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A?-lS^arinj 0/ ?A? 67r?rn.
Arrahl Michael dear, and did yon hoar,
The news that's in tho town?-.
The Democrats ara rising up; '
The rads are sinking down.
When negro lovers heard the nows
It drove thom to despair,
To think the men onr people chose
Were Seymour and Frank Blair.
Oh! when the word came from Now York
That Gvyiuvur was the head,
And Blair the next ono in command,
They know that Grant was dead.
They ehpok, their wool-died pates, and
Oh!, cruel, cruel fate!
Our men won't bo eloqted
In November, sixty-eight.
Ohr Mike,-it does me good to see
The lying, thieving Kaavae,'
Who, Binco thoy set tho nigger free,
Have tried to mako us slaves.
It does mo good to hear them growl,
like a lion in hia lair,
When they see upon our flag tho names
Of Seymour and Frank Blair;
And they will emigrate next March
To Africa's black ehoro;
And with them take tho wooly heads,
The darlings thoy adore,
For they know then: death is near at hand,
Abd on the cofiln-plat?
Will bo tho words "died in thc wool,"
In November, sixty-eight.
Then, Mike, lot all our countrymen
Unite with heart and hand;
And crush ?bis hated tyi anny
In our adopted land.
Our gallant ship. "Democracy,"
Will sail on, never fear,
With two such men upon her deck,
With Soymour and Frank Blair.
We will stand upon the platform,
And our motto it shall be
Tho statesman truo, soldier bravo.
God, right and vioioryi
Wa want no nigger Governor,
In this or any State,.
Wo want white men, and wo'll havo theiu,
In November? sixty-eight,
TUB IJOST DAUGHTER.
In the Autumn of the year 1785, os
the sun by ita lengthening shadows
marked the elose of the day, two
persons were observed pursuing their
?weary way in Dove Dale, at some
distance from Ashburn.
They were both women, and of the
wandering tribe of gypsies; by their
appearance, they seemed to be mo?
ther and daughter, as one of them
was som what advanced in years,
whilst the other could scarce have
reckoned seventeen summers to have
passed away. The elder of the two
bore all the distinguishing marks of
her tribe, a deep swarthy complex?
ion, with hair and eyes of the black?
est shade, whilst the youngest had
much more the air of being sun?
burnt by constant exposure, than
the hereditary look of her mother;
her hair was not of. the same raven
black, but of the darkest brown, and
her eyes of hazel ;.a checquered hand?
kerchief, of which red was tho pre?
dominating color, was tied round the
face, the knot beneath the ohin being
fastened with somo proton sion s to
neatness; her height was scarcely
above the middle stature, and tho
pure natural symmetry of her form
needed no aid to show it off to the
greatest advantage. A gown of dark
stuff made to fit exactly to the figure,
and a short doak, worn in common
with the tribe, were alone distin?
guishable from tho mother's by their
They had been pursuing their course
for some time in silence, the elder
leading the way, and the younger
following, with muoh appearance of
fatigue, until a sudden turn brought
them to a wide expansive view of tho
country. The mother looked aronnd
for a moment, as if in search of some
object-but after a short time she
ascended an acclivity-and her daugh?
ter, who still continued to follow,
threw herself tired and listlessly on
the ground at her feet.
The keen glances of the mother
swept along the view, until they bo
eame fixed upon some object, and
her quick breathings showed it was
not without emotion she looked upon
the spot. Her gaze was so long in
the same direction, that the daugh?
ter, too, looked up, but could per?
ceive nothing but a gentleman's
mansion, elegant in truth, but not
sufficient to call forth remark from a
..What is there, mother, that
should so fix your attention on
"MuchI muoh! for to me it speaks
of days gone by; and the dark spirit
of ovil reminds me of times of Borrow,
when I look upon it."
"And yet, mother, many years
have passed sinoe you have looked
upon it; for, in all our wanderings,
we have not rested hore."
"Never, that thy young remem?
brance can call to mind, but to me it
seems as it were but yesterday.
Look, Naomi, and see how proud it
stands, how beautiful is all aronnd,
and bethink thee of the vost wealth
of him that owns it, for he is great,
and rich, and powerful."
"Ah, mother, he mnst, indeed, bo !
happy, and little heeds what it is to
be tired and weary! Why is it
Jabeth tarries so long with the tents?
for I am worn with fatigue."
"Did'st say happy, child-happy!
No, no! he cannot know what happi?
ness is-there is a cankering sorrow
at his heart, night and day; it must
be before him when Le wakes, and
his sleep be troubled with his griof
he is proud, and would hide his feel?
ings from the world; but can he shat
ont from himself the hideous, uncer?
tain ^bought, that must drive him
almost to madness?"
"Then, mother. I do not envy bim
with all his wealth; and tired and
weary, I am happier, without aught
to make- ma fad, than if I had the
cares that riches bring."
"But it is noe that wealth and
power made him unhappy; he had
those, and yet tasted happiness in its
purest state; D?t a dark eloud caine
across him, and all was desolation;
j his riohes, had they been ten times
I told, could not purchase back what
he has lost."
"And has he no companion to
assuage his grief?"
"Such as a wife may be, whose
I sorrow is even greater than his own;
for she, like .a woman, cannot bide
her feelings from the world, bnt, tis
a flower crushed suddenly to the
earth Dy soma rude weight, she lives,
but cannot regain her former state."
"And is their grief from the same
"The same blow struck them to?
"Alas! I pity them."
"Pity thom! for tho woman I may
at times foel, knowing from sad ex
?ierience what she must suffer; but
or him, I can curso him-vent all
my maledictions against him."
"Mother, why should you be thus
angered with him?"
"Deep and loud shall my curses
still be ngainst you, proud Luke
"Aye, for that is his detested
"Bradley, mother-why is it that
name sounds to me us one I have
"It may be some place we have
cast our tents against, and you recall
it to your mind."
"No, mother, it is not so-for it
seems to me a confused idea of some?
thing I cannot well remember; the
sound is familiar, and yet I know not
when or how I heard it."
"Thou hos dreamt perhaps of
something, and the name perchance
is thus Axed on your remembrance."
"Well, mother, it does seem as if
it we.-e a dream; and yet cannot bo,
for I almost think I do remember of
"Do not tell me your dreams-I
am in no humor to listen to them
"Nay, it is not a dream, for I do
think that I remember mc, that with
the name I can recall something of
"Naomi, cease this idle nonsense,
and look if you seo Jabeth with the
tents, for we shall rest here."
"I see him in the distance; what
can make him loiter thus?"
"I know not; but tell me, mother,
more of this Luke Bradley, for I
know not why, yet I feel I could
listen to you for hours, if yon would
speak about him. What is the cause
of his grief?"
"I know not-I have told you all I
"But you said, the same sorrow
affected his poor wife-tell me, then,
"I know nothing of either of thom.
I told you what report told me. "
"But why curse him?"
"Be has been a bitter enemy to
our raco, and for that I do and ever
shall curse him."
"Bnt thero aro many that have
been thus bitter against us, and you
have not cursed thom as you have
done this Luke Bradley."
"Naomi, my child, your questions
weary me, for I am tired like your?
self, and would rest awhile."
Naomi forbore to press her mother
further; but, ns she continued to
recline on tho ground, she leaned her
head upon her hand, and remained
gazing intently on the mansion; it
was like many she had seen in her
wanderings, and from the doors of
which she had been rudely thrust,
with either an ill-timed jest, or au
angry threat; there was nothing in
it that should fix her attention, and
yet she felt a pleasure in looking at
it; in vain did she endeavor to re?
member when or how she had heard
this name of Bradley, for she could
find no cine to it, and she briefly ran
over her in mind the history of her lifo;
but in this there was little to remark;
it was one course of wanderings from
place to place, and few eventful cir?
cumstances; she had been treated by
her mother and Jabeth with the
greatest kindness, and brought up
with more than the usual caro be?
stowed upon children of their race.
That Jabeth was not her father, she
knew, since he had been with her
mother after their fashion, only with?
in her romembrance. and her* father
had died when she was a child, and
she remembered him not
Her mother, except at the general
meetings of her tribe, was little with
those of her kind-she wandered
with Jaboth and herself, and seemed
to avoid encamping with any others
she met in her way; thero were times
when she was muoh oppressed with
grief for some loss sustained in early
life, and when the dark spirit was on
her, she seemed to avoid even the
presence of her child, whom she,
however, always treated in the fond?
est manner. It occurred to Naomi,
that once when she hod laid awake,
unable to sleep, her mother had
risen from the tent, and gone forth
into the open *r, much troubled in
spirit, and sh terned wailing for her
loss; after a pause of a few minutes,
her complainings wore changed to
maledictions, and she was convinced
that her mother had more than once
mentioned the name of Bradley. Of
this she had thought but little at the
I time, but now it was recalled with all
the freshness of yesterday. Who, or
what, could this Bradley be, or how!
had he injured her? She oonld re?
member, that on the night she had
first heard the name spoken by her
mother, it sounded familiar to her,
but could think of no reason why it
should be so; and even now was there
the same indistinctness.
She saw that any further questions
to her mother would only make her
angry, as her recollection of the spot
had worked upon her feelings, and
she would remain for some time in
her wild moods. Neither Naomi nor
her mother exchanged a word until
the arrival of Jabeth, when the tents
I were fixed, a hasty meal prepared,
and eaten in silence, save a few words
spoken by Jabeth and Naomi.
Thomar arranged the small tent
occupiad by her daughter, and re?
tired to her own, without breaking
tho silence, and Naomi soon forgot
in a deep sleep tho conjectures sho
had beeen so busied about.
On the following morning, Naomi
accompanied her mother, ns sho took
her course beside the Dove, down
tho vale; she had not asked her
whither they wero going, since she
know it could not be fur distant, as
tho tents were to remain where they
had been placed for some days.
Thamar spoko not, for s':o had scarce
dono so during tho morning, and
Naomi followed in silence, the beauty
of tho scene, in some degree, attract?
ing her attention-for it was, indeed,
a lovely spot-but to her mother it
seemed not so, for she scarce looked
upon it; and, if she did, it was with
an air of sorrow. After some timo
thoy left the river, beside which they
had been hitherto pursuing their
way, and turning to the loft, stopped
before a mansion, which Naomi
thought was the ono she had seen in
tho distance; the gato was open, as
intruders were rarely found in that
remote spot, and they entered;
before them was a beautiful lawn
which fronted the house, and on
which a gentleman and lady wero
walking, amusing themselves with
the gambols of a couplo of spaniels
playing togethor on the grass.
The age of the gentleman might be
about forty-five, and despite an air
of melancholy that was stamped upon
his features, he was still a handsome
man; his wifo was some years
younger, and bore tho appearance of
one who had been really beautiful;
but sorrow had evidently done much
to weigh her down; it seemed as if a
saddened expression was on her
features which time had made habit?
ual. Once or twice she smiled, ns the
animals sported around her, but it
was faintly, and as if tho heart had
The gentleman, happening to lool<
towards the gate, perceived Thamai
and her daughter, who had entered
at the sight of them, his anger seem
ed suddenly roused-for, turning
furiously towards them, he said:
"What vilo hags have we here?"
"They are gypsies, Luke, doubt
less come to beg."
"Lady," said Thamar, "I cam?
not to beg."
"Then to steal," said the gent?o
"I carno not to steal," again re
"Ye had best be gone, ye and you:
cursed tribe, or I will have you se
in the stocks, to brood over youl
"Nay, Luke, be not harsh witl
them; hear at least what thoy have ti
"Lady, I thank you for your kin?
word, though I did not much hee<
his angry throat. "
"Speak, woman, at once, and sa
what you want, since you come no
to beg or steal."
"Luke Bradley, I come humbly t
pray you to listen to me-"
"Will you give me back my poe
"Your boy! what boy does the w(
"The child you took from me, no
fifteen years ago; oh! give him to m
"I know not what you mean."
"The child your cruel laws too
from me, and forced far, far awa^
where I could not follow him."
"Your child robbed me, and wc
lOONTTNTJED IN OUR NEXT. I
THE front part of ou
Store having been damage
by the recent storm, we wi
be compelled to sell off ou
Stook of CLOTHING, CA?
SIMERES, HATS, &c, at c
nearly COST, for want <
New styles of Boys' Stra
HATS just received.
E. & W. C. SWAPPIELD,
Nomination for the Mayoralty
WILLIAM M. MYERS, ESQ., ia a can
date for the Mayoralty, and will be ai
ported by his
Ma? 8 NUMEROUS FRIENDS
Scrofula, or King'? Kir ll, Jg oared
using Heinitah'a Queen's Delight.
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