Crawfordsville Record, Volume 4, Number 38, Crawfordsville, Montgomery County, 20 February 1836 — Page 1

CRAWFORDSVILLE RECORD. "LIBERTY AND UNION NOW AND FOREVER, ONE AND INSEPARABLE." Volume IV. Number 38.] CRAWFORDSVILLE, INDIANA , FEBRUARY 20, 1836. Whole Number 194

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PUBLISHED WEEKLY, BY I. F. WADE,

At two dollars per annum payable in advance, or within three months after the time of subscribing; two dollars and fifty cents within the year; or three dollars after the year expires. No paper will be discontinued--unless at our option--without special notice and payment of all arrearages. Advertisements, not exceeding twelve lines in length, will be inserted three times for one dollar; and twenty five cents for each subsequent insertion. Advertisements, for a limited time, or from a distance, must be paid for in advance; otherwise they will be continued at the expense of the advertiser. Letters on business must be post-paid. THE GOOD OLD TIMES. I do respect the times of old, The times of beans and pork, When our old clever, honest dads Went whistling to their work; When old cocked hats and breeches were The fashion of the day, And good thick buttoned shoes were worn, With buckles shining gay! The times of old, the times of old, When our good mothers wore Good homespun stuffs, and kept their muffs And tippets evermore! When good stout waists were all the rage, And cheeks ne'er painted were, And borrowed curls ne'er deck'd the girls, With beauty debonaire! The times of old--the good old times, When home-brewed beer went round The merry hearth, where boisterous mirth And apples did abound--When giggling maids would hang their heads In bashful modesty, And sprightly lads would eye their dads, And nudge them cozily! The times of old, when our good dads Were fit and hearty too, With hair comb'd back most gracefully, And done up in a queue--I do respect those golden days, When Fashion was inclined To make her votaries wear their coats With pocket holes behind! Alas! they've passed with time away Those halcyon days are o'er, And now men doat on green frock coats, With pocket holes before! The women too have ta'en the cue, And wear their chains of gold--O for the lads, like our good dads, Who lived in times of old! [selected. THE ABORIGINES. Where are they--the forest rangers, Children of this western land? Who, to greet the pale-faced strangers, Stretch'd an unsuspecting hand! Where are they whom passion goaded Madly to the unequal fight, Tossing wild their feathery arrow 'Gainst the girded warrior's might? Were not these their own bright waters? Were not these their native skies? Rear'd they not their red-brown'd daughters Where our princely mansions rise? From the vale their homes have vanished, From the stream their light canoe--Chieftains and their tribes have perished, Like the thickets where they grew. Though their blood no longer gushing Wakens war's discordant cry, Stains it not the maple's flushing, When sad Autumn's step is nigh. None are living to deplore them, Only Nature, bending o'er them, Seems to say--farewell! farewell! BUTCHERIES IN NEW ORLEANS. A terrible murder was perpetrated at the Planter's hotel, kept by Armstrong and brother, on the night of the 7th instant, at New Orleans. There had been a carousal of several villians in the house, in which one of the gang complained of the delay of a man in affording him a light, and began to throw decanters and glasses at those behind the .counter, in which he was joined by his associates. They then attempted to climb over

the counter, but being repulsed, one of them, Washington Whitaker, a gambler, residing near St. Francisville, attacked, with a large Bowie, the eldest Mr. Armstrong; and his associates, among whom was his brother, commenced a deadly conflict with the unarmed inmates of the house; the Armstrongs and barkeepers fled, leaving a young man named Murphy, who was held fast, alone and unprotected; he was literally slaughtered on the spot, receiving three wounds from Whitakerr's knife, two feet long; one on the right, and other the left side of the head, and one, that caused his immediate death, under the right shoulder, penetrating to the heart. The rnurderers were pursued and arrested.--N. York Spectator.

FROM THE CINCINNATI MIRROR. A CHANGE OF MIND. 'Well now, brother William, said Ann Gray, as she threw off her calash, and put her feet on the fender, upon their return from a party--'Well now, brother William, I tell you again, I don't admire your Edward Stone one bit;' and she

flung her be-jeweled head till the turrets of hair shook to their foundation. 'And pray, Mrs. Please-me-not,' said brother Bill, 'what's the matter now?' 'Matter!' cried Ann, as she drew out half a dozen combs, and her thick, jet black hair fell over her cloak-protected shoulders, 'matter! why he's the stupidest dolt I ever talked to.--There was I dancing with Sam Stackpole, and he with Sally, right opposite, and though I looked and locked-- ' 'He wouldn't iook at you.' 'Be still,' said his sister --'no, I haven't come to courting men yet--that's one comfort; but Sally, bless me, she leant upon his arm as tho' she wanted to lean there forever.' It was now brother Bill's time to bid silence, for Sally was his professed flame--but he knew his sister too well to defend any one he cared for, and as he was half jealous of Ned for his flirtations with Sally, he set him before her again, and at him she went. 'Oh yes, master Ned,' said she, and then how she looked! I could almost have played caravan man. like Mr. What's-his name, down street there, and stir him up for the. musk ox, famous for his long hair and big feet; the chief propensity of this animal, ladies and gentlemen, is for butting. "But, Miss Gray," he says, "but you don't think but I can sing." I mean to go down tomorrow and buy a great pair of shears, and crop the "wile amual," as little Betty White says.' And so she went on, cutting right and left, and ridiculing her brother's notion that a kind temper was as good a thing as a keen intellect; 'she'd rather be a very vixen,' which Bill muttered she was already, 'than a good, quiet, soft, soapy piece of amiable stupidity, that daresn't say boo, lest people should think it ill-natured.' The fact was, Ann was so unfortunate as to be called satirical, and all the young men in town feared, and shunned, and complimented her. With very excellent sense, and a temper that asked only fair play to be kindly, she had, as one of her admirers said, less of the milk of human kindness than of the Cream of Tartar. As to the poor fellow she was berating so, he was the very opposite; and had you wished to compress his character into a sentence, you would have said, 'He never spoke ill of any one.' And in the course of another week another party came round, and Ann went forth, her dark eye beaming mingled fire and malice, conquering and to conquer. The music ceased; the busy hum and loud laugh died away ; bewitching smiles were smoothed for a time, and for a time the varacious compliments that called them forth flowed not; the ice-cream had entered the room. Ned Stone, blind as the bird that flies into the net of the fowler, made his nod (for he never bowed) to Miss Gray, and sat down by her side. Now it must be known that, after his usual manner, he had passed her by half a dozen limes without notice, merely because he was thinking of others, not himself; and once he had trod on her toe; and as to having him come; now 'to eat his meals at her,' she wouldn't have it; and so she turned half of her hack on him, and looked at her handkerchief. Ned, who of a truth

enjoyed what he eat, as well as every thing else, and thought it was meant to be enjoyed, having finish-

ed his 'meal,' turned his attention

to Miss Ann. lie talked of the; excellencies in them; and when ; Do not despise me, but rather forweather, and talked .of the party, j brother Bill called her names, Ned j get what has past. I didn't dream and talked of the last party, and j defended her. AnnGray,every body that you had a can like William's

'butted' a good deal; but not a word could he draw from the usually voluble Miss Grav. She lookat her foot, and turned it one way and another, and peeped under the sole of her white slipper, and nodded to all her acquaintances, and if an arm had been offered, would have walked away and left Ned in the middle of a sentence. At first, he, with that seeming obtuseness that marks the man without guile or jealousy, thought her manner merely accidental; but when he picked up her glove, and she took it without deigning to look at, much less thank him, he thought it expedient to walk across the room--a little atomriled. And again the music sounded, and the dancers, or rather walkers, led out their partners, and there was one couple wanting. Ned had taken a glass of wine, and recovered his philosophy, so he walked straight across the room, and asked if he might have the pleasure of dancing with Miss Ann Gray.--She started, stuttered, blushed, said 'no,' 'yes,' and utterly confounded with the man's impudence, took her place with him. What a rush of strange feelings into her mind! She thought she had annihilated him, and lo! he wasn't wounded; she expected him to sue for forgiveness, and behold! he was as calm and self-possessed as ever. It was something new to her--food for thought--and when, after one more dance, she made her courtesy, her eye ran over the roorn and she lingered on the threshold to see where Ned Stone was, and met his eye; she half smiled, half frowned, and cnurtesied again, hut in so awkward a style, as to give ground work for much rational conversation in the morning calls of the next day. And the more Ann thought of that night's experience, the more was she puzzled. Sometimes she saw that she had been very silly, and Ned very magnanimous and forgiving: and then the scene shifted, and he had been very impertinent, and she had behaved with becoming dignity. Thus blown about by varying winds of doctrine, she worried on till another party drew nigh. and then began to speculate on the future, as well as dream and reason of the past. But to this party brother William, alas! could not go; and Ann went up into her room and cried half an hour, though she kept saying all the lime that she had nothing in the world to cry for, and was glad lo have an excuse for staving at home. And yet, when she went down, she couldn't but persuade her father to go--and when heat last was fairly teased into it, her heart jumped with joy. About five o'clock in the afternoon, a gentleman called to see her --she went down stairs, and there was Ned Stone! He walked up and put out his hand, as tho' they had been brought up together. He came to say, that as brother William could not go, his arm was at her service and after much talk about 'troubling him,' and 'papa,' and all that, she at last consented; and went up stairs half pleased, and more than half troubled. The events of that campaign need not be told. Ann count not but iike her beau's good humor, and infinite fun, though he didn't say a harsh word, and had as dirty nails, as big feet, and as thick a head of hair as ever, and said 'but' into the bargain. And as the winter wore on, and Ned became more domesticated, all the family liked him better; for he

had the rare virtue of listening to whoever talked; a silent flattery few can resist. When Ann ridi-

culed any one, Ned pointed out said, was growing more kindly ; she began to see that people might be amiable without hem" 'soft and soapy,' and that intellect was not all-in-all. And when spring came, and all the young folks went out upon the hills to disturb the quiet sleep of the violet, and shorten the, at best, short life of the lily-like bloodroot, Ned made every flower and butterfly a text to preach from of love, and simplicity, and kindness; and, strange to say, Ann heard and heeded. and kindness; and, say, Ann heard and Another party! a bail in the merry month of May! and amid the music and the laughter were heard the deep tones of the thunder. And even when the panting girls put on their shawls, and the beaux their cloaks, it was still dark and gusty. Ann had danced out of the entry into the open air, and stood looking at the clouds, when the rest of the party rushed out--her brother was among them, but as two or three other young men were of his size. she could not tell which was which, till a flash from the spent cloud showed her his cap, and seizing his arm, off they hurried. Sally Stackpole, William's peculiar, had rather jilted him that evening, and no wonder he was so silent. On he walked, dragging poor Ann off her feet, and holding her lo him with a force and closeness that scared her; and to change the current of his thoughts, she began to talk of Ned Stone. 'How my mind's changed,' she said, 'you remember that night last winter! how I abused him! but he forgave me, and was as polite and attentive! And do you know, brother William, I turned my back on him one night, and treated him shamefully, and yet the very next party he came and took me to it.' There was no reply to this coufession, and so she went on to say how he'd 'taught her--so good he was--never to abuse other people, and made her dislike and despite turn almost to love.' But still brother William strode on in silence, his curious cap bobbing against the sky, as she looked up for a glimpse of his face; and so, as she was determined to move him, she went on to say, further, that 'she didn't know but she was in love with him --she believed she was; she certainly liked him better than anv young man in town'--but it would not do, not a word could be won from the silent man. And now the door is reached ; the bell rung; the portal opens ; she springs in, but he shrinks back; she turns the light falls full on his face --it is Ned Stone! The next day, as Ned sat chewing his cud, not of fancy, sweet or bitter, but of bona fide tobacco; Chitty on pleading, open at the chapter on declarations, upon his knee a little girl of Mrs. Gray's came in, and gave him a note. He laid Chitty by as carefully as if the old fellow had been a fresh egg, and taking out his penknife, amushimself for a moment with decyphering the seal and cutting it off--and at length, with something like a blush on his dark cheek, read the contents. And as he read, his eye brightened, and his mouth distended into one of the broadest grins that ever illumined that broad countenance; and when he was done, he threw up his heels and laughed outright. The note ran thus: 'Mr. Edward Stone,'--and the 'Mr.' had evidently once been 'my,' so that she had begun: 'My dear Edward,' or, 'My

dear Mr. Stone,' without doubt;--'Sir, I throw myself upon your mercy. I know not if I was mad last

night, but I fear you'll think so.----and thought all along it was him. But I'm too much ashamed of myself to write. If you will forget and forgive, it is all I ask. Yours, &c. A; G. P. S. It was hardly fair in you to let me run on as I did.' Ned walked up and down the room, threw his tobacco into the fire, and cleaned his teeth: that was the first step. He then deba- ted whether he ought to go and see Miss Gray, or to write. He finally concluded lo write; so taking a sheet of paper he began: 'My dear

Miss Gray--I received your note, and in reply,' and there he stopped

chewed his pen up--tore off what he had. written--put it into his mouth--made another pen--and began anew. 'My dear Ann:--You don't know how glad I feel; I thought my hopes were all shut out, when you slammed the dour in my face last night. Let me tell you all about it: it was very impudent in me to let you run on so: but I could not help it; I meant to have talked to you, but how much more pleasing lo have you talk so to me. And then you said I had improved you; thank God if I have. You used to be prettv severe, that's a fact. I remember the night well enough, but no matter that I forgave and forgot long ago; but what you said last night I wont forget. You throw yourself on my mercy: alas! I am a heartless wretch just now. But to be serious, I love you, my dear Ann, and most sincerely and seriously beg you to confirm, instead of forgetting, what you said last night. Yours, Edward. P. S. You think you are crazy--if so, you want a keeper. In the course of that afternoon, the same little, bare-headed, Dutch woman, that had visited him in the morning, again came to cheer his solitude: she brought a smaller and more elegant note than before, which Ned received with a low bow--read with outward calmness and inward delight--and deposited in his wallet, by the side of a dirty three dollar bank bill, That evening he cleaned his nails very carefully, and was seen at William the barber's, under very suspicious circumstances. The result of all this need not be dwelt upon. I will only add, that no woman in town says fewer harsh things, and does more kind ones--passes less of that dirtiest of all currency, scandal; or makes a better wife, neighbor, and friend, than Mrs. Edward Stone. J.H.P. THE SNOW BIRD. The birds, when Winter shades the sky, Fly o'er the sea away, Where laughing isles in sunshine lie, And summer breezes play, And thus the friends that flutter near, When Fortune's sun is warm, Are startled if a cloud appear, And fly before the storm. But when, from Winter's howling plains, Each other warbler's past, The little Snow Bird still remains, And chirps amid the blast. Love, like that bird, when friendship's throng With Fortune's sun depart, Still lingers with its cheerful song, To cheer the lonely heart. Judge Marshall left particular directions for an inscription upon his tomb.--The inscription mentions simply his name --day of his birth--the day of his marri-age--the name of his wife, and the period of their separation by death--and the date of his own dissolution. The house of delegates, of Virginia, have declared, by a vote of 115 to 13, that congress has no constitutional right to interfere with the subject of slavery in the District of Columbia.