_ nntlnO/bOn BY JAS. CLARK. POETICAL FOURTOI OF JULY. ARRANGED Tel' NAPOLEON'S GRAVE. Hark! Hark ! Sons of Freemen ; the canons now rattle, The Star Spangled, Banner's unfurled to the eye, But the clarion's shrill sound does not call us to - , battle, 'Tis a call to rejoice on the 4th of July. Tlys day is devoted in commemoration 1.35 t those who have sworn to be free or to die, Of .the day when our fathers proclaimed this a nation— • 'Twas in '7 6, on the 4th of July. Come! Come ! quit all business and !et us as• semble To reverence these Heroes, who dared to defy All the armies of Britain, and taught Kings to tremble At the bold Declaration, on the 4th of July. Come ! join us, ye emigrants, Erin's descend• ants, Obliged to this land from oppression to fly; You have tasted the blessings of our independ• ance, And should celebrate with us the 4th of July. Come I all ye who've chosen this land as your station, Where none can the blessings of freedom deny; Come, and heartily join us in this celebration Of our Nation's birth-day, 'tis the 4th of July. The spirit of freedom to valor uniting, Has spread to the South bidding tyranny fly, Where a sister Republic, the thought how de. lighting, Has an epoch equal to the 4th of July. Then let us rejoice in the downfall of error, And hope that the glorious era is nigh, When the world shall be freed from the crown reign of terror, And hail the blest epoch, the 4th of July, Oar fathers before us in the great Revolution— Where have they gone ? 0 ! ask me not why They fought, bled and died, for this free consti tution— And gained her birth-day on the 4th of July ! MISCELLANEOUS. THE POOR. LINEN WEAVER. Know then the truth of Government divine, And let those scruples be no longer thine."' In one of the retired streets of a pop olous country town, lived a young linen weaver, of an upright and pious charac ter, but exceedingly poor. Himself and his affectionate partner were distinguish ed in the place for their extraordinary piety. Often, for weeks together, they had nothing to eat but potatoes and salt. They ardently loved each other, and were cheerful and happy. Whoever visited this worthy couple, was delighted with their agreeable society;' many gladly partook of their humble fare, on pur pose to enjoy their sweet religious con versation. Once, on a fine summer evening, a well dressed man called at the door of their humble cottage, who, after an af fectionate salutation, informed the young weaver that he was travelling to a dis tant village, but had missed his way, and that if he would be kind enough to accompany him n mile or two, he would compensate him for the trouble. The weaver sprang from his seat, and, put ting on his well worn but decently patch ed garment, undertook to guide the stran ger on his way. They discoursed on various matters, entertaining each other and continued until it began to grow dark, when suddenly the stranger drew a whistle from his pocket and sounded it so loud, that it sent a cold chill through the frame of the linen weaver. In nn in- stant, ten stout, terrible looking men leaped from an adjoining hedge, and en tered into conversation with the stran ger, who appeared to he their chief, re. specting the robbery of n neighboring mill. The captain of the band introdu ced tine linen weaver to them ns a new ly favored comrade, yet not inured to their business. Tine unhappy man fell on his knees, and begged with the most earnest entreaty to be released ; but the robber held a pistol to his breast, threat. ening him with instant death if he re fused to comply—whereupon two of the stoutest took hold of his arms, and walk ed away with him. They arrived at the mill about midnight, and broke it open, while the captain, in company with several robbers, remained at a distance to watch. But they had been tracked; the measure of their iniquity was now full. The captain and some of the rob bers, together with the linen weaver, were apprehended and imprisoned, but the rest escaped. Meantime the wife of the weaver .be gan to be alarmed and distressed ; her husband remained out, and when she found that he did not teturn, in the morn ing, her distress of mind became over whelming. Her kind neighbors went in search of him, but could hear no ti dings of him. About evening, the news came that the mill had been robbed and the weaver apprehended with the rob bers. Her distress now arose to its height. She left her children in the care of a neighbor, and proceeded with all possible haste to the prison. She-up plied to a magistrate, and gave him as circumstantial an account of the matter as she knew how, while on her bended knees she begged and implored his as sistance for the liberation of her unfor tunate husband. The magistrate, who felt a deep sympathy for the unfortunate woman, could do nothing in behalf of her husband, though he gave her per mission to see him. The meeting which took place is in describable. They raised together their imploring hands to the Judge of the in nocent. The weaver encouraged his wife to mantain unshaken coufidence in God, who, he assured her, would never abandon them in the extremity of their trial. They parted, mutually streugth ened, and humbly resolved to plead with God for a happy issue. The government, in consequence of the frequent robberies that had recently followed in in quick succession, was obliged to enforce the laws with rigor; the poor weaver, therefore, had no rea son to hope for a dispensation in his favor, especially as he had been appre hended in company witlr the robbers. But a still worse feature in the ease was the dreadful fact, that the Captain of the band had concerted a plan with his fel lows to bring the weaver to the scaffold let the consequences be what they might. On trial, they all affirmed that the wea ver had been with them on other expe ditions, naming the times, places and circumstances. When the weaver plead ed his innocence, they were so daring as to look him in the face, arid ask him if he were not afraid, in he presence of God, to utter such falsehoods. Thus matters went from one court to another the poor weaver having no advocate but his unavailing tears. At length the trial was concluded, and all were condemned to die. It was de cided that the linen weaver should be hanged first ; and the rest, after witness ing his execution, were to undergo the same sentence, only with this cliff-. erence, that their bodies were to be quartered. The verdict had been sign ed by the prince, and the execution was to take place in three days.—A deep and universal sympathy was excited in be half of the weaver—every one regarding him as innocent. Tho clergyman of the place who well knew his innocence, administered all the consolation in his power, to support him in the trying cri sis. The pious man summoned all his strength, and committed his wife and children to his heavenly Father. His wife cried incessantly and fervently to the ALL IVlsaciFut for deliverance. The day previous to his execution she ap appeared the piteous object of distress before the prince's mansion, desiring an audience. It providentially happened that, while at dinner, the history of a poor father of a family was related, who' had been executed innocently. This gave occasion to speak of the linen wea ver ; and when her request for an audi ence was presented, it was cheerfully granted. Her respectable and prepos sessing appearance, in addition to her deep distress, spoke so loud a language, that the cheeks of the princess were cov ered with tears. She conducted her to the prince, who was so much affected, that lie instantly despatched a messen• ger with his pardon. Arid it was now time—for it was evening, and the next day at nine o'clock the weaver was to be led to execution. The messenger had ten leagues to travel. The princess ordered refreshment for the weaver's wife, who, after she had partaken, also hastened with all possi ble speed, to the place of execution, im pelled with heartfelt joy and gratitude to God. But when she had travelled about two leagues her system failed through fatigue, and the strong excite ment of her feelings. She was, there fore, obliged to rest a few hours, which prevented her from arriving till ten o'clock the next morning. The messenger who had been sent, likewise met with an accident on the way—his horse fell with him and sprain ed his ankle. Providentially it was near a post-house. He committed the par don to the Postmaster, who forwarded it by a postillion. But it was near too late. Of all that had transpired, the weaver yet knew nothing and the mag istrate as little. The clock struck nine, the knell of execution sent forth its aw ful peal. The children, as was the cus tom, came with their teacher and hymn books, in the procession ; then the weav er and his pastor ; next the captain and his band of robbers ; and last of all, the executioner and assistants. A multi- tude had assembled from the country around about, who followed the proces sion, attended with a regiment of armed soldiers who marched with slow and measured step to the place of execu tion. The weaver spoke not a word— HUNTINGDON, PA,, TUESDAY, JULY Tl, 1848, his distress was too deep for either tears or language; the people, however, ob served that he was intently watched by the keen eye of the hardened robber captain. The procession at length arrived near the scaffold ; the linen weaver was con ducted up the ladder—but that instant the postillion came riding in full gallop; he hastily handed the letter of pardon to the magistrate, who hastily broke the seal, and proclaimed aloud.," Par don ! Pardon! for the Linen Weaver .' A shout of joy then rose up from the assembled thousands, that seemed to know no end. In the midst of the ex citement, the robber-captain rose apd begged permission to speak : when gran ted, he stepped forward on the scaffold, and beckoned for silence. All were,instantly silent. The rob ber then exclaimed aloud—' There is a God, and that God is a God of justice ! This I never believed till this moment— therefore I never feared him, and gave myself up to crime. Sometimes in the midst of my guilty course, things have occurred which led me to suppose there was a God who governs the world, but 1 wished to be sure of it—and to be so, I thought if I could bring an innocent, pious man into my society, and compel him to take part in our crimes, that this God could not be righteous, if he suffer ed him to full in the same punishment as ourselves. He must deliver him as he has done to-day. For I declare be fore this assembly, that the linen weav er is perfectly innocent—he is a pious and upright man. I have made a fair trial with him, and God has delivered him. Yes, there is a God, and that God is a God of righteousness." He now begged to be remanded to prison, alle ging that he had some important disci°. sureslo make. His request was again granted, and his promise fulfilled. In the meantime they had revived the weaver, who had fainted under the ex citement of the sudden transition of feel ing. A circle was formed round the scaffold, when a number of young men, rushing in arid taking hold of him, rais ed him on their shoulders, and convey ed him around the streets in triumph; others raised a contribution for him amounting to several hundred guilders. Just as they were bearing him through the streets, his wife arrived from her long and painful journey. She heard the shouting and saw the concourse of people. "Pardon for the linen weaver!" resounded in every direction—and with sobbings of transport she followed the procession to the public house. The meeting of husband and wife was most deeply affecting— a e•cene of joy inde scribable. They were conveyed home in a coach which their friends had kind ly provided for the occasion. The me ' lie), which he received raised his con dition in life, and the rich experience he had acquired from his assured and sim ple confidence in God, produced a still more elevating effect on his Christian character. The blessing of God contin ued with him ; and if he still lives, he mkst be a gray•haired man of seventy. Tim event occurred in the year 1798. Gen. Taylor's Position lion. Jolla J. CRITTENDEN in his Pittsburg speech, made the following forcible remarks in regard to ti en. Taylor's position : Some object, said Mr. Crittenden, to General Taylor, because he is from the South, and is a slave holder. Are we not one people? Do we not love the .Union 1 Have I not the same right - as. a Kentuckian, to all the benefits of our glorious Union, that you have as Penn sylvanians 1 e are one people from the Atlantic to the Pacific; from our most Northren Line to the Rio Grande, we are one people—it is all my country —it is all yours. There is no country, there never was a country, like this. Rome, in her mightiest days, never pos sessed so vast and splendid a country us this—so great, so glorious. Our destiny is as glorious as our country, if we hold together, and do not suffer sec tional prejudices to divide us. We speak ono language—our indentity is the same —we are one consolidated people—and our success has hitherto been glorious and unprecedented. Shall we, then, di vide in feeling 1 No! no! No matter where our man is from, if he is an Amer icon. Gen. Taylor in his feelings, knows no South , no North, no East, no West. He is an ..dinerican ! Where has he Hy', ed 1 In his tent for forty years. His home, for forty years has been under ilto. American flag!—the flag of his whole country. He is a national man—he bee lived everywhere, wherever the flag waves ! He is not a Southren man—he an American! He proscribes no on'e either of the North or South ; and will you proscribe him for the accident of birth and home 1 He condemns no man for the institutions of his State. Will you condemn himl He isa kind, gene rous, noble old man—a true American in heart. MARIA LOUISA. ever seemingly prosperous for a time, it promoted final disaster and woe. A ; pique originating in this marriage, alien- 1 A darker day never enveloped in its ated Alexander of Russia fro the' gloom the Austrian monarchy,than when French Emperor, and hence tie tam the beleaguering hosts of Napoleon en- paign of Moscow, and the imprisonment compassed Vienna, and from their en- of Napoleon upon the rock of St. Hole circling batteries were showering shots na. When the design of Napoleon was and shells upon the doomed city. The known, every court of Europe was emu- I armies of Austria, in repented conflicts, , bus of the honor of such an alliance.— had been mown down and scattered by' The Bourbons, in their exile, would glad the resistless conqueror. As the eagles ' 1Y furnish a princess of the royal blood, of Napoleon glittered upon the hills !..B.la bride . for the mighty conqueror.- . I which overlooked the city, the royal T.' Russian Court proffers ally of its 1 high-born maidens to the acceptance of , family, with the " hot haste * " which ter- I rot inspires, had fled far off into the ' the master spirit, at whose frown all wilds of Hungary. It is midnight.— Europe trembles. And the Austrian y. The sky is streaked with the fiery pro- monarchy, the proudest of all earthl d jectiles which, like meteors of death, dynasties, eagerly seeks alliance with are descending into the thronged and I the soldier of fortune, who has twice entered its capital in triumph , and . rep . o- dismayed metropolis. Flames are burst ing forth in every part of the city. All se a d ia , so lt;it with his.plebian marshals , in its inch deliberation,Na hearts are frozen with terror. no place of refuge. Red hot balTsheerruesihs, p . P o o le s oi! d . ecide te d r t i o accept . thealli f a o n r c!_ o of their way through dwellings of brick A n Yi ja: Proposals were made _ a l . and stone. Shells explode in the cradle ri Lo isa, nail eagerly accepted , 11l aria of the infant, and upheaving the most was then nineteen years ofage, o and massy dwellings, bury their mangled wir most happy to he I nored le bride of one who had filled the world inmates beneath the ruins. The clam with his renown. Napoleon was forty ors of two hundred thousand combatants fill the midnight air, and mingle with two. On the 12th day of March, 1810, the thunders of one of the most awful apparently without emotion, she left the bombardments earth has ever witnessed. palaces of her fathers, surrounded by all the pomp the Austrian monarchy In one of the chambers of the royal could confer, to meet her future has palace there lies a maiden, sixteen band. As the long train of carriages years of age, the daughter of the king. left Vienna, the people gazed mourn- Her father and her mother, in the con- fully upon the scene. Maria Antoinette, sternation of their flight, were compel- the last princess Austria had furnished led to leave behind them their sick for the throne of France, but a few child. Her cheek is flut.hed with fever I years before, had perished miserably and again paled with terror as the up. I upon the scaffold. The populace were roar of the assault, like angry thunder,' only prevented by the soldiers from cut fills the air. The glare of bursting shells ' ting the traces of the carriages, and pre and the flames of the spreading confla- 1 venting the departure. The gorgeous gration, portentously gleam through the procession moved on its way towards windows, upon the eye of the sick and the frontiers of France. Napoleon had terrified sufferer. She in vain buries her head beneath the bed-clothes to shut never y et seen the bride who was corn inn- to meethim. 4, She is not bcouti out the horrid cries of the assailants and ftii," he said, as he gazed upon her min the shrieks of the wounded. ' iature, "but she is a daughter of the C re- In the midst of this most dreadful sums !" scene the gates of the city are sudden- ' When Maria arrived at the Rhine, her ly thrown open, and a small party 1 Austrian attendants left her, and she was emerge, and with a flag of truce pass' ' , received by the French nation, and con through the embattling hosts' till they : ducted towards Paris with die highest approach the presence of Napoleon.— possible accompainments of imperial They inform him of the situation and, splendour. The bells rang their morn the peril of the princess. He instantly , est peals of congratulation. The Aus orders the direction of every gun to be, trian an d ttholored flagflonted in 'friendly changed, which might endanger her , embrace from every tower. Triumphal person. The flag of truce again retires' arches, illuminated cities, and civic and within the walls, and the awful bombard- ! and military processions greeted her ment continues. For ten long hours this ' progress , while the horses of her chariot terrific storm of iron descends upon the , buried their hoofs in beds of roses which city, till three thousand shells have fill ed its streets with ruin and with blood. were spread over her path. France, then in the zenith of its pride, and in- But Maria Louisa remains upon her bed toxicated with glory, from the Rhine to unharmed, thought other parts of her the Pyrenees, resounded with all the ex father's palace are blown from their pressions and demonstrations of rejoi foundations. Little did she imagine, in eing, Napoleon met her near the Corn the consternation of that dreadful night,peigne. Springing from his own car that it was her future husband who was riage, he eagerly leaped into that of the thus raining down destruction upon her i Empress, and, entirely regardless of father's capital. And little did the pie- • all the restraints and etiquette of courts, bian conqueror imagine, as lie compas- folded her in his embrace with the most sionately changed the direction of his youthful impetuosity. The postillions guns, that this maiden was to be the were ordered to drive upon the gallop to Queen olFrance, and that by this born- the palace of Compeigne. This unex bardment he was wooing and winning pected ardor was not at all unwelcome for his bride a daughter of the Ca-sars. t o Maria, and a few hours in the society A datighter of the Ciesars ! What a of her imperial husband invested her mysterious influence there is in tutees- with a queenly ease and affability, that • tral renown. Napoleon even, the crea- she could hardly be recognised by her for of his crown, the fabricator of his former attendants. The marriage cere own glory, was dazzled by its glare ! I mony was celebrated with the utmost Maria Louisa was a lineal descendent of I splendour, at St. Cloud, and never, be etle of the proudest monarchs of Rome. %he blood which circulated in her veins fore or since, has Paris resounded with such an uproar of rejoicing, as when Na had passed to her from the Cirsars, and I poleon led his youthful bride into those through the heroic heart of Maria 'Flier- apartments of the Tuileries, from which esa. She had been cradled and nurtured amid scenes of moral sublimity and re- Josephine, but three months before, hind been so cruelly rejected. Four queens gal magnificence, which, one would think, would give an impress of gran- held the bridal train of Maria Louisa and the ambassadors of all the courts of Eu deur to the meanest soul. Surely, then, rope revolved around her as their cen her spirit must be animated with all tral luminary. But who can tell how that is lofty and ennobling in human dismally these rejoicings fell upon the character. Alas, it was not so! She ear of Josephine, as site sat weeping in was nothing more than a m ild, amiable, her deserted chamber. pretty girl, utterly incapable of cherish- In one year from that time, Maria was ing en idea of magnanimity or of hero- placed upon that mysterious couch of ism. She was endowed, by nature, only so ff erc i ng with, those qualities which were most splendourfrom which no real wealth or can purchase exemption, Her common place and earthly, and was en tirely:unqualifid to act a noble part in pains were long protracted, and her an e guish dreadful. The attendant physi the lofty drama through which she was clans,in the utmost trepidation, inform destined to move. ed apoleon that the life of the mother Napoleon, despairing of offspring from of the child must be sacrificed. " Save Josephine, and consumed with the most the mother," said Napoleon ;but, percei intense desire to have an heir who vino that iey had lost their presence of shoUld inherit his glory and perpetuate mind in view oftheperil of so illustriousa his .name, resolved to sever the ties I patient he immediately added, "Do as which bound him to Josephine, the wife you would with the wife of the humblest Of his youth, and to obtain a more youth- tradesmen in the Rue St. Dennis."— ful bride from the subseaient moiler- The physicia9s , reassured, returned to BY REV. J. S. C. ABBOTT chieS around him. He hoped thus to their duty, and the crisis was passed. secure an heir in whose person should The birth of this child was an event be allied all that was glorious in his which had been anticipated by all France own achievements, and all that is illus. with the most sincere interest. It had trious in exalted descent. The repudin- been previously announced that the can tion of Josephine, strong as were the non of the invalids should proclaim the poligcal motives which led to it, is the advent of the expected heir to the throne. darkest stain upon the character of Na- If the child were a princess, twenty-one pol Eon. And, like all wrong doing, how- guns were to be fired; if a prince, one N 4° OntitatTi VOL, XITT, NO, 2R hundred. At six o'clock in the morning of the 20th March, 1810, all Paris was aroused, by the deep' booming of those heavy guns, reverberating over the city in annunciation of the arrival of the wet- - come stranger. Every window was in-* stantanously thrown open. Every ear was on the alert. The slumberers were aroused from their pillows, and silence' prevailed all the streets of the busy me tropolis, as the vast throngs stood mo tionless, to count the tidings which those explosiOns Were thundering in their ears: The heart of the great capital ceased to beat, and in all her glowing veins the current of life. stood still. When the twenty-first gun had been fired, the in (crest was intense beyond all conception. The gunners delayed for a moment the next discharge, and all Paris stood breat bless in suspense. The next too -1 ment the guns, double loaded, pealed forth the most welcome announcement,. and from the entire city one universal roar of acclamation rose and blended with their thunders. Never was an earthly monarch greeted with a more af fecting demonstration of a nation's love and homage. The birth of the King of Rome, how illustrious! The thought ful mind will pause and muse upon the striking contrast furnished by his death. Who could then have immagin , ea that his renound father would perish a prisoner in a dilapidated stable in St. Helena, and that this child, a nation's idol, would linger through a few short years of neglect and sorrow, and sink into a forgotten grave. [From the Cincinnati Signal.] PEN AND INK SKETCHES OF THE BARNBITIINERS. John an Buren, of New York. John Van Buren is the incarnation of the sr hit of the radical Democracy ;- witty, elequent, severe, honest, and brave, he fitly represents that great par ty. Among literary men, a scholar; a lawyer at one bar; a b'hoy at another; before the people an orator ; in the par lor, a dandy, he is all things to all men, and has well learned to act at Rome as the Romans act ; to do in Turkey as the. Turk ies do. ' John is mentally omnivorous, an In tellectual cormorant. His mind con sumes greedily, and with pleasure, all things; from Coke upon Littleton, and Edwards upon the will, down to Dom bey and Son, and the Albany Argus.— In this respect, he is like the late Judge Story, of whom an eminent Rhode island lawyer remarked, " that all his law he knew by intuition, as he appeared never to have read anything but Cicero de and the Pickwick Papers !"_ John is the second son of Martin Van Buren. In England, the property of a family all goes to the oldest son, and as the second son has nothing but his wits to live on, he is supposed to engross all the talent of the family ; a supposition which is strikingly borne out in the case of the Van Buren family. The oldest son, Major Abraham Van Buren, is a Paymaster in the army, and married a rich wife, and beyond this he can never go. The younger sons are simply wor thy young men. John must be now nearly forty years' of age. He graduated at Yale College, some twenty years ago, with a high rep utation for genius, wit, idleness, and . deviltry ; he was loved by all the school' girls, bated by all the orderly, and en vied by all the mischievous spirits in New Haven. He was a worker of mis chief, confusion and disorder, but he possessed too much ingenuity to bo caught, and in great tribulation, we doubt not, at sending forth so unquiet a spirit, the Faculty granted him a degree. He studied law under "Stated Preach , ing," [Hon. B. F. Butler,] at Albany, and Judge Vanderpool, the Kinderhook Roarer, in New York, and the perfection with which he can both preach and roar now, attests the ability of his instruct ors. Shortly after his admission to the bar, he went to England with his father, who had just been appointed Minister at the Court of Saint James, and in 1832, af ter his father's rejection by the Senate, they returned together. John then went, quietly to work at his profession, at Albany, and succeeded in getting fame and clients. His course of life was unruffled, save by an occasion al speculation in stocks, and a spicy correspondence with Jesse Hoyt, not remarkable for elegance of language.— John proves the truth of the new defini tion of man—" an animal that swears." In 1838, John went to England again, and by the use he made of the fact tkat he was the President's son gained the soubriquet of " Prince John." It is not an appropriate title, however, for John• is a trump card, a good deal higher than the king. The hunters call him the Knave of Trumps. He bears some ra semblance however, to Shakspeare's
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