Pioneer

              PIONEER
Br^otf^ tn afi?a^mjjrr—3^aiiifr2ti—M^ios^ un^ mmmi^ mtfniTn
VrmUd^^A^^bWshed \)>j A. B, aud W. K, UrosU, Sout\i.^Vest coruer of l\\e .Market Square.
^/oiv. ni.
MARIETTA, PA. FRIDAY, DECEMBER 19, 1828.
NO. 33.
F.'li   I III' inoNESH.
ARABELLE.
flT-.w sweet lier snule, her voice how round, II nv (-:nifr;'.t my ear the thrilling sound ! An.i '.h ! 'b' f xprcGsicn of that eye, to r:.!ni, so full of htirmony I j,;-! -^"f rcin^, vet so soil wilhnl ! T   If.vid   to see the lashes fall, •r!-( V rose so sweetly—mild and slow, I, kC a ijm-ill sTfumlet's pu-Vinj^ flow. All! then, her flowing' auhurn tresses — ;;<1h must have filched them f om the Graces; T-.-Y curled so j^ruci-fol'j—so airy— '     '  ma-le lier look a very f-iiry. tl L  form s') ticcmate, so nice, '   ..fl not loo'ced upon it twice l.':Uil that little MXt-n, Cnpid. (Lovo makes- one feel sd very stupid.) Hi'.d planted d<-^p Ins vcii.imi'd swrt-^ — .\ud then her foot, 'twas "qoue ihe thing;" Oil. such a font ' so neat, so small, '[v'as leally quite pietical ! T;-. ....nner, cu'riige. action, mein, A ¦! eacti   complisliment. I ween, 1 ii.s I'lv ly crea'ure did excel; iach, reader kind, was Arabelie.
PEVF.RIL.
FAREWELL.
Yes, pride of soul ihall nerve nie now
To think of lliee no morej And cnldness steel that  heart and  brow,
TLat passion swayed before', riiinks't thou that 1 will live for the*. To spurn at honor's stern decree,
I'liat bids me love no more ? f .; i)v my hopes of heaven!   I'll be Willi honor thine, or lost to ihee.
Thv hand hath oft been clasped in mine
i-cndly, since first we met; *'¦. lip hath e'en been pressed to thine
'ml ^rc.tinj^- wild--but yet T.iijliily :iv;iil» it   now to tell Of moinen's only loved too well 1
J.)\s 1 WMiiid fain forj^et; l-:;cc nie'n.irv'i. star can ill control Tue moonless tnidnig-lil of my soul-
*,',-t seldom is ihc loul depressed
While tearless is tUe eye; I\T the-e a'-e w.'cs lliat. wring f.c breast,
Wiiv-n Feeling's fount is 'y; r ;rrou-s that only fuae with years, U .1 dwelling all too il, cp fir tears
Ri-.i!le eltrnally ' 2;icl"i ! "W :iS :n my ho-^om dwi-ll, p.".,>l ¦\\< m iM I'sis '.is' w >:d     K'-owoll !
OK   N.VriONAL   OR.VrirUUE,
1 have .ilways been an attentive, il noit an iMtellim'nt observer of human -rHararter as dis^played in the various Si'u.iiionsin life. Whether it has been .1 siiidy more fraught with pain than ;[ iMure, 1 am not prepared to say; but ': itbea pursuit thatiieedsjustiticdtion- r IS enou-li that I have found it a : mrcc of moral instruction, I have Varned t<i daspi^e the fool of unbridled md insolent prosperity j to hate or "onfei'iin the prollij;ate of successful -uiinlii;;, :inu to respectfully bow before virtue and honor, which the world ii loo busv to seek out, or too vile to ap r.'cciate, A mind naturally readers, aud unrranielled by t!ie ties or cotinec- clons whicn ordinarily render men sia- "Lionarv. has ur^ed me over '• nianv a s'lorc a'ud innnv a sea." In tne course of mv \vatidfri(i5;>i, I have often wit¬ nessed KciMies th'at mi;;ht well claim The iiitere:u of tho>e (arc tlieve any •:'jch r) who can feel tor suli'eriii;.;s •vAhich do not lorin a part of thi.dr own destiny; in other words, who are sin¬ cerely piiiLiiitiiropisis without vaniij* or ambition ULMieath the cioak of be'- nevoleiice.     The suiiject of the pres-
j waning, and the rising wind moaning through the defiles of the hills, and shaking the bare branches of the trees, warned me of a coming storm. 1 im¬ mediately began to descend, in the vain hope of reaching the foot ot the mountain before nightfall. Darkness had already gathered in the eastern vallies, and the last ray of li^ht was beaming on the western ridge when I observed a rude cabin, shellered be¬ neath the branches of a hemlock. I approached and raised the latch of the dour, which was not barred, altliouijh on my entrance, I perceived the room to be unoccupied. Fhe desertion how¬ ever, seemed only tempo:dry, as a few embers were decaying on the heartn. I threw some piece-* of wood on the brands, and seaiini; mv!«e'f on a rou^h bench, be^iaii by a dim and iiiipertect lil^ht to «can the apdrtinont. .\ll a- round me sp^ike ot barrfues"* and des titution; it seeuied the very te npl<' .d povei ty, where she luil ;:uUier*'d .ip t'l.-; syoiDols ot iier worship ' \V'iat mi^etaole ouicasi,'thou^'it 1. ' ca'i tie the teiKiiit ot s» tdininrtless i huDita tioa } \\ ii.it could ;iav»* i;ii|ivl|'jd the m.,s' poverty stricken .vretcii i'» aban¬ don tlie er.iwdn of life, ' whiue the oVfrn!)\vl.i;^s of the ri( h iii in"'s table may find their way to the poor mail's board, and to dwtdl in this mountain solitude; whither the footsteps of char¬ ity cannot pursue him .•'—is it crime, is it pride, or is ic misanthronhy I'
Musing on this theme, and fatigued with the toils of that day I sunk into a reverie.—-The forest storm was now racing without in all its destructive violence, which added to the Kmeline.ss and desolation ot the spot, produced a feverish excitement ot the mind that encouraijed wild and fantastic ideas.— Shade after shade flitted across the dream of my imagination, and I could hear in tlie bowlings of the gale, the cry of distress and the shout of rapine. .All ttie vaj;ue apprehensions of an over¬ heated taucy came crowding and pres¬ sing u|jo(i my heart, a.id although reas¬ on struggled for the mastery, yet she could not overcome them. While thus wrapped in a waking dream, with my eyt'n Ueut downwards, a shadow like the tor.a of a man auddenlv' darUened the Hour. 1 sprang hastily upoii my i feet, and the action recalled my scat i tered seuse-i. .A man, coarsely clad, j but of a m.'ijestic and venerable heir i'l^, stoiid Delore me. In one hand he held a hunting gun, aid in the otiier some f irest game, ^viiieli Iwtle as it wis seemed a heaw barilea to his a;;fd frame. • A strdn.:t>r in my cabin,' kr exciaiiTicd ui a rone of surt>r>ie but HOT t>f aopreh nsi-m. • \ s(ranger ' s'l'd I, ' wil I ll in jeed of h •SjOtalitv.' .V s'l^il ll i-h app.ireii'lv i>f pain ro-e in h;s cheek as oe r-plied,' it a seat by my hearth tire, and a repast ot mountain game ilo.serve the name of hospitality, you shall freely share them; they are all it is my power to oll'er.' With these words, he laid aside his burden, divested himself of his out¬ ward garments, kindled a light and sat down by ttie fire, i had now an opportunity ol studying his appearance more narrowly; it was remarkable and interesting. Kis form was tall and graceful, although bent with years, his forehead hi;;h and bold, his temples partiailv covered witti locks that rival¬ led winter iu whiteness, (lis clear ^vdy eye had a military quickness in it-* motion, and seemed as if it should belong to one wiio had watched the moveinen's of armed banda rather than ttie tlii;titof tiie forest bird, or the bouiaUof the forest deer.
His face had that educatei^.expres¬ sion which invariably characterizes the ciiliivdted man, and that well bred as¬ pect which can only be obtained by ha¬ bitual intercourse with polished socie y Struck by the incongruity between r.ucli a man and sucli a habitation, I determine I to loarn if possible, the cause ot his situation and the history of his life.
With this design, after our frugal repast was enui;d. and conversation had
bode f'   Young man,' the stninijer re¬ plied, ' it is but a common tale, and why should I obscure the fair light of youthful feeling with the sbadows of aged suffering ? Mv tale is one which, when told, will leave a dark remem¬ brance, that will hang likp a cloud on your brightest and happiest hours. L is one which J shall tell in sadness, and not in wrath, but which you will hear with feelings swelled by both. Listen to my words, and while I speak, should your voice break forth in curses upon injury and ingratitude, rem-mber that I curse not,but/o/-^iye. You ask what has made me an exile from life, and a tenant of this wild spot; my answer is, tlie ingratitude of others, aid my own just pride. Could I have tamed my high spirit, to bear insubi'g pity, and scornful charity, I wouli never have f irsaken the haunts of tncn, but I prefer the savage independence of a mountain hunter to the polished servi¬ tude of a courtly parasite. Vou will uioifi stand the reason of myc>ale from Uio events of my life.
• Young stranger, you see before you •Tie whose name once sounded fjr and wiile across tliefiolils of America; one
cut narrative will not ilattcr individual' inspired mutual confulence, 1 ventured self-sufficieiicy,   i:or pi!n;ier national i to touiii the string.    Tiie character of
pride, in some it n:iay excite asparitv by rocuUing uuvvolcome recollections nf violated faith and spotted honour; ncvi'rtiieless, it shall be fearlessly told. Ir. the vvint'M- of 18—, I was   trav
his mind as it became developed, and the s'vie of his remarks had awakened an ititerest, which I had neither the power nor design to conceal. I was coiitilent that 1 was in tlie presence ot
eiiing in Pennsylvania, When 1 reach-1 no ordinary man. * How happens it,' c.'l ti.e base of tlie AHe^'ianies, I lefi' I s^id, • that you have chosen this sol tny horse in the charge of a peisimt, j itud'j, so bare and so comfortless, for Aiid asceudtd on foot. I climbed ridge ' ti,e asylum of your age.' Metllinks alter ridge, braced by the pure air, and tiiat splendid mansions and courtly so- .^xcited by the increasing majesty of i ciety misht claim, and proudly too, a the sceuery,-uutd I wholly forgot the j foriu and mind like yours for an in¬ flight of ho;; rs ar.d my remoteness from i mate and an ornaineiit. What can f-.e habitations honeath. W^hen 1 at-j have driven you across the circle that •   -'d tho buraniit, the day was fast j enclojei social Ufe, to this solitary a-
deliberation is never prompt } Clieer- lully cancelled I know you not, that its ruling principle which is economy, is never cheerful in parting with its ore !'' "But surely," I interposed, 'the 'tation was just, and paid us debts ful ly, if not with will r'
' Listen to the sequel, and marvel at national justice,' wa* the reply:—. ' When I exhibi'ed my account against the government there were sonte tri¬ lling Items not sufficiently authentica¬ ted, which required examination. This examination v.'as postponed from time to time; more interesting questions arose, on which members displayed their rhetorical abilities; congress did not choose to be hurried in its procee¬ dings; the importunities of an aged, forlorn, and famished roan, were con¬ sidered as forward obstructions, i was friendless and unintluential. I could neither uplift the aspiring nor prop the falling; my prayer was as ineffcctua- as that of the oppressed Israelites to the stern Egyptian, and heaven did not interpose in my behalf ils supernatural assistance to force them to their duty. A winter passed, and they left m> claims undecided; another and anoth
way to  the spot—it was moan of  that ag<'d man.
whose banner your fathers follmed tojer rolled away, and still saw me neg battle forty years ago; one whn after
wards presided in the councils ol your nation, and whose ho'nd was raised hi;r,h among the great ones of the land. In the tenant ot this wretched hut you be¬ hold a man of lofty ance&try, and once princely fortune; the last of a time hon¬ ored family, on which the cloud of mis fortunes has settled darkly and forever. Wnat boots it that 1 should tell vou that years and years ago, ere the free; dom of America was yet'in embryo. the name which I bear was made fa mous by my gallant ancestors on the fields where the British Lion waved bloodily and triumphantly—that the war-cry of our family was the loudest in conflict, and its tlag the foremost in the charge of the brave ? To the young anil untamed spirit, such recollections are like the rays of morning which her¬ ald a glorious and shining day; but on the old and withered heart they tall like sunset beams, fraught with memo¬ ry but not with expectation. But, to my htory—my father led liia KL.iO|;ean home for America, when America was yet an appendage to Britain. His wealth and his inlluence descended to jiie. I was in the prime of my days when the aggre-sions aud tyrannies of tiie Eigllsh ministry gave birth to the revolution of the colonies.—Although ¦ ny inheritance placed me high in the aristocracy of lirltain, anti my fortune pleaded strongly against the perils and chances of sacli a struggle, 1 did noi nesitate for a moment. I embraced the righteous cause, ardently and firm¬ ly; and trom that instant, ancient ties were severed, and America was the land of my allegiance. 1 became one of the leaders of her armies. My country was then poor, and I v.'as rich; the brave men whom I commanded wevG suft'ering for the necessaries ol lite; the treasury was bankrupt, and I advanced from my purse the means ol support to my soldiers, who would oth¬ erwise have been compelled to disperse. Fhe events of the revolutionary con¬ test, I need not relate to you, for tliey must be lamiliar to every man between the Mi.-)slssippi and the Atlantic. Af¬ ter its triumphant termination, as the fortune.'? of my country were on the in¬ crease, my own were tn tlie wane. Ill crowded on ill, and that destiny which overturns the haughtiest and most pru¬ dent taiuilies, decreed that mine should be prostrated in the dust. When the last and deadliest vial of fate was pour¬ ed upon me, and the last leaf of my prosperity had withered, and not tilt then, I applied to my country, not for charity, but for the re-payment of a sacreci obligation. I asked trom her abundance a return of the money I had loaned her in her destitution; and how think you was I paid :'
' Siii-tdy,' said I,' with heartfelt grat- itude and boundless liberality.'
•* With the inhuman neglect and with heartless insensibility '."' exclaim- ed the aged man; the men who then represented the nation, were nursed in prosperity, until their hearts were har¬ dened, atid they scorned and neglected the veteran warriors who had trampled the bravest of England's chivalry to the earth, that their sons might be free."
'• What," said 1, " wore not such claims as yours, which stood on the double foundation of justice and grat¬ itude, promptly acknowledged aud cheerfully cancelled."
'• Promptly acknowedged !" he re¬ plied, with mingled grief and agony, " know you not that an American con gress is'a deliberate body, and  that
Icctrd. True, I \va« lingering out a cimifjrtless old age, oL^tainlng snbsis tence in summer by the game of tlie woods, and iniiabiting in winter a mis¬ erable lodging in one of the narrow allt^ys of the national inetroiiolis. But what of tiiat t the men who were to canvass my claims fared sumptuously, and lived in splend.or, and felt not the wretchedness of justice deterred.— Business must take its course, and mv claim was an affair of business. One generous man who had kno-.vn me in better days, did not shrink from my adversity. He followed me one win¬ try day from the hall of the capitol to my obscure retreat in the metropolis, and with a benevolenccthat the proud¬ est heart couhl not resist, forced me to his own house and gave me the most honored seat at his own hospitable board. He would listen to no refusal, and I remained his guest until spring. If heaven has blessings in store for generous deeds, may the eye of heaven be«oi benignly on that generous man ! At last my claims were beard, after years of anxiety and endurance, du¬ ring which I was once seized by the fangs of the law and thrown in mid¬ winter, into a prison at Georgetown, which would have been my grave, but for the active warm-hearted charity of woman. It was about a month since a peubiun of a few hundred dollars a year was awarded nie in lieu of my claim for some thousands.''
* How !' I exclaimed, * a pension! then government has made a profitable bargain, for your exhausted trame al¬ ready leans over the grave, and long ere the receipts ot the pension can e qtial the amount of the claim, the clod will rattle on your coffin.' Little did I imagine how soon my prophecy was to be fulfilled ! fate had already given the last turn to the hour-glass of his liie. and its sands were nearly was'ed.
' I came hitherysterday,' continued he, » to take a last look al my moun¬ tain hut, and to prepare for removal a few family memorials, the only valua¬ bles wiiich it contains. I have pursu ed the game to-day for the last time in these wilds; to-morrow, when we des¬ cend the mountain, I will acquaint you with other particulars in my eventful life, and I will then tell you who I am. And now, good night, we both need repose.'
That morrow dawned upon his life less body ! 1 had observed during this recital, that his frame frequently shook as if struggling between mental excite¬ ment and physical debility. Paleness and flashnesa alternately crossed his cheeks as his excited feelings conten¬ ded with his languid frame. An unde¬ fined foreboding hung like lead upon my heart, as 1 bade him good night, and, entered an aiijoining apartment. I wrapped my cloak around me and threw myself upon the floor, but could not sleep. About midnight I was started bv a sound that seemed like the groan of one in pain. Was it the wind sighing through the trees, or was it the agony of suffering humanity ? I listened, it was repeated again and a- gain, in tones that struck thrillingly on niv heart. I sprung to the door and entered the room; the hearth-fire was decayed, and I vainly stirred its brands for light. I opened' the narrow case¬ ment, the night was dark and sullen, and cloud upon cloud rose in frowning masses from the horrison to thexeninth. I could see nothing, but from the cor¬ ner of the apartment the moans came distinctly to  my ear.    I groped my
indeed   the 1 laid my
hand upon his brow, it was damp and cold—1 touched his breast; the heart- pulse hoat faintly and almost imper¬ ceptibly—. Merciful God !' I exclaim¬ ed, ' he is dying ! here, in solitude and in darkness, with no aid to cherish that spark of life which timely inter¬ ference might yet keep burning.' - Be¬ nevolent stranger,' he murmured, bro¬ ken and faintly, ' what aid can ar¬ rest the wheel of death, when it rolls over a form so aged as mine r My hour has come, and I have so lived that I can brave its horrors. The tardy jus¬ tice of my country comes too latej and* "His voice ceased; I heard the death rattle in his throat; I raised him gently iu my arms, and the heart-bro¬ ken veteran of the revolution expired on ray bosom!
The storm was still howling without as I laid the dead softly upon its pil¬ low, and approached the window of the hut. * Yes,' I exclaimed, * on such a scene should an injured hero die; na¬ ture at least may m lurn his death, tho* cold and selfish man will learn it with¬ out emotion.
At kst the gray dawn ot light spec¬ kled the horrizon, and gradually as¬ cended the east, ushering in the mor¬ row on wrilch the old man was to have quitted his rude cabin for a better home. He bad indeed quitted it and forever, for a home where the memory of cold¬ ness and insratitude cannot darken the brightness of the blessed; but the mem¬ ory of his wrongs may yet in the hour of retribution be a pointed steel in each and all those who^^e ne,rl»ct traced oa his faded ciiet k rhe furrows of anguish amidst those of timp. He forgave, bur Heaven will pun'ish.
I descended the niountdin, after a last look at the dead, and stopping at the first habitation, gave the necessary orders for'lis burial, and the hero whoso bier should have beenf«llowed by a na¬ tion, was laid in the earth by a few hireling peasants. Such is national gratitude ! Previously to my leaving the cabin, I observed on a small shelt a few books. I opened one that Was old and worn, and on the inner cover I discovered a family escutcheon sub¬ scribed ivith these words.    '* Arthur
ST. CLAIR.'* J.  H. B.
A HEAVY LOSS.
P—* —-, a picture dealer, met , in the street one day, and
the following conversation ensued:
S. You look deplorably sad; what is the matter with you ?
P. Oh ! 1 am the unluckiest dog a- live; 1 am almost ruined j I have lost jG50, this morning.
S. How, how man, I never knew you had so much to h.se ?
P. Oh, it is always my luck, always unfortunate; a heavy loss, a dead loss.
S. (sympaineiically) But how hap¬ pened it ?
P. Why, last week, I bought a vol¬ ume of plates at a sale f<»r 40-*. and as
they were in the way for Lord G "s
collection, I offered them to him. He app dnted to call this morning—I went; his Lordship was engaged, and I sat down in the anti room. I had resolved to put a good 5/ profits on, and began looking over the pictures, that I might see where to insist on their value. It struck me that they looked better than, before, and I determined to ask 10^ toe them ! Well sir, I waited, and waited, 'till almost tired; and I said to ray- self by G—, I wont waste my time so long for nothing, tor any Lord in Christendom, I'll ask 15/ !! Another half hour passed, and I got so mad, that / swore to myself I'd ask 30, and / had made up my mind to this when / was called in. His Lordship M'as in a desperate good humour, and be¬ haved so kindly, that when he inquired the price, / plumped it at once ffty pounds.
S. And so by your greediness you lost your purchaser?
P. No, d—n it; he gave me a check for the money in a moment without haggling—/ might just as easily have got a hundred—but / am always un¬ lucky : !—A true tale.
Piquant Reproof—The Chevalier Duplessis, a very middling poet, and author of a bad opera, called Pizarro, u>ed to indulge himself in the bitter¬ est satire against other poeis. Once he asserted with great vehemence, that he did not know a worse lyric poet than Guillard. Cheron, the actor, archly replied, ' Ah, Chevalier, you forget yourself.*
To err is human; to forgive divii\|^