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VOLUME 11. |
BY C. R. IIANLEITER.
P®ET K 7 -
LAMENT.
Thou s’.id;sl on, oil glimmering sircam,
Thou inuraiurest on as ever !
Bot the heart most clear no more is here
Forever and forever.
No more—l hear it in the pines
That moan with sullen roar —
Those stars shall shine in eyes of thine
No more--oh never more !
Grieve on, sad autumn wind, grieve on 1
.She lie ill the grass beneath,
I make my moan by her grave alone,
For the violets have her breath.
0:i lonely night loh wandering at -n,n 1
[Jave ye no word lor me ?
Oh love and sorrow ! oh day and morrow 1
Must ye forever be ?
;L ■
A MATCH FOR the MATCH-MAKER.
BY FRANCES S. OSGOOD.
The blessings of die skies all awai a boat her;
Jh ahli, grace, inimitable beauty wreathed
Round every motion : On her lip the r so
Has left its sweetness —(For what bee to kiss ?)
And from the darkening heaven of her eyes
A starry spirit loots ouli Cmitba I, ivo ?
Baksv Cokxwalu.
CHATTER I.
It was the misfortune of Eleanor How
ard to have no pmiector l>t l l a manceuver
ing -.mnt, ami a great misfortune it is to a
girl so sensitive, so high-souled as wits our
heroine. Mrs. Howard, herself a leader of
the ton, wns determined her niece should
mike a brilliant match, and she spared no
pins to bring it about; hut the more she*
tried to show her off, the more she kept her
on ; for Eleanor was a git! of spirit as well
as delicacy, and though her aunt hid man
aged repeatedly, hy dint of the most dainty
manoeuvres, the most skillful get tiera!sliip, to
bring an “ eligible” to her feet, Eleanor,
with a quiet dignity peculiar to herself, in
vaiiahly hade them rise, and gave them to
understand that they had mistaken them
selves and her.
Mrs. Howard was in despair ; not that ,
Eleanor was a harden to her—by no means i
,'ihe was no dependant —she had a little iti
enme of her own ; and was moreover a gay
am] charming companion for the sometimes
lonely widow.
But the lady flattered herself she had a
natural talent —she certainly had a natural
itsle —for match making. Indeed she had
never known it to tail before. She had
married off three nieces in as many years,
neither of them half so interesting ns Elean
or, and she was more vexed at her want of
success in this instance than she chose to
avmv.
Toe men were astounded, the women
amazed and incredulous. Both saw through
the designs of the aun*, and half suspected
the niece of partaking them, until her re
peated refusals of rank, wealth and fashion
convinced them in spite of their spite to the
contrary.
CHAPTER It.
In the mean time, Eleanor chatted and
laughed, and sang and danced as gaily and
sweetly as ever, and looked as bewitching
r.s possible, and did every thing she could to
please her indulgent aunt, except —“ the
one thing needful.” She would worn ...1
her dresses clasped at the throat—though
her neck had the dazzling tint of alabaster
—site would sing her gayest songs when
she ought to have sung the most tender ones;
and she would smile just as enchant ngly on
a penniless poet as on a haughty millionaire.
\V|,at was to he done with the proud ano
willful maiden 1 Was she looking for a
coronet I We shall see.
About this time an English nobleman ar
rived in New York, and a succession of
Puties were given in his honor hv the dlite
of the city. Rich, elegant and fascinating,
lie was caressed and flattered hy mammas,
ami smiled and blushed at by daughters, till
his handsome head was almost tinned.
Xow!” said the mint, “ if I can only
iuing him to the point, I am sure het.
She must he mat hie to resist him.” And
o she laid her plans; hut unfortunately for
her, Lord F had laid his plans also.—
He had his “mind’s eye” wide open, nl
tlmiigh he pretended for the joke’s sake to
have" 1 it shut; he saw at n glance her aim.
and believed that the charming Eleanor,
with all her pretended nonchalance, shared
in ii fully. He fancied them both fair game,
ami resolved to amuse himself with, to use
his own words. “ their absurd expecta
tions.” And Eleanor thought it perfectly
natural, this youthful love of amusement —
she liked a joke herself, and had not the
lightest objection to the gentleman having
his; hut not at her expense, oil no! So
s hc. ion, laid her plans.
“ My dear aunt,” she said one morning,
coaxitigly, and with a demure archness of
manner, which rather puzzled the person
addressed ; “ inv dear aunt, leave this one
to me.”
” 1 do not understand you, child !
“ Let vie. manoeuvre this time. 1 prom
's to succeed. He shall propose in six
months. Please, aunt ?”
II You arc a saucy girl, to intimate that 1
have ever manoeuvred —but have your own
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way—l give it up, ’ and, with an approving
smile that quite contradicted her first words,
Mrs. Howard continued to herself, exulting
lv, “ 1 he biul is caged at last !”
CHAPTER 111.
i Left to herself, unrestrained by her aunt’s
j smveillance—hy cautions, hints and praises
! —utihtimilialed hy the consciousness of be
i big nightly “ shown off,” Eleanor was mote
! enchanting, more lovely than ever. If ever
| a delicate touch of coquetry was excusable
j in any case, it certainly was in this. Lord
i I* was caught in his own net, ere he
was aware of his danger. Now with a
proud and almost imperial dignity repelling
his advances, and now with sportive playful
ness replying to them—at one time sad,
shrinking and sensitive, at another joyous
ami fiank as a child, Eleanor, with exqui
site tact, outmanoeuvred her aunt and her
lover at once, without in the least compro
mising her ma’.deti delicacy ; for she never
for a moment gave what any one hut a very
vain man would have dated to call cncour
l agement to his devotion.
Yes ! Lord F was caught in his own
net, as he deserved to he, and he had no al
| tentative hut to lay his hand, heart and for-
I tunc at her feet.
Eleanor listened in tranquil silence til! ho
j had finished, and then, calmly adjusting a
I bracelet on her arm, told him very gravely
1 that she had made a resolution never to
marry a title.
Lord F looked at her in profound
j amazement, and it required all her self-pos
( session to subdue the smile which was try
ing to play round her lips. After a few
moments’ pause lie resumed, with a half
suppressed sigh at his own magnanimity.
“And if, for your sweet sake, dealest,
j loveliest ! I renounce my title, then 1”
“Oh! Then I should be exceedingly
l obliged to you ; but the truth is, 1 have sol
: emtilv determined never to manv a man of
) wealth.”
Lord F was confounded. His very
i eyebrows “ rose to reply.” But he con
j queied once more his dismay and siuprise,
; and, gazing passionately on her beautiful
; downcast face, where the rosy light of love
! seemed dawning into day, exclaimed with
I renewed fervor,
“ And what are riches in comparison with
j you —with your love, my treasure ? Hence
| forth I am penniless if that will please you.
| I will endow hospitals, churches, universi
ties, asylums, poor-houses, notaries. I will
do any thing you wish !”
Eleanor began to he alarmed. “\\ hat
am Ito do with him V’ she said to herself
—“ whoever heaid of such an accommoda
ting man ? It is very vexatious !” And
then her conscience reproached her a little,
1 and. touched hy the ready generosity of her
lover, hot eyes filled with tears of self-re
proach ; hut a timely recollection of his
supercilious manner on their first acquaint
ance restored her native pride, and, smiling
through her tears, she replied,
j “ I thank your lordship for your prefer
! once of myself to so many more worthy of
you in rank and fortune; l app eciute yout
! disinterestedness and grieve for your disap
pointment, hut—”
His eyes flashed impatiently. “ But
what, Miss Howard ?”
“I have made a vow never to unite my
self to a foreigner on any account whatev
er.”
The Englishman sprung to his feet and
| left the house in a rage. It was too had—
| was it not ? IJis title, his wealth, his biitli
! place, all of which would have been so ,na
’ uv passpoits to the favor of most young la
dies in her situation, were here used posi
tively as reasons for declining his addresses!
It was indeed too bad.
CHATTER IV.
Th” truth is, Eleanor loved, devotedly,
J fondly, but iri secret, a young .Southerner, a
| Georgian, who had appeared in New York
about the same time with Lord F . And
i to conceal this love she assumed a gayety,
j a dainty and refined coquetry of manner
I which was intended to deceive, not only the
I- object of her affection, but all'the fushiona
! ble world beside.
j Ernest Cutbbert was the only person, in
J the circle of her acquaintance, who thor
oughly understood and appreciated the no
j hie and proud natuie of our heroine. He
i read her soul like a book—a rich and rate
’ missal which was locked to all but him. —
! It was the magic key of sympathy which
I thus revealed to him the lights and shadows,
; the deep and mysterious harmony of her
J high-toned character. He loved her with
I all the fervor and earnest enthusiasm of a
i young and passionate heat t. and sometimes
I he fancied that she returned his love. He
I perceived that she was humbled and vexed
by her aunt’s constant endeavors to make
j her display her graces and accomplish
merits; lie admired her sensitive pride, ami
he let her see that he felt with her ami fin
her.
And now Mrs. Howard, driven to des
| peration hy Eleanor’s refusal of Lord
| [<’ ( renewed her dibits with redoubled
! vigilcnce. Ernest Cutbbert was one of the
j first matches in the country —she must on
| no account let him slip through the toils pro
| pared for him.
“ Eleanor, love, I have told Florwtte to
take out your embroidered satin dress and
the diamond spray tor your Loir. You
know young Cuthhert will be of the party.”
MADISON, MORGAN COUNTY, GEORGIA. FRIDAY MORNING, JANUARY 19, 1844.
Half an lion t afterward, “Eleanor, love”
, entered the drawing-room, in a plain white
1 rMie of linen cambric, with her graceful
! hair simple, almost carelessly art tinged, and
I without a si ll o]<. ornament. But she look
ed so hesriti liingly beautiful, with the blush
I coining and going <m her cheek, and the
half tearful smile in her eloquent eyes, that
I her aunt could not find it in her heart to
scold.
“ Eleanor, dear, sing Ml. Cutbbert that
[ song you composed yourself. It is so touch
! ing ! Let me see, what is the first line ?
! 1 My heait is like a— ’”
“ Eleanor, dear” spoitively drowned her
aunt’s and her voice too in a spirited waltz,
I and then began to sing the gayest and least
sentimental song she could think of.
j “ 1 see you aie detet mined,” said Cutli
-Ibbet, smiling as he leaned over the iustru
| meiit.
“ Determined on what, Mr. Cutbbert ?”
j “To make me lespocl even more tl an I
| love you, if that can be !” be whispered
1 passionately, forgetting, iti the entranee
inent of the moment ntul in the charm of her
presence, that he had chosen a very awk
i ward time and place for a declaration.
Involuntarily Eleanor raised her eyes,
I filled with tears of blended sorrow and de
light, to his face : the l ext moment she
! smiled, shook her head playfully, and Itiiish-
J ed the song.
CHAPTER V.
“ ”'T it is the matter, Nelly,” said her
’ aunt, the next morning as they sat together
: in the library; “you have neither smiled
nor sung today! I <lo believe you are in
love at last.”
I Eleanor had been silting for half an hour
j with her graceful haru] over her eyes, and
j she did not remove it as she answered in a
I low, faltering voice,
j “ Dear aunt, lam not quite well to-day.
“ But 1 know by your voice you are cry
ing, Nell. Tell me what troubles you.”
j “ Mr. Cutiibert, ma’am !” said a servant,
j opening the door ; “shall I show him in !’
i “ Yes, John ceitaitily > and, .Tulin, order
1 niv carriage round directly. Can Ido any
i thing for you, Eleanor i iam going to
! simp.”
Eleanor did not hear her. The carriage
j c one, Mrs. Howard departed, and the lov
! ers were left alone.
“ And now, my poor Eleanor, now you
i must say ‘ ves.’ There is no chance of es
i cape this time. You love him and he wot
-1 shins you. Bea good child now, and don’t
make a fuss about it.”
■ And Ernest told his love with all the el
-1 oquence ofwbii hhe was master. There was
I no reply. The hand was still over the eyes
that he wanted so much to look into, and in
j trying to withdraw it he discovered that she
I was weeping.
“ Teats, Eleanor ! and for me ! Speak
to me, dearest ! Do not keep me thus in
’ suspense. Once more, will vou he mine V’
j “No !”
Cuthhert started as if a thunderbolt had
| fallen at his feet—though her voice was
seas rely audible.
*• No, Eleamw ! What does this mean ?
I feel that you love mi—”
Eleanor sobbed passionately.
“ Are you lesolvotl not to have me ]”
“1 am!” This time the tone was distinct
and firm.
“ Then, Miss Howuifl. I must uish you
a vet v o.md morning.” and with a stately
stc]> lie left t! le rtmm.
And the p: ud maiden, pressing her
‘ hands •• ■nuiis'vclv on her heait, listened to
hi -i eci diiM; f <otsteps atul murinured. “Dear,
dear Ernest ! ’1 hank God it is over !”
Before Ernest had walked the length of
j one square from the house, anew light
flashed upon his mind. “That’s it hy Hea
ven ! She is a noble creature, and sin* shall
he mine yet, if misfortune can make her
1 SO.
“ What, he too!” exclaimed her aunt
and the wotlil tlie next day when they heard
I the news; fin the lover had purposely
j spread it. “ The giil is perfectly possess
I ed!”
CHAPTER Vs
Three months went by atul Eleanor llow
-1 aid, pale, hut still very lovely, was yet seen
! at times, though seldom, in the gay circles
of which she had been once the brightest
j ornament.
j Quo evening, at s musical soiree, she
was turning over some engravings on a ta
! ble, when a lady near her exclaimed to a
’ neighbor, “ Look ! Thete is Mr. Cufhbeit
just entering ! How he lias altered ! How
pule tie looks ! He has just returned from
the South, where lie has been to settle his
affairs. lam toll! that he has lost all of his
! property; that one night in a fit—some say
of derangement, some, of intemperance—
-1 lie staked his whole estate upon a single
throw, and lost! And now he has nothing
to depend upon hut his talents as an an
; thor.”
Eleanor cast one hurried glance toward
the door—Kinest was gazing at her with a
lmik so full of sorrowful interest that she
could not meet his eyes again, and she soon
afterward took her leave, het heart throb
bing with mingled anguish and joy. As
! she passed her lover, she said, in a low, hur
ried tone, inaudible to all but to him. “Let
me see you to-moirow, Ernest!”
i She did not see the glow of happy exul
tation which lighted tip his handsome sea-
tores as she spoke ; for she dared not raise ,
her eves lest si,e should betray her emo- j
t lions to the croud around.
The uiormw came—the aunt and niece j
were again in the library.
” Well, Eleanor.” said Mrs. Howard, j
“so it seems Mr. Cuthbert has lost all bis
1 property.”
“ Yes, Heaven !”
“Thank Heaven ! What a heartless
creature von are, Eleanor ! 1 teally thought
you loved that man.”
! “ And so I did and do ! Oh ! aunt, you
cannot guess how fotidlv, how truly 1 love
him! Would to Heaven he would renew
his proposals—l would not hesitate now to
accept him.”
“ Now ! Penniless, and through his own
imprudence! Yon, who have refused such
offers ! Eleanor Howard, you ate mad !”
“And it wns precisely because they were
1 such offers that 1 did refuse. I have made
1 a vow never to many n rich mao.”
“ But what can have induced you —”
” Mr. Cutlibeit, ma’am. Shall l show
j him in ?” said a sen ant opening the door.
“ Yes, John,” said Mrs. Howard, with a
sigh, and this time she did not older her cut- j
tinge. _
After ti few moment’s rest tin nod <*>n\et- :
sation, Eleanor looked up frankly and brave
ly in her aunt’s face, and said, with a sweet j
and maidenly dignity w hich few could re- j
>l> t , j
“ Aunt, I wish to have n few moments j
conversation, alone, with Mr. Cuthbert.— I
\\ ill you permit it ! ’
“Certainly, niece, of course if you wish ; 1
but ! m-ast say that it is very strange —ve- !
i ty 1”
And the lady sailed out of the room in a
stately pet.
For a moment the young girl’s embar- !
rnssnicnt and agitation overcome her, and 1
she buried her fare in bet bands; hut, re
covering hetsclf, she turned to Ernest and
said, softly,
“ Ei nest, do you love me still ?”
” Love vou ! Oh, Heaven ! too much
—too madly! But lam no longer worthy
of your acceptance. on have heard of
my losses, Misß Howard ; why do you mock i
i me thus ?”
“ Mock you, dear Ernest !” She laid
her little hand timidly in bis, anti with mod
i est (itmness continued,
“ Mr. Cutlibeit, ever since we first met 1 i
ba*e loved you. 1 refused your proposal
hecaust—because—nay, it does not mailer :
j why. But now, if this band and the heait
; that must go with it can console you for
voiii loss, forgive this utiruaideuly boldness
and—take them if you will.”
i She bid her face upon his shoulder, and
Ernest Cutlibeit, with his whole soul in ihe
embrace with which lie held her to his heait,
j bade Heaven bless her fur her truth.
CHAPTER VII.
One morning, a week after the wedding,
as,Mis. Cuthbert was sitting at work in her
simplv furnished epaitment, and her hus
band preparing to go out, a middle aged
1 gentleman, will? a benevolent aspect, enter
ed tlie loom, and, walking straight up to
tin* bride, kissed her gravely on both cheeks.
1 For a moment she was confounded, but see
ing Ernest smile at her surprise, she said,
laughingly,” Ah ! 7 know—it is your kind,
generous uncle, whom you have talked so
nme i about !” and she welcomed him w ith
such graceful cordiality that bis heart was
| won at once.
“ And now,” said he, after a little pleas- |
ant chat, “ 1 have a story to tell you both, !
so sit down, nephew, and listen.
” About six months since, I met, one
morning, a young man rushing impetuously
round Washington Square. He grasped
inv hand as he passed, exclaiming, * Don’t
stop me now—l am in a despeiate butry.’
‘So I should suppose,’said 1. On he went,
and 1 turned and followed him—ho entered
a gaming-house, 1 was astonished. It was
; ihe first time in his life, and I knew that
something of consequence must have oc
culted to induce bim to take such a step. —
I followed urq.-eiceived. lie ascended the
stairs. 1 burrowed, a common cloak and a
large hat from a waiter, slouched the latter
over niv eyes, and, thus disguised, criteietL,
the loom above. 1 sow that lie was bent
on high pinv, and 1 determined to be his
j opponent. By a little management 1 gain
ed tnv object.”
“ Uncle 1” exclaimed Ernest, “ was it in
deed you ?”
‘Be quiet, sir, and bear me out ! He
was evidently desperate, and determined to
risk all in the contest, lie played with the
strongest recklessness —1 knew not wliut to
make of him. 1 have since heard that a lit
tle, self-willed, romantic girl, who hud turn
ed his head and her own too with her sen
timental nonsense, had refused him for a
most absurd reason—you will hardly be
lieve it, Mrs. Cuthbert —you, who appeal to
be such a sensible and rational woman.”
“ And what was it ?” asked Eleanor,
blushing and laughing at the look of comi
cal meaning he favored her with.
“Oh ! lie was too rich, she said, and so
ho adopted the shortest means he could
| think of to rid himself of liis troublesome
estate. 1 won it all for him before he Ijad
been seated ten minutes. lie looked quite
/ relieved when rny throw decided against
him, us it a load hail been taken off Ins
liwait, and, seizing my hand, he thanked
me with as much politeness and warmth ns
if Iliad made him a valuable present.”
“ Oli, Ernest ! Ob, uncle !” f ‘
” Hold your tongue, you gipsy ! I will
be lieaid. I bnVe now come to restore hijn
[ tlie deeds, which were immediately made
over to riie under a feigned name, and “
wash my hands of the whole ridiculous t f
fair.” _ A ‘
Ernest embraced bis uncle in silent grat
itude, and Eleanor pouting, amidst tea *s
and smiles, declared that she was cheated,
j betrayed, that she would not suhm t to an h
j a shameful imposition, that site would ba’ e
| a div—: but liete her vehement protest a
j lions were stopped by a kiss from Erne if,
while tlie good uncle laughed and rubbl’d
| his hands and swore that she was the mi st
j amusing woman lie e'er saw in his life.
I p©lLo7 OOA L a
From the Richmond Wiiig.l
j A LETTER FROM MR. RIVES. I
t The follow ing letfei from the Hon, W il--
; Jiiim C. Ifives, ns will be seen from its fan*,
was written ton personal and political ftienll
’ in Hanover, but’another gentleman, liavinfc
learned in a conversation with Mr. Rivtjs
that he bad written such a letter, rntitaininc
a full expression of bis views on tlie subjeclt
of the Presidential election, has obtained h
copy of the letter, with permission to hevtt
it published, as the best means of satisfyinJ
nil inquiries and removing all doubts as til
the course Mr. Rives will pursue in the op#
pleaching contest :
Washington, January 1, 1544.
My Dear .Sir : It seems to be now defin-l
itivelv settled that the country is to be cull
1.-d upon to retract the solemn dt cision prof
nouticed by it in 1840 upon the demerits oil
Mr. Van Buren’s administration, and to re-1
stole him to power, without a solitary ntone-l
tnetil for the past or pledge of amendment!
for the futuie. The indications which have!
been given hero, since the assembling of!
Congress, are too significant to be tnisunder-1
stood. The Convention at Baltimore will I
have nothing to do but to legisternnd pro- j
claim the edict of the caucus in the Capitol.
Ir this stati- of things, are we, who have
so. often testified in the face of the world uur
deep and earnest convictions of the fatal and
demoral zing tendencies of Mr.A an Buren -s
whole system of political action, to stand
aside with folded arms, and to shrink into an
inglorious, I had alnio.-.t said, treasonable
neutrality, In cause of some differences of
opinion fit questions of public policy bom
Mr. Clnv, which a wise spiiit of moderation,
ami the recognised arbitrament of the public
will, are daily narrowing in magnitude and
extent ? I humbly think not.
The election of Chief Magistrate of the
Nation is one of those vital processes piovi
ded bv the Constitution of the country fm
the periodical regeneration of our system by
a fresh infusion into it of the elements of
popular health and viituc, in which no good
citizen, unless under circumstances of a very
peculiar character, cat) properly refuse to
take a part, and, to the extent of bis influ
ence and example, a derided and efficient
part. When the vast moral and political in
fluence of tlie office, as well as its direct at
tributes of positive and controlling powei,
are considered, it can never be a matter of
indifference, or even of an equal balance of
countervailing motives of preference or ob
jection, who shall fill it. Tliete is always a
choice; and though the making oft hat choice
may sometimes be embarrassed by conflict
ing considerations, arising out of a want of
entire coincidence of opinion with either of
the opposing candidates, ir is only the more
incumbent on ns todetermine our piefetenee
with care and deliberation, according to the
best lights of our uttders'nndings; and, when
once conscientiously formed, fearlessly and
unhesitatingly to act it out.
In the approaching Presidential contest,
then, we ought not anu we cannot be neutral;
and if, as every thing now indicates is lobe
the case, that contest shall be between Mr.
Van Buren unci Mr. Clay, 1 have as little
hesitation in saving that there is but one line
of action by which we can acquit ourselves
of the full measure of our duty to the coun
; try ; and thu! is, waiving all minor consider
tiuns, to give a manly and determined sup
poit to Mr. Clay in preference to Mr. Van
Buren. For myself, I etui conceive of no
greater calamity to the nation, or deeper dis
credit to the cause and very name of popu
lar government, than t! e re-election of Mr.
Van Buren would be, alter the signal and
! overwhelming majority by which he was so
j recently cl-p< st and fioin power, upon the full
1 eat canvass of his measures, policy, and cun
! duct. *
The host of vindictive passions which fol
: low in the train of restored Governments—
’ the crowds of hungry retainer*, pleading the
j merit of past services, who press forward to
claim the lewuid of their fidelity, or indem
nity for sacrifice!! and losses inclined in the
common cause—the infatuated and pertina
cious attachment to ancient abuses—the ar
! library and self w illcd habits nurtured in the
fmmer possession of power—the commit
ment to favorite but pernicious sebt rues of
policy,’ liave all concurred to give a soit of
proverbial riirroncyto the rematk of a cele
brated Hiiglidi sVatestnan and historian, that
the woist and most dangerous of all rerolu
tiops is a restoration.* i hut all these evils
* .Mr. Fox, in lii llls*>rj* of Janits II.;
■r
j NUMBER 43.
W. T. THOMPSON, EDITOR.
would ln realized Jo the widest extent, and
in their most unmitigated virulence, in the
lest oration of Mr. Van Huron, none can
t)oul>t who have been attentive observers of
tne selfish and vitious system of party policy
exemplified in the creed and conduct of him*
self and his friends, or who*have not forgot
ten that rnemmoble motto of party rapacity,
so boldly emblazoned on the shields of his
chosen followers, which, in proclaiming “ trt
the victors belong the apoils of victory,”
shamelessly pointed to the offices and pub
lic trusts of the country os the rightful plun
der of political waifare.
Hut, to return to the remark I have alrea
dy made. Could any thing inflict a deeper
wound on the cause of republican institutions
than such a spectacle of levity anti ihstnbilw
rr on the part of the constituent body as
stotuld he exhibited in the restoration of Mr.
V m Bureii, afier the overwhelming con.
dvmnation of his administration pronounced
by the almost unanimous electoral voice ot
the country but three sliort years ago ?
Would it not render popular government if
sejf a “ by word and a taunt” among the
nations ? In IS4O the A met'can people, up
on the fullest and most deliberate hearing of
both sides of the political controversy—of
the frier ds as Well as of the opponents of
Mr.Vanßuren—recorded their votes sgainst
him by such a majority us never before sig
nalized the retreat of any minister from pow
er,and was till then utterly unparalleled ami
evfn unapptoached in the histoiy of >ur
I'4‘sidftitiol contest*. Os the Iwentv-six
States composing the Union he received the
votes of hut seven, and all of these (except
one) among the smallest of the Confederacy;
of the 294 votes of the Electoral Colleges
lie Obtained hut GO ; and of the popular suf
frages, a majority of 145,000, out of the free
and enlightened citizens of America who vo
ted in the election, gave in their accumuln
-ted verdict against him. And yet, in the
face of this solemn finding of the gieat in
quest of the body of the nation—while the
echo of the general voice which pronounced
it has not yet died upon flic ear—a bold at
tempt is made to induce the people to take
hack their own sell led juid well cmuuxLsrad
i judgment,and,in elevating again to the high
lest office of the Republic the individual
lwbom they had so recently and delihctalely
deposed, pronounce a flagrant sentcrceTf
stuliifii aiii a and incompetence upon them
selves. 1 know not in what light other miito
may v'cw such a proceeding; hut to me it
seems a contemptuous sporting with the
sovereign constituency of the country —a
sheer mockery and insult to the public in
telligence.
And by what means is Mr. Van Burro to
be again presented as the legitimate and
anointed candidate of the Democratic party?
Not certainly by the will of the great body
of the party, who, we have every reason to
believe, deprecate and deplore the madness
and folly of the act, but by the secret anil
invisible agency of self-constituted conclave*
and caucuses, controlled with absolute sway
by a few bold and adroit political managers.
I run no risk in saying that if the individuals
composing the party throughout the Union
could be interrogated, upon their voir dire,
to say whom they would prefer rs the Pres
idential nominee of the patty, three-fourths
of them at least, and probably a far larger
propoition, would uuliesitatingly declare’
their preference for some new candidate.—
And yet, in utter contempt of the popular
sentiment of the party, and disdainfully re
jecting the o:.ly equitable as well ns practi
cable mode of at riving at the will of the ma
jority through the medium of a fair, equal,
and uniform popular representation in the
nominating Convention, the fiiends of Mr.
Van Buren (holding on to the old machinery
of party discipline and subordination, deriv
ed to litem from the cunning order of the
Jesuits through the bloody Jacobinical Clulw
of Revolutionary Fiance, by which one or
two active spiliis ore enuLled to suppress
the will and control tlie movements of vast
and entire bodies of men) imperiously de
clare that he, and he only, shall be the can
didate of the party. Is it not time that honor
able and patiiotic men, us they respect the
dignity of their own characters, the privi
leges of freemen, and the sacred principles
of Kepublican Government, should unite ill
one generous and virtuous straggle to over -
throw, effectually and forever, the tyranny
of a system which, if now submitted to, must
finally ciniveit our noble popular institutions
into the worst of all dominations—that of all
unsctupulous and sordid party oligaichy.
And what are the wise and benignant
measures of administrative policy w hich are
promised ns as the fruits of Mr. Van Buien’a
restoration ? A return to the glories and
blessings of the sub-Treasury system—a te
newod war upon the currency, commerce,
and business of the country ! Just at the
moment when, by the were fact of the w ith
drawal of the hostility of the Government,
and that vis mvdicatrix natural which is in
herent in the energies of a fiee, entetpi isiug
and industrious people, all the business pur
suits of the nation me regaining their pros
peiity and activity, tiud the currency and ex
changes of the country are finding their prop
er and tiHtuial level, every thing ia to ho
replunged into a chaos of wild and pernici
ous experiments, simply to signalize a tc
uiutseless party tiiuniph, in the consumma
tion of a measure openly at war with cveiy
great practical interest of the community.-..
And to this would he added, by a natural
and necessary Connexion, all that long traits