Newspaper Page Text
Upon the anniversary of the day, on which,!
eleven years before, they reached theiiß
“ neW home,” the Carleton family placed®
the remains of the mother beneath the freest
whose shelter they courted upon first >*et-|
ting up their Ebenezer in the wilderness.—
They had left that tree, while its cmpan |
ions were felled, as a memorial of their ar-®
rival. It stands, still, in its greenness andS
strength, the memorial of the dead. Gen-B
Orations have passed away since the wind®
planted that noble tree—generations willE
yet pass before it sinks in decay. CotildH
there be a more beautiful—a more poetical®
monument? Could human wisdom devise®
n better epitaph than is whispered among®
its leaves ?
When death enters a family circle andP
removes a member, he never leaves the rest®
of the household as he found it. The mo-H
notony of content, and the monotony ofß
thought, which contemplated each member®
as fixed in a character and a place unchange-®
able, are broken up. So was it in the Carle-p
ton Family. Bridget was no less dear to all®
of them than before ; but to the sons she®
seemed no longer a sister ; and the father®
began to feel ns if in duty to his departed®
wife, whose memory forbade him from!
forming new ties, he ought not to love®
Bridget so tenderly as he did before liisl
wife’s decease. While the wife yet lived®
he could unite with her ir. affectionate solic I
itude for their beautiful adopted child—■
now that she was dead it seemed to him®
that his affection for the living was a wrong®
to the departed. He dreaded himself, tori
he began to feel new emotions toward the®
beautiful orphan—and the thought of that®
young heart chained to the wreckof h's seem Bj
ed to his better sense a mockery into which liisl
weakness might lead him. His sense of jus-®
lice revolted toe, atthe thoughtthat her gruti-l
tude might lead to her acqu esence to pro ®
posals, which, ns yet, he dared fashion only®
very indistinctly in his mind. The future®
troubled him ; though he knew his motives®
were pute. !'■?.
Meanwhile the frank and ingenuous girlg
saw her protector grow daily more thought ®
ful and pensive. The first shock of grief®
at the death of his wife seemed to liaieß
passed away, but to leave a more abiding®
gloom. Bridget redoubled her efforts toB
give him consolation, and dreamed not in s
her innocent heart, that she was but adding 8
to the perplexity that she sought to soothe p
She loved him as a father—for site had |
known no other—and he almost cursedp
himself, that he must so distinctly remem-B
her the May Day, upon which iu Newi
York, he had first given her shelter. Fotjl
years the father and mother had ceased to®
allude to their fitst meeting with Bridget.—jfj
From motives of delicacy toward the young®
woman, they had forborne to mention whatß
was once subject of free conversetion in®
the presence of the child,
1 he brothers felt the change in the house
hold also. They could better understand
their father’s conduct than Bridget did;
but still they could not conceive why such 1
constraint had fallen upon the formerly
frank fireside. An event soon occurred
which removed it. A neighboring fat met j
proposed to Carleton for his daughter's!
baud. He choked a moment with contend I
ing emotions—and then referred him di R
rectly to Bridget—who frankly, but firmly®
rejected bis suit.
By the evening light of a November fire!
side the subject came up—for there were!
no subjects in that house, in which all might!
not participate. Carleton, who had now!
acquired somewhat the look of a patriarch,!
occupied one corner of the hearth, and!
looked intently into the hickory fire. Hen-fl
ry, the youngest, a boy of fifteen, was bu §
sy in the other corner in tlie mysteries of a!
muskrat trap which he was constructing in!
the fire light. John, a young man of one
and-twenty. aped the sedateness of his fath
er, as proper to one who had attained to
man’s estate, and Bridget, having finished
the last “ chore” as the phrase is, which de
manded her daily attention, drew her low
chair, and seated herself in the middle of
the circle.
“Well, Biddy,” said the thoughtless
youngster, “so you sent off Jack Robinson
yesterday with the spoke out of bis wheel.
He counted mighty strong on Mrs. Biidget
ROuinjon,”
Bridget only blushed—John looked dag
gers at his brother. Why did he ? The
old gentleman watched the circle keenly,
and did riot require a word of explanation.
He satV what might be t and was relieved of
the lead-like load which had weighed upon
his hcatt. He felt disposed to probe a little
deeper; and said ;
“ A young \Vonian like you may begin to
think of a home of her own, Bridget—and
your home will always be blessed of Hea
ven.”
The blood flew to the maiden’s cheeks,
and as rapidly left them—and her voice
trembled as she answeted—“ why should 1
leave my father and brothers ?”
“ You have neither father nor brothers,
my child/’ continued Carleton, in a melan
choly tone.
The girl burst into tears —John sprang
from his seat as if he had never heard of
that before. He had heard of it—lie hao
known it without knowing it—for he had
known without thinking of it. Now he
understood that there can be one f>r whom
n man may desert parent and brother and
sister—and if for any one he should desert
his kin he felt that it would be but fm
Bridget.
Henry dropped his trap into the fire, and
heeded not its burning, Carleton rose, and
placing the hand of Bridget in that of the
eldest, “Am I right ?” he asked. Neither
said a word. Bridget and John Curletou
had now first learned their real sentiments}
the old gentleman rejoiced that she would
still be bis daughter; conversation strayed
impeiceptibly into a channel new in that
forest cottage, and Bridget and her avowed
lover were astonished upon looking round
sometime afterwards—shot t to their minds,
long by the clock—to find that Carleton
and Henry had left them, and that the
bright fire had, suddenly it seemed to them,
burned to ashes.
Now cheerfulness again reigned in the
house, nnd constraint was banished. All
understood their position. Carleton was
contentedly happy—John ecstatically—
Henry roguishly-—Bridget cxiraplacenlly.
|A few months sufficed to show Jack Robin-*
Ison why lie was rejected. “ Damn it,” heS
said, when young Carleton invited him toH
Bthe wedding, “ I like this. To be snubbed®
I off for nothing as a body may say, didn’t®
seem so pleasant. It was a sort of a pcrß
sonal insult—but if the gill bad her eye on!
you, that alters the case ; and I must says?
*she couldn’t have picked a better man ing
jlthe State.”
I That grandfathers spoil children has pass-Hj
led into a proverb—and little Bridget, there
I “daughter of our Bridget, was long in u fair \
way to verify it. But as she will form the |
hetoine of a sequel to this story, we shall!
here leave her infant developments of char- \
ncter unattempted.
From tlie Boston Evening Journal. W-
A TRIBUTE
To the Memory if the Year 1543,
That expired at 12 o’clock on Saturday®
night last.
Aged 11 months and 31 days.
It came into the world an orphan,
For its parents just breathed upon its birth,p
and died. f
It was adopted by a fiigid old bachelor,®
. called
JONATHAN JANUARY.
But the heartof the new Yeai was chilled by !
Avery cool reception,
Which almost killed it—for the old fellow 1
was
Accustomed to sleighing,
And played many slippery tricks with his t
pupil, -
Who was fed upon cakes of ice.
He often wore a white wig by day, and at®
night [■’
Would lay down in a shat of snow.
But folks soon began to see the drifts offs
Ibis conduct,
For beset their teeth as well as tongues!
chattering;
And one day, tired,of celibacy,
He ran away, with
Mies Tabitha Thaw.
Our little hero was here taken into the ser-K
vice of
FARMER FEBRUARY,
Who taught him that the path of Industry*
Was the way to Independence—
Made him put the spade to the soil, |
The oxen to the plough ;
Told him that to multiply furrows on the®
field
Was to lesson furrows in the face;
llAnd that in digging there was no indignity,E
But a matronly maiden, of the name of e
HERITABLE MARCH,
Took a fancy to the child, and lie left tlieij
Farmer.
She fostered pet lambs ; fix! young robins;!
Pruned plants, and gathered daisies.
But her disposition was violent.
The ai/s she gave herself was unbearable,
and little
Eighteen Hundred Forty Three
Frequently suffeted from a
Severe blow.
He was frequently iti want of a dinner, but
if Mrs,
March could not raise the wind, lie might
whistle
For it. She died in a gust of passion for
want of
Breath, and he was taken into favor by the
youthful
| WIDOW APRIL,
Who had always been known as a rain in a 3
belle,
jAnd a budding beauty, that looked like a
i green girl.
| She was always smiling or weenino ;
Eithe rin the sunshine or the shower. 1
But she drowned herself in a flood of her
i own tears
iFrom envy, at the entiance of a beauty
j called
MISS FLORA MAY.
No one regretted the loss of Widow April;
For she was known for a fool the first dav
j she was seen.
■ The child was captivated I
I With the freshness and fragrance of Flora’s
| rose-wreaths,
IHThe white blossoms that garlanded her!
II resses,
And the morning melody of the sweet lark,*
Sailing at sunrise upward to the sky ;
But mistaking an artificial flower for one of
her own,
She died of a mortification.
That Art should so nearly rival Nature,
Nothing could save her, though she was am
putated
Above the waist—by a corset lacc.
He was then transferred to the care of
GENTLEMAN JUNE,
Who minded his peas and cues
In his garden and billiard room.
His cowardice was his only crime ; for he
could not
Encounter even a sheep without trying to
shear off.
He boasted tnnt when he was twenty-one,
He lived a day longer than any of his family.
Although some exceeded thirty.
He grew crabbed, nnd left the world, on
Seeing the sign of a cancer upon him.
The child was taken under the protection
of a
Flashy exquisite, called
JULIUS JULY, ESQ,(JI RE.
lie was the discoverer of the fox-glove ;
Avery warm admirer of the ladies, although
He sometimes made the house /00 hot to
hold them.
He dissolved away one day, like Narcissus,
Either from personal vanity or perspiration;
Recommending the child to a young
Anti rosv cheeked rustie called
AMOS AUGUST.
He soon learned to handle the sickle,
Although it went against the grain,
And carry the golden wheat sheaves,
And join in the jolly chorus of “ Harvest
home.”
Rut lie was caught one day sucking cider
through a straw,
And August turned him over to his neigh-
SOLOMON SEPTEMBER.
But Solomon had a habit of taking all
By the ears in the field,
And threshing them afterwards in the barn.
Shortly afterwards Solomon married Miss
Ceres.
SvDtvttinitiißSt sa as©ibil il ah tz*
I The honev-moon passed in peesure, peace, g
and plenty,
But she wore yellow tickings,
And in a fit of jealousy
Shut him up in a hot-house, where lie was [
suffocated.
Eighteen Hundred Forty-Three |
Then sought the seivice of a demure dow 1
acer, named
MADAME OCTOBER,
Who looked always ns if in a brown study ; 1
And amused herself dyeing leaves of dis y
ferent colors.
I Sometimes she would sit in the fields with g
husbjndmen,
To get her bread by plain sowing,
And hear the song o’ robin red breast—the f
last of tie warblers, 5
| But a rough sailor, yclept Old Equinox, h
lln a fit of abductior, took her up and car- |
tied her off
In a gale of wind.
The child was again thrown upon the world, |
Until found by a gloomy and mysterious 1
being
Whose name was
NICODEMUS november.
gllis cloak was made of fog, and his cap ofS
mist.
He was a vampire and a cannibal.
For he solaced himself with a suicide I
At breakfast, and at dinner feasted on B
Afclo dc se. i.
At last Nicodemus was tor Rented to death®
His own blues.
J'Thc last master that our little orphan livedp
with,
a rough and shrivelled roisterer, called®
DAVID DECEMBER,
Whom every one tried to keep out of doois.pl
Sometimes the poor old soul would storm at!
The windows, and tlief: whimper
And whisper through key-ho es and crevices,®
Or tiy to rush in when the door opened. 1
But all to no purpose, they did not mince the®
Matter, except with pies.
The snow fell upon his bare head.
The icicles hung upon his white hairs.
IjNVith thechild in bis arms, belaid him down ;S
They died together,
S And Were buried in the tomb of Time, g
Their last words to us were,
We hope your patrons will not forget youg
| When you sincerely wish them many ||
‘ A IIAPPY NEW YEAR.’ ”
Marriage Gem. — In the Duke of Mail
B borough’s collection of antique gems, is a
I group of emblematical figures, represent
ling the marriage of Cupid and Pysche ; a
|descrij tion of which will not be unexcepta
Kble. They are of exquisite beauty, highl)
sdescriptive ot the Marriage Union, finely
iengraved upon an onyx, by Tryphon, an
gancient Greek artist.
§1 Ist. Both are represented as winged, to
the alacrity with which the husband
Eand wife should help, comfort, and support
feach other; preventing as much as possible
tthe intimation of a wish or want on eitliei
Aside by fulfilling it before it can be expves
scd.
ra 2d. Both are veiled, to show that modes-
Kty is an inseparable attendant on pure mat
irimonial enjoyment.
3d. Hyman, or Marriage, goes before
them with a lighted torch, leading them by
a chain, of which each has hold, to show
that they are united together, and are bound
to each other, and that they are led to this
by the pure flame of love, which at the
fsame instant both enlightens and warms
slhetn.
P 4th. This chain is not iron, or brass, (to
that the Marriage union is a state of
B thraldom 01 slavery.) but is a chain of pearls,
Jto show that the union is precious, delight
I ful, and beautiful.
sth. They hold n dove, the emblem of
conjugal fidelity, which they appear to ern
gg brace affectionately, to show that they are
■ faithful to each other, not merely through
■duty, but by affection, and that this fidelity
■contributes to the happiness of their lives.
H 6th. A winged Cupid, or Love, is repfe
■sented as hivir g gone before them prepar
King the nuptial feast; to imitate that active
■ affections, warm and cordial love, are to
Btherr. a continual source of comfort and eri
S® joyment, and that this is the entertainment
they are to meet with at every step of theii
lives,
llh. Another Cupid, nr genius of love,
I comes behind, and places on their heads a
basket of ripe fruits, to imitate that a matti-l
monial union of this kind will generally be
blest with children, who shall be as pleas
ing to all their senses, as ripe and delicious
ft uits are to the smell and taste.
Sth. The genius of love that follows them,
lias his wings shrivelled up, or the feathers
all curled, so as to tender them utterly unfit
for flight, to imitate that love is to abide
with them, that there is to he no separation
in affliction : but that they ate to continue
to love one another with pure and fervent
affection; thus love begins and continues
this sacred union, which death alone can dis
solve, for God hath yoked them together.
ALMOST A MURDER.
“For murder, though it have no tongue, will speak
With most miraculous organ.”
A man may outrage society by the crimel
of suicide, and perhaps have some claiml
upon our pity ; for a man must be misera-1
bio before he can voluntarily retire from hisl
place among the breathing, and misery is a!
thing that should awaken some part of out!
softer nature in its behalf. But a man whol
will commit self-murder and ieave his friend!
to he hung for it, perpetrates at once both!
suicide and murder, and his memory mus\B
bo execrated. Instances are common enough!
lof these two frightful crimes, in all their!
shades and varieties, having arisen from the!
fiendish influence of alcohol, and the pres
ent anecdote will be found to have taken
origin in the same cause. It is a cireum
stance partaking, in a singular manner, of
the ludicrous and the liortid ; but, however
strange the story may.seem it is nothing more
than a simple relation of a real occurrence.
In proof of this we shall use the names of
the patties as no harm can be done in men
tioning them at this date.
In the little town of Dover, which is sit
uated on the Cumberland river, in Middle
Tennessee, there lived some years ago an
excetitric atiil intemperate old bachelor, by
the name of Kingston. On one occasion,
when prostrated on his bgd by excess, and)
•‘suffering acutely from those stings and hnr-Hj
■ tors peculiar to his situation, lie sent for onewj
sos his boon companions to come and visit®
t him. Shryack, for that was the other's*
; name, duly came to Kingston’s roc m.
“ What’s the matter Kingston ?” ”
” Shryack, shut the door,'*
“ Yes. mv dear fellow.”
• Lock it!”
“ Lock the door ?”
” Certainly my boy ?”
“ Shryack, I’tn going to kill myself!”
I “My dear fellow, let me entreat you not®
Un do it.”
” l will.”
“ No, no, oblige me, and don’t.”
f “ Must do it.”
| “ Don’t; it’ll be the death of you.”
“Shryack was quite cool and jocose, lit- G
tie dreaming that so terrible an event was |
•actually going to take place.
| Kingston had, as the last eccentric act ot g
; his life, taken a chisel and mallet to bed £
J with him, and now, with desperate resolve,®
Hie seized the extraordinary tools of death,6
fund in an instant drove the blade of thew
rchisel into bis breast! B
| The hair rose upon Shryack's head, and t
[fi ight spread like a sheet of snow over his®
I face.
| “Kingston! Kingston! my dear fellow Ej
lyou and and rascal, Kingston ! do you®
|wa tit to have me hung? Hold on—don’t®
Syou die till I call somebody !”
5 Shryack ran to the door, and called like a|
smadman to some people across the street. I
I “Hallo! here! say, you Mister! youg
people, make haste over here, erg
.lhere’ll be a murder !”
| The people crowded into Kingston’s
khouse.
I “ Don’t die, Kingston ! Don’t chisel me
Fthat way ! Don't die till you tell them who
Cdid it.”
3 “I did it myself,” said Kingston.
9 “ There, that’ll do; now, my dear fellow,
|you may die,” replied Shryack, taking ai
ilong breath and wiping the perspirationß
|f'rom his forehead.
| And Kingston did die, in this cxtraordin-l
aary manner, leaving, his fate to be recor-g
Ided as a suicide that was almost a murder.fi
g— N. O. Picayune. ?
H Laconics. —Grief, after all, is like smok-I
jfcing in a damp country —what was at first of
becomes afterwards an indulgence.!
9 An apt quotation is like a lamp which|
its light over the whole sentence.
H The histories of most lives may be briefly!
acomprehended under three heads—ourfol-i
glies, our faults, and our misfortunes.
H There is nothing so easy as to be wise fen |
Bothers ; a species of prodigality, by the by|
B — for such wisdom is wholly wasted,
a Marriage is like money—seem to want it,|
Sand you nevet get it.
g Alas, for the vanity of human enjoyment !
live grow weaiy of even our own perfection.
|| YV hat a foundation mortified vanity is for
■ philosophy.
H Attention is always pleasant in nrquaint-
Ifaiices till we tiie of them.
B The ridiculous is memory’s most adhea
gsive plaster.
The Janus rs Love’s year may have two
effaces, but they looked <>n each other.
II In the moral as in the physical world, the
gviolcnt is never the lasting—the tree forc
ged into unnatural luxutiance of blossom
wbears and then dies.
|i The course oflife is like the child’s game
p? —“ here we go rounu by tlie rule of contra-
Iry” —and youth, above all others, is the sea
son of united opposites, with all its fresh
ness and buoyancy.
The attention of a superior is too flatter
ing to our vanity not to call it forth.
Nothing circulates so rapidly as a secret.
Always be as witty as you can with your
patting bow—your last speech is the one
remembered.
Nothing appears to me so absurd as pla
cing our happiness iti the opinion others
entertain of our enjoyments, not in our own
sense of them. The fear of being thought
vulgar, is the moral hydrophobia of the day ;
our weakness cost us a thousand times
more regret than our fruits.
How youth makes its wishes hopes, and
its hopes certainties!
Hope is the prophet of youth—young
eyes will always look forward.
There is wisdom in even the exaggera
It ion of glief-—there is little cause to fear wel
should feel too much.
“'"'""©'lVt a ©
...u.u—. II —B—■————■■
TIIE WORKINGMAN’S SONG.
Tune— “ There's nae luck about the bouse.”
Times won't be right, ’fis plain to see,
Till Tyler runs his race ;
But then we’ll have a better man
To pul into bis place, g
For now we’ll rouse, with might and main, r
: And work and work away, ;
C And work, work, work, work, 5
‘ And put in Henry Clay !
The Farmers want good limes again,
j To sell their wheat and pork,
And so, to put in Henry Clay,
They’re going right to work ;
They’ll plough and sow, and reap and mow,
8 And thresh and tresh,
And thresh, thresh, thresh, thresh,
And vote for Henry Clay! ,‘;
Tho Laboring Men, that want more work,
SAnd higher wages too,
Will help to put in Henry Cloy,
With better times in view.
They’ll saw and chop, and grub and dig,
And shovel and shovel away,
And shovel, shovel, shovel, shovel,
And vote for Henry Clay !
I Tho Weavers, ton, will go to work,
For a Turiff and Henry Clay,
They'll make us all the cloth wc want,
If they can have fair play ;
They’ll reel and spool, and warp and wind,
And weave and weave away,
And weave, weave, weave, weave,
And vote for Henry Clay !
Wc want no Clothing ready made,
From England or from fiance,
We’ve Tailors here who know their trade,
They ought to have a chance.
They’ll cut nnd baste, and hem and press,
And stitch and stitch away,
And stitch, stitch, stitch, stitch, ■
And vote for llenry Clay ! pi
■. The Hatters do not want lo see r
Their kettles stnndinc dry, ‘•
’ And so tliey’ll go for Henry Claj’,
And then the fur will fly !
1 They’ll nap and block, and color and bind,
< And finish and finish awnv,
And finish, finish, finish, finish,
’ And vote for Henry Cloy !
Shoemakers, too, with right good will,
Will join the workine throng,
I And what they do for Henry Clay
They’ll do both neat and strong.
I They’ll crimp and cut, and last and stitch,
I f And ball and ball away,
And ball, ball, ball, ball,
vo'e for Henry Clay I
The Blacksmiths will roll up their sleeves,
Their sledges they will swing,
And at the name ol Henry Clay
They’ll make their anvils ring.
They'll blow and strike, and forge and weld, Eg
And hammer and hammer away,
and And hammer, hammer, hammer, hammer,
And vote for Henry Clay !
And thus we’ll work and thus we’ll sing,
g Till Tyler’s race is run,
■ And then we’ll have to fill his place,
Kentucky's favorite son !
| For now we’ll rouse, with might and main,
y And work and work away,
■ And work, work, work, work,
And put in Henry Clay !
■ Mr. Clay. —We observe that the people*
Sos Georgia are preparing to give this dis-B
Etinguished statesman, the cordial receptions
(she merits from the hand and heart of every!
citizen. Will it be said that this*
■ assertion is too broad ? That Mr. Clny is|
■ the ostensible favorite of a paaJy ? Some,®
gthere may he, indeed, who cannot, stomp
■ such considerations, join the hearty vvel-i
gcome. Whose minds the mists of preju-J
gdice and party intolerance have chilled andij
■ darkened, just as a thick cloud obscures the|
■ view of the noon day sun. and withholds his*
■ vivifying rays fmm the frozen earth. Bills
Ethese are few—the American people are!
Enow, if never before, arriving at a just ap-l
Bpreciation of this great man. An ordeal of|
Eforty year's public lalior, during the most of#
■which he has occupied the prominent posi-|
Rtinn, arid borne the most weighty responses
abilities, lias tested and established his excel £
glence, and marked his career with deeds,|
Kwliich are familiar as household words.—|
■ From the lime when Mr. Clay first placed!
Kfoot upon the public stage, till he left it, hoi
Bean properly he said to have had no co-j|
gequal. We do not say that he has ever!
■ been more learned, profound and eloquent,!
Ethan any of his contemporaries—some ofg
■ them may have excelled in paiticular en-J
Pdnw ments ; hut what we mean to say is,*
||ihat as a man—combining all those altri *
Ebutes which gives pre-eminence, and which.!
gin fact, bring it, unsought, Mr. Clay has liads
Kno counterpart. The testimony of Col.i
■Johnson, lately seen publicly in Virginia, is!
Bin point on this subject, and does mu chi
ggetedit to the candor of a political opponent.!
■The 1 ruth of this position is, moreover, evinc-l
Kcd throughout Mr. Clay’s history, up to the*
■ present day. Ilis character and talents me!
■such, that no man ever thought of assigning
Kliim a second rate position. He takes the
■lead by common consent, and thus, nearly
■every principle of governmental policy.
■ which has at all tended to develops the re-
Ksources, and cnntrilmte to the prosperity of
Sour great republic, hears the impress of his
■ master mind. Emergencies, when inferioi
Rspiiits are puzzled, dismayed and undecid
t-Sed, have always been his moments of proud
■ triumph. Semper paratus, may he his mot
gto, for he steps forth with bold heart, cleai
■ head, and ready tongue, the acknowledged
■ champion.
P* Mr. Webster, in one of his masteily out
■ lions, depicts with vivid force that crisis of!
■ intense interest which called forth the older!
■ Adams in support of the declaration of in I
■dependence. At a moment, when the hearts!
gos the augusf assembly were burdened with
flood of doubt and uncertainty, and tlieit
*miiid.s palsied by the contemplation of the
■tremendous consequences of action, the
■voice of the orator broke the awful sus
gpense with ti e magic tones of featless res
Solution. A similar moment of awful un-
Eccrtairitv has never occurred in our national
■ J
■ history; hut the nearest approach to it may
Ebe recognised in the time when Henry ClayP
■ boldly threw the gauntlet of defiance at the!
■ Lion of England on the floor of Congress.|
■ When he denounced the over-hearing vio-|
Silence of Great Biitaiti and invoked the!
■ power of the government to repel the wnn-E
Eton and cruel impression of our seamen and!
■continued insults upon the American flag.!
Bjln that fearful struggle of intellect whichs
■preceded the declaration of war, Henry!
raClay was the rallying point of the adminis |
jatration party in the House. To maintain!
wtliat position required the courage of a war-fi
gjiior, no less than the talents of a statesman.
■ Bitter and determined opposition from men
Bof almost unequalled intellect—gladiators
ain the intellectual contest—the fears of the
■ timid—the ends of the interested—the
■ threats of the powerful were all to be en
■countered. And to what purpose? that!
lan infant State might measure strength with
■the mightiest Government in the world.—
■ But the voice of justice and humanity cull-1
Bed, and deaf alike to the pleas of expedien-8
Bey and the clamors of fear, Mr. Clay, deter-j
■ mined that redress should ho had. Hisl
■ voice was the clarion trump of victory ini
■ this moat fearful struggle since the war off
■ the revolution, and to him as much ns to any!
■ other does the nation owe all the blessings!
1 which have followed the glorious war offl
1 1812 —a war as essentially necessary to the!
■ maintenance of our national character, nsjj
I was that of the revolution to its establish-!
Brnenl.
B Yes, politicians may decry and enemies!
Bmav defame—but his deeds speak for hiniß
in tlie hearts of his countrymen ; and thus,l
all assaults have proven but as the howling!
winds against the sturdy oak —enrooting it-E
self the deeper in its mother earth. The old!
tree still stands and lias scattered u thousand!
acorns and studded the forest wit it a thrifty!
offspring. So has Mr. Clay stamped tlicl
impress of his master mind upon the politi 8
cal history of the country ; and no cnmbina-B
tion of circumstance can efface that impres-B
aion. It will remain and deepen as then
contemporaneous prejudices which always*
attend the career of the great and goud.B
shall mollify with the lapse of time. ‘■
1 Mr. Clay has now nearly completed his
■ three score and ten years, the better and
■ larger part of which have been spent in
■achieving great and acknowledged good to
It lie country. It will be a fit termination of
|a glorious public career, should his country
■ confer upon him its highest mark of favor.
■ But in our conception of the man, no station
genn elevate him. He will rather bring dig-
Snity to the office.— Tallahassee Sentinel. *
H A Clay Club has been formed in
I South Carolina, called the “ Richland Clay
■ Club.” The preamble for the Constitution
2declares, that as “the issue now presented
Sto the people of the United States is be
■ tween Henry Clay and Martin Van Buren “
S they are in favor of Henry Clay, and organ
size themselves “to promote the diction of
j£ the one, and oppose that of the other,” and
gLthe members “ pledge themselves to each
Rot her to promote this double object, by all
a fair and honorable exertions,” they express
||also the belief that these exertions will he
■ crowned with success. After stating a va-
Ijriety of reasons why they oppose the elec-
Stion of Mr. Van Buren, the preamble goes
to say:
“ We are in favor of the election of Mr.
£Clay. He is a man in his own right, and
j£not fostered and fashioned into a fictitious
Fconsequence by a patron or a party, but cast
fj.by his Maker in a noble mould of manly
U proportions—and so endowed that in all the
v emergencies of his country, she has been
willing to lean upon him, and sure to find
succor and support. His voice during
?. the war raised ilie nation like a trumpet
||,call. To him, with others, was confided
fctlie re-establishment of peace.
“When the Misfonii controversy en-
S dangered the permanency of nur instilu-
Ktions, his master spiiit presided over the
V storm and calmed its raging. And when
£ again the reckless oppression of Mr. Van
|n Buren and liis parly, threatened and insist
,r ed upon drenching onr soil in civil blood,
he stood finth between the contending par
ities and proclaimed peace.
“ Courage, Patriotism, Eloquence, no
g-one denies him.
O “He has, as it were, passed into History,
k/and men of all parties point to him as a
i worthy and illustrious son of the Republic.
F; His course is straight forwatd ill the broad
p CT
light, firm in the consciousness of honor and
convict ion of right. No cloud or mist around
Kjhim ; no staggering in his step; no stonp-
ing; no quailing. Those who concur with
P hint know they will not he deceived ; those
pj who differ, respect in him a hold, candid ad
fiLversary—and award to him the palm of a
I# warm and broad patriotism, and of a hold
Kami noble nature.
prj “ That we do not concur in all Mr. Clay’s
|g opinions of public policy, it is most true.—
g&Tliere are points of difference between him
Eland us ; between us and Mr. Van Buren
to there are no points of coincidence—for ill
|Rjhe double aspect of his professions, in the
Pj.sliding scale of his opinions, in the evanes*
■rent coloring of his pi ieeiplcs, t 1 ere is nc*
pthing that we etui comprehend or trust.
I* “On the great questions of the Tariff
|j,and Abolitionism, Mr. Clay is, to say the
gj'east, as much with us as his rival. On the
£jlast, he is as safe as public pledges, private
Einterest, common sympathy, birth, eciuca-
Elion and destiny can make any man.
j|j “On the Tariff, lie is pledged to the
■ Compromise, and has never failed on fit nc
casions to avow his adlierance to it, and no
wone distrusts the avowal of Hetuy Clay.
m “Upon the whole, we repose our conft-
C, deuce in Mr. Clay, as one qualified and dis-
S posed to conduct the affairs of this great
pßepuhlic, wisely, and honorably and firmly;
gy’who in all liis counsels will he prompted
Eg by patriotism and guided by wisdom and ex
gperienre; and who will have at heart, al-
Sways, his country, his whole country, ar.d
hut his country.”
■ MOST AWFUL AND LAMENTABLE
CATASTROPHE!
death of lion. Abel P. Up-
slier, Secretary if War, lion. Thomas 11.
Gilmer, Secretary of the Nary, Comma
| dore Kcnnon, lion. Virgil Maxcy, Hon.
!*& ill/ - . Gardner, and others, by the explosion
gS of one <f Stockton's guns ! !
“ In the whole course of our lives it has
Knevcr fallen to out lot to announce to our
a more shocking calamity —shock-
in nB its circumstances and concomitant*
—than that which occurred onboard the
States Ship Princeton, yesterday
i’afternoon, whilst under way, in the river
E'Potomac, fourteen or fifteen miles below
Hi ‘
Siliis city.
“ Yesterday was a day appointed, by the
©courtesy and hospitality of Capt. Stockton,
HSCommaiider of the Princeton, for receiving
jpas visitors to liis fine ship (lying at Alexa"’
pdria) a great number of guests, with the |r
liberally and numerously invited to
Kgspend the day on board. The day most
wfavorable, and the company was large ana
“sjbrilliunt, of both sexes ; not less probably
Kin number than foui hundred, among whom
j|9were the President of the United Stales.
Billie Heads of the several Departments, am>
jfinheii families. At a proper hour, after the
ELrrival of the expected guests, the vessr
KJgot under way and proceeded down the riv-
Ejer, to some distance below Foil Washing-
Raton. During the passage down, one
jljlnrge guns on board (cairyiuga ball
kJpouiids) was fired more than once, exhibit
Bjing the great power nrid capacity
(■formidable weapon of war. Ihe Ladies
fjhad partaken of a sumptuous tepast; lie
afigentlcirieii lind succeeded them at the ta • e <
{Band some of them had left it; the ‘ cSSl j
mwas on her return up the liver, opposite
wtlie fort, where Captain Stockton consente
1 1.. fire nnother shot from the same g ul J,’
I around and near which, to observe J|* 8
I feels, many persons had gathered, inoug
Iby no means so many as on simi'ai 11
■charges in the morning, the ladies who t
Btiironged the deck being on this ficcas |, m *
■most all between decks, ami out of reac
f harm,