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BY JAMES W. JONES.
The Southern Whig,
PUBLISHED EVERY SATURDAY MORNING.
TERMS.
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months after the receipt of the fn st number, or
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scribers living out of the State, will be expect
ed in all cases, to pay in advance.
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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
oiit. (
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matters connected with the establishment,
must be post paid in order to secure attention
Notice of the sale of Land and Negroes, by
Administrators, Executors, or Guardians,
must be published sixty days previous to the
day of sale.
Tho sale 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
be 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
days and Letters of Dismission, six months.
For Advertising—Letters of Citation. § 2 75
.Notice to Debtors and Creditors, (40 days) 325
Four Months Notices, 4 00
Sales of Personal Property by Executors,
Administrators, or Guardians, 3 25
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Other Advertisements will be charged 75 cents
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■time as a new advertisement. For a single
insertion, $1 00 per square.
f IRE PROOF WAREHOUSE.
AVGUSTA, Ga.
THE undersigned take this method of inform
ing bis friends and the Planters of Georgia,
and Carolina, that he continues the Warehouse
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
EorwafdTlTg uroiids to the country. With 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 Las
met with for the two seasons past.
Sept. 7, 1337. EGBERT B. BEALL.
city papers, Recorder, Journal and
Standard of Union, Milledgeville ; Macon Mes
senger, Columbus Enquirer, Athens Whig,
Savannah Republican, Charleston Courier, and
Edgefield Advertiser will copy the above in their
respective papers, until first November, and
forward their accounts Tor payment.
E. B .B.
Athens, Sept 16—20—tNl.
NEW DRY~GOO Ts
AND
GROCERY STORE.
THE undersigned having removed to the up
per tenement of the New brick range, next
below the Ware-House of Stovall, Simmons,
& Co., are now receiving a fresh, and general
assortment of
M.'S’ ©TOM,
Shoes, and Groceries, recently purchased at the
North, chiefly for Cash, at reduced prices;—all
of which they offer low, and respectfully invite |
a 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.
(XJyTheir Wholesale Dry Good Estnblisment
is in the second story—over the Grocery.
Sept. 16,-20 —2in
COMMISSION BUSINESS?
AUGUSTA, GA.
STOVALL, SIMMONS, & Co., in express
ing their gratitude to their patrons, for their
continued confidence, and generous support, •
■would renew the offer of their services in the
factorage and Commission business, at their Fire
Proof Ware-House, South side Broad street.
Liberal advances will be made on Cotton, &c
&c, as heretofore.
Sept. 16, —20—2 m
FACTORAGE AND COMMIS
SION BUSINESS.
FTUIE undersigned having removed to Savan
nah, has opened in No. 3. Bolton’s Range, a
few doors above the Exchange, an extensive
WARE-HOUSE 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
performance of his duties.
THOMAS 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 tire
Republican office for payment.
STOVAXX, SIMMONS, <&> Co.
i®. • e> lUI oBE—Eh
yifeM/
WOULD inform the public, that in addition
to the FIRE PROOF
which they have for years occupied, they have
taken the FIRE PROOF W ARE-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
patronage, as they are now prepared to store
with safety and convenience, a large amount ot
Cotton.
They pledge their accustomed devotion to the
interest of their friends in all business confided
to them.
Augusta, Oct, 11,—23,--3t
ti£
From the New-Yorker.
FORGOTTEN FRIENDSHIP.
‘ Too much we give unto the things that perish.’
Mrs. Hernans.
We parted—Friendship’s dream had thrown -
Deep interest o’er the farewell tone,
And Friendship’s magic hand had made
A wreath we thought too bright to fade ;
And in that hour we closer bound
The gold-link’d chain our hearts around,
And fond and earnest vows were passed
That Friendship’s dream should always last,
We parted—he went o’er the sea,
With the deep vow of constancy ;
lAnd deeper solitude was mine,
And Memory had one sacred shrine,
Whereon she daily offered up
Her grateful confidence in Hope ;
While he roamed on through many a land—
Oh, could his heart their lures withstand 1
We parted—changeful years rolled by,
And yet my heart owned Friendship’s tie;
While he —that well-remembered one—
Like a lark mounting to the sun,
Had been his course—and now his name
Was wedded to immortal fame ; ,
’Twas borne upon the lip and pen ;
And thus the loved returned again.
We met again—Oh, idle thought,
To think no change can e’er be wrought
Upon man’s heart—and vainer still
The hope that feeling ne’er can chill;
For who that wanders far and wide,
’Mid the world’s selfishness and pride,
Doth not its hardening influence feel
Unconscious o’er his bosom steal ?
We met; a few kind words were said,
Then colder compliments were paid;
I saw it all by one brieflook,
And oh my heart but ill could brook
The cold expression of that eye,
When I referred to days gone by;
The careless smile; the thoughtless tone.
Told me that Friendship's dream had flown.
We met —but the wide world had been
Too long a time our hearts between;
For he had roamed through many a clime
Os beauty and romance sublime ;
And he had themes whereon to dwell
Which had for me no genial spell:
And memories that jvere not mine
Blent with his thoughts, once half divine.
We meet —but neither seeks agnin
To reunite the severed chain:
We feel there is a difference now :
For he hath long since learned to bow
His thoughts at cold Ambition’s shrine ;
And other feelings, too, are mine—
Till I at length have taught my heart
With all its idle dreams to part. Stella.
Illinois, Aug. 1834.
PASSAGES
FR O M TH E DI AR Y
OF A
Late London Physician.
THE DESTROYER.
( Concluded.)
As soon as the bustle of his arrival was over,
and while the emptied chaise was being led
away from the door, a groom, who might have
been observed loitering about the street, step,
ped up, gently pulled the area-bell, and inquir
ed if that was Lord Seckington who had ar
rived? He was rather tartly answered in the
affirmative by a bustling servant. The groom
sauntered carelessly down the street; but as
soon as he had turned the corner, he ran as if
a pack of beagles had been at his heels, and
scarce ever stopped til he reached General
Ogilvie’s. He succeeded in communicating
his pregnant intelligence to Colonel St. Helen
without having excited the suspicion of any
one in the house ; which Colonel St. Helen
quitted a few minutes afterwards.
I About seven o’clock the same evening a
gentleman knocked at the door of Lord Seck
ington’s house. Having been informed that
his lordship was very particularly engaged,
the stranger desired to be shown into the libra
ry, where he would wait his Loidship’s leisure,
as he had a very pressing engagement with
him. The servant accordingly ushered him (
into the library, and took up to Lorn Seeking-'
ton the card of “Major Darnley.’’ He had '■
not long to wait; for in less than five minutes
the door was opened, and Lord Seckington
entered in his dressing-gown.
“Major Darnley, 1 presume?” he enquired,
politely advancing towards his visitor, who
rose and bowed. Lord Seckington, who look
ed pale and fatigued with travelling, apologiz
ed for his delay in attending the Major, and
also for his dress, on the score of his having
not yet had time to change it.
“I need only mention the name of Colonel
St. Helen, riiy Lord,” said Major Darnley, in
a low tone, “to apprise your Lordship of the ■
painful nature of my etrand.”
“Certainly—l perfectly understand,” repli. !
ed Lord Seckington, rather hastily.
‘•Of course, my Lord, the sooner this affair j
is settled the better!”
“ By all means,” replied Lord Seckington, ?
calmly. “1 have no doubt that my friend, i
Captain Leicester, whom I know to be in !
town, will act with you immediately on my be- ,
half. Probably he is this moment at ’s.
where you could hardly fail of tneeli g him,”
looking at his watch.
“Perhaps your Lordship will favor me with
a line addressed to Captain Leicester, iiititnat.
ing the nature of tny application?” j
“Undoubtedly,” replied Lord Seckington; -
. and sitting down, he wrote a few lines to the !
desired effect, and folding up the note, direct
ed it, and gave it to Major Darnley.
“Probably Caftain Leicester will be with
your Lordship jhortly—shall I tell him that
your Lordship waits here for him ?”
“I. beg you will do me that saver. Pray,
Major Darnley, let no time whatever be lost,”
added Lord Seckington, with a smile which it I
, would have been a luxury to a fiend *o witness.
He rang the bell, and Major Darnley took his
1 leave. The instant that the door was closed,
’ Lord ■ Seckington, t fter a sickening glance
round at the spacious and splendid apartment
threw himself upon the sofa in a state of mind
[ that it would bo in vain to attempt describing,
f Having agreed to dine that evening with one
! of his old triends who had succeeded 'o a
1 dukedom since they hqd met, and who had
quitted Lord Seckington only half an hour be-
I fore Major Darnley’s arrival, it became ueces.
sary to write off immediately, and announce
his inability to bo present. llc did s>, and sta-
“WHERE POWERS ARE ASSUMED WHICH HAVE NOT BEEN DELEGATED, A NULLIFICATION OF THE ACT IS THE RIGHTFUL REMEDY.” Jefferson.
ted it to bo owing to very pressing engage
ments, and the thought which had since occur
red to him that he ought not to dine out till af
ter his uncle’s funeral—well knowing that his
own funeral might probably take place at the
same time. It. may be easily understood that
he was in no humor to renew the business
details which Major Darnley’s arrival had in
terrupted. He sent a message to that effect
up stairs to his solicitor, to whom he had pro- I
rnised to return, begging him to be in attend, j
ance in the morning ; and ordering dinner to j
be prepared and served at a moment’s notice,
he again threw himself upon the sofa. He
was roused from his dreadful reverv about a
quarter before eight o’clock by Captain Lei
cester. He was in full dinner-dress, hasting
been met by Major Darnley, just as he was
preparing to go to the Duke of ’s. where
ha was to have been surprised by the appear
ance of Lord Seckington. After his hurried
interview with Major Darnley, he had come
off direct to Street.
•‘Well. Alverley,—Seckington, I mean—
you see it’s just as I suspected,” said he. has
lily steppir. ■ up to Lord Seckington.
“ Yes,” he replied, shaking him cordially by
the hand, and unconsciously sighing. “May |
I reckon on your services?”
•'Oh, of course—l am here on the business '
now.”
“Where wore you going when Major Dam- |
ley found you?” enquired Lord Seckington, al- i
hiding to Captain Leicester’s dress.
“The Duke of ’s.”
“Ah, I was to have been there too,” said
Lord Seckington. “They’ll suspect that some
thing’s wrong by our both so suddenly sending
refusals.”
“And let them—they’re not likely to send us !
peace-officers, if they do suspect. Thev’il ’
only be devilish sorry to lose (he company of
two deuced good knives and forks—that’s all!”
“ I have ordered dinner here to be ready at
a moment s notice,” said Lord Seckington, as
the servant brought in candles. He must have
observed the troubled and pallid countenance
of his lord as he placed them upon the table
near which Lord Seckington and Captain Lei
cester were standing. “You can stay to din- 1
ner?”
‘‘l think, perhaps. I have half ap hour to
spare,” replied Captain Leicester.—for duel- 1
ists, like lover-*, must eat, it would seem ; '
“but I can’t spare one second more, lor I’ve en
gaged to meet Darnley at -’s bv a quarter '
to nine o’clock.” Lord Seckington rang, and 1
ordered dinner to be served immediately.
“This blood.thiiFty devil. St. Helen,” said
> Lord Seckington, as the servant closed the '
i door, “must have been watching for my arri- '
I val—Major Darnley was with mein less than 1
i an hour after I had got into the house.” 1
“Very probably. No doubt he had hired '
some fellow to lurk about and bring him word '
of your arrival. Ypu know, my dear fellow.”
added Captain Leicester, “there’s no disguis
ing the thing; we are likely to have d d
sharp work on our hands in the morning.”
“The morning ?” I shall go mad if I have
to wait all through the night!” exclaimed
Lord Seckington, vehemently—“D n me
if I could not infinitely prefer fighting to.night i
—why could it not be at —’s? You s
could easily manage it. Leicester. You real. <
ly must arrange it so! I shan’t have a chance, !
if we wait till the morning !” t
“You know, it can’t be done,” replied Cap. !
tain Leicester, quietly, as soon as Lord Seek- ‘
mgton had ceased—“lt’s not selon la regie— <
there’s a method in every thing, and duelling <
is nothing without it. Dainley would laugh !
at me if I proposed it.”
“Well, lam of course in your hands. You '
must do as you think proper,” said Lord Seek. 1
ington, with a sigh. 1
‘ I’ll parade you let me see—five, or six
o’clock—either will do,” said Captain Letces- i
ter, thoughtfully. “However, we shall discuss, i
every thing fully to night at ’s.” I
“Did you ever know of such an unhappy I
devil as I am, Leicester?” exclaimed Lord I
Seckington, abruptly, walking to and fro— I
“just now to be shot.” '
“Ay, and for such a cause, that’s the ugly I
part of the story—but what does that signify? I
’Twas an adventure carri id on with the ut- |
most spirit—you could not comjnand success, <
you know—eh? isn’t that the word ?” j
“It’s d d hard to part with all this!”— i
exclaimed Lord Seckington, sadly, pointing to i
the fine library. “Hell must be a joke to
what I’ve suffered since I got your last letter.” i
“I thought it would have that effect, when 1
I was writing it. But,” —shrugging his <
i shoulders,” “the thing’s done now, and you
[ must try not to think of it. ’Tte worse than
useless. Make your will, and snap your fin
gers at every thing and every body in the
world. That’s the way a man of sense and
spirit should meet death, and then he conquers
j it. By the way, if you were to make your
will it might be as well. There’s an infernal
heap of money in the funds, you know.”
“O Leicester, don’t torment me ! I shall do
what is proper, you may depend upon it.”
“Well, my dear fellow, don’t take it ill.
’Tis no more than every second should do for
his principal when ho expects warm work !
jOf course, St. Helen, you know, will try
1 d d hard to hit you; but after all there’s
j no certainty, even with the deadliest shot in
j the world.”
j “Oh, curse the ——- !” groaned Lord Seek- j
i ington, coupling Mrs. St. Helen’s name with i
’ the vilest epithet that could be applied to a I
j woman.
[ “No, no, Seckington—you forget yourself, •
| I call that very unhandsome—nay. it’s ungrate- i
j ful—it’s d d bad taste!”—said Captain
Leicester, seriously.
“You should only know ths kind of life she’a I
led me since we went abroad ! ” exclaimed
Lord Seckington, vehemently.
| “Poor devil, you ought not to speak of her in
i that way,” said Captain Leicester, with a
! grave air cl' displeasure. “Pray remember,
! Seckington, that whatever she is, you have i
made her. It is not handsome to speak so of
the woman that Inis denied you nothing, and
. lost every thing for your sake.
“Well,” exclaimed Lord Seckington, aftei
, walking violently to and fro—“l suppose I
! may say that 1 wish I had been in be-
: fore I had ever seen her.”
“Ah, yes —quite another matter; but we
;! mustn’t have any thing unkind said of poor
, pretty Mrs. St. Helen.”
•‘Pretty! B) , you should see hr now!
Pretty !”
I “Well I hope you have settled something on
her.”
■ “Five hundred a year.”
•‘Devilish liberal, certainly. M ould she
I speak to me, if we met at Paris V’
Lord Seckington made no reply, but, with
. his arms folded, kept walking to and fro, heuv
s ing heavy sighs.
“Take my advice, Seckington—-make a
«EORGIA,*SATUK©AY, OCTOBER 2S, 1537.
i brave effort, and throw it all off your mind.
It can do you no good—it will do you infinite
harm. Fancy yourself plain Charles Alver
ley—the dodged of duns—drop ‘my lord,’ —
think nothing of your rent-roll or your funded
property; they’ll bv all the more delightful if
you escape to-morrdw? why do you provoke
your fate? Hope for the best. Depend upon
I it you’re too good a fellow to be ordered off
| just in the nick of time—oh, it’s impossible !”
{ Lord Seckington grasped his hands ai d
; looked unutterable things.
“You know, Leicester, it is not death that I
care for, come how or when it may,” said he
“I’m a little above that, 1 should hope.”
“Don’t fear Boggy, then, eh?” interrupted
Captain Leicester with a smile.
“Pshaw ! But, by the way, what am 1 to
do? How often am Ito receive his fire?”
“Ah, I've been considering that point a little.
Why, I think twice.”
“And I”
“Fire wide the first time, of course”
“But I don’t think it is quite such a matter
of course, Leicester.”
“Oh, nonsense, it’s clear as day-light— trust
me.”
“Really it’s devilish hard—he’ll try to take
Imy life, It’s throwing away my only chance.
' It’s going out to be clean murdered !”
“Seckington, put yourself into my place.
I You know that what I soy is the correct thing.
It must be so, or lam not responsible. If no-
I thing happens, of course, he’ll demand another
I shot; and then you may perhaps—hem ! —I
don’t say what you ought to do. but I think I
know what I should do. And the same if a
third is asked for.”
“Why the devil does not the fellow announce
■ dinner?” exclaimed Lord Seckington, violent
! ly pulling the bell.
“Hush—don’t be so feverish. Heannoun
j ced it five minutes ago —I’ve been on the
move ever since—l’ve now only a quarter of
an hour.”
Here the servant made his appearance, and
Lord Seckington in silence followed his com
panion to the diningroom. Both of them casl
otie significant glance at the splendour of the
sideboard display—and, indeed, of every thing
about them.
“The first time you have ever done the hon
ors here, I presume ?” sa.d Captain Leices
ter, as he took his seat.
“It is probably the last," thought Lord
Seckington. Alas! what would he have giv
en at that moment to undo what he had done—
to have begun nothing of which he had not
well considered the end—never to have blast
ed the happy home of his brave nrother-soldier
—to escape from the mortal thraldom he was
now enduring! Perhaps, had he been calm
enough, a lesson of his earlier days might
have re< urred to him before the tearful lesson
of the ensuing morning !
“ Audire est opera? pretiam, procedere recte
Qui rncßchis non vultis—ut omni parte laborent!
Utque illis multo corrupta dolore volnptas,
Atque h®c rara, cadut dura inter srepe pericla !”
[Hor. Sat. Lib. I. Sat. ii.
It was settled by the seconds that the meet
ing should take place at five oclock on the en
suing morning in Battersea Fields, and as both
of them anticipated its turning out a desperate
affair, they made all necessary arrangements
to meet contingencies, providing for the in.
stant flight of the survivor and themselves—-or,
it might be, of themselves alone—in the event
of any thing fatal occurring. Two experien
ced surgeons also were in attendance. Their
arrangements, in. short, were admirably made,
lor they were both of them somewhat experi
enced in such affairs. Within a very few
moments of each other’s.arrival were the two
hostile parties in the field. Both Colonel St.
Helen and Lprd Seckington were very finely
made men, and of a most gentlemanly appear
ance. The former was dressed in a blue sur
tout and light trowsers—the latter in black—
black from head to foot not a spot of color a
bout him—nothing that might possibly serve
to point the weapon of his antagonist—a pre
caution of his thoughtful second, of which he
had readily availed himself, but which was to
tally disregarded by Colonel St. Helen. The
process of loading was soon got through—the
distance, ten paces, duly stepped out by Ma
jor Darnley—and there Lord Seckington stood,
in fearful contiguity, in the immediate pres
ence of his irreparably injured and mortal foe.
Lord Seckington did not attempt either to
sustain or return the dreadful look with which
Colonel St. Helen regarded him! Pistols were
quickly placed iu their —the seconds
withdrew to about a dozen paces.
“Gentlemen, are you ready? Fire!” ex
claimed Major Darnley.
Both pistols were discharged as he uttered
the last word, and the principals remained
standing unhurt. Lord Seckington fired as
he had been enjoined, while Colonel St. Helen’s
ball whistled closely past the chin of his oppo
nent.
“Are you satisfied ?” inquired Captain Lei
cester.
“By no means,” replied Major Darnley.
They loaded again —again withdrew, hav
ing placed fresh pistols in the hands of their
respective principals—again was the word
given—again both fired simultaneously, but
again without effect. It was evident that this
time Lord Seckington hid followed the exam
pie of his opponent, for his ball passed close
i behind Colonel St. Helen’s shoulder.
I “I presume you are now satisfied ?” inquir
| cd Captain Leicester.
“Certainly not,” replied Major Darnley.
‘ 1 must insist upon a third shot.”
“I really cannot permit it”
I “Load again!” exclaimed Lord Seckington, |
! in a low tone ; and the seconds resumed their
gloomy functions.
A third time their principals stood awaiting
their signal, and as the word “Fire!” escaped
from the lips of Major Darnley, both were ob
served taking deliberate aim. Neither fired
till a scconij or two after the word hud been
uttered, when their pistols flashed together, a d
Lord S: ckington sprung upwards, and in
stantly lay extended upon the ground. Col
onel St. Helen’s ball appeared to have passed
through the head of his opponent, while he
himself, still convulsively grasping his weapon,
remained standing, looking silently and grimly
at his prostrate autagoui t.
“Fly! For God’s sake, fly!” exclaimed
Major Darnley, looking towards Colonel St
Helen from beside the insensible figure of
Lord St ckington.
“Is he killed 1” whispered Colonel St- He!
en, as Major Dir dey rushed up to him, re
peating his iutreaties.
“Yes—yes—l fear he is.” replied the Ma
jor. “VV’hy, St. Helen! St. Helen! are you
hit?”—Rushing forward, he caught the Col
onel in his arms, and both fell together on the
ground.
The surgeon who had accompanied him to
. the.field, was instantly at his side, and pro
; uounced Colonel St. Helen to have had a fit of
- apoplexy. Lord ball had all but
- touched the breast of Colonel S’. Helen, who
I with truei and more deadly aim had so direct
! ed his ball, that it passed right through the
■ bones of the nose, immediately beneath the
eyebrows, carrying away almost the whole of
the nasal bones. Lord Seckington was not
dead, though perfectly insensible —the wound
he had received was one that, if he survived,
would occasion him the most frightful disfig
urement for life. He was carried insensible
to his carriage, a handkerchief having been
thrown over his face, and hurried off at the top
speed of his four horses to street. It
was found necessary to bleed Colonel St. He!-
en on the spot from both arms, and as soon as
the incisions had been hastily bandaged up, he
was conveyed with difficulty to his carriage,
and taken home to General Ogilvie’s a dismal
spectacle !
A short time before the carriage containing
Lord Seckington reached street, a post-
chaise drew up opposite to his door, in which
were two females, one of whom appeared vio
lently agitated.
Knock and ring—ring hard !—open the
chaise-door—make haste!” exclaimed one of
them in a breath ; and as soon as the hall-door
was thrown open by the alarmed porter —for
all the servants had suspicion of the dreadful
nature of the engagement which had taken
Lord Seckington away so early in a carriage
and-four, and were now awaiting his return in
the greatest trepidation—she rushed in.
“Is Lord—Lord Seckington— is he at horn j? j
she gasped.
“Yes no,” replied the affrighted porter in a
breath. “Do you know any thing about his
lordship?” By this time the valet, who had >
accompanied him to France and had returned
with him, made his appearance, and whisper d
to the porter, who, th * , iti a somewhat less
respectful toue. inquired, “ Does his lordship
expect you, ma’am ?”
“No, my lord does not, I can answer so? i
that,” interposed the valet; “he thinks you’re I
at this moment in Paris.”
“Silence, sir! show me instantly i t<> tn
diningroom,” said the lady, as indignantly as
her violent agitation would admit of.
“Excuse me, ma’am,” said the porter, plac
ing himself between her and the diningroom
door, “ I—l cannot admit you ! Are you a re
lation of bis lordship's or what! What’s your
business here ?” |
“Hinder me at your peril, sirrah! exclaim- )
ed Mrs. St. Helen—for she it was, with all j
her naturally commanding tons a..d manner;!
and at the same time pushing bi a gently aside, '
without further opposition she entered the di- ;
uiugroom.
“Order in my maid from the chaise!” said
Mrs. St. Helen, sinking exhausted into the
nearest chair, scarce able to stand, or to s e
whether her orders were attended to. There
was a sudden muster of servants i the hall for i
a few moments; and after a hurried conver- ■
sation together, the diningroom door was open- |
ed by the valet.
“1 hope, ma’am, you wont make it ueces- 1
sary, tna’m, for us to do our duty. I know,
ma’am who you are,” he commenced with a
determined air-
“ Audacious wretch !” exclaimed Mrs. St.
Helen, roused foi a moment by his extraordin
ary insolence, “ Ii you don’t instantly leave this
room, sir,’
“ Ah, ma’am, leave the room ? Pray, ma’am,
are you mistress here? I leave the room,
ma’am? You will leave it first, ma’am, I ca -
tell you, if it comes to that —that’s flat!” i
continued, pushing wider open the deor. “Do |
you think, ma’am, I’m going to be talked to in |
this way by you ? I know who you are, ma’am, I
quite well! Do you think I hadn’t my eyes |
and my ears open at Paris? My Lord’s done i
the handsome thing by you. a al you ought ot '
to come following him about the town in this j
way; ah, ma’am, you may look, but I fancy j
tny Lord’s done with you ; he’s got other fish ;
to fry just now—believe me.” At that mo- !
ment a vehicle was heard approaching rapidly. I
and a hubbub in the hall drew the valet thither. ■
“Drive away that chaise!” exclaimed half-a- j
dozen voices in the street, and Lord Seeking- j
ton's carriage dashed up to the door. Mrs. ;
St. Helen sprung to the window, hearing her j 1
chaise ordered away, expecting some new i - i
suit was preparing for h< r; and beheld the
miserable figure of Lord Seckington in the j
act of being carried out of the carriage, his
head covered over with a blood-spotted white 1
handkerchief. She rushed from the di ;i g |
room, and, with a piercing shriek, was flying j
down the steps, whan one of the agitated ser- i
vants, either designedly or accidentally, tripped
her foot, exclaiming at the same time. “ Get ;
out of the way, you d —d !” and she fell;
with her forehead upon the corner of one of i
the steps, where she lay i sensible and disre- (
garded till Lord Seckington had bi*, n carried .
in, when th<* hall door was closed. There she j
might have continued but for the humanity of|
one or two persons in the crowd that had gatli- I
ered round Lord Seckingtou’s carriage They i
raised her from the ground ; and having been j
informed from the area that she did not belong i
there, and that they knew nothing whatever \
about her, they carried her, still insensible
from the stunning effects of her fall and of her
violent mental agitation to the nearest public
house, whither her attendant in the chaise fol- j
lowed her. From the reprijsentations and en- ;
treaties of the latter, the surly publican con- ■
sented to receive Mrs. St. Helen for the pre- '
sent into bis house, and a medical man was ■
sent for.
This was the once beautiful, happy, inno- '
j cent wife and mother, Emma Si. Helen, who j
had torn herself from her helpless children, her.
affectionate husband; who had opened her)
foolish and guilty ear and heart to the tern* t r; j
who had fled from the pure arras of hi r hus
band to the blasting serpent like embraces of
an adulterer; who could pity her ? Here, dis
carded by menials of her seducer, she lay dis
ho ;ored in her extremils among low and uo
willi g merce .arias; her be >uty e lively go e;
wasted to skeleton; heart-broke ; parulvs-i
ed with the dreadful sp. ctacle of her dead ■
paramour, whose ha d had. perhaps, that mor
ning, too, been dyed with the blood ot her
husband!
It seemed that, as soon as ever she recov
ered her senses wh * at Paris, and discovered
the departure of Lord S ckingto:), and learned
from her maid the too probable object es his
abrupt disappearance, she determined on fol
lowing him, aud engaged a passage i the verv
next Co?iVevHiiCC that started, so us, by tra
velling night and dav , to reach Street the
very morni g after Lord S"ckinoton’s arrival.
1 was called in to attend Colonel St, Helen
about ten o’clo< k. aud found him in almost pre
cisely similar circumstances to those in which
he had been p aced when I formerly attend d
* him, only that the present was a far more se-
rious attack, and the probabilities of its fatal
!' termination infinitely greater. * All our efforts
to relieve the laboring brain proved unavailing,
> and we all gave up the case in despair. On
. the Saturday evening after his fatal meeting
with- Lord Seckington, I was returning on
horseback from a visit io a distant patient re
' siding about two miles beyond Genet al Ogil.
vie’s house, and determined to call in to inquire
after Colonel St. Helen, if he yet survived?
When within a few yards of the house, I over
took two men carrying a coffin on their backs.
I stopped my horse—my conjectures were
right—they opened the General’s gate and
went to the house. So it was at length all
over! Poor, brokenhearted St. Helen, victim
of tlie perfidy of the wife of your bosom—of
the villany of your brother soldier, you r sor
rows were at length ended. After pausing for
a few moments I despatched my groom, desiring
'aim to inquire whether they wished to see me.
The General sent back word that he particu
larly desired to see me, and 1 dismounted-
He met mo at the door, and with the utmost
grief, visible in his countenance and manner,
told me the event that had taken place. I
followed him into the room he had just quitted,
and we sat down together. Colonel St. Helen
expired that day about twelve o’cloi k—only
an hour after I had been with him. H H<
lay,” said ths General, “in the same state i
which you left him. almost io 'he last, in a dull
stupor. I was sitting on cue side of the b :d.
and Mrs. Ogilvie, contrary to my wishes—
seeing her excessive agitation—entered ! h
room I had a little before i isiste ip hi r
j quitting, ;,nd resumed th s: ;.t she ' ; • re
occupied 8n the bed-side. The loisc sh* made
I seemed to r.:use him from his lethargy. He
slowly .opened bis eyes-—th first time during
i his illness—looked dutly at her; I thi.tk his
' lips seemhd to move, aid on bending my ear
till it .dm* s' t -i.ich' d them. I think I heard the
word • Emma !’ His head sunk back upon the
pillo . .<1 hr * ittu.il heavily for a moment or
two, ii Si ILdeu iv.is no more! No doubt,”
continued the General, with great emotion,
“he h:d a co fused notion that it was Mrs.
; St. H len who uas sitting beside him —alas
that such a polluted bi iag should have troubled
his lust thoughts! Yet there seemed no anger
or disgust in his manner—if it had any charac
ter at ah, it was one of forgiveness !”
He was buried at ; and there was
scarcely an officer ofdistinction in Lo ndon that
did not insist upon follow i g him to the grave.
’The kr*dheartcd Commander-in-Chief shed
;t ..rs, I u ders o ’d, when h heard >f his death.
■H bequeathed his fl.rtu eto his children equal
:h, leavi .g General a d Mrs. Ogilvie their
I guardians, whom he also mpowered to allow
Mrs. ’t. Helen, should she ever requir. it, such
a sum as would place her out of the reach of
destitution. The will was dated only the day
before that on which he fought with Loid 1
S ckington.
I regret io have to mention that name agai >,
and shall dismiss it briefly and for ever.
I did not attend him. but h -urd several details
concerning him from those whoxlid. It would
perhaps have been mercy had C done! St. He
i len’s ball passed into his brain and depriv’ d
him of life on the spot. It had utterly destroy - ,
ed the nasal bones —and it is impossible to
conceive a more r* pulsive obj.-ct lha he mu-i |
have presented te every beholder during sh
remamdi rofhisdays. IL <■ duo di tolerable ,
ago iy for ma vmo ths irom his wound; d
when nt length, through the car- l -ss ess of**,
ot his ait da..ts, he sudde y obt n nd asi ht
of his c >u ;ten;vice i • th- glass, the dreadtut
a d irr<-mediabl. disfigurement he had sustain
ied drove him almost to mad ess. He gnashed
his tei :h. and veiled the oust fe .rf’iil a d bias.
[ phi mous impr v ,tio s; > d, in short, r<> such
a pitch of fre izy was h Irive by ii, that it
was found n cessnry to place him for sorm
time wider constraint, I> st h should lay viol i
ha ds upo ' himself. He gradually, h «ev r.
became c inner, and appeared likely in time
to becom ecu cil dto his misfortune. Co
lo el St. Hele was dead—that wassomegr.iti
ficatjon ! L'>rd Seckingtoi; hud still vast sotac*
left him : he was. after all, a per ofthe realm;
he had a fine, a noble fortune at his command ;
ii d th’-” -, with other consolatory topics, wer ■ (
urged upon him so fr qu.-ntly a. d earnestly by j
his friends and attend:, ts, as at length to sa
tisfy them that th v might lay side th< ii ap- ,
prehensions, and release him from the painful, ,
the i tolerable restraint they had felt it ueces- |
sary to impose upon him, also relaxing the ,
strictness of their surveillance. They did so;
aid a day or two afterwards, the event was ,
dulv annou ced in the newspapers as follows : |
—“On the 29th nit., at Street, in his 32d ,
vi >r, th Right Hotiorabl Lord Seckington.” '
If such a thing as a Coroner's Inquest took
place, th* pap-rs took no otice or it; and
1 everv bodv was satisfied that he died in con-
■ seque ce of the wounds he had received in his
i duel with Colonel St. Helen.
My pen now moves heavily and reluctantly
in tracing these painful, but, I hope, neverthe
j less, instructive scenes; my head aches as I
! recall th m, —but my long labors now draw to
I a close.
’ General and Mrs. Ogilvie, with their little
J precious charges—lor precious they were, and
they were themselves childless —withdrew, in
about a twelvemonth after Colonel St. Helen’s
death, to a remote part of Englund, where they
might attend exclusively and unremittingly to
! the important and interesting duties confided
■to them. Their departure, and the end- ss
I absorbing engagemmits of • busy professional
| life in the inetr q>olis, caused th gloomy tr i s-
■ actio s abow. nrrmed n: iduin'v io <h .■•>•• ’sr
: from my tnmory, which, howev -r. tir y h?
! long and grievously haunted. Three years
afterwards, there occurs the following entry in
’ my Diary.“—
IVedncsday. Sth October, 18—.”
* * But 1 -hall elide vor to describe the
sc ne exactly as it appeared to me. May ex
perience n< v i enable inc to describe such
mother!
■ Hush ! staml here, D octor .” whisper
ed Mr. B , the proprietor of an extensive
private asylum near the metropolis, where I
I Ii .ii e.tiled to visit a gentleman who had been
i long a patient of mine. •' Hush, don’t speak,
nor be at all alarmed,” opening a small, and,
as it seemed to me, a secret door, —“these are
my incurables. Hark! 1 think I know what
thev are *d»out. Step forward, here. Can
you see ? I did as he directed. From my po
sition I could not see very but the
room was long and rather narrow, and had a
j r s mblance to it ward in a hospital, with about
half-a-doz beds on each side of the room, on
which were sitting us many boys, apparently
from about fifteen to eighteen years old. wear
ing long blue dresses, and their hair cut as
close lo their heads as possible. They were
making all manner of discordant noises, a-I
seemed eagerly talking together, but each re
mai 'd sitti ig quietly oi his own bed; a cir
cumstance 1 mentioned to Mr. B , express-
Vol. V—Ao. »«.
ing my surprise that so eager and violent a®
their gestures seemed, they should not quit
their beds. “It would be verv Strange if they
coul.i,” h e whispered with a smile, “ for they
are all f««tened to a staple in the wall, by a
strong girtlle passing round their waists. Bless
your life ! ifit nut for that, they would soon
kill one an other, and every bodythatcame
near them. It was only last month that one
of them contrived to twist herself.”
“Herself!" I whispered in amazement;
“ what do you mean, Mr. B ?”
“ Why, what I say, Doctor, surely—are
you not aware that these are women?”
“Gracious God, women!" -I exclaimed, with
a perfect shudder.
“ Why, certainly 1 But, by the way, they
don’t look much like women either ; that close
cut hair of theirs is so like the head of a char,
ity schoolboy. Some of these people have
been, and in point of family are, highly respec.
table. It may appear very shocking to you to
see them in thia, condition ; it was
until I grew accustomed to it. I assure you
we use no unnecessary violence or restraint
whatever ; but, on the contrary, give them
even’ indulgence their unfortunate condition
will admit of. What can we do with them?
There are several of them perfect fiends if they
hsv the slightest license. I was obliged to
11 vi this room constructed on purpose apart
from , e rest of my establishment, their noises
were so dreadful; —now hark !”
“ Whon—whoo—whoo”—shrieked a voice
ouiidcr than any of the rest, “who’ll go to the
ms ? «he’ll go to the moon ? who’ll goto
tin moon ?”
“ I—l’ve gut it!” shouted another—“ Pole!
Pole ! what have you done with the mopti ?”
“ I go for the stars —the stars ! Whirr !
whirr ! whirr ! —Away ! away ! away !” cried
another.
“Ha ! ha! ha!—Ha, ha, ha !” said another
voice, bursting i. to loud laughter, “ I’ve got a
dog iu my head—hark- how it barks—bow,
wow, wow ! —Ha—ha—ha !”
••I’ve got a cat—mew ! —mew ! —mew !
who’ll catch the mouse? I feel it—mew !”
“Water! water! water! The world’s on
fir- !—Fire, fire, fire !”
“ Hush, you wretches.” exclaimed another
voice. “ I’m going to sing for my dinner—-
hush! huik !”
“ Hark ! >he song—the song !” cried all the
other voices together, while the singer began ;
aud in a few moments her voice only was
heard, wild and dismal beyond description,
though not very foud, uttering words something
like the following:
“ Hark to the bell, the merry, merry, merry bell,
It is his knell, —the merry’ merry, merry knell”—
“ Ding, dong!—Ding, dong ! —Ding, dong!”
—su gihe other voices in a kind of doleful
chorus. The singer resumed—
• “Lullaby! Lullaby! Lullaby!
His head, oh, his head it is white—
All white I white !
—Dead, dead, dead !
—Sing, you wretches!” They resumed—
“ Ding, dong!—Ding, dong!—Ding, dong!”
The sun at that moment shone into the drea
ry room, while I was intently gazing on the
miserable scene it disclosed. Mercv ! —my
fl. -Ii i-r- pt—l began to recognise in the singer,
who looked wildly up into the sunshine— l
could tint be wrong,--Mrs. St. Helen!
“NV h-> is that?” I inquired faintly, turning
awax Iron) the room, while my companion
e-: a •:! s. i-nrei. the door.
"Mrs. Jones ,s the performer, if it’s she
whom you mean.”
••Oh io, no. no ! Her name is not, it never
was Jo es!” said I, feeling very faint, and
movi gas quickly away as possible into the
*’pe air.
“Well, c-rtainly,” said Mr. B .after
consider -g little, "it is strange enough; I
iiuv certai ly now and then heard her men
tio your -me, arnnrig others. So you know,
verv probably, her real name,—-Mrs. St.
H !”
He mentioned the name I dreaded to hear
" 1 liav h.id her tin He two years; she was re
moved thither from St ’s by order ofGeu-
erai Ogiivii, ,; u h->se expense she continues
here.”
I got i i i tii- op- a air, and began at length
to breathe more freely. I protest that ! never
in my hie encou -tered such a shock as that I
had just experi iced. He told me many sad,
shocki g things, which I shall not record.
Oh merciful and just God, governor of the
world, sometimes even in this life thy most
tremendous wrath alights upon the heads ot the
guilty!
Thus ends the Passages from the Diary of a
ate Physician! Reader, farewell!
S. W.
London, July, 1537.
From the Sunday Morning News.
THE VICTIM OF AMBITION.
Oh, lead m» from this gilded dome—
Proud haunt of fashion's Protean train,
Oh, give me back my cottage home,
Its woodbine shade, and flow’ring plain I
To me these changeful scenes appear
A gaudy pageantry of art:
Th- wake no smile, excite no fear.
No’ e’en one thrill to warm my heart.
izi on rhe circling dance,
' Beauty trips to Frolic’s measure ;
•yous groups advance,
V .conscious of one glow of pleasure.
I hear impassioned music’s strain,
And all the joys of earlier years
Come crowding in fond memory’s train,
Dimmed by the shadowy mist of tears.
Oh! take these roses from my hair—
They ill befit so cold a brow ;
Believe me, they will wither there,
And perish like love’s broken vow.
Unbind tliis gem-wrought girdle, too—
Beneath an aching heart ’tis prest;
Couldst thou its painful feelings view,
And how it sighs to be at rest
Thou wouldst not deem that gem or flower
Might e’er again be prized by me :
The slave of vain ambitious power
Is lost te joy and sympathy.
Away! This false tirade of art
For me no longer hath a charm;
My spirit seeks but to depart
To its last home—death’s dreamless calm.
Al a late celebration in Georgia our friend
“ Bob Short” gave a first-rato toast:
Louisville Journal.
Thomas. H. Benton—‘h distinguished gra.
duate -f Chapel Hill.
Music. “I saw him softly stealing"