Newspaper Page Text
Vol. IV.
B3iyii©©Q[l[E ©EMOORATT,
AND MERCANTILE ADVERTISER.
By Andrews & Griswold.
Corner of Randolph and Broad streets, (up-stairs,~)
COLUMBUS, Ga.
TMJM>~ - - .
TtTREF, DOLLARS per annum— in advance
’ Two copies foV $5, “ “ “
Ten copies for S2O “ f “ “
Two dollars for six months. “
ICJ” All Letters must be free of postage, except where
money is enclosed.
Courting by Proxy.
A TALK OF YANKKE LAND.
Young Mr. Alonzo Romeo Rush was dread
fully in love—as, indeed, who of its is not !
Every hotly has a passion, though, fortunately,
the objects are inliiiiteiy various. Mr. Alonzo
was in love with himself lor a year or two after
he took leave of childhood and milk-and-water;
hut after that his grandmamma told hint he
rtv ought to marry, and he forthwith fell violently
*>!k for „ | OVI , w j t |, lJi s future wife, and vowed to al
jklss into A. y i,i m3e |f| lo reg | tj|l ho had found her. This 1
out bringin. |, e termed ‘love in the abstract,’ which as 11
Bnintless out fall SC6i is-not without its perplexities. 1
B'’ career Alonzo was a darling hoy, an orphan, 1
■ r . Bolk heir of a good Knickerbocker fortune. 1
B the oßwlPgrandmamma was his guardian, in a sense i
thef ond the cold, legal meaning of the term.— I
Bass of nb picked the bones out of his fish, and re- 1
him of his pocket-haukcrchicf, during 1
Bis nj 1 the years of his tenderer boyhood ; and, tm
i he was l'ulj fourteen years old, he slept in
til ir room, and had his lac* washed by her own 1
► -inds, in warm water, every morning. Even 1
jt.fter he called liimselfa man, she buttered hi*’ 1
with"a so*.
Bk jiude above all praise. Thanks to her care
B*ud attention, he reached the age of'twenty.one
Bfsaloty, excepting that he was very subject to
■pWfc which alarmed his venerable relative ex
unaccountable liking for the society ofa little
’ I'iiloress who had always made his clothin” du-
I ring his minority.
nve have Miid, he was dreadfully
Bit lo\a; and made his situation the more puz
jptling was that Ins grandmamma, in her various
Vcharges, had entirely omitted to specify the lady
>, to whom hi* devotions i tight, to be paid. ‘.She
leveu urged 1 him to choose for himself. What
Ba responsibility !
P ‘Only remember, Alonzo,’ said the good lady,
fetliat you will never be happy with a girl that
not like muffins, and that it is as'easy to
jrlove a ricli girl as a poor one.’
■ ‘Yes,’ responded Mr. Alonzo, with rather an
air; *yes, and as to muffins— ’ here he
sunk into a reverie.
‘Grandma ! exclaimed the darling, after some
pause, ‘ couldn’t you ask Parlhenia Blinks
he fe to tea ?’
‘Certainly, my dear,’ said the good ladv. - t
she rung the hell at one. j *o ttie ma
king ofi Kinds of cake, and vaiious other
good tilings.
The invitation was duly sent, and as duly ac
cepted by Miss l’arenthia Blinks, who found it
polite always to accept an invitation, that she
might do as she pleased when the time came,
a practice fully adopted by many fashionables.
The time did come, and there was the tea
table, set out with four kinds of preserves, ar
ranged with the most exact quadrangularity; in
the centre a large basket liiled with cake, and
at the sides two mountains of toast and muffins ;
tea, coffee ; and various necessaries completing
the prospect.
The fine old Knickerbocker parlor was in its
primest order, every chair standing exactly par
alel with its brothers ; the tea-kettle singing on
its chafing dish, the cat purring on the hearth*
rug. Two sofas, covered with needle work,
were drawn up to the fire, and the mandarins on
the chimney-piece nodded at each other, and at
the pink and azure shepherds and shepherdesses
which ornamenUtd the space between them. —
Mr. Alonzo Romeo Rush stood betore the glass
giving the last twirl to an obstinate side-lock,
which, in spite of persuasion and pomatum,
would obey that fate called a cow-lick.
An impetuous ring at the door. The little
tailoress, who had been giving a parting glance
at her own handy, work, slipped out of the room,
sighing softly ; and Alonzo and his grandmam
ma seated themselves on the opposite sofas, for
symmetry’s sake.
A billot is a gilded envelop. Miss I’arthenia
Blinks’ regrets.
‘What an impudent thing !’ said the‘old lady,
with a toss of her cap. (Wc do not know
whether she the act or the young lady.)
‘But come, my dear, you shall eat the muffins,,
and never mind her. The next time I ask Miss
Blinks it will do her good, Iknow.’
Mr. Alonzo, nothing daunted by t.his mortify,
slight, turning his thoughts next to Miss Justi
na Cuypers, a young lady who resided with j
two maiden aunts, in a house which had suffer
ed but little change since the revolution. The
first step which suggested itself to the darling,
was to ask Miss Cuypers to ride ; but to reach
this golden apple the aunts must be propitated,
and therefore it vyas judged best that grand.
P’ mamma should make one of the party, in order
jf that none of the proprieties should be violated.
Alonzo was charioteer, but, as he was not much
B accustomed to driving, his grandmamma felt it
her duty to take the reins out of his hands quite
“AS LITTLE GOVERNMENT AS POSSIBLE ; THAT LITTLE EMANATING FROM A NS’CONTROLLED BY TIIK AND UNIFORM IN ITS APPLICATION TO ALL.
frequently, besides giving him many directions
as to which rein he ought to pull, in meeting the
numerous vehicles which they encountered on
the Harltcm road. Whether from the excess ol
his passion for Miss Cuypers, who never spoke
once the whole way, or whether from the confu
sion incident to reiterated instructions, poor
Mr. Alonzo did finish the drive by an overturn,
whicß did riot kill anybody, but spoiled the
young lady’s new bonnet, and covered her ad
mirerwith mod and confusion.
The failure of these kindly attempts of his
save him the trouble of getting
a wife, taught Mr. Alonzo a lesson, lie drew
the astute inference that old ladies were not
good proxies in all cases. He even thought ol
taking the matter in his own hands, and with this
view it was not long before lie set out, like a
prince in a fairy tale, to seek his fortune.
The first house lie came to—that is to say,
the one in wljjch his footsteps turned most natu
rally—-was one belonging to a distant connec
tion ofhis grandmamma, a lady whose ances
tor came over with Hendrick Hudson, or, as the
family chronicles insisted, a liitle before. Miss
Alida Van Der Bensclioten, the daughter of this
lady—-a fresh sprout from the time-honored tree
might have been known to Alonzo, but that he
had always hidden himself when her mamma
brought her to pay her to pay her annual visit
to his grandmamma. She resided with her mo
ther, one ancient sister and two great rude bro
thers, on tiie borders of the city, in one of those
tempting finalities called cottages, built ofbrick
three stories high, and furnished witli balcon
ies and verandahs of cast-iron, all very agricul
tural indeed, a# a certain lady said of of a green
door. * The idea of Miss Alida being once en
tertained, the shrubberies about the Van Der
Benschoten cotta-re, consisting of three altheas,
a private hedge, and a Maderia vine, seemed j
to invite a Romeo, and our hero resolved to j
open his first act with a balqony scene. No j
that he . h;;d. a_ c |, > e“’ Jqdii’c.ms in ’ireiand Mill was be
, —-- iu, ne itacl lie !
. would have delivered it in the parlor; hut lie ■
, had heard ot sweet sounds, and conceived the 1
. idea of trying them upon the heart of Miss Ali-1
, ‘ ia bc^ le *>e ventured upon words, as Hannibal, I
(wasn’t it l) having rocks to soften, tried vinegar ,
lielore pickaxes. Having often encountered ;
bands of music in the streets at night—or rather
the evening, for his grandmamma never allowed
him to be out after tea—he concluded the husi
ness ot these-patrols to be serenading; and,
making* great exertions to find out one ofthc most j
powerful companies, he engaged their leader to !
be in full force before Mrs. Van Der Benschot-!
e*i’s door on a certain evening, resolved himself
to lie, jterdu, in a convenient spot, ready to speak
it this young lady should appear on the balcony,
as he did not doubt she would. The Coryphseus
ot the band was true to his promise, and he and i
his followers had played with all their might for I
half an hour or so, when, observing no demon- !
st rat ion from the house, and feeling rather chilly,
they consulted their employer as to the propriety
of continuing.
4 Oil! go on, go on,’ whispered Mr. Alonzo ;
* sbe * sa 1 waked up, yet! (The youth under- !
stood the true object of a serenade.) Play away !
till you hear - ,
n j ‘ , ll< ’.(■eary echoes, if not Miss Alida. |
This new attack certainly was not in vain.— ,
A window softly opened, and as the band, in- ,
spired by this sign oflife, threw new vigor into j
their instrumentation, a copious shower of boots, (
boot-jacks, billets of wood, and various other (
missiles, untuned the performers, who, in spite (
of the martial spirit breathed but just before, all . |
ran away forthwith.
Mr. Alonzo scorned to follow, particularly as.
he had a snug berth under one of the three al
thoas ; but a voice, crying ‘ Seek him—seek him,
Vixen !’ and the long bounds of a dog in the buck
yard dislodged him, and he made an ignominious
! retreat.
We dare not describe the dreams of our hero
that night; hut we record it to his everlasting
credit that he was not disheartened by this inau
spicious conclusion of his daring adventure. —
He ascribed the rude interruption, very correct
ly, to one of Miss Alida’s brothers; and every
time he met one of them in the street he used to
tell hi s grandmamma of it when lie came home,
always adding that Jie only wished he knew
whether that was the, one !
Music was still a good resource, and Mr. Alon
zo resolved to try it in another form. He
knew a-young gentleman who played the guitar,
and sang many a soft Spanish ditty to its seduc
tive twanging ; and, as this youth happened to be
a good-natured fellow, and one who di.d a large
amount of serenading on his own account, it was
not difficult to persuade him to attempt something
tor a friend.
So, when the next fair moon favored the strick
en-hearted, the two young men, choosing a spot
of deepest shade, beset Miss Alida with music
of a far more insidious character than that first;
employed by the inexperienced Alonzo. Few i
female hearts can resist the influence of such !
bewitching airs as those with which good-na
j tured Harry Blunt endeavored to expound his
(friend’s sweet meanings; and, after a whole
■I round of sentiment had rung from the guitar, and
I the far sweeter tenor of its owner, a window
opened once more, and poor Mr. Alonzo scaifl
| pered off incontinent.
Harry, who had not been exposed to the storm
j which rewarded the previous serenade, stood
1 his ground and had the satisfaction of picking up
| a deli date boquet which fell just before him in
I the moonlight. This he carried, most honora
bly to his friend, whom he supposed to be al
ready in Miss Alida’s good graces.
‘ VVliat shall 1 do?’ said Mr. Alonzo, who had
a dim perception of the responsibility attached to
this fiivor from a lady.
‘Do !’ exclaimed Harry, laughing, ‘ why or
der a splendid one at N —’s, and send a servant
with it to-morrow, w ith your compliments.’
* So I will!—see if I don't,’ said Mr. Alonzo,
AND MERCANTILE ADVERTISER.
COLUMBUS, Georgia, Thursday Evening, August 31, ISIS.
delighted. ‘ I’ll get one as big as a dinner
plate.’
In pursuance of this resolve, he called upon
• an old family servant, and, locking the door,
gave him ample directions, and in the most sol
emn manner.
* And mind, Moses,’ said young master, * get
one of the very largest size, and give whatever I
they ask,’. Hapless Alonzo! Why not put on
thy hat, and go forth and choose thy boquet in
person ? Moses took the ten dollar note, which |
Alonzo handed him, aud departed with injunc-1
tions to utmost speed and inviolable discretion.
Mr. Alonzo paced the floor with the air of a
man, who, having done his best, feels that he
ought to succeed, till at length the returning steps
. of his messenger greeted his ear.
‘ Well, Mose, have you carried it ? Did you
see her her? What did she say?’
Poor Moses showed the entire white of his
eyes.
‘ Why Massa, you ax me too many questions
to oust. I got him, and I carried him to Miss I
Van Der Benschoten’s house, but I no see the 1
young woman ; but I tell the colored gentleman
at the door who setit him.’
‘ That was right,’ said Air. Alonzo ; ‘ but was
was it large and handsome, Moses ? ’ !
‘ Monstrous big, massa ; big as dat stand, any l
how ! And here’s the change ; I beat him down
a good deal, for he ask two two shillin, and I
make him take eighteen pence.’
And it was with much self-complacency that
good old Mose pulled out of his pocket a handful
of money.
‘ Change!’ said Mr. Alonzo, with much mis
giving, change !—eighteen pence—two shillings
—what are you talking about? What kind of
flowers were they ?’
‘ Oh, beautiful flowers, massa. There was
pi’nies and laylocks, aud paus-blumeehies, and
ebery ting 1’
We will only say that if hard words could
break bones, poor old Moses would not have
| had a whole bone left in his body—but of what
| avail ?’
Next day came out invitations for a large par
torn. it is a fit monument ccUlßen’s, and Harry
jtyat Mrs.'Van Der BeiflMl •
; Blunt, who had been spied out by
| ligerent brothers ot Miss Alida, ’ and B
as the hero ol the serenade, was
our poor friend, Alonzo, was overloolß
in spit,, ol the laugh which his clumfl
had allorded the young ladies. 13
The morning after the party, A!.w|
t' 1 red his friend Harry, who had
prised at his absence. f
‘ Why didn't you go?’ he.
.splendid all'air. 1 heard",* Vjfl
explained, aud you need not ininß
yourself—that will set all right :i,B
‘ Would you really ?’ said Mr. B
•To lie sure 1 would ! Come, d(B
But Vlouzo recollected that heß
found much time to bestow on Ids eBS
that the writing of a note would be sJB
any undertaking.
‘ Can’t you do it for m3 ?’said he , Itif
used to these things.’
‘Oh, yes, certainly,’ said the old-*M ,(,d ‘band
and he dashed otfa pretty note, eipkoten, Hum
directed it to Miss Van Der ’’
•oyi'rnßic L.V.'.gie,, —.a.ver was returned —an an
swer requiring a reply ; and, by the aid ot
his friend Harry, Mr. Alonzo Romeo Rush kept
up his side ofthc correspondence with so much
spirit, that in the course of a week or two, he was
invited to call at the rural residence, with an un
derstanding on all sides that this interview was
to be the end of protocols, and the incipient stage
of definite arrangements which would involve the
future happiness of a pair of hearts.
It was an anxious morning, that which fitted
out Mr. Alonzo Romeo Rush tor this expedition.
His grandmamma washed and combed him, and
the little tailorcss brushed his clothes, picking
oft’every particle ol lint with her slender fingers,
and thinking, when she had done, that he stood
the very perfection of human loveliness.
‘Thank you, Alary,’ said he, very kindly, and
as he looked at her, he could not but notice the
deed blush which covered a cheek usually pale
for want of exercise and amusement.
However, this was no time to look at tailorcs
ses; and Mr. Alonzo was soon on his way to
Humming-Bird Place.
How his hand trembled as he fumbled for the
bell handle, and how reminiscences crowded up
on him as he saw on the step a large dog which
he knew by intuition to be the very vixen of the
serenade. ‘Then to think of what different cir
cumstances he stood in at present! Oh !it was
overpowering, and Mr. Alonzo was all in a per
spiration when the servant opened the door.
‘ls Aliss Van Der Benschoten at home?’
‘Yes sir!’ A low bow. The servant must
have guessed his errand.
He was ushered into a twilight drawing-room,
and sat down, his heart throbbing so that it made
the sofa chushion quiver.
Hark ! —a footstep—a lady—and in another
instant Air. Alonzo had taken a small hand with
out venturing to look at the face of the owner.
He had forgotten to prepare his speech, so he
held the little hand and meditated one.
At length he began— * Aliss Van Der Ben
schoten, tny grandmmania— ’ and here, at fault,
ne looked up inadvertently.
‘ What is the matter, Mr. Rush?’ exclaimed,
the lady.
‘ I—am—sick— ’ said Alonzo, making a rush
for the street door.
The lady was the elder sister of Miss Alida,
diminutive, ill-formed, and with such a face as
one sees in a very severe nightmare.
Alonzo reached his grandmma’s, and the first
person he met as he dashed through the hall, was
the little tailorcss.
We know not if ho had made a Jeptha-like
vow in the courso ol his transit; but ho caught
the hand of his friend, and said with startling en
ergy—
‘ Alary! will you marry me ?’
‘I I!’ said the poor girl, and she burst inlo
tears.
But Alonzo, now in earnest, found no lack of
words; and the result was that he drew Mary’s
arm through his, and half led, half carried her
I straight to his his grandmamma’s sofa.
‘Grandma!’ said he, 1 this shall he my wife or
nobody. I have tried to love a rich girl, but I
love Mary without trying, (five us your bless- i
i inyvgratidma, and let’s have the wedding at mice,’ j
f The old lady, speechless, could only hold up
j both hands ! but Alonzo, inspired by real feel-j
i ing, looked so different from the soulless darling j
he had ever seemed, that she felt an involuntary
respect which prevented her opposing his will
very decidedly. It was not long before he ob
tained an absolute permission to be happy in his !
own way. Wise grandmamma ! —say we.
Alary was always a good girl, and riding in j
her own carriage has made her a beauty, too.— j
She is not the only lady of the ‘aucunc ’ family j
who flourishes within our bounds. As for our !
friend Alonzo, he smiles instead of sighing, as he ;
passes Humming-Bird Place.
I I °
TIIE DARNING-NEEDLE.
BY HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN.
There was once upon a time a darning nee-1
j die, that imagined itself so fine, that at last it!
i fancied it was a sowing-needle.
‘Now, pay attention, and hold me firmly!’
said the darning-needle to the lingers that were
taking it out. ‘Do not let me fall! Il’l fall on
the ground, 1 shall certainly never be found a
; gain, so fine am I.’
‘Pretty well as to that,’ answered the fin
gers; and so saying, they took hold of it by the
. body.
‘Look, I come with a train ?’ said the darning
needle, drawing a long thread after it, but there I
was no knot to the thread.
The fingers directed the needle against an
old pair of shoes belonging to the cook. The \
upper-leather was torn, and it was now to be ■
sewed together.
‘That is vulgar work,’ said the needle ; ‘I
can never get through it. I shall break? 1;
shall break !’ And it really did break. ‘Did I
not say so ?’ said the needle ; ‘I am too deli- j
and for nothing,’ said the fingers, j
bliged to hold it still ; the cook !
; wax upon it, and pinned her
ether with it.
.am a breast-pin,’ said the dar- I
[ was*sure l should be raised to
• something, one is sure to get
time it laughed inward
never sec when a darning nee
> there it sat novas proudly as
ige, and looked around on every
K take the liberty to enquire if you are
wt’ asked the needle of a |>i n that was it s
Hprbor. You have a splendid exterior, and a
RHd of your own, but it is small, howerer*—
You must do what you can to grow, for it is not
every one that is bedroppcil with sealing-wax 1’ j
And then the darning needle drew itself up so;
high that it fell out of the kerchief, and tumbled
right inf*) the sink, wdiich the cook was at that
rnonent rinsing out.
•Now we are going on our travels,’ said the
needfc. ‘lf only Ido not get lost.
•1 am too delicate for this world !’ said the
ueode, as it lay in the sink, ‘hut I know who 1
am, .nd that is always a consolation ;’ and the
darting-needle maintained its proud demeanor,
andost none of its good.humor.
Aid all sorts of things swam over it—shav
ings straws, and scraps of old newspapers. j
‘(Jily look how they sail by,’ said the needle. I;
‘The; do not know what is hidden below them!
1 stic; fast here : here I sit. Look ! there goes
a sha ing : it thinks of nothing in the world but
of its 11’—but ot a shaving 1 There drifts a
straw and how it tacks about, how it turns ;
tiroum! Think of something else besides your
self, oielse perhaps you’ll run against a stone 1 j
Thee swims a bit of a newspaper. What’s 1
writtenthere is long ago forgotten, and yet out
it spreas itself, as if it were mighty important!!
I sit hee patient and still; I know who 1 am,
and thatl shall remain after all !’
Oue d.y there lay something close beside the
needle. It glittered so splendidly, that the nee.
die thou ht it must be a diamond ; but it was
only a bt of a broken bottle, and because it
glittered he darning needle addressed it, and
introduce! itself to the other as a breast-pin.
‘You ae no doubt a diamond V
‘Yes, s>incthin<! ot that sort.’ And so each
thought ths-other something very precious, and j
they talkii together of the world, and of how
haughty itis.
‘1 was vith a certain'miss, in a little box,’j
said the darning needle, ‘and this miss was cook; (
ami on efjji hand she had live lingers ! And
yet they v/ere only there to take me out of the
box and i> put me back into it again !’
‘Were hey, then, of noble birth?’ asked the
broken bittle.
‘Noble ’ said the darning-needle; ‘no, but
high.minted ! There were five brothers, all
descendants of the ‘Finger’ family. They al
ways kep: together, although they were of dif
ferent lengths. The outermost one, little
Thumb, ivus short and’ stout ; he went at the
.side, a little in front of the ranks; he had, too,
but one joint in his back, so that he could only
make one how ; hut he said, if a man were to
cut him off, such an one were no longer tit for
military service. Sweet tooth, the second fin
ger, pryed into what was sweet, as well as in
to what was sour, pointed to the sun and moon,
and ho it was that gave stress when they wrote.
Longman,the third brother, looked at the others
contemptuously over his shoulder. Uoldrim,
the fourth, wore a golden girdle round his body!
and the little l’etcr Playallday did nothing at all,
of which he was very proud. ’Twas boasting,
and boasting, and nothing but boasting, and so
away I went.’
‘And now wc sit here and glitter,’ said the
broken glass bottle. am
At the same moment more water came along
; the gutter; if streamed over the sides and car
! ried the bit of bottle away w : ' , 'i : ; ,, *J
! ‘ VVeIl > that ’ s n adjßE# m.* ie ,
| mg-needle. ‘ ‘l., . B ‘ | 1. f„H,
fine; but that is just
is to be respected.’ And there it sat so proud,
ly, and had many grand thoughts.
‘I should almost think that I was born of a
j sunbeam, so fine am 1! It seems to me, too.
j as if the sunbeams were always seeking me be
| neath the surface of the water. Ah ! I am so
j fine, that my mother is unable to find me !
I Had I tny old eye that broke, I verily think 1
| could weep ; but I would not—weep ! no, it’s .
j not genteel to weep !’
j One day two boys came rummaging about in
| the sink, where they found old nails, farthings,
and such sort of things. It was dirty work ;
however, they took pleasure in it.
: ‘Oh !’ cried one who had pricked liimsclfwith I
the needle, ‘there’s a fellow for you.’
‘I am no fellow, I am a lady !’ said the darn- \
ing needle ; but no one heard it. The sealing
wax had worn oft’, and it hail become quite j
black ; but black makes one look more slender, \
and the needle fancied it looked more delicate
than ever.
‘Here comes an egg-shell sailing along !’
fee? n
said the boys ; and then they stuck the needle
upright in the egg-shell.
; ‘The walls white and myself black,’ said the
! needle. ‘That is becoming ! People can see I
|me now ! If only Ido not get sea.sick, for ;
: then I shall snap.’
But it was not sea-sick, and did not snap.
‘lt is good for sea-sickness to have a stomach
i of steel, and not to forget that one is something f
| more than a human being ! Now my sea-sick- ;
| ness is over. The finer one is, the more one (
| can endure !’
j ‘Crack !’ said the egg-shell; a wheel went
I over it.
‘Good heavens ! how heavy that presses !’ j
j said the needle. ‘Now I shall ho sea-sick ! 1
j snap 1’ But it did not snap, although a wheel j
j went over it. It lay there ut full length, and
there it may lie still. 1
Political. |
The Voice of a True Soldier and Patriot.
At Doylestown, Pa., was recently held an im- 1
mense and most enthusiastic meeting of the peo. i
pie—friends of their country and of Cass and
Butler. It was one of the old sort — a multi
tude in numbers, and full of the honest enthusi
asm and patriotism of good old Pennsylvania.— i
In the course ofthc meeting, Francis C. Win- !
j koof, late the gallant Colonel of the First Penn
’ sylvania Volunteers, was called out, and thus
gave his fellow-citizens to know how he, a Whig
and the son of a long line of Whigs, had soon
come to be a Democrat:
Old Friends and Playmates: Associates
of my youth ! companions of my boyhood’s sports!
I was born among you—drew my first breath in
you midst—fished in your streams—and gunned
in your woods 1 1 have been absent for a long
time. I have been tiir separated from you, but
j my native home has ever been warm in my re
collection—never forgotten! As the infant [tines
j for its absent mother, so have I longed to see
your faces once again ! I behold betore me now
the good yeomanry of my natal county, upon j
whose hearts the finger ot God has written that 1
honesty of purpose which has always character
ized you. Your country’s honor, her dignity,
and her welfare are at a stake in the coming con
i test. I was a whig. I came from a long race
of whigs, and there is scarcely a democrat in
my long line of connexions. At my country’s
call 1 marched as private soldier to sustain her j
honor. 1 went out a whig, with tny musket on j
my shoulder mid my knapsack on my back. I (
thought my country wanted me. I come back
to you, fellow-citizens, a democrat! [Cheers.]
A full-blooded democrat 1 [Cheers.] And as
the whigs in derision say, a red-mouthed, veno
mous democrat! [Great applause.] And I
thank the Mexican war for my conversion. I
learned there the difference of heart, the differ
ence of feeling—of soul that existed between the j
two parties. 1 learned there a lesson that can- j
not be rejected. In the moment of peri! and dan- j
ger, while in the arduous service of my country, :
tny mind wandered back to my far-distant native ,
land and mingled with the cheering recollections
of a whig. 1 held on to the faith. But I learn
ed while the army of the republic was engaged
in its defence,my own whig party influenced by ex- .
pediency, had engaged in encouraging those who
were destroying the army which had been sent
abroad to represent them in the field of battle.
I saw a parly in the United States busily engag
ed in condemning the war, when 1 knew and ;
felt it to be just. I knew that blood, good, true, ;
red, American blood—had been shed upon A- t
merican soil; and it was that feeling that in- j
duced me to take up tny musket. I have never j
doubted the justness of this war. [Cheers.] —j
And yielding to the influence and force of motive, ‘
I could not resisist; 1 gave in my adhesion to !
the democratic party, with my heart and soul.— i
[Cheers.] I can trace back to the whig party i
most of the carnage that reddened the plains of
Mexico! I can point to them as the cause of
the guerrilla system, with all its enormity and
blood-thirstiness. I heard the arguments ofthc
whig orators addressed to the populace, and I
knew their influence in inciting the Mexicans to
an obstinate and desperate resistance. I knew,
too their influence upon my poor men, some of
whose bones are now bleaching upon the plains
of Mexico. I point to the Mexican party of the
United Stales, with Henry Clay at their head,
as the cause of all this evil. Taking the hint
from him and his party, Salas, tbo originator of
the guerrilla system, urged that <tlwT should hunt
them down, worry them out, and prolong the
war. “You can’t overcome them,” he said,
“ when you meet them face to face, and thousand
to Thousand.” “The democratic party,” he said,
“ would insist upon a prosecution of the war,
and would have an indemnity : hut if the whig
comes into power, w will twvo a peace
lm\ sac ,.jtj cii ~f territory.” How this
plan of Salas, suggested by the whig party in the
United States, succeeded, let the bones of the
Americans now in Mexico testify ; let the gallant
spirits who were maimed, and are now lying in
I the hospitals speak out; and let the dead officers
j who fell amtg the national road utter their voices.
| And these men were there struggling for their
! country’s honor—not for one State but the whole
Union. And what was their position? Sur-
I rounded by an enemy numerous enough to crush
j them and eat them, they found a party at home,
j where they should look for succor, moulding the
j hall, preparing the powder, sharpening the knile
to assassinate them. What was the reward for
which they looked? The approval of their coun
trymen —nothing else. They earnestly gazed
three thousand miles back to their native land
tiir that approval. Where they should have found
assistance, and indeed approbation, they found
nothing from the whig party but hostility. They
turned hack to the work with broken hearts;
they felt that there were black-hearted, smooth,
! skinned politicians at home encouraging the
Mexican bloodhounds to seek their blood. But
the crowning act of all—and that which drove
out of my heart the last vestige .of whig affection
—was Henry Clay’s speech and resolutions at
Lexington. 1 tell you—and I speak it in hones
j ty —that tears rolled down my cheeks when I
! read them; and that too, published in good
\ Spanish. 1 found them circulating in every
street and corner of Puebla. Where, then, wore,
iny whig principles ? In the dust, and, so help
jme Cod, I hope forever. [Great cheering.j—
----j Another circumstance I must allude to. A tew
j weeks after, 1 received the Monitor Americano ;
it contained the proceeedings of the Philanthropic
i Society, composed of men high in Mexico, in
which were resolutions coplimentary to Messrs.
I Clay, Corwin, Giddings, Ilotts, &e., and announ -
cing that “these illustrious friends of humanity
have been elected honorary members oftlie Phii
j anthropic Society.” And, fellow-citizens, let
’ them remain there forever. [Cheers.]
Now, I am here for the ot purpose making a
\ political speech. I have been spending my time
I in the cam/), attending to the duties of the sol
dier. I cannot take time to discu-s the prini-
I pies which were in vogue when l left, and which
the change in our circumstances may require to’
I he altered now. 1 would like to be able to drs
j cuss these questions as eloquently % as those wh >
have preceded me. 1 have been used to look
j upon the two parties as being divided by the.
j simple line of for or against the war ; or, as 1 in
; tepret it, for or against the country. [Cheers.]
i lint 1 talk to you from the honest inlluence of an
’ old Bucks county heart, and would like to be a
’ hie. to take late authority upon the subjects that
now agitate the, public mind. 1 know one of the
j candidates of the democratic pat ty well. 1 know
j the other as well as 1 can from history. General
I Cass’ biography is the history ot the country. —
j His services in the field are brilliant and emi
nent. His life has been that of a good sound pa
! (riot. Asa statesman you all know him. There
J can he no doubt us to his honesty and his quali.
j ficatious. Gen. Butler lam intimately acquaint
ted with. He was rny major general. 1 know
; him to he an honorable, gallant, worthy, and ac
j complished American citizen,
i I have little to say about the whig candidates,
j Gen. Taylor I know partially, and cheerfully adu
my testimony relative to his high abilities as a
j general. But I have always looked, as a whig,
’ upon Henry Clay as the high priest of whig prin-
I ciples. Had I never gone in this campaign and
not met with proof that the whigs were against
the war, and not read the Lexington speech, 1
would still he a whig. And now, the very party
which, for expediency sake, condemned the war,
i and advised the Mexicans to welcome the Amer
j ican army with “ bloody hands ” and ‘‘hospitable
j graves,” have taken up General Taylor as their
candidate for the Presidency, whose glory was
! acquired (according to them) in an unholy, ty
( rannical, iniquitious and unjust war. General
j Taylor has received his reward, and we might
| as well expect a biack.;;iiith to make a good
! watch, as he make a good President.
Col. Black has lately made a capital speech
l in Philadelphia. We have not room for the
j whole of, hut the following extract we must give
! place to :
j
This is the first time in four years that I have
attempted a political speech, and the first in
nearly two years a speech of any kind. If lam
awkward and unused to set phrases in uttering
my thoughts, charge it, I pray you, to every
thing Imt coldness towards the good old cause.
Before 1 refer to the questions of agitation now
occupy ing tin; public mind, allow me to say a
word personal to myself. With a flourish of
trumpets, 1 am announced in the New Orleans
j Bulletin, as a supporter of Gen. Taylor, and
; proclamation is made, that as 1 vote, so will
i iourlifths of the regiment. 1 have no doubt the
editor intended to make me a marvellous isn
! portantman, and believed all that he published,
j But, unhappily, no part ol the publication is
I true. lam not for Gen. Taylor, never was for
! him, and think 1 never shall he. [Great ap
plause.] But in speaking of him as a candi
date for office, 1 shall do so with tho respect duo
to his public ami private character. He has
added to the renown of our national character.
He has added to the renown of our national
name, and is entitled to grateful admiration.
This admiration for a gallant soldier 1 have al
ways expressed, and no inducement can make
me forgetful or silent. [Cheers.]
The editor mistakes the men of whom lie
spake when he ventured to say that they would
No. 35.