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TJIE OE«H«U JO CRN A I.
13 rcm.isiiKU mnu,
Gtt ifto cocn-eo of
o4 ilffiaucecfi. 91
AT TBttW ^,v
No oiitiicription will ho ro-civi'.l lor !lwn a year, nor
w ill \r\Y pnper l> > tli-*r intiiiiio I tintU all arrcnrngm arc pout.
Tho I'npsr "ill not In* im*m ;«• ;t..v prrnut ol' ill*- SiaU\
until th™ fuihscriptitin money i.« paid in a.uanc.’ >r Buiinllteloiy
i-rfftren* e siren.
ADVKKTISKMF.NTS ins. it'.! at tli" usual rntrs.
[17“ N. IJ. dales of I.AND, l.v A.l.uinMlr.itors, Executors
nr ((iinriliiine, nrn rc>puiv.|. l.v hi", to he hr hi on ihc first
Tmtsdny in tlin month, h'tween the hums «»f ten in llm fore-
noon and throe in the afternoon, at the ■Ooiut-hnnw. in the
county in which the prop .Tty is situate. Notice of those
sales must hn given iu u public gazette SIXTY DAY*'* pre
vious to the ilny of sale.
Sales of .NEGIIOKS must he at n public auction, on the
first Tuesday of the month, between the usual hours ol sale, j t
at the place ol public sains in the conntv where the letters | ’ .
testamentary, of Ailniinistrntion or fJunrdiannhip, mny have
been rrnnteil, fir-*t givin? SIXTY DAYS notice thereof, in
one of tlio public gazettes of this State, ami at the door of
the Court-house, where sneli sales are to he held.
Notice for the sale of Personal Properly, must he given in
like manner, FOR TY days previous to the day of sale.
Notice to the Debtors >l ml Creditors of an Exluto must he
published for FORTY days.
Notice that nppltenlinn will hn made to the Court of Ordi
nary for lonvo to sell LAND, must ho poldislir.d for FOUR
MONTHS.
Notice for leave to sell NEHROES, must he published for
FOUR MONTHS, before any order absolute ahull be made
thereon by the Court.
All business of this kind continues to receive prompt at
tention at theOllice ol the U KOKH IA JOURNAI..
deed, 1 cjuoatioa »f R grent deal of the bitterness the I gotlt($,nnd two shotij ol
thiwjfht of if inspres docs not depend upon that I duaivo,” suid Xj
VOrV 'irninrctnn.'O. Tim rr.fLmlmn thnl 1 hr. l/vrtrr l II t I If ACT
VOLUME XXXI—NO. 25.;
POETRY.
From tli* I’aiU.trlpliia Gateitt.
The Lament of (lie Irish Emigrant.
I'm aittin* on the stile, Mary,
Where wo sat aide by side,
On a bright May mornin’, long ago,
When lirst you were my bride ;
The corn was sjiringin* fresh and green,
And the lark sang loud ami lrgh,
Ami the red wits on thy lip, Mary,
And the love-light iu vour eye.
The place is little chang'd, Mary,
The day is bright as then;
The lark’s loud song is in mv ear,
And the corn is green again !
Bui I miss the soft clasp of your hand,
And your breath \varm»c.i my check.
And I still keep lis'nin’ lor tli • words
You never more may speak.
’Tis but a stop down yonder lane,
And the little church stands near—
The church where we were wed, Mary—
l see the spire from h to ;
But the grave-yard lies between, Mary,
And my step might break your rest;
For I’ve lain you, if.irlm', down to sleep,
With your baby on your breast.
tnauuu&aUftpttory of one live* (und who is t
without some such ?) is about to become known,
and llm secret of our inmost heart laid bare, is in
itself depressing. Not one kind word, nor one ro-
mcinbrancing adieu, to those wc nro to lonvo for ov-
ei\ can be spoken or written without calling up its
own story of half-forgotten griefs; or, still worse,
at such a moment, of happiness never again to be
partaken of.
“ We shall have abundant tinv to disousn nil this
later on,” said Tiovanion. iavie.g his Imrul upon mv
slioulder, to rouse my wandering attention— 44 for
perceive, we have only eight minutes to
I spare.”
As lie spoke, n dragoon oflicer, in undress, rode
i up to flic window of the carriage, and looking
steadily at our party for a few seconds, asked if wc
| were “ Messieurs frs Anglais ;” and, almost with
out waiting for reply, added, •• ^ ou had better not
go any farther in your carriage, for the next turn
of the road will bring you in sight of the village.”
We accordingly stopped the driver, and having
with some difficulty aroused O’Leary, got out upon
the road. The nulitairc here gave his horse to a
groom, and proceeded to guide us through a corn
field by n narrow path, with whoso windings and
crossings he appeared quite conversant. We at
length reached the brow of a little bill, from which
an extended view of the country lay before us,
showing the Seine winding its tranquil course be-
tween tile richly tilled fields, dotted with many a
pretty cottage. Turning abruptly from this point,
our guide led 11s, by a narrow and steep path, into a
little glen, planted with poplars and willows. A
small stream ran through this, and hv the noise wo
soon detected that a mill was not far distant, which
another turning brought us at once in front of.
And here l cannot help dwelling upon the “tab.
Iran" which met our view.—In the porch of the
little rural mill sat two gentlemen, one of whom
1 immediately recognised as the person who had
waited upon 1110, and the other l rightly conjectured
to be my adversary. Before them stood a small ta
ble, covered w ith a spotted napkin, upon which n
breakfast equipage was spread—a most inviting
with bis foot as bo spoke.
“ The choice of the weapon lies with us, I tapine**’
replied Trevanion. “ We have already nmjiod pis
te! •*, and by them we shall decide this matter.
It was at length, after innumerable objections,
agreed anon that we should be placed back to back,
and at a word given, each walk forward to a certain
distance marked out by a stone, where we wCrcfto ;
halt, and at the rigmii, 44 mi,” “deux,” turn rou^d j
anil lire.
This, which is essentially a French invention In
duelling, wns perfectly hew to me, hut by no means |
so to Trevanion, who was fully aware of the im-;
My arm was now mqgpstftnriy when it
cd tlial Abo bail hud passed through
itnoui apparently
touching the bone.; the bullet nnd the portirmormy
coat carried in by it both lay in mv sleeve. The
fonl r serious consequences to be apprehended was
tiie wound of the blood.vogsel, which continued to
poir forth blood unceasingly, and I was just sur-
gee a enough to guess that an artery had been cut.
j ic* van ion bound bis handkerchief tightly across
the vound, and assisted me to the high road, w hich,
so s idden was the loss of blood, 1 reached with dif-
fiei tv. During all these proceedings, nothing
coi Id be possibly more kind and considerate than
the conduct of our opponents. All tli a farouche
awKewnggoring iu which they bad deemed the
iquier” before, at once fled, and in its place
gentlemanlike attention and true
mere c consequence o: not giving even a momenta. 1 we fortnd the most
ry opportunity lor aim to my antagonist; and in. politcirss.
this mode of firing tho most practical and deadly: Aq soon as T was enabled to speak upon tho mat-
shot is liable to err—particularly if the signal be j (cr, ljbcgged Trevanion to look to poor O’Leary,
given quickly. who Itill lay upon the ground in a state of perfect
While Trevanion and the Captain were monsur- unconsciousness. Le CupitainaDcvigny. «»n hear
ing out tho ground a little ciremnstaimo which was in* my wish, at once returned to the quarry, a,id,
unacted near me was certainly not over calculated w tli the greatest difficulty persuaded my friend to
to strengthen my nerve. The stranger who had
led us to the ground had begun to examine tho pis-
tols, and finding that one of them was loaded turn
ed towards my adversary, saying, 44 Dr. lluHltpeine,
you have forgotten to draw the charge. Come, let
us see what vein you are in.” At the* same time,
drawing off his large cavalry glove, he handed the
pistol to his frond.
44 A double Nupoloon you don’t hit the thumb.”
44 Dune,” said the other, adjusting the weapon in
his hand.
The action was scarcely performed, when the
better flung the glove into the air with nil his force.
My opponent raised his pistol, waited for ail instant,
till the glove, having attained its greatest height,
turned to full again. Then clack went tho trigger
—the glove turned round and round half-a-do/.en
and endeavour to walk, which at last he did ut-
Je npt, calling him to bear witness that it perhaps
W is the only case on record whore a man with a
humt in his brain bad madp such uu exertion.
With a view* to my comfort and quiet, they put
him into the cab of Le Baron ; and, having under
taken to send Dupcytrcn to ine immediately on mv
reaching Paris, took their leave, and Trevanion and
I set out homeward.
Not all my exhaustion and debility—nor even
tho acute pain .1 was suffering, could prevent my
laughing at O’Leary’s adventure : and it required
all Trcvanion’s prudence to prevent my indulgence
too far in my recollection of it.
When wc roach* d Maurice, I found Dupcytrcn in
waiting, who imm Mliatelv pronounced the main ar
tery of tho limb as wounded, and almost ns inslnntn-
l'in * crv lonely now, Mary,
For tlio poor make no now friends ;
But oh ! they love thee better still,
The few our father sends !
Ami you were all Iliad, Mary—
My blousin' and my pride;
There’s nothing It ft to care lor now,
Since my poor Mary died!
Yours was the good brave heart, Mary,
That still kept hoping on,
When the trust in God bad left my soul,
And my arm’s young strength had gone.
There was comfort ever on your lip,
And the kind look on your brow ;
1 bicsH you, Mary, lor that, same,
Though you can’t hear ine now.
I thank you for that patient smile,
When your heart was fit. to break,
When the hunger pain was gnawin’there,
And you hid it for my sake !
I blood you for tho pleasant word,
When your heart wpb sad and tore ;
G!i! 1*1)!*ItltmfcfutT T m trrwgfwr, Mutt*,
Where grief can’t reach you more.
j id don and
in a little
I My opponent was coolly enjoying his cigar—a half-
finished cup of colFeo lay beside him—his friend
was occupied in examining the “caps” of tho du
elling pistols, which wore placed upon a chair. No
sooner bad we turned the angle which brought 11s in
view, than they both rose, and taking off their hats
with 111110*1 courtesy, bade us good morning.
44 May 1 oiler you a cup of colfi#o ?” said Monsieur
I) vignv to me, as I came up, at tin same time tilling
out, and pushing ovor u little Husk of Cogniac to
wards me.
A look from Trevanion decided my acceptance
of tho .proffered civility, and I seated myself in the
chair beside tho baron. Trevanion meanwhile had
engaged my adversary in conversation along with
the stranger, who had been our guide, leaving O’
Leary alone unoccupied, which, however, he did not
long remain; for. although uninvited by the others,
he seized a knife and fork, and commenced a vigor
ous attack upon a partridge pie near him ; and, with
equal absence of ceremony, uncorked the chum,
pugne and tilled out a foaming goblet, nearly one-
third of the whole bottle adding—
44 l think, Mr. Lorrequor, there’s nothing like
showing them that we are just us cool and uncon
cerned us themselves.”
times, and fell about twenty yards ofi* and tho 1 neously proceeded to pass a ligature round it. 'This
thumb was found cut clearly oil at the juncture with ■ painful business being concluded, I was placed upon
the band. a sofa, nnd being plentifully supplied with lemonade,
This—which did not occupy half as long as 1 and enjoined to'keep quiet, left to my own medita-
Imve spent in recounting it—was certainly a pious- lions, such as they wen; till evening—Trevanion
nut .introduction to standing ut fifteen yards from | having taken upon him to apologise for our absence
responding obstinacy of motion, in silence. We
mounted a long winding staircase and reached a
indy riantto puttary, on each side of which wore doors
P my strongly laste&m wfm bolts and bars.
“ in the top parts of the door.) were sliding panels,
bolted on the outside, to cnnblc the watchful keepers,
who paraded tip and down th 1 gallery, to occasional
ly look at their unhappy prisoners. We were pas
sing n door through which a keeper "as looking,
and I glanced over his shoulder into the apartment.
The i nnate was a tall, powerfully made mail with
a straight waistcoat on. With measur'd tread he
paced to nnd Fro and appeared to he imitating a
ivntinel on duty, lie stopped suddenly in his
march and looking at the keeper through the panel
said * Halt ! who goes there V
•Guard* said the keeper smiling.
‘The.word ?* asked he.
4 Water 00’ replied the keeper.
4 All’s well! Pa ss on* rejoined tho poor maniac
to-aiming his march.
The keeper closed ami bolted the panel. I asked
whether he was a soldier ?
* An officer in the ninety third sir* said ho. 4 A
spent hall at Waterloo tore away part of his scull
behind his left car, which is the cause of his present
statu.*
4 Has he been long so V I inquired.
4 From the hour that lie got his wound’ was the
‘reply.
• lie received his Waterloo modal in this he
oiitinucd the keeper, ‘and when it was given to
him lie seemed to have a transitory gleam of reason
jr placing it on hi- left breast he said, while tear?
trickled down his face,* * it was too dearly gained.*
These were the only words of a rational nature that
wo have heard from his lips.’
Do any of his comrades see him ?’ I enquired.
There rue but few living now, sir, you know :
but there’s one that comes now and then, althougl
are aware of it* replied the keeper with
m emphasis upon the one, and a glow upon bis
features.
WI10 is that ? said I.*
His Grace the Duke of Wellington, sir, replied
in their infant. One «rgi»f when the iffrtft
father were »i a ball, t‘
chib} g"
dooet extffHs
to rest.—After this was donr/the nurse irdmeome
unaccountiibl • freak wrapped a sheet round her
person and st< od groaning by tho side of the cot-
Ihc child raised herself in the bed, uttered one
shriek, and from that moment has been as you saw
h ur — fl confirmed lunatic. When the parents re
turned they found their little idol bereft of her mind,
and the cause they learned from the confession of
tlio nurse. \ ou cun imagine their feelings and con
dition better than I can describe them.’
4 How long since did this occur?* I asked.
4 Bather more than eight months,* he replied.
4 II I had been the father, I should have Diown my
brains out,’ said I.
The Doctor placed his lips close to my car and
said iu a low voice, ‘ He (lid, sir. 1
1 a long, slender.necked bottle, reposing the principal actor; and I should doubtless have! from Mrs, Bingham’s dejeunr, an*
ice-pail, forming part of the “ materiel.' 1 felt it in all its force, had not my attention boon fast asleep in bis own apartments.
I O’Leary bcinc
drawn oil’ by tho ludicrous expression of grief in
O’Leary’s countenance, who evidently regarded
me as already defunct.
“Now, Lorrequor, we arc ready,” said Trovan-
ion, coming forward ; and then, lowering his voice,
added, 44 All is iu vour favour; 1 have now the
4 word,* which 1 shall give the moment you halt.
So turn and fire at once ; bo sure not to go too far
round in tho turn—that is the invariable error in
this mode of firing; only no hurry—be calm.”
“ Now, messieurs,” said Devigny, ns he approach
ed with his friend leaning upon his arm, and placed
him in the spot allotted to him. Trevanion then
took my arm, and placed me hack to back to my an
tagonist. As l took up my ground, it so chanced
that my adversary’s spur slightly grazed me, upon
which ho immediately turned round, and, with the
most engaging smile, bogged a “ thousand pardons,”
and hoped I was not hurt.
O’Leary, who saw the incident, and guessed the
action aright, called out—
44 Oh, the cold-blooded villain ; the'devil a chance
for you, Mr. Lorrequor.”
“ Messieurs, your pistols,*’ said Le Capitainc
Grande, who, as he handed the weapons, nnd re
peated once more tho conditions of tho combat,
If 1 mitihLiujJgu from ihc looks of the fiorty^ a gnvc the word to march,
I now walked forward to tho place marked out
apn
I’m baldin’ you a long farewell,
Mv Mary—kind and true !,
But I'll not forgot ymi, darlin’
In the land I'm goin’ to ;
They say there’s broad and work f»>r all,
Ami the sun shines always there ;
But I’ll not forget old Ireland,
Wore it fifty times as fair.
And often, in those grand old woods,
I'll sit, and shut my eyes,
And my heart shall travel back again
To the place where Mary lies ;
And I'll think I sec the little stile
Where we sat side by side,
Anil the springin* torn, and the bright May morn,
When first you were my bride.
MISCELLANEOUS.
From the CunfeiiKHM of llnrry Lom-qurr,
THE D U 15 L.
44 I think we shall just have time for one fi fishing
flask of Chambertin,” said O'Leary, as he emptied
the bottle into bis glass.
“I forbid the bans, for one,** cried Trevanion.
“ We have all bail wine enough, considering what
we have before us this morning; and besides, you
are not aware it is now past four o'clock. *S > gar-
eon—garcon, there—how soundly the poor fellow
sleeps—let us have some coffee, and then inquire
if a carriage is in waiting at the corner of tho Rue
Vivienne. ”
The coffee made its appearance, very much, as it
seemed, to Mr. O'Leary’s chagrin, who, however,
solaced himself In sundry petit irnes, to correct the
coldness of the wiuo lie had drunk, and at length
recovered his good hum mr.
“ Do you know, now,” said he, after a short pause,
in which we had all kept silence. “ 1 think what
we are about to do is the very ugliest way of fin
ishing u pleasant evening. For my own part, I
like the wind-up we used to have in 4 Old Trinity*
formerly; when, after wringing off half a dozen
knockers, breaking the lamps at the nost-ofiicc, and
getting over the tire engines of Werhurgh’s par
ish, we beat a few watchmen, and wont peaceably to
bed-”
“ Well, not being nn Irishman,*' •ui«I Trevanion,
“I’iii hull’disposed to think that even our present
purpose h nearly as favourable to life and limb; but |
happier mode of convincing them of our “free-and-
easy” feelings could not possibly have been dis-
covered. From any mortification this proceeding
might have caused mo, 1 was speedily relieved by
Trevanion calling O’Leary to one side, while bo ex
plained to him that he must nominally act as second
on the ground, as Trevanion, being a resident iu
Paris, might become liable ton prosecution, should
any thing serious arise, while O’Leary, as a mere
passer through,could cross the frontier into Ger
many, and avoid all trouble.
O’Leary at once acceded—perhaps the more
readily because bo expected to be allowed to return
to bis breakfast—but in this lie soon found himself
mistaken, for the whole party now rose, and pre
ceded by the baron, followed the course of the lit
tle stream.
After about five minutes* walking, wo found our
selves at the outlet of the glen, which was formed
by a large stone quarry, making a species of am-
phithcatre, with lofty walls of ragged granite, rising
thirty or forty feel on either side of us. Tho ground
was smooth and level as a boarded floor, and cer
tainly to amateurs in these s >rts id’matters,present,
oil n must perfect spot for a “ meeting.”
The stranger who hud jest joined us, could not
help remarking our looks of satisfaction at the
choice of ground, and observed to me—
“ This is not the first affair that this little spot
has witnessed; and the moulinet of St. Cloud is, 1
think, the very best “ meet” about Paris.
Trevanion who, during these few minutes had
been engaged with Devigny, now drew ine aside.
“ Well, Lorrequor, have you any recollection
now of having seen your opponent before? or can
you make a guess at the source of all this?”
“Never till this instant,” said 1, “have I beheld
him,” as 1 looked towards the tall,stoutly-built figure
of my adversary, who was very leisurely detaching
a cordon from his tightly fitting frock, doubtless to
Til Fi YOUNG MANIAC.
i stuff.
by the stone; but it seemed that I must have been
in advance of my opponent, for 1 remember some
seconds elapsed before Trevanion coughed slightly,
and then with a clear full voice called out 14 I/n,’*
*• Deux.. 11 1 had scarcely turned myself half round,
when my right arm was suddenly lifted up, us if by
a galvanic shock. My pistol jerked upwards, and
exploded the same moment, and then dropped pow
erless from my hand, which I now felt was covered
with warm blood from a wound near the elbow.
From the acute but momentary pang this gave me,
my attention was soon called off; for scarcely had
my arm been struck, when a loud, clattering noise
to my left induced me to turn, and there, to my ns-
toi.ishnient, I saw my friend O’Leary about twelve
fi 1 t from the ground, banging on by some ash twigs
that grew from the clefts of the granite. Frag-
m mts of broken rock were falling around him, and
his position momentarily threatened a downfall.
I In was screaming with all his might; hut what he
said was entirely lost in tho shouts of laughter of
Trevani m and the Frenchmen, who could scarcely
slain! ivtill llio imrm*rhrratT3 »niil>t7T«nco -rr-Oreli
mirth.
1 Ind not timet*) run to his aid—which, although
wounded, I should have done—when the branch he
clung to slowly yielded with his weight, and the
round, plump figure of my poor friend rolled over
the little cleft of rock, and, after u few faint strug
gles, cam.; tumbling heavily down, and at last lay
peaceably in the deep heather at the bottom—his
cries the whole time being loud enough to rise even
above the vociferous laughter of the others.
I now ran forward, ns did Trevanion, when O’
Leary, turning his eyes towards ine, said, in the most I
piteous manner—
“ Mr. Lorroqucr, I forgive you—hero is my hand |
—had luck to their French way of fighting, that’s 1
all—it’s only good for killing one’s friend. 1 thought
I was safe up there, come what might.”
My dear O’Leary,” said I, in 1.11 agony, which
Bender, the above incidents arc true, a plain tale
unvarnished with fiction.
Early Marriages.—We happened to hear a long
argument the other evening upon the policy of early
marriages.
It is unnecessary to repeat tho pro and con—it
is unnessury for us to hear it; because, under or
dinary circnmstnnr-rg, t*r*A in ordinary situations,
there can ho hut one side to the question. As soon
as a man’s mind is matured enough to make his
choice—and at twenty-two or three it is, if ever, he
should be ready to be married. The common ar
guments against early matches, that the husband
cannot be “worth enough,” pecuniarily, is not only
a fallacy in itself, but productive of false calcula
tions and hopes on the part of the bride, and of the
tendency to produce the very distress it is intended
to 1
rrt.
to suv that l huvi
here comes my servant. Well, John, Lull arranged, i mil me to retire t«*a distance, I Ik
prevent its attracting my aim.
“ Well, never mind, I shall manage every thing
propcilv. Wliut can you do with tho sinull sword, j prevented my minding tho I
for they Irivo rapiers at the m:H?’* me, “surely you don’t moi
“Nothing whatever; I have not fenced since 1 wounded you! 11
was a boy.” 1 “ No, dear, not wounded, only killed mo outright—
“N'importo—then we'll fight at a harrierc. J through tho brain it must be, from the torture I’m
I know they’re not prepared for that from English- suffering.”
j men; so just step on one side now, and leave 111c to ! The slim
talk it over.” ; sufficiently arousod mo ; while Trevanion, with a
As the limited nature of the ground did not per. j voice no irly choked with laughter, said—
BY JOHN ST. HUGH MILLS.
“ Caiint liiou not minislcr to n mind (liarus'i
Pluck from tho memory 11 routed murmv;
llaXQoul llu* written troiilileH of Ihc Drain ;
And, with •mini* eweet ol*livi«nis rntiduto,
Cleanse tin* Bluff'd lumnn of Unit perilous
Which woiglis upuu tho heart ?”
I had a strong desire, mingled with dread, to visit
one of those abodes of human wretchedness, a
private madhouse. What tales of sorrow could he
related—what scenes might he pencilled, from the
occurrences daily taking plae. m these receptacle*
for the mail. A broken hearted creature, whose
extreme misery bleared the brain when the hear
was chilled, is whipped that the dull mind may re
ceive an impression. This may he politic l«»r augh
I know ; but tl; • reflection oi’ such cruelty—tli*
mere supposition that these acts can take place
without the knowledge of tlieir ulwolutely doing so
is sutlicient to freeze the blood, ami vibrate cue!
nerve with horror. Many, whose soaring mind?
have been s > bunt upon dazzling pursuits tlmt tin
concentrated rays of knowledge have scorched
and warped the noblest gift to man—the God-lili
brain, are manacled and chained like beasts of
prey. Perfection of female b unity, that on*
traded theeyesofadmiringcrowds—that captivated
the hcurls oftlie fickle and most difficult to please
—that was a father’s pride and a mother's id
be found wasting in a solitary closet, forgetful of the
world, unil by tho world forgotten. Ago too, that
should meet with profound respect, is treated n
was the beginning, not the ending of life. Child
hood, that should he treated with tenderness and
alfoction, receives hut Imrdshij s,or disregard.
A child in a mail-house ! What sight can there
bo niofb melancholy. A young tiling that should
bo scouring the fields in the bright sun-shine, pluck
ing the wild flowers, and racing with the. gay lnit-
terfly. Whose song should ring at matin with the
lark, ami at eve with the nightingale. Whose joy.
ous l’uco should he the index of a heart untouched
with pain. Whose laugh echo should answer to as
a sound of unalloyed delight. Such should be the
stuto of childhood—But to my story.
It was on a bright afternoon in the month of Oc.
toborthnl 1 a muui'ted a favorite horse—whose ex-
plqit° have been the subject of more than one story
oh This side or tlio Atlantic—for the purpose of
visiting a private lunatic asylum at Hoxton, within
a few miles of London. Tho blurs are not gener
ally companions of mine ; neither do l choose to
anticipate mental distress by permitting the vha-
duws of fear to dull f he present with n gloomy
prosentiment of the future. The Past is gone,—
tho Future is unknown—tho Present is alone to he
called our own. These are undeniable truisms,
and it is a mixim of the humble limner of this
sketch to carry them out ns far his ability " ill per
mit ; hut there are exceptions to the most unexcc p-
tioiiable of rules, and as I dismounted at the arched
gate leading to the Asylum, as it was called, I felt
un indescribable sensation that 1 was about to re-
ccivo a voluntary, a sought-for occasion for dis
tress, which is precisely opposite to my theory for
rendering this ‘vale of tears,' a valley of smiles.
An old man, whoso hair was frosted with time,
hing faces around j stood leaning on a crutch-stick close to tho gate,
d tho Du
\YI
nth, that I discover
1 have mercy upon
it ! What can be
nnd civilly touched bis lint as I oll’jred him the
cupulion of holding my horse.
* You must pull tho bell, sir,’ said he as l tried to
unfasten tho gate.
Loud and long rang the bell ns I pulled a chain,
The shout with which this speech was received, and at its completion a roar oflnughtcr pealed from
bn
i.ust icin'
so! Mv
she, cfa
‘It
art is
ng lie
almost
r hands
hut
eompai ison.
tuil in me t<
lone at once,
oh. I
and the carriages ready ]
-Having ascertained that tho carriage was in wait
ing, and that the small box—bross-bjund and Bra.
mall-locked—reposed within, wo paid our bill and
departed. A % cold, raw, misty looking morning,
with masses of dark lowering clouds overhead, uud
channels of dark and murky water beneath, were
the pleasant prospects wl. oh met us, as wo issued
forth from the Cute. The lamps, which hung sus
pended midway across tho at root, (wo speak of some
years since,) creaked, wiihalow uud plaintive sound,
as they swung backwards and forwards in the wind.
Not a footstep was heard in the street—nothing hut
iho heavy patter of the rain us it foil ceaselessly up
on the broad pavement. It was, indeed, 11 in >*t
depressing nnd dispiru'.ing accompaniment to our
intended excursi *u : mid ove.i < >’L»*ary, who seem.
<*d to have but slight sympathy with external inllti.
once*, felt i 4 , lor ho spoke but little, nnd was source.
Iv ten mi unto* i:i thu carriage til* ho was sound
asleep. This was, 1 confess, a groat relief to me ;
for, however, impressed 1 was, and to this li mr tun,
with the many sterling qualities of my poor friend,
vet 1 acknowledge that this was n*»t precisely the
time I should have cared for their i-xercisu, nnd
would have much preferred the companionship of n
different order of pers m, even though less long ac
quainted with him. Trevanion was, of all others,
tho most suitable for this purpose; and I felt 110
embarrassment in opening my mind freely to him
upon subjects which, but twenty.four hours previous,
I could not have imparted to a brother.-
There is no such unlockcr of the secrets of the
heart us the possibly near approach of death. In- l
unv
aware of a dialogue, which
the moment could scarcely keep
at outright.
It was necessary, for the fftiko of avoidin.
possible legal difficulty in the result, that O’Lear)
should give his assent to every *.t* pof die arrange
incut; and being totally ignorant of French, Tre
vaniui) had not only to translate for him, but also t«
render in reply O’Leary’s own comments or objec
tions to the propusi.ions of the others.
44 Then it is agreed—we light at u harrierc,” said j dr
Captain Devigny.
“ What’s tint, Trevanion ?”
voluntarily | “ Why. L irroquer, did you not see that your pis-
tho fioriousnosN of j tol in setting threw your hall high up on tho quarry ;
m* from laughing fortunately, however, about a foot and a half above
Mr. O’Leary*.s head, whose most serious wounds
are his scratched hands and bruised hones from his
tumble.”
This explanation," hicli was perfectly satisfactory
t » ine, was l>v no means consoling t»» poor O’Leary,
who lay quite unconscious to all around, moaning iu
the most melancholy manner. Nome of the blood,
which continued to How fust from my wound, having
ped upon liis face, roused him a little—-hut only
j to increase his lamentation for his own destiny,
which lie believed was fast uccomplbhingr
We have agreed to tn harrierc,' 1 “ TIir« » 4 'i ' i the skull and
replied Trevanion. | preserving my senses to the last! Mr. Lorrequor,
** That's strung*!,” muttered O’Learv to himself, J stoop down—it is a d\iug man asks vou—don 1 re-
who, knowing tiiut the word meant a “turnpike,’ I fine mo u lust request. 1 here s neither luck nor
nevrrstippo.se it h id any other signification. | grace, honour or glory in such a way oi fighting—
4 * Vingt qua? re pas, n < st c • pas ?” }.aid Devigny. j so just promise me you’ll shoot that grinning baboon
“ To • fur,” interposed Trevanion. I there, when lie’s going off tho ground. *iucu it’s the
44 What does ho say now ?'' asked O'Leary. : fashion to fire at a man with his back to you. Bring
44 Twenty-four paces for tlio distance.” 1 him down, and I’ll die easy.”
44 Twenty-four of my tooth he means,” said (>’• j And with these words im closed lfis eyes, and
Leary, snapping his finger.i. *• What does he think | straigntoned out his legs—stretched lfis arm at
of tho l.ngtli of Saekville street? Ask him that, , either ride, uiul arranged himself in such corpse
will ve ?” ; fashion us tlio circumstances of tho ground would
• 4 What, says Monsieur ?*' said the Frenchman. permit—while I now freely participated in the mirth
44 He thinks the distance much too great.” of the others, which, loud and boisterous us it was,
44 11 e may be mistaken,” said the Captain, half j never reached the ears of O’Leary,
snccringly. 44 My friend is • do Iu premiero force.*” 1 My arm had now become so puinful, tliat I was
44 That must he something impudent, from your | obliged to ask Trevanion to assist me iu getting ofi
looks, Mr. Trevanion. isn’t it u thousand pities I 1 my coat. The surprise of the Frenchmen on learn*
can’t speak French T” | mg that I was wounded was very consul * ruble.—I ) •
4 * What sav you. then, to twelve paces? Fire to-! Leary’s catastrophe having exclusively vugag* dah
an open window ; but such a laugh, that a scream
of anguish would not have caused more terror in the
breust of a listener. A corpulent man answ**teil
the summons nnd iu reply to my question 4 if Dr.
was at home?’ said in a deep surly tone that
• lie supposed he was.*
‘Then giv him this letter* said 1, offering him the
one of introduction.
4 You can give it yourself, if yon walk up them
steps and turns to the door oil tho right; that is,
if lie’s there. If he aim go along the left passage
and *
4 Weil! what am I to do then V said I sharply to
the surly corbel us as he paused in his instructions.
4 Ax the first person you sees’ replied he with u
smothered sound and a shake of lfis extensive waist-
coat that were intended t >express a laugh. With
out noticing the l udeue - of the fat mail, except l»\
an i ivoluntary raising of ono foil with a strong
inclination U apply it, by way of a rejoinder, l en
ter* d tho room as directed, hut it was empty, Af-
| ter waiting a few seconds, in the hope of seeing
I some one that could or w*ui!d iu.«u*uui uu, 1 luiard
footsteps ttppr ladling. A Lady entered dressed
I jin deep mourning and veiled so that l could not
I j catch a glimpse of lr:r features. A footman fid-
lowed her, and, a-* if accustomed t > the rules of the
place, pulled a bjll without instructions. Iu a few
minutes it was answered by the appearance of u
mild looking gentlemanly person, who had (Kissed
the vig »i of bis life, lie bowod to lulii of us ami
said, 4 Will you walk with me.’ I knew 1 had no
right to go with them, uud that lie imagined 1 was
accompanying the lady by some indisputable title.
However, l entertained a sudden inclination,other
wise called a vulgar curiosity, to learn tho cause
of her visit, and l followed her footsteps, with a cor-
4 God bless him!* I involuntarily exclaimed.
Bv unguarded trifi ,i s—by actions that men suppose
the scrutinizing eyes of the world do not notice,
liould opinions be formed of tlx* real condili
the heart and oftlie mind, not by the universal hy
pocrisy and assumption prevailing in nil grades **i
society, from tho King to the Cobler, when the
performances arc imagined to become them* s far the
iattling-tongued multitude. Tho simple circum
stance of the Duke of Wellington’s visit to the old
demented soldier, who lost his reason in the per
formance of his duty, showed more plainly that lie
has a heart worthy of nobility than all tlu nourishes j
which clamourous Fame Ins blown from deeds of
greater weight.
4 You'll find tho Doctor and the lady vou came
with, in th*' fourth room on the right hand,’ &uid the
keeper leaving me.
I went to the door, which was unclosed, and on-
tered tho apartment without being noticed by the
lady, who was sitting on a sola with a child 011 her
lap, and closelv pressed to her bosom. The child
was as fair as a bleached lily. Long, light brow n
riiiL'Icts hung gracefully d«<wn her shoulders, and a
pair of soft blue eyes were turned upon tho face of
her nurse. She appeared to be about eight or nine
years old, and l thought a more beautiful little
creature 1 had never seen. Tho Doctor was hold
ing on** of her hands, and counte d the seconds ol a
watch he held in the other. Not a word was spoken
■for some minutes; hut l heard a smothered sub,
and 1 saw a convulsive heaving of the breast in
tiie lady. At length she said in broken words,
‘is there any alteration—can you gi\e mu any
hope?’
4 We ail should hope, madam,
tor, 4 but l cannot say with
any improvement.’ 4 Mmi
me!’ exclaimed she.
don** ’
1 regret to say that I
Oh! l’ray don’t say
ken. Sir, interrupted
and weeping piteously,
sacrifice,’ replied the Doctor, 4 !
th** consequences may not hear
4 True, very true. How crii
jret!—Forgive me. nnd let it hi
the lady, sobbing ut each word.
The doctor, as he passed to leave the room,
bowed and motioned me to a chair. 1 1 a short time j
lie returned with a pair of scissors in hi* hand. He I
was followed by a hard-featured individual, bearing I
a howl and uens*' of razors.
The mother—for it could be only a mother whose
kisses were so rapturously printed upon that chilli’s
fair brow—started and gently placed the object of
her solicitude upon tlx* sofa, as the doctor entered
with his assistant. I now for the first time caught
a glimpse of her features. Without being beauti
ful, there was an expression that could not fail to
awaken an interest. So intellectual and proud had
nature forme*! that forehead; but care nnd deep
afiliction bail stamped the wrinkles 1 p m it, wlfieii
time alone should have printed. Her large dark
eyes were red with constant weeping, and her lips
were quivering with speechless sorrow. Hair,
black ns the raven’s wing, loll in neglected form
upon each side of her pale features, and her tall
figure, shaped in one of nature’s limitless moulds,
was bent with her load of unmitigated sorrow.
Tile child seemed quite unconscious of nil that
was passing. She sat in any posture that she was
placed in, and her eyes remained fixed on an\ object
that happened to bo before tlieru iu a direct line.
Not a change passed over lx*r features, and not one
action denoted that tho mind directed it. Excep
ting only a beating pulse und heaving bosom, no
corpse could appear more inanimate.
4 Would it not be bettor that this should tak
out of your presence V asked the doctor in
tone.
No, indeed. I must have each curl,* rej
lady.
No you shall, und all can be saved for you,’ re
joined the doctor.
4 1 must know—I must see that l have all,* wu.s
the reply.
The doctor inserted his lingers among the luxu
riant ringlets of the little child, und severed one by
ono close to the head. The lady took **a *h curl, and
as the last ono was given to her, she fell (hinting to
the ground.
4 Let us take her from the room,* said the doc-
tor.
J assisted in removing her, nnd as we were can's-
higher down the stuir-cusc she said, iu a scarce
audible whisper—
•Place me iu tho carriage. Wc did so. The
footman jumped upon his stand. 4 Home !* cried
ho. 'i’he horses sprung eagerly forward, as the
coachman slackened his reins, und in a few seconds
tho on triage was out of sight.
I re-entered tlio house with the doctor, who said,
4 Did you not come with that lady V l replied in
the n gativc, and handed my letter to him. After
perusing it he shook me by the hand, and suid. ,You
Itavc witnessed tho melancholy effects of fright,
sir. in that unfortunate child.'
I expressed a great wish to hear the particulars
when ho suid,‘Thu history is brief, hut dreadful.
The lady who has just left us, as you might suppose,
is her mother. She lutd been married between
three and four years when this child \\ as born, wIiicli
was tho only one. As usually is the case in such
circumstances, the parent's hopes, joys, and every
thing that was dear to them appeared concentrated
When one weds now, it is presumed as a natural
inference, that he has the income or 44 expectation”
which will warrant the couple in extravagance,
lie may he honest enough to loll his wife to the
contrary—and lx* may have good sense sufficient
to indicate to her what is her proper course in rela
tion to expenses. But the whole round of gossop-
ping acquaintance are not so easily put off—und
the company are thus reluctantly beckoned, persuud-
ed and driven into fashionable extravagance, upon
the first setting out. They strive to step at once
into competition in style of living and expenses,
with people of fortune ; and to ape the misnamed
hospitalities of those who entertained them in their
own state of single blessedimjs«.
[fa couple are so weak minded ns tr. think they
must pursue such a course as this, it is no matter
ho*v late they marry—and butter lata than never.
If th**y can make up tlicir minds to a sensible ami
moderate establishment—if they understand their
characters, and Imvo strength of mind to abide by a
good resolution, the curlier they marry tho better.
The cost of almost any 011c vice or folly into which
bachelors are betrayed, by lack of employment and
a home ; the follies into w hich they run to supply
iu their hearts nnd in their time, which
rife tills so happily; the unnecessary
expenses in which they indulged from
imi, would more than twice support a
that nine
liiinilv.
Mari
than tlx
Bv tlx*
living ii:
vs in the middle ranks, nro much happier
oftlie extreme rich or the extreme poor.
Ml** ranks, we mean those who have a
d ion or avocation which insures them a
•me. and un opportunity to make provi
sions against tlx* day of reverse. Such* persons
form the great body of our industrious population—
the great hotly of onr intelligence—and the true in
dependent portion of the community. They enjoy:
the golden nx an, anti escape the tyrannical dictates ■
of senseless fashion on the one hand, and the pinch—
ings of abject poviuty on the other. They can con
tract marriages when they please, without refer*
once t*> anv thing hut their own situation, wish
es and happiness—and their union is therefore*
the most telicitous, und made with the least
parade.
especially in cities, is a position of
id exposure than men are capable
ith x-ifoty.—The host of us need a
uid-—after the direct influence of a
lessened, ut* the son L removed
helordii
more danger 1
of occupying '
monitor and a g«
.
I There is nothing like a wife for a guardfan angol.*
The inlliiencj
that of wife,
omniscient,
marriage, 1111
leiuge tmdci
testunonv of
intended'may he powerful—
*: far as mortal influence can be, is
1’iie influence of a woman before
be constant. It is the very best tu-
whicli you can put a man—and the
number of prison statistics proves
llu* fin*!, that unmarried rascals commit the greater
part of tho crimes which shame humanity. In tho
furtherance of reform—iu an elevation of tho vir
tues which make a man a g >od citizen—-in a word,
iu all good marriage is the b. st agent. No.go to
work, ve apprentice* in rowdyism—-candidate's
for rogues—men 1 y onr manners—think of making
t ourselves candidates for good wives, and then ob
tain them.— Young man's Guide.
l*ii 1 r.«
: place
1 kind
•d the
v.—Tiie following piece of philosophy,
is taken from the letters of Jonathan Slick k Joim-
tliiin is the only one we hove mu' with in n long
lime, w ho estii’uiiU s liiirlv the advantages of being
in love with n lailv :—In<jUtai!.ir.
•• IT women do t'lmrl tt|i n fuller*, heart strings,
tho,’ tlicv keep him out of other scrapes, any hotly
will tell vou that. A man that is in love u loolle is
not always a naming into rum holes,uu i other such
places. ’ lie don’t go gumming, and isn’t a sneuk.
ing round of nights.
•• Love, nee ing to my notion of it. is a good
anchor for ns on this ’ere voyage of life !—it brings
us up so ah standing when wc put on too mu«h sail
-—It puls me in mind, now* 1 think on it, oi our
cruise through LicllUuto in Cupt. Doolittle’s sloop;
for jist ns the title ami wind was carrying us on
ilj rocks, we dropt anchor and kept off. I look on
the uses of woman party much as 1 look on the
freshet tint in the spring brings down tilt* f onoecli-
cut the real rich suil for the meadows in Wt atlters-
lici.l. They make u great deal ol’spiuttcr and fuss
in their spring time, witlt their rustics ami their rib,
botis, and their (lotillus, 1 know*: hut when they
li'dit ou a teller lot* good, tlu v are the real onion
patches of his existence, l’utus together, and tlio
soil will grow any thing; hut keep ns apart, and wo
arc till thistles and nettles.”
Cat.hi m vnu Ciibbtcji.—'There were, and 1 he-
lievc still arc, two lawyers ill partnership in New
Y„ r k, w it.! the peculiarly lumpy names of Culchum
nml Ch. > • an. I’ooplu laughed at seeing these two
uauv s ia juvaoiosition over their doors ; the law.
vers tho.e at advisable to separato them by the in-
,'iinn ot their Christian names. Mr. Catchuni’s
christiau itaino was Isaac. Mr. Uheetutn*. Lriuh.
A new board was ordered, but when sent to tho
,, outer, it wns found to be too short to admit tlio
! iirist kin names at full length. The painter there.
f ire. nut onlv the initials before the surnames,
1 i *-. — than before,
which made the matter still worse
for there now appeared, “ I Catehum and U. Uheut
um.”
A tall Co.MfA.w.—A volunteer company has
been formed at Frankfort, Ky. no member of which
is under five feet ten inches in height. Most ot the
members measure about six feet—the tallest ot them
being six feet lour inches.
Kx-Govornur .Mason. of.Miehigan, has been held
to bail oil a charge of libel.
