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BWB
VOL. !L\I.]
RATTLE
1J1LK*MZDGE WiLtsE «E Off G W, M4HCM 5*5, 1851.
Ho. 43.
■BTTiT
COItLNNA—-SC4UAL OF SIR i
JOHN MOORE.
••No useless coffin confined his breast,
Nor in sheet nor in shtoud we bound him,
But be lay like a warrior taking his rest,
With his martial cloak around him.”
1 There is scarcely any person who reads j
! at all that has not read of Sir John Moore |
1 and the battle of Corunna. Far more irnpor- 1
tant battles than that of Corunna have passed j
almost from the memory ofmankind; farmore !
! distinguished names than that of Moore |
\nt,re that application will be made to the Court have either perished along with the memo- j
Ordinary, for leave to sell Land or Negroes, i r y „f the deeds which gave them a mo men |
he published f«r four months. I . • . i • i e , ,
nr,“inn for leti-.is of Administration, must he ,ar . v importance, or are buried so profound-
Ois’ied thirty nays—for dismission from Ad- ly beneath the rubbish of history, that no
, H .ir.ition. monthly sir. months—for dismission from j antiquarian thinks it worth the trouble to |
iHrdiansbip, forti days. , , ' disinter them. But Moore’s niemnrv isem- j
Kri.cs for foreclosure of mortgage must be pub- J 1
! ; monthly jor four months—for establishing lost
, ...is for the fall space of three mouths—for com
titles from Executors or Administrators.
’ j,ond has been given by the deceased, the
balmed in ‘the verse that immortally
saves;” it will live as lone as the noble baN
lad in which it is preserved shall exist; and
that will probably be as long as the lan-
•„;/ ,„ncc of thru months. , ....... ,
Publications will always be continued according j guage in which it is written continues to be
• i these, the legal requirements, unless otherwise
ordered.
\ll business of this kind will receive prompt at
nation at tbe Federal I sios Office.
j.fiiers on business must be post paid to en-
t ;.|p ihern to altention.
0 C t V n.
; spoken. There is a romantic interest at-
| tached to his stoiy, and a wild grandeur
Connected with the manner of his burial,
which peculiarly adapted them to the use
j of the poet.
Forty two years ago, (the 16th January,
| 1809,) Sir John Moore was killed in the
I battle of Corunna, and at the dead of ti e
night was hiitied upon the ramparts of that
; ancient city, rendered forever classical hy
! the events which took place in its neighbor*,
f hood at that time.
In the autumn of 1808, Sir John Moore
was placed in command of lire British army
in Portugal and received orders from Eng
LIFE IN THE WEST.
BY GEO. P. MORRIS.
Hu, brother—come hiilier and list to my story—
Merry and brief will the narrative be;
H-re. like a monarch. I reign in my glory —
Master atn I boys, of all that I see.
Where oil'e frowned a forest, a garden is smiling-
The meadows and moorland are marshes in
more;
\ n H there c ur’s the smoke of my cottage, begniling land to advance into Spain, atid yield every
'thechildren who cluster like grapes round my possible assislauce to the Spaniards, who
n en • r boys, cheerily boys, enter and rest;
i inni of my heart is the land of the West,
Olio, boys!—olio, boys!—oho!
, not of the town, boys, give me the broad prai-
had collected immense armies at several
[mints, and appealed determined to resist
to the last drop of blood the appropriation |
of their kingdom which had been made by j
the Emperor Napoleon. A French army
Where man. like the wind, roams impulsive and had already been captured iu the soutii of i
•Spain, and the spirit of the people was, to j
all appearances, fairly roused. In the {
mean time, Napoleon himself was not idle, i
He directed immense forces to assemble in i
the Northern provinces of Spain, and leav- !
ing the confluences at Eifurt,passed rapidly ;
through Paris, and arrived about the mid- j
die of November at Victoria. He irnmedi-
ately set his immense armies in motion, and !
brethren, secure from a!l turmoil and danger, , J ,. I
.mi linen, they moving through the entire breadth of 1
We reap what we sow, tor the soil is our nw n: . J , , o s . *
8pain in its northern portion, swept the
Spanish forces before them like chaff before j
the wind.
On the 5th of December lie entered Mad* !
rid in person, at the head of seventy thous- j
and men, the Spanish aimies having been ;
entirely annihilated, and no portion of the
whole country offering resistance, except the
heroic city of Saragossa. At this point, he ,
gathered his forces, and was preparing for
a descent upon the southern provinces, !
which must have resulted in their entire j
g,hi,Id how its beautiful colors all vary,
L!kfthn-e of the clouds, or the deep rolling sea.
\ ,!■- ,r, tire woods, boy*, if tvenas changing;
With proud independence we season our cheer,
\i ■( those who the world are for happiness ranging
Won t find it at all. if they dont find it here.
Then enter boys, cheerily boys, enter and reft,
1 ;|,h»'v vrn the life, boys, we live in the West.
Oho, hoys!—oho. boys—olio!
Hr
We spread hospitality's board for the stranger.
\in! care not a fig i'or the king on his throne.
We never know want, for we live by our labor,
And in it contentment and happiness find;
w. do what we can fora friend or a neighbor.
And die, boys, in peace and good w ill to mankind.
Tarn enter, boys, cheerily, boys, enter and rest;
V-'H know how we live, boys, and die in the \V esl'
Ono, boys!—oho. boys!—olio!
ftttsccllaneoufe.
THE MODEL DAUGHTER.
Constantly she comes down to breakfast
before the tea things are taken away. She subjugation, when his attention was sudden- j
is always ready for dinner. .She curls her W called to the north of Spain,
own hair, and can undress herself without a Ignorant of the utter dispersion of the i
setvant. She is happy at home without go- | Spanish armies, and continually urged hy j
ing to a bail every night. She has not a the British Minister in Spain, Sir John j
headache when her papa asks her to sing. , Moore had early in December, advanced as I
She‘ practices” only when he is out. She far into that country as Salamanca. Napo- j
d ies not have tier letters addressed to the leon had heard of this at Madrid, blit never
past ry cook, or make a postman of the i dreaming that Moot e could be ignorant of j
housemaid. She does not read novels in his success, he presumed, of course, that he j
lied. She dresses plainly for church, and would retreat into Portugal and regain his j
returns to luncheon without her head being ■ ships, which were lying at Lisbon. While '
crammed chuck full of bonnets. She is not he was preparing to proceed to the South, '
perpetually embroidering mysterious bra- he received a communication from Marshal
ces, nt knitting secret purses. Her fingers Soult, who was at Carrion with about I
aie not too proud to mend a stocking or twelve thousand rnen, that the British army |
make a pudding. She looks most attentive- instead of retreating, had advanced, and j
!v after the holes in her fathers gloves.— that he expected to be assailed in his posh-
.llie is a clever adept in preparing gruel, tion by a force moie than double as large as I
«bite wine whey, topioca, chicken broth, his own.
ocef tea, and the thousand delicacies ol a Moore, in fact, after he had learned the |
nick room. She is a tender nurse, moving destruction of the Spanish armies, had ta~ I
: uselessly about, whispering words of com- ken the bold steps of advancing into Spa n,
t'.rt and administering medicine with an af- turning Napoleon’s attention upon himself,
faction that robs it of half its bitterness. She and by drawing him from the southern prov-
Jiies riot scream at a ieach, or faint at the inces, giving the Spaniards time to arouse
■ig!it of a black beetle. She does not spin from the shock, and again prepare for a de
port ry or devour it in any quantity. She fence of their independence. He ptoposs
dies not invent excuses for nut reading the ed further to Napoleon a dance through the
debates to her father in the evening, nor province of Gallicia, to embark at Oorun-
d'.es she skip any of the speeches. She al- na; and to convey his army to the south of
wiyshasthe pillow ready to put under his Spain. The French emperor did not liesi-
head h hen he falls asleep. She can behold tate a moment to relinquish hia designs up
as officer with womanly fortitude without i on the south. He wrote instantly to Soult
idling in love. She never contracts a milli- | to receive the attack of Moore, and to re-
tiei's Lilli unknown to her parents—‘‘she j treat, carrying him as far into the interior
Mould lie sooner.” She never stitched a as possible, so that he might get him he
ft e. I Turk in her life. She soars above Ber~ tween two other French armies, while
lin wool, ami crying “one-two three, one- | Soult was in front, and he himself was ad-
two three,” continually. She studies house-| vancing to close up the rear, and cut him
keeping, is perfect in the commons rules of off' completely from Gallicia.
Arithmetic, andean tell pretty nearly how j The French army was immediately set
niiny “long sizes go to the pound. She i j„ mo ijon. So eager was Napoleon to
rhecks the weekly hills, and does not blush jr ras! p (he prize, that in the midst of a vio
1 seen in a butcher s shop on Satuiday.- lent storm of snow, rain and sleet, over
She is not continually fretting to go to I atis, roads almost impassable, he urged forward
°r dying to see Jenny Lind, nor does she fifty thousand men, with two hundred pie-
rare much about “love Mario. She does i Ceg 0 f cannon, so rapidly that they passed
ji'it like long walks by herself, aim come i (1Vur t [, e ground at the rale of twenty-five
lume saying “she lost her way. She tteals i m j| e3 a t l a y. The suffering was, of course,
■i-rtithers guests with civility. She ney- | immense, and great numbers died of cold
She nov
el ureases in silks or satins the first thing in afl( j f a tir»u e ; but the soldiers did not mur-
' !ll ‘ morning, nor is she looking out of the rrujrt f,, r they saw their mighty leader on
Mirnlmv nr admiring herself in the looking- f ()ot( matching through the impassable road
sl-es all day long. She makes the children s j at head, defying wind and weather,
fi 'fk-, and plays a little at chess and hack- o(xa S i°t>ally stopping and seizing a hand-
.'.inarm “anything to please her dear fa- ( S j,jh 0 t 0 p,y the guns out of the deep mud,
She does n d send home “lovely” am | j 0 j I)g |,i mse If t
jewelry for her dear father to look at. She
d'es not lave herself to death, nor take vin-
ei;ar to make herself thin. She wears thick
S ‘"es in wet weather. She lias a terrible
-■ 1 'ants, and conceals their little fault. She
r, f'er pouts when scolded, nor shuts herself
the duty of a dozen sol- 1
diers. Urged by his fiery zeal, they push- i
ed foi ward without halting, and arrived just j
in time to find that they missed the prize j
. hy twelve hours; for Moore apprized of the 1
‘•rror of coquetting. She is kinds to the | storm that was brewing around him, was \
retreating with rapid strides to Gallicia. j
Then commenced one of the most disas- i
"p in a room to cultivate “the sulks. ’ ^he trous retreats recorded in history. The i
j’■ (c pel of her “darling papa, and warms French emperor had not proceeded far in ,
no slipp ets on a w i,iter’s night, and lights 1 pursuit before he was called to Paris; that j
^candie before going up to bed. She is Austria had taken advantage of his Spanish i
e ' m * fna s “dear, good girl,” as is suffi- difficulties to make war upon him, and he j
gently proved hy her being intrusted with left th« conduct of the pursuing forces to j
ifie keys of the housekeeping, iheie is . Marshal Soult. The situation of Sir John |
j. e,r ’blt; ctying when she is married, and Moore was truly distressing; the step which (
1 day-j after her absence nothing is beaid ^ j )e | la( j taken, was subsequently applauded '
" I,le house but regrets and loud praises, [,y Marshal Soult, by the Duke of Welling- ,
“"'nest prayers foi the happiness of the { un ^ an ff [,y himself, all of whom pronoun- j
"lei Daughter. i ced it to be stiicily in accordance with the j
principles of war, and precisely such as ,
tfiev would have taken themselves. But ;
wish for death as a happy release. It was
nearer than he probably expected.
On the loth of January, the Enelish
came in sight of Corunna, and of their fleet
riding in the hay. They sent off all their
baggage and incumbrance during the night,
and in the morning of the 16th, stood
ready drawn up for battle, in strong array
in f-ont of Corunna.
They were attacked about two o’clock
in the evening by Soult, and a desperate
combat ensued.
As Sir John Moore was leading the 42d
regiment of Highlanders to the charge, he
was struck by a cannon shot on his left
breast. The shock thtew him from his
horse, but he immediately raised himself to
a sitting postuie, and fixed his eye on the
advancing regiment. The shot had carried
away the shoulder, so entirely, that it only
dangled hy the skin, and a* they endeavor
ed to raise him up, the hilt of his sword
became entangled in the wound. Ooe of
his aids offered to take it off’, but he begged
him to let it remain, saying that he wished
to die with it on. He was carried into the
tow n of Corunna, where fie died a few mo
ments after the battle was ended.
Ilis last words expressed the deep im
pression which the cruel injustice of his
countrymen had upon him. They were, “I
deed, my dear air.” replied Curran, “it was
not, it was bora Twenty three years and
some months after me/’ But when he
bad made the important discovery of this
concealed power, he employed every means
to t ender his elocution perfect. He accus
tomed himseif to speak very slowly to cor
rect his precipitate utterance. He practi
ced before a glass to make his gestures
graceful. He spoke aloud the most cele
brated orations. One pisce lie was never
weary of repeating, the speech of Antony
over the body of Ctesar. This lie recom
mended to his young friends at the liar a3 a
model of eloquence.
And while he thus used ait to smooth a
channel for his thoughts to flow in, no man’s
eloquence ever issued more freshly and
spontaneously from the heart. It was al
ways the heart of the man that spoke. It
was because his own emotions were so
intense, that he possessed such power over
the feelings of others.
His natural sympathies were strong.
Like every truly great mao, he was a9 sim
ple as a child. He had those tastes which
mark a genuine man. He loved nature.
He loved children. He sympathized with
the poor. It was perhaps from these pop
ular sympathies '.fiat he preferred Rousseau
among the French writers, and that his
hope my country will be satisfied.” j friendship was so strong with Mr. God-
The French, though tepulsed, were not j win.
beaten, and they were gathering in strength | His nature was all sensibility. He was
to renew the assault. No time was te- be j most keenly alive to gay, or to mournful
lost in embarking, and wrapping Moore in ! scenes. Hu had a boyish love of fun and
a military cloak they hastily buried him on frolic. He entered into sports with infiti-
the rampart, amidst a pitchy darkness, re- ite glee. In these things he remained a
lieved ouly hy the fitful glances of the moon, I child to the end of his days; while in sensi-
as it emeiged from a sea of clouds, or by I bility to tears he had thp heart of a woman,
the blaze of torches held by the hands of Thus, to the last hour of life, he kept his
his faithful and weeping soldiers. The
French, attracted by the sight of these last,
opened a heavy fire from their batteries,
and amidst the red glare of the enemy's
guns, illuminating the country and the
sea for miles around, and their thunder,
which shook the solid gtound like the shock
of an leatihquake, the remains of Sir John
Moore were committed to the tomb. The
whole of this melancholy tale is not even
yet told.
Sir John Moore was to havemanied the
beautiful and gitied Lady Hester Stanhope,
affections fresh and flowing.
He had the delicate organization of gen
ius. His frame vibrated to music like an
Eolian harp. He had the most exquisite
relish for the beauties of poetry. He wa9
exttavagantly fond of works of im igination.
He devoured romances. And when in his
reading he met with a passage which grat
ified his laste, he was never weary of re 1 -
pealing it to himself, or reading it to the
friends who came to see him.
In conversation perhaps the most prom
inent facul'v of his mind was fancy—spor-
j the grand-daughter of the great Earlofitivo, playful, tender, and pathetic. Hi
Chatham, the favorite niece of the younger
Pitt, and the inheritrix of all the pride, and
a large share of the talents, which have
distinguished that remarkable family. She
did not murmur, she did not complain, she
did not allow her grief to evaporate in tears
—she left tile society of civilized man for
ever, and hurrying whithersoever llie im-
nversation was a stream «liich never ceas- |
ed to flow. His brilliant imagination, and !
the warmth wi;li which he entered into I
everything, gave it a peculiar fascination, j
Byron said that Curran had spoken more ■
poetry than any man had ever written. In j
a circle of genial friends, after dinner, his
genius wasin its first action. H is counte- 1
pulses of a bunting heart dictated, became \ nance lighted up, and his conversation, be-
a leatfer among the Wild Arabs, and pitch- I ginning to flow', now spaikled, now ran,
ed her tent as a sovereign ptincess on Mt. : like wine. Flashes of wit played around
Lebanon. j him. Mirth gleamed from his eye and shot
Her own end was peculiarly appropiiate | from his tongue. He had an endless store
to the rest of this sad story. Almost wor- I of anecdote, to which his extraordinary
shipped during her life, she was at h
death deserted by her Arab servants, who
plundered her house before they left her,
and was al last indebted fora decent butial
to those Europeans whose society she had
denounced. Like her illustrious lover, she
was “buried darkly at the dead of night.”
It may not be uuinteresting to our lady
readers to know, thst bwtb these extraordi
nary lovers were every way fitting to cut a
figure in romance.
Lady Hester, even in old age, is describ
ed as retaining the traces of great beauty,
dramatic talent enabled him to give tin
happiest effect. He told stoties, and hitt
ing ofl the point of Irish character by the
most exquisite mimicry, he “set the table
on a roar,” following perhaps with some
touching tale which instantly brought tears
into every eye 1 “You wept,” says Phillips,
“and you laughed, and you wondered; and
the wondeiful creature, who made you do
all at will, never let it appear that fie was
more than your equal, and was quite willing
if you chose, to become your auditor.”
The wit of Curran was spontaneous. It
and Sir John Moore is represented t> have ! was the creation of the moment, the elec
tric sparks shot from a mind overcharged
with imagery and feeling. In this it dif-
been one of the handsomest men in Eu
rope of his day. His person was tall,
ferred from tho wit of another great Irish
man. Sheridan had more of the actor
about him. His brilliant sayings were pre
pared beforehand. He aimed at display
in the receptions at Holland House as much
as when writing a comedy for Drury
Lane.
Perhaps no foreigner, who has visited
England, has had a better opportunity of
seeing its distinguished men than Madame
de Stael. She was constantly surrounded
by the most brilliant society of London.
Yet even in that blaze of genius, she was
most struck, as she often told her friends,
with the conversational powers ol Curran,
the part of I This, too, w as in IS13, wheu his health
He loved 1 ^ a tl sunk, and his spirits were so depressed
as to make it an effort to support his part
at all in society.
From the vivacity of his conversation,
one would hardly have suspected the depth
and seriousness of his character. In talking
with ladies, or with young persons, his
mind was remarkable for its constant play
fulness. A gleam of sunshine illumined
his whole being. Yet those who knew
him intimately were aware that he was sub
graceful and well shaped, his face manly
and striking, with a mouth of exquisite
shape and expression, and a dark eye which
rivalled that of an eagle in its glance.
CURRAN, THE ORATOR.
Curran sprang from the people. He
was born at Newmarket, an obscure town
in the county of Cork, in 1150—being thus
tour years younger than Griittan. On the
father’s side, he was descended from one
of Cromwell’s soldiers. Posing his child
hood in the country, he was. thrown much
among the people. He loied to recall the
days when he played marblSs in the street
of Newmarket, or assum
Punch's man at a country J
to visit the peasantry in thei cabins, and to
listen to their tales. There ho saw the
Irish character—its wit. its humor, its sen
sibility to mirth and tears. There, too, in
those rough natures, which appear so sul
len and savage, when brought, face to face,
with their oppiessors, he found the finest
and renderest affections of the human heart.
There, too, he found a natural poetry and
eloquence. He was a constant attendant , . - . ,
at the weddings and wakes of his neigh- J e . c , 1 a11 h,s ,,fe to constitutional melancholy, j
bourhood. It was customary at that time I Dike many other men celebiated for their ,
to employ hired mourners for the dead, ! w "- h ' 9 8 a y et y alternated with deep de- j
and their wild and solemn lamentations | P re , 39,on - The truth was that he sympathy J
struck his youthful imagination. In after- i ze _ to ° ln tensely with the scenes of real
years, he acknowledged that his first ideas
of eloquence were derived from listening
to the laments of mourners at the Irish
burials.
When transferred to Trinity College, in
Dublin, he became distinguished chiefly
for his social powers. Full of the exube
rant life of youth, overflowing with spirits,
and fond of fun and frolic, he was always
a welcome companion among the stu
dents.
H is mother had des'gned him for the
church. Wuen he came out of college,
his tastes took another turn
life to be uniformly gay. In his country
.he saw so much to sadden him, that his
1 feelings took a melancholy tone. The
1 transition was often instantaneous from hu
mour to pathos. His friends, who saw him
in his lighter moods, were surprised at the
sudden change of his countenance. "In
grave conversation, his voice was remarka- 1
ble for a certain plaintive sincerity of tone” i
—a sadness which fascinated the listener j
like mournful music.—Atheneeum.
you. Do you find it hard to yield some- ] wa3 . to suggest to James MadW^ti an im-
hmes! Think you it is not difficult fi>r her ! pr „ven:ent in his owe speech! Probablv
to g,ve up alwags\ If you never yield to i no <)lher individual then firm* won Id
her wishes, there is danger that she will ; taken , uch a [jbeiiy. Bm the sage, ia-
tlnnk you are selfish, and care only for your- j 3lead 0 f regarding the intrusion with a
se i, and With such feeling she cannot love j frown, raised his eye In the b‘»y*s face with
as s.ie might. Again, show yourself manly, , pleased surprise, and said ‘thank you sir—
so that your wife can look up to you, and j j t ^ very word!' and immediately inser-
feel tha^you will act nobly, and that she j tei [ j t _ 1 sa »v him the next dav, and he
can confide in your judgment.
From Authur’s Home Gazette.
RECOLLECTIONS OF JAMES MADISON.
BT ARTHUR i. STANSBURV.
mentioned the circumstance, witli a com- '
pliment on the young ciitiu.
I was forcible struck, while discharging
my daily duty In the convention, at the
de mrtment of Mr. Madison. Punctual
And now I approach a period where I ! and unfaili , n ? in ,,is a “endance, he always |
have enjoyed more of personal knowledge °. ccu P ,ed l *>e same seat, and I no not think
and observation than mv situation afforded !
in regard to our earlier Presidents; though !
I wish it to be clearly understood that I pre
tend to no near or very intimate acquaintance ;
with any of them; and in these loose and ;
rambling sketches thrown together without
much order, or attention to chronological ;
succession, for the amusement of now and j
then, a leisure evening, after the labors of!
that in that hall there was another individ
ual who paid as uniform and unremitted al
tention to the proceedings of the body.—
Whoever occupied the floor, he was sure
of at least one attentive listener. John
Matshall, himself, did not listen with more
steadiness and condescension to the argu
ment of a young member of the bar, (and
who that was ever a young member there,
and did not feel with deepest gratitude that
task, and whose positions brought them in
to daily contact with these distinguished
men, would preserve fur posterity what
lives, at this day, in their memories alone,
and must soon be lost forever.
I saw Mr. Madison, for the first time, at
Richmond, where he attended as a mem
ber of a State Convention, assembled in
1829, for the revision of the Constitution of
Virginia. You may imagine the intense
curiosity with which I gazed on an indi
vidual so illustrious. Among a crowd of
gentlemen who entered the hall of the old
House of Burgesses, in the Capitol, where
the Convention was about to open, I saw
one, of lower stature than any of his com
peers, slender and delicate in form—dress
ed in a suit of black, not new, and now dus
ty from travel, with a hat distinguished by
the width of its brim, and its total estrange
ment from the fashionable block of the day;
in aspect grave, yet mild; in air and car
liage perfectly simple and unassuming, of
light, elastic step, and possessing, altogeth
er what may he called a winning address.—
1 observed that he was appreached by eve-
ty one with an instinctive respect, (though
not with that expression of awe which was
inspired hy Washington,) and l soon
learned from every mouth, that it was ex-
President Madison. Many members of the
Convention then saw him, like myself, for
the first time. He looked to me like a
gentleman farmer, emerging from retire
ment. to give his vote at some important
election, and then purposing to return
home.
He met bis friends with courtesy, but
with an unmoved calmness of manner, differ
ing, asitseemd to me, from that warmth
and cordiality which usually mark the in
tercourse of Virginians, and of Southern
people generally. Indeed, were l asked
to point out Mr. Madison’s distinguished
trait—I speak of his constitutional organi
zation—I should say it was this very quali
ty of dignified calmness. Histone of mind
seemed pleasant, even cheerful, but totally
undisturbed—even self-possessed, self-bal
anced. Whenever I met him, afterward,
this original impression remained unaltered.
He was, in all situations, gentlemanly,
modest, retiring, and for so distinguished a
character, moie silent than I expected.—
the dav in public office, 1 profess to do no , . . . . - -
more than to tell, as simply as I can, what ad ? nr “ L e tfait in the character of the great
1 happen to recollect when looking back on I J unst1 ) ,han Madison to the speech-
such personal intercouse with them as fell | f 9 ,,f eve Uf ?' ade ‘ , ,ro , rn L me " of ever >' cal *- ;
in mv way. Would that other, so much I bre - on sub J e c t9 <>t wh.ch none was so com-
mere competent it. every respect to the P«fte a master as himself; perhaps the habit j
- - might have been formed wiien he was i
himself a reporter in the convention which i
fi.imodthe Constitution. A reporter is a j
listener by profession he is attentive/>ar '
force; and, happily, in this case as in every
other of involuntary and long-continued la
bor, the back, by a merciful provision of|
Providence, becomes fitted to the burden. ]
He manifested a very kind interest, and
some curiosity as to my mode of reporting,
often made enquiries on the subject, and
referred, with his accustomed mod-esty, to
his own labors in the same department.—
“I observe.” said he to me one morning,
‘that you often report the more important
speeches in the first person; that is what I
never ventured to attempt. I gave a nar- j
ralive of speeches, endeavoring to preserve
an outline of the arguments employed, but
never professed to follow the speaker in
the manner you do/
1 endeavored to explain to him the man
ner, such as it was, in which I tried, veiy |
poorly and imperfectly, but with what fi
delity I could, to give a picture of each
speech as it was delivered, and he seemed
much surprised to learn that I never used,
or had never learned, indeed the stenogra
phic characters, l was, of course precluded
by delicacy, and a sense of relative po- ;
sitions, from making any enquiries as to
the mode he had himself pursued; though,
from his great modesty and simplicity, I
have no doubt that he would have stated it
with entire frankness and condescension.
He felt himself, in that body, after his
long seclusion from public life, surrounded
with comparative strangers. Many of its
members he had never seen before.—
Among these, I rather think, was John
Randolph: I am quite sure, for I heard him
say so, that he had nevei heard him speak.
He had to wait long for the opportunity:
and when, at length, the eccentric orator of
Roanoke got upon his feet, I noticed that
Madison’s usual quietness of manner gave
place to every manifestation of the most
intense curiosity. Like every other man, j
great or little, who ever heard John Ran
dolph, he was at once transfixed by the
originality of his style, and the almost mag
ical charm of his voice, look and manner.—
But, Randolph, that monotype in intellec
tual humanity, I must reserve for a niche
of his own: in the Richmond convention he
He never assumed the lead in conversation,
and appeared always more disposed to | formed but one in a group of men such as
, than to speak. Nothing cat. be con- j 19 rareI >' congregated m any country or on j
remote from all assumption I an y occasion 1 think I must give you,at ;
During the whole duration of 9 . ome f “ ,u . re chapter on that conven- ,
for sixteen 1 ,lou ’ II ,s a " ch 9ub ject.
listen
ceived more
and display.
the Convention, (and it sat
weeks) although all present, he was best
entitled to speak on subjects such as those
which occupied that body, he spoke but
twice. When he did speak, however, the
The Charms of Life.—There are a
thousand things in this world to afflict and
sadden—but oh! how many that are beauti
ful and good. The world teems with
effect of such retiring merit was at once ob- beauty—with objects which gladden the
vious. While other members of the body, | e y e all j warm th e heart. We might be
even the most distinguished among the | happy if we would. There are ills that we
elite of \ irginia, were listened to with res- ca( )riot escape—the approach of disease and
pectfulattention, but without any special j eal b, of misfortune, the sundering of
outward demonstration ol interest, no soon- earthly lies, and the canker worm of grief
er was Mr. Madison upon his feet, than
there was in one moment a simultaneous
rnsh, from every part of the hall; the ordi-
naty decorum of the body seemed forgot
ten; regardless of all obstacles, every man
made a straight line to the spot, and he
was at once, so completely hemmed in by
the crowd that pressed around to hear, that j execration of theh
— hut a vast majority of the evils, that be
set us might be avoided. The curse of
intemperencc, interwoven as it is with all
the ligaments of society, is one which never
strikes but to destroy. There is not one
bright page upon the record of its progress
—nothing to shield it from the heartiest
his small figure could scare be
There was, indeed, one reason
seen.—
for this
uman race. It should
not exist—It should not. Do away with all
this—let wars come to an end, and let
movement besides the homage which his friendship, charity, love, purity and kind-
character commanded. j ness, mark the intercourse between
His voice, never strong, was then very
slender, even feeble, (he was in his seventy-
eighth year.) though his enunciation
perfectly distinct, and the univeisal eager
ness uot to lose a syllable that fell from
him may have quickened the effort to he as
near him as possible. My professional oc~
man
and man. We are too selfish, as if the
the world was made for us alone. How
much happier would vve be were we to la- |
bor more earnestly to promote each other’s
good. God lias blessed us with a home j
which is not dark. There is sunshine ev
ery where—in the sky, upon the eaith—
cupalion opened an avenue to me, since it ; , llere wou |d be in most l.earts, if we would
was my duty to take down the speech; but; |„ llk arou „ d us . The stmm dies away,
such was the interest 1 felt, in common with aniI a blight 8Un 8hines out .s„ mmer ff r „ ps
all aiouud me, to hear the speech, that it her tinged curtain upon the earth, which is
was with difficulty I could prevent my at . V eiy beautiful, even when autumn breathes
tention from being drawn from my task, j her changing breath upon it. God
leaving me a li tener merely. 1 have still i in heaven. Murmur not at a being „
the MS. notes of that speech, (the last he j beautiful; and we can live happier than we !
ever delivered) with correction of it in his :
own hand, which l keep witli a religious
reigns
How to treat a icife.—First, get a wife— _ w
But his moth- secondly, be patient.—You may have great ; feeling of veneration. Connected with it is
er never got over her disappointment at his j trials and perplexities in your business with a little anecdote, characteristic in the high-
Iiot being a preacher. Not even his bril- ( the world; but do not therefore carry to
liant reputation at tho bar and in parlia- ; y„ur home a clouded or contracted brow, j
ment, could satisfy her maternal heart. She Your wife may have many trials, which,!
lived to see the nation hanging on the lips though of less magnitude, may have been j
of this almost inspired orator. Yet even ; a s hard to bear. A kind conciliating word, '
then she would lament over him, “O, a tender look, will do wonders in chasing
Jaeky, Jacky, what a preacher was lost in j f rom |, er brow all clouds of gloom. You i
y°u!” j encounter your difficulties in the open air,
Her friends reminded her that she had . fanned by heaven’s cool breezes; but your j
lived to see lie.- son one of the judges of | wife is often shut in from these healthful |
the land. “Don’t speak to me of judges,” j influences, and her health fails and her
she would reply, “John was fit for anything; spirits lose their elasticity. But oh! bear
A young man at Niagara having been
crn 5sed in love, walked out to the preci-
ni,'. ,, , , .' “ . _ thewretcliedtaclionswIiichdisgracedEiig-
i'*ok off his clothes. ea»e one linger- . vcr s . r ?
tria',: . , i l- i ,? land at that time, took a different view of it,
- ""'R a! the tij f beneath him. and then . , . , . , •
R t r,. i ; , , ci , and iheir murmurs were echoed by their
*'« home. His body was found next; . c _ . e - j*
and had he but followed our advice, it
might hereafter be waitten upon my tomb
that 1 died the mother of a bishop.”
But no one as yet knew that he had ex
traordinary talent for eloquence. Indeed
with her; she has trials and sorrow to
which you are a stranger, but which your
tenderness can deprive of all their anguish.
Notice kindly her little attentions and ef
forts to promote your comfort. Do not
ttnunin
g in bed.
^dous Stones
o ents in Spain. Safe from all dangets
themselves, they continually upbraided and .
in the Mississippi.—Ag- insulted the noble minded man. who at the
d madrepores have been peril of his life was sustaining the honor of 1
k°*' forne lta n ?, and ,
‘ I profusely scattered amohg the coar- his country.
61Ssi
pebbl
ies in the Southern portion of Mis- These things sunk Jeep into Moore's
( PP 1 - The same formation has been ob- mind, and added to the trouble which he
•j. 1 as far West as Gundaloupe river, in daily experienced from his own troops, who ^
,3S - ! were completely demoralized, made him
he did not suspect it himself. In his boy- ! take them all as a matter of course, and pass
hood he had a contusion in his utterance, | them by, at the same time being very sure
from which he was called hy his school-fel- | to observe any omission of what you may
lows “stuttering Jack Curran.” , consider duty to you. Do not treat her
It was not until many years after, while ! with indifference, if you would r.ot sear aud
studying law at the Temple, that he found ; palsy her heart, which watered by kindness,
out that ho could speak. After his fame j would to the latest day of vour existence
was established, a friend dining with him throb with sincere and constant affection,
one day, could not repress his admiration Sometimes yield your wishes to hers. She
of Curran’s elequenre, and remarked that has preferences as strong as you,and it may
jt must have been born with him. “In- be just as trying to yield her choice as to
est degree of the meekness of wisdom
which so eminently distinguished the illus
trious author of “The Federalist.” When
I had finished writing out the speech. I left
it with him for his revision. Next day, as
there was a great call for it, and the report
had not been returned for publication, 1 sent
my son, with a respectful note, requesting
the MS. My son was a lad of about six
teen, I whom I had taken with me to act as
an amanuensis,) and on delivering my note
he was received with the utmost politeness,
and requested to come up into Mr. Madi
son’s chamber, aud wait while he ran his
eye over the paper; as company had till
that moment prevented his attending to it.
He did so; and Mr. Madison, pen in hand,
sat down to correct the report. The lad
stood near him, so that his eye fell on the
paper. Coming to a certain sentence in the
speech; Mr. M. struck out a word, and sub
stituted another : but hesitated, and not feel
ing quite satisfied with the second word,
drew his pen through it also. My son was
young, ignorant of tiie world, and uncon
scious of the solecism of which he was about
to be guilty, when, in all simplicity, be sug-
Contentment.—In Vienna a magnificent
house was built by a nobleman, on the front
of which is a stone with this inscription:— !
“This house was erected by Count D , f
to be given to the first man who can prove
that he is really contented.” One day a
stranger knocked at the gate, and desired to '
speak with the master. “1 am come,” said
lie, “to take possession of this house, as 1
find you have built it in order to bestow it
upon the man who is really contented.
Now I am in that state, of which 1 am wil
ling to make oath: you will therefore please,
sir, to give me immediate possession.” The
count did not interrupt him till he had fin
ished his speech, when he replied, “You
are quite right sir, with respect to my in
tentions; but as I do not discover the least
pretension you have to the character of a
contented man, I beg you will retire. If
you were quite contented you would not want
my house!"
The
Free Colored Population.—The
Philadelphia Bulletin has devoted several
articles lately to the discussion of the con
dition of the colored population of that ci
ty, and the necessity of their removal.—
The Bulletin thinks there is no hope of the
_ improvement of this race at the North, and
gesleda word. Yes; he ventured, boy that be recommends their colonization in Africa
THE WIFE.
The work of Creation was no sooner
completed, the Bible informs us, than that
it was pioulaimed riot good for rnan to be
alone, and woman was formed to be a
‘help meet’for him; and if, when all was
beauty and perfection, man needed a com
panion, how indispensable is it that he have
one now, wheu the world U 9uffeiing from
the cause, and when disease and death
meet us at every step.
The duties <>fa wife are many and ar
duous; and they ought always to be per
formed in kindness and love; it is by these
trails of loveliness that woman conquers:
that she throws around her husband a chain
•f roses by which even vice is often drawn
to the paths of virtue, and sadness and sor
row yields to smiles and contentment; and
when every hope has fled, her cheerfulness
brightens the loneliest hours, and comforts
amidst the severest trials.
The w ile may not shine in the Halls of
Legislation,— her presence may not he seen
amidst the cotilusiou of battle,— nor her
voice heard from the sacred desk,—yet, it
is by her influence, her instructions, her
advice, that men are prepaied lor every
station in life.
One object of roarriago should be the
perfection of friendship, and in no other
connection can a woman act so well the part
of a friend; for she possesses (or ought to)
her husband's confidence;—she lias better
opportunities of detecting his faults, and
can better choose her time for advising
him; besides she is more deeply concerned,
aud her motives ought to be purer than
those of any olhei;—in a word, the nearer,
dearer, and more intimate one is to us, the
better oppoitunity is afforded for the exer
cise of friendship.
As with the husband, so ought it to be
with the wife—religion should he all in all
— it ougiit to control her actions—her
thoughts—her conversation — her instruc
tion, and all she does, should be done with
an eye single to the glory of God a .d for
the good of others.
"democratic organization.
The following article from the (Va) South.
Side Democrat, a paper which has not fail
ed in its fidelity to the South, is not less
worthy the attention of the Democracy of
Georgia than of Virginia! We commend
it to the consideration of our readers.
In the present crisis, it becomes a matter
of important consideration to the Demo
cratic [»arty, whether they mean to main
tain their time honored organization and
to struggle for the triumph of those’ princi
ples which form the basis of their organi
zation, or, whether they intend to suffer
themselves to be broken up and dispersed,
their existence to be merged in other com
binations. That the Whig party mean to
preserve their unity, no man can doubt;
and it is equally manifest that they are
striving, hy every possible mode to destroy
the organization of the Democrats. Noth
ing Gut absolute fatuity can blind u< to the
efforts made to divide the Democratic [tar
ty. It is impossiMe to glance a* a Whig
Journal without perceiving some indication
of the existence of this insidious scheme.
Intlie North, the utmost effort is m ule to
lash tile free soil and hunker wings of the
Democratic party into suicidal hostility;
whilst in tiie South the Whigs labor to un
dermine our organization hy infusing into '
it the poisoned element of disunion. Shall
we suffer these [dots to succeed Are we
so blind as not to perceive the snare set for
our destruction; or, are we so mad as to
plunge head long Into the pit! It is true
.that Northern and Southern Democrats are
directly opposed upon the subject of slave
ry; but is that a reason why they should
assist in the triumph of the Whig party]
Is this party half sound upon the subject?
Would their ascendency contribute inure
to strengthen the institution of slavery, or
more to the protection of the rights of the
South, than the ascendancy of the Demo
cratic party?. Wito dares answer, yes!
Yet, although the Democratic party are, in
the wolds of John Randolph, “the natural
ally of slavery,” although the Whigs have
shown themselves its natural foe; they
seek to alarm Southern Democrats by the
assertion, that the organization and triumph
of their party are fatal to the institution of
slavery, and the rights of the South? It is
more consistent with the policy and the
safety of the South, for slaveholding Derrw
ocrats to unite with free-soil Democrats
than to co-alesce with abolition.
But the chief device by which Whig
leaders seek to effect the disorganization
and consequent defeat of the Dem >cratic
party, is by stigmatising them as Disunion-
ists. Now this charge amounts to the con
cession that the Democratic party are more
urgent and zealous in defence of Southern
rights than the party who proclaim their
willingness to sacrifice all to a blind devo
tion to the Union. But is it true that the
Democratic party are advocates of disun
ion? No, the charge is false in every sylla
ble. They are disunionists, if the preser
vation of the confederacy is inconsistent
with the equality and rights of the South.
But their political system teaches them the
Union is the great bulwark of the rights of
the States, and was intended so to operate
as to effect the general welfare and com
mon defence of them all. The Constitu
tion is the bond of the Union; and whilst
the Whigs exaggerate its powers and per
vert its meaning the Democratic party
strive to construe it in its original justice
and wisdom. The Democratic party seek
to attach the allegiance of the people of the
United States to the Federal Government
by so administering it, as to make it sub
servient to the interests and welfare of all;
whilst the Whigs wield it to the oppression
of sections and to the unequal advantage
of classes. Ti e Democratic party labor to
preserve ihe Union intended by the Con
stitution, but the Whigs are striving nfter
the establishment of a consolidated Gov-
e'nment. Who then, are the friends of the
Union, and who are its enemies?
We cannot he too earnest in denying
and refuting the charge of disunion. Be
sides that it is a slander which we should
be quick to lesent; it is an accusation
biouglit for the purpose of effecting our
condemnation in public opinion. A sense
of honor as web as the dictate of policy,
advises us to repel the charge.
Never was there greater need fora thor
ough organization of the Democratic patty
than exists at the present time; and we
should exert ourselves to defeat every at
tempt to divide and distract this organiza
tion. We should bury any mere temporary
or accidental difference, should forget all
sectional prejudices, and should unite heart
and hand in the struggle for the ascendency
of the principles of the Democratic paity.
Nothing but the State’s Right’s poliev of
this party can arrest the centralizing ten
dency of the Federal Government: and to
the Democrats must the country look for
escape from the present system of profli
gate and corrupt expenditure of the public
treasure. With so much depending upon
the triumph of iheir principles, can the
Democratic party hesitate to employ every
suggestion of prudence, and to exert eve
ry energy, for a complete union and
thorough organization of their fore**?