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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. Terms of Subscription. One copy twelve months, in advance, - - §2 50 “ “ “ “ Not in advance, -3 00 Where the Fubscription is not paid during the year, 15 cent? will be charged for every month's delay. No subscription will be received for less than six months, and none discontinued until all arrearages are paid, except at the option of the proprietor. To Clubs. Five copies twelve months, - $lO 00 Pen “ “ “ - - - 16 00 tsr The money from Clubs must in all cases ac company the names, or the price of a single subscription Will he charged. Rates of Advertising. One Square, first insertion, - - $1 00 “ “ Each subsequent insertion, - 50 A liberal deduction on these terms will be made in favor bf those who advertise by the year. Advertisements not specified as to time, will be pub lisls-d till furbtd, and charged accordingly. Monthly Advertisements will be charged as ne-vv Ad vertisements at each insertion. 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. Citations for Letters of Administration, must bo pub lished thirty days—for dismission front administration, monthly six months —for dismission fiom Guardianship, FORTY DAYS. Rules for the foreclosure of a Mortgage must lx- pub lished monthly fir four months—for establishing lost papers, for the full space of tiirf.f. months —for com 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.