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TIIF. SOUTHERN SENTINEL
Is published every Thursday Morning,
IN COLUMBUS, GA.
BY WILLIAM H. CHAMBERS,
EDITOR AND PROPRIETOR.
To whom all coqrniunieations must be directed, post paid.
Office on Randolph Street.
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Legal Advertisements.
N. B.—Sales of Lands, by Administrators, Ex
ecutors, or Guardians, arc required by law to be held on
the first Tam!ay in the month, between the hours of 10
in tlie forenoon, arid 3 in the afternoon, at the Court
House in the county in which the land is situated. No
tices of these sales must be given in a public gazette
sixty days previous to the day of sale.
Bales of Negroes must be made at a public auction
on the first Tuesday of tlie month, bctuccn the usual
hours of sale, at the place of public sales in the county
where the Letters Testamentary, of Administration or
Guardianship, may have been granted, first giving sixty
days notice thereof in one of the public gazettes of this
Btate. and at tlie door of the Court House, where such
sales are to be held.
Notice for the sale of Personal property must be given
in like manner forty days previous to the day of sale.
Notice to the Debtors and Creditors of an estate must
be published forty days.
Notice that application will lie made to the Court of
Ordinary for leave to sell Land, must be published for
FOUR MONTHS.
Notice far leave to sell Nf.groes must be publi-hed for
four months, before any order absolute shall be made
thereon by the Court.
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lished thirty days—for dismission front administration,
monthly six months —for dismission fiom Guardianship,
FORTY DAYS.
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lished monthly fir four months—for establishing lost
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pelling titles from Executors or Administrators, where a
Bond has been given by the deceased, the full space of
three months.
Publications will always be continued according to
these legal requirements, unless otherwise ordered.
SOUTH ERN SE NTINEL
Job Office.
HAVING received anew and extensive assortment
(>t Job Material, we are prepared to execute at
this* ofliee, all orders for JOB WOK K . in a manner which ;
can not be excelled in the State, on very liberal term?,
and at the shortcut notice.
We feel confident of onr ability to give entire satisfac- ;
tion in every variety of Joh Printing, including
Books, Business (lards,
Pamphlets, Bill Heads,
Circulars, Blanks of even/ description,
Hand Bills, Bills of Lading,
Posters, djv. dpc.
In short, all descriptions of Printing which can be ex
ecuted at any ofliee in the country, will be turned out
with elegance and despatch.
Dyeing and Renovating Establishment.
BERTHOLD SENGER
respectfully inform the ladies and gentle
? t men of Columbus, and vicinity, that he is still at
bis old stand on Broad Street, near the Market, where
he is prepared to execute all work entrusted to him, in
the various departments of
Dyeing, Scouring, Renovating, A- Bleaching
new and old clothing. Ladies’ Bilks, Merinoes, and
Satins, cleansed of stains and impurities, and colored to .
any shade. Also finished to look and wear as well as
new.
Cotton, Silk, and Woolen goods bleached or dyed, in
the very best manner, and with despatch.
Also. Moserine Blue, Turkey Red, &e. See.
Gentlemen’s garments cleansed and dyed so as not
to soil the whitest linen.
Carpeting renovated and made as good as new.
ts? All orders th-niktiillv received and promptly ex
ccitted.
Columbus, March 21, 1850. 12 ts
Planters, Take Notice.
Saw Mills, Grist Mills, Factories, Gin Gear,
llicc Mills, and Sugar Mills.
r pHE firm of AMBLER & MORRIS arc now .
1 ready to build any of the above named Mills, pro- *j
polled by Water, Steam or Horse. Our work shall he j
done in the best possible manner, and warranted inferior ‘
to none noxv in use. Both of the above firm are praeti- !
cal men, and attend to their business in person, and will
famish Engines for Steam Mills, Gnst or Saw, and set ‘
either in complete operation. The firm can give the best
assortment of Water Wheels and Gearing, of any in
the Southern States, and will say to our employers .'if a
Mill or any of our work does not perform in the busi
ness for which it was intended, no pay will be exacted.
Try us and see. AMBLER & MORRIS.
Jan. 21, 1830. 4 ly j
Important
TO MILL OWNERS AM) PLANTERS.
r I' , HE undersigned will contract for building Rock
J Dams, or any kind of rock work and ditching, in
any part of this State or Georgia, in the most improved
manner. TIMOTHY B. COLLINS.
Fort Mitchell, Russell, County, Ala.
Dee. 6. 1849. _ 49 Cm |
To Physicians, Druggists
AND
COUNTRY MERCHANTS.
DR. J. N. KEELER 1&. BRO. mod respectfully
solicit attention to their fresh stock of English,
French,German and AmerieaisDnigs, Medicines,Chem
icals, Paints, Oils, Dye-stufis, (Jlassware, Perfumery, Ac. 1
Having opeued anew store, No. 294 Market St., with a
fall supply of Fresh Drugs and Medicines, we respect- i
fully solicit country dealers to examine our stock before 1
[purchasing elsewhere, promising one and all who may
be disposed to extend us their patronage, to sell them
genuine Drugs and Medicines, on as liberal terms as any |
other house in the city, and to faithfully execute all or- ;
.ders entrusted to us promptly and with dispatch. One of
the proprietors being a regular physician, affords ample j
guarantee of the quality of all articles sold at their es
tablishment. We especially invite druggists and country
merchants, who may wish to become agents for Dr.
Keeler's Celebrated Family Medicines, (standard and
popular medicines,) to forward their address. Soliciting
the patronage of dealers, we respectfully remain
KEELER A BRO.
M holesale Druggists, No. 249 Market St., I'hil'a.
Oct. 11, 1849. ly
Marble Works,
East side Broad St. near the Market House,
COLUMBUS, GA.
HAVE constantly on hand all kinds of Grave Stones.
Monuments, Tombs and Tablets, of American,
Italian and Irish Marele. Engraving and carving
done on stone in the best possible manner ; and all kinds
ol Granite Work at the shortest notice.
*. • __ JOHN H. MADDEN.
F. S. —Plaister of Paris and Cement, always on hand
• for sale.
Columbus. March 7, 1850. 10 ts
WINTER’S PALACE MILLS.
I FAMILIES, bv leaving their names with me. can be
, ™PPbod regular]v bv inv Wagon, at their residences,
‘with MEAL and HOMINY, of best qualitv.
JO. JEFFERSON, Clerk.
Feb. 28, 1850. t s
NORTH CAROLINA
Mutual Life Insurance Company.
LOCATED AT RALEIGH, N. C.
THE Charter ot this company gives important advan
tages to the assured, over most other companies.
Tne husband can msure his own hie for the sole tie and
benefit of his wile and children free from any other
•claims. Femons who insure lor life nartieipafa in the I
profits which are declared annually, and when the pre
mium exceeds S3O, may pay one-half in a note.
Slaves are msured at two-thirds their value far one or
t Jive years.
Applications for Risks mav be made to
JOHN MUNN,
. , Ajrent. Columbus, Ga.
mice at Greenwood A Co.’s Warehouse.
Nov, 10, 1849. t s
WINTER’S PALACE MILLS
HAVE now a good supply of fresh ground Flour, of
three qualities: say FINE, SUPERFINE, and
J ANCY brands; each kind is made from the best of
V estern \\ heat, and the only difference is the color.
The pnee by retail is for Fine, S3 per half barrel; Su
perfine, $3 25 per'balt barrel; Fancy, S3 50 per half
barrel. Discount made to those who buy to sellagain.
Quarter barrels are sold proportionately cheap
TV n J<s - JEFFERSON, Clerk.
Dec. 27 1849. 52 t s
VOL. I.
When You and I W ere Girls.
Our village looks as pretty now,
As't did in childhood’s hour,
When autumn burden’d bush and bough,
With choicest fruit and flower.
Still stands the hill beyond the mill,
Just where the river whirls —
Adown whose side we used to glide,
When you and 1 were girls.
Our cottage stands the same sweet thing,
Bo quiet and so calm—
The roses o'er its sides still cling,
And load the gale with halm ;
It - white front hid their leaves amid,
Like beauty’s brow mid curls —
And everything the past doth bring
When you and I were girls.
The brook, with rustic wood bridge spanned,
(Joes babbling on its way,
O'er hidden tracks of sedge and sand,
’’ s ‘ Like some glad child at play!
Then down some steep, in noisy leap,
The tiny cat'rnct hurls.
Like Hope’s false light, all dazzling bright,
When you and 1 were girls.
Still stands beyond the village green
The simple house of prayer—
Where villagers on Sabbath e’en
Hold holy meetings there !
In death’s grasp hound.in toomba around,
Which mode-t daisy peails,
Sleep forms we lov'd—that breathed and mov'd
When you and I were girls.
ALICE LISLE.
A SKETCH FROM ENGLISH HISTORY.
BY MRS. CAROLINE 11. BUTLER.
There is,'perhaps, no data in the annals of
English History marked with a more bloody
significance of the fearful extent to which the
evil passions of mankind will reach, when
not held in check by religious or civil discip
line, than that characterized as tlie “Bloody
Assizes,” in the reign of James tlie Second,
ltiSf)—which, even from out the lapse of two
centuries, still stands forth in loathsome and
horrible distinctness. When the savage and
bloody-minded Jeffreys, empowered bv a vin
dictive and arbitrary monarch, stalked like a
demon through the land, tracing his passage
with blood and tears, while the music of this
infernal march was the groans and death
shrieks of his victims. And as he strode on
ward—behind him he left horrible, eye-blast
ing, soul-harrowing proofs of his cruelty —
corpses swinging in tlie wind at the corners
of the cross roads—gibbets stuck up in every
market-place—and blackening heads impal
ed, even before the windows of the house of
God!
Such was the more than brutal ferocity
with which this fiend in human shape,
George Jeffreys, Chief Justice of the Court
of King’s Bench, prosecuted his commission.
Through all those districts where the in
habitants had either taken up arms in the
Monmoth Rebellion against tlie king, or who
had been known five years before to have re
ceived the unfortunate duke with favor and
homage, when assuming the rank of a right
ful prince he passed with almost legal triumph
through the land, did Jeffreys and his well
picked myrmidons pursue their murderous
track, sparing neither sex norage—the death
blow descending alike upon the silver head of
tottering age, or lisping, helpless infancy.
“And,” says Macaulay, “his spirits rose
higher and higher as the work went on. He
laughed, shouted, joked, and swore in such a
manner that many thought him drunk from
morning to night, but in him it was not easy
to distinguish the madness produced by evil
passions, from the madness produced by
brandy.”
In such a frame of mind lie entered (South
ampton and proceeded toward Winchester,
which, although not the scene of any war
like encounter with rebel and royalist, had
nevertheless, been resorted to by many of the
former as a place of safety, among whom
was their unhappy leader, the infatuated
Monmouth himself. It was here, near the
borders of the New Forest that the unfortu
nate man was taken prisoner. Worn out by
fatigue—crushed by disappointment—his
high hopes blasted by defeat, the ill-fated son
of Charles was discovered concealed in a
ditch, where all through a long, long day,
and a weary night, without food or drink, the
unhappy fugitive had vainly hoped to evade
the search of his pursuers.
Hither, then, came Jeffreys, tainting the
air as with a pestilence, and causing greater
terror and dismay, particularly among the
peasantry, no one knowing who next might
be the victim of the tyrant’s insatiate thirst
for blood.
He was now, however, in hot pursuit of
two men—one a Nonconformist divine, nam
ed Hicks ; the other a lawyer, who had made
himself obnoxious by being concerned in the
Rye House plot. These men it was needless
to say, Jeffreys was resolved to pursue to the
death.
In a fine old mansion, encompassed by a
closely wooded park of” a century’s growth,
dwelt the Lad\ r Alice Lisle. She was the
widow of John Lisle, who had held a com- j
mission under Cromwell, and had also sat in
the Long Parliament. He had been created
a Lord by Cromwell, and the title of Lady
was still courteously assigned to his widow,
for she was one greatly beloved by all per
sons and parties, both M hig and Tory, for
her many excellent qualities, and was also
nearly allied to many noble families.
It was near the close of a beautiful autum
nal day, that the Lady Alice, clad in deep
mourning weeds, might be seen passing slow
ly beneath the dark foliage of those venera
ble trees, stretching in such primeval gran
deur far on either side her domain. The
chastened radiance of the setting sun here
and there burnish -d the almost motionless
leaves with gold, or stealing athwart the
mossy trunks, and over the deep green sward,
mildly illumined the forest aisles, seeming
thereby as paths angels might love to tread.
The only companion of the lady was a child
—a beautiful boy of perhaps six years old—
an orphan, whom the kind Ladv Alice had
taken under her protection, and who now,
far from partaking in the seriousness of his
benefactress, skipped and gamboled before
her in wild and happy recklessness—now
springing like a fawn into the path before
her from behind some leafy screen, where for
a moment he had lain concealed, or striving
to attract attention by his childish prattle as
he hounded playfully at her side.
As heedless to the deepening twilight as
she seemed to all else around her, the Lady
Alice had proceeded further into the depths
of the wood than was her usual custom, when
she was suddenly aroused to the lateness of
I the hour by a scream from her little Edwin,
who, burying his face in the folds of her man
tle, cried,
‘0 run, dear lady, run—bad men—ah, they
will kill us!”
‘What are you talking of, Edwin ?” she
answered, taking his hand—‘who will kill us ?
We shall soon be at the Hall; fie, bov, are
you afraid because the sun has set, and the
old woods grown dark ! Ah, is this my little
hero!’
‘But, lady, I see men—bad, wicked men ;
there, lady, there,’ pointing, as he spoke, to a
clump of low oaks.
‘Foolish boy, it is only an owl!’ said the
lady, now turning to retrace her steps.
At that moment two men sprung from out
the thicket and stood in her path. Well
might that lady tremble, alone and unprotec
ted in tlie deep, dark wood, yet in tones well
belieing her fears, she unfalteringly bade them
stand aside, and give passage to herself and
the pale, timid child she led by the hand.
‘M e mean not to harm or frighten you,
madam,’ said one of the men, lifting his goat
skin cap, and stepping aside, ‘we seek at
your hands shelter and food. For three days
we have lain concealed in these woods, not
daring to venture forth even to satisfy tlie
cravings of hunger. We are neither thieves
nor murderers—slight offences may be in
these signal times of despotism and injustice
—but men hunted down like wild beasts in
the cause of civil and religious freedom. It
is for our lives we implore your aid.’
‘Yea, for our lives—that we may be spared
to trample the sons of Belial under our feet,
and smite, and slay, and destroy the arch
tools of oppression!’ interrupted the other,
with violent gesticulations; ‘and thou, wo
man, art the chosen vessel of the Lord to
shield his servants from the man of blood
against that dreadful day of retribution !’
‘I ask not to know why you are thus
thrown within peril of your lives,” answered
the Lady Alice, ‘it is enough forme that.you
are fellow-beings in distress, and as such
must claim my sympathy, and the shelter of
my roof. God forbid the doors of Alice
Lisle,should be closed against misfortune.
Follow me, then, friends, and such food as
my house affords, and such security as the
walls can give, may the Lord bless unto you.’
Confident in the attachment and fidelity of
her domestics, the Lady Alice, in a few
words, made known to them that tlie lives of
these unfortunate men were in jeopardy, and
that they sought from her kindness, safety
and concealment, and sharing in the benevo
lence of their mistress, each one of that well
tried household regarded the fugitives with
generous sympatliy.
An excellent supper, such as their famish
ing natures required, and a bottle of old wine,
was soon placed before the weary men.
They were then conducted by Lady Alice
herself to a room on the ground floor.
‘Observe,’ she said, ‘this oaken panel—
press your finger thus; a door opens, leading
into a secret passage, connected with the
vaults of the old chapel, where, in case of
emergency, you will he perfectly secure from
search. (Sleep, then, my friends, in peace;
one of my most faithful servants will this
night keep watch, and upon the least alarm,
yon will be notified i:i time to avail yourselves
of the way of escape i have pointed out.’
As she bade them good-night, one of the
men, seizing the hem of her mantle, carried it
to his lips with a grace not unfitting the pre
sence of a queen, while in the canting orato
ry of the day, hi 4 companion devotedly pray
ed the M ost High to bless the woman,
through whose assistance vengeance was yet
to lie heaped on the head of the scorner, and
those who now sat in high places to be brought
low.
And tints fortified and encouraged by the
assurance of their noble benefactress, the fu
gitives took heart, and throwing themselves
upon the bed, were soon soundly sleeping.
Not so the Lady Alice. True, these men
had not revealed their names, neither had she
sought to discover why they were driven to
their present strait—yet they had fled the
wrath of the cruel-minded Jeffreys she felt
persuaded, and fearful that with his myrmi
dons he might he close on the track of these
unhappy men, she too sat watching all the
night, or pacing with light footfall the long
galleries, ever and anon stepping out upon the
balcony and listening to every sound, her
fears magnifying the wispers of the wind
stealing through the branches of the old
trees, into the suppressed murmurs of an
armed force. All, however, remained quiet.
Just as the day began to dawn, she threw her
self upon her couch—not meaning to sleep.
But, overcome with the fatigue of her lonely
night-watch, and lulled perhaps by the secu
rity which almost always comes to the watch
er with the dawn of day, she soon uncon
sciously sunk into a deep sleep, from which,
alas! she was hut too rudely aroused; for
even in that brief half hour when tired na
ture claimed its own, the wiley Jeffreys had
surrounded the house with his no less brutal
soldiers.
‘Come, come, madam, bestir yourself-—you
are wanted,’ cried the leader, seizing the La
dy Alice by the shoulder-, and rudely shak
ing her; ‘methinks you sleep well this morn
ing—long watching makes sound slumbers,
eh ! Come, up with you, woman, and tell
us in what corner of this rebel’s nest you have
stowed away the Presbyterian knave and his
worthy friend (’
In a moment the lady was fully awake,
and comprehended at once her perilous situ
ation. But her self-possession did not for
sake her, and breathing an inward prayer for
the safety of the two unhappy men so close
ly pursued, she said, as she drew herself
proudly up:
‘What means this unmannerly intrusion ?
Off, sir! unhand me, or your audacity shall
be punished as it deserves!’
‘Ho-ho, my brave wench, words are cheap!
you will find proofs not so easy ! ‘Know,
mistress, yourself and your servants are my
prisoners,’ replied Jeffreys.
‘Your prisoners!’ cried the lady, with cut
ting contempt; ‘and who are you, and by
whose authority do you dare to lay hands on
me or any beneath my roof V
‘W ho am I ( That you shall soon know
to your cost,’ said Jeffreys, with a horrible
oath. ‘George Jeffreys has a peculiar way
of making himself known, my mistress.
Now deliver up those two arch rebels—the
canting, whining priest, and the trqitor Nel
thorpe, into our hands, and mayhap I’ll not
press my further acquaintance upon your la
dyship, except to taste the quality of your
wine, for I’ll warrant you my men, (turning
to his followers) these old cellars are not dry.’
‘I know no such persons as those you
seek,’ replied the Ladv Alice firmly; ‘and
what reason have you to suppose they are
within my house V
COLUMBUS, GEORGIA, THURSDAY MORNING, APRIL 18, 1850.
‘We know it, and that is enopgli,’ replied
Jeffreys. ‘Thev are known to have lain hid
within your neighborhood; and we know
they have been secreted by you ; and now,
by—, madam, unless you lead us to their
kennel, your body shall writhe in flames, or
be hacked in pieces by mv soldiers !’
‘lnfamous, cowardly wretch!’ replied Al
ice Lisle, undaunted, ‘think you your threats
would induce ine to betray, more especially
into vour blood-thirsty hands, any unhappy
individual who had sought my protection !
Know Alice Lisle better!’
‘Ho-lio, von are so brave! here, my men,
take this boasting mistress, and give her a
dance upon hot coals!’ cried the ferocious
Jeffreys.
At that instant, little Edwin, still in his
night dress, opened the door of his little bed
room, and ran terrified toward the Lady Al
ice ; but he was not permitted to reach her ;
a soldier rudely seized the poor boy by the
shoulder, and notwithstanding his shrieks,
held him with such a grip aS left the print of
his fingers upon the tender flesh.
‘Ruffian, unhand the child!’ exclaimed the
lady, attempting to rise, bvt held back by the
iron hand of Jeffreys.
‘Ha! a pretty hostage truly!’ lie said.
‘Here, Rateliffe, draw your dagger across his
pretty white throat, unless this stubborn wo
man yields up our prey—do you hear that?’
turning to the Lady Alice.
‘O save me—save me! don't let them kill
me!’ screeched the poor little fellow, striving
to break away; then turning his beautiful
black eyes upon the hard, stern features of’
the man who held him, he clung piteously
around his knees, repeating his cry for mercy,
his tace uplifted, and his soft, golden curls
falling over his white shoulders, from which
tlie loose night-dress had slipped away.
Tears, which neither her own danger, or
the insults heaped upon her could draw forth,
now streamed down the pallid cheek of the
Lady Alice.
‘Are you men ?’ she cried, turning to the
rude soldiers, ‘are you men, and can you
stand by and see that innocent, helpless lamb
inhumanly murdered before your eyes !’
‘Ah!’ cried Jeffreys, with a hideous leer,
‘we are used to butchering lambs, madam ;
bless you, we do it so easy the poor things
don’t have time to bleed! Strike, Rateliffe!’
A scream—a wild scream of agony burst
from the heart of Alice Lisle; then dashing
off the arm of Jeffreys, in the strength of her
despair, as but a feather’s weight, she sprung
to the boy and threw her arms around him.
There was heard at that moment a loud
shout from the court-yard, coupled with oaths
and imprecations, and one of the troop burst
in, waving his cap.
‘Hurra,your honor! they’re.caught, your
worship; we’ve got the rascals—hurra!
hurra!’
‘Now God help them !’ murmured Alice.
‘Your life shall answer for this, vile trait
ress!’ muttered Jeffreys, in a voice hoarse
with rage, and shaking his fist at the unshrink
ing heroine. ‘But where found you the
knaves?’ he added, turning to the bearer of
such fiendish joy.
‘Ha, ha, your worship—but I can’t help
laughing; we found his reverence chin-deep
in a malt tub—ha, lia, ha! and the other
rogue we hauled from the kitchen chitnnev,
its black as his master, the Devil!’
‘And to his master he shall be sent with a
crack in his windpipe,’ said Jeffreys.
‘'Wounds, your honor loves a joke,’ said
one, who might bo calied the Tros Acliiles
of the company, edging up to Jeffreys w ith a
horrid grin ; ‘shall we string the rascals up
below there—yonder is a good strong beam;
or shall we leave their heads in the market
place, as a kind of warning to till traitors?
‘Peace, knave!’ replied Jeffreys, with a
frown which made the villain turn pale ; ‘at
tend to your duty, and see that the prisoners
are well secured; these fellows are slippe
ry rascals—and now madam, (turning to
Alice Lisle,) up with you, and prepare to fol
low either to the scaffold or the stake, as
suits my pleasure.’ Then with a bruitul
blow with the back of his sword, lie rudely
pushed hio victim on before him.
Her weeping and terrified domestics would
have approached their beloved mistress, but
were thrust back by tlie drawn swords of the
soldiers, and when the unfortunate lady
crossed the threshold it, was over the dead
body of her aged butler, brutally struck down
before her.
‘Farewell, my friends,’ said Lady Alice,
turning to her faithful attendants, ‘I look for
no mercy at the hands of these cruel men,
whose pastime is death; yet though they may
torture the body, into the mercy of my Re
deemer do I humbly commit my soul. May-
God forgive these, my enemies, for in their
blind rage they know not what they do
prey for them, my friends.’
‘Come, none of your cant here, if you
please; if we want any praying done, we’ll
call on yonder long nosed, whining saint,’
cried Jeffreys, pointing to Hicks, who with
Nelthrope at his side, and both closely bound
together with ropes, and guarded on either
side, was now brought forward.
Lest by appearing to recognize the Lady
Alice they might increase their danger, the
prisoners took no notice whatever of her,
for their sakes, were now in such peril, and
met her glance as they would that of a stran
ger. Nelthrope indeed, essayed once to speak,
for the purpose of acquitting the Lady Alice
of all knowledge of himself and companion,
and his speech was cut short by vile taunts
and curses.
These wretched men had slept soundly
through the night, and with the stupor of hea
vy fatigue hanging about them, heard too late
the tramp of their pursuers, and forgetting in
their sudden alarm the secret pannel, sprung
through a window, and endeavored to con
ceal themselves in some of the out-buildings;
but vainly—they were soon dragged forth,
and knew that from the jaws of the blood
hound Jeffreys, death was to be their only
release.
And now, without any delay, the prison
ers were brought to tried, the Lady Alice
being first placed at the bar, charged with
treason, in concealing or harboring persons
disaffected to the king, and known to have
been concerned in the late insurrection.
Many of the jurors were of the most re
spectable men of Hampshire, and all shrunk
from convicting the amiable and exemplary
female, for a crime, (if crime it could be call
ed,) which certainly arose from the purest
and noblest emotions of the heart. But Jef
freys was not to be so robbed of his prey.
Witnesses, forestalled by their vindictive
spirit, appeared against her, and those who
would have testified in her favor, were so put
down by the bold-faced cunning ot these
hirelings, as to do more iniury than good to
the cause which they came to sustain. The
Lady Alice was then called upon for her de
fence. In a modest and dignified manner
she addressed the court. She began by say
ing that she knew not the men who had
sought her protection, nor had she asked for
what offence they were thus hunted down;
it was enough that famished and weary they
required her assistance, and that assistance
she had freely rendered them: ‘Yet for this,
gentlemen,’ she continued, ‘I am arraigned
for treason! Has charity, then, become a
crime? Is it a capital offence to relieve the
wants of oui* suffering fellow-beings? and
must the cold voice of prudence overcome
the Divine precepts of Jesus? No—God for
bid !’
She was here interrupted by an insolent
remark from the judge ; and if allowed again
to speak, it was only to draw upon herself
his course, unfeeling ribaldry.
The jury retired, their sympathies more
than ever excited for the unfortunate hid}'.
Their consultation was too long for the
patience of the judge. He grew furious at
their delay; stamping and swearing like a
madman. He sent a messenger to tell them
that if they did not instantly return, he would
adjourn the court and lock them up all night.
Thus put to the torture, they came, but came
only to say they doubted whether the charge
had been made out. Jeffreys expostulated
with them vehemently, and after another con
sultation, they gave a reluctant verdict of
“Guilty!”
This was received with demoniac joy by
Jeffreys, who immediately proceeded to pass
sentence, which was, that the most unfortu
nate Lady Alice Lisle should that very af
ternoon be burned alive!
This dereadful sentence caused universal
horror, and moved the pity even of the most
devoted supporters of the king. The judge
was overwhelmed with petitions and prayers
for mercy; but the only mercy he granted
was ;t few days delay ere the dreadful sen
tence should be accomplished.
During that time the royal clemency was
eagerly solicited, and many persons of the
highest rank interceded with James for the
release of Alice Lisle. Ladies cf the court
entreated his mercy. Feversham, flushed
with recent victory, pleaded for her; and
even Clarendon, the brother-in-law of the
king, spoke in her behalf.
It was all in vain.
Scarcely less cruel than his cruel Judge,
James was inexorable, and only so far shew
ed his clemency as to commute the sentence
from burning to beheading!
But peace —peace, such as the world can
neither give or take away, went with Alice
Lisle into that dark, cold prison, to which her
enemies consigned her. Those damp walls, in
whose crevices the slimy lizard made its bed;
though they shut her out from the world—
from friends—from freedom, they could not
imprison her soul, nor crush the spirit of the
martyred Alice, as it ascended in prayers to
the heavenly throne. Divine love and holy
trust in the promises of her Redeemer illu
minated her dark dungeon with the bright
ness of heaven; and when led forth to the
scaffold, death was swallowed up in victory.
Alice Lisle was beheaded in the market
place at Winchester, A. D. 1085.
THE FUNERAL OF MR. CALIIOUN.
The Chaplain, the Rev. C. M. Butler.
after reading the 15th chapter of Ist Corin
thians, on the subject of the “Resurrection,”
delivered the following Discourse :
“1 have said ye are gods, and all of you
are children of the Most High; but ye shall
die like men, and fall like one of the princes.”
—Ps. lxxxii,v. 6 and 7.
One of the princes is fallen! A prince in
intellect; a prince in his sway over human
hearts and minds; a prince in the wealth of
his own generous affections, and in the rich
revenues of admiring love poured into his
heart; a prince in the dignity of his demea
nor—this prince is fallen—fallen !
And ye all, his friends and peers, illustri
ous statesmen, orators and warriors, “I have
said ye are gods, and all of you are children
of the Most High; but ye shall die like men,
and fall like this one of the princes.”
The praises of the honored dead have been,
here and elsewhere, fitly spoken. The beau
tifully blended benignity, dignity, simplicity,
and purity of the husband, the father, and the
friend; the integrity, sagacity, and energy
of the (statesman; the high-wrought vigor,
the compressed intenseness, the direct and
rapid logic of the orator—all these have been
vividly portrayed by those who illustrate what
they describe. There seenis to linger still
around this hall echoes of the voices which
have so faithfully sketched the life, so happi
ly discriminated the powers, so effectionately
eulogised the virtues of the departed, that the
Muse of History will note down the words
as the outline, her nice analysis, and her
glowing praise.
But the echo of those eulogies dies away.
All that was mortal of their honored object
lies here, unconscious in the theatre of his glo
ry. “Lord of the lion heart and eagle eye,”
there he lies—that strong heart still; that
bright eve dim! Another voice claims your
ear. The minister of God, standing over the
dead, is sent to say, “I said ye are gods, and
all of you are the children of the Most High ;
but ye shall die like men, and fall like one of
the princes.” He is sent to remind you that
there are those here, not visible to the eye of
sense, who are greater than the greatest—
even Death and Death’s Lord and Mas
ter !
Death is here. I see him stand over his
prostrate victim, and grimly smile, and shake
his unsated spear, and bid us all attend this
day on him. He is king to-day, and leads
us all captive in his train, to swell his triumph
and proclaim his power. And there is no
visitant that can stand before the soul of man
with such claims on his awed, intent, and
teachable attention. When, as on a day, and
in a scene like this, he holds us in his pres
ence, and bids us hear him, who can dare
disregard his mandate ? Oh! there is no
thought or fact, having reference to this
brief scene of things, however it come with
a port and tone of dignity and power, which
does not dwindle into meanness in the pre
sence of that great fact, that great thought,
which has entered into the capitol to-day—
Death! To be made to see that, by a law
perfectly inevitable and irresistible, soul and
hody are soon to separate; that this busy
scene of earth is to be suddenly and forever
left; that this human soul is to break through
the circle ol warm, congenial, familiar, and
kindred sympathies .and associations, and to
put ofl'iill alone into the silent dark this is
the message to us of death. And as this
message is spoken to a soul which is con
scious of sin, which knows that it has not
in itself resources for self-purification .and
self-sustaining joy and peace; which real
izes retribution as an eternal moral law—it
comes fraught with the unrest which cau
ses it to be dismissed, or which lodges
it in the soul—a visitant whose first com
ing is gloom, but whose continued presence
is glory. Then the spirit, peering with in
tense earnestness into the dark unknown,
may in vain question earth of the destiny of
the soul beyond the grave, and lift to heaven
the passionate invocation—
“ Answer me, burning stars of night,
Where hath the spirit gone.
Which passed the reach of mortal sight,
E’en a breeze hath flown?
And the stars answer him, We roll
In pomp and power on high,
But of the never-dying soul,
Ask things that cannot die.”
“Things that cannot die!” God only can
toll us of the spirit-world. lie assures us by
his Son, that death is the child of sin. He
tells what is the power of this king of terrors.
He shows us that “in Adam all die.” He de
clares to us that, sinful by nature and by
practice, we are condemned to death; that
we are unfit for heaven; that we are con
signed to wo; that the destiny of the soul
which remains thus condemned and unchan
ged is tar drearier and more dreadful be
yond, than this side the grave. No wonder
that men shrink from the thought of death,
for all his messages are woful and appalling.
But thanks he to God! though he be here,
so also is death’s Lord and Master. “As in
Adam all die, even so in Christ shall all be
made alive.” That Savior, Christ, assures
us that all who repent and forsake their sins,
who believe in him and live to him, shall rise
to a life glorious and eternal with him and
his in heaven. He tells us that if we are his,
those sharp shafts which death rattles in our
ear to-day shall but transfix, and but for a
season, the garment of our mortality; and
that the emancipated spirits of the righte
ous shall be borne, on angel wings, to that
peaceful Paradise, where they shall enjoy
perpetual rest and felicity. Then it need not
be a voice of gloom which announces to us
to-day, “Ye shall die as men, and fall as one
of the princes,” for it tells us that the hum- 1
blest of men may be made equal to the an
gels, and that earth’s princes may become
“kings and princes unto God.”
Ip the presence of these simplest, yet grand
est truths; with thoughts’ of death and the
conqueror of death : and, above all, with this
splendid trophy of his power, proudly held
up to our view by-death to-day, I need utter
to you no common-place on the vanity of i
life, the inevitableness of death, and the so
lemnities of our after-being. Here, and now,
on this theme, the silent dead is preaching to
you more impressively than could the most
eloquent of the living. You feel it now, in
your inmost hearts, that that great upper
range of things with which you are connect
ed as immortals; that moral administration
of God which stretches over the infinite of
existence; that magnifficent system of or
dered governments, to whose lower range
we now belong, which consists of thrones
dominions, principalities and powers, which
rise
“Orb, o’er orb, and height o’er height”
to the enthroned Supreme—you feel that
this, your high relation to the Infinite and
Eternal, makes poor and low the most au
gust and imposing scenes and dignities of
earth, which flit like shadows through your
three score years and ten. Oh! happy if
the vivid sentiment of the hour shall become
the actuating conviction of your life. Hap
py if it takes its place in the centre of
the soul, and inform all the thoughts, the
feelings and the aims of life! Then shall
this lower system of human things be con
scientiously linked to, and become part of,
and take glory from that spiritual sphere
which, all unseen, encloses us, whose actors
and heroes are angels and archangels, and
all the company of heaven. Then would
that be permanently felt by all which was
here and in the other chamber, yesterday, so
eloquently expressed, that “vain are the per
sonal strifes and party contests in which you
may so soon be called on to enter;” and
that “it is unbecoming and presumptuous in
those who are the tenants of an hour in their
earthly abode, to wrestle and struggle to
gether w ith a violence which would not he
justifiable if it w ere vour perpetual home.”
Then, as we saw r to-day, the sisters States,
by their representatives, linked hand and
hand around the bier of one in whose fame
they all claim a share, we should feel that we
saw r you engaged in a sacrament of religious
patriotism, w hose spontaneous, unpremedita
ted oath, springing consentient from your
hearts, and rising unto heaven, is—“ Liberty
and Union, now and forever, one and insepa
rable.”
But I must no longer detain you. May
we all
“So live that when our pummons comes to join
The innumerable caravan that moves *•
To that mysterious relm when each shall take
His chamber in the silent halls of death,
We go not like the quarry slave at night
Scourged to our dungeon, but, sustained and soothed
.By an unfaltering trust, approach our grave
Like one that wraps the drapery of his couch
About him and lies down to pleasant dreams.”
Woman’s Mission. —Of late years missions and
missionaries have been much in vogue. We
have not only missions in Australia and Poly
nesia, but there is “the scholar’s mission,” and
the “teacher’s mission,” and “woman’smission.”
Formerly we used to hear and read of woman’s
“duty,” and the like of that; but now she has a
“mission,” which we suppose is something dif
ferent and a good deal more respectable. Her
duties were always tolerably plain, plain enough
for all practical purposes, at ieast, but what her
“mission” is, is not quite so transparent. The
writers differ among themselves about the
matter, and the qnestion remains a questio vex
ata. Were it not for a shrewd suspicion that
we should be considered an enemy to “female
rights,” and a very horrible tyrant, we would
“very respectfully suggest” (as the diplomists
sav,) we would “venture to remark in the most
deferential manner” (as Count Chuckson used
to observe) that, if women must be missionaries,
the department of philanthropic labor entitled |
“home missions,” is the most suitable to their 1
sex, and will afford the most ample scope for
all their strength, goodness and grace. The ex- ;
periment has been tried with remarkable sue- |
cess in several eminent instances, and it is well
worth the attention of any uneasy ladies who
are in doubt as to what they are to do with them
selves for the benefit of the race, “and the rest
of mankind.”
Pretty Women—'No More Beauties*
BY A TRETTY WOMAN.
I have often wondered why there were nd
professed beauties now-a-days, while every past
age can boast of its Helens; our generation may
number many pretty faces, but it is the only one
among the thousands already counted, that pro-;
duces no beauties whose names shall descend
imperisliably to the generations yet to come.
We cannot open a page of history that does
not record the fame of some beauty ; The Bible
has its Rachel—so lovely that twenty years of
service was deemed a light tee for her affections;
the world was lost for Cleopatra; the beautiful
mistresses of the French kings ruled the world
1 through the hearts of their imperial lovers; even
down to the days of George the Fourth, there
has always been some lady whose charms have
been more powerful than monarchs and prime
ministers.
But I think the problem may be solved; it is
the difference of dress—costume does it all;
I revive the robings of bygone ages, and you will
revive all the beauty and the ugliness of those
days. For there must have been a good deal of
ugliness, otherwise beauty would not have
been so forcibly appreciated. Had there been
more pretty girls in the days of Troy, Helen
would have had few suitors, and Illium might
have been standing yet. What I mean to say is
this—in those times people dressed so unbe
comingly, tha t. unless their features were perfect,
they were literally nothing; all the mirror graces
which set off a mediocre person now, were to
i tally unavailing under that system of costume.
For instance, Helen must have worn a loose
robe, a broad girdle, bare arms, sandals on her
feet, and her hair bound back in those rich, mag
nificent braids, termed to this day “Grecian
Flails.”
But imagine for a moment all your acquaint
ances dressed in ibis way! Would not the ma
jority be frightful ! How few faces, how few
complexions, could stand that banding back of
the thick hair! how few forms would show well
beneath the simple robe, without stays or stiff
petticoats! how lew feet would lx; endurable in
sandals! how few arms would bear the noon
day sun and the sharp winds, which would soon
reduce them to the form of a washer-woman’s!
Perhaps the Jewish costume of Rebecca and
Rachel may have been a shade better; but here
was the same exposure of neck and arms, with
the additional disadvantages of a robe that
showed a leg encased in hideous boots and hose,
and that refused to sweep with Grecian amplitude
round the limbs of’ the fair wearers.
Cleopatra, who is represented as being both
dark and stout, could wear only the robes of
white purple, the heavy diadem, the strings of
pearls that were allotted to the garb of Egyptian
princes. How dark and how comely must nave
been the majority of her country women may be
judged from the sensation she made.
The Roman ladies were famed for their state
ly carriage, and somewhat large but noble fea
tures; and when to those charms are added
those of regularity and delicy, and beautiful col
oring, no doubt their simple peu coqutte style of
dress was especially becoming to them; but
without these latter qualifications, how gaunt
and coarse they must have appeared.
What can be more lovely than the figure of
Agrippina —bending that stately head above the
ashes of Germinicus?—the robe falls in long,
sweeping folds; tin* bare arm, naked to the
shoulder, supports the urn: the hair braided
back, the smooth brow, the magnificent eye, in
its large and lofty chamber; not a ribbon, not
the gleaming of a jewel, breaks the calm outline,
or disturbs the severe unity. Perhaps among
the circle of our acquaintance there are two or
three woman who would appear to advantage so
attired; but, oh! how well for the dumpy and
the scraggy, “nez retrousse ” and the “nez snub”
that they tall upon better days.
As we descend the stream of time, the num
ber of celebrated beauties decreases; this we
may attribute to the increasing knowledge of the
art of dress; indifferent complexions, had figures
irregular features, began to have something like,
fair play shown them; exigencies of persons
met with some assistance from costumes:
in the same degree as the plain women were
made to appear less plain, were the beauties less
prominent, and the distance between the parties
lessened.
Still we hear of some so strikingly lovely, as
to be known to all the world by the fame of their
eyes only; Edith, of the swan neck ; so called
from the brilliant whiteness of a skin capable of
resisting the exposure to sun and wind, which
tanned and freckled into fright fulness the Queens
and lofty ladies of those rude days; Rosamond
the Fair—so fair that it said of her, “none but a
jealous and exasperated woman could have
harmed her;” Beatrice Cenci, whose beauty
makes one shudder, so mysterious seems the
light in those large untrobled eyes, soon about
to close beneath the pressure of so awful a fate;
Lucrezia Borgia, an angel in face, a demon in
heart; Mary, of Scotland, whom “no man ever
beheld without love,” and some few others, until
we reach that famous trio recorded in the letters
of Horaca \\ alpole, as the lovliest women of
time, the Misses Gunning.
One of these, the Dutchess of Hamilton, was
so renowned for her charms, that her fame,
spread far and near, insomuch, that when travel-*
ling once from the North to the town, the mob in
| the places where she rested at nights, assembled
round the hotels, nor would they depart until
■ she had appeared on the balconies to display to
| them her world-famed face.
| And there is something strangely sad in the
j account of the death of another of the sisters—
Lady Coventry, who perished of consumption
while in the highest pride of youth and beauty.
She is recorded as awaiting patiently the ap
proach of dealh—her looking-glass her constant
I companion—ns scarcely ever removing her eyes
from the reflection of her own face, and asbe
wailing only the too early extinction of a beauty
worthy of immortality.
At a later time, when the names of some fa
j vorite beauties are again recorded, the costume,
j totally different, was so hideous, that no one cou’d
wear it with impunity—hence the high reputa
j tion for beauty of Pauline Bonaparte and Mad~
; ame Recamier. 7’he former is described as ap
| pearing at a party given by her mighty brother,
in a tunic of white muslin, reaching a little be
low the knees, and commencing far below the
shoulders, the waist exceedingly short, and
bound with a narrow girdle ; sandals clothed the
small feet, while a mantle of leopard skin hung
around the form of Canola's fairest model.
And there are many who can remember the
appearance of Madame Recamier in the packs
of London, clad in a robe as scantily and as
simple—her dark hair wreathed around her
head and fastened with a bqdkin to the summit,-
and a scarlet mantle wrapped around her.
Now-a-days, the toilet of a lady is exactly con
ducted upon the principles most becoming t® all;
few figures look ill in the sweeping robes and
; lengthened corsage—ample and stately without
stiffness; -ancles however thick, are concealed
;by the long dresses now the mode. Features,
! however coarse, can be softened or shaded iuto
: something like symmetry, by the judicious ar
rangement of locks permitted to be worn in
i bands, or ringlets, just as best suits the face they
surround.
And while no arbitrary fashion forces the ex
-1 posure of a frightful profile, a clumsy arm,. a
ponderous ancle, no rule exists to prevent the
reverse of these being shown. Every lady is at
liberty to bring out her own “good points” as
1 she thinks best, and it is easy to do so, as well as
to conceal her weak ones, without departing
from the fashions that prevail. — Home Journal.
Irish Wit. —The late Earl S. was in the habit
of keeping an Irish footmen in his house; and
this person was as full of wit as any of his
countrymen. The Earl sent him one day with
a present to one of his Judges, and the Judge
repaying the favor, sent the Earl half a dozen
partridges, and a letter along with them. Paddy,
when coining towards home, with the basket
full of partridges on his back, heard them strug
gle and very uneasy; therefore, after taking
them down, he opened the cover of the basket,
with the intention of putting them in better or
der, but, instead of that, they flew away. ’
be you,” says Paddy, “I’m glad that I got rid of
you.” As soon as’he came home, and the Earl
read the letter, he called Paddy and told him
there were half a dozen partridges in the letter.”
“Oh: faith,” says Paddy M’Cormick, “I am glad
you found them in the letter—they all flew away
from the basket.”
NO. 16.