The mountain sentinel. (Ebensburg, Pa.) 1844-1853, June 16, 1853, Image 1

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Alexander Smith, a young man not more than
tentj-one year9 cf ago, a native of Glasgow,
has bad ta2 fortune, in a single bound, to attain
c. place among the living poets of Great Britain,
on a level with the highest. "Poenn by lex
nndsr Smith." was the unviting title of his vol
ume. Bat it has been greeted with praise al
most unqualified, from one end of the kingdom
to th3 other. We have not yet seen the book ;
cat from the numberles extracts in the Euro
pean periodicals, we conclude that no modern
poet, in his first voluraa, ever gave such unmis
takcable evidences of poetic power. lie is pro
digal of Lis wealth. Hi3 verses teem with ideas
end fancies, expressed with such force and feli
city, that the reader pauses, every few lines, in
that silent esstasy which the lovers of poetry
experience in reading mastcrpieces.for the first
time. Here are a few lines for poets only :
Poesy! Poesy! I'd give to thee.
As passionately, my rich-laden years,
My' liable pleasures, and my awful joys.
As Haro gave her trembling sighs to find
Delicious death on wet Leander's lip.
Bare, bald, and tardry, as a fingered moth.
I3 my poor life, but with one smile thou can'st
ClctLe mo with kingdoms.
Nothing could be finer than the expression
"tret Leander." It hints the whole story of
Leandcr and Hero, and vivifies the picture stri
king'y. Still apostrophizing poetry, he asks :
Wilt ni me die for thee! O fair and cold !
As well may some wild maiden waste her love
Upon the calm front of a marble Jove.
I cannot draw regard of thy great eyes.
I love theo. Poesy ! Thou art a rock,
I, a weak wave, would break on thee and lie.
Here is another pa snge, which every young
pott wi'.l feel the full meaning of :
There is a deadlier pan thai tint which beads
With cfciily death -drops the o'er tortured brow,
When one has a bis heart and f eblehnnds
A heart to hew his nsmo out upon time
As on a rock, then in ira mortal r.pa3
To stand on tlma as on a pedestal : Tweak.
When hearts beat to this tun?, nnd hands are
We find ocr aspirations quenrhd in tears.
The tsar3 cf impotence and self contempt,
Thr.t loatbsom? weed, up-springins in the heart
Like nightshade 'mong the ruins of a shrine.
In the same strain, a few lines further on, he
T!s net for me, ye heavens ?' tia not for me
To Slag & poem like a comet out.
Far-splendouring the sleepy realms of night.
I cannot give men glimpses no divin-,
As when, upon a racking niarht, the wine
Draws the pale curtains of the vapory clouns,
And shows those wonderful mysterious voids,
Throbbing with etars like pulses.
There is a fine thought in the following
1 cea :
Alone he dwelt, solitary as a stir
Unsphered Mid exiled, 3'et he knew no scorn.
Dace did he say, "For me, I'd rather live
With this weak human heart and yearning
Lonely as God, than mate with barren souls:
Mvre brave, mora beautiful than myself must
The man whom truly I enn call my Friend ;
He must be an Inspiror, who enn draw
To higher heights of B-inar. and ever stand
O'er cue in unreached beauty, like the moon."
vhat lines, too, are these, which conclude the
Poet's address to Mature !
Yon quarry shattered by the fire,
And disembowelled by the bitinz pick.
Kind Nature ! thou hast taken to thyself ;
Thy weeding Aprils nnd soft-blowing Miys.
Thy blossom-buried Junes, have smoothed its
And Lid its wounds and trenches deep in flowers.
JSo t ike my worn nnd passion-wnrtrl heart,
Maternal Nature ! Take it to thyself.
Efface the scars of scorn, the rents of hate,
The wounds of alien eyes, visit my brain
Kith thy deep peace, fill with ' thy calm my
And the quick courses of my human blood.
And these, which mark the moment, so to
creak, cf the Poet's regeneration :
My life wa a long dream ; when T awoke,
Duty stood like an nngel in my path,
And seemed so terrible, I could linve turned
Into my yesterdays, and wandered back
To distant childhood, nnd cone out to God
By the gate of birth, not death.
Again in the same grand, inspiring passage,
the emancipated Poet speaks thus :
Great duties are before me and ereatsoners.
And whether crowned or crownlees, when I fall
It matters not. so ns God's work is done.
I've learned to prize the quite lisrhtened-deed,
Not the applauding thunder at its heels,
Vhich men call fame.
Oar scissors yearn to clip other pnssages whirh
lie invitingly before us: but in a few days the
volume will be republished here, nnd accessible
to ail our readers. If Alexnnier Smith were to
die this hour, he would live in the hearts of men
for many n year. Our only fear for him is. that
the "applauding thunder" with which his ap
pearance has been hailed, mav alarm his muse.
But we hope better things. There seems to be
a 6pir"n n his writings, far above that lust of
glory -which baa weakened nnd embittered so
many of our modern poets. From certain pas
eagest we infer that the new poet is a poor man.
tnis be so we should like to ask the Earl of
Aberdeen which wore wisest which were best
for literature, that Mr. Smith should be pension
ed now, when a pension wonli give him that in
estimable gift of leisure which only the hirh and
great are fit to be entrusted with, and which
th.y can so nobly use, or twenty years hence,
when his mind has been worn with th struggle
for existence, and when his mne had already
achieved her highest flight? Home Journal.
A Blacksmith was lately summoned to a
country couit as a witness in a dispute between
two of his workmen. The judge after hearing
the testimony, asked him why he did not advise
them to settle, ns the costs had already
amounted to three times the disputed sum. lie
replied: "I told the fools to settle: for I said
the clerks would take their coats, the lawyers
their shirts; and if they got into your honor's
court you'd ekin 'em!"
' " " " "
mnniTriTiTTTk !L " ' " - . .- .
. ? -7 Jvjyt
Sorao people are always ailing. At any rate,
they think thov are, and sy so, screwing up
h ir mouths, and whining out their grievances,
real or imaginary, us if they w.ere animated with
a strong compound tincture of the sou's of Joh
aa I Jeremiah hmieutntioiV Uineiltafion "and
complaint, being fna continued employment of
their doleful tongues.
Mr. Betsey Beeswax was one of this stamp,
I called on Betsey one day. ' I call her familiar
ly 'Betsey,' because she confi lcd in me a. I her
troubles, making me thoroughly familiar with j
herself and :11 her complaints.
It was a cold, sloppy winter's day. Mrs. B. was
sitting close to the rr:ite. in a large, old-fashioned
eas3 chair, almost ns big as a chaise. She
was bending forward, with her shoulders hunch-
el u
and her head nearly into the fire-
'Ah, dear, is it you ?' said she, as I entered
h r ancient face wearing the usul lachrymose
expression of hopeless misery.
'Yes, ma'am,' said I, 'and how do you do to
day V
'O, miserably, miserably ! I am enjoying
dreadfal poor health. There is no telling hovt
much I suffer. I ache all over and don't relish
any vittks.'
I suggested that the bad weather might be
the cause of her depression of spirits.
'No, no,' she moaned, 'it isu't that, though
the weather is bad enough to be sure. Maria
bus goue out without her ruboers, aud ahe'K be
V... i:i .. . I' , v . . .... ! tilt J.Iillif -M
tl.Pv hrin in the wet all over the houc aud
whenever the door shuts, itseciuito s.iy, tichouj-
inj-C', whoopinj coayh! browti-crttars, rhsu-
'What is your principal complaint !'
O, everything. The doctor says he don't
know what he can do for me, aud I kuow no
body can. I'm dretful fidgety aud nervous all
the time, and then the children, they make such
a racket. Sometimes I think I've got the hip
complaint, aud then I feel us if my lungs were
out of order, and then I have a twinge in tho
side, and then a shooting pain in the head, and
thtrn my eyes ache! Aud then I'm so sensitive
to the cold ! It wou.d make your hair stand on
end, I kuow, to see the goose-ficsh on me some
times !
I expressed a deep sympathy for her suffer-
r i 1 v.,fiti, ..ri.r,T.l i.lo., ie '
she felt cold, she hud better try to keep
'Ah, yea, dear ; but the young folks will keep
leaving th door open! and then fuel is so high,
and you don't know what a monstrous draught
there is in our chimneys. The heat all goes up
the chimney , and then I've got such extrava
gant help! They are the most extravagant help
I ever see! You would think they were g ling to
ro'iat an ox. sometimes, to see the fire they built
iu the kitchen.'
'But won't they obey your directions? Wlry
don't you turn them away and get others?'
'It is a dretful difficult thing to get good help,
I suppose I've had as many help in my days as
any body iu the city, and I know it's a dretful
dilficu't'thing to get good help, dretful difficult.
The first one I turned away, always burnt the
broad, without fail; tho next one was. so lazy
that she could hardly put one foot before the
other; the next one was very sassy: the next
cue set her impudent cap for Maria's first beau.'
'And got him?'
'And got him! The next one was so sluttish
excuse me for the expression that I couldu't
a-bear her in my fdght; the next one had such
poor health that I had to keep doctoring of her
all the time, and when she got well she run off
with the ?poons !'
What ingratitude !'
Worse than that, dear. She Sent another
girl worse than she wit's. She had a sweet.
Smooth face, and you'd tho't butter wouldn't
melt in her mouth ; but shecut up the awfullest
capers with the boys, aud when she went away,
I found she had stolen auut Billy's silver watch
the largest I ever see a beautiful counterpane,
covered all over with roses ; a loaf of sugar and
sugar tong3 to match ; a beautijul tortoise shell
siiutf-box aud. three new pillow-cases ! O-ow!'
Good heavens! Mrs. Beeswax, what's the
O, dear, dear, dear, deary me! A twinge
right through the liver. I believe my liver'll
be the death of me, after all.'
I am sory, verry sorry, Mrs. Beeswax, that
Providence has singled you out as the subject of
so misny afflictions. But all's for the best.
I dont want to be wicked,' 6he replied, 'but
I don't believe it is ! There's Maria, she's Sub
ject to the new-rology, an old complaint of hers :
George he's ricketty ; Sam, the last I saw of
him before he went to the west, said he knew
he should die of fever and ague; Mary, she says
she can't eat without its distressing her ; and
Laura's almost sucr she's going to have the
scrofula; and theu the two children are com
plaining of the chilblains all the time. As for
me, I feed mostly upon medicine, the more I
take, the more it don't seem to do me any good.
But J don't complain, I never say a word to any
body, fori hate people that's complaining all the
time. But if ever there was an afflicted family,
this is one ; and if ever there was an afflicted
woman, she's me.'
But can't you ascertain what your disease
is ? Don't your physician give you any idea ?'
No, no he only gives me medicine.'
What kind of pills?
What kind dear ? Why, massy sakes, I nev
er ask him. I never studied medicine ? I don't
want to know the names. My neighbors are
pestering mo all the time with new names, and I
never can remember them. That's a sign' that
my memory is gone, and sometimes I think I'm
getting a little luny. O! if ever I should have
to go to the hospital. O ! if I should.
'Were any of your family ever iusane ? I in
quired. I don't know, but I think it's as like as not.
My poor, dear, dead old Mr. Beeswax used to
have symptoms of it, and I lived so long with
him, perhaps 1 may have ketched it of him !
why, he used to be so crazy, sometimes, he would
actilly say that nothing was the matter with me,
and that I complained only because I wanted to
MMMMUL Till IiSHiT ' . II iVR If? 1852
hear myself talk ! Oace I took the broomstick
to him on that veray account. But, O O!
what is it to be ailing, ailing all the time, and to
n.ive no coinrort, ani nothing to uo you any
I'm a poor, feeble creature.'
Crash ! Crash ! -jingle jingle crash ! was
the sound that followed these words, evidently
from the broking of crockery below stairs.
'Them careless hussies !' exclaimed Mrs.
Beeswax in a rage, starting from the easy chair,
with a vigor and quickness? quite extraordinary
for an 'invalid.' 4 " ' ' " "- ;-v..
"Like a tigress, she bolted from the room,' and
the frightened echoes of her loud, shrill voice in
the kitchen immediately after, and the screams
of tl e servant girls, admonished me to make a
precipitate departure.
A Littla Child Shall Lead Ilim.
Here is something pretty abiut the power and
might of little children, from the pen of some
gentle-hearted lady uuknown: "One cold win
ter morning I looked into a milliner's shop, and
there I saw a hale, hearty, aud well-browned
young fellow from the country, with his long
c art whip, and a lion shag coat holding up some
little matter, and turning it about in his great
fist. And what do you suppose it was t A
baby's bonnet ! A little, soft, blue satin hood,
with a swan's down border, white ns the frill of
rich blond around the edge. By his- side stood
a very pretty woman, holding, with no small
pride, the baby, for evidently it was the baby.
And one could read the fact in every glance, ns
they looked at each other, and at the little hood,
and then at the large, blue, unconscious eye,
and fat, dimpled cheeks of the little one. It was
evident that neither of them had ever seen a
baby like that before ! 'But really, Mary. said
tl,e yu2 ,
is not three uol ars very high V
Mary very prudently Said ucthing, but taking
the hood, tied it on the little head, aud held up
the baby. The man looked and grinned, and
without another word.. down went the three dol
lars, (all the-last week's butter came to.) and,
as they walked out of the shop it is hard to say
which looked the most delighted with the bar
gain. 'Ah,' Jhought I, a little child shall lead
them.'Ah, these children ! little witches !
pretty even in ail their thoughts iud absurdi
ties ! winning even in their sins and iniqui
ties! Sec, for example, yonder little fallow in
a naughty fit ; he has shaken his long curls over
his deep blue eyes, the fair brow is bent in a
frown, the rose leaf is pushed upin infantinede
fini c , and the white shoulder thrust naughtily ttU " . ?, , ,O0K o pretty
even ui its uuughtiness J Then comes the in
stant change ; flashiug smiles and tears as
tho good comes back all in a rush, and you are
overwhelmed with protestations, promises and
kisses. They are irreatible. too, these little
ones. They pull away the tcholar's pen ; tumble
about his papers ; make somersets over his
books; and what can he do? They tear up
newspapers; litter the carpets; break, pull,
and upset, nnd then jabber - their unintelligible
English in self-defence ; aud what can you do
for yourself ? 'If had a child, says the pre
cise man, 'you shall see!' He does have a child ;
and his child tears up his papers, tumbles over
his things, and pulls his nose, like all children ;
and what has the precise man to say for himself?
Nothing. He is like everybody else : a little
child shall lead him ." Poor little children, they
bring and teach us, human beings, more good
than fiey et in return. How often does the ii.i, with its soft cheek and helplesi hand,
awakeu a mother from worldliness and egotism
to a whole world of new and higher feeling.
How cftcn does the mother repay this by doing
her best to wipe off, even before the time, the
dew and fresh simplicity of childhood, and make
her daughter too soon a woman of the world, as
she has been. The hardened heart of the world
ly man is touched by the guileless tones and sim
ple caresses of his son, but he repays it in time,
by imparting to bis boy all the crooked tricks
and hard ways, and callous maxims, which have
undoue himself. Go to the jail the penitenti
ary and find there the wretched, most sullen,
brutal, and hardened. Then look at your in
fant sou ; such to some mother was this man.
That hard hand was soft and delicate ; that
rough voice was tender and lisping ; fond eyes
followed as he played ; and he was rocked as
something holy. There was a time when his
heart, soft and unknown, might have been open
ed to questions of his Maker, and been scaled
With the seal of heaven. But harsh hands
seized it, and all is over with him for ever. So
of the tender, weeping child he is made the
callous, heartless man ; of the sneering sceptic
of the beautiful and modest, the Shameless
and abandoned and this is what the world does
for the little. There was a lUne when the Di
vine One stood upon the earth, and little chil
dren sought to draw near him. But harsh hu
man beings stood between him and them, forbid
ding their approach. Ah, has it always been
so t Do not even we, with our hard and unsub
dued feeling, our worldly and, unscriptural hab
its and maxims, stand like a dark scretr between
our child and its Saviour, and keep, even from
the choice bud of our heart, the raliame which
might unfold it for paradise ? 'Suffer little
childen to come unto me, and forbid them not,'
is Btill the voice of the Son of God ; but the cold
world.still closes around and forbids. When of
old disciples would question their Lord of the
higher mysteries of his kingdom, be took a
child and set him in the midst as a sign of him
who would be greatest in the kingdom of heaven.
That gentle teacher still acts the little child in
the midst of us ! Wouldst thou know, O parent,
what is that faith which unlocks heaven ? Go
not to wrangling polemics or creeds, or forms
of theology but draw to thy bosom thy little
one. read in that clear and trusting eye the les
son of eternal life. Ba only to thy God as thy
child is to thee, and all is done. Blessed shalt
thou be indeed 'a lit tie child shall lead thee."'
A Witty Repartee. While loitering in the
Art Union Gallery, we were much amused at
an encounter of wit between three artists, who
were discussing and satirizing each other's
styles. Two of them, a wood engraver, and a
marine painter, conjoined to depreciate the work
of a third, a portrait painter, who at last, pro
voked beyond forbearance, silenced the twain,
and set the listeners in a roar saying.: "What
can you possibly know about the philosophy of
the art, who are but the hewers of : wood and
drawers of water of the profession ?"'
Washington and Jackson.
Mr. Bancroft, the historian, relates the follow
ing anecdote of the Father of his Country:
"Once, while in New Jersey, coming out to
mount his horse, he found a child beside it, at
tracted by the trappings. He placed the child
upon the horse's back, and led it around the
yard, with Us youthful joyance. It was to Wash
ington's honor, that, although Heaven did not
biess him witn offspring, he hud n. bn-t to
UUiW2n.iake them to his Koaam. . . - .
unarein, with equal justice and proprie
ty, rel.-itcs an interesting aneodote of the revered
Jackson; the man whose iron will prompted him
to "tike tha responsibility," when duty c died
him to do it, anl before whose inflexible deter
mination all obstacles surmountable by human
effort were forced to give way.
After the battle cf the Great Horse Shoe, in
which nearly a thousand Indians were killed,
and two hundred and fifty prisoners were taken,
all women and children, the men having been
exterminated, the following incident occurred:
The grim General who presided over the bloody
scene, which seemed to carry u? back to the
early Indian wars of New England, had still a
tender spot in his heart. Moved by the wail of
an Indian infant, picked up from the field, whose
mother hd perished during the battle, Jackson
strove to iuduce some nursing women amonr the
prisoners to suckle it. "Its mother is dead,"
was the cold answer, "let the child die too."
The General, himself a childless man. turned
nurse himself. Some brown sugar formed a
part of his private stores, and with this he cau
sed the child to be fed. He even took it . home
with him and reared it op in hi3 0wn family.
The re-publicatioa of the above has reminded
us of an account given up. some yeir3 since, by
a highly respectable gentleman, wh" was pre
sent, with others, when Gen. Jackson was the
occupant of the Presidential mansion at Wash
ington. When breakfast was Announced, the
venerable patriot, with his guests, entered the
room at one door, when Mrs. Donaldson with
her two children entered another at the opposite
ena. immediately on seeing him, they ran to
him to receive the morning kiss. Extending
his arms, and bending his yet graceful form, he
caught up first one, and then another, caressing
them with all the fondness of a doating parent.
They returned to their mother, and all were soon
seated at the table. . Bowing his head, with the
humility of a dependent suppliant, conscious of
the rectitude of his intentions, and yet feeling
tne need ot a higher Wisdom than his own to
enlighten and d'rect the judgment, he devoutly
invoked the blessing of God. The scene was
deeply affecting, and drew tears from eyes unu
sed to weeping. Such was Andrew Jackson at
home. When called upon to defend his country,
on the battle field, op to preside over her coun
cils in seasons of peril, he wus decided, resolute
and irresistible. His mind, wonderfully intui
tive, comprehending at a glance that which those
of inferior intellectual powers could only reach
and comprehend by a laborious process of inves
tigation, was "a law unto itself." He wa9 ac
cused of rashness, when be should have been
praised for superior wisdom. But, while iu
manner he was the accomplished gentleman, his
true m mhoo l was most conspicuously displayed
in the sphere of th-j social and domestic affec
tions. While embalmed in the admiration of his
friends, he will be immortalized by the blind
vindictiveness of his enemies.
Heroism and Cruelty.
A most touching instance of heroism, and one
of the most atrocious acts of cruelty, the truth
of which is vouched for by the most respectable
authority, occurred during the Columbian strug
gle for independence. The Spanish General.
Morrilld, tho most blood-thirsty and treacherous
tool of the Spanish King, who was created Count
of Carthagenia and Marquis do la Pueria, for
services which rather entitled him to the dis
tinction of butcher or hangman, while seated in
his tent one day during the campaign of Carrac
cas, saw a boy before him drowned in tears.
The chief demanded of him for what purpose he
was there.
The child replied that he had come to beg the
life of his father, then a prisoner in Morillo's
"What can you do to save your father ?" ask
ed the general.
"I can do but little, but what I can shall be
Morillo seized the little fellow's ear and said,
"would you suffer 3-our ear to betaken off to
procure your father's liberty ?"
"I certainly would," was the undaunted re
ply. A soldier was accordingly called and ordered
to cut off the ear with a single stroke of tho
knife. The boy wept, but did not resist while
this barbarous order was executed.
"Would you lose your other ear rather than
fail of your purpose ?" was the next ques
tion. "I have suffered much, but for my - father I
can suffer still!" was the herio answer of the
The other ear was taken off by piecemeal, with
out flinching on the part of the noble child.
"And now go!'' exclaimed Morillo, untouched
by his sublime courage, "the -father of such a
son must die!"
In the presence of his agonized and vainly
suffering son, the patriot father was executed.
Never did a life picture exhibit such truthful
lights and shades in national character, such
deep, treacherous villainy ; such lofty, enthusi
astic heroism.
A Picture. A fair young girl is leaning pen
sively on the casement, gazing, with thoughtful
brow upon the scene below. The bloom of fif
teen summers tints her soft cheeks, the sweets
of a thousand flowers are gathered upon her
round full lips, the curls cling to a spotless brow,
and fall upon a neck of perfect grace, the soft
swimming eye seems lighted by the tenderest
fire of poetry, and beauty hovers over her, as
her own most favored child. What are her
thoughts ? Love cannot stir a bosom so young,
sorrow cannot yet have touched a spirit so pure.
Innocence itself seems to have chosen her for
its own. Alas! has disappointment touched that
youthful heart ? Yet it must ba so ; but hist!
she starts her bosom heaves her eyes bright
en her lips part she speaks listen "Jim,
you nasty fool, quit scratching that pig" 1 back, or 1
will tell mar."
Origin of the Tlapuhlic cf San Karino.
We cannot conclude our sketch of "small be
ginnings" without speaking of a certain singu
lar little Republic which has some claim to be
remembered under such a beading, though its
biatory 13 no modern instance, and will leud u3
some fourteen or fif.een hundred years into the
shadows of tho past. It is only befitting the an
tiquity of tho tale, to say that, onca upon a time,
there existed a certain peasant of Dalmatia, na
med Marino, who was by trade a mason, a
worthy, honest, industrious man, and devout
according to the light vouchsafed to him. This
artisan wa employed in the reparation of the
town of Rimini; and when his task was ended,'
he retreated to a neighboring mountain, built
for himself a cell, and embraced the life of a
hermit. After a time, his sanctity and charity
wer,e rmore 1 abroad ; and the lady of the land,
the Princess of Rimini visited his hermitage,
was charmed by his piety and intelligence and
bestowed on him as a gift the high and cra-y
mountam tvhere he had fixedhis Lome: no veS
great bounty, if we consider that its anmmiiJ
usually veiled in clouds. -was covered
nal snow; but Marino, or a, he was now sty led,
St. Marion, turael the barren land to good ao-
He invited all whom he deemed worthy of sha
I "S k'f ohtude-manj a lowly anJ homeless
Dnosed m-fthj
'"J1"" monastic lire on them Or.
contrary, he assisted and directed their labor in
the construction of a town, and in th-JcuUivatioc
of such parts of the mountain as were capable
of being rendered productive. A more useful
s tint never lived ! . As there was neither spring
nor fount: i 1 on the hill, he taught them to con
struct huge cisterns and reservoirs, which they
fi .led with snow-water, or left for the reception
of ram.
They planted vineyards on the mountain-sides,
which produced excellent wine, and became, in
a brief space, a flourishing colony.
San Marino give them wise and just laws;
lived to see his poor brethren prosperous and
happy, and dying became their tutelary saint,
had a church dedicated is fcis tame, aad a stat
ue, erected to his honor.
The miniature Republic of San Marino exist
ed for centuries, free and unchanged, amidst all
the mutations of the governments of Italy ; and
Addison, in his TraveU, give9 us a pretty pic
ture of this tiniest of independent States ; to
which there was but one road, a severe law pro
hibiting its people from miking a new way up
the mountain where the chief officers of 6tate
were two capitanos, (answering to the old Roman
Consuls, but chosen every six months.) a com
missary or lawyer, a physician and a schoolmas
ter, -where everybody "had some tincture of
learning," and the ambassador of which, when
sent to a foreign State, "was allowed out of the
treasury ore shilling a diy.r' where the people
j., - . .. - r
possessed the simplicity and v.rtues of the gold- (
xuuv- wanierer seeking a precarious
crust-to dwell with him in thi3agle's Trie.
.Nor did he. as might have been sanno-ed nrnh,.
en age, ana revered for centuries tho memory of j joches. He was perfectly white, and only twen
the peasant who had given their forefathers a ty months old. The hind wheels of the wagon
home, and bequeathed to them an inheritance of J were taken off, when the animal walked off of
freedom and contentment. Chambers' Edinburgh j hii owa accori on Doard the boat, and laid down
The Disputed Valley More Trouble with
The annexed letter
says the National Intel- i
ngencer is of sermus import. It is from the
intelligent and generally well informed corres
pondent of the Journal of Commerce; and we
know that its statements are substantially cor
rect so far as they relate to Gen. Garland's de
parture for the Upper Kio Grande, and the strong
force of all arms that will be there under his
orders. Yet we entertain a hope that the wri
ter is mistaken in supposing that the dispute
which has arisen about the patch in the Mesilla
valley is to be settled by an abrupt chock cf
Washington', June 1.
Gen. Garland, who had been here, en route for
New Mexico, has left for his important com
mand. He arrived here in much less time than
was expected, after he had been summoned to
this place. He has received his instructions,
and I conjecture that they embrace both diplo
matic and military powers. He is undoubtedly
to proceed forihwith to New Mexico, and to
march into tho Mesilla valley with a force that
will enable him to encounter Gov. Trias, who is
there before him, and who is prepared to expel
him or any other American intruder. It may
be that Gov. Trias will retire before Gen. Gar
laud, and that Santa Anna will suffer the United
States to take and keep possession of that dis
puted territory. But such is not the apparent
intention of the Mexicans.
Our Executive Government have dcciiled that
the disputed terrrilory belongs to us under the
treaty, and would be ours, supposing the boun
dary line to be run from "a point immediately
north of El Paso" westward.
It is of no use now to go into the merits of
this controversy. I say ngain that our Execu
tive has decided tho question, and it is to the
results of that decision that we aro to look. It
is t) be hoped that this dispute will be allowed
to be settled in the manner contemplated in the
treaty of Guadalupe, by running the lice over
again, or, in case of a final disagreement, to
refer the dispute to the arbitration of some
third party. But arms are now introduced by
both parties in the dispute, and both parties
indicate a resolute intention to bettle tho ques
tion by arms. Gov. Trias may give way, but
he has not occupied tho Mesilla for the purpose
of yielding it. He has not gone there with a
force of a thousand men for the mere purpose
of giving up the territory to Gen. Garland.
With a smaller escort he could do that.
We have seen the first Mexican war, and
know its origin, and its immedite provoca
tion. The circumstances of the present case
aro similar to those of the former. The advance
on Corpus Christi and upon Matamoras kindled
the first war. and the seconl may be occasion
ed by the movement upon tho Mcsiila valley.
Egy'Do you believe in second love, Misthcr
McQuade ?' 'Do I believe in second love ?
Humph, if a man buys a pound of. sugar isn't
it sweet? and when its gone don't he . want an
other pound? and isn't that pound sweet too?
Troth, Murphy, I believe in second lov.
ESJ-Maj. Gen. Riely, of the U. 8. Army, is
dangerously ill, and not likely to recover.
Growth of Hew York.
The Brooklyn Circular has the following gra
phic picture of the growth cf thig Emporium
aad its chief suburb, Brooklyn :
"FoBTr-six Years Ago." As wc took oor
seat in one of the South Ferry boits, a few even
ings ago, an elderly gentleman in a social mood
seated himself beside us, and commenced to re
mark upon the contrast that the present conve.
niences for erasing the river presented with
those of forty or fifty years ago. "Forty-sir
years ago," he said, "we had ti cress this ferry
by means of a horse-boat. We were then an
hour in crossing, and the fare was twenty-five
cents. Now we cross in five minutes, aad the
fare is five cents. Brooklyn," he continued,
"was only a little village, and the population of
New York was only 75.000." Now the city of
Broaklyn numbers 100,000, and that cf New
Yors about 603.000 inhabitants. "Steamboats,
railroads, the telegraph and gas were things an
thought of then." Each of these had come into
use and effected a revolution since he was a
young man. He witnessed the btarting of tho
first steamboat that ever made a trip up the
North River. The foot of Fulton street, New
York, (the present site of tho Fulton forry build
ings, but then a sand bank, with no buildings in
the vicinity,) was tho point of departure of Ful
ton's strange little craft on its trial trip. A tem
porary staging was erected along the sloping
shore of sand, upon which was assembled the
gazing multitude that both cheered and booted
the advent of 6t?am as it made its first cuccess-.
ful debut before the people of New Yoak Citv.
Our informant further told us that in a newepa
per printed at the time it was stated that as tho
boat moved up the river, puffing, 6moking and
snorting against the tile, it so frightened some
of the sailors on the other vessels, that they fell
on their knees, praying to be delivered from the
Evil One! The first steamboat that was evr
applied to any practical purpose was built by
Robert Fulton, in New York, in 1S07, and was
earned the North River. Her engine was 18
horse power, and she was S3 hours in making
the passage between New York and Albany.
The same passage by Etc&rabcat is now made in.
from six to nine hours, and by railroad UX four
Sha World's Fair.
It will gratify those interested in the cause of
American art to see the following announcement
of a new contribution to the exhibition of tho
Industry of All Nations, to be held in New York
in the c'o 4rse of time. Wc quote from the Mii
waukie Sentinel: .
"A monster hog, weighing eleven hundred
and nine pounds, was lately shipped on board
the steamer Arctic, on his way to the World's
Fair at New York. He was purchased by Messrs.
R. Bugg & R. Stewart, of Niagara county, N.
Y., for $200, from Mr. H. B. Thayer, of Troy,
Walworth county, Wisconsin. His actual meas
urement was as follows : Girth behind the shoul-
. mm 1. a 1 ..ilk O AaV 1
inches : height to ton of the back. 3 foet 10
making him weigh eighteen hundred pounds,
when fattened, live weight. This is one of the
specimens Wisconsin sends to the World's Fair;
it wju he hard to beat."
This important work (of Art or Iudustry,
which is it ?) enables us to bring up our Cata
logue of the Exhibition as follows:
1. A White Monkey, from the Arctic Re
gions. 2. Four fine fat Seals, from Greenland-
3. A living Alligator, from Louisiana,
4. A Striped Bear, from California.
5. A White Bear, "
6. A Tiger, " '
7. A Leopard, "
S. A Cayoia, " "
9. Some peculiar Quails, " "
10. A Horned Toad,
A White Ox, weight 3500 lbs.
from Illl-
A five-legged cow.
A Hog, weight 1109 lbs, from "Wiscoa-
JBgBelow is the maiden speech of a young
California lawyer. It was in the celebrated
"Bob Waterman Case," captain of the ship Chal
lenge. It's rich !
"See this Herculean mate ike a horrid demon,
take this dcfeucelcss boy and hurl him rudely
into the ice board scruppers, where with his
monster boots he tramples on the prostrate frame;
then, taking him to the rautiins, and rigging of
that horrid ship, he ties him by his poor emaci
ated arms iu tho howling blast his dripping and
tattered garments hanging loosely on Lis atten
uated frame, while the ragged icicles rattle in
the winter's blast. The ship is hauled clo60 up
to the wind, which is blowing on the starboard
quarter, aud then this poor emaciated frame
drawn down to the skin and bones by the dys
entery, which noxious disease, geutlemea of the
jury, will suddenly bring down the strongest
man. This poor frame, I 6ay, if left to hang till
nature could hardly hold together long, and then
he is taken down to his, lonely apartmeut, or
bunk, a living picture of horrid despair."
Oh, gentlemen of the Jury, could his ghost
now rise up before 30U, his attenuated frame
could speak to you more eloquently than I havo
done !"
A Charge as is a Charge'.
Judge Jonah Joies recently delivered the fol
lowing charge to the jury, ia the case ofElim
Crunch for stealing :
"Jury, you kin go out, and don't show your
ugly mugs here till you find a verdict if you
cau't find one of your own, git the one the last
jury used.
The jury retired, and after an absence cf fif
teen minutes, returned with a verdict of "Sui
cide in the ninth degree and'fourth verse.'
Then Judge Jonah Joles pronounced upon
Elim Crunch thi sentence ; "EUm Crunch etao
up, and face the music. You are found guilty
of 6uicide for stealing. Now this court sentence
you to pay a fine of two shillings, to shave your
bead with a bagganet, in the barracks, and If
you try to cave in the heads of any of the jury,
you'll catch thunder, that's all. Your fate will
be a warning to others ; and in conclusion; may
the Lord have mercy on your soul. Sheriff, get
me a pint of red-eye. I'm awful thirsty.
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