Locomotive, Volume 9, Number 1, Indianapolis, Marion County, 2 June 1849 — Page 1

BREVITY IS THE S Q U L OF WIT. VOL, IX. CITY OF INDIANAi'OLIS, SATU11I) A V J UN 15 2, 18 49 No. 1.

THE LOCOMOTIVE

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To one of the G'hals By our Bulgine Bard. That she is beautiful and kind I need not tell, And that she has a lofty mind Is known full well; . Yet there is (and the cold world has placed it there,) A stain upon her soul it should not wear; She has seen, e'en in the sunny hours of youth, More in the world of falsehood than of truth. She has loved, where falsehood lies, In the illusive light of dancing eyes. She has listened, has confided, and has felt, How by gentlest words hard blows are dealt. She has listened, has believed, She has loved and been deceived. ( Thus is the story of the life thus far, Of her who's stilj a reigning star, Shines out in beauty, on the world around, Upon her brow darkness and light together bound. And now she too is false ; her look, her tone, Her very action falsehood's own, Living to decieve, to smile, to win, To go just far enough to suck a feller in. .

For the Locomotive. Oh ! the human heart is a huge mystical volume, filled with superstition, doubt, and sorrow ; and whilst some of its pictures, sketched by the pencil of memory, are dim, and confused, others stand forth in bold and striking relief.. A word, look, or tone the accidental clasp of hands the perfume of flowers the soft air of Heaven will cause the leaves of this wondrous book to flutter, and tremble, until we feel ourselves as it were, loosing consciousness of life, from the intensity of emotion experienced, from the glimpse we have caught of either Hebe-faced youth, with her garlands of bright hopes, or the wan, statue-like figures of sin, and remorse, kneeling before the sepulchre of dispair, in which lie buried the youthful maiden's purity, and peace. Oh ! heavy, heavy is the springtime of our life, when thus. No more may we catch the sweet odour of love sighs, breathed upon us by the flowers in their joy; or hear the young leaves clap their tiny hands at our approach. All nature seems changed.

The very sun, the brighter shines her broad face as she draws nigh unto Gods throne, the darker and deeper grow the shadows about us; until we feel our cry must ever' be, "I'm aweary, aweary, would God, that I were dead." Fantasia.

For the Locomotive. . It is said the fishing party of last week caught several suckers. Don't know whether it is true, but reckon the fishes can speak for themselves. Good deal of poetry to the fair last week wonder if we could'nt borry the machine 1 - Wonder what the dividend of the Madison and Indianapolis Railroad company will be on the three o'clock preaching at the depot? Make a close calculation Mr. Clerk and let us know. Any body as wants to spend the Summer months in a cool region, let em come to our city, not for getting to bring their cloaks. We don't drink in our town by the smalls, for we ain't licensed,-but we just naturally guzzle it down by the big's. The men with the pretty apurnswere out tother day with all their chicken fixen's on. May be there was'nt a long row of em. We used to play Free Mason when we were little chaps and we know how good a feller feels with the apurn a hanging down. 1 Messrs. Editors. I have just had the pleasure of a perusal of Consuelo. As its name indicates it is the soul of music, personified in the being, the heroine of the story, who is made to enchant the feelings, while the imagination of the reason is carried to its utmost stretch among those lovely seraphic and melodious scenes, portrayed with a master hand, as the attendants on the regions of light. The incidents necessary to carry out the plot, seem dull when they clash with the bright imagery with which Consuelo is pictured. I am indebted to a, lady friend who has just concluded the reading of this book, for a beautiful fancy drawing of her ideal of Consuelo, as the impression made on-her imagination' by the authors description. It is, in my conception of the heroine, a decided proof of a just appreciation of the beautiful, as vividly stamped on the mind after the perusul of a work calculated as this is, to deeply absorb and interest the refined feelings of the reader. We say to all read Consuelo. Review.

Traveling by Lightning. Among the many boyish perambulations of my youth, well do I remember one singular adventure that I took. You now hear, and in fact experience of the wonderful speed, and great convenience with which a person can travel by steam. But this is nothing when compared with the conveyance of news by lightning, so swift, that it even leaves Old Father Time far in the arrears. So wonderful and so astonishing it is, that with great properity it my be termed the greatest wonder of the age.

But, as incredulous as it may seem, and as full of

romance as it may appear, it is nevertheless true, that I once took an excursion by lightning. Yea by the forked lightning and amid the rolling thun der. 'Tis true it was not a ride " most glorious, Oer all the ills of life victorious," yet it was a ride, and another such a ride I do not envy. Do not startle, kind reader. I did ride, "ye gods, but I did ride 1" Not as the school-boy rides astride his staff or poney. No indeed. It was a different way that I rode. Neither was it astride of the forked and blazing lightning; nor yet upon the dark and portentious cloud that contained the fiery element, but it was in the widest and longest sense of the word, a traveling by lightning. ' - Of all the wonders that so much agitate the inhabitants of this our little terrestrial sphere, nothing perhaps could be more exciting to them, than to hear of a person traveling by lightning. Well, now, all I have to say is that I once did it, notwithstanding all that may be said to the contrary. Yes, I did it; this corporeal frame that now speaks by these lines did it. Now there are few but discredit such an assertion, but, gentle reader, be not too hasty in forming your opinion wait, and I will explain. It was on a muddy road, and with a wagon and horses that I journeyed. It was dark as Egypt, and had it not been for the flashes of lightning, I should certainly have run over some of the banks, and broken my neck. So, you may perceive, it was by the aid of lightning that I traveled. " Rusticus." - Life's Remembrances. He was a fair faced boy I knew him long ago, With a light step, and lighter smile And voice so sweet and low 1 I saw him by his mother's knee Her hand upon his brow ; For him she breathed the parting prayer. Or made the holy vow 1 His cheek it was the same as hersHis eye as brightly too : -

One was the flower : the rose bud shared,, With it the morning dew! Hast thou not known a streamlet play, Murmuring its way along: That wore a likeness of its source, And sang a mountain song? And thus the fair haired boy, 1 knew so long ago : . Was but the image of her smile, His voice hers breathing low ! Yet she is not ; and many years And many flowers have wasted there, And summer's lost, their bloom! And he is but a child again : - ' With hairs of whitest snow ; Yet doth he wear her likeness still, He wore so long ago ! E. W.

Secrecy. ' What is mine,' says Sir Philip Sidney, 'even my life, is her's I love ; but the secret of my friend is not mine. .. Blessed are the young fellows that have no girls to claim their attention ; for they can get to bed early Sunday nights- ,