The Marietta Helicon
CHARLES W. HANCOCK, Publisher--J. B. RANDALL, Editor.
MARIETTA GEORGIA,--THURSDAY MORNING, JUNE 17, 1847.
VOLUME IV--NUMBER 36
THE MARIETTA HELICON, IS PUBLISHED EVERY THURSDAY MORNING BY CHARLES W. HANCOCK.
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Poetry.
From the Louisville Journal.
THE LADY OF VERA CRUZ.
BY CAPT. G. W. PATTEN, U. S. A.
[During the recent bombardment of Vera Cruz by the American forces, it was rumored that Oen.
Morales, the senior officer, utterly refused the surrender of the castle of San Juan de Ulloa, although the
city was willing and anxious to capitulate. Regardless of the repeated and affecting appeals made to him
on the score of humanity, he remained inexhorable to the last. But in the height of the storm a parley
was sounded, and the city, together with the castle, was surrenderred, notwithstanding the opposition
of its rigid commander.]
'Stay, soldier, stay--one kind reply!
One answer to my soul's despair--
When will the death-shell cease to fly,
The ball to hurtle through the air!
See yonder how the rockets gleam!
The toppling steeples fall around--
And pouring thick its sulphury steam,
The bursting howitz ploughs the ground.'
'Hush, lady, hush--thy terrors hide,
A noble foe is in the field;
Art thou a gallant soldier's bride,
And yet wouldst bid our leader yield?
We go to face the iron hair,
Morales is our battle cry;
One cause is ours--no heart must quail--
Morales--death or victory.'
'My lord commands on yonder height,
A child whose hand will do its best;
Go tell him `mid the strife to-night;
His babe lies wounded on my breast;
Behold! it is a gentle child,
And with his locks he loved to play,
Last eve within his arms it smiled--
He kissed it as he rode away!'
'But now; alas it smiles no more,
Its cheek is pale, and wild its brain--
Its virgin robe is dark with gore--
Soldiers! will none such flood restrain?
They hear me not--man scorns to hear--
Of woman's wail--or infant's cry--
And hark! again with that dreadful cheer--
Morales! death or victory!"
She sunk before the image dim,
Of her to earth a God who gave;
"Mother, I plead through thee to Him!
Son of the Virgin! Jesu--save!"
Straight rings a trumpet on the blast,
The parley sounds upon the air,
Up runs the white flag to the mast,
Indulgent heaven has heart that prayer.
Camp before Vera Cruz, March 29, 2847 (sic).
Miscellany.
From the New York Times.
REVOLUTIONARY INCIDENTS.
THE FEMALE SCOUT.
BY WM. T. ROGERS, JR.
The devoted patriotism and indomitable courage exhibited by the American women during the
struggle for independence, has become the eloquent theme of many an able writer, and the subject of
many a gifted pen. Numberless were the instances in which these noble women, unawed by terrible
threats and cowardly insult, proved how immeasurably superior they were, in mental and moral courage
to their base oppressors.
Actuated by a sincere and unbounded love for their country and their country's welfare, they
suffered privation and hardship, without a murmur, and bore up under trials the most severe without
complaint. To their determined and unceasing efforts, Freedom owes much.--Their fervent prayers and
when necessary, their individual example, had an unbounded influence with the spirited colonists; and
their approving smiles, and heartfelt thanks, rendered our fore-fathers doubly strong in their
determination to throw off the galling yoke of British tyranny.
In all the ages of the world, the influence of women over a people engaged in an important
undertaken has been felt and acknowledged. More especially in cases of the invasion of a country by a
foreign power, has it made itself apparent. The invaders knew this, and against them directed their
strongest efforts.
The fact is a notorious one, that the American females were brutally treated, wantonly insulted,
and, in many instances, cruelly wronged by the British soldiers, the subordinate officers, and often, by
those of high authority.
By a few of the commanders, `tis true, they were always treated with the delicate consideration
and gentle care which is ever their due; but many others, to their everlasting shame, be it remembered
acted as though literally devoid of all the ennobling sentiments of the human heart, and totally lost to all
feelings, except the gratification of their own base passions and vindictive malice.
Kate Solms was young, the breezes of but seventeen summers had kissed her cheek, still she
was in heart and mind a woman. She was not what the world terms beautiful--her countenance was not
one that at first sight would impress the beholder with a profound admiration, or attract much more
than a passing glance. The uncommon regularity of her features, gave her somewhat of a plain
unattractive appearance, but the expression of firm resolve, blended with affectionate tenderness that
sat upon her expansive brow, rendered her features even when in repose highly interesting.
Of education she could boast but little, but being possessed of good natural abilities, and
habitually observant and reflecting, she had acquired stores of useful knowledge, and was intelligent far
beyond what her years and her advantages would seem to promise. The teeming volume of nature was
her class book; her wondrous works her constant study; and with a soul sensitively alive to all the
sublimity and beauty of Nature's teachings, what wonder that her progress was rapid and certain.
It is not in bustling towns or crowded cities that the mental faculties are strongest or earliest
developed, or the emotions of the heart deepest or most ardent. It does not require the crowded ball
room, the fascinating quadrille, the voluptuous waltz, the fashionable promenade, the gorgeous
spectacle, the unceasing round of gaiety, the flattery and adulation, or the hypocritical sycophancy of a
conventional life, to call into active existence finer sentiments of the human heart. Far from it. The God
of Nature has implanted in each individual breast an irresistible impulse--a strong necessity of loving;
and the unsophisticated, unlettered maiden of the forest, nurtured among the wild hills, in the humblest
cottage, is as much the object of His care and protection as the susceptible sighing beauty in palace halls.
And Kate had learned to love. Not with the cool, calculating, selfish affection of the worldling or
the fickle, transient flame of the impulsive, but with her whole heart--her whole nature--her whole
soul. Her love was all devotion, pure, unselfish and holy, every kindly feeling of her nature was
engaged--all her sympathies enlisted.
Robert Welling, a young lieutenant in the Jersey line was the object of all this affection, nor was
it lost upon him. He was a young man of education and deep feeling, and appreciating her devotion,
returned it with all the warmth, all the sincerity and truth of which his ardent nature was capable. He
was the commandant of a company of scouts, and being engaged in a service of great importance was
constantly periling his life.
On the 24th June, 1777, after the retreat of the British army from Brunswick to Amboy, Gen.
Washington temporarily removed his camp from Middlebrook to Quibbletown. Light parties of dragoons
were thrown out to hover near the enemy's lines, and the scouts were directed to use every means in
their power to ascertain the direction of the future movements of the enemy. Welling's company was
actively employed in small parties--some in British uniform, some disguised as farmers and hucksters,
vending provisions; others moving to and fro, ready to convey to the Republican camp any intelligence
their companions were enabled to obtain.
Among the party was a slightly built youth who had joined them upon the breaking up of the
camp at Middlebrook, and insisting upon becoming one of their number, had attached himself closely to
the person of their leader.
Spite all of his efforts he could not overcome the determination of the youth and after
explaining the nature and difficulty of the service and giving him the necessary instructions, they
proceeded to their dangerous task.
The Captain of the scout's was a gallant and daring fellow and had ventured close to one of the
British outposts, and leaving his horse had reached the barn of Mr. Hiram Hughes, near Rahway, and
entering with his companion had secreted himself in the straw, and was quietly awaiting the movement
of his foes. They had scarcely time snugly to ensconce themselves in the "linturn," when several soldiers
entered the stable and commenced saddling their horses, and at the same time discussing the propriety
of an attack which they were about to make upon a company of militia, stationed about four miles
distant.--As soon as they were gone Welling and his comrade hurried forth to convey the intelligence of
the intended attack, and by anticipating the arrival of the British to ensure them a warm reception.
They had gone but a short distance when the clatter of horses hoofs was heard directly behind
them, and though his younger companion urged the necessity of fighting, Welling who knew their jaded
animals were no match for the fresh horses of their pursuers, deemed it prudent to turn aside into the
wood and allow them to pass by. They had barely time to attain the shelter of a neighboring copse,
when a party of dragoons numbering about twelve passed in hot pursuit of the scouts who had been
noticed to leave the barn, and take the direction in which they were riding. As they reached the spot
where the fugitives had turned off, they divided into parties and commenced the search of the
surrounding wood.
Welling reflected for a few moments upon the course he would pursue, then beconing his
comrade to follow, he dismounted and retraced his steps back towards the barn. They reached it in
safety and, as they though, undiscovered, but a dragoon who had remained on guard, and seeing them
enter, sounded a re-call, which brought the whole party instantly back. The soldiers rushed in, and
carefully securing the entrance, commanded the scouts to surrender. But Welling, who knew that he
could expect no mercy from the hands of the soldiers, bade his companion prepare for the worst, and
stood like a lion at bay, bidding the defiance. The boy far from exhibiting any symptoms of fear,
appeared entirely to forget his own danger, and to disregard his own personal safety in his anxiety for
that of his elder companion.
The officer nettled at the cool obstinancy of the scouts, ordered his men to fire upon them. At
the first mention of the word "fire," the boy threw himself before his comrade, and received the
contents of the musket levelled at him.
"The youth fell, faintly ejaculating the name of "Robert." The sound of the loved voice, no longer
distinguished told him at once that it was his own Kate. "Friends! exclaimed he, "you have slain a
woman!"--The soldiers fell back thunder stricken, and poor Kate breathing forgiveness to her murderers,
and a prayer for her lover yielded her spirit to him who gave it.
"Cowards!" he cried, "you have robbed me of all I held dear on this earth--you have taken from
me the only being for whom I would wish to live; my life is no longer of any worth to me--villians! do
your worst! but stop!--before you murder me this for the cowardly assassin! The soldier who had fired
the dead shot lay dead on the floor, and the next instant Robert Welling fell pierced by a dozen balls!
Not content, the blood thirsty ruffians plunged their bayonets into his prostrated body spurned it
beneath their feet.
A cry from one of their number arrested the horrible butchery, and made them sensible of their
own dangerous situation. The straw at one side of the barn had taken fire from the wad of Welling's
pistol and whilst they were engaged in their bloodthirsty work, had gained fearful headway. The soldiers
rushed at once to the doors, but in addition to their own a true hearted negro, a servant in the family of
Hughes (who, with his household had been compelled to remove to make room for the soldiers) had
securely bolted and barricaded them without, and deprived them of any hope of escape.
The flames increased rapidly, and in a few moments the whole building was enveloped in a
sheet of living fire.
Not one of the dragoons escaped *; suffocated by the smoke they fell victim to the fury of the
flames, and perished in the funeral pyre of Robert and the Female Scout!
" Born at Trenton, N.J. 1854 (sic)--a grandson of his brother James, was a schoolmate of the writer, and
is now a private in one of Col. Stevenson's California regiment.
* Vide Lord Howe's official despatch, dated "Staten Island, July 3rd, 1777."
ALLSTON'S APHORISMS.
In presenting an account of the late Washington Allston, an American painter of eminence, the
Athenoeum places before its readers the following aphorisms of which he was the author. We are told
that Mr. Allston wrote them on fragments of paper, which he stuck up around his room, as aids to
reflection before he began his day's work. Copied into our pages, they may be of use in lowering self-
esteem in others besides painters:--
"1. The painter who is content with the praise of the world in respect to what does not satisfy
himself, is not an artist, but artisan; for though his reward be only praise, his pay is that of a mechanic
for his time, and not for his art.
2. He that seeks popularity in art closes the door on his own genius; as he must needs paint for
other minds, and not for his own.
3. Reputation is but a synonyme of populatiry, dependent on suffrage, to be increased or
diminished at the will of the voters. It is the creature, so to speak, of its particular age, or rather of a
particular state of society; consequently, dying with that which sustained it.--Hence we can scarcely go
over a page of history that we do not, as in a churchyard, tread upon some buried reputation. But fame
cannot be voted down, having its immediate foundation in the essential. It is the enternal (sic) shadow
of excellence, from which it can never be separated; nor is it ever made visible but in the light of an
intellect kindred with that of its author. It is that light which projects the shadow which is seen of the
multitude, to be wondered at and reverenced even while so little comprehended as to be often
confounded with the substance--the substance being admitted from the shadow, as a matter of faith. It
is the economy of Providence to provide such lights: like rising and setting stars, they follow ---- other ---
--- successive ages; and thus the momentual form of genus stands for ever relieved against its own
imperishable shadow.
4. All excellence of every kind is but variety of truth. If we wish, then, for something beyond the
true, we wish for that which is false. According to this test, how little truth is there in art!--Little indeed!
but how much is that little to him who feels it!
5. Fame does not depend on the will of any man, but reputation may be given or taken away.
Fame is the sympathy of kindred intellects, and sympathy is not a subject of willing; while reputation,
having its source in the popular voice, is a sentence which may either be uttered or suppressed at
pleasure. Reputation, being essentially contemporaneous, is always at the mercy of the envious and the
ignorant. But fame, whose very birth is posthumous, and which is only known to exist by the echo of its
footsteps through congenial minds, can neither be increased nor diminished by any degree of will.
6. What light is in the natural world, such is fame in the intellectual; both requiring an
atmosphere in order to become perceptible. Hence the fame of Michael Angelo is, to some minds, a
nonentity; even as the sun itself would be invisible in vacuo.
7. Fame has no necessary conjunction with praise; it may exist without the breath of a word; it is
a recognition of excellence which must be felt, but need not be spoken. Even the envious must feel it;
feel it, and hate it in silence.
8. I cannot believe that any man who deserved fame ever laboured for it--that is, directly. For as
fame is but the contingent of excellence, it would be like an attempt to project a shadow before its
substance was obtained. Many, however, have so fancied. "I write, I paint for fame." has often been
repeated; it should have been, "I write, I paint for my reputation." All anxiety, therefore, about fame
should be placed to the account of reputation.
9. A man may be pretty sure that he has not attained excellence, when it is not at all in ail to him.
Nay, I may add, that if he looks beyond it, he has not reached it. This is not the less true for being good
Irish.
10. An original mind is rarely understood until it has been reflected from some half-dozen
congenial with it: so averse are men to admitting the true in an unusual form; whilst any novelty,
however fantastic, however false, is greedily swallowed. Nor is this to be wondered at; for all truth
demands a response, and few people care to think, yet they must have something to supply the place of
thought. Every mind would appear original, if every man had the power of projecting his own into the
mind of others.
11. All effort at originality must end either in the quaint or the monstrous.--For no man knows
himself as an original; he can only believe it on the report of others to whom he is made known, as he is
by the projecting power before spoken of.
12. There is an essential meanness in the wish to get better of any one.--The only competion
(sic) worthy a wise many is with himself.
13. Reverence is an ennobling sentiment; it is felt to be degrading only by the vulgar mind,
which would escape the sense of its own littleness by elevating itself into the antagonist to what is
above it.
14. He that has no pleasure in looking up, is not fit to look down. Of such minds are the
mannerists in art; in the world tyrants of all sorts.
15. A witch's skiff cannot more easily sail in the teeth of the wind, than the human eye can lie
against fact; but the truth will often quiver through lips with a lie upon them.
16. It is a hard matter for man to lie all over, nature having provided king's evidence in almost
every member. The hand will sometimes act as a vane to show which way the wind blows, when every
feature set the other way; the knees smite together and sound the alarm of fear under a fierce
countenance; the legs shake with anger when all above is calm.
17. Make no man your idol! For the best man must have faults, and his faults will usually
become yours, in addition to your own. This is as true in art as morals.
18. The devil's heartiest laugh is at a detracting witticism. Hence the phrase "devilish good" has
sometime a literal meaning.
19. There is one thing which no man however generously disposed, can give, but which every
one, however poor, is bound to pay. This is praise. He cannot give it, because it is not his own; since
what is dependent for its very existence on something in another, can he justly withhold, it when the
presence of merit claims it as a consequence. As praise, then, cannot be made a gift, so neither, when
not his due, can any man recieve it: he may think he does, but he recieves only words; for desert being
the essential condition of praise, there can be no reality in the one without the other. This is no fanciful
statement; for though praise may be withheld by the ignorant or envious, it cannot be but that, in the
course of time, an existing merit will on some one, produce its effects; inasmuch as the existence of and
cause without its effect is an impossibility. A fearful truth, lies at the bottom of this, -- irreversible justice
for the weal or wo of him who confirms or violates it.
ROTTEN SLEEPERS.
Mr. Valatine H. Sourghnor, an eccentric friend, living in Pruntytown, has specially requested us
to inform his friends that he has removed the old sleepers from his house, having discovered they were
rotten, and has replaced them with new ones. Good; the notice, as requested, is hereby given to each
and every one of his friends, singly and separately, who may chance to see this article. But before we
dismiss the matter may we not collect a few morals from this little incident in the affairs of domestic life.
Moral 1st. When you discover that you are in the posession of a genteel education, but that that
education is used for licentious purposes, aiding you in pursuit of crime and wickedness, to the neglect
of the Bible, and its grand and important truths--be satisfied that the sleepers of your house are rotten
and need removing.
2d. When, as a married man, you find more pleasure in visiting the grogshop and gambling table,
than in the company of your wife and children; breaking the heart of an affectionate wife, raising your
children in idleness, vice and shame--feel assured, the sleepers to your house are in a rapid state of
decay, and must soon be replaced with better ones, or your house will totter and fall.
3d. When, as a mechanic you habitually and unnecessarily neglect your work shop, leaving your
business in the care of inexperienced work-men, and your customers disappointed--take the hint; the
rot has laid hold of your sleepers, the work of decay has at least commenced.
4th. When, as an aspiring politician, you mingle freely with dram-drinking community, quaffing
largely at the bowl yourself, that you may be thought a sociable, clever fellow; becoming a sot for the
gain of a few votes--take the alarm; your house certainly stands on rotten sleepers.
5th. When, as a farmer, you become attached to a petty speculation, leaving your farm for days
and weeks at a time, and gaining nothing but the reputation of an idler; briers and thorns occupying the
place that should be devoted to the culture of breadstuffs and grass; your fencing rotting down your
cattle starving and straying off--let us admonish you, your house needs new sleepers.
6th. When you contract the habits of slandering, back-biting and news-bearing--our recent
correspondents would say to you, your, house has rotten sleepers.
7th. When as professors of religion, you habitually neglect the house of prayer--remember, the
work of decay is begun; your house has rotten sleepers.
8th. When, as a professer of religion, you contract a fondness for ardent spirits become a
drunken professor, wound the feelings of your bretheren, and as far as your influence extends, injure
the cause of religion; we would say to you, examine the sleepers of your house; they are not sound.
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