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PIT VI Lifill ED BY
THEODORE H. CREMER,
9:§ l / 4 1912.3=60.
The “Jounsrat" will be published every Wed
nesday morning, at $2 00 a year, if paid in advance,
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Max-- Old Dun. Tucker.
Calhoun, Buchanan, Johnson, Casa,
The Locos say, may go to gram;
And so they givo us Polk and Dallas,
A ticket which cannot appal us.
I lurrah ! for Clay and Frelinghuysen,
Hurrah ! for Clay and Frelinghuysen,
Hurrah! for Clay and Frelinghuysen,
The day's our own, past all surmisin'.
Their own true friends they would dishearten,
And clipt the wings of poor old Martin ;
To calls of , justice' they prova callous,
And victimized poor Polk and Dallas,
Hurrah! for Clay and Frelinguysen, &c.
The People say 'tie not surprisin'
We go for Clay and Prelinghuysen:
The Ship of State need no such ballast
As James K. Polk and George K. Dallas.
Hurrah ! for Clay and Prelinghuysen &c.
The Locos swore they'd have no Mats,
And fought like the Kilkenny Cats ;
Two tails were left! whose were they tell us,
Why James K. Polk, and George M. Dallas!
Hurrah ! for Clay and Frelinghuysen, &c.
The Blue Hen's Chickens.
Tuns—Old Dan Tucker.
It has been known that here of late,
That Delaware's called the banner state,
To Baltimore her 'chickens' went,
For at home they could not be content.
Get out of the way, you're all too late,
For the chickens of the banner state.
From Brandywine 's bluo rocks and hills,
To Sussex's plains and gentle rills,
We raised the shout for Harry Clay,
In Baltimore the second of May.
Get out of the way, &c.
The big ball cent by Alloghany,
Will he roll'd through here and Pennsyvany,
And wherever it goei the people will be risin',
For Henry Clay and Prelingliuysen.
Get out of the way, &c.
Firm to her post old Kent will stand,
The capitol she will command,
In New Castle we'll walk o'er the course,
Just as easy as a full blood horse,
Get out of the way, &c.
The Blue Hen's Chickens are whig to the core,
And they'll soon all run the Lokies ashore,
Our banner now waves above the horizon,
For Henry Clay and Frelinghuysen.
Got out of the way, &c.
Whig Girls of Eighteen-forty.
TUNE—OId Dan Tucker.
We gained the day four years ago,
For all the ladies hclp'd, you know,
And now, they all enlist again,
To go for Clay with might and main.
So clear the way with your foul party,
Cloarthe way with your foul party,
Clear the way with your foul party,
For we're the girls of eighteen-forty.
While walking out the other day,
I heard a lovely lady say,
That if she had a Loco beau,
She noon would tell him he might go.
So clear the way, &c.
This is the case whero'cr I've been,
With all the girls that I have seen,•—
No other man will do they say,
For President but Henry Cloy.
Bo clear the way, &c.
In eighteen-forty, they did do
Their best for' Tip and Tyler too,- Throughout our land each female tongue
Way heard in pralie of Harrison.
Sollear the way, &c.
The Locos want them is th e fi e ld,
And try all arts to make G em
And go for Polk, instead of eh iy ,
But prompt and firm we heard.h ein any ,
Clear the way with yam. foul party,
We are the girls of eighten_forty,
The Locos met at Baltimore,
But the girls had seen the Whigs before ;
And when they view'd the Loco crowd,
They cried with voices sweet and loud,
111.., the way, &c.
, Ind when they hoard the name of Polk
For President, again they spoke ;
They turned their voices up again,
And all united in this strain:
Clear the way, Arc.
i Then let no Loco ask the hand
lOf any lady in our land;
For, ten to one, she'll be for Clay,
And then in thunder tones, she'll say
Clear the way, ,&c.
4 WARM Pocuries.—Joseph V. Mustard is a min
a:date for Auditor in Pike'county, 0114+. Stephen
Pepper is his opponent.
two a, a dtadg:l,.
From the Home Journal and Citizen Soldier.
THE MAN OF ASHLAND,
BY GEO. LIPP.. 11, EBQ,
There is written down in some volume of legen
dary lore, a superstition at once sublime and beau
tiful—a strange superstition that would teach us to
believe that the great and the good of this earth are
guided, watched over and beloved from very child
hood, by a guardian spirit, a holy angel who first
fills the young heart with dreams of ambition, and
then teaches the untrained footsteps, the ways of
glory and honor—the paths of triumph and fame.
Such a guardian spirit—a mighty being robed in
majesty and clad in power have I imagined, look
ing forth from the mystery of invisible being, upon
this rude and lonely scene.
In a small narrow room, with low ceiling and
confined walls some dozen young men whose rustic
attire and swarthy features, disclosed by the light
of the solitary rush-light, mark the hardy back
woodsmen of the west, are seated on rough-hewn
benches, listening to the stammering words of the
orator, in their midst.
Gaze well upon that young orator, friend of mine,
for, by my faith, the guardian angel looks upon
him—a tall stripling, with a lean and somewhat bo
ny figure—with a face by no means handsome,
marked by a prominent nose—a wide mouth and
high check bones, while his forehead so bold, so
full and towering in outline, gives soul to the ex
pression of that largo gray eye—gazo well upon
him, and observe his coarse attire—the garments of
homespun—their ungainly shape and rusric fash
ion, and as you gaze, treasure each trifling detail of
his appearance in your memory.
The boy essays to speak. His voice is indistinct,
yet there is a depth and volume in its sound. He
extends his hand--the jesture is rude and awk
ward. It is but a rustic audience, and yet the
would-be-orator colors to tho forehead with modest
diffidence. The boy proceeds; his words coins
stammering and slow, yet he seems to gain confi
dence. A few store words—a few more awkward
gestures, and the grey eye brightens—the voice rolls
bolder and fuller. The boy-orator forgets time,
place, poverty, diffidence. His soul warms in him,
and his hearers, rustic as they are, lean over the
rough benches, their eyes and ears fixed in breath
less interest. They utter nu word--they do not
even whisper. Still the grey eye brightens—still
the boy-orator warms in his theme, and now he
stands before you, raised to his full height, the un
gainliness of his figure forgotten in the grandeur of
of his look—tho coarse homespun of his garments
forgotten in the majesty of the soul speaking from
his unclouded brow.
And then in deep toned words he opens to his
rustic hearers the rich treasures of his heart; ho
flings around him the gifts of Ins prodigal fancy—
ho awes them into breathless silence—he urges the
involuntary shout of admiration from their lips—
he chains them with his burst of trembling feeling
—he brings the warm throb to their hearts—the
heavy tear to their eyes. He stands confessed the
germ of a mighty man ; he, the poor boy—the
homespun•clad backwoodsman—the orphan and the
The emile on the dewy lips of the virgin when•
first she yields them to her lover's kiss, is sweet—
the smile of the widow when the peal of fame,
sounding honor to her first-horn, telling of the diffi
culty overcome—the triumph won, rings in her ears,
is lovely, and lovely is the smile wreathing the lips
of God's own angels when the joy of the repenting
sinner comes up to Heaven, but sweet as these is the
smile of that guardian angel, as invisible to the cyo
ho looks forth upon the first triumph of the orphan
boy in the rough log cabin of the west. The father
of the boy and the mother sleep under the green
sod, in a far away land, and yet the eon—the rough
clad orphaned son discovered the existence of the
mighty power within him—has made Isis footsteps
ring on the iron threshhold of the lofty temple con
secrated to fame.
The guardian angel gazes from the shadow, that
enwraps its existence, upon another scene.
In a grand and lofty hall, spanned by a magnifi
cent ceiling enriched with the triumphs of architec
ture, with the morning sun shining through colos
sal windows, a strange throng of men are gathered,
sitting in solemn deliberations on the fate and desti
ny of the land. From the north and the south--
from the green Savannah and the ice capped
mountain—from the ocean shore of the east, and
the rolling prairie of the west, these men have has
tened, the chosen representatives of a free and
The matter in council is of fearful moment—
War or Peace ! Here are men whose cry is ever
Peace—though the decks of our vessels am dese
crated by the footsteps of British outrage—though
our flag is flung dishonored in the dust by British
haids—though our borders are startled by the roar
of 1,, e British Lion—though our national fame is ,
loadeu• v i t h scorn, our rights trodden to the earth,
our libert, violated, the religion of our republican
faith blasplemed—all in the name of tho Briton,
crying God Ind St. George to the rescue; still the
cry of these nen, with side long looks and lower
ing brow, is—Peace, Peace, at every risk and at all
Others there ore, with honest hearts and firm
hands. who dread a war. They rise on that repre
sentative floor and depict the evils of a Continen
tal tray—ilia town laid in asher ; the field dew!.
led; the valley made a waste; •the national com
merce destroyed; the wide land crowded with the
bodies of the dead—the great Heaven forever black
ened by the smoke of the fight.
All is doubt, disunion and dismay. Doubt, while
the armament of Britain thronged the seas; disu
nion, while the red-coat armies are on our very bor
ders; dismay, while the first roar of the blood-stai
ned Lion, whose proud threats felt the talons of our
eagle in the year 'B3, thunders in our ears.
Now, guardian angel—look well upon your
While all is doubt, disunion and dismay, a legis
lator, fresh from the ranks of the people, arises in
nis place and speaks his word of coUnsel. Tall,
sinewy and gaunt in form, his manner displays the
man of education, but gaze upon his face! Can
you tell the meaning of that full, grey eye—can
you read the mistery of that towering brow 7 Speaks
the wide mouth with compressed lips of a vascillia
ting or a determined mind—speaks the full voice of
an orator, whose cry is ever peace, or of the patriot,
whose liturgy of faith and hope and honor is corn.
incased in the syllable--Wan !
He speaks for War ! Aye, with his proud form
raised to its full height—with his grey eye burning
like a living coal—with his forehead all radiant with
a mighty mind, he speaks for War ! War for our
national honor—War for our rational wrongs--
War in the name of the past--War at every risk,
and at all hazard--War!
His words ring echoing through the. hall. Tho
traffickers in national honor hang their heads in
shame—the doubtful start aside in surprise: ex
claiming is this the young backwoodsman of the
west; the fearful raise their voices with the voice
of the orator, and the cry rings to tho very ceiling
—in God's name give us War!
Now guardian angel, look upon your mighty
ward and smile ! Look upon the advocate of nation
al honor, standing boldly erect in that representative
hall, and as you look, tell us is this the young back
woodsman of the west; is this the stranger whose
mother and father sleep under the green sod of
Then came another day when doubt possessed
the council hall of the nation. A band of bravo
men were struggling in a far land foi freedom ;
struggling against Turk and Christian, combined
in one unholy league of wrong; struggling over the
green graves of their fathers, under the shadowlf
mighty temples consecrated by the memories of
three thousand years, still fighting and struggling
for life and liberty ! These brave men, with the
blood of their wives and little ones, slain in nerci
less massacre, yet smoking before their eyes ' , with thousand homes there ever arise to God, the voice
the All Oh Hu" of their remorseless butcheries lof blessing on his name. There comes to soul, as
yet ringing in their ears, sent to a fur land, where he thus stands on the green knoll of Ashland, ga.-
liberty driven from the Old World made her home, ing at the rising sun, the voice of the toil-wrung
and begged the children of the revolutionary patriots . mechanic bending over his loom, and that voice
to give thorn some little aid, to extend but a hand to I blesses his name. From the dim chambers of the
their assistance—to recognise them as a free and shadowy caverns where the miner toils on his dark
independent nation. ling path, raising by slow degrees to the light of day
And they denied them. Yen, the American the rich stores of old mother earth, comes the voice
Congress refused the petition of these brave men of the miner, end it echoes the word of blessing.
of the Grecian land. The farmer in the golden harvrst takes up the sound
Then it wos that this bold backwoodsman of the
west uprose on the floor of that council hall. Then
it was that fire came to his eye and words to his
tongue; then it was that with his stature undula
ting, in all its commanding height, with his burning
brow flushed with solemn indignation, the Man of
Ashland spake forth to the councilmen of the na
tion his fiery message.
home—" ho cried in that vote° of thunder I And why comes this mingled song of blessing
Go home to your firesides, freemen that ye are, from the mechanic and miner, the factory man and
descendants of the heroes of seventy-six, go home, the factory child, from the operative of the crowded
and when your constituents speak to you of the city and the farmer of the golden plain 1
cause of Greece, tell them with the blush of shame The Man of Ashland originated, amid scorn and
upon your brows, that you dared not acknowledge contempt defended, at loot firmly established the
the freedom of this gallant nation! Tell them, oh! AMERICAN SYSTEM, which gives independence to
be sure and tell them, that ye dared not; that dim the American workingmen, whether he toils in the
visions of schnetars and cresents, of turbans and mine or in the field, in the shop or at the loons,
bowstring seared you from your duty ! Tell them which gives bread to his table, comfort to his fire
that Greece plead and wept and plead again at the side, health and happiness to his home.
very feet of your Goddess of Liberty, and that the Guardian angel of the mighty man, thou to whom
Goddess gave scorn for tears, contempt for tears! his whole career has beets a delight—thou to whom
Tell your constituents this, and let it be written the past and future are as one, roll aside the awful
down in the history of our land, that in the year of curtain that stretches along the stage of fate, and
our Lord, eighteen hundred and twenty-lour, in the give us a glimpse of the things that shall be. Were
year of the Lord and Saviour, who came to bring the guardian spirit to speak, this might be the bur
peace to all the earth, this Grecian land oppressed, den of his prophecy.
down trodden and slaughtered, sent to the last home On that same gentle knell of the Ashland hills,
of freedom in the wide earth, asking the country- no longer green, but withered by autumn, viewing
men of Washington for aid, and—oh ! shame on the glories of the sunset, streaking the west with
the burning dishonor; they refused their petition, dazzling red and purple gold, while clouded pillars
scorned their prayers, closed eye and ear on their and sun beam temples pile their forms of grandeur
solemn entreaties !" along the horizon of the dying day, there stands
The Man of Ashland prevailed! The word the man of Ashland silent and alone at the evening;
went forth, to all the earth, that the land of the there is the flush of the day-god on his lofty-brow
New World Freedom, gave its solemn sanction to --there is the gleam of tender memory and a dear
the cause of Old World Liberty, and with that word forgiveness in his clear, grey eye, as he turns to the
of sanction went forth tho name of the advocate of south, and looking to the hills of Tennessee, his
the cause ! Oh !it would make your heart warm soul remembers the mighty hero, sheltered beneath
and throb and throb again, were Ito call up before the quiet roof of the Hermitage. Yes, his outage
your mental eye,the mighty panorama of that strug- niet is the grand Tournament of nationil fame—
gle; the shadowy glen where thousands fell be- his rival is the race of honor; the General of the
neath the footsteps of the Turk; the mountain pass War so nobly defended by the Man of Ashland,
where the rocks, hurled by the Avengers, earns now rests beneath the roof of the Hermitage, his
thundering on the tyrant's heads, mingling them it. arms calmly folded, his warrior eye turned to Hea
one massacre of justice, or the wide battle-plain, ven, while his white hairs await the sunshine of
where from the corpses of ten thousand slain, sped God's eternal day, ,to change their snowy locks to
ten thousand immortal souls laying down at the unfading gold. And as the Man of Ashland gives
footstool of , God, charge of ,4 Liberty unto Death." his soul to the memory of the Man of the natal-
Oh ! it would make your heart beat and your eyes rage, the tear—oh, shame it not with a smile or a
fill with team were I to tell you how from every scoff—the tear glistens in his eye, and the feeling of
shadowy glen—front the height of every mountain the olden time comes throbbing round his heart.
pass; from the carnage of the wide battle-held, The political antagonist—the rival in the race of
three mighty names rose shrieking with the war
cry of the Greeks, mingled with their battle-shout
and sanctified by their dying voices, husky with the
flow of blood; the name of Dozarris, of Washing
ton, and the name of
Gurd ion angel follow your mighty change,through
the scenes of the great drama, where the Man of
Ashland was the Hero; the world the stage; all
Now on the Senate floor preaching war, and now
on the ocean wave bringing the olive-branch from
the old strong hold of freedom, the city of Ghent;
now filling tho souls of the millions listening to
him in husked awe, with the wired magnetism of
his spirit; now communing with his own heart,
calling up the past or painting the future in the si
lent groves of his own sweet Ashland.
Away guardian angel, away to the quiet
groves of Ashland ! Standing on a swelling knoll
that uncovers its grassy breast to the first kiss of
the uprising sun, you behold your mighty ward.
Call the children of the present to look upon him
and look well, for the day will come when to have
seen the Man of Ashland, will be honor and pride.
Tluf picture is grand, effective. The first beams of
the uprising sun fall upon that tall and muscular
form, revealing its outline of bone and sinew, un-
conquered by the toil of thirty years, clad in plain
garments of American texture, while the hat and
staff in one hand, the drooping cloak filling over
the shoulder, impart an air of ease, mingled with
majesty, to his commanding presence. The high
brow, rising like a tower, where Thought keeps his
eternal watch ; the grey hairs floating wavingly in
the morning air; the bold marked eye-brows, throw
ing their arch above the large grey eye that has gaz
ed upon all the phrases of a giant life with an un
quailing glance; tho prominent nose, the high
cheek bones, the massey chin, the wide
mouth, with lips compressed, indicating, the will
that never knew what it was to falter or to fear—
such is the face of the Man of Ashland as standing
on the green knoll, he looks upon the morning sun,
while far away spreads the back-ground of hill and
wood and knoll, until at last the blue veil di' dis-
tance mingles the earth with the sky.
Oh! great is the fame of the warrior—full of
glory is the broad banner whose folds are flung
waving on the wings of conquest—mighty the
voice of the nation, yelling defeat to the foe and
joy to the victor; but greater than all these, most
glorious and most mighty of all victories, are the
triumphs of the Man of Ashland, though these
' triumphs aro not the triumphs of war.
His are the triumphs of Peace. Yes, yes, in ten
and echoes the song. From the noisy room of the
factory, where the crash of the machinery no longer
is mingled with the groans of the eirrved operative,
there comes floating along front old men and rosy
checked children, from stout manhood and tender
girlhood, a chorus of joy, chaunting merrily tiles
eings on his head, peace to his grave, glory to his
ashes, eternal honor to his name.
honor—the bitter opponent for the chair of power,
all aro forgotten, while before the soul of the Man
of Ashland hills, arises the panorama of Now Or
leans—the mist above and the flame below; the
banner of stars still soaring aloft in the midst of
flame, borne upward by the hand of itv warrior
champion, the white-haired Man of the Hertnitage,
who, at the evening hour, gazes also upon yon red
sunset, and whispers as he waits for his master, like
Simon of old—. Lord now lettest thou thy servant
depart in peace!"
And as the Man of Ashland gives his soul to the
memory of the white haired warrior, (whom Clod
for ever bless!) there comes echoing along the twi
light air, the sound of horse's hoofs, breaking the
deep silence of the Indian summer eve, and then
the horse and rider heave in sight and come panting
up the hill. And as the horse, all white with foam,
dashes along the ascent off' the knoll, the rider,
whose attire covered with the dust of travel, tells
you he has ridden far and long, draws a packet
from his vest and sluices it in the air. Another
moment he has flung himself from his panting
steed, he rushes hastily forward, and in silence de
livers the packet to the Man of the Ashland hills.
Now guardian angel we summon you for the
last time. Look well upon your change as he
breaks the heavy seals of this strange packet. His
fingers tremble--•his stature dilates and decreases
with the throbbings of his chest—hi 4 proud eye
quails and wanders in its glance.
The packet is broken! And there, in manly
words, the electors of the nation met in solemn
council, send their message to the orphan boy of
Hanover-- the young backwoodsman of the west--
the champion of war in the senate halls--the ad
vocate of American Industry—the wronged, the
calumniated, and the triumphant.
And as the sun goes down to his chamber of
glory, the guardian angel smiles, and turning front
the Man of Ashland as his towering frame swells
proudly erect, while his eye gathers new fire in its
glance, the guardian spirit cf the orphan boy of
Hanover, bows low bef,:re the altar of American
Freedom; and on the proud columns of its sides,
writes the orphanage—the struggles—the wrongs
and the triumph of genius, iu a :Angle name, that
shines and brightens even amid the names of
Washington, Adams, Jefferson, and Harrison mid
Jacksou--the name of HENRY CLAY.
From the N. 0. Picayune,
George Washington Wimple,
TUE MAY WUO PREPIiItS TUE LELLIU TO TUE
About last night's noon, an individual might be
seen, and was by the watchman seen, wending his
way up St. Charles street. His corms was neither
directly direct or regularly irregular. It might have
been a preparatory practice of the new Polka dance,
or a succession of endeavors to kill cockroaches
creeping on the banquette. Now the Charlie.,
who are al: stnct constructionists, and who enforce
the letter of the municipal ordinances with as much
rigor and exactness as the Medes and Peesiana did
their laws, never interfere with a man's manner of
walking, so long ac he is able to walk at all; for
our city lawgivers, with a wisdom and liberality
above all price and beyond all praise, have left it to
every man to move along as best he can, and have
laid down no legal, definite mode of locomotion.
But although they have so ruled it with regard to
men's walking they are more strict with reference
to men's talking, after a certain hour of the night,
whether that talking be tu tumor out of tune—a
sermon or a serenade—a political speech or a tem
perance exhortation. It was in the enfOrcement of
the peace-preserving principles that the watchman
at the corner of Poydras and St. Charles streets, in
a tone of imperative official authority, bade our
hero " shut up!" who was just then singing a song
equal in metre and melody to any of our tnodern
political lyrics, the chorus of which ran thus—
Burro for the stripes and stars,
Burnt for annexation,
Hurra for our Yankee tars,
And our universal " nation."
I orders you again to shut up,' said tho watch
man. There aint no two ways about it—you
must cher shut up yourself or I'll shut you up
like winkin. Some folks think watchmen aint
nobody, but I'll let you know, old feller, that they
are somebody, so sing small.'
Charles,' said the vocalist, looking half-vacant
ly, half-scrutinizingly into the face of the watchman,
Charles, thou art a walking somnambulist, a
moving matter. Thou host got speculation in
in thine eye, but thou hest got no music in thy
soul. Thou art impenetrable to the tones that
wake the thoughts to tenderness--thou art ins
pervious to the strains that rouse and stir up the
slumbering spirit of patriotism. Thou -•
0, that's all very fine,' said the watchman, cut
Ling off the peroration of the speaker, it's all very
fine, but it aint no pa , t of the ordnance. Now,
disturbin the peace is, which consequently brings
you within the act prolectin' the citizens in the
; natural enjoyment of their sleep,'
It was in vain that the singer told the watchman
that he transcended his duty—that his was an %til
-1 just interference with and violation of the rights of
a citizen; the watchman 'toted' him elf to the
i 4 calaboose.
, 'What's your natner said the officer of the
'George Washington Wimple: replied the
The watchman charges you,' said the officer,
. with disturbing the peace.'
• The watchman is a songless, soulless individual,'
said Wimple, with a mind as dark as Erebus. I
was not disturbing the peace, sir, I was singing--
singing for the million. I was essaying to revive
and rekindle the smouldering tire of patriotism, now
almost extinguished in the breasts of our citizens.
The time and the occasion called for it. The noon
had already passed its meridian, and time in its
unceasing travel had reached the sixty-eighth year
of our national independence. 'Who sir, would
not send forth canticles burthened with pat
riotic pride on such an occasion I Were not those
guns fired in Lafayette Square, charged with patri
otic powder, and was I not charged with patriotic
praise to an extent that I mot go off or burst?'
. My duty is to commit you for the night,'
said the officer. It will rest with the Recorder to
morrow morning to say how far you have offended
against the laws.'
. I protest ." said Wimple, against this arbitrary
infringement en the rights of a citizen--a patriotic
citizen who loves his country as that black reseal
Othello did his beautiful wife, . not wisely but too
.0, look here, Mr.Thigarny,” said the watch-
man, "riggers shit got nothin' to do with inakiie
I say again,' said Wimple, "you have been
guilty of a violation of my natural rights--and of
the right of election, too; because political science
has become a branch of vocal music. Voting by
ballot is decidedly vulgar and corrupt; men will
henceforth be sung into office--election will be by
ballad and not by ballot. What better way is
there, should like to kn Itv, of ascertaining the
vice of the people than by their capacity for
The officer told him he was not prepared to ar
gue the question with him and locked him up--
We trust the Recorder will take his patriotism intu
consideration this morning, and dispense with tho
usual" thirty days.'
The daughter of an English nobleman was pre.
videntially brought under the influence of the fol.
lowers of Wesley, and thus came to a saving
knowledge of the truth as it is in Jesus. The fa
ther was almost distracted at the event, and by
threats, temptations to extravagance in dress, by
reading and travelling in foreign countries, and to
places of fashionable resort, took every means in
his power to divert her mind from " things unseen
and eternal." Hut her ' , heart was fixed." The
God of Abraham had become "her shield," and
" her exceeding great reward," and she was deter
' mined that nothing finite should deprive her of her
infinite and eternal portion in Him, or displace
Him from the centre of her heart. At last the fa.
titer resolved upon a final and desperate expedient,
by which his end should be gained, or his daughter
ruined, so far as her prospects in this life were con
cerned. A large company of the nobility were in
' rued to his house. It was so arranged, that during
the festivities, the daughters of different noblemen,
and among others, this one, were to be called on to
entertain the company with singing, and tnusick on
the piano. If she complied, she parted with heav
en, and returned to the world. if she refused com
pliance, she would be publicly disgraced, and loose,
past the possibility of recovery, her place in society.
It was a dreadful crisis, and with peaceful con&
deuce did she await it. As the crisis approached,
I different individuals, at the call of the company,
performed their parts with the greatest applause.—
At last the name ofhis daughter was announced.—
In a moment all were in fixed and silent suspense to
see how the scale of destiny would turn. With
out hesitation, she rose, and with a calm and dig
nified composure, took her place at the instrument.
Alter a moment spent in silent prayer, she ran her
fingers along the keys, and then with an unearthly
sweetness, elevation, and solemnity, sung, accompa
nying her voice with the Martina:tit, the follow
) tug stanzas :
No room for mirth or trifling here,
For worldly hope, or worldly fear,
If life so soon is gone;
If now the Judge is at the door,
And all mankind must stand before
'l'll' inexorable throne!
No matter which my thoughts employ;
A moment's misery or joy :
But 0, when both shall end,
Where shall I find my destined place!
Shall I my everlasting days
With fiends or angels spend
Nothing is worth a thought beneath,
But how I may escape the death
That never, never dies
How make mine election sure,
And when I fail on earth, secure
A mansion in the skies.
Jesus, vouchsafe a pitying my,
Be thou my guide, be thou my way
To glorious happiness!
Ah ! write the pardon on my heart
And wheroder I hence depart,
Let me depart in peace !
The minstrel ceased. The solemnity of eternity
was upon that assembly. Without speaking they
dispersed. The father wept aloud, and when lett
alone, sought the counsel and prayer of his daughter,
for the salvation of his soul. His soul was saved,
and his great estate consecrated to Christ. I would
rather be the organ of cumintinicatingsuch thoughts
in such circuinstantes, and to the production of
such results—l would rather possess wisdom thus
to speak, as (widen requires, than to porsestr all
that is finite, besides. What hymn, what thought
in the universe, could be substituted Ibr the ono
then uttered ? The time, the occasion, the thought
expressed, the hallowed and "sweet manner"
utterance, present a full realization of all that is em
braced in our idea of fitness. That attrely was a
" word ntly"spoken."--Mahan.