The Spirit Of Democracy

For the Spirit of Democracy.

MR. EDITOR: The inhabitants of hilly and mountainous regions have in all ages been remarkable for their attachment to their native land. The Swiss live amongst the Alps, where as Campbell says they "drive their venturous ploughshares to the steep." Goldsmith says "The only wealth their barren soil affords, is man and steel; the soldier and his sword," Better soldiers never shouldered a musket or wielded a spear; yet in foreign service they often die of home sickness. The simple tunes learned in artless infancy, the wild airs of their own mountain homes, when heard in far foreign lands inspire them with uncontrollable desire to behold again their native glens. And as a high sense of military honor forbids even a thought of desertion, they pine and die of a broken heart. For this reason the playing of Swiss tunes has been strictly prohibited amongst the Swiss regiments in the French and Austrian service. If my memory is not greatly at fault the little air called "Ranz des vaches" was one of those most carefully proscribed. The Scotch are a sagacious and energetic people; they often emigrate from their native hills; but generally with an intention to accumulate riches and then return.

The western counties of Virginia and the eastern counties of Ohio have no Alpine scenery. They consist of an almost unbroken succession of gently sloping wooded hills and beautiful, picturesque vales, intersected by the "silver sheen" of glassy rivulets. Hence the local attachments of the inhabitants are much stronger than those of the inhabitants of the flat level portions of those vast States. In fact the inhabitants of level districts have never been remarkable for strong local attachments. As to the cause of this phenomenon in man's natural history, I shall not speculate. Perhaps the man of the hills, with his robust health, his strong frame and an equal and abundant flow of animal spirits, enjoys in reality more happiness, than the sickly inhabitant of the wide plains. Be this as it may I appeal to every man, who has spent a few months in the vast and rich levels of the western States, if the tameness and monotony of the landscape have not at length become intolerably disagreeable and irksome-

The following little effusion, was an impromptu, composed one evening during a long absence from "Good old Monroe." It is submitted as a mere poetical trifle, but interesting to the author from the home feeling in which it originated. At home and surrounded by friends, we like to recollect the feelings of the stranger in a strange-land. In bar of all severity of criticism, I repeat that it was a mere transient effusion of feeling unstudied, unpremeditated. But my young literary friends in this vicinity, if they cultivate their faculties, will be able to send out productions, which may safely defy the severity of criticism.

Here's a health, a health for Old Monroe,
For her blooming sons and daughters,
For her glens where the sweet, wild roses blow,
For her bright and sparkling waters.

We love her green and wooded hills,
Her rich alluvial meadows,
Her flowery vales, her silver rills
Her passing lights and shadows.

We covet not the extended plains,
With their herds prepared for slaughter:
We hasten back from the wide champaign
To the land of the sparkling waters.

In Old Monroe we spent our youth,
In pure and healthful pleasures-
Where generous friendships, love and truth
Supply their richest treasures.

When e'er to distant lands we go,
Far over the hills and waters,
We'll kindly speak of Old Monroe,
Like filial sons and daughters.

OSCAR.