Vol.. VII, No. 45.] THEODORE H, CREMER, TERMS. The "JovialAl," will be published every Wednesday moiling, at twodullars a year, if, paid IN ADVANCE, and if not paid witaid six months, two dollars and a half. N',sn'iscription received for a shorter pe • rind than six months, nor any paper discon tinued till all arrearages are paid. Advertisements not exceeding one square, will be inserted three times for One dollar, and for every subsequent insertion twenty five cents. If no definite orders are given as to_tettli me an advertisement is to be continu ed, it will be kept in till ordered out, and ch accordingly. -3`•' - l e,' • ;.• POMTRY. 9 From the Sunday Mercury, The Lass of Sixteen. MACIINE POITRI, Oh what a queer creature's the lass of six teen! Neither girl nor a woman but something between: Not exactly a tadpole, nor neither a frog, Nut a young sucking pig, and not yet quite a hog— I am not certain whether She's a bird in full feather Ora go • 014: grei.n Neith l e l s then nor'oth* Is thelh ':Lateen. • She runs, as by - in;tirct, strait after the boys, And her boldness affrights while her beauty decoys ; And when of a sudden love seizes thert, She feels like a duck when its pi . thers thers start, Oh, nnw she is sighing, And now she is crying, And now she is seen ----Mil r. ,mile i i i P 4 ,711 feature— For what's queer kind of a creature Is the lass of sixteen. With a bloom on her cheek, and a charm in her e.t es, She seems a young angel just dropt from the skies, To be courted and kissed by the frail sons of sln Who leap and not look—and perchance are sucked in,' With an eye full of evil, She's a little she el—l, Deviless I mean ; Aye, troublesome witch is A thing without breeches, A lass of sixteen., SPOONS, 0. 0. .From the October Knickerbocker. Lyres Memories. I remember, I remember When my lite was in its prime, Yet untouched and uncorrupted By the 'slighting hand of Time ; When the flow'ret and the sunshine Were companions of each scene, And Hope was in its vigor thee, And pleasure in its green. I remember, I remember When the storm of sorrow cams, And extinguished, and for ever, MI the glory of life's flame: When one by one the blossoms Df Affection dropped away, And despair came with the darkness, And Affliction with the day. remember, I remember! lot 'tie vain to mourn 'er the bright hours and the loved ones bat will never more return! ,et the Present have its torture, Lod the Past its store of ill ; 7o the future, to the future V• will look with gladness still! Fhe New York Mechanic has suddenly en taken with a sentimental fit, and pours ill the following song: " My hands are like the roses, My teeth as black as jet ; My boots they pinch my toeses, And my lips have never met; My footsteps have no lightness, For I am parrot-toed ; I never rode a horse but once, And that time I was throwed. Believe less than you hear with respect to man's fortune, and more than you hear ith respect to his Lane. 'glow we printers lie," as our devil said lea he got *p too late for breakfast. . . . •,. -, '‘,. ' ' , ''' • • -,... i . ;,., p,. - -., ~,,, - ,:l ~ A ... ..,.„.. ~.. t), .:47. , ,, • ' 0 V 1;?,..:73:•11- '6' .. - ' - il l' .., ~,,•,) • 7 :.r,' 1 [ t'-' • -'-, ' `.. , . 11. ~; 'I- ''...Z'' • ‘. . . , , , , IvIICOELLANEO9I3. - - The Betrothed of the Exile. BY "TILE STRANOIIIO% Sometime since, whilst rambling a few miles outside of the citjeof Baltitrore, to indulg my love of romance, and to pon der in silent solitude, and to mourn over mislortunes and disappointments which had ladi'ly befallen me—to bewail my grief and blighted hopes—alone, away from the busy cars and hum of the city— r just as the shades of evening began to warn me that 'twas tune to retrace my steps, lest the darkness of the night would o'er shadow my pathway and render my re turn difficuk—having wandered far from my usual haunts, and in a strange part, being about to return, 1 saw an old man coming towards me—he addressed him self to me in a broken tongue.—' ris a line evening, sir; Yes, replied 1, I have just been taking a walk to enjoy it. 1 soon ascertained that the old man was a native of Poland—his age might be about sixty— his countenance was care-worn and pale ; and it seemed to Inc as I gazed on him, that it had been his lot to bear a portion of the world's cares and sorrows. 1 in tended to pursue my course houie, but through the persuasion of the old man, I walked with hint to his cottage. Said he, "Therese willetd to receive any one whom her old u may bring to his hum ble abode." I walked with him to his cottageo,hich was a neat little place by the roadside ; every thing was plain aml simple, sake a few things which 1 saw, which beSpoke.of better days. I called fur a glass of water, being somewhat fa tigued from the lenght of the walk. The old man called his Circe, who, in a few minutes appeared with a pitcher of na ture's refreshing beverage, cool from the spring ; when the maiden appeared I could not regal d her but withastunishtnent. Site was beautiful and graceful as a fawn; she was tall and slender in her form; her features were ad the most beautiful Gre cian mould ; her hair •vas as black as the wings of a raven ;,there was a sath,ess her eye, a pale cheek, which plainly told me. that life's nath way to her, had not been Bowery, but that her young and fon (lest hopes had been withered and blight. ted. When she retired the old man said to me, " that is my niece. Therese Con stantin Kononski, the only being I have 10t to soothe my old age and declining years." While speaking his countenance became gloomy and dejected, as if the sentence he had just uttered had recalled to his mind bitter memories of days gone by. Said he " young man may it never fall to your lot to share the miseries and misfortunes I have borne." I hope not, said I, if I may judge of them from the sorrow of your countenance, which the bare recollection of them brings forth. The old man pressed me to take tea with them, promising to go with me part of the way home. 1 consented, (for I became touch interrested in him and his niece.) At tea, the beautiful Therese acted as hostess. At length, when the hoar arrived to de part, the old man said to me, " point ; sir, wpm think us worthy of another visit, I will then give you our history ; for better and palmier days than these it has been our lot to share; but times change and Cod's will has brought about this change in our fortunes."—Said I, " Good sir, so much have I been interested in yourself and your beautiful niece, that had you not made the offer, I intended to ask you something of your past life." " ' I'is well," said the old man ; you shall be gratified ; with that he accompanied me part of the way home. We parted with the particular request of the old man, that should not delay toy visit. A few days after, I again visited There se Kononski, and her uncle Augustus.— They seemed much pleased to see me. " Be seated," said he, " we thought you had already forgotten us. " You certain ly did nut think me so ungrateful" said I. " The unfortunate are soon forgotten," replied he, " in this cold and heartless world. This is a blessed country of yout s," said he, " I never think of it but the thought of it makes me sail—:to oppees sure, and that the yoke must ever gall it: no chance of freedom ever ; Poland 'oust ever be oppressed—but I promised to give you my history which always gives me pain, but as I was talking of my country, which is equally painful, I will now pro ceed :" My name is Augustus Kononski, as you have already learned ; I am a native of Warsaw, in Poland ; was for a number of years a merchant; then fortune favor ed my industry, and when old age arri ved, L was blessed with a happy compe. tency. The partner of my joys and sot.• rows died in early life, and 141 me a son, Lewis, who was the idol of his father's heart. I had a brother in the Polish army, who, like myself, had lost his wife, but had a daughter, a beautiful and interest ing girl, and that daughter is souther than "ONE COUNTRY, OAT iluivrlNGDoN, PBNNSYVANIA, WEDNESDAY, NOVEMBER 16. 1842. Therese.—There is still another brother I I which was Frederick Konotolay, a fiat- , tenant in the army, A young man of titni.h:, some appearance,—of genet tots sentiments, la noble soul, and dauntless courage, and the chosen lover of Therese. Th . ey hed long .been betrothed to each other; their ;' mutual vows were long recorded before the throne of heaven. Lewis, my only son, was, at the time I speak, about the age of eighteen, a manly kir headed youth impetuous and fearless, his tile was as nought to him, when his country's rights and his own honor demanded it. Alas: his life repaid him for his rashness. A band of ardent young taco, of the first families attendA the meeting of se ret patriotic associations a 4,among tl was Frederick Kw .and Kononski.-4The en We. spiri Frederick could brook no delay, he sufired often front the insults of the Grand Duke Constantine, and the day of redemption was then arrived. Poland toast be free. If they wanted a leader, tie himself, would act until some one who had more age and experience than himself would take op the cause. 'Twos agreed —and this small baud of one hundred and fifty youths, headed by a lieutenant if nineteen struck the first blow for liberty and Poland. They attacked the palace of the grand duke, and he had scarce time to escape when the young Poles entered. Thus the enthusiasm of youth struck the first blow— with the cry of home, and men to arms," in less than two hours forty thousand men were under arms. " I shall long remember the night be rme the battle of Grokow, a day I much dreaded. My bindle'. had espoused the cause of the patriots; thus in that battle would be a lowlier. my son and Frederick. About the night of the preceding day, Frederick came to prepare Therese for the ensuing day. They rinbiaLeil he kis. sed ; off a tear that was falling from her cheek at the bare thought of to-morrow's peril. "My own Therese," said Fred erick, " to morrow will decide the fate of Poland." "Would to God, Frederick, %wet e over and you were safe.—TeJ,lone,", said 'Therese firmly but itlfec.tiMtely; " by the love you profess to entertain for me, answer me candidly and truly—du ... y9l tLi.ell. . a ':.• , 1 ~.,...;,-,*,, , , , :. ' • F r.,1- ' erick paused moment. " thi;!ts it 'fix bode thee Therese, that this is to he :our last parting ? No we shall meet agitin." The eyes of There,, hrightened:, " Ilut Frederick, the contest will be uhequal ; the Russian army outnumbers yuu three times—think of your danger." " The battle is not to the strong. The justice of our cause and the God of armi-s will protect us," replied the lover. Oh ! there, is something divine in woman's love ; ' something that renders life dearer still; something that ennobles man when that affection is bestowed upon him ; some thing that cheers him in the hour of sick ness and grief; something that gladens Into still more in moments of joy ; and something that redeems hint amid scenes of terror and of guilt.. " Oh! Frederick," said Thorese, " promise me to avoid dan ger as much as is consistent with your Ironer; promise me to do nothing rashly in this terrible conflict. here, Frederick, wear this ring, and when you look upon it think that one act of rashness endangers the life of one who loves you as well as your own. Think of me, I implore you in the approaching strife." " I will by heavens!" exclaimed Fred erick, folding her to his bosom, and kiss ling her pale cheek with the vehemence ot passionate but unaltered love. She lay in his arms, nor did she for a long time attempt to extricate herAelf; it was not a moment then to stand upon those fastiduous ceremonies of social relations that are ale, ays the reverse of human feel ing, and they mutually iadulged in the virtuous outporings ol their hallowed af fections. they parted—Frederick to tight his country's uattle, and l'herese for her chapel to ()fir up a prayer for tne sole ly of him she fondly loved ; and many a prayer was offered up fur him by her inno cent lips, and many a tear attested the 1 fond interest she took in his existence. On the next 'miming the battle Com. menced. One hundred and eighty thou sand Russians against less than fitly thou sand Poles. Being an old man, 1 stood on a hill that commanded the battle field, and with what anxiety did 1 regard it ; at every volley it seemed as if a shut had entered my heart. The conflict was tie rce and terrible, oft did the Poles retreat and as oft did the Russians. The impetuous Frederick rushed too tar, was well nigh closed in by a body of Itussi•in chivalry ; Lewis, seeing his danger rushed to his rescue, and killed with a pistol ,hot the horseman, whose sabre was descending upon the head of Frederick ; but another horseman, seeing the struggle, with his broad sword clove in twain the skull of my beloved soli, who MI dead to the earth. (Ilere the old man shed a tear.) Thus died he in the rescue of Ire friend and the defence of his country. Frederick esca ped from his danger, but alas: Lewis was rS'i I ITIITIC iv, ONE DESTINY." no nyore. the Nies that day were vie. toriiitts. Vorty thousand upon the held—thirty thousand Russians and ten thousand Poles. But thrtik what a mournful house was mine; my beloved son and hastier HI in that day's battle. Therese was, bereft of ner lather, Freder ick Komitulay was brought in wounded. Never slat I forget th e - anguish of my snot when the sad news reached me, and Therese asked Frederick, (who, weak with the less of blood was brought in,) hastily alitAier . fatherjetol Lewis. The young ineifilteked*t4iat her,. shook his head and itited,k4lM. She knew the meaning 4 y 4ainted away. Upon recov ering sh i e • ed if Frederick lived ; upon t i being told t his wound was not danger ous, but tv,.s weak from the loss of blood; her countenance brightened'; but when she thoigift or her father a sadness came over Mil. But Frederick reciOred.— Therese recovered from uric liiii' to meet another. At the NH of ‘N ursaw HI the last remaining hope of the disconsolate girl, Freeck after being severely woun ded in defending A breach in the wall, was taken prisoner and aced to death; his sentence was ds re mitted to be au exile fur ti s were the hopes of that girl crushe her life rendered a blank. When all was lost, I gathered up my means, anti nought the peaceful shores of America, dear to me on account of the no ble expliii,s of my lamented countryman, Koscittske. I was now the only protector of Theis,. She came with toe, as you see, is illy only solace in affliction— all else ha, e died,— When I landed my loot on th, free soil of America, my soul thrilled with emotion. I exclaimed, blest land of freedom, the foot of despot shall neer trend thy hallowed soil, and thy people, I,s free us the wind that flies through the forests, shall ne'er again fell the yoke rf )111 oppressor. Here will sifbild to retokiniug days and have the satistackw to know that I am in the laud of libells•,:ind that I am in a land where the name of Kosciusko shall ever be re• membered, and the name of fallen Poland is ever,deor. I OA poii7lit this very spot. I pur. chased t Utile firm, and tin, means I ~J 4 —' 1,,r ail ca; wants, and something to bestow upon my unfortunate,country men, whenever they presented themselves. But alas! another blight wars to come upon my withered heart; my cup of bitterness was not yet drained—f hail to take another bitter di•atul,ht —for the money I bought stock in the United States Bank—the bank br•ke, as you know, and with it Went my all.— MI that is left to no now is the small aimde, and we cultivate this small garden for our support. My misfortunes have bent many. Therere hers them well. Nothing wieves her so much as to speak of her exiled lover. My race is nearly run—" Nl,n needs but little here below I nor needs that little long." If kind prov-i idence calls me to himself soon, Therese limy need a friend. She never will marry —she will remain faithful to her exiled love, let what will betide. Said I, Therese shall never need a friend while I live, if I she will accept my friendship. The old man squeezed my hand warmly and said, God bless you, and may heaven reward your proffered kindness, Say nought to Therese that you know our story, tor the tecurrence of these I would wish her to forget." The old man had finished; it began to gone late. I sought Therese to hill her good evening, and found her is the garden, culling lot no a briquet of flowers. I bid them good evening, and i returned home.. I took an interest n the exiled Poles, and often visited them. One day, w hilst sitting in the poarch of of the cottage, Therese, her uncle anti my-' self, a carriage drove into the lane leading to the cottage. Therese startled as soon as she saw the person in the carriage, her cheeks were alternately Hushed,. and pale as marble. 'Twas evident that' the appearance of some one in the carriage ,caused thii excitement. At length the cart iage came op to the door, and a youno man of mili•ary bearing, tall and hand some, hane:l front the Carriage. Therese looked frigketted--she believed not her own eyes lie approached her—extended Ids right hand, on which was a ring.— They emlit aced. Therese—. Fred erick," a ere the only words spoken for some moments. The agony, the disap pointments and misfortunes of years, were repaid in these moments of blissful ex citement. „ Thcr'!not a shade—there's not a gloom Dot has its %tinny spirt ; And hours 'ilnd saddest tire may bloom Too sweet to be forgot.” My own Therese, have I at last found thee 1 Let me gaze upon thee, my own, my bvauttful one." " Frederick, where art thou from I—or how diest thou find us in Our ob.cure retreat ?" The old man and Frederick neat embraced. 'Twas no mockery of friendship--'twas friendship true and tried. So entranced was the young man at finding the object of his early love, that my presence escaped his notice. At length the old man introduced me as a friend. He shook me cordially by the hand, and apologized, saying Sir if you knew the cause"-. Said 1, " \ly dear sir, it needs no apology, 1 know it all." Ile told us his history—he had escaped , from Siberia, went to Sweden, joined the army; his merits gained him rapid promo thin, being a favorite with the monarch. lie was sent to America on diplomatic business, and he had then the link of Captain in the army. On his arviru! in Baltimore, he met some of his countrymen, who told him of the whereabouts ot his be trothed. lie sought ber and gentle rea der, lie found her. "'Therese," said Fred erick, about a week alter his arrival, « my despatches will soon be ready, and we must away for Sweden. Know you a priest in Biltimiire?" .4 Shat mean you, Frederick 7" said the beautiful girl.— " Certainly I do. Think you I have for gotten my religion I I know a very pious man, a countryman of ours." "He, then shall perform the ceremony. I have alrea dy asked our friend, the ' strann•es,' to be master of the ceremonies." She looked archly at him, but did not ask what cere mony; we are to presume, gentle reader, she knew 'twos so. They were married at the cottage, by the Rev. " 4 " Never did he hind two more melting hearts. Frederick told the old man of their intended early departure, and it was his and Therese's will that he should go with them and spend the remainder of his days. The old man said, Frederick I had intended spending the remainder of my days here, but wherever Therese is so must I be. Therefore I will go with you." The old man sold his little cottage anti farm. Frederick's despatches being rea dy and all things prepared, Uparted with them, and saw the sails unfurled on the barque that bore them from our shores. Therese was no more the betrothed, but the happy bide of the exile: A Negro Tee-Total Temper ance Society Speech. ri-e en:-rp truths in tlie lowing speech, purporting to be from an African tee-totaller. He is down upon the way some of 'em dodge the question in the way of brandy peaLiies, sallabub, cologne water, and so forth, with real ledge-hammer strength. Sift out the truth and profit by it—let the words go for what they are worth. MY BELOVED SISTERS :--YOU is de 'trac tive arbiter ob de fate oh die sciety and less you act 'sistently and neber cast yer turpentine glances 'cross to dem darkies on toder side ob dis hous, and let 'em be, why den dis tee-total sciety will be teed. .ly brake an go to the debil like ebery long else dese hard time. But de fac is dat some oh you 'tied oh 'lowin your " lite form like de aspen to inove wid de evenin' breeze" abstenans, wid de feelin' oh you mudder Ebe, you hab eten of de frute ob de sarpint, an made ufer ob him, to many ob de sons ob Adam. An you dat bacon lookin' Dinah down dare, you dat try to cum de temtation ober me wid your " brandy peaches.," go wa dor, de debil have yoo for satin. De trule is tlat moe oh you eat more licker now dat you eber drunk 'fore you jive dis eciety. You soke and eat him in de peach. You hush him up and eat him de pie oh mince, den you put him in de sas and eat hint wid de pud- Alin', den you wailer hint in dumplin an swaller hint in de si//thuh, an dar are wa rious oder modes an ways yu halt oh em bracin' and gilt in' de "critter" inter ye. not 'sprizen dat dis long catalog oh iniciwity make yu to hang de head for sham,. Do yu tiuk da de worl ocher se yu do dis ? lax yu now to rule dem head. Lok on de pledge, to you it tenches To lay aside detn brandy peaches, Nor let the mind become lunged Wid ratty tio,2; data sat-u-ra-ted, In ticker burning now avid alcahol, L s Adam like, yea tas, den cotch a fol. Ah my dear belubed feminine 'panions in dis world oh lout, tetntasion an wo, let not de ebil spent enter yer harts trough de crack ob moral delinquency. Drive tile de hoop oh salvasion and yu hab no fear ob de temter gittin inter de cole wat er barrel oh abstenans trough de bunghold ob de appetight. One odder ting jilt strike me on de head wid 'aiderable force 'bout dm time, an dat is, dat most militia tin practis de fair sex oh dis seiety hab got into, oh soakin' dare heads in do alcaholic water ob colone. Dis are de mos palper ble an habitual nitilaAlott oh de pledge agin, and ebery obsarvin' censible gemman 'lining all dew: knos dat di. 'fee ub dis water 'pun de brane am ruinous to de moral culture oh de gal. Let me den ex tort yu to be firm, be b ta l dhat. Hole up yer.lied like de possum tale, an let de light ob dy sal•atiun shine like de boot blac.-- Pelt cti;l de eaue eto temporanse itouriA [ noLE No. '57. like degree be tree. Den will all see an no dat its is de wetke trait , : and Ile life.— Den will de sun oh tthstenans rise in tes• total spkinlor upon all de nashons oh de hill an luminate de boll oh dean. Den when you bab 'eompli,li'd all dis you will stand 'von ;le moral pinnercle oh e , an if yu um able to pierce de atmolifer.e vail oh infantile spare, de visual organs oh de site wil unlbl to ye, written in wvrEtt LOLORS 'pun de scroll oh ;le yens by de ban' ob iu6 tit c, du/ " dia is do work ob de Tee-Total Pan of Gravy. "Ba-a•a!" shrieks a hall naked infant of eil;hteen months oil. IVliat's thd inatter with mamtn%'s thweet tittle (lucky?" says afTectimuttc mother, nhile she presse.l it ti. her hoturn, anti the young sokoint in return dig, its talons into her face. "Illa d en, Miss e, I know ishat littlo iwiss.t Jim wants," exclaimed the eheret./ 6 , 4 new!) nurse.. "You black hussey: why dcm't3ou tell me then ?" and the iniuriated moths .4ires Dinah a douse in the dii, - * with her shoe. " Why, he wants to put Lis foot in dot thar pan ob gravy, what's a cooliu on (It hart'!" whimpers the unfortunate blacker. " Well, and why don't you briog it here you aggravated! nieeger you," replies the mother of the bawling young one. Dinah brings the gravy and little Jitu puts his feet into the pan, dashing the milk. warm geese about his sweet plumpy little shanks, to the infinite amusement of its mother. Did inannnai's yettle Dimly went to put his teeny-weeny footsey's in the gra vy. It shall play in the pan as much as choosey•wuosevs and then it shall have its panty red hark an, and go and Isis .its PaPPYIaPPY!" A very romantic young hay the other day into the river, and was near drowing,'hut succor being fortunately nt hand, she was drawn out senseless and carried home. (1,1 cumin;; to, she declared Ito her i Ainily t h at she most 'marry him tlrrsaved her, the papa. •• is he already mar. tied " Nu." Was it not that in teresting young man wo lives here in this neighborhood ?" " Dear me, no,--it was a :Newfoundland dog." Por.rtzcs.—. Your party, sir;" said one inflamed politician to anotho, "your dir ty party would descend to the paltiy meanness of robbing hen roosts." " You are a liar. sir," retorted the other. " You are another," shouted the first. "Take that!" says the second, hitting the other a bift in his potatoe bole. "And take that!" says the first, retur ning the first, returning the compliment e WI a bition the smeller of the second. And then ensued a regular light. Too CIVIL By HALF.—A. learned Irish Judge annio.; oilier particularities, had a habit of bogging pardon on every occasio•,. Jo his circuit a short time since, his vortte exprersion was employed in a sin gular manner. At the close of the assize, as he was about to leave the bench, the officer of the court reminded him that he had not passed sentence of death on one of the criminals, as he had intended.— " Dear me," said his lordship, "I REAL. LT Tam itis PARDON -bring him iu." MAN.--The newspapers, we observe, are reviving the old story shout the discovery of a human body under taro glaciers in Snitzerland, nhich, on be ing properly treated, came incouttneott: to life, and proved to be a gentleman had lain quietly in ice for no less Ilia, one hundred and sixty yeat s. lie wets a little still'in the pilots as might natur,,h s be supposed, but in other respects was se well as could be expected. The story, however, is as tough as Its Item appears to have been. tt Go away, go!" said a miser to a men d:cant, canna gie ye nothing." y, might, at least," replied the Iteggar. , et! an air of great dignity and at chness, "lee r refused me grammatically." " Were ynn born in Wedlock," ask, a quizzical lawyer of a country fellow,— " Nu sir, I was born in the Jarhies." Parson MM r h,14 succeeded in frig ning an old lady, in Nlaine, terrible. ^ 0 , , heavinas!" cried she the other (lay, the world _conies to an end what shall I do for-snuff?" Beautiful is the love, awl sweet the kiss of a sister; hut when you havn't a sister handy, try ,o it cetioft—'eni% 'ail worse,
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