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k&Y iPHE&era. Whig, SATURDAY MORNING. TRUTHS. Three dollars per annum, payable within six ■months after the receipt of the fn st number, or tfour dollars if not paid within the year. Sub scribers living out of the State, will be expect ed in all cases, to pay in advance. No subscription received for less than one year, unless the money is paid in advance; and no paper will be discontinued until all arrear ages are paid, except at the option of the pub lisher. Persons requesting a discontinuance, of their Papers, are requested to bear in mind, a settement of their accounts. Advertisements will be inserted at the usual rates; when the number of insertions is not specified, they will be continued until ordered out. All Letters to the Editor or Proprietor, on matters co’ lecled with the establishment, oiustbe post paid in orderto secure attention Notice of the sale of Land and Negroes, by Administrators, Executors, or Guardians, must be published sixty days previous to the j day of sale. The salo of personal Property, in like manner, must be published forty days previous to the day of sale. Notice to debtors and creditors of an estate must bo published forty days. Notice that Application will be made to the Court of Ordinary for Leave to sell Land or Ne groes, must be. published four months. Notice that Application will be made for Letters of administration, must be published thirty bays and Letters of Dismission, six months. For Advertising—Letters of Citation. 8 2 75 Notice to Debtors and Creditors, (40 days) <3 25 Four Months Notices, 4 00 Sales of Personal Property by Executors, Administrators, or Guardians, 3 25 Sales of Land or Negroes by do. 4 75 Application for Letters of Dismission, 4 50 Other Advertisements will be charged 75 cents for every thirteen lines of snvdl type, (or space equivalent,) first insertion, and 50cents for each weekly continuance. If published every other week, 62 1-2 cents for each continuance. If published once a month, it will be charged each time as a new advertisement, lor a single insertion, 81 00 per square. 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.