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-* - »,. ^•t'm&mmmm AhW POLITICS, >>>»• • <«>: {, ! VOLUME I. 'N'UMSEft i«/ •.•'•• D«6otrt to J>t.lc««, Ijbfcrature, SPwirg, Mrj^nir ®rl3,, ®rajwran«, ^'tfsjs ot ^spiiuj ^Irsig, Joirign snt» Sowcgii* InWMgm*?; $re. &*. BYr.S, C. CMSBE, & A. T. BOYWTON. M'GRAWVILLE, CORTLAKD'COUNTYTS Y. OCTOBER 3&.JW; The Drunkard. BY THE EDITOR OF THE EXPRESS. Wha,t is, more delightful and pleasing to the man of adventures,than a clear, bright moonligt evening, when all is still, calm, and serene ; to sally forth, all alone, to enjoy its beauties and delights ; to inhale the fragrance of the evening breeze, as he forgets the busy scenes and trials incident to life ? Is it not heavenly ? Is it not a foretaste of those; delectable regions above, where the eternal spirits of Heaven, ring their enchanting melodies 'round its throne ! If there is anything that can call up from the deep abyss of thought, its precious ru- bies-r-give tone and motion to reflection, and waft the spirit away to its wildest, and most elevated position—as it crushes the grovelling sensualities of our natures, in its omnipotent blaze—it is as we are walk- ing all alone; when the sparkling gems of night, are singing in unison with the pale moonlight of Heaven! It was on such an evening as this, not long ago, as I was preambulating upon the outskirts of a western village, enveloped in the most profound reflection, that I came across an old man, bent beneath the weight of three score years and ten, reclining up- on a log, by the wayside. His elbows were bent upon his knees, and his head lay bu.. ried in his hands. I gazed upon him for a moment, without saying a word, as I v-as surprised at seeing such a sad looking spectacle; and then I tapped him gently on the shoulder, when he raised his head, and gazed upon me in the wildest alarm. \ Friend\ said I \ you must be unwell; or why sit here so pensive and melanchol- ly?\ •' 'Tis but little consequence,\ said he; •\ I choose rather to dwell in sorrow alone, than to hold conversation with any human being ; my heart is very heavy, and full of misery, and I prefer rather to keep if looked up there: as I am well aware ot the cold charities of the world, especi- ally, to such a wretched creature as I have been.\ \ Do not let such bitter contemplations drive away the little peace that might oth- erwise give solace to your fellings. Per- haps you are unwell; shall 1 not see you to your home.\ \Listen friend,—I know not who you are, but certainly you act very kind; butj sir, I desire to be alone. I am not Worthy •of the least commisseration. Fate has marked me out for the wretched victim that I am, and I must yield silently to its man- dates.\ \ Banish such feelings, my old friend,\!ly said I,taping him again gently on the shoul- der, \I stand ready to help you, and will do everything in my power to make you com- fortable. If you are unwell, say so, and I will cheerfully assistyou to your home.\ \ That you deem me unwell\ replied the old man, (in; a tone so sorrowful, that my heart began to quiver within me,) \ I have no .doubt^ and are ready and willing, to extend to rne.every aid in your power; but you know-nothing of the miseries of ray situation, and the cause of my present debasement.\ Here the;,.oJd;n>an arose from, his seat, and taking hold oif my hand, said he would cheerfully and-in a few wordsjtell me some ot the causes tha,t.led to his present situa- tion, and hoped ,j;h,at it Plight serve as a warning to me,and my associates. I cheerfully consented', when we both sat down, and tlje old man commenced as follows: \My parents .were respectable, and in moderate circumstances : they spared no. pains,to,give me a..good, cqm.mpnschool ed- ucation-nand in Am time, .apprenticed me to a .carpenter and joiner. Time rolled away, and through the influence of bad company, I had gained the habit of drinki ing, and for some,paltry misdemeanor,J while under the influence of liquor, I wa& compelled to leave clandestinely from my employer, to eyade detection and punish, ment. I went to the city of Philidelphia,. ;ahd hot finding employment at my busi ness, I shipped on board a Whaler, bouml on a cruise to the Pacific ocean. Here 1 became initiated in drinking to its fullest extent, and acquired habits of the deepest profanity and recklessness. Time flew like lightning, and I was again in the city of Philidelphia. Here becoming tired of a sea-faring life, I determined to find em- ployment at my trade. Being good times and plenty of work going on, in the way of building, I easily found employment.— For a season I prospered ; and in the mean time I married as nice a young woman, as ever stepped into a kitchen,—beautiful,— amiable and loving. I still kept up drink- ing, and would occasionally have my own time for a spree, despite the remonstrances of my wife. Shortly after I got married, I got along so well, that I was enabled to build me a snug, comfortable dwelling— furnished it in first rate order; but by my habits of intoxication, I neglected business —got involved in debt, and what little prop, erty I had, [fled away from lne. Time rolled away,and those that once used to re- spect me, now looked upon me as a wretch- ed, miserable sot, and avoided me as some loathsome pestilence. Now and then,thro ? dint of good luck, I would get employment along on the wharves; and gwhat little money I could get in this way, I was most certain to spend for liquor; although my wife and children were starving for the want of the necessaries of life. Earnings, and finger-rings, and even the minature of her dead and gone mother ; yes, even to the very last dress of my wife, would I slyly purloin, and pawn them for the ac- cursed beverage that has proved ^my ruin, and (list of my family ! One evening, as I I went home, 1 found my wife crying as, tliough her poor heart would break; audi if I had not been worse than a raging de- mon,! would have melted down by the sob- bings of this heart-broken woman. She looked up^in my eyes, witli tears running! dowr. her cheeks, rung out by the bitterest 1 agony of her heart, and asked me if [ had parted with her minamre; that which she prized dear as the apple of her eye ; the only relic she had of her poor mother who long had departed into the spirit world ; and if I had, whether I would not be kind enough to get it back ; she prized it dear- ly—it was the last gift of her mother, and she could not lose it. So little effect did her entreaties have upon me, (owing to the excitement of Alcohol) that I raved and tore, and swore like a madman—seiz- ed a decanter which stood near by, and with the ingratitude of a demon, with a single blow, broke it to pieces over her head, leaving it stuck full of the broken [ glass, with the blood running steams down her cheeks. She never, I think, thorough- recovered from the effect of this horrid j act. The last time I recollect seeing my wife—and when 1 think ot it, I cannot help bursting into tears—was one evening, a great while ago. I went home in a fit of intoxication—the evening was cold—rit was in winter, and the snow was quite deep. My wife was in bed ; for there was no wood. I staggered into the house, cur- sing and swearing at every step, when 1 called out Betsy,—for that was her name -rrto get up and make me a fire. She told mathere was no wood^ and it was impossi- ble. I flew into a rage-^-rushed to her bed—flung her on the floor—beat her most unmercifully, and her screeches, caused by this brutality, united to my horrid im- precations, soon called together the popu- lace, and 1 w.as.hurried to prison. Here I remained'for some time, an.d when I w.as released, as .1 heard my wife had been forced to leave the place, a poor, wretched object of pity, I left, and have ever since ;,been a wanderer,, and a vagabond in. soci- ety. My wife is themother of two phil- idren; a boy and, a girl. About fifteen years ago, I heard the sentence of death prenpunced upon my son. In a fit of in- toxication,, for spme little difficulty between. Mm.aflpV.anpther individual* he stabbed his antagonist, fpr,which, :crime he has expia- ted his life upon the gallows. About twen- ty-five years since my .daughter married, to all appearances, a steady industrious mechanic, but by a p/'ptracted course of drinking, he became i^ffi^^^qg^nd, squaiuli'reil away his property, and finally put an end to his unprofitable life,in a drun- en row. And the hist news that [ heard from my wife, which was by way of my daughter, I heard that, after intense suffer- ing* she d.ied a wretched maniac, in the hospital for the insane. When my mind recurs to these things, so awful and thrill- ing in their character, my heart seems as though it would break the fibers that retain it to its position, and discharge itself in li- quid tears of fire.\ Here the old man gave vent, to his feel- ings, in violent sobbings, and relapsed into his original taciturnity. I could not help feeling, and that, too, keenly, for the sufferings of the poor old man. He was without friends, he said, poorly clad, and in a strange part of the country. I bestowed upon him all the aid in my power, that could help make him comfortable, and \he richest return that I could have desired, was the tear of grati- tude, as it sparkled in his eye, as he went on his way rejoicing. mm—^—m —————»— From tho Syracuse Daily Journal. BEACUIiERE, OR THE STEANGUR. BY H. D. O BEILLY. In the course-of my rambles, and I have traversed many lands, and wandered thro' scenes on which nature and art, had lav- ished all their powers to rentier them pleas- ing to the eyesight; at home or abroad, far or near, I have never gazed upon a spot, so strikingly picturesque, as that on which the little village of Rostrevor, in the north of Ireland is situated. At one end there is a lofty mountain, upon whose sloping sides nature has spread h\r own rich carpeting, a silken covering of moss ; there too, wild shrubs and flowers, whose bright and gorgeous tints, look brighter 1 still from the dark green ground on which they grow, flourish in abundance. At the other end, there is a river, clear and spar- kling, and ranged in succession upon its banks, the birch, maple, ash and oak trees rise towering in their strength, whilst their overhanging branches are reflected in the water underneath. If a lover of nature would take the trouble of climbing up the mountain side until he had arrived at a ledge which juts out from its surlace, and standing on its summit, would gaze around him, after casting his eyes over a level tract- of country rich in vegetation, he would perceive at the distance of a few miles the sea dashing forwards and rolling the surf upon the beach. Near the vil- lage there was a rock, on which tradition has bestowed a bos: of virtues; it was called the 61arneystone,and by all accounts, the stranger that would press his lips upon it, would afterwards be endowed with an uncommon flow of eloquence, and no small amount of flattery. The village itself, consisted of some thirty cottages, to each of which there was attached a garden, con- taining, be-ides the domestic plants', trees, bearing fruit delicious to the taste; and flowers, sweetening the atmosphere with the fragrance of their perfume. In the centre of the village was the fine old church,with its avenue of chesnut trees, and its tall pointed spire rising above the houses, an emblem of peace and good will to man. Opposite to it stood the school- house, and a few yards from it the tavern, bearing as its sign on a pole before the door, Ireland's well known emblem, the green leaved shamrock. It was the close of a summer day, and nature, decked out in cheerful colors^ look- ed gay and smiling; the husbandman as he returned from his daily toil, arid gazed: upon the bright and joyous aspect around him, clearing the perspiration from his- brow, trudged merrily along, humming snatches from some old and favorite songs that he hadteftgned in his leizure moments; it was ati evening to banish evil spirits from the mind, and in, their place to plant the bright .and everlasting beams of hope -^-an evening such as lovers would choose to wander forth in, and from the romance of their own hearts, conjure up images of .future happy homes, too bright to last. On an. evening such as, I have describ- ed, two forms .were seated on a bench in ijfrontof the. tavern, a tankard of cold was ter was,placed upon a, small round table | before v theni; oh$ of these was tall and slender, with very sharp features, and small grey, eyes.; although be was by no means an elderly man, bis head wag conis pletely bald, with the exception, of a small tuft which..4°u»ished. -in-the- centre, and his features were somouhot sunburnt, he. ! looked not unlike an Indian warrior, this was Jasper Stevenson,, the schoolmaster ;' : the other was a small man, with .a smiling land open countenance, a pair of dark blue ieyes, and a set of well chiselled features, |-such was Peter Gurnet, the lord and pro- prietor of the Shamrock. \ He is a stranger 10 this neighborhood, of that there is no doubt, aye, and a stran- ger to the country too, or I am very much mistaken.\ \ Why Peter, how can you tell that, I see nothing about the man that looks eith- er strange or foreign, he seems to know his way too, see, he has cleared that fence, that don't look like a stranger.\ (The subject of this conversation was a horseman who had just entered the town.) \ It don't don't it; eh, I tell you what it is Jasper, notwithstanding that long head of yours, all the book learning it contains, you are sometimes sadly deceived in your calculations, (John shrugged his shoulders and consoled himself with a draught, from the tankard,) don't you see that he has ta- ken the longest road instead^of turning down the Borkeen, which is a shorter one by half a mile, that proves that he is un- acquainted with the neighborhood ? Then look at his dress, that long black cloak, his collar too, turned over his cravat, instead of standing erect as they are worn here ; and now look at his features, they are bronzed and sunburnt. Ah, I thought I was right,\ and lifting the tankard to his lips he drained it to the bottom. ' We shall soon be able to find out what he is,\ said Jasper, '• for here he comes.'' And as he spoke the stranger cantered up to the door. Our landlord's face wore a very please ant expression, for Peter was a shrewd ob- server, and could generally tell from the appearance of his guests, what profit he was likely to derive from their custom, and in the present instance he calculated on a richer harvest than usual, not that the stranger displayed particularly in his dress, for on the contrary, an acute observer might perceive an air of careless negli- gence about it, which would argue ill for his attentions to the toilet, but the material was rich and costly, and of the finest sub- stance; his horse too, was sleek, well fed, and comely, and a substantial looking va-1 lise was strapped on behind, all of which I the landlord perceived in a single glance, and derived much satisfaction from behol- ing. \ Shajl we prepare supper, sir ?\ said Peter, rubbing his hands. \ Of course you shall,\ said the stran- ger, \ my appetite now is as sharp as any razor, so be quick about it, or I shall in- vade the sanctum of your larder, by lay- ing violent hands on the first eatables with- in my reach.\ \ It shall be ready in a moment, sir.\ •\' A moment, mine honored host, is an exceedingly limited space of time, and un- less you possess a certain magic wand which I have read of in some ancient fairy tale, I scarcely think that you will be able to accomplish it in that short time, how- ever, have it ready as soon as you possibly can.\ Peter entered the tavern, the stranger followed him, and gazed earnestly upon the hostess, who stood behind the bar, bur- nishing a pewter measure,the polished suV- face of which, like a fancy mirror, reflec- ted her own brown and good humored coun- tenance in a thousand different grotesque shapes ; suddenly raising her head she be- held the stranger—\ Ah, bless me !\ and the measure dropped from her hands, \ it is, it is—\ \ Who, my good woman ?\ and the ex- pression of his features were immediately altered. \Tbeg your pardon, sir,\ said the beWil- dered landlady, \ I thought you resembled Mr. Henry Eaton, a young gentleman who left this country some twelve years back, and who has never been heard of since.\ \ Why alive,\ said her husband,who had entered after ordering the supper to be pre- pared, \what are you thinking about, 'Mr. Henry was a sickly youth, with a pale and delicate complexion, his figure top, was-i small and slender, altogether he was very unlike this gentleman.\ , And indeed, the;> appearance of the stran- ger with his. muscular proportions, his tall and well knit, frame', and his weather-beat- en countenance, gave little token of his ever having been the poor sickly youth that his,host described. 1 CONCLUDED NEXT WEEK. >(piLL&M.i:(d)W (iREAT PEOPLE. In every country village where Teq chimney's smoke perfumes the air, Contiguous to a steeple, Great gentlefolks ate found, a score,- Who can't associate any mo re ' \. With common country, people. . J^I The following account of a visit to Fath- er Mathew, we copy from Mrs.-Nickolsoji's \Ireland's Welcome' toi the Stranger,\ which we noticed two or three Weeks ago : SATDRDAY, FEBRUARY IST-—Called at Father Mathew's. His house is quite plain; the, hall door is; fastened openfrom six in the morning till .the same time in the evening, saying to the citizen and? stranger, if ye are welcome.\ The carpet of the'hall is loose straw, and a woman sits at the entrance to receive and point the visitor to the room on the right, where the \rich and poor meet together,\ to take the pledge, cr spend a leisure half hour, to •watch the movements and listen to the sal- utary cautions and words of kindness from the lips of this devoted man. My letter of introduction had been given -him some months before, in a crowd, when he had only opportunity to say, \I will see you in Cork.\ \Why did you not come to me when you first came to this country ; you knew I would have taken, care of you ? \ was the greeting he gave me when I entered! The room is entirely devoid of ornament except the papers pasted upon the wall, as, cautions to the intemperate. Benches are arranged about the room for those in wait, ing, on one of which, in an.obscure corner I took my seat, and saw the lame and de- formed, the clean and filthy, the well clad and the tattered, kneel and take the pledge, and enter their names in a book, which the clerk who registered them, said counted five millions and four thousand. To the meanest beggar he speaks as kindly as to the titled gentleman, and to the suffering I often saw him slip a little change, bidding them depart, and not disgrace him by breaking the pledge. He invited me to dinner at five o'clock, and his dining-room wore the same unassu- ming appearance, as does everything about him—no carper, no sota, and not an appen- dage but what was absolutely necessary. His table is arranged in the most finished order, and the cooldng, which is done by a man, is of the best kind. He seldom dines alone. The next morning at 8, he invited me to the chapel, to see an aged nun renew her vow, who had fifty years been teach- ing the poor, and had never been out of the convent. She approached the grating which separated the room from the chapel, with her black robe and veil upon her head, while the meek man congratulated heron her long faithfulness in laboring for the poor, and pointing her to the reward in heaven which he trusted was in store for , her, gave her the thanks of the convent, and pronounced his benediction. He spoke j of crowning her, a ceremony usual on such occasions, but she refused the hon'or'. She then renewed her vow in an audable but softened manner, promised to be faith- ful lun til death, &c. The ceremonies closed, and 1 then accompanied Father Mathew to the convent, where I had been invited to breakfast with him. The break- fast was the first I had ever seen in Ameri- can style in Ireland, and though their beefsteak, coffee, and other etceteras I de- clined, yet good cream, the best of bread, and jam, made a palatable repast. The Buns sat at the table, but did not eat, and were surprised and distressed \at my abstinence, I was here introduced to the nun who had renewed he'r vow ; and when she told me she was; 84, and not a furrow had old time made in her plump, placid face, I was compelled to take her word for it, for there was no otfrer, testi? mony. Father Mathew sent His man to show me the way to the Independent Church, telling him to go in. and introduce me to the sexton. The next evening a temperance meeting was held in a neatly decorated room, pre- pared by the poor fish, women, who were teetotallers. \You\ must go,\ said Father' Mathew, \as you wish to see the poor.— These women,, fjve years ago, were the greatest nuisance in. Cork ; but they took the pledge and 1 not one has broken it.\ I went. The rich, too, were there ; they had been invited because it was the poor who had made the feast. Thfe room was crowded, tea was pre- pared, and t.he meeting was opened by three cheers for the Queen, and I could not mention the unexpected* kind feeling bestowed thljs publicly on me, were it not 1 ) a duty which I owe to. a class >of people whom I had ever been taught, IfeU nothing but bitterness, -aftd acted nothing butiper.se >. cution to their opponents. B.ut justice, ,.no.t =-. v , •<• ,,,,, , <» ^_aag • thpjr true t conditi6n ; •tydfli%asketchpf my manner of travelling and living, 'vfiiich' I' had never told him. •'•\'•' When the cheering wid welcome hid subsided, Father Matthew* in a low voiije,, said, i( You must speak to these peoplej^du can do them good ;' get up without delay)' and tell them, what you came'for.'-' My' eyes affected my heart;-1 had never bo- fore seen,such '\a\ respectable\ lbokingeomi pany \of the poor assembled in 'Ireland', and accompanied, too, with the- f rich* ahid the noble, taking their tea together. Tbriefly stated my motives in visiting Ireland, con- gratulated them on the progress of the tem- perance cause, and 1 sat down., \ '' An old grey-haired priest arose, and said, \ [ have read of prophets,! have read of apostles, i have read of martyrs, but- among them all, I never read nor , heard that ever a woman left her country alone, to search out a popr people—to suffer pri- vation with them—to learn thejr true con., dition. What shall we do for her/atid' how shall We express oiir gratitude?\* This was reciprocated fb^ougl)-the ipdnf, and when the meeting ended,.'laot ,on*e of that great multitude would leave the hotise' till each bad given the hctnd to s^yj \ wel- come, welcome to our country.\ ID*\ Got a paper to spare/'^ \Yes sir; here's one of-our last 1 .-—' Would'rjt you like to subscribe, 1 sir; and fake it regularly V ';• ... \I would—but I am too poor. 5 \' fhat man had just returned from'the Circus'; cost 5.0 dents • lost time from, his' farm 50 cents; whiskey, judging\from the' smell, at least 50 cents—making a dollar' and a half actually thrown away, arid then\' begging for a newspaper, alleging that, he\ - Wastoo, poor to pay forit. ' ,' That's what we call \saving at the spile' and wasting at the bung-hole .•\ A Terrprte DiscOFety.- We. are going to state \a fact/.says' the,' Boston chronotype, worth a dozen .fietiojiis., An honest and quite unsophisticated wo- man came a few days ago to act a;s doines.r, tic in the family of one of our physicialtts,' and began her work with great spirit and energy. In en hour or two she had occa. sion to go into the cellar. When—prpsto' 1 she came up sooner than she went dpw,n, Up she flew to her chamber for her. fittl^' bundle of clothes and' was' mjaking pfl>^ I've seen such things!' jtell r Mrs\ -1 ean't stay, I can't, t always 'Oh, sectarianism, njust be my, motto; charac- ter and not popularity, must be my waJCh- word. I. w$is a .Protestftnt, andi they, ik'new it. Fathej* Majth&w atdsq, ahd/itft«dtt<*-4| -ttle to the audience;, telling them. Jtty obj&' in Iteifiwl m». to, vssU 5 the pQt,AtiA tear; ijearn doctors did such things', but\ I Jievej' seen 'em before, Oh', dear,' I wouldn't stay—I should be served in, the satiie way myself, I should.\ \W;hy what have you seen ? What is the matt'er ?•\ ,A'ft>f a good deal of urging. arid holding D'aek,' t'ae awful secret come outjatla^t. \Why; I've seen a whole.barrel of scvitls down cel- lar. I always knew that doctors din 1 such things but 1 never believed it. If I was to stay here my scujl would soon be'ampog the rest.\ \• Poh,, wait till'.the DoYitesr comes home,and he'll explain it ill.\ .''fim, no, I don't dare lOj\ and off she went.-; The \barrel .of sculls\ appeared tb be'a 1 few phrenological casts, w-hich had .been long ago thrown into a barrel 'with other rubbish! . A TOUCHING SIGHT.—Standirtg'a rhbttient' with a friend on, Main street, on Thursday evening, we saw a spectacle which deeply stirred our sympathies. A man some forty years old, reeling with iiquor, and bearing in his face the marks of habitual drunken- ness, came staggering up the' sidewalk.-^-' To his hand his little .sOn-Ai boy 1 isomR 8^ years old, clung wirh a tight grip'6f boih' his own. .4s the, Jatjier;, once, or*' twice, - while we looked\ stiitrrbled aYid heavly fell, the little fellow braced* his feet, and'exerted all his strength to, s*aV,e' him,' hii eyes, all the time streatoihg witii tearsj and heavy sobs breaking \Frbifrf hjs, ybutijg breast.— What a s'a'd change df 1 duties a.nd' fe^bdhi- ihiUtmb ! fn^ «.•<!.«* .'L-t'-i--- .!...«W.' offspring, whom He himself sleuld' irpbcf and lead ! ' Oh. dani^blle vice ! %it sjfiffs'' .manhood of its s'^ength and m'jffijty,,i|'nd drenches the.cheek&fyouth withp^rnMnre som^.~;0picirmatiAtlas^ ''',; ,''''''\''' w;j„;;' «..; •-1 v^Viffii,» • ;' > in% MORWONB lire said to bff in si flonriihiii^ 6prtditkin in itieir M6W ;/po«!»idii'bn'lfi((,^he f Jiri^i' of tfab Pottafraitamii ,pdW&*»fc' 1 *Wre CouiiMif Bluffs, Mis«6uri. Tliejr.hsvo planted imnieriso fields of corti^fto W ' : 4iikiit, it i* tttittiiitiBdy of Sfetiutf acrejir-Jutti flttjiir graili and^okitcii;--- Xhey have. Bililf »f»o a town called \WiiittSfqlWif. tm,\ which ulraidy contains a popuUtiorr of »»me 70,000 sfeiil*. .^ tbwh IB cntlHjfy pirtlAtlod^,' Jouhtil <» :r ' ' • • - ' v\. •-\ , •(fit- (SLBRWAI. ,DKrMv»tf.~f A X««r wteitu ago IB\English clergyiiiift'*a» oit'trtalf fot «<8>*ift l *f :iho' moot scandal«UB.-ChmVa'ct'eii • E*«ry fcfliila j'ibrvant in the holue <1i \«!pft!Mffl<i(fMo *!»*» 'tofar fajhiWbj.1j'irnv'.'. >•' j t.>i'' •y.'j
