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k&Y
iPHE&era. Whig,
SATURDAY MORNING.
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For Advertising—Letters of Citation. 8 2 75
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ssffiis & asaass’s
FIREPROOF WARE HOUSE.
1 AUGISiA. €ia.
ripTTK undersigned take this method of inform
ing his friends and the. Planters of Georgia,
Carolina, that he continues the Warehouse
IF" and Commission Business at the same stand,
and have, in addition to the above large, com
modious and Fire Proof Ware-house, taken a
lease of the Fire Proof Ware-house on Mclntosh
street, convenient to the River, and the Geor
gia and Carolina Rail Roads, formerly occupied
by Heard & Cook, and recently by Gen. Daw
son. By this arrangement he will be enabled
to have room to place all cotton sent to be stor
ed in secure Fire Proof Buildings, and ample
Fire Proof Close Stores for the receiving and
forwarding Goods t<> the country. 'A ith a strict
adherence and punctuality, in all business con
fided to hie care, he hopes to merit a continu
ance of the very flattering support which he has
met with for the two seasons past.
Sept. 7, 1837. EGBERT B BEALL.
ftS-The city papers. Recorder, Journal and
Standard of Union, Milledgeville’'; Macon Mes
senger, Columbus Enquirer, Athens '’big,
Savannah Republican. Charleston Courier, and
Edgefield Advertiser will copy the above in their
respective papers, until first November, and
forward their accounts for payment.
E. B .B.
Athens, Sept 16—20 —tNl.
NEW DRY GOODS
AMD
GROCERY STORE.
THE undersigned having removed to the up
per tenement of the New brick range, next
below the Ware-House of Stovall, Simmons,
Ad Co., are now receiving a fresh, and general
assortment of
Shoes, and Groceries, recently purchased at the
North, chiefly for Cash, at reduced prices;—all
of which they offer low, and respectfully invite
h call from those who may be in market, believ
ing that such inducements will be offered, as to
secure a liberal share of the patronage of the
public.
STOVALL & HAMLEN.
Augusta. September 9,1837.
Wholesale Dry Good.Establisment
is in the second story—over the Grocery.
Sept. 16, —20—2m
'TooTssfoOUSINESST
AUGUSTA, GA.
STOVALL, SIMEONS, & Co., in express
ing their gratitude tu tbeir patrons, for their
continued confidence, akd, generous support,
■would renew the offer of thr l services in the
Factorage and Commission bu cA ?ilat their Eire
Proof .Ware-House, South street. -
_ Liberal will be &c
d co 11 vei. ie i
with his
qtietico AND CCMEVSIS-
BUSINESS.
froiryE undersigned having removed to Savan-
Meu/nah, has opened in No. 3. Bolton’s Range, a
above the Exchange, an extensive
for the transaction of a general
FACTORAGE and COMMISSION business.
Expecting to devote his time exclusively to this
business, he will attend to the selling of Cotton,
Rice and other produce—receiving and shipping
Goods, &c. and to such as may give him their ,
patronage, he pledges himself to the faithful
H. HARDEN.
Savannah, Oct. 14, —24—4t
N. B. Liberal advances on all Cotton and oth
er produce in store.
The Georgia Journal, Southern Whig,
Columbus Enquirer,Macon Messenger, Augus
ta Chronicle and Sentinel, Darien Telegraph, &
Charleston Courier, will give the above four
weekly insertions, and forward their bills to the
Republican office for payment.
STOVALL. SIMMONS, <3L Co.
WOULD inform the public, that in addition
to the FIRE PROOF WARE-HOUSE,
which they have for years occupied, they have
token the FIRE PROOF W AKE-HOUSE, re
cently in the occupancy of Messrs. J. W. & I.
T. Heard, but a short distance above, on Broad
Street, and respectfully invite an increase of
v patronage, as they are now prepared to store
with safety and convenience, a large amount of
They pledge their accustomed devotion tn the
of their friends in all business confided
Oct. 14,- 23,—3t
ev n SBijig;
✓ .. jhS
EABY BYKON’S ANSWER.
[The following beautiful poetry, which wo copy from
the Musical Cyclopedia, is a reply to that much ad
mired piece of Lord Byron, commencing—
“ Faro thee well, and if forever,
Still foreveer, fare thee well —Ed. VZaia-
Yss! farewell —farewell forever!
Thou thyself hast fix’d our doom,
Bade hope’s fairest blossoms wither,
Ne’er again for me to bloom.
Unforgiving thou hast call’d ms —-
Didst thou ever say forgive)
For the wretch whose wiles beguil'd thee,
Thou alone didst seem to live.
Short the spaco which time had given
To complete thy love’s decay;
By unhallow’d passion driven,
Soon thy heart was taught to stray.
Liv’d for me that feeling tender
Which thy verse so well can show.
From my arms why didst thou wander?
My endearments why forego?
Oh ! too late thy breast was bared.
Oh ! too soon to me ’twas shown,
That thy love I once but shared,
And already it is flown.
Wrapt in dreams of joy abiding,
On thy breast my head hath lain.
In thy love and truth confiding,
Bliss I ne’er can know again.
That dark hour did first discover,
In thy soul the hideous strain —
Would those eyes had clos’d for ever.
Ne’er to weep thy crimes again I
But the impious, wish, O heaven 1
From thy records blotted be;
Yes, I yet would live, 0 Byron,
For the babe I’ve born for thee!
In whose lovely features, let mo
AU my weakness here confess,
Whilst the struggling tears permit me,
AU the farther’s I can trace.—
He whose image never leaves me,
He whose image still Ijirize,
Who this bitterest feeling gives me.
Still to love where I d'spise.
With regret and sorrow rather,
When our child’s first accents flow,
I wiU teach her to say, Fatber,
But his guilt shejne’er shall know.
Whilst to-morrow and to-morrow,
Wakes me from a widow’d bed,
On antoher’s arms, my sorrow
Wilt thou feci, no tear will shed'
I the world's approval sought not.
When I tore myself from thee ;
Os its praise or blame I thought not,
, What’s its praise or blame to me?
He so priz’d,—so lov’d, —adored,
From his heart my image drove,
On my head contempt has poured,
And prefor’d a wanton’s love.
Thou art proud; but mark, me, Byron,
I’ve a heart proud ae thine own;
Soft to love, but hard as iron
When contemptis onitthrown.
ButfareweU ! —l’Unot upbraid thee.
Never, never wish the ill;
Wretched tho’ thy crimes have made me,
If thou canst, be happy still.
passages
FROM TH E 1) I AR V
or a
l.ate London Physician.
THE DESTROYER.
Continued.
About eleven o’clock I drove through
street, and on approaching Mrs. St. Helen’s
house, perceived indications,even in the stieet.
of something unusual having happened. On
drawing up at the door, (for I determined to
call, if only to mention what 1 had seen,) 1 saw
that (here were several persons in tho drawing
room, evidently fgitated. The servant who
opened the door seemed quite bewildered. I
was requested to walk up stairs as soon as he
had taken up my name, and sopn found myself
in the drawing-room, in the presence of .Miss
Churchill, General and Mrs. Ogilvie, the Earl
and Countess of Hetheringham, and several
other relatives and connexions of Colonel
and Mis. St. Helen. They were all laboring
under great excitement. Mrs. Ogilvie was
perfectly frantic, walking to and fro and wring
ing her hands, the picture of despair. I ad
dressed myself first to Miss Churchill, who
stood nearest me. She took my hand, but end
denly quitted it, overcome with her feelings,
and turned awss~:•
“ My dtfar Counters, said I, approaching the
Xotiatuss of Hetheringham, who was silting
on the sofa, conversing W'ith n lady, her hand
kerchief now and then raised towards her
eyes, but her manner being still somewhat
stately and composed— “I fear I can guess
what has happened!” taking a chair opposite
to her.
“ Eloped. Dector ! she has positively ! We
are all thunderstruck,” she answered in a low
voice. “We were preparing tn go to church
whet; the painful news reached us. We came
off hither, and have been here ever since. 1
have not told any of my daughters.”
“ Her companion, I suppose”-
•‘Of course that v retch Captain Alverley.
' It is a pity he is to succeed to the title mid es
tates. The Earl, by 'he way, talks of callit g
him out, mid so forth. I’ll take care ha does
no such thing, however. Don’t you think
General Ogilvie should do so, if any one i”
•‘How and when did she go?” I inquired,
affecting not to hear her last observations. “I
called to say that 1 suspected what, has hap.
pened, since I met them this morning in the
Park”
“Herbert!” exclaimed the Countess, in a
less drawling tone than usual, addressing the
Earl of Hetheringham. who was conversing
with General Ogilvie and another gentleman
in a low'earnest tone, at. the further end ol tho
room, “ Doctor —— sdys that he met the fu
gitives this morning in the Park.”
“ Indeed !” exclaimed the Earl, earnestly, as
they all three approached us. 1 told them
what. I had seen —and they listened in silence.
“Do vou think we could mention the affair
at the Horse-Guards !” inquired the Earl, tur
ning to General Ogilvie. “I have a great
mind to call on the Cummatider-in-Chief so
, morrow, and represent the infamous conduct
of his aid-de-camp towards a distinguished
brother officer!” Tlw Ge-neral and ins com
panion shook their heads, and the three pie
seutly walked away again to a distant part ol
, the drawing-room, where they appeared to re-
“WHERE POWERS ARB ASSUMED WHICH HAVE NOT BEEN DELEGATED, A NULLIFICATION OF THE ACT IS THE RIGHTFUL REMEDY. ’’—JeffeTSOn.
I sumo the conversation, which the Countess’s
summons had interrupted.
“To tell you the truth. Doctor,” she conti
nued, A I am not much surprised at her turning
out in this way”
“ Heavens, Countess! von astonish me’
« Her father, you know,” continued the fri
gid Countess, " was a very so-so kind of cha
racter; and gave her no sort of proper educa
tion. I have had my daughters educated in
the strictest possible way—quite under my
own eye! Mrs. St. Helen I tried to tram,
when she was with us for a short time ; but it
was useless. I soon saw it was in vain ; and
she did my daughters no good while she was
with them, I assure you.”
“Why, surely, Countess, you never saw
any thing improper tn her conduct while she
was under yov.r care?”
‘‘ Oh, why, yes—l mean, not perhaps, ex
actly ; but, to be sure, the girl’s head was
quite turned with the nonsense the men talked
to her, as they do to every new girl; they
thought her pretty She paused, but I only
bowed.
“ ’Tis a sad thing for us, Doctor, is it not ?”
resumed the Countess. “ The papers will take
care to get hold of it. because of her relation
ship to us—it is really most unpleasant!” At
this moment a servant entered, and whispered
to Miss Churchill, and she, followed by Mrs.
Ogilvie, presently quitted the room. “I dare
say that is some message about the children,”
said the Countess, in the sanio passionless tone
and manner she had hitherto preserved, “ how
I pity them, by the way! Poor things, it will
be always flung in their teeth ; they’ll feel the
greatest difficulty in settling in life—l quite
feel for them !” sighing gently. “I suppose,
by the way, the Colonel will find no difficulty,
if he should live to return to England, in ob
taining a divorce ? But then the exposure is
so great?” How long the Countass would
have gone on in this strain, 1 know not; I was
heartily tired of it; it seemed, so to speak,
utterly cut of tune; so I rose and bowed, say
ing I wished to see Mrs. Ogilvie before I left,
ac she and Miss Churchill seemed extremely
excited and hysterical.
“ You will not mention this affair more than
you can help, Doctor !’’ said the Countess with
i great dignity.
I “ Rely on my prudence,” I replied careless
! ly, and quitted the room, perfectly w earied out
i and disgusted with the tone and spirit in which
i such a dreadful matter was discussed by ono
( who ought to have felt a most painful interest
in it. I directed a servant to show me to the
room whither Mrs. Ogilvie and Miss Church
ill had gone ; and was, within a few moments,
ushered into the boudoir. How my heart ach
ed, asl hastily cast my eye over the numer
ous little elegancies scattered tastefully about
the room; aud especially when it fell upon a
beautiful full-length crayon sketch of Mrs. Si.
Helen, which hung upon the wall!
“Oh, wretch !” exclaimed Mrs. Ogilvie, ob
serving my eye fixed upon it: and walking
hastily up to it, she stood for a few moments
with her arms stretched out to yards it; and
then, burying her face in her hands. wept as
if her heart would break. I rose and turned
the picture with its face to the wall.
“Afv brother! my brave and noble-hearted
brother!” sobbed Mrs. Ogilvie, and sunk,
overpowered with her feelings, into a seat.
“ Where is my mamma?” kept continually
inquiring little Arthur St. Helen, whom Miss
Churchill was clasping affectionately in her
arms, while her tears fell like rain upon his
little head. He was the image of his beauti
ful, fallen mother.
“ She's gone, gone, my love ! Aou will ne
ver see her again !” she murmured.
“ But I’ll go and fetch her, if you'll only toll
me w’bere she is.” Miss Churchill wept but
made no reply.
“ Why do you turn my mamma’s picture
round in that way 7 ” he inquired looking at me
with a haughty air—one that strongly remind
ed me of his guilty mother. “ I love my mam
ma very dearly, and you shall not do so !”
Miss Churchill kissed him with compassion
ate fervor, but made him no reply. Mrs.
Ogilvie rose, and beckoning me to follow her,
quitted the boudoir, and stepped into the room
adjoining. “Oh. Doctor! of all the dreadful
scenes vou have er seen, can any thing equal
this ? I would rather—indeed 1 would—have
followed both my brother aud his wife to the
grave than lived* to see this day! My dear,
brave, fond, generous, betrayed brother—read
it! road it. if you card It has quite broken
my heart?” sold hastily snatching a letter from
her bosom, she thrust it into my hands,telling
me that Mrs. St. IL len had received it only
late last night, and in her hurried flight, which
it had perhaps occasioned, had left it upon (
tho floor of her dressing room. The letter I
was from Colonel St. Hyleti to Mrs. St. Ilel- |
en; and was quite damp—it might be with
the tears of agony that had fallen from those
who had read it. It was a*s follows: —
Malta. April 10th, 18 —.
“My sweet Emma 1 Still two thousand en
vious miles are betwean us! Oh that I had
an angel’s wing to flv to yon in a moment!
But alas, that is what I have been wishing a
thousand and n thousand times since I left, yon,
four long years ago. My lovely Emma ! idol
of my heart, and shall we indeed bo ere long j
rc-nnited? Shall I again clasp my dear beau
tiful Emma in my arms—never, usver again
to be separated? Dearest! a thousand limes
the wealth of the Indies shall not tempt me
again to quit you! * * * * I come homo
a little before my regiment, being a little—
mind, love ! only a little, of an invalid. Don’t
be alarmed, my sweet Emma, tor 1 assure you
upon my honor, that I am quite recovered.
The fact is. that. I rei eived, in the battle of
A .an ugly wound in my left arm from a
musket-ball, which confined me to a tent, and
•o my bed, lor nearly six weeks; and Lord
in the kindest way. wrote to me to insist
upon mv returning to England for a year, in
order to recruit. I came over land, and am
rather fatigued with my journey. An import
ant matter keeps me at Malta for a week; but
in the vervnext ship I start fur merry old Eng
‘ land ! * * And how have you been, my
j dearest. Emma? And how are Arthur and
i George? Why do you say so little about them?
>lai d about yourself? But I suppose you have
I got the common notion, that ycur letters are
opened bv others than those they are directed
i} to! —How 1 have guessed what might, be the
I features and expression of my little boys! I
. I have never seen George ! is he really like me?
• | Bv the w ay, 1 have biought you some beautiful
(diamonds! I have almost beggared myself
t j (till i arrive in England) to obtain them for my
■ ! Emma. How 1 shall delight to see them up
t! oti you !
I i “Unless southing extraordinary should
■ 1 happen, you will see me in about a week after
■ I you get this letter—it may ba only a day or
f two after: atrl, my own Emma. I most parti-
• I cularly wish that you will be alone during the
SATURDAY, OCTOBER SB, 8 837.
I week immediately following your receipt of
this letter, for I must have you all to myself,
when we meet, as the Scripture has it, ‘with
our joy a stranger intermeddleth not.’ God
bless you, my dearest, dearest. Emma! and
kiss the dear boys heartily for me ’ Your
fond, doating husband,
“Artiilb St. Helen.’’
I returned this letter to Mrs. Ogilvie in si
lence, who, with a heavy sigh, replaced it in
her bosom.
“She must have read it,” said I, after a pause.
“Yes,” she replied, with a shudder of disgust
and hoiror, “and if she felt herself guilty, I
wonder she survived it! * * *
“Wbat arrangements have you made with
respect to the children ?” I inquired.
She replied, “that she had already given di
rections for their removal to her housa, where
1 she should keep them till her brother’s return
trembling as she uttered the last word or two.
* *
“I suppose yeti have haard some of the ma
ny painful rumors as to the conduct of Mrs. St.
Helen latterly?” said I, in a low tone.
“Yes—oh yes—infamous woman ! But the
general and I have been travelling on the Con
tinent during the iast six mouths, or ha would
have taken these poor children away from her
contaminating presence, even by force, if ne
cessary. I did frequently expostulate with
her in the most urgent manner, but latterly she |
grew very haughty, and replied to me with
great rudeness even”
“Alas. I fear her heart has been long cor
rupted.” She shook her head and sobbed.
I mentioned the slip of paper I had picked up
in my carriage,
“Oh, many, many worse things than that
have come to our knowledge since we return
ed from the Continent! Her disgraceful con
duct drove Miss Churchill from Street
several months ago. Oh, the scenes even she
has been compelled to witness! Is there no
punishment for this vile, this abominable Al
verley !”
“Can it then be tr io, Mrs. Ogilvie, that the
villain has even had the miserable meanness
to borrow considerable sums of money from
Mrs. St. Helen?”
“That also I have heard; that she has was
ted the property of my poor betrayed brother,
and their children, in order to supply his ne
cessities at the gaming-table; but I cannot go
on ! I shall go distracted !”
I ascertained that very late in the preceding
night, or rather at an early hour of the morn
ing, Mrs. St. Helen had returned from Vaux
hall, accompanied as usual by Ciptain Alver.
ley; and immediately upon her entering the
house, the above letter from Colonel St. Helen
was placed in her hands. Her guilty sou!
was thunderstruck at the sight of her hus
band’s handwriting. Captain Alverley, who
entered with her, opened and read the letter;
and would have taken it away with him to de
stroy it, had she not insisted so vehemently
upon reading it, that he was forced tc comply.
She swooned before she had read half or the
letter. Al! I could learn of what happened
subsequently was, that Captain Alverley left
about three o’clock, and returned in little more
than an hour’s time: that a travelling carriage
and four drew up at the door about five o’clock;
but such was her agitation and illness, that it
was not till nearly half-past seven o’clock that
Captain Alverley succeeded, aftsr a vain at
tempt to indue.: her maid to accompany them,
in carrying Mrs. St. Helen into the carriage,
almost in a state es insensibility. He gave
the sullen incredulous servants to understand
that their mistress had been summoned off to
meet Colonel St. Helen 1 She had not ven
tured into the room where har children were
asleep, in blessed linoousciousnfess of the fear
ful scenes that were going forward.
In most pf thw Monday morning’s newspa
pers appeared the ordinary kind of paragraph
announcing the “Elopement in fashionable life”
—some of them mentioning the names of the
parties by initials. One of them alluded to
Mrs. St. Helen’s connection with the family
of the Earl of Hethei Ingham, whom, it stated,
the “afflicting event had thrown into'he deep
est distress,” &c.—an intimation sn intolera
bly offensive to the pure, fastidious feelings of
tho Countess, that the day after there appear
ed the following paragraph. I give verbatim
the heartless disclaimer, the tone and style of
which may perhaps serve to indicate the dis
tinguished quarter whence it. emanated.
“We have been requested, on the very high
est authority, to take the earliest possible op
portunity of correcting an unintentional and
most injurious misstatement that appeared in
our yesterday’s paper concerning tho truly
unfortunate and must dist ressing affair m
j street, and one that is calculated to wound the
I feelings of a family of very high distinction.
It is not true, but quite contra y to tho fact,
that the lady, Mrs. **♦***», was e( ]u.
entedin the family of the Earl of Hethering
ham. She is certainly a remote connection
of the Earl’s and when extremely young, was
received on a visit into his lordship’s house til!
some family arrangements had been complet
ed ; but we have been given to understand
that the lady in question and the noble family
alluded to have been long alienated, pnrticular
ilv the female branches.” In another part of
the same paper appeared the intelligence that
“Mrs. St. was a lady of great personal
beauty and accomplishments, and had left a
family of six children.” Another newspaper
informed its readers that, “the gallant compan
ion of a certain lovely fugitive was the heir
i presumptive of a peerage and a splendid foi
tuno.” A third, “that the late elopement was
likely to afford lucrative employment to the
gentlemen of the long robe.” A fourth, “that
the husband of a lady, whose recent, &c. was
an officer of distinction, bad long discarded her,
i owing to her light conduct, and was now tak
j ing steps to procure a divorce,” &e. &c. dec.
| With such matters was, and generally is—titi
| lated the prurient curiosity of fashionable so-
I ciety for a moment only—probably,, after a
brief interval, its attention being again excited
by intimations that “the lady whose elopement
lately occasioned much stir in the fashionable
circles,” had destroyed herself, or betaken
herself to most reckless and dishonorable cour
ses, &c.; and that Captain .A “was, they
understood, about to lead to the hymenial altar
the lovely and accomplished Miss ,” &rn
&c. This, 1 say, is not an unfreqnent case;
but not. such was the course of events conse
quent upon the enormous wickedness of Mrs.
St. Helen.
During Monday the deserted little St. Hid
eu’s were removed, accompanied by Miss
Churchill, to the residence of Airs. Ogilvie, the
General continued in street to receive
Colonel St. Helen when he should arrive, atid,
! in what way he best might, break to him the
• disastrous intelligence of his wife’s infidelity
• and flight. As it was uncertain when, and
. from what quarter Colonel St. Helen would
• reach the metropolis, it was of course iinpos.
? sible to anticipate or prevent his arrival at
, street, even had such a .measure been
i desirable. Up to Thursday he had not made
I his dreaded appearance. O i the evening of
that day, however, a post chase-and-four. cov
ered with dust, rattled rapidly round the corner
of square, and in a few moments the reek-
ing horses stood panting at the door of Colon
el St. Helen. Before either of the postilions
could dismount, or the servant open the hall
door, or General Ogilvie, who was sitting in
the diningroom make his appearance, the chaise
door was opened from within, the steps thrust
down, and forth sprung a gentleman in dusty
travelling costume (his left arm in a sling) and
rushed up to the door of the house. While
his impatient hand was thundering with the
knocker the door was opened.
“Is Mrs. St. Helen”—he commenced, in
eager and joyful accents, which, however, sud
denly ceased at sight of the servant standing,
pale as death, trembling and silent.
what’s .the iltalieT?” stammered
Colonel St. Helen, for he of course it was,
“Ah, Ogilvie !” rushing towards the General,
who having paused for an instant before pre
senting himself, now quitted the diningroom
aud burned up to the startled Colonel.
“My dear St. Helen I” commenced the Gen
eral his agitation apparent. A mighty sigh
burst from the swelling bosom of Colonel St.
Helen as he suffered himself to be drawn into
the diningroom.
“What’s all this?” he.inquired in a hoarse,
hard whisper, as General Ogilvie shut the door.
He was for a moment tongue-tied at sight of
the long.dreaded apparition which now so sud
denly stood before him. The Colonel’s face
became overspread with a deadly hue as he
made the inquiry, and his right hand still lock
ed that of General Ogilvie in its rigid grasp.
“St. Helen, you must bear it like a man and
a soldier,” at length commenced the General,
recover! ng himself. “The chances of war”—
“Is she dead ?” gasped the Colonel, with
out moving from where he stood, or relaxing
his hold of General Ogilvie’s hand.
“No,” replied the General, turning as pale
as his companion. (
“Then—what—in the name of God !—tell
me” whispered Colonel St. Helen, bis eyes
almost starting out of their sockets, while the
drops of perspiration stood upon his forehead.
At a word spoken in a low tone by General
Ogilvie the Colonel started as if he had been
stabbed, and then lay extended upon the floor.
The General sprung to the bell, and shouted (
violently for assistance. The room was in
stantly almost filled with servants One of
them was despatched for me, and another for
the nearest surgeon. The latter arrived in a
very few minutes, and I was in attendance
within little less than a quarter of an hour, for
the man, knowing my carriage, stopped it as
I was entering the street in which I lived.
I found Colonel St. Helen propped up in bed
in the arms of General Ogilvie—his coat and j
waistcoat and neck-handkerchief only had
been removed, and his shirt collar thrown open.
The heavy snorting sound that met my ears
prepared me for the worst. (Jwlonwliit. Hel
en was in a fit of apoplexy Within a minute
or two after my entrance the jugular vein was
opened—that in the arm had given no relief.
Oh, that his infamous wife could have been by
my side as I gazed upon the lamentable object
before me! Here, woman, behold your handi
work !
He hud been ever foremost in fight, he had
braved doath in a thousand forms, the flag of
victory had often waved gloriously over him,
he had quitted the field with honorable wounds
—his grateful country welcomed her gallant j
disabled sou—his affectionate wife, he thought,
stretched forth her eager arms to receive him,
after months of agony, on the wings of love he
had flown seven thousand long miles to be—
blasted, as here he lay before me!
Sad sightshave I seen in my time, but when /
one so sad as this? My swelling heart over-)
powers me ! Poor Colonel, what can my art j
do for thee?
And thou, Alverley, come hither thou for a
moment, slayer of the peace and honor of thy
brave brother soldier ! Quit for a moment the
cockatrice, thy companion, to look upon this
victim of your united treach -r) ! Oh, out up
on tbee! thy presence corrupts the air! Down,
down to hell! But no, I rave, society will ;
presently welcome you again, gay Alverley! j
to her harlot bosom!
Though a large opening had been made in ■
the jugular vein, through which the blood was (
flowing copiously, no impression whatever |
seemed made, or likely to be made, upon the (
violence of the attack. I therefore recom- ■
mended opening the turgid temporal artery, I
which was done, and large blisters to be appli- I
ed to tlie nape of the neck and to the extremi- ’
ties—the usual means resorted to in violent
apoplectic seizures. I waited for upwards
of an hour, and was then obliged to leave my
unhappy, but -pet'haps'hapnily unconscious pa
tient, in appar mtly the same state as that in
which I had found him. I paid him another
visit early in the morning—still lie lay in ex
treme danger, having been bled twice during |
the night, hut without any sensible effect. I j
willingly acceded to the General's desire for j
an immediate consultation with Sir j
which accordingly took place about two o’. ■
clock. The result was that we expressed a '
strong opinion that, unless a decided change 1
took place within an hour or two, the attack
would prove fatal. Why should I wish it, I
thought, o herwise? What hopeless anguish
would be spared him Were he never to awake
to a consciousness of the tremendous calamity
that had befallen him ! What could life hence
forth be to him ! How could his grievous
wounds be healed, or even stanched ? How
could his wrongs be repaired, mitigated, or
concealed? What bitter agony would the
sight of bis children even force into his heart!
1 thought of all this, and for a moment did not
feel anxious that success should attend our
strenuous efforts to save him. They succeed
ed, however, and in three or four days’ time it
seemed probable that the unhappy sufferer
would five to become acquainted with the full
extent es his misery—to drain perhaps the cup
of sorrow to the dregs. I was in the room
I when his eyes gave almost their first look of
returning consciousness. Oh, dreadful con-1
trust to the guy and happy man I last saw him
before his departure fi r India! His hair was
now somewhat of an iton grey hue; his corn
plexton bad become deeply bronzed by his
constant exposure to (he rays of an Indian
sun. Despite, howevi r, his present extreme
exhaustion, and tho sunken sallowness of his
countenance, it was impossible not to perceive
its superior air—the lineaments of that bold
and resolute character tor which Colonel St
Helen had ever been distinguished. But
where was the wonted fire of those dark eyes
that were now directed towards me drowsily
and unconsciously ? Was lie then aware ol
the cause, of hts illness, or was the frightful
t truth breaking bitterly and slowly upon his r»;
i viving faculties? God grant that the latupri
i might prove to be the case, or the consequfpo
f ces might be disastrous indeed!
For nearly a fortnight he lay in a tafftd-M"
r lethargy, never once speaking, or appkMtifljW
. taking any notice of what was ahout
him. Innumerable calls were maMn||@H|
i house, and inoiiries concerning his heaWYty
I a large circle of attached and
i friends. Histloyal Highness the Comtnart
s der-in Chief sent almost daily to know how he
was going on.' As soon as I thought it advis
able, I intimated my anxious wish that he
I should have theadvantage of.a change of scene;
: and as soon ai he was able to be removed,
i travel by east stages to Cheltenham. He
simply shook his head, sorrowfully, at the
i same time raising his hand as if deprecating
the mention o? it; Os course I desisted. The
, next time I ciilledj his female attendant met me
on the stairs, and gave ms to understand that
he "hall begged the proposal might not be re
newed, as he was determined not to quit
street. Before leaving him that day, General
Ogilvie followed me, and told me that-the Col
onel, who had not once made any allusion to
what had taken place, suddenly inquired, in
the course of the morning, in a faint tone,
where his children were j and on beiqjj in
formed, expressed a wish to see them. After
some hesitation I consented to their being
brought the next day, for a few minutes only
—the General having assured me that I could
not overrate the fortitude of his suffering rela
tive. “Dept nd upon it he wdl bear the sight
of them,” said the General, “better than you
imagine, though certainly his nerves must have
been much shaken. How shall we arrange
it ? I should very much wish you to be pres
ent, Doctor. if you could contrive it.” I pro
mised not only to be present, but that, as I could
easily arrange it, I would myself call and bring
Mrs. Ogilvie and the children; and so it was
decided. The next afternoon, therefore, ahout
three o’clock, on my return from visiting a pa
tient in the neighborhood of General Ogilvie’s
residence, I called there, but found Mrs. Ogil
j vie on the point of going out, not having receiv
ed any intimation of our arrangement. She
instantly, however, agreed to accompany me.
“And how are your little nephews?” I in
quired.
“Oh, they are very well,” she replied, with
a sigh; “a child’s grief is not very deep or
lasting; Arthur was as merry the next morn
ing alter leaving street, as if nothing had
happened ! Now and then, however, he asks
me whore his mamma is, and when he shall
go to see her, or when she will come here?
But when he secs me sometimes suddenly turn
aside my head, to hide the tears that force
themselves into my eyes, the poor child thinks
I am angry with him. and kisses me, throwing
his arms round my neck, and saying he will
nover ask to see his mamma again. He soon.
| however, forgers his promise,” added Mrs.
Ogilvie with emotion. “Here they are at pre
sent, as merry as they can be,” she continued,
opening the folding doors, and walking into a
room that looked upon.a pleasant garden.
“Alas that they should ever hear of what has
caused all om sorrow
The two little boys were romping about up
on the grass plot in high glee, running after
and rolling over one another. How like the
elder one was to hts wretched mother! The
same bright blue eye*, the same beautifully
formed chin and mouth!—i dreaded the effect
of his standing stiddeuly before his father!
The younger child. George, as lively as a crick
et, and as brown as a berry, bore some little
I general resemblance to his father.
Oh, how could your mother look upon your
little faces, and listen to your prattle, and feel
your tiny arms embracing her, and forget that
she had borne you! That you were the fruit
of her womb! That your little lips had a
I thousand times drawn nurture from her mater-
I mil bosom! All the myriad of delicious ago-
I nies and ecstacies of a rnotner! Her generous,
confiding, absent husband ! How could she,
knowing all this, recollecting all this, deliber.
ately surrender herself to destruction, and pre
fer the blighting companionship of a fiend—an
adulterer !
“Now. Arthur and George,” said Mrs. Ogil
vie, as we approached them in the- garden,
“ you must be good children, and go and get
dressed, and I will take you both out”
! “What! a drive in the carriage? I love
the ponies!” replied George, eagerly.
I “Yes, my love, we are going to take you to
see papa.”
•‘ No, no, I shall not go there ! I don’t like
my papa ! He has taken my mamma away !”
“No. child, do not talk such nonsense; papa
has done no such thing. Poor papa is very
ill,” replied Airs Ogilvie, tremulously, “and
wishes to see his little boy's.”
“I don’t know my papa ” said the child, i
' pouting, and sidling away from us. “He’s a 1
very, very great way off'—but if you’ll let i
mamma go with us, then I don’t care.” t
“Your papa,” said I, observing Mrs. Ogil- i
vie’s emotion, “docs not know where your I
.mamma is!” The child seemed quite puz- I
! zled at all this. “Will you go with us, then •
he inquired, 'ur’iing to Airs. Ogilvie. t
“Yes, love.” <
“Isn’t my papa a very great officer ?” he '
I inquired abruptly. “He has killed. —oh, such
a number of people. lam told ! Do you think <
he will like to see tis?” ’
“Yes. indeed, Arthur—and he will love you •'
very dearly !” replied Mrs. Ogilvie, with a fal- 1
teriug voice, leading her little nephews into I
the house. They were not long in being ’
dressed, and we were presently on our way to 1
town. I began t® feel rather more apprehen- ’
sive of the propriety of allowing the interview 1
when I saw how his mother was running in 1
Arthur’s head. Suppose he were bluntly to *
ask his father what hud become of her? I 1
whispered my apprehensions to Airs. Ogilvie, '
and found them shared by her. She had not 1
seen her brother since his return from India, *
and declared herself perfectly incapable of *
bearing an interview with him at present, even 1
were he able to receive her. As we turned I
into Street the children became very rest- 1
less; and when we reached the house Arthur 1
i looked up at it apprehensively, and refused at
first to quit the carriage. We succeeded, how. *
ever, in inducing him to do so, and in pacify- t
ing him. aud both the children were conducted
into the library, where Mrs. Ogilv.eundertook f
to occupy (heir attention while I repaired to 1
the Colonel’s bedside to ascertain how he was. 1
I found him very, little changed from what 1 (
had seen him on the preceding day. except that (
there was an evident restlessness and anxiety I
about the eyes. Probably he was aware that '
his children had arrived. General Ogilvie, '
who rarely quitted the chamber of his suffer- 1
ing brother-in-law, sat in his accustomed chair 1
beside. I sat down in the one usually placed | 1
for me ; white my finger was fin his pulse, and j ;
my eya on my watch, the Colonel mud in a 1
V.I.
ey sre cotfte, Me they SWT 1
« 1 ’’ ‘ e u ? tb®”’ iS voU P iease
—but hoi i» ,t a time,” said he, a faint flush
appe ,ri . cutout. Genera! Ogilvie im
i ~. I Ibe ' oam,'but not without first
8 z F .. n hftth. I cau eei* apprehensive on
my aceounL** ft® whhfoerpd j “ but I am per
: fectly s w.u c if my situation'. He must not be
long in the reom, however. I may not be so
strong I think myself.” Ina few moments
returned, leading in bis little
companion, who entered with evident, reluc
tance, looking with some fear towards the bed
where his father lay.
“ You are a very good child, Arthur,” said I,
in a soothing manner, holding my hand to re*
ceivs him—inwardly cursing at the moment
his resemblance to Mrs. St. Helen, and which
just then appeared to me stronger than ever.
“Come and ask your papa how he is!” The
child came and stood between my knees.
I ever forget the looks with which that father
and son, on this their bitter meeting, regarded
one another? Neither spoke. It would be
in vain to attempt describing that of the former;
as for little Arthur, his face showed a mingled
expression of apprehension and wonder.—
“ Speak to your papa,” I whispered, observing
him slowly moving away—“he is very poor
ly !” Re looked at me for a moment, and then
faintly exc’aimed, gazing at Colonel St. He
len—“ Papa, I love you !” The poor Colonel
turned his head away and closed his eyes.—
In vain he strove to compress his quivering
lip ; nature would conquer, and the tears soon
forced themselves through his closed eyelids.
I wish Mrs. St. Helen could have seen the un
utterable anguish visible in his features when
he turned again to loek upon the little coun
tonance so much resembling hers! After gaz
mg thus for some moments in silence upon the
child, he whispered, “ Kise me, Arthur ?” He
did so.
“Do you love me!” enquired his father.
“Yes, papa!” The Colonel stretched out
his arms to embrace his son, but bis left arm
instantly fell again powerless beside him. He
shook his head, and sighed.
“ Do you recollect me, Arthur?” he enquir
ed. The child looked at me, and made no an-
swer.
“Do j-ou love your little brother George?’’
asked the Colonel, languidly.
“Yes, very much—l’ll go and fetch him,’
papa, he will love you too, he is down stairs.’.’
Every fibre of Colonel St. Helen’s face
ed with emotion. His eyes overflowed with
tears, and he whispered—
“l feel I cannot bear it! he had better go.”
“ General.” said 1, “ will you take him down
stairs ? We fatigue Colonel St. Helen !” But
he made me no answer. He was looking away,
and the tears fell. I therefore rose, and after
lifting up the child again to kiss his parent,
led him down stairs, thankful that he had not
tortured his father by any allusion to his
wretched and degraded mother. O:i my re
turn, I found Cdionel St. Helen much exhaust
ed, and evidently suffering acutely from the dis
tracting feelings excited by his son’s presence.
He recovered, but very slowly, during the en.
suing mouth, from as severe an attack of apo
plexy as I had ever witnessed. The grief
that was preying upon heart soon shewed
itself in the settled aloom with which his ema
ciated features were laden, and which, coupled
with his dangerous illness, and the verv violent
remedies we were compelled to adopt in order
to subdue it. reduced him almost to a skeleton.
He had, indeed, fallen away most surprizingly.
A fine muscular man when in health, he look
ed now as if he had returned from India in a
deep decline. He woulfl sit alone, and speech
less, for hours: and took even his ordinary
nourishment with visible reluctance. When
his children entered into his presence—they
were brought to him daily—he received them
with affection, but his manner oppressed tharn.
Alas! he had now no smiles with which to
welcome and return any of their little over
tures towards cheerfulness ; in the midst of
tiny faint attempt at merriment on their part,
he would rise, and suddenly clasp them to his
widowed heart in silent agony.
The manner in which, at a former period of
his illness, he had rejected the ptoposal made
to him of a change of scene, prevented its be
ing renewed. One morning, however, he
suddenly asked General Ogilvie if he could
give him a home for a few months; on being
assured of the affectionate welcome with which
he would be received, he expressed a desire to
quit street on the ensuing morning. Ho
forthwith gave directions for his house, with
all its furniture, of every description, to be sold;
and the clothes, trinkets, and such personal or
naments of Mrs. St. Helen as uere in the house
he ordered to be destroyed. He exacted a
pledge to this effect from General Ogilvie.—-
On its being given he took his arm, and—shad
ow of his former self! —stepped languidly into
the General’s carriage, drew down the blinds,
and quitted street for ever. The dny as-
ter, in passing the house, I saw great staring
bills in the wi .dow, and a board on the walls
“This House to bk sold.” To this day I
never glance at such objects without being sud.
denly and painfully reminded of the events
which are detailed in this chapter.
I could gain no intelligence whatever of the
destination or movements of Airs. St. Helen; it
wasgenerally supposed that she had gone, and
still remained abroad, in company with Cap
tain Alverley. I expected in each day’s pa
per to hear of her having committed suicide;
and for that reason, never omitted to cast iny
eye over a paragraph headed with “ Coroner’s
Inquest,” or “ Distressing Suicide.” Not so,
however; she was reserved for suffering, a
more signal punishment, a more lamentable
end ! Captain Alverley made his appearance
in London about six weeks after the elopement;
and in passing along St. James’s Park he came
upon his royal Highness the Commandei-in-
Chief, who. was returning on horseback from
the Horse-Guards. He drew up, and motion
ing Captain Alverley, his aid de camp, to ap
proach, rebuked him sternly and indignantly
for the cruel and infamous outrage he had com
mitted, commanding him never again to enter
his presence. The Duke rode off with a haugh
ty scowl, leaving CaptainAlverley apparently
thunderstruck. * ■>
This incident found its way into the next
day’s papers; and Captain Alverley, perceiving
himself in general bad odor, threw up hit com
mission and withdrew, it was supposed, to tho
Continent. The excellent Duke of Yoric> in
deed evinced from the first the greatest sym
pathy with Colonel St. Helen; and as soon as
ho thought ho might safely do so, sent him a
letter by a distinguished general officer, also
n friend of the Colonel’s, full of the kindest and
most condescending expressions, and intima,
tmgfhis wish to see him at the Horse. Guards
at the earliest possible opportunity. He ad-
See 4th Page.