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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 _ WesMy Howspapsir z IDovoftodl ft© 3F©Mfta©s £) Nmwfl, J^gprfl©iiiilftw® s M&dLmmdo Airis* Ooitam©®* <&© o 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.