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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.