Newspaper Page Text
VOLUME 11. j
Iff C. R. HANLEITER.
IP © E T ® ¥ ■
WOMAN.
BY wn.LI.IM LE.jGETT.
N.i star in yonder sky that siiinrs
Cnn lighi like woman’s eye impart,
Tlie eariii bolus not in all its mines
A gem so rich as woman’s heart.
Her voice is like the music sweet
p,inreJ “lit from airy harp alone,
Like that when storms more loudly beat,
ll yields a clearer —riclur tone.
And woman's love's a holy light
That brighter burns fur aye.
Years cannot dim its radiance bright,
Nor even falsehood quench its ray.
Bat like the star of Bethlehem
Os old, to Israel's shepherds given,
It marshals with its steady flame
The erring soul of mail to heaven.
TAILE®.
From the New Mirr r.
THE DISCARDED.
It was already three o'clock, P. M., it) the
month of November, 1700, that a party of
f„ur persons might he seen riding swiftly
along the heach, opposite the town of Ston-
Tin; afternoon was cold and gloomy,
t!:e wind blowing almost n gale; the waves,
as they rolled and br.k •with violence upon
tin; heach, seemed threatening, in tvety
receding surge, to sweep off lioth horse
ami rider. The persons mentioned consist
til of three men and one female, the latter
evidently a prisoner. The elder of the par
ty was a stout-built titan, appearently of
s.i:ne sixty years. His doss denoted him
above the common peasantry ; he wore .1
cloak with seai let facings, which, as the
wind blew aside, it could In; seen that he
was armed with sword and pistols. Ilis
1 nieitcnatice was stern, his brow knit until
tlie large eye brows nearly met; and, as be
now atul then glanced upon the female, he
compressed his lips until tin; blood seemed
ready to stair. The two others were much
vomiger, and were appatelled niter the
fashion common to young men of that peri
od, and,liketlu*elder, they were also armed.
The young female, who rode between the
two last-mentioned persons, could not, from
her appearance, be more than eighteen
years of age. ller face was Iho line of
mirble, her eyes downcast, and her whole
heating deep dejection. Her dress was a
dalk tiding habit, listing closely her should
figure, and a small bever-hat and plume.
The voung men kept close to hei side ;
indeed one held tightly her biidle rein,
while the elder personage rode on a few
foot in advance.
Heedless of the wind and the dashing
surf, the party galloped swiftly along. For
sometime not a wind was spoken, until
turning a rocky point, where all further pro
gress seemed impost* ble, and with nothing
to impede the view of the* raging sea ; the
young gill now, for the first time, raised
iiei head, and, in n voice fit terror, demand
ed :
“ Father, dear father, where are we go
ing 1 Where will you take me !”
“ That you will soon know,” replied (ln
person addressed ; then, suddenly reining
in his horse, he said, speaking to the young
men :
“ Here I shall leave you. Remember,
Walter: and you, too, Basil; act no wo
man’s part. As for you,” turning as lie
spoke to the trembling girl, ‘‘take your
father's last words—his curse /”
“ Father, father, curse me not !” she
shrieked, springing from her horse, and
clasping die knoes of the speaker : “ curse
not your child!”
** Off, serpent, off!” ciied the old man,
spurning her with his foot; “ kneel not to
me—think of your poor, distracted mother
—of the disgrace and wretchedness you
have brought upon our once happy fireside !
Again I curse you—yes, may the curse of
an outraged father ever ring in your ears !”
The girl uttered a piercing scream, and
sank senseless upon the sands. For a few
moments her father sternly regarded her
prostrate form; gradually his features te
laxed, he became much agitated, and at
length large tears rolled down his cheeks.
” Oh, my God,” he ejaculated, is it come
to this ! My daughter, my child, my child !”
Stooping down, he imprinted a kiss up
on her marble blow; then, turning to his
sous, he said:
“ Walter, Basil, hear me; forget my
weakness ; remember, this erring child must
nut, shall not, be forgiven ! Yet treat her
kindly; be*not too rough with her gentle
nature. As forme, 1 shall never see her
more 1”
Thus saying, he turned his horse and rode
swiftly away, in the samo direction trom
which they came.
The two young men, in the meanwhile,
appeared totally unmoved by the scene they
had just witnessed; and notwithstanding
their father’s injunctions, were striving, by
no very gentle means, to restore conscious
ness to the unfortunate girl.
11 Pest, she will never come to, as I see, ’
said the otic addressed ns Walter; “one
would think these drenching surges would
bring her back.”
“ Perhaps it were better she should never
revive,” replied the other. “ Minion ! but
‘■fc, she opens her eyes. Come, cotne get
up,” (seizing hor rudely by tbu arm,) “ wc
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have something of a journey vet to go to
night, which may not prove quite so pleas
ing to your fancy as the one you undertook
vviili your Indian lover.”
1 lie git I slowly arose; her face become
the lute of scat let, and, turning her dark
hazel eye upon the youth, she said :
” Basil, is it from you I hear those cruel
words! Do you, too, cast me off! Do
you no longer love me 1”
Lore you,” replied Basil, with a look
of hitter scorn, “love you! No! I hate
you !’’
“ Fie, Basil, for shame,” inlet rnpted Wal
ter; “you are too bad. Remember, our
father told us to treat this wretched <iil with
kindness.”
Dili he, did he !” cried the poor girl.—
BI ess you, Walter, for those words. You,
then, do not hate your poor sister !”
“No, Guity, I do not hale you ; yet still,
for tlie disgrace you have brought upon us,
l could plunge this dagger into your bosom !
But come, Basil; see, the rain is ulieudy
beg inning to fall, and the Bound looks too
rough for our passage.”
“ The more fitting our errand,” replied
Basil. “Neither thunder, rain, or old
Ocean’s sell, though she chafe the verv skies
in herfuty, shall stop me, until this daititv
lady is in senility.”
So saying, and lifting Gaily into the sad
dle, lie seized her bridle-rein, and the par
ty once more galloped rapidly forward for
about a quarter of a rnille. Uete they
halted, and, dismounting, led their houses a
few yards fmm the beach, where they fas
tened them to some rude stakes of what
had probably once been a fisherman's hut.
They next pioceeded to unmoor a small
boat, and then approached Gaily, who,
with pale and alarmed features, had watch
ed their movements.
“ Where will you take me ?” she cried,
recoiling from their approach. “Oh, will
vou drown me ! Alas, 1 ain not fit to
die !”
“ Drown you,” interrupted Basil; “ no,
drowning would he too good for you !
Come, step in;” then rudely pushing her
into the boat, where Walter was already
seated, they put off upon the atigty waters.
The lain, which had been thtcalcuitig
some time, now pound in torrents, while
the wind and waves tossed the fiail balk
like an egg-shell; every sea, as it came rush
ing and roaring down, seemed ready to en
gulf them. After two hours of hard labor
they readied the shore of Fisliei’a Island,
and after some little difficulty effected a
landing. Securing tlie boat, they tlu ti each
seized an arm of their sister, who, speech
less fiom terror, was passive in their hands ;
and, turning from the slime, plunged di
rectly into a hariow path which led into the
inteiiorof the island; now lifting Gaity in
their arms over tangled heaps of under
brush, or pulling her swiftly foiward over
the level ground. In this manner they pro
ceeded for neatly an hour; at length they
stopped. Here, on the bonleis of a thick
forest stood a solitary house ; it was evident
ly much decayed, part of the inof had fal
len in, and some of the windows appeal ed
to have been newly hoarded up. On one
side it learn liter tt-cree-p chasm, washed be
low hy a swift-running stream, whose hol
low murmur struck horror to the soul.
Leaving Walter and Gaity, Basil now
npptoached the house, and, passing his
hand through one of the broken sashes,
drew forth a lusty key, which he applied to
the door; it turned slowly on its hinges,
and the party entered. Nothing could ex
ceed the desolation within hut the desola
tion without. The room was empty, not a
vestage of furniture to he seen, while the
rain heat in at the broken casement.
On one side was a flight of rickety stairs;
up these the young men grouped their way,
hearing the almost insensible form of Gaity
in their arms. With the aid offlint, Walter
now struck a light. It seemed, indeed,
as if Misery and Want might lieie have
chosen their abode, so utterly desolate, to
wretched did everything appeal.
Poor Gaily, pale vviili alarm, overcome
with fatigue, and her garments dienclied
with rain, had sunk into the only chair the
room contained, tlie very image of woe ;
when Basil approached, and, with a low
bow, said, in a voice of hitter sarcasm ;
“ Welcome, mistress, to your future
home,”
Gaity faised her drooping head, looked
from one to the other of her cruel biolhers ;
no ray of pity beamed on their dark features,
and with a shudder which convulsed her
whole frame, the miserable girl fell sense
less to the floor.
Befoie the wigwam had disappeared from
the forest, or the how of the savage been
unstrung, a few English families bad made
their settlement near the borders of the
Mystic liver, Connecticut.
On this very snot had been enacted one of
the most dreadful tragedies that ever occur
red in that fierce struggle with the Indians
in the earlier settlements of the country —
ours Cor might, theirs for light ! Here it
was, in the darkness and silence of the
night, when the Indians were all sleeping
in fancied security, that a party of English
soldiers, commanded by Captain Mason,
stole suddenly upon the Peqnot fort, bilug
ing death and destruction in their van. No
warning had the doomed savage, save the
dying howl of a faithful watch dog, while
at the same moment, a heavy fire was pour-
MADISON, MORGAN COUNTY, GEORGIA, FRIDAY MORNING, FEBRUARY 9, 1844,
ed in upon them. ‘1 lien the cry of Oueinvx /
Owanux! (Englishmen! Englishmen!)
mingled with the terific war-whoop, resoun
ded through the fort ; but it was too late!
On every side they were mu rounded, es
cape was impossible, and, hot tilde to re
late, the order was at length given by the
English \Jirc the frt, and hundreds of
men, women and children perished in their
wig warns!
“ Arid, indeed,” says tl e historian, “ such
a dreadful terror did the Almighty let fall
npontheii spirits, that they would” fly fmm
us into the very flames.”
But at the period this tale commences,
not a trace of this cruel war remained.—
Small villages and clnsteiing cottages skirt
ed the banks of this pretty stream, and fine
ly cultivated farms stietchcd far in the
distance, Now and then a few’ solitary
remnants of the Peqnot tribe would wander
through tlie soil of their fathers; for it was
then no rare thing to see these sons of the
forest, who were generally treated with
kindness hy the whites, although that feel
ing of hostility and levenge, which had
huiiied so furiously in the breasts of both,
was not at that early period quite subdued,
and occasional disputes, togeiliei w ith many
petty acts of pilfering committed by the In
dians, when under the influence of “fee
water,” (for which, as is well known, their
thirst was insatiable,) only solved to keep
alive the flame of discoid.
Basil Trevor was from a noble family of
England, hut, being a younger son, was con
sequently dependent upon the church, ar
my, or navy flu his support. Preferring,
how ever, to seek a fortune in the new wmld
to either, lie bade farewell to his friends
ami coutitiy, and embarked sot America ;
bringing with him all that pride of birth,
and high and lofty hearing, w hich marked
his descent. Disappointed love might, per
haps, have somewhat influenced his decis
ion, as it was well known his final determin
ation to seek a foreign land was not made
until the Lady Ediih had been forced into a
marriage with a wealthy baronet.
To America, then, came Basil Tievor at
tlie age of lliree-and-twenty. He landed
at Boston, where, after tarrying a few
weeks in company with others who, like
himself, had left the shores of England in
find a home in America, he proceeded to
the fertile region of tlie Connecticut. Pur
suing his researches, be reached the neigh
borhood of ihe Mystic, and, delighted with
its romantic scenery, and the promising as
pect of the soil, obtained a large tract of
laud on its borders. Heie shut out fioin the
world, careless lor fortune, Trevor resolved
to seek foi happiness amid the scenes of
nature.
Under his persevering iedustry.and ener
gies, the “ ti ihlerftess soon blossomed as the
rose.” Fields of corn, of waving wheat, of
clover-pastures, now flourished where once
the gieat Sassacns stepped in his pride and
micht; and, in due time, a neat cottage
took the place of the rude lug-hut, which
first sheltered the young adventurer,
As if on purpose to requite his unweaiied
industry, the obliging baronet broke his
neck at a race-course, and Edith became a
widow! This news was tiatismitted bv
some kind friend in the first ship, and, in
loss than a week after it was received, be
hold Basil Trevor was a passenger in a ves
sel bound for London! He arrived safely
in England, anil hastened, wi lithe speed of
thought, imbohied in four post horses, to the.
baronial castle of his dead rival—a scream
(if delight, and Editli is fainting in his arms !
The marriage ceremony was pel formed
without delay, and the lovely bride accom
panied her husband to his new home.
But, alas ! her tender nature was not
suited to the hardships, tlie privations of
this new life. Reared in the abodes of luxu
ry, with every indulgence which wealth
cotdd give lavished upon her, she could illy
meet the trials she was now called upon to
sustain. Fortitude, affection or kindness
forsook not tlie pure temple of her heart—
lint her health yielded. She pined gradual
ly aw ay ; her foot lost its lightness, her form
became almost ethereal ; and, although
the dark eye spatkled and the rose tinted
hei check, after a few yeais she sank to
rest vi ith the summer flowers, leaving one
sweet hud to shield, in its balmy beauty,
the heart of the lone husband against des
pair.
Bitter, indeed, was the grief of Trevor
at this sad bereavement ; and yet, in one
year after tlie death of Edith, lie became
the husband of another. Deem him not
heart less, inconsistent, or ungrateful; so
soon to yield another the place where once
the lovely Edith rested in her gentleness
and beauty !
Tlie rough nature of man was not suited
to the nature of so fragile a plant as the lit
tle Edith. The gentle hand of woman was
required to cherish and defend the frail blos
som front the many ills of childood. No
kind mother ot sympathising sister had the
bereaved husband to take the babe to their
bosoms, and, therefore it was, lie offered his
hand to the daughter of one who had emi
grated from the mother country about the
sunte time as himself.
A kind and gentle being was Gaily, and
in her the sweet babe found indeed a moth
er ; and, although as years rolled on, other j
urid closer ties were woven around the heart
of Mrs. TreVor, she never for a moment 1
loved the little Edith less fondly, or suffer- ]
ed those new ties to weaken that chain of
sympathy which had hound her to the moth
erless child.
A blooming family grew up around Mrs.
Trevor, of w hich the little biight-eyed Gaily
was the youngest and cherished favorite.-
Pier slightest wishes were to her fluid pa
rents as laws, while her two brothers and
Edith were never wearied of devising
amusements fur this dazzling pet. Although
as beautiful us the first blush of mom, Gaty
was a waywtiid and stubborn child, to
which, undoubtedly, the xtieme indul
gence of those iiiound her was only adding
neivvigor. She was, however,kind and affec
tionate in her nature, to w liid) feelings she
yielded with all the impetuosity of a spoilt
child; no matter by what excited, a bird,
u flow er, a pc t lamb or kitten, all in turn
called forth her devotion. Dear ly, too, did
she love her sitter Edith, whose winning
mantii rs, and kind, ] etsuasivc words often
possessed an influence over the wilful child,
w hich naught else could effect.
As beforcrementiuned, the Indians vvete
then no stiangets to the soil. Often parties
of from fifty to a hundred would encamp in
the adjacent woods, and there tarry some
times for months; t! eir baskets, brooms,
moccasins, and oilier articles of traffic, find
ing a ti ndy sale in the houses of the whites.
Unlike most children of her age. Guity
fearlessly attached heiself to these dwellers
of the finest, who, in return, manifested,
hy their uncouth gestuics of delight, and
many little presents of ingenious fabric, their
fondness for the little while maiden, or, as
they usually styled her, “the little Sloe
blossom.” Springing like a fawn to tlie
arms of the savage, Gaity would cling fond
ly to them; sometimes passing whole days
amid their wigwams, in uniestrained free
dom, playing with the little papoose, weav
ing rushes with her small taper fingers, or
learning to adorn tlie smooth Laik with the
quit's of the porcupine.
This wandering tribe were generally ec
companicd by a venerable Indian, claiming
to lie the son of tlie great Sassac-us himself.
\\ luilieM’ this assertion might be considered
as truth is uncertain ; but there was a quiet
dignity in the manners end beating of the
old chief, which might well warrant the as
sumption. He mixed but little with his
tiihc. his wigwam was remote from theirs,
and his time generally occupied in hunting
the game, which, even at that eaily period,
was beginning to lie considered as a r?.t ity; or
in liis birch canoe, accompanied hy Lisgrand
son, Gnnwahnci, a lad of twelve, would soft
ly glide where the umbrageous woods over
canopied the liver, and there, with a
composure which “ old Izaok” might have
envied, ensnare the silvery trout which fre
quented its waters. The results of these
labors or pleasures often found their way to
the table of Mr. Trevor, being usually left
after nightfall upon the door-stone, irf tlie
most quiet manlier, hy Mnuntahquu himself,
who took this method to manifest his grati
tude for various kindnesses received at the
hands of Mr. Trevor.
Between Gaity and the young savage
Onowahoo time hail always existed the
warmest friendship. He brought her the
most beautiful binls’-cggs, the greenest
moss, the clearest pebbles, to adorn her lit
ile play-house ; and would spend hours in
weaving baskets and other ingenious arti
cles to give her pleasure, while, in return,
Gaity shaied with him her nicest treasures,
a ltd, with her own litile hands, knit gay
comfoi teis and legeins, to keep him warm
through the cold winter.
Twice hud Onowahoo saved the life of
Gaily.
‘i lieie was within a few miles of Poplar
Grove, (the residence of Mr. Trevor,) an
extensive pond, which, at certain seasons
of the year, resembled a floating garden,
so thickly was it covered with that fragrant
and lovely flow er, the pond-lilly, resting in
snowy puiity so beautifully in its light-green
shallop on the glassy surface of the pond,
peeping over, too, half-haslifully, as if to
see itself mirrored there n in graceful beau
ty. Gaily bad coaxed her father, by many
well-timed hugs und kisses, (which the lil
lie gipsy knew very well when to apply,)
into permission that she might accompany
Monatahqua and Onowahoo upon an ex
cursion to this beautiful pond. They accor
dingly set off through the forest, Guity hand
in hand with Onowahoo. laughing, ( hatting,
and singing her little songs, li If English,
half Indian. When the little “Sloe-blos
som” seemed weary, Monatahqua would
bear her in his arms over the rough places;
und the Indian Imy, tunning ut her side,
pluck the ripest berries to allay her thiist,
and occasionally the happy party would test
together under some shady tree. I:i this
manner they reached the pond ; here they
found a canoe, seemed at the water’s edge,
in which they were soon seated, gliding
gently Jo that part where the lillies seemed
in greatest profusion. As they approached
it, Unity clapped her hands in ectusy, and
exclaiming :
“Some for ma’ma—some for Ediih,”
reached over too hastily to pluck them ; she
lost her balance, and sank amid the lillies;
whiih first yielding gently to their lovely
burthen, (hen flu mod a flagrant pull above
her. Another moment, and bo was safe
in the umM of Monatahqua ; [he next, a
shower of lillies fell around her from the j
hand of Onow ahoo, who hid again plunged 1
in to divert the tenor of the trembling \
child.
At another time, when Gaity had been
as usuul rambling for hours in the forest,
she became weary, and, throwing herself
under n tree, lay for some time tracing pic
tures in the light fleecy clouds as they float
ed above, and in trying to count the green
leaves frolicing and dancing to the soft
wind around her head. On a neighboring
tree a golden oriole had perched himself,
swinging, with the most enviable security,
upon the very extremity of a large bough,
pouring forth his rich notes in or.e delicious
gusli of melody; these, ton, tl id the little
maiden try to imitate: but at length the
clouds floated dreamily away, the leaves
moved to a more gct.lle measure, rim] the
song of the oriole grew ever fainter and
fainter. The child slept.
It being nrar noon, Mr. Truvor himself
went in search of his truant child. He
soon discovered her, and advanced gently
to awaken her; but, conceive his horror,
on approaching nearer, to discover a large
rattlesiicke coiled within a few feet of the
sleeping innocent ! He dates not advance
—he fears to move, lest he may arouse the
reptile—his very senses seem to forsake him,
from terror at tho danger of his child;
when, suddenly, he sees Onowahoo ap
proach. The boy drops noiselessly amid
tlie deep glass, and glides to the spot where
poor Gaity, unconscious of danger, is so
calmly sleeping. Already, with head erect,
and eye® glittering in 1 1 is lines of beauty,
the snake seems about to dart upon its vic
tim, when at that instant, w ith a rapid bound,
Onowahoo seizes the venomous reptile hy
the neck ; it coils its length in slimy folds
around tho naked arm of the brave hoy,
who, nothing daunted, compresses the
throat of his victim evet tighter and tighter
until dentil ensues !
It is not strange, then, that Mr. and Mrs.
Trevor were much attached to the preser
ver of their darling child. Earnestly did
they entreat Monatahqua to leave Otuiwn
boo with them ; ptnmising that he should
he treated use child, and receive the same
education as their sons. But Monatahqua
pointed to tlie woods:
“ T here is room for the red man there,”
he said ; “ the cabin of the pule face would
fetter the limbs of the Indian. The foot of
Onowahoo mu it be fleet as the liter of the
f\>ri't?t.’*
A period of six or eight months had elaps
ed since the last visit of the-old chief, when,
one morning, he suddenly entered the sit
ting room of Mr. Trevor, leading Onowa
hoo by the hand. He was attired in much
splendor; a bright scarlet blanket, adorned
vviili wampum, was thrown over his shoul
ders; his leegins were of mafty-coloied
cloth, and fancifully embroidered ; and bis
brows were decorated with a variety of vari
gated leathers.
With a cry of delight, Gaity sprang to
his side, and then, flinging her arms around
the neck of Onowahoo, pressed his duik
cheek with her rosy lips. With a low gut
terul laugh, Monatiihqua passed his hand
over the golden locks of Gaity, and then ad
vancing to Mr. Trevor, lie said :
“ Chief, Monnialiqua goes to tlie spirit
land ; his Great Father calls him. The ears
of Monatahqua are open ; he will go, for
now tlie war path is hidden under tlie thick
smoke of tlie calumet! Take, then, my son,
that I may depart in peace.”
Without waiting sot a reply, the old chief
then turned and walked with dignity from
tin; room ; leaving Onowahoo standing mo
tionless as a statue, with Gaity still clinging
around him.
It was the last visit of Monatahqua. He
was never seen more.
IP©LOT 0 © A L -
£ssir!t of titc
Fuun the Philadelphia I’uiuiu.
PRESENTATION
, Os Neagh's full length fm trail rs Henry
Clay to the National Clay Ctrl <f Philu
j elelphta.
The spacious Saloon of the Musical Fund
I was never more compactly ciowded with
the respectable and intelligent portion of
\ our citizens than it was 011 Fiiday night.—
At G o’clock the (100 s were thrown open
• for the admission of gentlemen accompa
nied by ladies, and before the hour appoint
j ed for the admission of gentlemen without
ladies, lolled round, the room was filled.—
At half past 7 o’clock, the time announced
for the con meurement of the exercises, the
gallery passages and stairways vveie crowd
ed. Many had relumed to tin ir homes,
unable to gain admittance, while others still
lingered about the entrances in hopes of
finding room, afier a few moments. It is
estimated that (lieie were inside the build
-1 ing. between two und tl.iee thousand, while
j perhaps as many more were compelled to,
retile without witnessing the gimiiJ specta
cle. It was a glorious meeting ! The la
dies, ever the friend of the patriot and
i statesman, gazed eagerly at the life-like re
presentation of the Farmer of Ashland,
■ and their eyes beamed will* blight antici
pations ns tin y contemplated the luippy le
-1 suits that would accrue from the success of
; the principles he has ever advocated, mid of
: which lie is still a steadiest supporter.
All eyes were riveted upon tlie painted
canvas-./ Tl eie the urnsticul skiil of Nea
g Ie had impressed the likeness of HENRY
! CLAY ! The altitude—the colmings—
the rx[Messier* of hi* features —lUe syna-
W. T. THOMPSON, EDITOR.
!)ols of American industry with which ha
is sin rounded—all conti United to elicit
much praise fur the aitist, nnd admiration of
the Statesmen. The picture was displayed
to the audience in the host possible posi
tion, end as we looked upon it, our memo
ry ran over the many scenes of trial and
of honor through which the subject of the
painting had passed. Once the humble
“ Mill-hoy of the slashes of Hanover"’—
now the Ashland Faimer—the glory and
pride of his com.try, and a candidate for
the greatest Republic on earth. Wien a
second war threatened desolation to our
land, among the leaders of the Republicans
of his country, was HENRY CLAY, and
often lias his voice hern heard pleading the
cause of the oppressed f other countries.
When the recollection of his efforts in be
half of lihcity aid justice lushed upon our
mind, these lints almost involuntarily atose
to our lips—
“ Pun of die Fire! when Summer smiles
Ftrrnnl o'er tl.e clutn reil isles—
Where Greece unsheathed her olden blade
For glory in the huuulcd shade —
Where Chimborazo stands sublitre
A Innd-mmli by the sen of time—
Thy mine shall ns n bletslr g given
For man, oh ! never to deport,
Peal trom our gladdened enrihto Heaven
The wairn, wild music of the heart.”
He is represented ns standing beside a
pillar—solid and immovable ns the founda
tion of the American Reptihl c. The ban
ner sis our country —the flag of the free
displaying the stats and stripes, drawn by a
pencil “ dipped in light”—beautiful as th*
brightest hues of a morning sky tinged by
the tisitig sun, falls down beside the pillar,
until it folds itself ut the feet of the states
man, and partially covers the globe, on
which appears the continent of South
Ametica. What a beautiful scene docs
this present!—the standard under w hieli our
countrymen gather in peace, affording pro
tection to an oppressed people in a foreign
land—a subject worthy the pencil of aNea
gle and the pen of an inspired poet. Ours
is not a selfish policy ; but it is characteris
tic of Republicanism to extend the blessing
we enjoy to the entire wm Id. For in the
distance appears a vessel—emblematical of
the commercial cttteiprises in which we
ore engaged; and.near by stands ihc ph llgli
of the liusl.attdmuf—the nmil of the me
chanic— and the shuttle /if the manufactur
er— all beautiful and opprnpiiate emblem*
of the character and policy of HENRY
CI.AY. He is repiescntcd in the attitude
which he assumed at the time he delivered
the remarkable passages—
“ The colors that flont fioin the mast head
should he the credential* of nur seamen.”
* * * * * “I SHALL STAND
ERECT, with n spit it unconqncird, whilst
I life endures, ready In second the exertions
I of the people in the cause of Liberty, the
Union, and the National prosperity 1”
“ISHALL STAND ERECT l”
“Ay ! stand erect- -the cloud is broken ;
Above thee stands tin rainbow's liken i
The shadow of thy onward way
Is blending into t ■ rail da}.”
I “ Whether in a private or public station'’
his fiiends may rest Hssutcd that still in the
cause of Liberty. <*t Truth, of Justice, and
of Protection, HENR V C LAY, w ill ‘ stand
1 erect!” The acts of iu-r whole life, tluj
| fitm expression of his features in which
there is tto guile, give assurance that in the
position he lias assumed, whether in the
shades of Ashland, in the Halls of Legisla
tion, or as the Executive ot the Union, he
will “ Stand f.iu:ct !” The entire assem
blage gazed upon the countenance nnd form
as “ the earnest of a better day;” and we
trust for the sake ol our country, that the
let vent hopes of that audit tire may lie real
ized in the elevation to the Presidency of
the men who is capable and honest—the
“ Star of the West,” towouls which mil
lions of eyes are now turning. They will
not, they cannot he disappointed. Th©
hopes that dwelt it. the hearts of the thou
sands gathered last night, will ere long ob
tain access into the bosoms of every voter
in the land. Anew era has dawned upon
us—the fires of Liberty are again kindled,
and thev will continue to burn until tire en
tire Republic from Maine to Georgia, and
from the shores of the Atlantic to the wa
ters of the West, shall be brightly illumina
ted. Then shall we again be prosperous
and nappy, protection will he afforded to
our Mechanics and Manufacturers —and
(torn our shores shall arise the shouts of
millions engaged in a great National jubi
lee !
A „ .1
And even—
“ The Grecian, ns he feeds his flocks
In Tempe's vale, on Moren’s rock*,
Or where the leem of bright blue waters.
Is caught by Scio’s whi'e armed daughters,
While dwelling on ihe dubious strife,
Which usheitd in his Nation's life,
Hiall mingle in hie eiaicful lay,
Bozxaris with the name of CLAY.”
John Weigand, Esq., officiated as Presi
dent; and Alex. H. Freeman and Joseph
Thomas as Secretaries of the meeting.
At about half past seven, Mr. Reek's
Clay baud, played one or two airs, after
which tin* fifteen or twenty vocalists who
were present, sang the song which commen
ces
. “ Wbat has caused this great agitation,” &c.
When the song had been concluded, John
Weigand, Esq., President of the meeting.
! NUMBER 46.