the oni4ll
-
ma.
Mr. 'Upham, in the course of his ad
dives, gives numerous anecdotes, eittitd
ting the late President's °mime and gin
erosity—one of which is. thatother the de
feat of Santa Anna's army, he ordered s
train of wagons to follow hint with 'relief
for the wounded, ice. Upon some coma's
expressing i doubt whether mach a use
of the public stores and wagons, for the
benefit of the enemy, would - be illoired
by the Depertnlent, Taylor cut the difficult.
ty short, at once, by saying, "Then I will
pay the bill"—and to provide the the eon
tingency, he directed a separate account
to be kept of all that was expended for
the purpose.
AN IRISH LETTER.
TO MY WIFE AT
71n IYakertg's
in Ireland.
If gone to be'forwarded.
May the two-1847.
My dear Judy,
I commenced this teller yesterday. If
it doson't come to hand you may allow
that I am not here but gone to gimbal—
Tell Barney that his brother's family is
all dead entirely barrin the cow God bless
her--I'd write you more but as there's no
means of sending this, I will just let it go
as it is—Remember me in your prayers,
and to the Fhtheny's. No more at pres
ent from your loving husband if alive
Theddy and admit', Clod rest his
soul.—P. B.—lf this leiter dosn't reach,
you must let me know by return of Post
and don't wait for another until ye hear
from me again, but write immediately and
let me know. how you're coming on.
N.B. I bare altered my mind and
won't send this letter after all, so you can
*newer or not at all. jut as it pleases.—
Give my love to the children—when you
come to the end of this letter don't read
any more of it, but just answer by the
Aral post of ice I your own
Theddy O'Riley.
As in duty bound I ought to be.
A. ,DAOUSRMIOTYPS OP THE DEVIL.
A friend of ours from Virginia related to us
the following graphic and eminently faith
!ul description of his Satanic Majesty, as
given ,by a negro preacher to his "colored
brudderin" It is as genuine as it is novel
and amusing, and we give the exact words
of the sable preacher : "Stan' side, nig
gers, luff me tell you. I hab a dream and
see de debit. Ho hab an eye like do
moon; he hab a nose like a canoe ; ho
hab a shoulder like de Blue Ridge, and he
hab a tail like de rainbdw.
Mr. Willis, speaking of a handsome
girl whom he met in an omnibus in New
York eayi
`The dimples at the corner of her mouth
were su deep, and so turned in, like invert.
ed comas. that her lips looked like asiquo•
tenon." We should like to make en ea.
tract from them.—Boston Post.
TWO DOILASE I'VE 41M4M1
;NEW BEIIIES-40. 184.,
A FRIEJID 4 8 ADVICR
The Paris Carrespondeug of (he Con•
tier and Enquirer sends the following lei
tar, wringer to President Bonaparte by M.
Peatver, tendering his resignation of die
Wilco of Director of the National Printing
Establishment in Paris. M. P. has long
beim a most particular and and devoted
friend of Bonaparte's, the confidant of hit
prison, the condoler of his exile, his faith
ful adviser and coherent until he found that
he wee,compolled to choose between hit
friend and his country 1
Mr. Paestostsx : I forward you my re
signation. Your Government is at bottom •
and in form a Government of counter6re
volution, which I cannot longer serve, hew.
ever far placed I may be fron, its politic:ll
action. It was with other hopes that I de ,
aired your accession to power. 'Fheee
hopes have departed. Your role wee, as I
understand it, completely popular. I
dreamed of you as the chief, the initiator,
and at the same time the moderator, of the
great French Democracy. You might
hare been so, and with exceeding power.
Did you not thus understand it yourself,
in your writings, which I have read more
than once 4111K10 your election, in your let
ters which I have preserved, and in your
conversation* at Ham, which I recall to.
.aired I No ono would have followed you
limn sincerely thaw myseillopon that mad. ,
Your destiny bas taken another course.---
Ido not reproach you for it. I only wish
to tell you why I retire from you I and I
would tell you so, if it be possible, with
out wounding you. „My impression is
not facticious. It te now 16 months that
that you have been at the head of the Re
public. It is now at least 14 months they
I have seen you upon a declivity that ends
in barrenness and ruin. I have told you
so, you know, as elan as I found suitable
occasion to tell you so. I have thought
many a time to send you the resignation
which you receive herewith. I should
have done so long since had I consulted
only the wounds inflicted upon my politi
cal faith. But I said to myself that I ought
to be one of the very last to despair. I
have made the sacrifice of feeling this
course required, to our old friendly rela
tions. It hes cost rite many anxieties.—
But Ido not regret it. At last the extreme
moment is come I You are eumpromit
int yourself more and more, and without
chance of return. You are absorbed by
parties hostile to the Republic and to your
self personally. A fatality seems to be ir-
Mild* drawint you on to the impossi
ble work of misled and guilty Govern
ments. Thom who have loved and who
would still utter wishes In your behalf, if
wishes might avail anything, have now on
ly one sort of service to render you : it is
todepart Irom you, and to recall you. if it
be yet possible. by their retreat, to the con
seheniness of your true situation and of
your origin. I am neither an authority
or an influence in the political, world. I
go away obscurely. lam but obeying the
eonicienee of an honest man, who is giy.
ing one of the last sincere warnings which
dou will perhaps ever receive. Will you
ean to it I
Accept, &c. PEAUGER.
thireattailatcso Ommatte.-....1n Co"pep.
per, on Wednesday last, a lawless mob as•
sembled at the Court House, and though
resisted b 7 the Sherif at the jail door, en
tered the jail and took therefrom by force,
William Grayson, a freo negro, charged
with the Murder of David W. Miller. and
hung him by the neck until he was dead.
The Superior Court of Culpepper had
twice convicted Grayson. and the general
Court had twice granted him a new trial.
In the last opinion the general Court said:
"Upon reviewing the case we are of opinion,
that the testimony is not only not sufficient
to prove the guilt of the accused, but that
it is hardly'sufficient to raise a suspicion a
gainst him. The judgment must there
fore be reversed and a new trial awarded."
This infuriated mob, consisting as we're
gret to learn, in part of justices of the peace,
and of members of christian churches, have
thus by violence reversed the decision of
the highest criminal tribunal in the State,
and been guilty of a foul cowardly and
fiendish murder, and that too of a helpless
free negro, with none to defend him, nor
avenge his wrongs. Grayson, we learn,
•avowed his innocence on the gallows.—
One minute was given him in which to
conies' the murder, which he refused to do,
and told them to execute him at once,
which they did..--Fredericksburg ( Fa.)
Recorder.
Mttlitatint.—Said a Rev. Doctor to
his younger brother of the cloth, "I hare
seen the marriage of Mr. Lyon and Miss
Lamb." "Really," says the other, "the
millenium must surely be at hand. for the
lamb and the lion will lie down together;'
to which a junior wearer of the cassock
rejoined. "Yes, and although the little
child may not lead them, I doubt not is
will soon follow."
(100 n...-In Lowell, 111, a happy couple
were recently merried, end in the evening
the rowdies of the neighborhood collect.
ed and cheriratied the party, firingguns,
pistols, and making all manner of hideous
sounds I at length cake was handed round
to the outsiders—each cake containing a
portion of tartar emetic. The consequence
was that the music of sheep and cow bells
was soon exchanged for whir can be !tab'
ter imagined than clescribed.—Ciss... aIIOP
mercial.
A REAL Boir.—A little fellow lost his
sister. He was crying terriblY. A.soth
er little fellow began to cry too. "'Wiwi
are you crying for 1" said the gills fassllllss•
ly, "lea none of yoga fiorai 1"
A man boasting in company that he had
a very luxuriant head of hair, ow Olf AO
fair damsels remarked that is was amino.
17 oaring so the enelloioneaa oaths NAL
• • '
,Foolt or Its.-411. KmMoir . ,
low Ohio. moody prewolitott birroolootholl.
hoshooll with (oar little rooponoiltitiliiso
quietists Archer, would as clog •IPH