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COIiPMBIS, «EOROU,.SATI74s ty, JX I.V », I SSI.
THIRD VOLUME OF
THE IBMIHiIV
A N I. '1 HERN DEMOCRAT.
" u w «u!il respectfully inform our patrons and
the public that we contemplate suudiy new ar
rangements. and improvements, in the forth
coming volume of -the Irishman-,” and while
we gratefully acknowledge our obligations for
past encouragement, we trust that an augmen
ted liberality will enable us to carry those pro
jects into execution. Indeed the political as
pect of things, and tho relative position in
which we have voluntarily placed ourselves,
would seem to demand a corresponding energy
and enterprise on our part;—fur we cannot con
ceal from ourselves that a crisis is approaching
\ cry' rapidly—it it has not already arrived—
when every advocate fur good order, and the
" integrity of this Union, must be bold in
avowing, and zealous in propagating the tiue
doctrine* of llie (Joiistilution. 'jTho enemy is
rallying his forces, and augmenting his means
ol annoyance—the most powerful engines that
talent, ingenuity, or low cunning can bring to
hear, are, or will peedily be levelled at the ven
erable fabric of our institutions—and however
teebjo our efforts, they must not be wanting to
“resist the foe.” With this view, we piopose
enlarging our sheet, and giving to it the “form
and pressure” of the ordinary vehicles of infor
mation. The circle of our exchanges too, has
been considerably extended, and assistance has
been secured in ihe Editorial department. We
promise our readers a large accession of origin
al, and an immediate tlansfer of such selected
matter, as may bear on the groat inteiests ot
which.we profess ourselves the advocates;—in
short, we are desirous of establishing anew mra
in the history of tho “Irishman ip Democrat,”
and rospccttully solicit the co-operation ol our
friends.
A renewal of our political professions may be
considered as somewtiat gratuitous at this peri
od of our career; but such is the general houle
versement of parties, such the open tergiversa
tion, or cnnteinptihlo trimming, which charac
terize and disgrace the period in which we live,
that the honest Journalist owes it to himself, no
less than to his patrons, to recur frequently to
first principles. In accouianco with this con
viction, we now avow our full determination to
abide the issue of those principles which actua
ted us in the outset— lrish Disentiirai.me.nt,
AND HE I.NTF.CRITV OF THE AMERICAN UnlO.n!
Every thing hostile to the first, we stand sol
emnly and irrevocably pledged to encounter,
whenever contempt or a less cxcuseablc feeling
will permit us to do so; whatever militates a
gaimt the last—no matter whence it proceed,
or under what specious exterior it may be dis
guised, be it open suggestion, Nullification, or
Hartford, or any other Convention—as Anieri
can-citizens, as men, as the reverers of W ash
ington and his last precious legacy, we sliali lilt
up our v >ices, “truiupet-tongued, against its
deep damnation!” Opposed as we are, and have
ever been to the Tariff, Internal Improvements,
and the w'hole host of kindred abominations, we
shall never cease to oppose them with contitu
tional weapons; but that policy which would
tear down a magnificent otiifice, reared at in
calculable cost and labor, and sacrifice, be
cause its latter tenants may have appropriated
it to other uses than were originally designed,
is indicative of such wanton lolly, or reckless
ambition, as to leave us no choice between im
plied acquiescence and unqualified reprobatim.
\V ith su>’h measures aim their authors, we can
hold neither council nor communion. W'e view
them as destructive to tho very last degree, of
every’ thing estimable or sacred in our political
existence; and comparatively insignificant as
we may seem, if our friends are not wanting to
themselves and us, wo may yet oppose a formi
dable barrier to the inarch of ruin. To this end,
our columns will be open, and we earnestly en
treat the contributions ot all friends of the U
nion. “It mist be preserved," has already
been wafted from a qnarter, whose warning
tones are at once tho summons to exertion, and
the harbingers of conquest. 1 .et us not be un
mindful of the call.
As regards the ensuing Presidential election,
symptoms by no means equivocal, have already
begun to manifest themselves, to the uttter dis
comfiture of every previous prognosis Nor
does it require any refined sagacity to discover
their proximate cause— Jackson has had the
firmness and consistency to frown on tho mach
inations to which we have already adverted *V
lienee, some of those that rang tho loudest notes
of praise, are beginning to wail their feeble
cries, or to fulminate their coarsest anathemas.
To call this only political defection, were a fee
ble phrase: in our opinion it involves a much
more serious charge of gross moral delinquen
cy, for it must puzzle even nullification sophis
try itself to point ou the vast discrepancies
between Jackson the idolized, and Jackson the
yorsaken! In what has he fallen short of the
glorious anticipations, of which these very men
were the vnucuers and proclaimed? What du
ty has he neglected? What responsibilities has
he evaded? What recent occurrences have cast
their darkening shadows over a life of unparal
lelled devotedness, and incalculable public ser
vices?—For ourselves as we were among the first
to support, we are now confirmed in our confi
and nee in the man, by tho very measures that
have entailed the displeasure of bis opponents;
and if any possible contingency could induce us
to swerve from our fidelity, it would most assu
redly be of a more important character than a
personal difference with Mr. Calhoun, with
which the public have, properly, nothing at all
to do. Andrew Jackson we now proclaim to be
our first, our last, our only, and we shall yet live,
we trust, to add, our successful Candidate!
Let his friends come forth boluly: the season is
early, but not too early to counteract the subtle
schemes, the Machiavelian artifices of his ene
mies; and while we offer every facility which
our columns can afford, we pledge ourselves to
go liand in hand with them in whatever may
promote the glorious cause!
The proposed alteration in our paper will ne
cessarily impose additional expenses, to defray
which we solicit an increase in our subscription
list. Tho first number of “ THE 11HSHMAJV
EXD SOUTHERN DEM' CHAT, ' in its new
form, will be issued ou Saturday die 21st of
May next, at $3 per annum payable in Advance,
o" $3 HI, if not paid within six months from tho
lime of subscribing.
Charleston, April 22.
NANKEEN, a heavy
article for Gentlemens wear. For
stilt by GEO. W. DILLINGHAM.
BRICK.
IN IIE SUBSCRIBER has 120*
4100 Brick, which he will sell on
accommodating terms. L. C. ALLEN.
Columbus, June 4.
HENRY II MERSHON,
ATTORNEY AT LAW.
E WAS located himself in Talbotton,&
B-R w i|| prucrice Law in the neighboring coun
ties. w3m.
Talbotton, May 14 131.
poetry. ~
THE BEAUTIFUL COQUETTE
Ivc often wept at woman's heartlessness—
ou know in lif , how much of tight and beauty
is made din, by disappointments of the heart.
She flung her glossy trusses back, and innocent
ly smiled,
So like a being formed for love—so beautiful
and wild—
Free flour the trace of burning thought, of pus
lien or of crime
Or early hopes long buried in the ocean tide of
Time.
Twas Rtrange that I should took Vo-/: . ;q,
beauty with a sigh,
Or dream that any thing might dim the lustre
of her e\ e;
But 1 had proved lifo’s empty dreams, and found
man’s fondest trust
Like sparkling streams—when brightest, turn
to nothiirgnois and dust!
falie passed before me,—and I wept— a being
bright and fair,
As lovely as the images of blessed visions are—
I wept to think how soon that form might fade,
and droop, and fail—
These bounding footsteps cease to move along
the lighted hall
I thought how many forms like her’s had min
gled in the dance,
And dreamed ol high and holy tilings in being's
fond romance—
How many such all silently in death’s cold keep
ing slept,—
1 thought how worso than vain is life—and tur
ned away and wept!
She sat beside me—and my heart was glad
dened with her tones—
Tilt re's music in the gentle voice of fondly
cherished ones;
I listened, and my soul was moved to high, im
passioned thought—
I spoke ot faith and constancy, of love that fail
eth not.
Alas! alas: the memory of that moment haunts
mo yet,
Which found me fondly kneeling to a beautiful
Coquette.
That creatures so like angols, formed for feeling
pure and deep,
Should cast away life’s beauty thus! I think of
it and weep!
From the Northampton Courier.
A FRAGMENT
Yes, there are hours when joyous we appear,
Thou grief corrodes the heart, —
And sorrow’s keenest dart,
Pierces the breast and leaves its poison there.
When friends around us smilo with licart-foll
j°y;
Then we must also smile,
The social hour begnije
Away, and every art to please employ,—
Oft in the light of cheerfulness wo m.eet;
Tho’ silent woe devours
The joy of all the hours
Spent 'mid the crowd, or in the lone retreat.
Light are the burdens and less keen the grief;—
Sorrow’s heart-rending train
Os suffering we sustain, —
When trom a flood of tears we gain relief.
But deep the sting which wounds the inmost
soul,
When feeling's fount is dry;
When tearless is the eye,
When we the heaving breast can ill control.
'Tis then die soul begins to pine away
Its puise beats languid ! y,
Its feelings faint and die,
And ail its nobler energies decay. Walter.
MISCELLANEOUS.
A Ride. —During the Revolutionary
War, when a corps of the American ar
my were encamped near the borough of
Elizabethtown in New Jersey—an officer
who was rather more of a devotee of Ve
nus, than of Mars, paid his addresses to
a lady of distinction, whom lie was in the
habit of visiting nightly, in the cultivation
of those kindly feelings which love so cor
dially inspires. On a discovery of the
cause of the repeated absence of the offi
cer, and of the place where his interviews
with his dulcinea were had, some wagg
ish friends resolved to play off a hand
some trick at his expense, which should
deter him from a repetition of his amorous
visits. The officer it appears rode a ve
ry small horse of the pony kind, which
he always left untied, with the bridle reins
over his neck near the door, in order to
mount and ride off without delay, when
the business of courting anti kissing was
over; and the horse always remained un
til backed by bis owner, without attempt
ing to change Ins position. Or* a certain
very dark night, when the officer had as
usual, gone to pay his devoirs to the ob
ject of Iris affections, and was enjoying
the approving smiles of the fair one; his
waggish companions went privately to the
door of the house where the officer was;
took the bridle mid saddle from the horse
which they sent quietly away, placed the
former on the tail, and the latter on the
j iKica vfi a tory softer ruiumanvc otu cow,
(■ 'ttii the snipper over tire horns,) who
stood peaceably chewing her cud, near
the spot. Immediately hereafter, thev re
tired some distance from the house, and
separating, raised the loud cry of alarm,
that the enemy had landed,’ and were
marching in full force into the village.
On hearing the voice of alarm, the peo
ple ran out greatly excited; and conster
nation entering every dwelling, found its
unwelcome way speedily, into the house
hold temple where our nlliciul hero was
worshiping. Taking counsel from his
tears, mid stealing a hasty kiss, he started
Hot" the lat.lv’s chamber, and rushiii"
rapidly down stairs, shot out of doors with
tile velocity ot a musket hall, and owing
to the darkness, not seeing the interestin'*'
change in the formation of his nag, moun
ted hastily into t l -e saddle, with his back
towards tlie head of the cow, and plung
ing Ins r\ . deeply into her side,
caused her to Lawi'ciut with excessive;
pain, and she darted off in gallant style,
and in her best gallop made towards the
ennp. The officer playing bis trusty
spurs and whip to the skin.and bones of
the suffering old animal, and w ith all his
wine and love on hoard, finding himself
hurried rapidly backwards, maugre all his
efforts to advance; and hcarino 1 the re
peated bawlings of the tortured .and fright
ened beast, imagined that he was carried
oil'by magic, and roaring out mos' lustily
that the devil had got him, was carried in
this state of purturbation into the very a
lignment of the camp,. The courageous
sentinels, hearing the noise, and imagin
ing no doubt, that Hannibal and his oxen
were coming, discharged their pieces and
tied as if the devil had chased them; the
alarm guns were fired—the drums Insat to
arms; the officers left their quarters and
cried, turn out! turn out!! with all the
strength of their lungs. The soldiers
started from their sleep as if a ghost had
crossed their dreams—and the whole ho
tly running, half naked, together, formed
as quick as possible in gallant dishabille,
prepared to repel the terrible invader.
When lo! the ludicrous sight soon pre
sented itself to their eyes of the gallant of
ficer, mounted on an old cow, with his
face towards her tail, and this appendage
sticking straight out behind; her tongue
hanging out—her sides gory with the grie
vous diguing of the spurs, and himself,
owing to his excessive l'ear almost depri
ved of reason and half petrified with hor
ror. A loud and general roar of laughter
broke from the assembled band, at the ri
der and his steed—the whole corps gave
him three times three hearty cheers, as he
bolted into camp, and he was seized and
carried to his quarters in triumph, there
to dream of loves metamorphoses, back*
ward rides, sternway advances, and a
larrns of invasion, and thereby to garnish
his mind with materials for writing a
splendid treaties on the novel adventure
of covvology.—-V. Y. Constellation.
BUYING A PRIZE.
•There’s many slips between the cup A. the lips <
A fellow not much acquainted with
the tricks of Dame Fortune, curne into
a Lottery Office in Broadway a few
days since, and wished to ptirchnse the
highest prize, which was exhibited be
fore the door in glaring figures, •$20,000'
He was asked if he would have a half
ticket or a whole one.
‘A whole one, to be sure,’ said Hodge,
•there’s no use in plagueing ones self
with half a prize; give us the whole or
none—twenty thousand dollars says I.’
lie paid the cash, took his ticket and
went away. During the interval be
tween the purchase and the drawing,
his head ran continually on the twenty
thousand dollars.---He could not sleep
o’nights, or if he slept, it was only to
dream of money— of gold and silver by
the bushel, or bank bills by the acre—
and to talk in his sleep of the wealth he
was about to possess, llis reveries—
his day dreams as well us his sleeping
one’s—were of riches. He speculated
on tlie pleasures lie would enjoy—on
the figure he would cut in the world.
He laid various plans of employing and
enjoying his wealth. lie would pur
chase houses, horses, carriages; he
would live in line style; he would have
servants to attend him: and above all he
would eat as much gingerbread antj lick
as much ’lasses as he had a mind to.
He would also get him a handsome
wife. The hanghty Tabitha Tallboy’,
who had so long baffled his gallant en
deavors, would no .More turn up her
nose at Mr. Hodge—the rich .Mr. H:»dge
—Peter Hodge, Peter Hodge, Esq. He
would bring the proud hussy to terms,
if he didn't Ue would eat alii'e ram-cat,
that's all!
The drawingtook place, and Ilodge,
after a sleepless night, called at the lot
tery office for his prize. Walking in
with the gait and dignity of a man who
comes to receive money und not to pay
it. he laid his ticket on the counter and
said—
• Now, Mister, I will take that little
change, if it’s convenient.’
•Change!’
•Ay, that prize.’
•But sir, you’ve drawn a blank.’
•I’ve drawn o blank! I wonder if I
have? I tell you what it is. Mister, I
hadn’t nothing to do with the drawing-
I didn’t tou'-h a finger to it. But I pur
chased a prize t’other day of twenty’
thousand dollars, and that’s what I’m
come arter - so noni of your foaling.’
•But I tell you sir, that your ticket has
drawn a blank.’
k}*» *
;•• «
j I don’t core if it’s i.
( blanket --that s no consarn of mine.
| Ail I want is the twenty thousand dol
j iars that I bought and paid for, not a
week ago.
'But consider, dear sir ’
‘Consider! t tell you I wont consider
—I tn none of your ennsiderin chaps—l
always go straight ahead—-no quips uml
quirks tor me—none of your ruinfooz
ling.’
•I tell you. sir, you’re mistaken.’
'Mistaken! So lam deueedly misfa-.
ken—l thought y’oii was an honest man.
But you see there's no use in trilling
with me—l'm a man after my own
heart. I purchased the the highest
prize and I'll have it by the holy poker.
Ive got a cart here at the door. Here,
you whipper-snapper, bring in that’are
large trunk.’
‘But I repeat, sir, that you have no
money to receive: I mil sorry to say it.’
‘So am I bloody sorry you should say
it. But tel! me. Mister, will you count
out that’are money’ or not?’ "
'I cannot.’
Do you see this sledge-hammer?,
raising his brawny fist.
•I see it.’
‘Do you calculate to pay it in gold, or
silver, or bank bills?’
•Here is some strange mistake, sir;
and you will allow me to explain, I can
convince you-’
‘Very well, but. if you dont’ convince
me you see this death maul,’ again ele
vating his fist.
The lottery man entered into an ex
planation of the freaks of Dame Fortune,
and at length succeeded in convincing
his rustomer that his expected prize w ns
actually a blank. Still the disappoint
ment was so great, that he could not
bear it with a culm mind, and he ex
claimed—
• Well, ifthis doesn't heat nil my great
grandmother's relations, then there’s no
snakes--to pay the sum of ten dollars for
tfio highest prize, and not get a cent at
last!
‘Such a thing w ill happen sometimes.’
Tt’ajolired hard though. I’ll be hang
ed if it aint. At least, Mister, you ought
to cii'cuiufimd the money.
‘I can’t afford that.’
•Well, just pay thccartman, then.’
‘l'm sorry to say I can’t do it: but if
you'll purchase another ticket I think I
can promise you better luck next time—
the highest prize is thirty thousand dol
lars,’
•Thirty thousand dog’s tails! don’t tell
me none of your pelaver—l’ve been
cheated onc’t and that s enough for me
—l'll never get cat died a second time.
Here, you curtinan, you may load up
this’ere trunk again, i’ll never trust
these lottery-sellers any more, if Ido,
hang my gizard, that's all.’ Then giv
ing the broker a look of irreconcilable
hatred, he left the office. He, however
pretty soon accommodated his mind a
gain to his humble prospects— declared
that houses, horses, and those sort of
things were only a plague to a man
as to Tabitha Tallboy, she might go to
old Nick lor all him-—he’d never think
of her again us long as lie lived—nev
er Ibid.
A VISION.
1 XV nuld recall u vision which I drenni'd
Perchance in sleep .Rvrun
One beautiful autumnal morning I a
rose licfore the day-light had stolen over
the face of the world, to wander forth a
mong the green clad lulls that lay around
my dwellings, and seek refreshment in
the contemplations of a solitary walk af
ter the fatigues of a sleepless and uneasy
night.
In pursuing my walk we reached the
summit of an ajacent cliff', fatigued with
reflection and feeling the want of neces
sary rest, 1 threw myself upon a grassy
tuft, either to seek consolation in thougt,
or repose in slumber. Here I reviewed
what had already glided away of my ex
istence, and endeavored to draw aside the
curtain that obscured the future, but my
efforts were ineffectual, and 1 turned a
gatn to the past, as a mirror in w Inch to be
hold futurity. What an unpleasant pic
ture did it present; my life, the morning
of which was speedily to terminate, had
been allowed to pass in comparative idle
ness, which had I done for the world that
would perpetuate mv name through gen
erations to come. What had 1 done for
literature or science that their votaries
might point to me as a guiding star of their
labors —whut had I discovered in philo
sophy, or given to mankind that would
build a temple in the hearts on which my
name should rest forever! Nothing. I
fejt my own insignificance, tny own deg
radation ; I however resolved to rise a
bovc the vulgar herd of men, who creep
through life as if their faculties were made
to rest dormant rather than to expand in
to usefulness. As I ruminated on my situa
tion the desire for distinction became
more and more intense, I looked on wis
dom as the sunshine of contentment, the
parent of happiness ; my" imagination
hiirned as I run over the catalogue of cho
sen names that dwelt within my mind, to
find some one whose path I could pursue
till I attained and shared his immortality.
But there was none whom I desired to
rival in his particular course, for the
words of Dr. Johnson came coldly upon
me, where he ttayu “that no man was ev
er great by imitation I then determin
ed to find some untroden road that would
lead me on to fame and honor. Having
’ resolved to H|H.‘tid the rest of my days in