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GLASGOW WEEKLY TIMES.
ftKEEN Ai SiJIIlM.V, " ERROR CEASES TO BE DANGEROUS, WHEN REASON IS LEFT FREE TO COtiBAT IT." Jefferson EDITORS Ac. PROPRIETORS. Volume O. WLASGOW, MISSOURI, THURSDAY, OCTOBER 3, 1818. Number 31. at GEN. TAYLOR AT PASS CHRISTIAN COMPLIMENTARY TOAST. 5ih. Gen. Zachary Taylor, our honored guest. Great in his incorruptible honesty; strong in his inflexible firmness-; invincible in his steady independence; as n soldier, de liberate and cool in action, wise in council, end a successful conquerer; a man who has dono his whole duty as a citizen and as a aoldier. A sentiment by ihe ladies of Pass Christian: Gen. Taylor Husband, father, friend; gentleman, warrior, Christian. The fiee women of our land will bear him on their hearts to the highest seats of honor, giving to the world their appreciation of a man. HIS SPEECH. It is with emotions of no ordinary em barrassment, Mr. Speaker, that I find myself called upon to respond to the cordial recep tion with which I have just been met by the authorities of Pass Christian, and the citi zens of Harrison county. I cannot indeed expect to do justice to the occasion, and feel especially less able to offer in adequate terms my acknowledgements for the very flattering language in which this greeting has been tendered by the talented citizen who has just addressed me. I cun only, therefore, offer you my warmest thanks, and assure you that the style of my reception here is particularly grateful to my feelings. This simple and republican maner of meet ing my fellow-citizens carries me back to the pleasant scenes of my early life I was reared from infancy to early manhood in the West among men of the most primi tive tastes and republican simplicity, we there frequently met on occasions like this, to exchange freely our opinions on National and State affairs, and to devise measures for the defence of our borders, which at that day the General government was sometimes unable to protect. On these occasions were often collected, too, those men of lion hearts and iron nerves who had not only aided the Father of our Country in achieving our independence, and stood by his side in many of his hard fought battles, but who afterwards filled, Willi honor to our coun try, conspicious places in our legislative bodies, both National and State. I have been educated in the simple and republican habits so happily illustrated in this scene, ond do not expect to change them in my old days. You will then understand me when I assure you again, that the manner of my reception here is moro agrpeable to my feelings and tastes than could be all the pomp and pageantry of a recepiion ut the most splendid Court of Europe. The complimentary lanjjuago in whicli you have been pleased to allude to my mil! lary scvices, which now embrace a period of more than forty years, and especially to the actions in which 1 have been engaged during that time, commencing wilh the de fence of Fort Harrison, in 1812. and en ding with the battle of Bucna Vista, has awakened within me the most grateful emo tions, I feel particularly gratified at the just tribute of praise which you have paid, in speaking of these services, to the gallan men whom 1 commanded on those occasions and to whom I feel deeply indebted for ou success. I claim nothing save the good for tune of being tho leader of such men on the occasions referred to; and to iheir zeal sustaining me, and to iheir bold hearts and strong arms, arc we indebted for our vie tories. The manner in which you have al luded to my being stripped of my troops on iho Rio Grande, and to my being left, as might seem, at the mercy of the enemy, just before the battle of Buena Vista, renders proper, probably, that I should make a fc remarks in relation to that matter. I rece ved at Victoria, while on my way to Tain pico a movemcut which I had advised th War Department, I should make for certain reasons an order from the Geneial-in-chief of the army, stripping me of the greater portion of my command, and particularly of regular troops and volunteers well in structed. This order was received by me wilh much surprise, and, I must confess, produced the strongest feelings of regret, mortification and disappointment, as I knew that Gen. Srnta Anna was within striking distance of my line, wilh on army of 25, 000, probably the best appointed men ever collected in Mexico. After putting most of the troops then with me at Victoria enroute for Tampico the larger portion ot Hie commands at Monterey and Sallillo, having been already withdrawn for the same ulti mate destination I was instructed to re turn to the former place, where it was ex pected I would remain on the defensive, wilh the small torce men under my orders A few days after reaching that point 1 learned that the greatest alarm prevailed amors the advance at Sallillo, in conse niiencc of the capture al Encarnacion of Majors Boiland and Gaines, with their par ty of about eighty picked men from the Ar kansas and Kentucky cavalry followed a few days afterwards by tho capture of a de tachment of picked men under Capt. Heady also of the Kentucky cavalry. About the same time I received a com munication from Gen. Wool, then comman ding al Sallillo, urging ina to join him wilh all the troops at my disposal, staling that Gen. Santa Anna was at least preparing, if lie was not already en route, to strike a blow at Sallillo! I immediately joined en. Wool with 700 or 800 men, and a few ays afterwards concentrated all the troops which were generally encamped by regi ments, and took my position al Agua Nue vo, in order that all the officers might be come Letter acquainted with each other nd Iheir duty, and that generally a more horough system of discipline and inslruc- on could be adopted to prepare all hands for service. While here I was advised by the War Department and the General-in-Chief to occupy Monterey. This advice believed then, as I do now, was given at aznrd, and in ignorance of my situation, f that of the enemy, and of the country declined to adopt it, and determined to glit tho Mexican General immediately af ter lie crossed the desert country which lay ust in my front, and before he could have me to refresh .and reorganize his army, which I knew would be much worn out nd disordered by a march of 150 miles across this desert without sufficient provis ions and supplies, and with a great scarcity f water. In this determination, so far as know, I was most cordially sustained by the officers of my command. About two weeks after taking my position at Agua Nueva, it was ascertained by my advanced parlies that Santa Anna was at hand with his army. We then fell back to Buena Vis to a ranch some six miles in front of Sallillo, where we took up a strong position, and where we could easily communicate with our depot in the latter place. Upon this ground I determined to give battle. The nemy arrived in our front on the morning f the 22d, and summoned me to surrender discretion about 1 o'clock of the same day. The summons was declined, and about 4 o'clock on that day the battle of Buena Vista commenced. Tho result of that affair is known to you all, and I shall not, there fore, trouble you with its details. All tried to discharge their duty to their country on that occasion, and some even did more than heir duty. It would then, perhaps, be in vidiotis to draw comparisons, but I must be permitted to say that, led on by their distin guished commander, the gallant Mississippi Volunteers, of whom you have just spoken so highly and justly, performed well their part. They were the only volunteers with me vho had met tho enemy before having acted as would become veteran troops in the conflicts about Monterey. I therefore calculated much upon iheir assistance on that eventful day, and I am happy here to say that my expectations were fully reali zed. Their ranks thinned by the enemy's bullets are much more conclusive as lo their good couduct than anything that I could now say. The battle af Buena Vista, under the cir not harm them. For my own part, I am satisfied to believe that it was all the result of accident rather than design on their part. In conclusion; I beg to return to you, to my fellow-citizens of Harrison county, and particularly to my fair countrywomen here assembled, my heartfelt thanks for the cordial reception which they have this day extended to me. THE PARTING OF SUMMER. BY UBS. JIEMANS. Thou Art bearing hence thy rosea, Chid Summer, faro the well! Thou'rt singing thy last melodies. In every wood and dell. But in the golden sunset Of iheir Idlest lingering day, Oh! tell me o'er this chequered earth How thou hast passed away. Brightly, sweet Summei! biiglilly Thine hours have floated by, To the joyous birds ol the woodland boughs, The rangers of the sky: And brightly in (he forests To (he wild deer bounding tree; And brightly midst the garden flowers, To the happy murmuring bee. But how to human bosoms With all their hopes and Tears; And thoughts that made them eagle wings To pearce the unborn years? Sweet Summei! to the captive Thou bast flown in burning dreams Of the woods, wilh their hopes and leaves, And the blue tejoicing streams; To the wasted and the weary, On l ha bed of sickness bound; In sweet, delicious fantasies, That changed with every sound; Te the sailor on the billows, In longings wild and vain For the gu.-hing founts end bieezy hills, And the home of earth again. And unto me, glad Summer! How hast thou flown to me? My chainless footsteps nought have kept From thy haunts of song and glee. Thou hast flown in wayward visions, In memories of the dead In shadows from a troubled heart, O'er a sunny pathway shed; In brief nnd sudden striving', To fling a weight aside: 'Mid.-l these thy melodies have ceased, And all thy roses died! But oh! thou gentle Summer! If I greet thy flowers once more, Bring me again thy buoyancy, Wherewith my soul should soar! Give me to hail thy sunshine With song and spirit free; Or in a purer land than this May our next meeting be! cumslances under which it was fought, was one of the most trying occasions in which a soldier can be placed. I may say indeed thai I fought the battle with a halter abou my neck. I had been advised to fall back and occupy Monterey, which as I before staled, 1 declined, and had I been unsuccess ful this advice would have been brought up in judgement against me. I declined, that advice because I believed the result would have been as disastrous as a defeat. Had 1 fallen back lo Monterey, the whole coun try about me, upon which I was greatly de pendent for forage, would have flown to arms. Once confined in Monterey, th volunteers, to say nothing of ihe effects of ihe retreat upon them, would have become sickly and dispirited, and deprived of a means of obtaining supplies, and particu larly forage, I should not have had a dra goon or artillery horse in my command, and would therefore have been compelled ultimately to surrender, unless the seige could have been raised by the return of Gen. Scott from Vera Crux with the troops, under his command. The battle of Uuena vistawas iougni on our side by about 450 regular troops and something upwards of 4000 volun teers, while they were opposed by al least 20,000 of the enemy; and had we lost ihe day, I feel that the whole responsibility of the misfortune would have fallen upon my shoulders. Yet I do not wish here to censure those who placed us in that criti cal situation: whether they deserve blame or not, I leave for others to determine. Those who had control over my fate in this transaction may have friends here pteient, in whose good opinion I would For the Glasgow Weekly Times TAYLOR AND FILLMORE. Seventy-two years ago, in a then 'quiet and obscure city of one of our Provinces, there was assetnblad a body of Whigs, charged wilh deliberating on subjects in volving issues of no less magnitude, than the destiny of a Nation. Deeply imbued wilh the spirit of liberty, and smarting un der the wrongs and insults to which a cru el and heartless Sovereign had subjected them, these Patriots of '70, resolved " to know their rights, and knowing, dare main tain them." Embodying in themselves the sentiments of the Whigs of the different colonies, they delertnined faithfully to re fleet these sentiments, even though their avowal should cost them iheir lives, and accordingly, with a prayer upon iheir lips invoking the God of justice and of battles to sanctify the deed, they boldly burst the fetters which the tyrant had forged for them, and proclaimed their country "free and independent" of discrown! The mor al sublimity and beneficient results of this Declaration of Independence find no par allel in the history of Nations. . And yet not unlike the Whig Convention of 1770 in many respects, was the Whig Convention of 1848. Called together in the same city, by the same love of liberty which swelled the bosoms of their patriot ic predecessors; groaning like them unde the mal-administration of a government professedly instituted for the good of all but wantonly prostituted to subserve the interests of party; beholding the fountains of justice corrupted, the constitution bro ken, the public treasure squandered, th will of the people contemned, the rights o the private citizen infringed; after rallying like their fathers, in ihe sternness of patri otism to correct these abuses, but like them also in the moment of their keenest an guish, beholding their efforts in the unequal struggle utterly hopeless; and, when the last ray of hope seemed to have gone out, fall ing back on that indomitable Whig spirit of '76, which defeat cannot crush nor des pair overwhelm, this patriotic body respon ded to the will of the Nation by proclaim ing a second Declaration of Independence rally. scarcely less glorious than the former, and in selecting a Captain who has never known defeat, to lead the mighty hosts of freedom to victory and to glory I The shrill tones of the Whig Clarion went forth from Phil adelphia announcing the name of the great and good Taylor, as the standard-bearer of EXECUTIVE REFORM in the approach ing contest. This annunciation carried joy to the hearts of the free and liberal of all parlies, sections and factions. It is needless for us to say anything here in praise of Zachary Taylor. His brill iant achievements in Mexico, which, while they shed additional lustre on the Ameri can arms, "are the least of his praises; his unaffected modesty, which is always the accompainament of true greatness; his ac knowledged bravery, which is only equall ed by the gentleness of hisnature; his inde fatigable zeal in the service of his country in whatever situation he has been placed; his great common sense, his patience in the most trying scenes, his jealous obedience to law, his inflexible honesty and the sound ness of his political views, have already stamped him as one "on whom every good heart hath set his seal to give the world as surance of a man." These qualities have rendered him in the hearts of his country men second only to Washington, whom in the simplicity of his character, as well as in important services he so much resembles. As a suitable aid to the gallant old hero of the Rio Grande, the Whigs presented the name of MILLARD FILLMORE, of New York, a candidate for Vice President. The name of Fillmore, the man who has arisen from the humble but honorable sta tion of a wool-carder to that of a great man, is familiar to every one. His father being too poor to educate him, placed him whilst quite young as an apprentice with a wool-carder, during which lime he avail ed himself of his leisure hours, he devoted to study, and by that means obtained edu cation. At the age of nineteen he bought the time which he had yet to serve as an apprentice, studied law, afterwards served is State in the legislutuJe, was sent to Con gress and now fills the office of Comptrol- er of the state of New York. He is a ju. net of extensive acquirements; a scholar f great erudition; a gentleman of exalted hnracter; and a statesman of sound elevated iews. In every station which he has fill ed, he has proven himself to be "honest, ca able and faithful." Struggling from his earliest boy-hood wilh so many difficulties e has arisen by his own exertions to the pinnacle of true greatness, and now enjoys the esteem, the confidence and the love of all who know him. Truly may he be call ed the 'Peoples' Candidate.' Such are the candidates selected to bear aloft that banner on whose ample folds are nscribedthe well known principles of a parly seeking, as a primary object, to in crease EXECUTIVE RESPONSIBILI TY and to diminish EXECUTIVE POW ER, "already increased and increasing to an alarming extent;" and, as secondary to hat, to secure to the people a guaranty that their will shall be faithfully reflected and carried out by Congress and the Ex ecutive on all questions relating to the cur rency, the tariff, internal improvements, &c On the other hand our Democratic friends have presented a candidate in the person of Gen. Cass, who may be supposed to era body the views of his party, which claims "to the victors belong the spoils," and which advocates a policy subversive of our best and dearest interests and tending to strengthen the power of tho President as the will of the people is crippled. The principles of the two candidates are whol ly dissimilar. Iho one is a conservative whilst tho other is a radical democrat; the one holds the veto as a ''high conservative MicsioUri," under whose banner you wi i i power, to oe exercised oniy in cases clear violation of the constitution or niani fest haste and want of consideration by Congress," the other claims its exercise whenever the Executive may choose to in lerpose it to thwart the will of the people the one thinks tho personal opinions of th Executive ought not to control the action of Congress, the other, to judge from par ly associations, would have bills framed specially to meet the views of the Execu live; the one is opposed to the subjugation of other nations and the dismemberment of other countries by conquest, the olhe would fight for "fifty-four forty" an "swallow up" the whole of Mexico; the one is a south-western man, entirely sound on the question of slavery, the other northern man with opinions suited to"ci cumslances i" tho one in short would the President of the People, Ihe other of Party. The antithesis might be extende to any desired length, for in no two things are ihev alike. Choose ye, then, people ofl Whigs bf Missouri I the lime is once more approaching when you will have an opportunity of asserting your princi ples. To you has been presented a ticket on which all may unite. Many of you may have prefered Henry Clay a name around which the fondest associations clus ter, and on which memory loves to linger ; but a majority of our brethren to whom we committed this selection, have thought it best to present the name of another no less worthy and true. Let no individual preferences then, or disappointment, deter you froni'doing your duty, your whole du ty. There is no better Taylor man than Henry Clay himself, for he would cease to bo Henry Clay as soon as he should loose the magnanimity of his nature, or his de votion to the cause of which he has so long been an ornament. Rally then, around the standard of Taylor and Fillmore I Un furl your banners and let their folds wan ton in the breeze ! Complete your organi zation by forming clubs in every neighbor hood. Recall the enthusiasm you felt for the lamented Harrison and if you will it, you can give them another Waterloo de feat. You have a great and glorious cause the enfranchisement of a nation from Executive misrule and corruption wor thy of a great and united effort. In view of the magnitude of the issues involved then, let us once more exhort you to buckle on your armor and inarch to battle and to victory under a General WHO NEVER SURRENDERS. Clopton. Fayette, Missouri, Oct. 2, 1813. A HUSBAND'S REVENGE. BY W. T. ROGERS, JR. Seventeen hundred and seventy-nine! 'Twas a cheerless evening in October; the sun had already set, and a young man was struggling with the dark clouds that at in tervals obscured her bright dise, as they were borne along by the resistless fury of the angry wind which howled dismally mong the naked branches of the leafless forest trees. Now it came in fitful gusts scattering the fallen leaves, and whining iteously at its lack of power. Now it in eased in strength, snapping the decayed ranches, and bending the boughs of the sturdy oak. Anon it swelled into an overwhelming blast, twisting the gnarled trunks, and with deafening crash uprooting and overthrow ng the mighty lords of the soil; then sink ing into a sullen moan it howled a mourn ful requiem over its spent and departed strength. Dark indeed, and dismal was the night and furious the warring of the elements. but darker and more dismal were the re flections, and more fierce the conflict lha raged within the breast of the injured pat riot, who forms the subject of our narrative. Mr. Charles Forman was a young far mer residing within a few miles of Hack- ensack. At the first outbreaking of our revolutionary troubles, he had shouldered his musket, and tearing himself from his young and lovely wife, had fought, aye, and bled in Freedom s cause. He was wilh the army at Morristown, when having received intelligence of the llness of his wife, he asked and obtained leave to visit his home. He had travelled on foot and alone for two days had crossed the rugged ''Blue Ridge," and on the evening of the second dav had reached his humble dwelling. As he neared tho house, the evidences of a Tory visit were even at night plainly discernible. With a beating heart he crossed tho little court yard, and stood upon ihe door step. His heart sunk within him, as he lifted the latch, and found the door was fastened. Gently he knocked, fearing lo disturb his suffering wife; again he knock ed, and again, but knocked in vain. There was no cheerful light, as of late was wont to beam from his little window, to comfort those wilhin, and direct the weary, way worn wanderer to a shelter. No curling smoke issued from the chimney: no blazing hearth was there: and save the flapping of the shutters, and the rustling of the vines that overhung the porch, oil else was si lent. He could endure suspense no longer; and forcing the door he stood wilhin the house. All was darkness there. He groped his way to the bed side, but it stood tenaniloss WW 11 1 I I lie caiiea upon nis who oy name-no an swer came I "Sarah I" he cried; and the winds howled the louder, as if in mockery of his agony. With a trembling hand he produced his tinder-box, and lighted ihe little lamp that stood in its accustomed place, upon the mantel I Great Heaven 1 what a sight did its pale rays reveal to him. Extended upon the floor lay the bHy of his wife, with her in fant child clasped to her breast both cold in death I Blood, too, was there-Mhe life blood of his guileless wife, and innocent babe a cold, coagulated pool I " Oh. God I my wife, my child I" he shrieked his brain reeled, and tottering a few paces, he fell at her side. Soon he re- covered himself, and lifting them gently from the floor, he placed them side by side upon the bed, and stood silently gazing up on the placid countenance of the young wife, beautiful even in death. There is an eloquence in silence, when the heart is too full for utterance, and a solemn voice in silent grief. Vain were our attempt to describe the tumult of feel ing, the crush of emotion that filled tho hearl of poor Charles, as he bent over tho body of his murdered wife. No word es caped him, no sign, no tear drop started, but his bosom heaved quickly, his lip quiv ered, and his eye rolled wildly, and wilh a lemoniacal glare. He seemed as though his every faculty of mind was intent upon one word, which should speak the fulness of his misery and desperation, and his lip struggled to give it utterance I At length came: " Vengeance I and he started at ho coarse, unearthly tone of his own voice. ' Vengeance I" and the dark winds swept away the echo as it formed. " Vengeance!" and his wild and solemn vow stood eternal- recorded. All that night he watched by the bodies of nis wife and child and the next mor- buried them with his own hands, swearing over their graves to avenge them. As he was returning from his melancho ly task, ho found lying upon the grass near the door a large hunting knife still red with blood. Upon ihe haft was carved in rude characters ihe name "Charles Smith." This Smith was a violent and cruel par tisan ( companion of the notorious Van- lushirk) who, with a company of outcasts like himself, and a few negroes, made fre quent incursions into the upper counties of New Jersey, and were notorious for their cruel and barbarous trearment of the pat riotic females. Years ago, when tho wife of Forman was quite young, he had professod an at tachment fur her, which she by no means encouraged, and the offer of his hand was,') as might have been expected, refused. Even then he swore she should have cause to repent it, and still nourishing a deadly hatred, he had taken advantage of the ab scence of her husband, and paying a visit with his troop, to Hackensack, with his own hand had dealt tho blows which de prived both mother and child of life. "This knife," exclaimed Charles as he glared upon its reeking blade, "this knife which has rendered my life a blank, and ut terly darkened my future, shall yet drink tliino hearts blood, inhuman monster!" And after carefully wiping the blade he placed it in his belt, und entered his deso late home. For more than an hour he sat in silent agony, the big drops coursing down nis haggard checks, as he brooded over his wrongs and dreamed of vengeance. Then, starting suddenly to his feet he cast one last, long, lingering look upon each familiar object, and rushed from the house, vowing, as he shut the bolt, never to return while Smith lived lo murder and destroy. A week had passed; 'twas midnight, and from a small house, situated on the verge of a wood, about a mile to the eastward of White Plains, there issued shouts of bois terous revelry, interrupted only by occa sional snatches of some rude bacchanalian song. Smith and his men wore indulging in their accustomed nightly debauch, after having returned from a successful expedi tion. Near the house stood Charles for- man, leaning upon a fence, carefully mark ing tho progress of this drunken party; his dark eye flashing fearfully, as the con stant clanking of glasses was heard, and the teeth gnashing with rage, as the dying cadence of a drinking song came to his ear. Suddenly he aroused himself, and clutch ing the fatal knife, he moved towards the house. Pausing at the threshold, (o col lect his strength, he burst in the door, and stood confronted with his foe. ' Vengeance!" he shouted, and ere the half drunken wretches could stay his hand, he seized the Tory leader, and dashed him to ihe floor. " This," cried he, plunging the knife in his bosom, "for my murdered wife, and this," plunging it still deeper, ' for my innocent babel Haste wilh your guil ty soul to the father of lies, and tell him that a widowed husband, made childless by thine hand, has sent the to deserved tor ments!" Then rushing upon the affrightened To ries, he plunged his knife indiscriminately into those who were nearest him, until overpowered by numbers, he full dead up on the floor, muttering between his clench ed teeth," Sarah!" and " Vengeance."