The American patriot., December 27, 1854, Image 1

About The American patriot. (Clinton, La.) 1854-1???

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am AMERICAN
U/ {Iff
Y 1
87. 1854.
CLHTO.V LA DECEMBER
THE AMHUCA*
. .....
I (Vwr y «kr /Né» V»~
rr su.*» un» mmu. •
Bekwed, tetovod, my feet ahme are aalkmg
|b <)wl fête wfckb time kMt trod with me—
1 hear do more the bumc of thy miking
Urnwf Ike kUi where Nwnrr bteaaaem be.
Green treee in blearing, tiw their arms above me,
The night-bird draveth nearer with hi« aighe.
Bat not oor human voice hae mid "I Love TW
Sore last I rend Lore's «torn In thine ere*.
Oh I skspw of Keil walk the path between an
il/ heart growa hea v y with nnapoken fear—
Will e'en ear truth be atroog enough to rowan Hr
Kram fem as terrible a» thou art dear?
Death « angel draweth niftb "rr Higher,
Ilia hire ia on my brow the while 1 «leap;
Kor UK— I are a martyre path of hae.
For thee, beloved—a graveyard where to weep.
And tbit, ala«! it all Life givee of c ro wn in g .
A wreath of Kama twined owl of funeral flowers,
At if aome ahipwrecked mariner, while drowning,
Mbould grop e far gmaa, in ocean'» coral b wwer a .
Bethink thee, kne, of all the bopee 1 cherished,
Tlie Dreams my future waa to make ao real,
The household joys, that crushed to death, hare perished.
In my mad worship of the veiled ideal!
And yet, I love thee—never will soother
Say theae three words with such strong titrai» of pain.
Such tears, like thoae with which some stricken mother
Bathes eyes which ne'er may meet her owu again.
1 love thee—it lia» been ao kite vision
Kilting like moonlight o'er Life's troubled sea,
Kor it will dawn again in climes Elyshtn,
Standing 'mottg angels, I shall pine for thee.
And thou wilt hreatke my name perchance whBe rhyming
The cureless fancies of an Idler's lines,
Or, happy, with the woods above thee chiming
Their lonesome marches thro' some grove of pines—
And when a fairer head in dreams is lying,
Where mine has rested upon breast of thine,
From the past thou'lt hear a low voice sighing—
Her living love will be less dear than mine.
And thou wilt come, sometimes, where I am sleeping,
And o'er that place of thorns wilt make thy moan,
And I, beneath the mould, shall hear thy weeping,
And prey for thee beneath the white tomb-stone.
My heart shall be where'er thy steps are roving,
Its passion conquer e'en Death's troubled ware;
Alas! alas! that earth's best gift of loviug
Should be a prayer, a troth-plight, and a grave.
THE CONSCRIPTION.
A French Story.
In one of the later years of the Empire of
France, at a time when the Conscription laid its
terrible hands on the flower of the youth of the
country, and sent them oil', reluctantly or unre
1 intently, to the field of battle, the society of a
certain small town in one of the Central Depart
ments received a notable addition in the person of
the Baron de Valville, a returned emigrant He
was a man apparently about fifty years of age,
yet hia figure retained oil the erectncss and ele
f ance of early niunhood. He was understood to
e one of the principal families of Normandy, and
had come, it was said, to a country residence, in
order to recover from the harassing effects of
exile on body and mind. The little circle into
whjch he stepped was delighted with the refined
polish of his manners and the intellectual charms
of his conversation. Young men, of any rank,
were scarce in those days, and the Baron bad few
competitors in his course to popularity, and to
the tavor, in particular, of the ladies. His fifty
years were inmost forgotten, and might have been
wholly so, had not his temples been undeniably
a little whitened by timo. The only rival almost
of the baron, was a young man named Florestan
do Jfiasaux— i HHm ( I ra i ra qwrs iiccwf Uie Boron,
this youth had cast upon him a doubtful eye, as
if afraid that the hour of M. de Valville's captiva
tions hod not yet passed by. Indeed, there was
a more special and precise reason for the alarm of
Blavaux—he was in love.
_ Some time after the Baron hail settled dpwn in
his new scene, Blavaux and he met in a spot
where they were almost obliged to converse.
The Baron could not help smiling at the othor.
The young, tall and well-formed Blavaux wore
immense blue spectacles, and leaned over his cane,
as if qent down by years. He saw the Baron's
scanning glanco, add said, half seriously, half
smilingly:
sc ® before you, sir, a victim of war."
., - 4 » hat! •' said De Valville, "you have served,
i?vv' ,y0u ** avc been wounded ? "
ye» i ruined by tho enemy that
wounds us all,^replied Blavaux.
mi- îlî * >cen rava C c( l by the enc
my perhaps * satdjhe Baron inquiringly.
the „n 'le ,** thu Conscription," was
the answer. "For ten years I have struggled
vuth it, and unequal as was the contest, as yet I
have triumphed. But at what a cost ! —dear have
been my victories! Sir, I have given eight de
fenders to my country—I have eight representa
tives under our banners. You know hoi? co&tlv
substitutes always arc. Mine have cost me led
thousand francs a piece. 1 '
That makes in all eighty thousand francs,"
said the Baron—"a goodly sum."
„ " continued Blavaux, in a rueful tone,
to defray the expenses, I was obliged to sell mv
property. I had fifteen thousand livres of in
come, and now I have but three« One or two
I
,
j
;
)
j
!
;
j
j
!
>AmiflT:"^.—rs. - ï.', s.*Jnc.
kj^**r* *^jJ*3J^ , ** b *Y • ■*
fate I kaw a»
■r5*J. «»4 Rtorinakr » hm.
r "'
r **fesff *■■»»«•#■■•«* «n tegtete"* seplvtff rtw
iflMfe
I 1 have," said Rfe.Mii after • «hurt |M». 1
, bar« final ay «« farti ons -yes, affseftw.. -on a
•wrtofe oly r t and I are net am to haw an ay
'partewtoefnwekinr'ovwean tfeii e*f«rt How
Ifekfi to*, and fen. Rann, with ai the world hm
"Xad'wh
nd who mar that he*" mai De ValvOte
"Madame dr Sim y," returned the young atm
"I here given ay I nert te the raeamp and rha nu
:ing widow. I know that «he wfe net giver way
j her hand hut to one of her ewn tm eu that you
; aeod not come in my path with «nous intu.iUutu
Pray be warned! I will not bear interfere«» ia
'that quarter. Win with al rise wham von
) pènaa."
j The Baron only la u ghed ad MavauVs inyam
uoe dlil He afterward*
™***ure not unsucrvaffhl The ladv ieil tu
! '**" to bim with delight; but Floraux had «4
*» «^-"biag fax her a dndikr lu
■nalcne* where the age was unar ( tmi Sla ted in
truth suffered tee much m tew tanner weite d
; «tale from the disparity of tartea. enured bv the
j disparity of year*, not to feel wrongly unite «d.
[jfct- Thus it chanced that, «rhen she lietened lo
the attractive converse iff the Baron, she und to
"S " •* hi * P*? bicks.'and think to her
«rif. "H hat a pity it ia that he it Bfry'"
Widows are framed for telling their mind with
freedom, and the Baron was not long in catching
up some expressions from her lit«» which revealed
her thoughts.
"■^ben you will only wed with one of your own
age, lady, ' laid the Uaroa.
"I confess to that weakness," returned Madaine
de Nercy, with a smile,
"You are in error," laid the Baron: "men of
mature yean-*'
"Oh, pray, do not trouble yourself to praise
Jhstÿ" interrupted the lady, "Nay poor dead hus
band waa «T your years, and though he was as
good a soul as ever lived, I learned from him that
age and youth cannot assort together."
"Then why not marry your admirer, Blavaux?"
said the Baron.
"Pshaw—Blavaux!" replied the lady; "he is
young, to he sure, but I will never wed a man who
would hide in a closet or tub to avoid the con
scription. No, no," continued Madame de Nercy,
"1 am in no hurry; I will wait for the peace. Aiid
in the meantime, Baron, do you tiy with all your
might to grow young again. If you were twenty
years younger, we should see—we should see,
M. de Valville was silent for some time. lie
th e nre ki: .......... _
Madame do Nercy, you encourage me to give
utterehcc to a secret. I am a man of fifty, and
yonng again 1 shall never be; but I have a son,
the very imago of myself in person, and fully
thirty years younger. In him I see my very self,
as I was at his age. Madame, my son loves you.
He saw yon ^ but once at a ball in Paris, during
your last visit He learned who you were; but,
alas! he is so unfortunately circumstanced as to
be unable to appear and own his love. Our fami
ly have ever been Royalists, and my ill-fated son
was mad enough to join in a conspiracy against
those in power. ^ The plot was discovered, and he.
became a proscribed fugitive. For some time he
has been concealed in my own house, not in this
town, but a little country village which I purchas
ed near to yours. From that concealment he
would, ere now, have burst to throw himself at
your feet, but for my entreaties. I promised to
plead his cause with you, that he might not risk
his life by exposing himself to the chance of seiz
ure by the police. You have now given me an
opportunity to fulfill my word. Ah, Madame,
take pity upon him—take pity upon me. Con
s ®ut see him, and hear him plead his own cause!"
. "bis strange revelation made a strong impres
sion on the lair widow. A beautiful young man,
deeply in love, and a proscribed fugitive, present
ed a most charmingly romantic picture to her
fancy.
"I go to the country to-morrow," said she, af
r spmg'ni rammt» «ff Mushing, yet not unpleas
ing confusion, "and you may come to me at eight
in the morning. We will go together."
"Ah, Madame," replied M. do Valville, "that is
a pleasure which prudence forbids mo to enjoy.
Beyond a doubt, my movements arc secretly
watched. My son will be left to greater freedom
and safety by my remaining here. In truth, it
would be well for me to avert suspicion by going
to somo other place."
The widow was somewhat averse to go alone,
but the difficulty was got over by her resolving to
take a confidential friend with her.
To the country, accordingly, she went on the
following day. Soon after her arrival she receiv
ed a visit from a young man, whom she could not
look upon without sunmsc. He was the very
image of his lather. It was the Bame figure,
twenty years younger—eyes, look, and tone of
voice being the same. The step of the son was
more elastic, and in place of the grey locks of the
Baron, short and beautiful chesnnt tresses adorned
the head of the son. As to the rest, the son
proved to have the very spirit of the father—in
telligent, polished and tender. The poor widow's
heart was soon in chains. At the end of a fort
night or so she returned to town, and was soon
alter waited on by the Baron, who, she under
stood fulfilled his intention of averteng suspicion
by a short tour.
"Ah, well," said he, taking the hand of Ma
dame de Nercy respectfully, "what have you made
of my poor boy? Does he consent to take care of
his safety? Is he gone?"
The widow looked down and blushed.
"No, he is not gone yet. Before he goes wc
wish to go through a little ceremony, and J now
have to a:;k your consent to it."
Iff
»*•
■*«•* CM M«r Mr ffariveh Ait
'•V hm ti
teffjr, "we
4tKJM ffeï a»
Itoateéf hHL. TV _ -,__
peiawre. ft ffo.S nate/ksrv * few *te d to a», «ff
— h fttefthftf a* I are to ere* fen
• P" - * V'mreff *■* "■■fe «Via te tea feaa
«««toff ft«, tte ixffhirMHM wm mtm to b«
• «a»«. I*m fe Tffrik, which ja tte
*— » —"W w mm' Iftlk >sfluwsff «hat I *»
— Mm o r . * mm hm AB mut to 4 mm rafctv.
hfe^pmfeMHH bmmiw tote *te*at.
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ft"«arWr ( —ru *« ff «te fitoft» wffh Mktenw
fi* h«« y «te» a ur rea wo* or «Mf«ff to to.
«P«a**K «o b va « « am ia » , Has waaM» VhawMan
htovatm Ma raoteff «te Iqpsa, ami «tfka uf dra
*A» te 4 f-ato TW I
9 mm, to wh feh re fta wa M.
ffe oreaMaaav paoavi va* aaff Ma laaiv Adrvn
fi Vibilk refw ri a»! il« tea ter enuntry seat.
• te i lte nfe> ter Ml mm a reo qnt <ff the re
rateuat rfttoalr. M Vi t eaa » « fte feut ««en her
I r«an« aaff teoffateaa kw»tereffqu> ter «h-toimk
a m fer nun Itefta fe »ai aa«rr Ivtiiul» days.
V este I» ter team-, txyeUiny th»-rv to meet
and mvitt -'•nsfetfen trom her fatte r in-law
T» ter aarjarév. ffw raw tfcrrv. aa« tte gray haired
Maron. Lut tow -am tehui
\«w ter*, Lira» «xciaànwd «te id terror.
"M hat laipnnhr . e' I etatvace you again.
Ah I know «rtei hroeght yna here. You could
raft Ar prat rfeft mri mt r rair feths»*''
Tht y.rang fe fewt kaak down hefere her
; "Ifeii s at. " usd he, "I aral my father are
one IW i o. cl wife, f irgivc me! Wbea you aaw
me first a* a rasa iff lift) y**r», I was in disguise,
aaff—ewn y <a hear to tear H*—on arrmint of the
o nnu r ri p tona ' Bat tuff heeaane I wouM not be a
— I ffi o r. Nu. I rraM tevw rarvwl mj country
itecrfiffly bat an c eeutivr relation bound me by
la» will to mmrrx st a certsin age. I raw you in
Pari*, and wnqM have adiin-*-«ed yon without dfs
vufetff, hut i was jnat then drawn for the army,
knowing our family's for
.
i
1
ferluiK and my love were both at
1
pnurtpfea. gave mr positiv« orders to serve in
person. My fortune and my love were both at
■take I dwgutscd mysrlf and fled—fled to the
where vrai were. This is my whole story.
\oa will f*«rain ae—I trust you will forgive me
tte ilccvpuoo I have practised. Now, when we
are unit**!. I will, if you permit me, serve my
country wherever she tes need of me. Tb you I
would have revealed all before now, hail not your
derfaration that you would never well one who
fled from the conscription terrified me into silence
—ami tlien I thought of the scheme which has
been followed. Panlon me, dearest wife."
The lady's pardon was not difficult to obtain.
Soon after the disclosure which has been re
lated, M. <le Valville went to visit M. Blavaux.—
; He found that gentleman too much absorbed in
other matters to think of duelling. The uufor
j tunate Bfavsux ted just berai d r a wn tor the een
' scription for the ninth time.
Facts about Friday.— From time immemorial
Friday has been frowned upon as a day of ill
omen, and though this prejudice is less prevalent
now than it has been of vore, when superstition
j had general sway, yet there are many, even in
this matter of fact age of ours, who would hesi
tate on a day as inaspicious, to begin an under
taking of momentous import? And how many
brave mariners, whose hearts unquailed could
meet the wildest fury of the ocean home, would
blanch to even bend their sails on Friday. But
to show with how much reason this feeling is in
dulged, let us examine the following important
facts in connection with our settlement and great
ness as a nation; and we will see how little cause
we Americans have to dread the fatal day.
On Friday, August 3d, 14112, Christopher Co
lumbus sailed on his groat voyage of discovery.
On Friday, October 12th, 14112, he first discovered
land. On Friday, January 4th, 1493, he sailed
on his return to Spain, which, if ho had not reach
ed in safety, tho happy result would never have
been known, which led to the settlement of this
vast continent. On Friday, March 16th, 1498, ho
arrived in Palos in safety. On Friday, November
22d, 1494, he arrived in Hispaniola, on his second
voyage to America. On Friday, June 13th, 1496,
he, though unknown to himself, discovered tho
continent of America.
On Friday, March 5th, 1496, Henry VII., of
England, gave to Johu Cabot, his commission,
which led to the discovery of North America. On
Friday, September 7th, 1565, Melendez founded
St. Augustine, the oldest settlement in the United
States by more than forty years. On Friday,
November 10th, 1620, the Mayflower, with the
Pilgrims, mnde the harbor of Proviucotown. On
the same day was signed that august compact,
tho forerunner of our present glorious Constitu
tion. On Friday, December 22d, 1620, the Pil
grims made their final landing on Plymouth Bock.
On Friday, June 16th, 1775, Bunker llill was
seized and fortified. On Friday, October 7th,
1777, the surrender of Saratoga was made, which
had such power and influence in inducing France
to declare for our cause. On Friday; September
22d, 1780, the treason of Arnold was laid bare,
which saved us from destruction.
On Friday, October 19th, 1781, the surrender
of Yorktown, the crowning £lory of the Ameri
can arms took (dace. On Friday, Juuo 7th, 1776,
the motion in Congress was made by John Adams,
seconded by Richard Henry Lee, that the United
colonies were, and of right ought to be free and
independent.
Thus, by numerous examples, we see that, how
ever it may be with tho other nations, Americans
■need never dread to begin on Friday, any under
taking, no matter how momentous it may be.
SraociAR Stratagem. —Teniers perceiving that
the works of painters sold much better after the
death of their authors, wisely determined ro an
ticipate the revisionary profits of talent; and to
effect this, lie thought he could not adopt abetter
expedient than to cease to live, to the public. In
order to execute this singular stratagem, he ab
sented himself from the town of Anvers, and his
wife and child counterfeited affliction by putting
on black. The trick succeeded, and in a very
short time all the pieces of the pretended deceased
were bought up at very high prices, which, be
sides relieving his present wants, enabled him to
realize a handsome sum for the future.
A lofty mountain. —Mount Hood, in Oregon,
has now been ascertained by actual measurement
to be full eighteen thousand throe hundred and
sixty one feet high. This is the highest peak on
the American continent, and of the highest in the
world. From this peak, mountain tops five hun
dred miles distant are distinctly seen to issue from
the Mimmitt.
!
!
New Yoaa ITmtorical Sociitv.— M assa chu
happily represented by the celebration
■ ffthr New Tork Historical Society. Hon. R. C.
T^'ivaaor made a noble speech, from which we
make the following truly eloquent extract :
"Lot me not draw thee« remarks to a close with
snt sibling a word more serious; without saying
tte* we ought, none of us, to be forgetful that,
aAat all. Sir, there ia another work—a work going
on in this ilay and generation—besides that of
writing the history of our fathers; and that is, the
»«ding iff OUT own part* in life. We cannot lire
agon tte glories of the past Historic memories
are precious and inspiring. Let us sustain otir
institutions, let ua preserve our liberty, for there
U another history to bo written, to which every
"hate, and «very citizen at this hour, and every
hour ia contributing materials. In the generous
rn airy of sister States, each may furnish the most
brilliant record* of the past, hut this should not
render us regardless of that nobler riralry, in
which it becomes all more ardently and ambitious
ttoengaga.
"1 know ao nobler spectacle In tte history of
the world than that of tho multiplied States of
this Union, joining with fraternal competition
which should add the brightest page to the history
of the future, the noblest example of well di
rected liberty, the most complete illustration of
the success of that republican experiment, of
which our soil has been providoutly seloctod as
the scene. If these thirty-one commonwealths
ranged under a common Danner from ocean to
ocean, could bo seen engaged in such a conten
tion as this, instead of a struggle for some miser
able political mastery, or selfish ascendency; in
stead of cherishing a spirit of mutual Jealousy
and hate by striving to aggrandise themselves
either territorially or commercially at each other's
expense, should they he seen laboring side by
side to improve each one its own character—to
referra each one its own abuses—to abolish each
one its own wrongs—to show the best efforts of
which civilization, Christianity and freedom gro
capable, what a history would there be to the
world hereafter! IVlo would envy the writer the
privilege of penning such a record! Mcthinks he
would catch some inspiration from the psalmist of
«Id—his pen would be that of 'a ready writer.'
No cold und heatless skeptic could portray such a
['»ogress; no Uibbon could delineate the glowing
picture, lie might be trusted with the task which
told the decline and fall of empire, but a theme
like that would inspire new faith in him who wrote
faith in the capacity of man for self-government,
and in the ultimate prevalence of the Gospel of
Christ, which, after all, is the only sure and effec
tual instrument by which cither social or political
—[lost in enthusiastic applause]—that history is
to be written; and wiien written, is to exercise an
influence on the world, for good or for evil, such
as no other uninspired history has ever yet ex
erted. It is not too much to say that American
history—the history of these United States, and
of tlie several States—is to be the fountain to
mankind of such a hope, or of such a despair, as
they have never yet conceived of. [Great ap
p l ause . J You have all heard how the accomplished
Lluftfainant Maury Has been engaged In gathering
the old log-books of your sailors, out of them to
make wind and current charts to render voyages
across the ocean more safe and speedy. So it
would be with tho log-books of our great Repub
lic and those lesser Republics which sail under a
common Hag. From those is to bo made up a
great sailing chart of freedom. [Applause.] God
grant that on no corner of it shall bo found tho
sad record that here, upon some hidden rock, or
there upon the breakers, or thoro in a fatal fog,
by the desertion of some cowardly crew, [sensa
tion and applause,] or by the recklessness of some
rash helmsman, a 'Now Era' struck, foundered,
auil went to pieces, to the cxhultation of despots
and the deep grief of all friends of freedom. [Ap
plause.] May it rather give encouragemont to ail
who range upon the same sea that there is a pros
perous voyage before them and safe haven within
their reach!" [Applause.]
Hon. Edward Everett also sent an excellent
letter. He thus remarks on what America has
done for history, while yet in her infancy :
"No branch of literature has been so success
fully cultivated in America ns history; and I be
lieve that even European criticism—not over par
tial to merit on this side of the Atlantic—will bear
me out when I say that, in addition to many
works of sterling value, which I have no room to
name, America has, within twenty-five years,
produced three historians, whose works will go
down to the latest posterity with those that have
already stood the test of ages. I am not more
confident of the abiding reputation of Herodotus,
Huydides, and Xenophon; of Livy, Sallust, and
Tactitus; of Hume, Gibbon, Robortson, llallam,
and Maccauiay, than I am of the abiding reputa
tion of Irving, Prescott, and Bancroft. 1 believe
their works will be read till the English language
is forgotten."
The world to come. —The following were thu
meditations of the celebrated John Foster, on the
deatli of his wife. They will seem to many as a
transcript of their own thoughts under similar be
rciivemunte ;
Gan it bo—how is it—what is it—that we are
now not inhabitants of thu same world—that
each has to think of the other us in a perfect dif
ferent economy of existence? Whither has she
gone—in what manner does she conscientiously re
alize to .»herself the great change—how does she
look at herself as no longer inhabiting a mortal
tabernacle—in w'hat manner does she recollect
her stute as only a few weeks since—in what man
ner docs she think, and feel, and act, and commu
nicate with other spiritual beings—what manner
of vision has she of God and tlie Saviour of thu
world—how docs she review and estimate tho
course of discipline through which she had been
prepared for tlie happy state where she finds her
self—in what manner does she look back On death,
which she has so recently passed through—and
does she plainly understand the nature of a phe
nomenon so awfully mysterious to the view of
mortals? How docs she remember and feci re
especting me? Is she associated with the spirits
of her duparted son and our two children who
died in infancy? Docs she indulge with delight
a confident anticipation that we shall, after awhile,
be added to her society? If she should think of
it as (with respect to some of us) many years,
possibly, before such an event, docs that appear a
long time in prospect, or has she begun to ac.
count of duration according to the great laws of
eternity? Earnest immaginings and question
ings like these arise without end; and still, still,
there is no answer, no revelation. The mind
comes again and again up close to the thick black
veil; but there is no peforation, no glimpse. She
that loved me, and I trust lores me still, will not,
cannot, must nut answer m<L I can only imagine
her to say, "Come and see; servo our God so that
you shall come and share at no distant timç."
Efif" The result at the recent elections in the
State of New York very forcibly fflUferetes the
fact that the oM palitinel parties, with aft their
rottenness and «forogtiofo aro MtfffcftfeWfeg
tiuff period w h e n — en t ire and a b s o l ut e d ia ro l n -
tion most take place tfi their fettered and dfamay
ed ranks; and thtt new features, with teere
healthful influence«, in (he politifcu policy of this
country is steadily and rapidly gaining |>redomtn
ancc In minds of thé American people.
In the contest for t|ie supremacy of party in
New York, the American organization could have
easily thrown its influence into the hands of Mr.
Baoiisoit, the chaaspioe of the Hardshell wing of
the Democracy, and who in many Sespeeta was
certainly unobjsatienaMe with them, and thereby
have caused hit success. Or, on the other hand,
by their coinblqod strength they could have
made the victory of either Clarke, the Freesoil
Whig, or that Of Mbymoub, Seftatell Democrat,
doubly sure. Alb Young America came boldly
and nobly forward, on broad national grounds,
thereby exhibiting to the world her true devotion
to American policy, and independently and pa
triotically hung out her colors at the mast head.
All connection with either Whiggery or Demo
cracy, in whatevor garb, whether Hard, Soft, Free
soil, Anti-Nebraska, Nebraska, or Tempcraanoc,
was at once severed.
The order was fully aware of its infancy and
want of organization, and that a defeat was almost
inevitable; yet all fliese considerations were at
once set aside. With them the question had re
solved itself into a contest for principles—Ameri
can principles—though their man should meet
with defeat.
In connection with this subject tlie N. Y. Cou
rier and Euquirer says :
The ground work of the American par«/ is the
prineiplo of nstiouslity. In 1844, when immigration
ted reached 200,000 a /car, when Bishop Hughes had
begun to preach politico-religious sermoq| against tho
coimuou-jcliool system, und which under his counsels
the Irish were separately organized os a religious
sect to vote on that and other questions, against tho
body of our native citizens, tho oxciteinent became
untrollablc, and most lamentable riots and excesses in
a neighboring city wore among the results of the feel
lug produced by this state of things. In 1848 com
menced tho Irish exodtw, and iminigretkm ruse to
300,000 per annum ; and now, by the aid of a Gor
man exodus, a Chinese exodus, and of rtoro exoduses
than we have time to enumerate, It hw risen to a half
a million a year. The result is that we meat do some
thing to protect and viudicate our nationality. If wo
do not, it will be destroyed. The infusion of five mil
lious of foreigners into our political system evory ten
years, will subvert it; end the qustlon it, what action
is required ?
"Had the foreign residents been content with a
moderate exorcise of the privileges which our laws
confer upon them, wo suppose the great movement on
which we arc now commencing would have been post
poned for a few years. But they have not; they
have introduced religious controversy Into our politi
cal contentions. They have demanded public oflloe ai
a right. They have insisted upon tho political pro
scription of Americans for denying this claim. They
have formed dans for tte control of the poll* ; end
they have organized themselves into bands, through
whose miscondut perpetual disorder and tumult dis
turb our streets, and our priaous aid filled."
Now bore follows the remarks of that latrhj
sheet tho N. Y. Tribane, the editor of which is
deemed the oracle of divinity by the entire Free
soil and Abolition population of the North. Hear
him :
"Priciples and not uativity constitute an American.
Hug sud Mazsini are butter Americans that Douglas
and Pettit, because they are better Democrats. Ap
plying terms in any other sense than this, ; nothing is
more untrue to the whole spirit and meaning of our
history than the mazim: 'America for the Ameri
eatu.' Aride from the ideality </ our national prin
ciple» we have bo national idea ity, nor »hall we have
for centurie».."
To which tlie Courier and Enquirer makes the
following reply to the precocious Princo Wooly :
"We think there is not one of our readers who will
not unite with us in pronouncing thu sentiment con
veyed in the lines wc have italicised, ns atrocious.
American nationality is denied and repudiated. Wc
arc not a nation, but merely denizens in a land which
belongs no more to us than to any hqrde of wanderers
that mpy chose to squat upon it. We aro not a peo
ple, and wc have no country. . The liberty we enjoy
and tho Institutions we live under, were not devised
and founded by our ancestors. The/ aune into exis
tence by accident, and belong aa much to nil the rest
of the world aa tu the fiucendanta of the men nh<>
most unjustly have appropriate tlie credit to their
authorship. ■ .
All such ideas are traceable to tlie school of politi
cal philosophers who prcaoh the universal betierolenqe
doctricc, and advocate the ' solidarity of the peqffie,'
To such men nations ore a myth, or, if they have u
tangible existence, they are uaisuucix to be abated."
Tho extracts below are from th» N. Y. Evening
Mirror, and we will venture to assert that there is
not one of our readers who wit! not understand
the sentiments herein offered, though the lan
guage may sound harsh, even to some of our local
politicians hereabouts, who hold such a lasting
affection for the " Bich Irish brogue" und " Sweet
German accont" : „
Young, vigorous, wide-awake!—representing the
progress and patriotism of the Republic, It sprang to
the conflict, and though it might not hive swept the
entire field, it ha* hurlcddown the hoot* of tanathnsni,
disunlonism, Msine-lawlsm ftnd fuaionism, and asserted
its power in the future, tt oonquer ever/ opposing
element.
It has demonstrated to demagogues thu peri) of ap
peals to 'Svoet German accent*,' or 'Rich Irish
brogues.' It "bos at once, and we trust forever, put
the seal of 'fflencc and rest? on ebitibus politicians who
aspire to high places by trading and tricking, chicane
ry and craft, at the sacrifice of every principle that
governs honest men'"