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A Weekly Sourual, denoted tu Od Fellowship, and Matters and Chings in general,
OFFICE, NO. 66 CORNIILL.] PUBLISHED ON WEDNESDAYS, BY COCHRAN, COLE'& CO., AT TWO DOLLARS A YEAR, IN ADVANCE. (L. TL. M. COCHRAN, EDITOR.
- s The Widow's tear, the Orphan's ery
Vou. XID [res Sh tes ms
BOSTON,
WEDNESDAY, FEBRUARY 12,
1851.
The naked clothe. the prisoner freom
‘These are thy worl
Revealed to us from Heaven,
reeet Cl sia}
No. 21.
Written for the Odd Fellow.
Winter,
BY ANNIE R, SMITH,
‘Tae hollow winds are sounding in the gale
And leafless boughs, upon the hillside drear ;
And o'er the woodland bare, and hill and dale.
Stern Winter's mantling robe of snows appear.
The running streams, that made the vales re-
joice,
Are silent, still in “ icy fetters” bound,
And o’er the frozen glade the skaters? voice,
In joyous glee and gaiety, resound,
A cold grey tinge is on the northern sky,
And heavier gloom pervades the lonely plain,
Where sparkling bright the shadowy sunbeams
ie, .
And glistening hangs the crystal sleet and rain,
The summer's genial breath and foliage green,
And rose and violet, are cold and dead;
Soft skies and myrtle bowers no more are seen,
And singing birds to warmer climes have fled.
Yet Winter has its joys—the smiling hearth
Feels not the wild and desol
+The love-lit eye and gentle voice of mirth
~ Will gladness round the fireside circle cast.
It matters not if southern showers depart,
_And fairest flowers are strewn in winter's tomb,
If summer-time still reigns within the heart,
‘And sweet affection’s flowers thtre freshly
bloom. .
‘Then let the wintry winds blow drear and chill,
Rude storms and sullen skies their rage unfold,
‘And frosty airs with dread the bosom fill,
Bat never let the heart's pure love grow cold.
Wilton, N. WL.
mn nen
Written for the Odd Fellow.
The Truants.
BY sien, a UAT
“1 tell thee Truth j ja stranger far,
Than Fiction in ils brightest garbs. ”
Wnen [ was a school-boy—which, by-the
by, was not very many years ago—l was in
the habit each morning of encosntering, on
my way to, school, alarge, dirty, ignorant-look-
ing urchin, continually playing at marbles in
the street with sinaller boys he somehow had
enticed to stay away from school to engage
with him. Ie was one of those indolent,
good-natured, care-for-nothing “fellows, whose
disposition seemed very clever, but who never
ssemed to have anything to do, and always
wanted a great deal of help in doing nothing.
Many a young boy was induced, in fne spring
and autuinn days, to stop in the shadow of
wome clump of trees, to play at marbles through |
the day—to play truant from school by Dan
Easy. Dan poszessed some genius ; for being
very poor, marble-playing had become his most
relinble means of support; for, a8 certain as
the unwary school-boy was induced by him to
stop in the shadow of the trees during the day.
to play at marbles, so was he certain of sharing
the nice luncheon which, in that country-place,
forever Iny snugly in the bo'tem of the satchel—
placed there by the good mother or kind serv-
_ ant of the truant school-boy,
One fine summer morping, while trudging
light-heartedly toward school, with a compan-
ion older than myself, I was accosted by Dan,
“See here, boy, don't you want to take a
game of, marbles
“Never play marbles,” said
“What, not play vratblerc al the other boys
do!” eaid Dan,
“No,
“Well, ee ‘and PN learn you,” persisted
the generous youth.
no time ;” said l, “I’m going to
ol .
“ Well, what of that, you can stop here as
well; no body'll know it, if you do,” said Dan.
“1 shall not stop,” said I; ‘besides, I don't
wish to learn to play marbles.”
« Well, if you won't stop, 1 know who will;
Bil'y there, will, I know ;’” said Dan, pointing
to my companion.
“1 discovered an’ unconscious wavering’ in
the mind of my friend Bi'ly, between duty and
inclination, and whom I knew to be an adept
at marble-playing. I urged him on with me to-
wards school.
“Come, come,” said Dan, perceiving the fa-
vérable impression made on Billy by his invi-
tation,
It was in vain that I expostulated with my
companion; in vain that I placed before him
the disappointment of his widowed mother if
she should be infurmed of his truancy,— Billy’s
satchel was flung upon the gtass under the
tree.
“ Who'll tell my mother?” asked Billy as J
passed on my w .
“ Nobody,” bid Dan.
This was the last I heard.
On my return fiom school in the afiernoon,
Billy wended his way homeward with me; I
remained silent upon the subject of his con-
duet, and, of course his punctual return home
at the usual hour, no suspicion was aroused in
the breast of his affectionate mother,
The next day Billy played the crvant again,
and the next again; and soon nearly every
day. [have often heard Mrs. Knowlton com-
plain of Billy’s tardiness in his studies, but the
teacher was the usual recipient of her blame. |
Litule knew she how seldom her son was in his
seat, and still less could she divine the cause
of bis growing and undisguised recklessness of
manner, as well as of bis personal appearance.
Tcould have told ber, but my years were not
sufficient to easily discern’ what then was my
duty.
Mrs, Knowlton was a wealthy lady, having
been widowed for several years, possessing
one only child—Williem. As is too often the
cose under like circumstences, the mother in-
nocently allowed her son too great freedom in
his conduct, and ot Jength, ere he was of law-
fal age, he assumed the management of his
mother's estate, and early married.
A couple of years after the incident men-
tioned in the commencement of this story, I re-
moved into a distant: part of the country, and
know little of William Knowlton afterwards,
save what is just now related., But 1 never
could forget the incident of his stopping to
play truant with indulent Dan—and [ never
played at marbles.
. .
A year or twasinee, while essing up one of
the important streets in New York, my atten-
tion was attracted by a rede outburst on the
opposite side of the street, where I discovered
an attempt was making to eject a drunken man
from within, - I paused a minute, and shortly
heard a name mentioned, the sound of which
was familiar to me, and I drew nearer... At
length the drunken man was landed on the
averent, simultaneous with which I heard
called out, Witttam Ksowtron. I hastened
forward, andlo! even in that squalid garb,—
throngh that hag: unshaven face,—that
Jong and matted hair, 1 detected the school-boy
of my younger days, In the crowd which
issued from the house, now, I saw also, a large,
red-faced, burly man, with sleeves up-rolled,
and filthy to look upon withal, who answered to
he eognomen of “landiord”—this wae Dan
Easy, too, whe hed first ruined Billy Know!-
ton ip youth, and kicked him out of doors when
a ruined man. From him I turned in disgust ;
and after sending Knowlton away to a com:
fortable place, where-he would be cared for a
day or two, without revealing myself to him, 1
left him, pondering upon the misfortunes men
are heir to in the world.
Thave since seen Knowlton. He is yeta
miserable being—an outcast from friends
and society—laboring under the pangs of con-
science, of crime and -inebriety alternately.
The grey hairs of his mother he brought down
with sorrow to the grave, and life he declares
as infinitely worse than nothings His whole
history I have,—and which | have pledged him
to never make public until he it @ to the
grave, when, according to his desire, I shall
give it to the world. * The last time I saw him,
he wept, and grasping my hand in agony at
parting, said—
«Look at me —look at me—miserable, mis-
heights, ere there acose the deafening shout of,
defiance from the Americans, which drowned
the ** Vivas” of the M2xicans, and psled their
swarthy cheeks, The fight cummenced.
.
We do not propose to describe the conquest
of Monterey—won by “ street fights” as novel
as they were deadly. High above the roar of
artillery and the sharp peals of musketry, were
heard the bartering instruments of the Texiens,
who literally mined their way through the thick
stone walls of the Plaza, re were forced
open, walls were battered down—and the ene-
my driven from room to room, and from house
to hdase, followed by the shrieks of the women
and the sharp crack of the Texian rifles.
The Alamo was remembered—Crockett and his
gallant comrades were fearfully avenged. .
. .
The Americans were victorious, and on the
‘25th the tri-color went down from the staff on
Watches the troop passing by:
Wath banner bright sdvancing,
She sees her lover c
And with joy her heart is dancing
'o the sound of the file nd dru
But streaming fast with eorrow
Her love to the battle must go;
Angu’sh her heart is goading
s mid the mertial hum,
She ‘hears, with ead forebod ing,
‘The sound of the warning drum.
Bot coward tears she’s dryin;
When to viet’ ‘ their ‘runipets sound:
‘The foe before
With glory her lover is crowned.
With pride her heart is springing,
is come,
the bugle rinsing
ith the sound of the victor drum.»
Words like these, though imperfectly under-
stood, completed the conquest of Paquita’s
heart, and yet Frank was not a woer. For
the citadel—the “stars and stripes” rising
erable man—world-cast-off that I am; and
ou——
Washington City, D. C., 1851.
Paquita;
A TALE OF LOVE AND REVENGE,
BY FARDERIC PARKES U. 8. 4.
. . MONTEREY. ,
“ Los Americanos! Los Americanos !” cried
a Mexican lancer, a3 he urged his jaded horse
prove the crowded streets of Monterey to
e Obis Pado, or “Bishop's Palace,” to re-
pa the immediate approach of the invaders.
{t was on the 19th of September, 1846, and
soon the housetops were covered with curious
spectators, _ Cattle were quietly grazing in the
surrounding plein, or reposing under the fine
walnut groves which dotted its verdant surface.
On one side was the double peaked Mante-
Sillo, with the rapid San Juan murmuring on
its rocky bed at its base—and on the other
hand rose the high summits of the Sierra del
Madre, tipped with fleecy clouda, The black
cross banner of the Mother Church floated from
the turret of the Bishop’s Palace, ond from tie
citadel there flaunted the Mexican’ tri-color.
Within the walls, martial music mingled with
the din of an excited populace; but without
all was quiet. Scarcely a soul was to be seen,
and mountain, plain and valley seemed wrapped
inthe repose of nature. A few houra more
and that peaceful valley was shaken by the
dread roar of artillery and musketry, and its
sweet repose was changed for the fierce war-
cry, or the sad groan of the dying soldier.
‘A bugle was heard on the main road,
soon McCollough’e Rangers came in sight—
the very Z'eranos who had been held up for
months as a bugbear to the juveniles of Mon-
terey. hen came Henderson's brigade—the
i of Regulars under Twiggs and
Worth—and Butler's Division of Volunteers
brought up the rear, Advancing in solid bat-
talions, and moving ere like the ocean's
swell, and with the sun’s rays glittering upon
the arms of the dark and serried ranks, and the
bright artillery fisshing in the midst, they
formed a noble and impressive sight.
“"Twere worth ten years of penceful life,”
One glance at their array.”
On thry came, and the advanced Texians
were within a thousand yards, Of the city, when
there dashed out to meet, them a squadron of|
Mexican horse, with lances t bright, and pennons
of red and green waving in the’ breeze, | The
Texian bugles sounded a charge, but it was
soon the apparent intenlion pe their opponents
to entice them under the. gans of the citndel
which now opened a heavy fire. And the first
report had not echoed back’ from the nowt
3
a
most proudly in its place, hearty cheers greet-
ing its folds, as it disdeinfully fluttered out on
the breeze that wafted it from the staff of its
conquered foe. Nor was there, in all the gal-
lant band which the immortal Taylor had thus
led to victory, a prouder, happier. maa than
Capt. Frank Willaon, of the Louisiana Volun-
teers, 2
Educated at Ojd Harvard, Frank
had commenced the practice of Jaw at the
New Orleans bar, and when the war broke out
a time he had not the slightest inclination to for-
sake his home, his friends, and his lucrative
business, to share in the perils and hardships of
the tented field—but several of his companions
taking an active part in the formation of the
e Sixth Volunteers,” he was persuaded to enter
the regiment. His whole soul was soon ab-
sorbed in the service—gallantly had he headed
his company through the deadly fight where he
“ flashed his maiden sword,” and ardently did
he juin in the shout of vieto
Late in the night after the capitulation, Cont
Willson was charged with a message
Col. Davia to Gen. Worth, and had occasion te
pass through the centre of the city.
street was filled with demolished masonry, deed
horses, broken arms, and other relics of the
carnage, and presented a desolate scene. Pass-
ing through the Calle de Mier, the Captain
heard a female voice, issuing from a fine resi-
dence, imploring succor. Rushing in, followed
by the guard which attended him, he found a
lovely girl in the hands of two Irishmen, who
wore the uniform of the Mexican Regiment of
& Saint Patrick.” No sooner did they see the
Americans, then the cowardly deserters fled
from their prey, end Willson received the
thanks of a fine looking old Mexican and his
daughter. Rare in beauty as in talents and ac-
complishments, Paquita Ortega was the pride
of Monterey, and as she poured forth her grat-
itude, her loveliness moved the gallant soldier
who had stood ‘undaunted mid the battle’s wild-
eat din. ‘The next day he accepted Senor Or-
tega's invitation, and became an inmate of his
house.
Highly bred, handsome in face and person,
Capt. Wilson's accomplishments and man.fuld
+] attainments soon made a deep impression upon
the gentle heart of the maiden he had delivered
when pot on duty, he was by her side, recount-
ing his military career, describing the home of
the invaders, or singing to a guitar accompani-
ment some dashing song like | Lever’s fine
ballad— . \
TRE DRUM!
was in the possession of a large practice. For | frst he refused to sanction the alliance.
from a fate worse than death, Every evening the!
months he sighed in silent adoration—no word
of love was spoken; nay, the lover, although
unremitting in his assiduities, avoided, rather
than courted, the opportunities which occurred
to declare his passion, His regiment left the
city, and while it was winning fresh laurels at
uena Vista, its once foremost captain poured
forth his love at the feet of his idol, and she—
Willson | i the pority of her virgin heart—reciprocated .
affection. .
The old Senor wi
next consulted, and at
Grate-
ful as in duty bound to the captain, he never-
theless disliked hie nation, and liked as little
the men, though he could not tell why, It
happiness if the uuion should take place, and
by every means essayed to wean his Paqnita
from her adherence to an attachment which
filled him with undefined apprehension. But
his firmness gave way as he daily witnessed
the misery of mind and fading health his con-
tinued denial entailed on the being most dear
to him. His reluctant consent was a length
,]extracted, and the marriage ceremony per-
formed with high pomp and magnificence. The
¢ |cathedral, (yet partially used as an
bridal party, but all shuddered with a supersti-
tious fear when, just as the bridegroom made
hie vow,an old Spanish painting of the Cruci-
fxion fell to the pavement with a clamor that
reverberated like thunder along the arched
ceiling, Wes ita bad omen?
Some months paesed rapidly by, and future
months, which would sum up into years of
parent, as well as by the happy bride.” But
pence wos declared—a mandate arrived, and
Frank Wil!son, promoted to the rank of Major,
was ordered to jo.n the regiment at Point Idabel.
The eeparation between father and’ daughter
was a sad one, but they hoped ere long to meet-
again—most sad for the poor Senor, he was
alone, No daughter to receive his nightly
blessings, or greet him with a morning emile.
Poquita, 98 they: travelled to Matamoras,
sighed when she thought of her father's eoli-
tude, and the tear would silently drop from her
dark eye when she reflected on his loneliness
and their parting adieus, Her husband's gen-
tle caresses would restore her _Comporure, and
nh
& A smile beamed from her lip and tearful eyes,
Like rainbow "thwart the clouds of summer
rrived at Matamoras, Paquita found the
Major restless or glomy by turns, and often
when they eat conversing together, he would
look wildly at her, and then rush from her pres-
ence. She was alarmed, but all_ apprehension
Foo the balcony bendiny
with a love taught eye,
w hile on the march ’tis wending,
vanished when he turned with calm, although
might seem unreasonable, but he forebo@ed un- _
arsenal,) . *
never contained a merrier or more richly attired °°
equal content, were anticipated by the fond* -