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That x'ov rmiH iil is (he host which govern lentil."
vnt.rrun .i.r rruLisitLit) " BY LEVI TATE. 5 BLOOMSBURG, COLUMBIA CO., SATU11DAY, MAY 12, 1819. 1 volTsTSumbeu 8. it ' Columbia EDcmacvat, Itallatl of Montrose. Th following extracts from the I'm Execu tion or Montrose, t poem liy I'rufessor Aytoun, of Eilinburg, contain aume of the finest stanzas we have teen lately. An old Highlander is tell ing the (tie of the death of the (.rent Mar ina, to lu a grandson : 'A traitor mid him to his foes Uh, deed of deathless shame! I charge ihee, boy, if e'er thou meet With one ol Assynt's name Be it upon the mountain side, Or Vet within the glen, Stand he in martial gear alone, Or backed by armed men Face him at thou wnuld'st face the man Who wrutigcd thy site's renown, Remember ot what blond thou art, And strike the caititl down ! "They brought him to ihe Watergate, Haid bound with hempen span, An though they held a lion theie, And not a 'fencelss man. They set him high upon a cart The hangman rode below They drew his hands behind hit back, And bared his noble brow, Then, as a bound is slipped from leash, They cheered the common throng, And blew the note with yell and shout, And bade him pass along. 'lt would have made a brave man't heart Grow sick and snd that day, To watch the keen, malignant eyes Fiend down on that array ; There stood the Whig West-country Lords In balcony and bow There sat their gaunt and withered dailies And their daughters all a row; And every open window Was full as full might be, Wilh black robed covenanting carles, That goodly sport too see. "But when he came, though pale and wan, fie looked so great and high, So noble wan his manly front, So calm his steadfast eye The rapple rout forbore to shout, And each man held his breath, For well they knew the hero's soul Was face to face with death. And then a mournful shudder Through all the people crept, And some that came to sen II at him, Now turned aside and wept." JWe must pass the description of his progress up the Cannongate, the scene in the Parliament House, where his death-sentence is read, and his noble address to the "perjured traitors" theie, and come to the execution of the sentence : "Ah, God ! that ghastly gibbet ! How dismel 'tis to see The great tall spectral skeleton, The ladder and the tree ! Hark! hark! it is the clash of arms The bells begin to toll He is coming ! he is coining ! God's mercy on his soul ! One last, long peal of thunder, The clouds are cleared away, And the glorious sun once move looks down Amidst the dazzling day. He is coming ! he is coming ! Like a bridegroom from his room, Came the hern from his prison To the scalfold and his doom. There was glory on his forehead. There was limtre in his eye. And he never walked to battle Mure proudly than to die ; There was color in his visage, Though the cheeks of all were wan, And they marvelled as they saw him pass That great and noble man ! "He mounted up the scaffold, And turned him to the crowd ; But they dared not trust the people, So he might not speak aloud. But he looked upon ttie heavens, And they were clear and blue, And in the liquid ether, The eye of God shone through ; Yet a black and murky battlement Lay resting on the hill, Ami tnough the thunder slept within, All else was calm and still. "The grim Geneva ministers With anxious scowl drew near, As you have seen the ravens Hock Around the dying deer. He would not deign them word nor sign, But alone he bent the knee, And veiled his (ace for Christ's dear grace, Beneaih the gallows-tree. Then radient and serene he rote, And cast his cloak away, For he had taken the last look Of earth, and sun, and day. 'Abeam of light fell o'er him, Like a glory round the shriven, And he clinud the lofty ladder. As it were Ihe path to heaven. Then came a Hash Irom out the cloud, And a Dunning thunder mil, And no man dared to look aloft, For fear was on each soul. There was another heavy sound, A hush, and then a groan ; And darkness swept across the sky The work ot death is done !" There it not one circumstance in this ballad which is not del ived from contemporary mem ories, and a stronger proof that reality is superior to fiction, could hardly be desired. It would not have escaped the reader to observe with what art the innohle manner ol the hero's death is mana. ted. It seems to be veiled from the reader as it was from the spectator: "He did i.nt dare to look aloft, For tear was on his soul. Thera was another heavy sound, A hush, and then a groan ; And darkness swept across th t-ky The work ol death it done!" ORIGINAL. Random Shots -No- Vi. BY NONDSCRIPT. Conversation. One of the most dilficult as well as one of the most necessary accomplishments in the world, is the art of conversation. To shine w ilhout daz zling to instruct without offending to lead without appearing pedantic or egotistical to dis cuss a subject without appearing to engross the time of the company, is a most difficult matter. All men are in some 6ort vain. Kach prides him self upon being able to do some things at well as another; and in a mixed company of (ho young and old of both sexes, a nun will make more Iriends by conversing indill'erently well, than by anyextraordnurydisplayof conversational powers. F.very man w ishes to be, and appear, superior; and where superior merit forces applause, Kuvy with-holds friendship. On account of the peculiar constructions of the human mind therefore or its petursion, it is al most impossible to please in this particular. The magisterial air of Dr. Johnson took away from conversation, that easy and lively tone and man ner, it should poises and gave it rather Ihe ap pearance of a sett of short lectures on different subjects. The talent of Franklin, gave to him the power of shining in conversation, but his kindness and affability rendered him pleasing and entertaining and modest, even while delivering the most sententious maxiint. To converse well, is an almost indubitable mark of a gentleman; for it reiiiires talent, rea ding, ease, kindness anil affability. Beside this, in order to converse well a man should know when to talk, and when to remain silent. Most people know middling well how to talk, hut the fewest number know how to be Dili. The one is an art as well as the other. It is said that still water runs deep, and that a wise man lalkej but little that an empty bairel makes the most noise and that he whotalkes much must necessarily of ten talk lo no purpose. I most humbly beg leave to dissent, at least partially, from this very generally received o pinion. There are inure persons silent in Com pany from the want of something lo say, than be cause they think it a waste of lime and breath, to display their knowledge. If a man has nothing in his head it will be taken fur granted that nothing will come out. AnJ all observers of hu man natur will, and must acknowledge, that the inmate propensity of man to excel, will prompt him to defend an opinion or a measure that has been controverted or deceived. In conversation as in poety "nothing so diffi cult as a beginning, unless perhaps the end." The beginning of a conversation is '.he J'oni As- imorum yd' our boy beaux an I girl coquetts, in this go ahead age. They will nlten sit and stare themselves and the carpet out of countenance ; and be as silent as if they were veritably in a Quaker Meeting. As a whig protective Taritl will bring every ihing up right, no matter how much out of order, so the never faili ng subject ol the weather, 'aids and comforts' the terror strick en beau, and .sets him once ag-iin upon his legs. What a scape-goat is this weather almost inva riably, accompanied by two or three "hems and haws," it is the introduction to a lender love scene or an actual proposal. It connects itself as a preface to almost every conversable subject. As a general thing, the first teinark that, is made upon encountering an old friend in the street is, "this is a fine day ?" or some other observation to the same purport. I havo often wondered what would he done, in case '.here was not some thing (or every one thus to pitch up( n, for want of something belter. What kind of enjoyment is there for a man of cultivated intellect in thee- ternal round of nonsensical and insipid conversa tion, which characterizes our evening soirees and assemblies? Sometimes when you get a Lady a lone you con get up a right sensible "talk" but if she thinks you susceptible, ten chances to one she will bore vou to death with some of Turn Moore's seiitimertality. Not but that I am myselfrctnaikably fond ol quo tingTomMooreupon occasion.bttt oneshouldknow when such a bent can properly be given to a con versation. However I care nothing about private converse, but intend applying the above observa tions only to public demonstration. There, it is, where a man's capital must be made, and opin ions lormed concerning his character and qualifi. cations. There, then, let him display his learn ing, his breeding and his modesty. Fright. At the ha'tle of Waterloo, two French ofTicers were advancing to charge a much superior torce. The danger was immenent, and one ol them dis played evident signs ol fear. The other obser ving it, said to him "Sir, I believe you are frightened." "Yes," returned the other, "I am and if you were half as much frightened, you would run away." This anecdote exhibits in a happy light the difference between moral ami physical courage. Proof Heading. Proof-readers are sometimes very negligent In speaking ol (iov. McDowell's speech, the ma nuscript said, "many members wept, and atnnong them Mr. Speaker Winthrop more than once gave w, to his lei lings in a flood of tears." The printed copy read, nted copy read, "Many members nhpl, and . Speaker Winthrop more than once gvi way Mr to hit fe.iins in a mug of beer" Editor's Correspondence. Jcrsi-y Shoiik, May 2, lM'J. Dear Col: Any thing that is world seeing, is also worth telling about. I am not writing to you a set of travels on the West Branch, butshall try and tell you all that I saw worth while writing If the Muncy Hills were a little more awfully tteep and dangerous, I might try and tell you a hard yarn about them; but as it is, I shall only say they are a confoundedly hard hill to travel over. As soon however as you arrive at the fuot of the Hills on this, the Muncy side, the whole face of. the country is changed the fields look green and every thing has a decidedly improved appearance. This is a rich part of the country. Muncy Borough is alt that the Star Correspon dent, claims for it, so far ns I have been able to judge. Ilelowthi townashortdistancf , Muncy Creek is crossed by tho road It, the creek, falls into the river a short space below. It is quite a large and never failing stream, and has upon its banks nu merous Grist Mills, Saw Mills, Wollen Fartoiies, ic, tc. The road to Williauisport runs through a most beautilul country, and a number of hand some and comfortable dwelling houses skirt the river Bank. Montourville is a little Village lying upon the Loyal Sock, which empties into the river a short distance below. We came next to a considerable stream of water known as Lycoming, and the little village of Newbury, I think, lies upon its bank. The valley retains all its original beauty and verdure. The Grain, generally, looks re markably well, although there are, here and there some very sickly looking pieces. You will by this time no doubt think that the celebrated Borough of Williamsport has been en tirely lost sight ot. But I just kept it back till I began a new paragraph. To my notion it is a most beautiful town Court is in Session at pres ent, and they expect a term of two weeks. I had the pleasure of meeting Col. firindle and Captain Dan here. They are both looking quite well. The town was well filled with people, and the Kagle Hotel kept by Mr. Ivremer is an excellent stopping place. Something might be said upon the Bank, but that would in' le than likely lead to political remarks, and in them I do not wish to indulge. It is a little difficult to find, in a part of the country that is so unvaried in its appearance. sufficient matter lor a letter. It struck me how ever, that a man might live quite comloilablv on any one of those numerous farms upon Ihe banks of the west Branch of the Susquehanna. Upon allsides.lhe Farmers were busy at their spring work and as tho evening drew on, and the shad ows grew lengthened along the hills, 'The ploughman homeward plods his weary wav. And leaves the world to dai k net's and to me," The road from Williamsport to Jersey Shore is made so far up on the ridge, that (n my notion, it is decidedly hilly. It is a long way round the bend to Jersey Shore, but when you gel there it is a mighty pleasant little place. Many of Ihe build ings in the. place are really cli-gunl, or if not so in the full extent of the term, approach it neailv. If there is any thing more of importance you shall hear from (). 1'. ('oo(lAlvicc to young Women. Trust not to uncertain riches, but pre pare yourselves for every emcrnnrv in lifi;. Learn to work and be not dependent on servants to make your bread : sweep your own floor and darn your own stock ings. Above all, do not esteem too highly these very, honorable youuir men who sustain themselves and their acred parents by the work of their own hands, while you caress, and receive into your company those lazy, idle popinjays, who never lift a finger to help themselves, as they can keep body and soul together, and get funds sufficient to live in fashion. If you are willing, look at this subject in the way we do and when you arc old enough to become wives, you will prefer the honest mechanic with not a cent to commence life, to the fashionable loafer, with capital of ten thou sand dollars. Whenever we hear remark ed 'Such a young lady has married a for tune, 'we always, tremble for her future prosperity. Riches left to children by wealthy parents turn out to be a curse in stead of a blessing. Young women re member this, and instead of sounding the purse of your lover and examining the cut of their coats, look into their habits and their hearts. Mark if they have trades and can depend upon themselves : see that they have minds which will lend them to look above a but terfly existence. Talk not of the beautiful while skin and soft delicate hand, the splendid form and the fine appearance of the young gentlemen. Let not these fool ish considerations engross your thought. (rj- "Tr do on a child in the wav he should go, I an, wnen he is old he will n' t j f tPmrted to ri glort iivental r depart from it. r's'raipt, ren em ber Lli's in, and Kli's sorrow. Selections. AVojiian' Constancy. BY CI.AHA, CHAPTER I. There arc swift hours in lilc idrong rushing hours, That du the work of tempests in their might. Mas. IIk.mans. 'Twas night a dark and terrible night in mid winter. The snow was falling thick and fast, and the rude north winds played many a strange and fantastic game with its fairy flakes. Now here, and there they danced about, till, like a weary child, they slept at last upon the bosom" of their mother earth. Not a sound, save Ihe fu ry of the storm king, disturbed the gloomy hours. Tho village clock had just tolled the hour of ten, when a man, wrapped in a: cloak, and with mullled face, issued from a low hovel by the way side. As the door closed after him, a soft voice murmured, 'Cod help you, Frank,' and again all was still. With much effort he braved the pit tiless storm, and crossing to another slreet, ascended the steps of an elegant brick buil ding. He hesitated a moment then rung the bell. A servant obeyed the summons. 'Is your master within?' asked he in a disguised voice. 'He is ; your name sir." 'Tell him a gentleman wishes to speak with him.' Soon the servant returned, saying his master would wait upon him directly. With trembling step he entered the room, and not daring to look around him, sunk upon the nearest seat, and covered his face with his hands. Soon an approaching step and the opening door announced the expected inmate. 'Is your business with me, sir .'' asked the old gentleman, approaching his visitor who had involuntary risen on his entrance. 'It is, sir.' Then please be expeditious, as compa ny awaits me.' The young man did as he was desired, and throwing aside his disguise, revealed a pale and haggard countenance, w hich at first made the beholder start wilh horror. Hut immediately recovering himself, he ex claimed in a harsh voice. 'Frank Delaval, this is no home for you . be gone !' 'Oh ! father, spam me not from you now. Help ! only help ." and as he said this, he threw himself on his knees before him. '('all me not father '.'exclaimed Mr. De laval, in a voice almost suffocated wilh rage. ,1 no longer acknowledge you as a son." 'But," replied tin; man, 'hear me for hu manity's sake for the sake of Flla, niy wife !' 'Breathe not her name,' exclaimed the old man, striking his clenched lists ; 'let her suffer: she deserves it,' and shutting the door violently, left the room. For a moment Frank seemed motionless, then rising, he cast a glance at the portrait of his sainted mother, and left the house an altered man. The iron had entered his soul. Hitherto he had hoped his father would relent Would forgive him.althoiigh he had wed the poor and lowlv F.I la Mor lv Ella Mor- ven. I5ut alas ! there are some hearts which will not relent : woe ! woe ! to those who conic within their influence. CA.UTER II. To hear unshrinking all the blows of fate. Nor dream that woe, which thou cans'! leel is still Home wilh him This is woman's love, Mhs. N'uUTON. On a scanty bed, in a room, slept an in fant. A smile was playing on its dimpled chin, ami its hands were clasped as if in sportive glee. Bending over if, wilh a pale and anxious eye, was the wasted form of the once beautiful Ella Alorven. A tear was on her cheek as she kissed the fair forehead of her child, and hushed it quietly to rest. Then rising, she exclaim ed : ' Rest, ihee there my child, and mav thy young heart ne'er know the sorrows of thy mother.' Wearily, wearily, passed the time to this lone and silent wvehrr. Th e clock pursii- ! Cil its Uliccasin-r enin-pp fpuii huur, to hour, and yet she was alone alone ! and he who should have been with her there, sat at the gaming table over the wine cup. Oh! man, where is thy heart! where Ihe vows fondly pledged scarce three years I since when thou didst lead that gentle girl j lo the bridal altar! Alas! where manv l,nlw...n 1....... ,r,... .1...... I V wun it u.iv; "win; iuiuiu uiciu , UlliZutlllUr will follow thee. The clock struck three, and ns its last ringing died away, a step was heard ap proaching the door. The wife flew to o peti it, and clasping her anus about him ex claimed : ' Oh ! I am so glad .on have come, Frank, fori have been lonely,vcry lonely.' And the bright tears gathered in her eyes. The husband gazed upon her a moment, then casting her from him, exclaimed, in a harsh voice: "Why have you awaited my coming ! did I not bid you do other wise V 'But I thought you would be cold and hungry,' replied she, meekly. 'Hungry! Ella, hungry! no; I've had enough for one night. Iain ruined ut terly ruined.' 'But Frank, why do you play?' 'And what would you haveniodo Ella ! Work I cannot beg I will not. There is no alternative. And my father has done it he has made me what 1 am.and may' 'Stay, stay, Frank ; curse him not; he is thy father yet. But say, only say that you will relinquish tho gaming table, and all will be well.' Saying this ihe led him to the bedside of the sleeping child. For a moment his heart seemed softened : then again his fu ry returned. A ml my father can know this,' mutter ed he through his clenched teeth, 'and yet wilhold his helping hand !' His wife saw the change, end gently leading him away, placed before him a neat but simple repast. He ate but little, for his heart was full, and soon retired. Ella kneeled by his bedside, and offered her nightly prayer. It seemed to touch his heart, and make him resolve to lead a different life. But alas! for man's resoiu lions ! How oflen are they broken ! CHAPTER III. "I go wilh thee, I will he thine, In weal, in want, in woe." 'Yes, Frank, where you go, there will I go : your home shall be my home." And she threw her arm around his neck, and wept in the very fulness of grief. The ollicer pitied her distress, but duty compelled him to the task. Frank was conveyed to prison, and the wife followed. There, like a ministering angel, she hover ed about him. Once and once only, did the father visit him, and then it was to upbraid. 'You were ever a curse to me !' exclaim ed he, 'and now may the law avenge me.' In vain the wife pleaded with all the el oquence of affection and impassioned sor row. He left them, and hope seemed fled. Still the wife clung to him with a woman's itndving love : and this, together with the sportive laugh of his child, served to keep his heart from despair. ' Oil, Ella,' he would often sav, 'how i ,1:UT 1 wronged you !' ' Say not so, Frank : 'tis yourself you have wronged. But return now to the path of duly; 'tis not too late.' Thus did this genlle wife, with her deep love and persuasive tones, try to win back the erring one. Hers was no force of law, but the simple distates of the heart love's suasion, if you will. But ihe husband's health and spirits sunk beneath his misfortunes : and ere one week had passed away he was in the grasp of a raging fever. Dalirium seized him, and it was truly heart-rending to hear his calls for mercy and lamentations for the past. ' Oh my father !' he would exclaim, 'behold thy work ! AVith one word of kindness you might, have saved me : hut new I go down down' and shuddering he would conceal his face beneath tho bed clothes. All this while Ella stood over him. He knew her not, yet believpil her some one sent i own to save. him. But the frvrr spent its rage, and h". recovered I CHAl'TLU IV. "The clouds may be dsik, but there's tunsbiot b yoiid if, The m.h inaj be oYr us, but morning it near." In a neat and comfortable dwelling were seated a woman and child. Tho latter slept, but the former was engaged in read imr. Soon the door opened noiselessly and an arm was gently laid on her shoulder ere the intruder had been perceived. 'Ah! Frank, you have returned early. But how is your father f 'He will die, Eliza; he will die j and oh ! such a death' Hi only consolation seems to be, that he is able to leave mo an immense property. But it liitle eases his reproaching conscience. He is continually speaking of hs wrongs njiiust you, and begging me to bring you hither, that 1) may obtain forgiveness, and bless you ere he dies.' 'And let us go, Frank ; let us go now though sinning he shall not be sinned against.' They went; and the old man raising his feeble head, and beged forgiveness of her whom he had so-long scorned. Need it bu said that it was cheerfully granted. The lamp of life was extinguished, and tho old man was gathered to his fathers. His immense property was left uucuuiber cd lo his sou. As the will was read, E1U clasped her hands, exclaiming: 'Now we can repay the debt of gratitude we owe him, who, though poor, freely lib erated us from prison. He shall never know a want whilst it is in our power to assist him ; and long mav lie live to relieve those whom the uiikindne&s ol'others drives on to despair.' 'Amen,' repeated the husband ; and throwing his arms around both mother and child, tiiey kneeled in pruyer ; and the heart of each was too full for words ; but the recording angel registered it us a doed worthv the noblest sous of earth. Prayer lor .Sleep. In a beautiful hymn computed by Sir Thcrnnt rirown.as a half adieu lor each night to the woiid, are these striking lines: "Sleep is a death j 0 make me try, liy sleeping, what ii is to di, .And as 1 gently lay my head On my grave as now my btd j Huwe'er I rest, great G id, ir-l ilo Awake agon, at lust with ue. And thus asured, behold I ho Securely,- or to wake or iii, 'I hese are my diowsy day ; m viin I do now wake lo sleep g:iin 0 come that huur when i sliall nevir Sleep again, but wake fouvi r." Hoodwinking. A friend has sent us the following, which, we are quite sure, has been in print Im i,,. Mill it is no less 'culi lor that. I he letter is li.od lo have been written by a newly-inanied lady, to her Iriend and confident. Her husband was a' jcali.u old curmudueon, and insisted upon l.er shoeing him every letter she wrote. Ol course he v;nv nullum; but honey ml he. whole thing lie could'nt taste a bit of gall in it. Aiihoimh deception h always wrong, yet we canm I I, tie the heart lo blame Ihe poor thing much ; for, as lar as our nb. servation goes, wives are generally "mom sinned against, than sinning." "I cannot be satisfied, my dearest friend, blest as I am in the matrimonial stale, unless I pour into your friendly bosom, which has ever been in unison with mine, the various sensations which swell, with the liveliest emotioni of pleasure, my almost bursting heart. I tell you, my dear husband is the most amiable of men. 1 have now been married seven weeks, and have never found the least reason to repent the day that joined us. My hunband ii both in person and manners far from iceinbling ugly, cross, old. disapieeable, and jealous monsters, who think by confining, lo secure a wile, it is his maxim lo treat s a bosom friend and confident, and not ss a plsythm; or menial ulave, u,e woman chosen lo be his companion. Neither party he says, should always obey implicitly, hut each yield to the other by turns. An ancient maiden uunl, near seventy, a cheerful, venerable, and pleasant old lady, lives in the house with lis. She is the de light of both young and old; she is ci v,l I'i all the neighborhood rounj eenerons and charitable to tha poor. I am convinced my husband ioves nothing morn thin he does me; lie flatters me rnm , than a nhss, and his intoxication (for so I must call the rxcesj nt his love.) often makes me buish for the unworthinen of its ol j.-i . and w ish I could he more derrriri of the man whose rinine I hear. To say nil in one word, inv dear, and to crown the l"d.. my former snlljn: lover is now pi) oidolL'enl husband ; n y fondness js returned, and I minht have had a prune, without the felicity I find in li i in . Adieu ' nuy you he as bkl s I am un happy '" N B To fivp nor fader In i" unlrrlc tV errit of this letl-r Head lh fiiM and every j sltf -rii.ne Inn- ..ly, and the mak. a ill be seen.