137 11,0EZIRT WEITZ, LtrIDDLETOII.]
42U112 CO:1113/1163,3M.)0
•wectcnt flowers enriched.
Prom various gardens cull'd with care."
PROM THE LANCASTER INTELLIGENCER
TIE TEAR.
A MOTIIER, in her grief, was kneeling,
By death's pale victim's side:
Her eyes were raised in fervent feeling, •
To her Almighty guide:
And one lone tear, her sorrow spoke,
While not a sob the silence broke.
-Oh! there is eloquence where sadness:
Is not in clamor breathed,
Like where the soul is hushed in gladness
• And peace around bath wreathed
Her quiet •vith the single tear,
Which doth in glistening wo appear.
A lovely girl alone was bending
O'er the couch of pale disease,
One silent tear, a prayer was sending
To Him who can the soul release
From Oil its pain, from 1:11 its grief,
And give the Hopeless one relief.
She loved the boy—herself a treasure,
The jewels of her soul she gave,
To him who held thorn virtues pleasure,
And trusted in their pow'r to save.
Oh! how that pearly tear did seem,
To wrap his senses m a dream.
The soldier, while his war-talc telling,
Forgets himself, and sheds a tear!
And 'tis a drop, from manhood welling--
A precious tear, to Friendship dear.
Not often is that wnr-worn cheek
Bedewed wiilt such a token meek.
If when the heart bowed down and. lonely,
Has not a tongue its woes to speak:
• The tearlet, in its silence only,
The sternest soul would quickly seek.
There is a thing above our fears—
It is the language of our tears!
VlllO 1-0,3T",i):-.IU.UUTWo
FROM TII6 lIALTIMOOE 'MONUMENT.
E.L.LEJV P'EIRCP
A LEGEND OF TID ItAVOLUTION.
DY DIRS. LYDIA JANE PE11180:51
'Say no more, Isabel, I entreat you; I would not
' hear you plead in vain, but my resolution is unal
terable; I must and will return to our dear iriptive
f land. Who that witnessed, as I did, the agony of
'sapirit with which you bade farewell to your home
I and frient's, and saw your tears and pale check
for long months after our arrival here; who that
knew how fondly you have ever spoken of that
far-offshore, would expect to hear you thus remon
strate against a return thither! But women are
inconsistent creatures, and always ready to oppose
• their husbands, even if the thing proposed is ac
cording to their most sanguine wishes.'
'Alf, my Edward, how little do you know of the
heart that has been so long open to your inspection,
bare and undisguised in your sight. When we
left our country, I . came from home. My father
and mother, my brothers end only sister remained
in the dear mansion in which I had dwelt with
thorn ever since my birth. We had grown up
altogether, like scions from the same root, and to
gether in our love we had beautified our native
spot. We had planted and nursed the tree, the
shrub, and the fair flower together, and the clus
tering vines that intertwined over our favorite
bower seemed to bind together still more closely
the young hearts thatso often congregated beneath
them. That I felt my separation from that en
deared home and all my kindred, and even in your
loved society mourned my exile from my childhood
loves, is most true. Here I was a stranger in a
strange laud. So different in all 'respects from the
country we had left, subjected to so many and so
great privations and inconveniences, truly I did
often think, with feelings of deep regret, of the
• I
comforla I hail left behind.
But now, Edward, I have no home in that land.
My father and mother arc both, I trust, in the
ltOme of eternal peace; my brothers aro scattered
over the wide world, and that one dear .sister . is,
likp myself, far away from her once loved spot.
Why should I now wish to return thither? The
sight of that deserted spot would open in my heart
afresh, wounds that time has healed, and make
present and reel all the changes that distance has
half made fictions to me. I should then be alone
in my household home, a stranger in my own
country, and strange to the companions of my
childhood. Oh no, no, I cannot return thither
My home is now hero, where I hove so long dwelt
with you, and where we have experienced both
sorrow and joy. This spot we have cultivated and
beautified, and called it home, and it long has been
home to me. And our children, Edward, to them
this land is truly home. Reared amidst its wild
beauties, they love it with nature's enthusiasm.
Ellen's patriot husband will never leave his native
land, and our Henry recognizes no tie to our mo
ther country, and burns to see those colonies free
from her oppression'—
'Silence, Isabel! I can hear you speak in any
strain but that. 'Ellen's patriot husband!' A
• proud fierce rebel. Ho has turned Henry's head
with his cursed - sophistries. 'The oppressions of 1
our mother country!' Isabel, let me hear you
speak in this strain no more. Who made you
and these mad boys judges over king and parlia
mend I am ready, as every English-blooded man
should be, to bow with implicit submission;
and since the standard of rebellion is reared in
these lands of barbarism, and the friends of lnyalty
and order proscribed and persecuted, I will show
on which side of the Atlantic my heart. is. Let
your preparations be speedily made, we sail with
the first vessel!" and Mr. Peircy walked with an
air of true English importance and decision from
the house, while bis gen'le Isabel sunk upon a
sofa in a burst of tortured feeling. Long and
bitterly did she weep, for her heart was full; and
whenever she sought to dry her eyes, some 'dug
loved' vision met their humid ray, and tears gushed
forth afresh, She rose and knelt, and pressed her
hand over her aching oyes; but bor mind was too
much disnirbed, she could not pray, and she wept
on till startled by the voice of her almost worship
raldatighter.
. 4For Heaven's sake, mother, ‘vhat is the ny.t ter!
fitiesk, dear Mother, what is the meani. g of IMO'
'•lt was soon told, 1111 d then clung, half frantic,
411 her mothor's hos:an, and sobbed out the anguish
ogepized'sfiritt
But what avail the tears of a woman when her
lord is a haughty and imperious man"! Great is
the sacrifice lie requires of her, even the surrender
oilier nature's sympathies, the suppression of her
genuine emotions, the prostration of all her hopes,
wishes, and inclinations, at the foot of his despotic
pleasure. And although she dispute him not, if a
sigh or a tear speak reluctance, he will haughtily
rebuke her that her feelings ate rebellious, and hold
himself agrieved that her will is under so, poor
vassalage to his, when he would not turn from ,
the most trifling pursuit to gratify her dearest }
wishes.
Peircy was a man of this spirit, and his, wife—
no wonder she abhorred tyranny in a Government,
suffered too severely by the despotic lord of her
own heart; for she truly loved her husband, and
when he would have persuaded Ellen to leave her
rebel husband and go with them to England, her
very soul shuddered—not merely that he should
endeavor to divide those whom God and the laws
of his country had joined together, but that he
who had known the constancy of the mother,
should judge so lightly of the daughter's heart.
Ellen shrunk aghast. It was agony to take a last
farewell of the parents who had cheriied her so
fondly; but a separation from her fir • , her only
love, was not to be thought of, and fervently did
she thank her Heavenly Father that . . her Dudley '
was not a man of her parent's obstinacy and aus
terity.
Swiftly and bitterly passed the hobrs till the
time of separation arrived; and then that parting
was a bitter one. Henry, as he felt his mother's
bosom throb against his own, whispered, 'I will
•
go wit you.
'No, never,' she answered; 'stay and console
Ellen—stay and retain the home of lily happiness
which is now bequeathed to you and her. Fare
well, my noble boy; let mo hear •#.onurably of you.'
Peircy's stout heart swelled almost to bursting
as he grasped the hand of his beloved boy and
thought how soon it might he bathed in the best
blood of old England. And . as his sweet Ellen
clung around his neck he almost resolved to stay
and share the fate of the rebel colonies. Poor
Isabel—her heart was wholly broken. Sho re
signed herself herself to a hopeless 'grief. Her
children were all the world to her, and to be thus
torn from them, it was more than her spirit could
endure. Ellen clung to her bosom—neither could
articulate the farewell that was bursting her bosom.
At, length the mother sunk under her feelings, and
EUen was borne half frantic from the beach.
The Peircys arrived safe in England, and Ellen,
when her first sorrow had subsided, clung yet
more fondly to the beloved one, who, with her
brother, was all now left to her. She had no other
relations on the broad continent. She was a fe
male of no common character; for she possessed
at once the utmost tenderness of the feminine
heart, and the judgment, decision, and magnanim
ity of the man of experience. Her patriotism,
though still, was deep and firm; for it was founded
uptin:observation, reflection; and a thorough con.
viction of the righteousness of the cause it embra
ced. In this latter sentiment she was supported
by her husband and brother, who folt all the ardent
love of country so natural to those who range the
wild wood, hunt the deer, and: subdue the wild
land.
Who can love his home like him who has made
that home? Who hassonverted the dark forest
into luxuriant meadows and corn-fields? Who,
as he looks around upon the waving grain, the
fruit-laden orchard, the beautiful garden, and neat
dwelling, recognises all as the work of his own
hands, the realization of his own designs, and who
sees, in every useful or beautiful animal who feeds
in his pastures or sports round his dwelling a crea
ture of his own rearing—an object of his care from
its infimcy, as it were a member of his own family.
Thus it was with the patriot fathers of the
American colonies. No wonder they loved their
country. America is not like other countries, in
which the hand of man has obliterated the impress
of nature in her own wild grandeur, and although
he has left on other shores many magnificently
carved columns strewed upon the bare ground, as
mementoes of former grandeur, do they not speak,
with tremendous utterance, the vanity of man and
his imaginations—the weakness of the mightiest
works of the niighticst monarchs? Not so in 'Ame
rica, where the everlasting mountains, the cliffs
coeval with time, the rivers and the tall forests,
remain the same from the beginning, and every
object speaks not the littleness of man, but the
greatness of GOD. No wonder those who-have
looked immediately to Him for the blessings that
made Their fields verdant and their grain abundant,
and who have reaped, and gathered, and eaten
with the consciousness of receiving His favor,
should be able to confide their cause to Him at all
times. It was with such a confidence that the raw
colonies took up arms against their veteran oppres
sors. It was in the strength of this confidence
that they fought, endured, and eortritiEUED. Hen
ry Peircy and Dudley Carlton were among the
foremost in their confidence, their zeal, and its
ccompanying action.
Ellen's spirits were supported by the excitement
consequent upon the hurry and confusion of the
times, when every man felt and boasted himself a
host, and arms were bristling in the streets, and
drums besting enlivening marches, and every wo
man making up her soldier-husband's knapsack,
with eyes that seemed to scorn a tear, though
haply her heart was dropping blood; but when all
was ready, and her husband and brother only
awaiting the summons to march, then came the
hour of bitter trial. She sat between them clasp
ing a hand of each. Fervently did she recommend
each to the care of the other—humbly did she
commend both to the protection of their God. And
now the roll of the drum calls away. She clasped
her hands wildly around her husband and clung
to his bosom. His heart swelled painfully beneath
her pressure; yet, with words of cheer he loosened
her hold, and as she sunk upon the sofa, hurri . ed
from the house, accompanied by Henry, who felt
as if the closing door shut light and joy from his
heart forever.
Ellen arose, but they were gone! The echo of
martial steps died awayi the sound of the quick
march grew faihter,till all was silence and solitude.
And now she felt her desolation; so utterly alone
all day she sat gazing towards the distant hills over
which their line of march led, as WOO_ expected
to see and recognize her loved ones, there. She
retired early and supperless to seek the oblivion of
sleep. In vain; she wept and tossed upon her
testles4 pillow,and the visions of blood and slough-
"z WISH NO OTHER lIERAED, NO OTILER SPEAKER OF NY LIVING AGTIONS, TO KEEP MINE HONOR FROM CORRUPTION•"--1311AES.
saiweltazaw3Les.a u pro ,0233(1),A5tr 0 a2rPtP.2/Att.:22,21
ter that chased her short slumbers were fearful
things. She arose and knelt by her bedside, and
fervent were the aspirations of her spirit. She re
signed her dear ones to the overruling hand of
Omniscience. Her spirit became, in a measure,
calm, and site laid herself down and slept for a few
hours sweetly. Yet day utter day passed, and her
loneliness only increased; nor is it wonderful—
beteft at once of parents, brother, and husband,
She soon learned that the young soldiers had
joined the volunteers tinder Col. Ethan Alletyles
' tined to attack ,Ticonderoga, and her desolation
seemed to increase with the distance of her heart's
treasures. She was then a prey to all the agonies
of suspense—that most cruel of tormentors,
which whispers ceaselessly deathfind ill, and
knows and wrings the heart strings till the soul is
weary of its life. Day after day she watched and
listened while every step at her door made her ear
tingle, and every passenger in the street made her
eye reel as if she saw the messenger of foe. Her
friends and ncigh:)ora were all herself, anxious
and weary; and if they met, the sad and wet eyed
greeting belied the confidence of success which
their trembling lips uttered..
At length n straggling party of the enemy, in
the rage of a wanton love of mischief, plundered
and set fire to the little defenceless town, the only
inhabitants of which were the white-headed old
man, the pleading female and the innocent child;
and these were turned homeless and defenceless
upon the wide, wide world. This calamity, by
diverting her sorrows and turning her cares into a
selfish channel, seemed to relieve her mind. She
and the hapless companions of her calamity found
indiffi.rent shelter in some poor deserted houses,
and some charitable people of neighboring towns
supplied them, for the time being, with food and
comfortable clotl.ing.
Those days have been called "days that tried
men's souls;" they were so; and truly they tried
women's hearts. The parting, the suspense, the
loneliness, the fear, the privation! How ninny a
gentle hand in those days grasped the rude imple
ments of husbandry! Many a mother struggled
against want, with her family of babes, toiling by
day and by night, suffering cold and hunger, and
comparative nakedness, while her heart was aching
for the absent husband and father,whose privations
and toils she fancied greater than her own, and
whose exposure to danger and death lay like a ser
pent ever in her path. Yet the love of country,
tho hope-of seeing it free, the confidence that the.
Almighty would support the cause of justice were
a light that burnt brightly in her darkest hour—a
support on which she leaned in her greatest weari
ness,
Poor Ellen needed the Divine support at this
crisis, and she felt how good a thing it is to be able,
in the greatest human weakness, to rely upon Om
nipotence. It was late autumn—cold, stormy and
dreary. Her habitation Was poor, her furniture
was inditnrent, as wore her food and clothing.—
, She who had been accustomed to numptuoun itm
and delicacy, was now obliged to earn her broad
by her own labor. At length she became a moth
er, and a few days after came intelligence that her
brother had fallen before St. Jobs, which had, on
the 3d of November, surrendered to the gallant
Montgomery.
The spirit of war is a strange spirit, and the re
joicilillKor victory came strangely to the ear of the
bereaved! Ellen shrunk from the glad faces and
joyous tones of the women who were her fellows
in suffering, and while they congratulated each
other on the day of glory to their country, she
thought but of the night of death to her brother.—
Fallen in the morning of life, in the fresh bloom
of manhood, while the blossoms of love were fresh
in his bosom, and the buds of the laurel bright on
his brow. She thought of his anguish as he lay
mangled and dying on the bare ground, with none
to raise his head from its cold, hard pillow,or bring
a little water to allay the agony of the death thirst;
and she thought how sacred a thing the victory
should be that cost so dear a price. A few short
months previous she . could have joined the public
rejoicings, nor once have thought what mockery
such things are to the mourners of the fallen.—
How unseemly the parade, the illumination, the'
] tire works,the glad shout of triumph are,to the eyes
that weep the loved ones that will greet them no
more—to the ear on which the foot-full and voice
of its treasure will never more vibrate. How cruel
is the song of exultation to the soul whose joys aro
I fled forever—to the widow who weeps in agony
over her fatherless children; who has lost, not only
the being to whom her fresh young heart was giv-
I en; to whom her affections, with all their blissful
memories, have clung for years; whose name has
' been a rallying point; for all the fond energies of '
her nature, till, without him, the brightest earthly
] paradise would he an empty void—but she has
now no hand to look to for aid in the support of
her little ones,who cry for bread when she has none
to bestow! 0, war! war!! thou art, indeed, a do
vouring
monster! Thy thirst for blood in insatiate,
and thine ear never weary of groans and sighs,while
the mangled wrecks of humanity,the flaming dwell- I
ing, and the trampled bloody sod are sights of joy
to thine eyes! And what is the trump of victory
but the knell of the bloody dead,the announcement '
of woe to the living, to the aged, desolate parents
—the widow, the orphan, the weeping sister and
the young and gentle maiden whose heart is mang
led with her lover and cold in his grave, who must
weep in secret,and sink beneath the blight of affec
tion to an early grave.
Ellen felt the full force of these things, yet she
thanked an Almighty Preserver, with trembling ]
beiirt,that her husband was yet Ppared,and though
still exposed to danger, his term of service would
soon be fulfilled, and he would then return. 0,
bow her heart bounded as she anticipated the meet-!
ing; and there was a new string added to the thril
ling chords of her heart's affections! Her babe!
that name so dear, so tender, so stirring to the ten
(forest sympathies of nature. 0, how she longed
to speak it to her husband, to hear him say—my
child! and see him clasp his boy with a father's
fond emotions. There is something in parental
love so holy, so powerful, so lasting that it scents
impossible that it should die with the mortal body.
How can death have dominion over the strongest,
purest passion of the soul, that emotion which
seems a part of its external essence, living and
triumphing in every bosom, holding sway over the
spirit of the most obdurate savage, reconciling the
most miserable to a life of pain, toil, and sufferhkg;
for what will not the mother cheerfully suffer for
her child? What will she not endure rather than
be separated from it? Paternity is the pride and
joy of the young, the support, the crown, the con
solation of the aged,
Ellen's heart throbbed proudly as she clasped
her child against it; but if he was indisposed she
tremble,( lest he should die before his father herd
looked upon him. Oh, the workings of a mother's
heart!
At last, towards the close of the long, uncom
fortable, anxious winter, as she sat beside the cra
dle of her boy,busily employed in making clothing
fur the army, at which business many women sup.
ported themselves and families, the silence of the
late evening hour was broken by a footstep, and a
knock at the door made her heart bound tumultu
ously. Sbe turned a glance of wild hope towards
the door as she bade the applicant enter. It was
her husband! She sprang into his arms; she clung
franticly to him; she wept in the fulness of her soul;
for her emotions could find no other Utterance. He
trembled as he strained her to his breast. It was
a moment of pure happiness to be treasured in the
spirit's memories forever. At length Ellen loosed
her hold, and presented to the father his first born
child, the joyous, beautiful, innocent. He clasped
it tenderly, and es he pressed its little cheek to his
lips the big tears full on its face. He looked at the
almost empty rooms and sighed deeply. "Oh, El
len!" he said,tt'is this our wily home? and even '
this nut our own? and these few poor articles of
furniture all our property? Curse on the souls of
the mad crew who plundered and burnt our own
happy home%
"Oh no, Dud!, do not curse them; it was war,"
said Ellin; and she turned pale as she marked the
bitter expression of her husband's haggard coun
tenunce.
He was lean and pale, and his clothes
were poor and much worn, and now, for the first
time, the thought struck her that his return could
not restore all the comforts and affluence she once
enjoyed with him. He was worn, and weary, and
destitute; and he seemed low-spirited. She exer
ted herself, roused her fire, set before him a warm
and comfortable supper, conversed cheerfully,mere
ly mentioning her sorrows and sufferings, and ex
patiating on the mercies of Heaven and the benevo
lence of friends which had enabled her to subsist
comfortably.
Dudley saitbbut little, and when, after supper,
he retired to bed, she knelt, and with streaming
tears, entreated the God of mercy to pour consola
tion on his evidently drooping spirit, and still to
support them and graciously remember their neces
sities. She poured out her soul with weeping to
her Almighty friend, for she saw that her husband
Was not as he used to ho in their days . of affluence
and peace, and she felt more than ever the need of
Divine assistance. But her present supplication
brought not at this time its accustomed answer of
consolation. A heavy, boiling sorrow seemed to
press down her spirit. She rose and stood by her
husband's bedside. His sleep was disturbed and
uneasy, and she fancied that the ferocious scenes
through which ho had recently passed had stamp- ,
4 0_114.e,fihrrissiciipun, his features, and who ,wept
as if Idle had lost him forever. But there came a
beam of consolation—it was only fatigue and the
destitute circumstances in which he had found her
that had overcome' his weakened and excited spirits
—he would be himself agoin when a few days of
rest and affectionate care had restored him. She
passed the rest of the night in preparing him a
clean and comfortable change of apparel, and only
lay down as the day dawned to snatch an hour's
slumber. She arose, recruited her fire, and set
breakfast in the best possible style upon the table,
and as soon as she found that he was awake, ad
dressed him with cheerful affection, presented his
clean clothing, and desired him to rise and partake
of their wholesome fare. He arose, but hot cheer
fully—he surveyed his homely hapiliments with an
air of scorn, and sat down at the table with a this.
contented countenance. • She endeavored to cheer
him, and to engage him in conversation, exhibited,
with all a mother's pride, the infantile beauty and I
activity of his child.
"What do you call the boy?" ho inquired.
"I thought if you approved . it," she answered,
"to name him after my brother; Henry Peirey."
"Oh, Henry," cried Carlton, "I would to God
we had died together!"
"Is it possible you can speak so, my husband?"
cried Ellen. '.O think of your wife and child!—
Would you have us wholly desolate?"
"You are already desolate;" he answered. "What
can I do for you? We are destitute of every thing,
and I have no means of procuring even bread. I
had rather sleep in the grave than live to witness
your poverty and degradation."
"Degradation!" said Ellen; "we need not be de
graded. Wo can labor; and labor is no reproach
to Americans. I have been sustkined in your eh
sence, and surely, if we do our best, wo can trust
our heavenly Father for all else."
Carlton made no reply, but sighed deeply again
and again. Ellen's heart swelled painfully within
her bosom; but she checked its heavy throbs and
kept up the semblance of content.
'Ellen!' said Carlton,at length, 'have you no pride
or feeling, that you bend thus quietly to poverty?"
"It is my pride ; Dudley, to support myself under
any circumstances. It is a false dignity that de
pends upon pecuniary circumstances. The truly
noble man or woman is independent of fortune—
alike serene and tranquil in her smile or frown. I
have always thought that the person who was
greatly elevated or depressed by changing circum
stances, possessed a weak or little mind. Can the
food we eat, or the habiliments we wear, have any
effect upon our immortal spirits? Are they not
always the same—possessed of the same treasures
of knowledge, benevolence, and love, in prosperity
or adversity? Do I not feel at my heart,my heart's
centre that Dudley Carlton is the same in those
humble weed; that he was in the most elegant at
tire! Oh yes! the same, and even dearer to me
than ever!" and she clasped his hand to her lips as
she spoke.
He pressed her to his bosom. will endeavor
to ho the same," ho said hurriedly, and rising, left
the room.
[TO DE CONCLUDED NEXT WEEK.]
A WIFe6 Poirrrs--A wife should have
nine qualifications which begin with the let
ter P., viz: Prettiness, Precision, Prudence,'
Penetration, Perseverance, Piety, Patience,
Politeness and Portion. That which should
be first ofaliand.most ofall in consideration
is novi-n-dsys last of all; and" that which
should tie,last of all in consideration, which
is portion, is now become first of all, most
dell, and with some all mail!.
as aaaticb
FROM TAR LUTREIT•If ()MARITZA.
THOUGHTS ON THE DEATH OF A
Now sing, 0 muse, in mournful strain
Another Gad event of time,
Send forth tby plaintive voice again
And tell the tale in tuneful.rhyme.
I had a friend, a faithful friend,
With whom my soul did much commune,
And oft in ties which nought could rend
We tasted friendship's precious boon.
Six months ago I saw him last,
And gave to him rho parting hand,
Butliule thought that wo had passed
Our final words in mercy's land.
It's true, our bosoms heaved with sighs,
Ourtongues were mutely locked in tears;
But Hover did the thought arise
That death thus soon would end our years
But eh' how soon our hopes are gone!
How short and few our days below!
How swift resistless death can COlllO
And give our lives the mortal blow.
Dear friend! I could not see thee more,
Among the living in the land,
My troubled breast is wounded sore
Thati no more could press thy hand. .
Upon this verdant spot I weep
Where I am told thy dust is laid,
But can not o'er the distance sweep
Which ruthless death between.us made.
Farewell, beloved friend farewell!
Thy happy soul has gone on high,
And oh! could some fair spirit tell
What joys thou hest beyond the sky!
But I am still a pilgrim hero,
Forsaken in a world of woo,
My soul harrassed with frequent fea;
Which in such soil must always grow.
But yet there is n pleasing hope
Which sweetly woos my troubled breast;
Although in toil my way I grope, .
I'll soon with thee enjoy sweat rest.
Now then I'll cease my tears to shed
- On this, the cold and' silent grave;
For soon, I hope where thou host fled,
My soul in seas of bliss to lave.
Take then this tribute of my love,
Which here at eve I lonely pay;
must awhile below yet rove
But can not make a long delay. •
A SNAKE STORY.—We were informed the
other day, from a respectable source, that a
rattle•snake was killed near Myer's urnace
on Clarion river, Venango county, measur
ing thirty•flve feet in length and nearly the
thickness of a common flour barrel, and had
two feet of rattles. What a whizzing it
must have made in the brush.
A friend at our elbow observes that this is
not quite as large as a Black snake lately
seen on the Erie extension of the Pennsyl-
vania canal,which wrnpped itselfthree times
around one of the shantees and carried it off,
but fortunately no person in tt.--But. Rcp.
MISTAKES.—The mistakes of Layman are
like the errors of a pock-watch; but when a Cler
gyman errs, it is like the town clock going wrong
—it misleads a multitude!
REVMSED.—The papers have so long
amused themselves with notices of tall men,
that bipeds of that class are pretty much used
up. Next comes the short ones. We have
heard of a man so short that he cold'ut reach
high enough to button his own jacket.
Mr. Sterling, of York, Pa. who stated that
he had been fobbed of SIB,OOO, we learn
from the Miners' Journal, has been arrested
at Reading, Pa. charged with swindling.
From the New York Express.
allaj..Downing to his Fellow
Citizens.
Attention all creation I—eyes right !
face front I=Maj. Downing, just returned
from foreign ports, addresses you on "great
and weighty matters." „The "big guns" of
Biddle, Hamilton, Adams, Tallmadge, and
others, having been discharged, it is now of
high importance to know what the illustri.
ous. Major has to say.
The Major promises in his next to take
up the subject of the currency, and to go to
work in earnest to do his best toward put
ting things in order again. In one of his
conversations the other day, it is reported
that he said there was but one honest polit
ical party- in this or any other country, and
that he would in good time demonstrate this.
Nous verrona, the Major now can parley
rota Flinch we dare say, having returned
from' his travels in foreign parts.
MARINE PAVILION,I,CRAWAY, L. I.
Aug. 1r), 1837, in eight of the
wreck of the Two Ponies.
To the People of the U. States of North
America IN GENERAL, and to the great
DeMocratic Family IN PARTICULAR.
FELLOW-CITIZENS:—You have all by
this time heard tell of my return to my na
tive land, after an absence now of over two
years this grass, and how nigh I came rest.
ing my bones along with the "Two Potties"
on this beaCh, and all mainly , owin to a
notion that Capt. Jumper took, that he was
more knowin than other folks about his lat
itude and longitude and soundins, and. to
wind up all, was willing, right or wrong, "to
take the responsibility." Well, the long
and short of the matter is, the "Two Pot
ties" went ashore, and there she lies now,
right ofr and on the house 1 am now in, and
as I am in pretty good keepin here,. I mean
to stick by and wait for the high tides of
September next, and see if there is any
hopes of getting this vessel off. I don't in.
tend to quit so long as two sticks of timber
of this vessel hangs together. I know she
is worth savin. and if we can't saveall, we
can save part; jest enutl to preeene..,he
~JDII;IIa4Qo
FRIEND
[vox.. Ba. NO'
model, for 'there ain't'sicW.ll..'`4 . '• ;• - '
afloat or on shore in all thiriereaftaf'•
• 401. ,' 4- - -
..,,
In the antral course of thinge, 4
1 .. , i
that, seem it's now motee:ihiAtt` s
; 7 ti
since I wrote my list-lettet.freitp, ,1
~,`.
my old friend Mr. Dwightithitr. .I._'
tell what I have been about i Willa ::.:" - e;-,
be a long story-=too long tio'bit';' ' r
ge
nothing, and I have no time noirlo
. 041411 7 1 :.,,','
if I once begun - it—l'll leaYe, thatiflt!tifilfil
through more important matterti.; , !iligd m,:it.P,
intend writing any - thing till the "Tritit,SPV
lies" was off and safe afloat igiiiii.lifiC,•,
seeing that all the great folks are
writing private letters for - publicattaaiq
thought it wag high time to, begin;'cidlifytA
doing so, as the Globe says of my,eld file*.i...
the Gineral's letter, "dash it off intiMbrikl4
bold hand of the venerable , chief, etitOrt#,:•,!.:,
the slightest care of purictuatingtir4Tio* , J
ing, ate. . ax
• --., . • ..*,t , VA
When I left home the hat • time, mini, 1•
way to Fronce,- to aid in keeping tftinpito::
right there, I sat down at the.stern 'ortoit:;:
"Two Pollies," and , kept my eye en,iti4...". -
.tive hills till the top of the highest ernts m,y witio:
loot in in a fog cloud that hung oveitit.;
then began to feel considerably_ wapiti. ,
crop'd and could not help., thinkia.- of the .._
time when I weed boy, and when the gteat.:,.. - .'
platter of login dumpling stood smokint,oo'; :'„
the table, and the family taking chairs .. 4•:
round it, and jest thee my good olciniodier 4 ,-
calling out, "you Jonny, my goo, them.p4t r , i
gy cattle are in the corn-field again—run, ,
my boy. and turn 'em out," and away 4'd 7 .,
scud, and whilst running, I • would: keeii - ! : ,
thinking of them dumplins, what changes
might take place among 'em afore I,goks:
back 'Kin, and, in fact, whether thera woulit •.2
be any left at all by the time I got back..—.'
And jest so it was this time ; there wer,emyl,
native hills,' all smoking in the dietruice,;. ,
jest like a row of hot dumplins, and lOw •
off to keep an eye on them Frenchmenv
_.'.
what changes, thinks I, will, trate,44aert-'
among them hills atom I-,git back to thenAr.,,_
.
I don't want to underrate dumpline; for I•••
lived on 'em nigh half my life,.bat„,lheilet,: ::-.
say, if any man who wants to know - toer?
much dearer to him is his native lallg thin., •
any thing else is all creation, let him statr,.
on the stem of a vessel going away, from .'em-' ...
at the rate of ten miles an hour,easee 5ent5.,%....,'
go down out of sight in a fog bank,:and ifhtt;
don't then feel considerably atteaked, de...• '
pend on't he haint got a country worth ,
returning to. In such a time a man klibiat. , : ,
how to feel for his country--his:hall' • coatf.•:'. •,
try, and nothing but his country. 'Telkio7 -
him then about party polities, and aeeliCer .',_ •
small, and mean, and contemptible all'itie '
little nasty dirty differences of party squali.t
~'
bles appear.—Whig, Tory, Bank,. - Anti..::
Bank, Hard . Currency, Paper Currency,;'- ,"
Loco Foco, Aristocracy, Democracy,•Jatik.'
sea, Benton, Van Buren, Kindle, Nigge4 7. _
Anti-Nigger, Monopoly, Anti-Monepoly,' , . •
Tammany and Anti-Tammany, .atutllncle• r
Joshua—all becomes mixed. up like a ball - )--
of ravlios of old stockings, and mint worth '
no more, and this brings us all to the "only'' ;-
point worth thinking abed; and as I'hiiitet , ' '
not time to dress up a long story,' appeali, ~.
to EVERY NATIVE BORN AMERICAN CITIZER, ''''•
(the only class! care to talk to jest now,)•to
think with me—and if I am net rightilet
them tell me where and how I am, atrong:--7J-.'''-
I have now seen all countries except China
and the. Sandwich Islands and a sniall part
of Russia—and I can say that I• have-seen •'.
no 'country and no people that can hold 4 - -,
candle to us—and all that is wanting on iiiii',
part is to feel and to act—and that is for ', .
every man who has got the rale grit in' him'
to unshackle himself (mm all-nasty Patti , ''' '
prejudices—and look to the good - or , his': : :
country, as he would to his own good and'- ' ' " '
that of his family and children.. • • -::''''.
In some countries where I have been, the
will or wish of one man is the,law of tlief": ; '
land—when he whistles, he says let nOdne
bark. Is it to be so with us ? Are we an
independent and free people, and yet to be'' ' '
whistled into the traces and fancies of'any - c '
man or set of men 7 1 for one , won't—l'll:
see
we any man or set or men, or any other ..
man —in Kamscatka firet. ' Well,
what is the puzzle now before us? We arefi`
all at odds_ and ends. PARTY-•4hat '
selfish deceitful monster has been at work,' and
twisted us into , a snarl, and it is our business
to untwist it—wind off the best part era for ,
our own use, and throw the rest to the dev.
it where it came froirc—along with these
who wickedly strive to draw lines between'
the people and set one clues up agin another,
just to serve their own party purposes.' '
It would be a useless task for me to at.
tempt to go into all the causes, why an
wherefore, to show how we got, into the`
scrape we are now in—it is enuff to kno*'
we are in a scrape, and I don't know a shert..,
er way to explain it, than to say, that = if n'
farmer wants to see his farm well tilled he
won't take a watchmaker total it=if ii hat.,
maker, or a shoe.maker, or a najl•maker, or
a carpenter,
,or a mason, or "any kind of
manufacturer, wants good worknien to assist . ,
him; he won't employ persons that don't'
know any thing about the trade. . - A ship;: s ,
builder won't employ a hatter or 'rnagoo.ccf„,. '. %.;
aid him in building a iiiip, and wistiy;wer l ;'. . ‘..
sa. Some folks can kill Ingias and:,ltitan =
manage fibances 7 -every man to but ttikdb o ti, , ,
there is a trade and calling for etatifikkin
—hut if is the course'of party tlatinikelejtall • '
,
a tinker says he can cut a east betteirVititi",,
a tailor, it would not be etainge Masotti pt. • ,-,
us had a tin kettle tied to the ttitis!:4oo i
~.„ , 1
coat flaps—and so it is kr titatteii44,4
importance. But what grttit 801)11144ra" .....
with Me, is to see somefolkawheitaett Mesa "s t-'
put into high offices fiy 7- olthn..reerciu ---------1- ",...* - -- ,-- -
and paid by us out of ourassunipt.loo4 . .... '
five thousand dollars aOa
, t
-.
._.
dollats a-day, besides hot** mit ' -
olippiage,7:tura outnl te 11i 4
llit•Alpg .5„,
, :-:; . .- , 7 - ;•.: . :`;'a
.'f,-I.!ii:;,•l;i,.'_;l,
Rho
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