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Republicanism, in his district; sometimes succeeded, and was sometimes beaten, and, for years in succession, agitated the House with contested elections between him and his federal competitor, General Hungerford. He was a member of the House at the trying crisis, preceding and during the late war with Great Britain, and enjoyed, in an eminent degree, the confidence and intimate friendship of Jefferson, Madison, and Monroe, and was always considered a practical and unwavering republican of the school founded by these our "patres conscripti." After the accession of Mr. Adams, however, a change came over the spirit of his politics, and he became "absorbed" in the "National Republican," or what is now called the "Whig" party, in which he has since continued. Mr. Taliaferro has always been an industrious, and more than that, a working member. He has seldom mingled in general debate, but has found other ways quite as potent for influencing votes. As a speaker, however, he held in former days no mean rank. He presented his views with a clearness and precision of language, and an aptitude of illustration, that commanded attention, and won conviction. At the hustings, I have been told, he was allpowerful, by means of his suavity and plausibility of manner, and his adroitness in the management of his topics.

Mr. Taliaferro is now known as one of the most agreeable and pleasant men in Congress, and, at the same time, as one of the most useful and industrious members. He is cheerful and full of anecdote, and when you see him offer his snuff-box to a passer by, and give a preliminary flash from his small grey eye, you may rely upon it that something exceedingly facetious and pleasant is forthcoming.

In person, Mr. T. is a little below the common height, and his figure is trim and well built. His style of dress is plain and neat, and his manner is that of an accomplished gentleman and courtier of the old school. Mr. T., I believe, never followed any profession, except the noble one of agriculture; and it is said that, as an agriculturist, he was unequalled by any man in Virginia, except perhaps, the "Arator," Col. John Taylor, of Caroline.

But a white-haired and florid-looking elderly gentleman, is addressing the Chair, and you can observe that his manner excites general attention mingled with some anxiety in many a member full of the unuttered speech that is peeping out of his pocket, or laboring in his breast: He is SAMUEL CUSHMAN, from Portsmouth, Rockingham county, New Hampshire, and well known to the country by the party soubriquet of P. Q. Cushman, which the letter-writers have affixed to his name from the unrelenting frequency with which he is apt to cut short a debate big with the fate of tropes and figures and political rhetoric, by the infallible edge of the Previous Question. He was born in the State of Maine, while it was

a District of Massachusetts. By profession, he is a lawyer; by nature and choice a politician. He is a veteran in politics, a martinet in party discipline. No man was ever more true to his party, for, espousing a cause with sincerity, he supports it with unbounded zeal. He has been frequently called to fill posts of trust and honor in the State which he now represents in Congress. He has been elected, if I mistake not, to both branches of Legislature, and has also served as County Attorney, and Attorney General, situations which required talents, and demanded integrity and honor. But, to serve in Congress, is to be transferred from a provincial theatre to the Metropolitan boards. Here, far higher attributes, more exalted talents, are required to arouse applause, or even to escape the sneers of the "groundlings," and the galleries. The honorable gentleman does not aspire, I believe, to fill the highest parts, either in comedy or tragedy, but he has always appeared in a very respectable line of characters. Sometimes he has been damned, with faint applause, and has very often been subjected to the ridicule and misrepresentation of those bigoted partisans who can see no merit in a political opponent. It has been gravely charged upon him that he moves the Previous Question. Truly, he does, and for that very service, if he had never done any thing else, he deserves a monument as a public benefactor. One man who can arrest a tedious, long-winded, factious, time-killing debate, is worth forty who can provoke or keep up one. It requires some moral courage, some spirit, and some tact also to move the Previous Question, and to move it, too, at precisely the right point of time. This gentleman is a good tactician, and he knows the proper moment when to draw off the skirmishers and sound the charge. With the practical duties of legislation he is well acquainted, and his business knowledge and habits render him an efficient member of the Committee of Commerce, and other very important Committees on which he has served. He is very frequently forced into debate, either in defence of the principles of his party, or of some of his personal or political friends, in the Administration, who have been made the subject of wanton and malicious attack, and this duty he always does with urbanity and good temper.

As regards his character in private life, he is amiable and blameless. His character here is unblemished. His manners are easy and bland; his deportment courteous to all; his temper mild and equable, and his disposition kind and obliging. His age is, apparently, about sixty; his eyes dark, small, and piercing; person of the middle size, rather spare, and very erect; his motions quick; step elastic; and dress fashionable. A very useful and good man is this same much abused SAMUEL CUSHMAN.

WESTERN VIRGINIA.

A SKETCH, IN RUSTIC RHYMES, TAKEN FROM HAMPSHIRE COUNTY, VA.

"Princes and lords may flourish or may fade,
A breath can make them as a breath has made;
But a bold peasantry, their country's pride,
When once destroyed, can never be supplied."

GOLDSMITH'S "DESERTED VILLAGE."

Hail! hunting-shirt-hail! mountaineer!

Right harbingers of winter cheer;
No studied invocation here

Your aspect blithe invites:

Above, below,

The trackless snow

Throws back a thousand-tinted glow,
Where glancing sunbeam lights.

From leafless oak and hickory bare
Half-famished twitterers repair,
With squirrel pert and limping hare,
To pick their morsel scant:
Up, then, thou gallant mountaineer,
Up! tamer of the bounding deer;
Thy steady eye and practised ear
Are Hampshire's woodland vaunt.

No dread of avalanche to crush;
No lure of glacier bright; no rush
Of sliding hill o'er hidden gush

Of waters, sad decoy!
Thy march is on the rock-based steep,
Secure, where tallest tree-tops peep,
Onward, till ev'ning shadows creep,
Then home without annoy.
VOL. V. NO. XV.-MARCH, 1839.

But hark! the constant ring

Of axe-work good;

Far-flashing edges swing,

And a splint'ring tempest fling ;

Brief space, I ween,

First gash between

And last, that levels king or queen

Of ancient mountain wood.

Dost note the cabin by yon silent dell?
There patience, hope, and meekest misery dwell.
Hingeless the rude misshapen door;
Rifted the wall,-chill strikes the floor,
Of shattered shingles goodly store;
And she-the widow'd dame!
Daughter of wo, thy wish is won-
This morn betimes thy task is done;
Tearless to-night thy setting sun;
Mercy awards thy claim.

A youthful band, brave hearts and true,
With sleigh-borne flight and glad halloo,
From village sport have parted;
Samaritans in word and deed,

To the lone dweller's hut they speed,
To pour the balm,

Want's terror calm,

And heal the broken-hearted.

Genius of Freedom, hail! thrice hail!
Thy fav'rite haunt is hill or vale,
Fair upland slope and lowland dale;

Thy throne yon "Hanging Rock,"
Theme of old legends strange, that tell
How red men raised their battle yell,
And furious fought, and fearless fell,
Join'd in the battle shock.

And when the mortal strife was spent,
The conquering savage calmly bent
A-down the craggy front,

And traced above the towering pine,
Emblems of household thrift,* a sign
That war-chief, of now nameless line,
Held steady march

O'er that high arch,

And stemmed the foeman's brunt.

But winter's snow-wreathed chain is broken!
Spring renovates her leafy token,

And fleet the rush

Of freshet flush,

While stream and rill,

From cliff and hill,

Foaming and swelling as they sweep along
And raising still to heav'n their joyous song.

Wakes now the planter's annual toil,
To launch the boat, to break the soil,
Subduing glebe and tide;

Cast on the waters, where ye may,
Your bread, and after many a day,
In ten or hundred-fold array,
Your labor shall abide.

Seed time and harvest shall not fail;
Then cheerily outspread thy sail,
And steer before the wind:
The bow of promise smiles above,
The olive-branch protects the dove,
And steadfast thy reward shall prove,
But never look behind.

And you, hale sons of vigorous sires,
Kindle anew their patriarch fires;

Let men of ripened years

"Emblems of household thrift,"—a spoon and spinning-wheel, which are still quite distinct to the observation of any adventurous searcher after the marvellous; and a sight of them will well repay the risk of a broken neck. The "Hanging Rock" in question,-as Western Virginia, generally, and Hampshire county, particularly, abound in that specimen of the picturesque,-is the one nearly facing Blue's Ferry, South Branch of the Potomac, commonly styled "Earsom's Hanging Rock."

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