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SOUTHERN RECORDER.
BY GIIANTLAND & ORME.
MIL.LEDGEVIL.LE, GEORGIA, THURSDAY, JULY 14, 1831.
NO. 25 OF VOL. XII.
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FROM THE t.ONDON COURT JOURNAL.
PARIS CHIT-CHAT.
Paris, May 10th, 1831.
Very serious disappointments has been felt
by the votaries of Terpsichore at the relin
quishment of the Ball intended to have been
given at the Palais Royal, on Tuesday ; as
from the approaching depaftue of the Royal
Family for St. Cloud, it was known to he the
last of the season, and was looked to, iri some
measure, for the establishment of the fashion
able costumes of the ensuing summer. Up
wards of three thousand invitations had been
issued, and every preparation was made by
the royal hosts and their expected visitors, to
render the finale the most brilliant of the sea
son ; but inexorable Death issued his fiat most
inopportunely, and in depriving Sardinia of its
monarch, gave birth to as much discontent a-
mong the gay of this city, as the illustrious
defunct had caused to his own subjects during
his-protracted reign. The royal family have,
in consequence, gone into mourning for two
months.
The review of the troops of the line of the
newly created army, took place on Monday, as
usual, in the Champ de Mars. ' They amount
ed to about sixty thousand men of all arms.—
1 was particularly strue.k with the appearance
of two regiments of Cuirassiers. They arc
picked men, wearing uniforms of a very mar
tial stamp, with a most classical helrner, ex
tremely well horsed—and I cannot say more
of them, than that some members of our gal
lant army, who were present, declared that
they thought them, in appearance and weight,
equal to our own life Guards. The King was
attended to and from the field, by a brilliant
cortegs of marshals and generals, (tiie scarlet
uniforms of some denoting that our gallant
countrymen were in the group,) and was re
ceived by a siavo of artillery from the guns of
the Invalids, both on entering and quitting the
ground. The marshals and generals still
wearing the broad/ed riband of Louis XVIII,
were by general order directed to wear it un
der the coat, contrary to the inode hitherto
observed. The greatest enthusiasm seemed
tn prevail among the troops, who were extreme
ly young, exhibit in manceuvering the steadi
ness of veterans. They left Paris on the All
owing day, for their destined encampments in
the Departments.
— About nine in the morning of Tuesday
last, a carriage drove up to the base of the
column in the Place Vendoinc, from which a
lady deeply veiled and in mourning alighted.
On her having obtained admission within the
railings, a servanr was despatched lor steps, anti
she proceeded to encircle the necks ol the 1 r
bronze eagles at the angles, with black crape,
and made a circlet of the yellow flowers call
ed “immortelles,” (the Aspodel of the an
cients.) On finishing her pious task, she de
scended, appeared for some minutes in silent
devotion, and drove ofi'. This scene had col
lected a few spectators, and it is said that the
Incognita was the Countess de Montholon,
whose husband with heroic fidelity, and ac
companied by his family adheared to their late
master throughout his fallen fortunes, and who,
tu St. Helena, witnessed his final scene. The
impulse thus given, the example was soon fol
lowed, by a people so sensitive as the Parisian
populace. The manufacturers of funcrel
garlands of all hues attended; the people
crowded round, and in an hour, every pro
minent part of the basso-relievos of its exten
sive base was loaded with these emblems of
affection (for as such they were solely intend
ed,) and the populace were loud in their plau
dits of the present Government, for not inter
fering. I heard them remark to each other,
" We could not have done this last year. If
a garland was placed it was by stealth, and de
tection would have severely punished the indi
vidual. The Marche au Fleurs was quite de
serted, &its variegated treasures were brought
to the Place Vendome. Bonquets of all kinds
and many of them from the Conservatory,
were now thrown in, and one experienced flo
rist has covered the base, in the most tasteful
manner. This magnificent column now pre
sents the singular appearance of springing
from a pedestral of flowers. The greatest or
der prevailed, and the finer feelings seemed to
have absorbed the usual boisterous vivacity of
the French populace. At night the column
was illuminated. I saw several veterans ex
pend a franc for a garland, and throwing it in
brush off the unbidden tear, as they turned
from the spot. An old woman, selling iced
water, (the very counterpart of Moll Flagon,
The progress of the King, for the short dis
tance, was like a Roman triumph. At every
village on his road, decorated triumphal arches
were erected, and the streets were festooned
with flowers, and gay with the tri-coloured flag.
St. Cloud is a delightful residence, resemb
ling more, in its interior arrangements, a no
bleman’s seat in England, than any of the
chateaux I have seen in France. It is spa
cious. but an elegant simplicity reigns through
out the state apartments, widely differing from
the gorgeous splendour of the Tuillerics or
Versailles. But its most delightful feature is
the beautiful park and grounds in which the
Palace stands. Bordered by the Seine, here
a clear and rapid river of considerable breadth,
and whose tortuous course seeins to denote
an unwillingness to lcave'the enchanting do
main, it embraces forest scenery of venerable
magnificence, and the milder charms of the
modern shrubbery. The grounds gradually
swell to an height on which is erected a tower
called “The Lantern of Demosthenes,” co
pied from the monument at Athens, hearing
that name, the design having been brought
from thence by M. de Choiseul, when he re
turned from Constantinople. On ascending
its summit, a panoramic view of the surround
ing country strikes the eye with fresh beau
ties on every side; Paris with its numerous
churches, and its gilt domes of the inva
lids, and Val de Grace glittets in the set
ting- sun; the Seine, which meanders like
a silver riband, is visible for many miles, and
a more charming combination of landscape
scenery is no where to be seen, perhaps, with
the exception of Richmond. In these grounds,
the youthful branches of the royal family,
strongly attached to a rural life, will have lib
erty to breath, and since their arrival they
have been seen bounding like fawns through
(he vallies. Their six months’ residence in
the Palais Royal, condemned to the obser
vance of an etiquette, which, however modi
fied, could not fail to be irksome, has been a
painful sacrifice: hut now they rejoice
their newly-recovered liberty, and again taste
the tranquility of their former residence at
Neuilly, to which they are attached by many
fond recollections. From the proximity of
^ j the Chateau of St. Cloud to Paris, the King
frequently comes to meet his ministry, or they
join him in council there, and a telegraphic
communication can summon any officer want
ed in less than an hour.
NAPOLEON.
Some circumstances have lately occurred
to direct public attention, in no inconsidera
ble degree, to the triumphant column erected
by Napoleon in the Place Vendome, at Paris,
and to the removal of his statue from its sum
mit. Many inaccurate statements having
gone abroad in relation to it, we draw the fol
lowing information from authentic sources:—
At the period of the first revolution, and
whilst Paris was in possession of the allied
troops, some partisans of the Bourbons, in the
violence of their zeal, resolved on dragging
down from the summit of the column, the sta
tue of the hero who crowned it. The names
of the principle actors in this disgraceful out
rage have been preserved. A carpenter of
the name of Lecasse, caused his workmen to
attach ropes to the statue, to which he har
nessed twenty four horses, but it had been so
firmly fixed, they were unable to move it. A
locksmith, of the name Viquesnctz, or the
men in his employ, next endeavored to saw
through the legs of the statue above the an
cles, but were equally unsuccessful, and Na
poleon continued to frown defiance on his as
sailants as proudly as he did on the battle
days, of which the column perpetuated the
memory.
The partisans of the Bourbons thus foiled,
had recourse to the Commandant of Paris, to
whom they represented that the artist, (M.
Launey,) the founder of the statue, was the
only person capable of removing it, and ob
tained from the commandant the following or
der :—
Having given authority to M. de Montba-
don, to take down the statue of Napoleon, at
his own expense, and M. de Montbadon hav
ing represented to as, that M. Launay, resid
ing at Paris, No. 6 Place Saint Daurent, Fau
bourg St. Deunis, who cast the bronzes on
the column, is alone able to remove the sta
tue, we order said M. Launay to proceed im
mediately to take it down, under penalty of
military execution; and unless it be done by
Wednesday the 6th of April, at midnight.
The Colonel, Aid-de-Camp of II. M. the
Emperor of Russia, Commandant of the
place. The Count de Rochechuart.
Above this document was written—To ho
executed immediately.
PASQUER.
[This Pasquier was Prefect of Police, and
is now President of (lie Chamber of Peers.—
The Count de Rochoehouart is also a French
man.]
Thus threatened, M. Launay, complied with
the order, and took down the statue without
injurying ifi His expenses amounted to 4616
francs, which M. de Montbadon being unable
or unwilling to pay, the statue remained in
possession of M. Launay, until the period of
“the one hundred days," when an order from
the Emperor directed him to deliver it up to
M. Denoon. After the second restoration,
the bourbons resolved on placing an equestri
an statue of Henry IV. on the Pont neuf at
little longer?” " of the earth trembled. The grifat'Cataracts as
“I am deaf, and scarcely hear the sound of they roll down from the lofty precipices spar-
thy trumpet.” | kle and glitter; and out of the deep and dread-
“Thou art fond of the delicacies of food ?” j ful chasm beneath, rises a bright and beautiful
“Alas! my feeble heallh will not permit of j bow tinged with a thousand colours. I have
such indulgences, I have lived on milk and
crust of bread these Boven years past and
more. I am a miserably sickly old man.”
•And still thou wishelt to lengthen out thy
been abroad viewing the scene. I stood alone
at the foot of the great fall, and ns I gazed on
the immense sheet of water, which, dashing
down before me, rushed wildly by my feet;
miseries. - What pleasure dost thou enjoy in i and saw, streehed over my head, projecting
this life ?” j crags, which seemed to threaten instant dc-
“Thc pleasure of living,” said the old j struction, 1 felt the blood curdling in my veins
man; the. angel granted him a few years I and a cold sweat stood upon my forehead.—
more. | The frailty and insignificance of human nature
The third who approached the foot stool of shrunk before the might of Jehova, made ma-
the angel, was a decrepit! female, almost bent; nifest in the grandest, sublimcst and most tcr-
to the earth, and trembling with a palsy. Her! rifle of his created works,
teeth were gone—lift eyes buried deep in “ Silently and cautiously I ascend tho aceli-
their dark blue socket—her cheek hollow and vity, (or a sense 4f fear and dread was upon
fleshless—and she could hardly prefer her re- me, such as no common danger could inspire,
quest for an incessant cough, which drowned j and, even now, though my feelings are some-
her voice, and almost choked her. ! what checked and subdued, 1 cannot altogeth-
“1 am come,” said she, “to beg a score of j er soothe my excited spirits. When I viewed
years, that I may enjoy the pleasure ol seeing the Falls by daylight, amid ‘the crowd, the
the cypress trees I have planted over the ‘ hum, the shock of men,’I wq# struck with as-
graves of my husband, my children, my grand tonishment unmixed witluhe stronger impulse
children, and the rest of my dear relatives,
spring up and flourish, before I die. I am be
reft of all that were ndar and dear to me; I
stand alone in the world, with no one to speak
for me; I beseech thee, Oh ! beneficent angel
of adoration. But in the still night when no
sound was heard but the roaring of the waters,
and I communed with Nature in her loneliness
and grandeur, I not only admired hut trembled,
ind in my secret heart worshipped. Let him
to grant my icquest!” ■ who has ever dared to doubt the omnipotence
, I j of the Most High, visit these Falls when the
in General Burgoyne’s “ Lord of the Manor,”) I’aris, and having obtained possession of the
was very conspicuous. She had attended her! statue of Napoleon, it was given to the artist
‘' Petit Caporat," in all his campaigns as a! employed to cast the statue of Henry IV:,
Vivandiere, had gone through the horrors o(! who from it obtained, the metal with which
the Russian retreat, and boasted, that at the | the horse of that statue is cast. The artist
battle of Eylan, she had furnished the Empe- j M. Mesnel, in relatiug this circumstance,
for himself with a glass of Eau de Vie upon adds the singular fact, that he placed a small
the field. This old lady consecrated the first figure of Napoleon in the right arm of the
Iranc she received to the purchase of a wreath,
which I am sure she offered with sincerity. It
is astonishing how successful the late'Empe
ror was in ingratiating himself with the lower
orders. It may perhaps, be accounted for by
recollecting that Paris was benefitted by his
victories, and did not suffer from his ambition,
while all Europe, with the exception of our
own happy country, smarted under spoliation
and defeat.
Since my writing the above, the number of
votaries has daily increased, and the tributary
offerings are evidently from a higher class of
society. Many busts of the departed,.are a-
niong the votive gifts, and four lofty cypress
trees in green boxes, have been placed at the
oogles. At last, this morning (Tuesday,) the
People having enjoyed their newly-found pri
vilege (for seven days, the Government thought
P^Ter to Interfere and to close the scene.
The roval family have ta^eo their departure
>or St, Cloud for the summer, and thrown a
statue of Henry IV., and in the belly of the
horse, a number of pamphlets, songs, &c.
whose contents were of that nature, that the
authority which caused the statue to be erected
had certainly no intention to hand them down
to posterity.
The present government of France have
resolved on doing an act of justice to the me
mory of Napoleon. The following is a trans
lation of a report made to Louis Phillippe by
his minister, on the subject of again placing
a statue of Napoleon on the column:
Sire—
The column on the Place Vendome, that
monument of ouv immortal victories, was
deprived, fifteen years since, of the statue that
crowned it. This mutilation still continues,
a sad memento of foreign invasion. Monu
ments are like history, and like history invio
lable. They ought to preserve the recollec
tion of great national events, and (all under
the ravages of time alone
full summer Moon covers them with her glory,
and his unbelief will change into praise and
thanksgiving.
“Imagination can conceive nothing more
stupendous or more awful than these sublime
works of a mighty God. The vast deep with
all its countless stores of hidden treasure, and
the high mountains, which reach far above the
clouds, compared with these are but as dust in
the balance, for here in a peculiar and em
phatic manner the power of the Deity is pre
sent and palpable. In vain Man searches in
his fallible philosophy for^i solution of their
mysteries; their causes cannot he traced, and
all his enquiries are baffled. The pride of his
heart is humbled, for in his folly he thought
that his finite reason might unfold the eternal
secrets of Heaven, and discover that which
may not he revealed.
TI1E WIFE.
I have been with thee in thy hour
Of glory and of bliss-—
Doubt not this memory’s living power
To strengthen me through this!
Mrs. IIf.mans.
She was a beautiful girl, when I first saw
her. She was standing up at the side of her
lover at the marriage altar. She was slightly
pale—yet ever and anon, as the ceremony
proceeded, a faint tint of crimson crossed her
beautiful cheek, like the reflection of a sun
set cloud upon the clear waters of a quiet lake.
Her lover, as he clasped her delicato hand
within his own, gazed on her for a moment
with unmingled admiration, and the warm and
eloquent blood played upon Ills check, shadow
ing at intervals his manly forehead, and “ melt
ing into beauty on his lip.”
“ lie stood in the pride of his youth—-a fair form
With bis feelings yet rmh)«, hi* spirit yet warm-
An Eagle to shelter the Dove with his wing;
An elin where the light twining tendrils might
cling.”
History will assuredly not forget the name of the mountain, andwishestto hear them a tuousness, and a noise as if the foundations
of the great Captain whose genius presided
over the victories of our legions—of the mo
narch whose talents caused order to succeed
anarchy; who restored to religion its altars,
and gave society that immortal code which
still govern us. Happy would it have been
if his glory had not required a sacrifice of the
liberties of his country.
Your Majesty will not destroy one brilliant
page in our history. You admire all that
France admires, and are proud of all that the
nation is proud of. I believe that I am only
responding to these noble sentiments, in pro
posing to your Majesty the re-erection of the
statue of Napoleon on the column of Place
Vendome.
With the reign of your Majesty, France has
regained all her liberties, and her complete in
dependence—with it, ought to be effaced all
traces of a mournful re-action. Henceforward
the glory of no one ought to remain in the
shade—the reminiscence of a great event ought
not, from I know not what kind of timidity, to
be denied to France. The generous and po
pular principles on which the constitutional
government of your Majesty is founded, gua
rantee France forever against the evils result
ing from absolute power, or the policy of a
conqueror. In honoring the fame of a great
man, in raising again a monument which conse
crates a recollection of which France is proud,
the King forms in some degree one tie more
between the throne and the country; and I
dare believe that the determination which 1
submit for the royal sanction, will be looked
upon as a just homage to public opinion, and
as a new and striking proof of the strength
and justice of your majesty.
I am, with the profoundest respect.
Sire, of your Majesty,
The President of the Council
and Minister Secretary of
State for the Interior,
CASIMIR l'ERIER.
DECREE OF THE KING.
Louis Phillippe, fj-c.
Art. 1. The statue of Napoleon shall be re
placed on the column of the Place Vendome.
Art. 2. Out President of the Council, Mi
nister Secretary of State for the interior, is
charged with the execution of the present de
cree. Louis PlIILLIITE.
The Minister has since called upon the ar
tists of France to furnish him previous to the
1st June next, with designs of a statue,
to replace the one that has been destroyed.—
These designs are to be exhibited to the pub
lic whoso voice will guide the Minister in the
selection of one of them. The statue is lo
be completed by (he 1st of January, 1832, and
raised on its pedestal on the 5th May, the an J
niversary of the death of Napoleon. It has
been suggested that the model of the former
statue, by Chaudet, should he again used, but
to this it has been objected, that the Emperor
Napoleon himself, whose discriminating judg
ment in works of art, has been generally ac
knowledged, was not well pleased with the o-
riginal one. It represented Napoleon in the
robes of a Roman Emperor, and in the atti
tude of au ancient conqueror. But little re
flection is necessary~to perceive that this
style was in had taste. There arc recollec
tions, and ideas connected with the manner in
which Napoleon was actually accustomed to
dress, with his capote gris even, which the
chastest specimen of Roman costume would
fail to excite in the bosom of his admirers and
country-men.
It is believed that the French Government
will during the period of time which must e-
lapse before the statue can be completed, ap
ply to the British for the remains oi Napoleon,
of whom the column on the Palace Vendome
will then become a manificent mausoleum.—
The inscription which formerly existed on the
tablet above the. gate by which the column
was entered, and which has been erased, is to
he restored. This inscription, composed by
the learned Visconti, was as follows:—
neapolio. i>ir. AUO.
MONUMENTUM. BELLI. OERMASEICI.
ANNO. MACCCV.
TR1MESTR1. ASPATINO. DUCTU. SUO PNOFLICATE.
EX. jERK. CAP TO.
CL0R1E. EXERC1TUS. MAXIM1. DICAVIT.
[Napoleon, August Emperor has dedicated
to the Grand Army, this monument made with
the brass conquered front the enemy, during
the war in Germany, which, under his oom
mand was terminated in 1805, in three months.]
[Courier and Enquirer.
—:xxxx:—
THE ANGEL OF TIME.
BY J. K. PAULDING.
The angel of time being commissioned by
the supreme governor of the world, made pro
clamation, that he had a hundred thousand
years of additional life to bestow on the inha
bitants of the earth. His trumpet echoed far
and wide, penetrating the cities, the valleys,
the mountains, and reaching the uttcimost
part of the universe. The people flocked
eagerly from all points of the compass, to pre
fer their claims to a portion of the beneficent
gift; but it was surprising to see that the
crowd consisted of the aged alone. The chil
dren were enjoying their youthful sports, and
paid no attention to the proclamation; the
youths and maidens were wandering in the
labyrinths of love; and the men and women
of a middle age were too much engaged in the
pursuits of life to think on death.
The first who preferred his petition for a
few additional years, was an old man of four
score and upwards, bent almost double with
age.
Thou doubtless wishest to live a little lon
ger for the sake of thy children, and the com
panions of thy youth ?” said the angel.
“Alas!” criel the old man, “they are all
dead.”
“Thou art in possession of wealth and ho
nors?” ■ * ^
“Alas no! I have lost my good naffle, and
am miserably poor. Yet I wish to live till I
am an hundred, and enjoy life yet a little lon-
gev.”
The angel bestowed upon him the privilege
of living an hundred years, and he went on
his way rejoicing and trembling.
The next applicant for lengthened years,
was a feeble old man who was carried in a lit
ter. YVhen he preferred his request the angel
replied
“I understand. Thou art enamored of the
charms of woman, of the beauties of the
earth, the waters and the skies, and wishest to
behold them yet a few years more?” : '
“I am blind these ten years,” said the old
man.
“Thou art delighted with the music of the
bird?, the murmuring of the waters, the echoes
Though I grant thee .lengthened days
cannot remove their infirmities and sufferings.
They will increase upon thee,” answered the
angel.
“I care not, since I shall know they cannot
kill me before my time.”
“Take thy wish,” said the angel, smiling ;
“go and he happy.”
“Strange! cried a learned man who had
come to petition for a few years to complete
an explanation of the apocalypse, and had
witnessed the scene. “Strange,” cried he.
curling his lip in scorn, “that the most help
less and miserable of human beings should
still covet a life divested of all its enjoy
ments !"
Silence, fool!” replied the angel in a voice
of ineffable contempt; “it rather becomes
theo, ignorant mortal, to adore the goodness
of Providence, which having ordained that
man should live to he old, mercifully decreed
at the same time, that the love of life should
supply the abscencc of all its sources of en
joyment. Go! take thy wish and finish thy
commentary on the apocalypse.
f.Y. Y. Amulet.
FROM THE rillLADELPHI A SATURDAY COURIER.
MOONLIGHT.
• How sweet the moonlight sleeps upon this
bank.’ is one of the most picturesque and strik
ing passages in Shakspcare. It conveys an
image of placid serenity, of harmonious re
pose, such as the mind loves to dwell upon,
and invites a train of associations fraught with
the gentle and beautiful things of nature.—
The silent night—more eloquent in its siicnce
than a thousand voices—the -quiet landscape
stretching far away into dimness and obscuri
ty—trees whose foilage seems immovable
and flowers whose hues are indiscernablc—the
gliding brook
• Which to the gentle woods all night,
Singcth a sleepy tune’—
hill tops rising in the distance like huge tow
ers whereon the guardians of peace hold their
watch undisturbed, and near at hand dew drops
glimmering and glistening like diamonds pro-
fusely scattered o’er the lap of Nature—these
are some of the features of a scene which
makes the beholder rejoice in his perceptions
of beauty, and pour forth thanksgivings that
his feelings vibrate in unison with the harmo
nies of God’s creation. Who that has sat in
the still evening, when the discords of the bu
sy day were hushed, and Toil had ceased his
occupation, and Labor laid down at rest, who
that has thus sat watching
* Heaven’s chon vault,
‘Studded with stnrs unutterably bright,
■ Through which the moon in cloudless gran
deur roll’d,’
but must have felt the softening influence of
that hour and times steal upon his heart, and
attune his sympathies to universal charity and
love. Then the purest and holiest impulses
of our fallible nature are awakened : then af
fection comes gushing out of the bosom sanc
tifying and hallowing every object upon which
it falls ; then the soul, inspired by surround
ing glories, bows before the Almighty Maker,
and worships in silent but fervent adoration.
The blessings of moonlight are every where
felt and experienced. Upon the hills, in the
valleys, and by the brook side it pours its rich
est treasures ; hut in the narrow lanes and
crowded suburbs of lar:
Years passed on, and again I saw those lov
ers. They were seated together where th(j
light of a summer sunset stole through the
half closed and crimsoned curtains, lending
a richer tint to the delicate carpeting, and the
exquisite embellishments of the rich and gor
geous apartment. Time had slightly changed
them in outward appearance. The girlish
buoyancy of the young wife had indeed given
place to the grace of perfected womanhood,
and her lip was somewhat paler, and a faint
line of care was slightly perceptible upon her
beautiful brow. Her husband's brow too was
marked somewhat more deeply than his years
might warrant—anxiety, ambition, ar.d pride
had gone over it, and left their traces upon it
....a silver hue was mingling with the darkness
of his hair, which had become thinned around
his temples almost to baldness. He was re
clining on the splendid ottoman, with his face
half hidden by his hand, as if he feared that
the deep and troubled thoughts which oppres
sed him were visible upon his features.
“ Edward,you are ill to-night," said his wife
in a low, sweet and half enquiring voice as she
laid her hand upon his own. The husband
roused himself from his attitude slowly, and
a slight frown knit his brow. “ I am not ill,”
he said somewhat abruptly, and he folded his
arms upon his bosom, as if lie wished no 3n-
citie'sks visitations! tor J' u ? t jL on of hi * evidently hitter thoughts.
Indifference from those we lore is terrible
to the sensitive bosom. It is as if the sun of
are not less welcome and refreshing. The
hove) which in the broad Sun-light was loath-,. c , .. . . , ,
3 and disgusting to the eye. when tinged heaven refused- Ins wonted cheerfulness and
by the mellowing beams of the summer Moon I g ;™! d do ™ upon us with a cold, dim and for-
wears an aspect of comfort and serenity, and i bidd.ng glance. It is dreadful to feel that the
the rough and rugged masses which offend-1 ° nl y bfi,n S of ° l | r <0™ refuse * ‘° ask out arm
ed by their presence, beneath its influence | P»thy....that he broods over feelings which he
are softened into objects of peculiar beauty.- s ° orDS - or ( f r ;,r f ‘° revea ....dreadful to watch
Walk through the streets vl.cn all ate sleep- th ° convulsmg feature the gloomy brow....thc
ing hut the watchers of the night, and no sound I ! ndelble shadows of hidden emotions.-the
is heard but the echo of your own footsteps | involuntary signs of a sorrow in which we are
... / *• « . Iiirnwlnfin f n nnrhninutfi am whn«a on dfud to*
—mark the moonlight resting on roof and spire
—look at the contrasted light and shade—here
|a gloom and there a glow—which extends far
as the eye can reach along the broad pave-
Iment, and if you do not feel both awe and ad
miration, be assured there is no music iil*your
soul;—no aptitude or relish for therefined de-
llights of Nature. ,
I -In the mighty forest how picturesque the
moonlight stealing through the dense foilage,
and resting in broken patches on the sward
beneath—in the lonely desert bow terrible—on
Ithe great deep how wonderful! Who can
Iview the moon gilding craggy rocks,—pene
trating the depths of ravines frightful to look
upon, nr lighting up the summits of lofty
mountains untouchW by solemnity? None
but the insensible.
The annexed extract from a letter by a friend
dated at Niagara Falls, will show the feelings
he underwent in viewing that magnificent
spectacle under the influence of moonlight.
“ It is now midnight. I have been abroad
viewing Nature in her majesty and my feelings
are deeply impressed with a sense of reverence
and wonder. My power of language is too
weak to convey even a faint idea of the emo
tions which crowd upon me; I am filled with
awe and admiration so strong and overwhelm
ing that words can give them no expression.
“ The moon is up in the heavens; not a
cloud obscures her brilliancy, and she pours a
stream of rich light upon the mighty waters,
which rush from rock to rock, leaping and
dancing, in har clear rays, with a wild tdatql-
forbidden to participate, and whose character
we cannot know.
The wife essayed once more. “ Edward,”
she said slowly, mildly and affectionately,
“ the time has been, when you were willing to
confide your secret joys & sorrows to one who
has never, I trust, betrayed your confidence.
Why then; my dear Edward, is this cruel re
serve ? You are troubled, and yet you refuse
to tel) me the cause."
Something of returning tenderness softened
for an instant the cold severity of the husband’s
features, but it passed away and a bitter smile
was his only reply
Time passed on, and the twain were sepa
rated from eqch other. The husband sat gloo
my ffnd alone iti the damp cell of a dungeon.
Ho had followed ambition as his God, ana had
failed in his high career. He had mingled
with men whom his heart loathed, he had
sought out the fierce and wronged spirits of
his land, and had breathed into them the mad
ness of revengo. He had drawn his sword a
gainst his country....he had fanned rebellion to
a flame, which had been quenched in human
blood. He had fallen.... miserably fallen....
and be had been doomed to die the death of a
traitor.
It was his last night of life. The morrow
was the day appointed for his execution,
he saw the sun sink behind the green hills of
the west , as he sat by the dim grate of hiaiiun-
geou, with a feeling of unutterable hoi
He felt that his last sun would set to him.
wochlcast iff seat level and sr.Esekvsy* u
his grave—upon the grave of a dishonoured
traitor.
The door of his 'dungeon opened, and a
light form entered and threw herself into his
arms. The softened light of sunxet fell upon
the pale brow and wasted check of bis once
beautiful wife.
“ Edward—my dear Edward," she said,
“ I have come to save von. . I have reached
on, after a thousand difficulties, and I thank
God, that my purpose is nearly accomplish
ed.”
Misfortune had softened the proud heart of
manhood, and as the husband pressed his pale
wife to his bosom, a tear trembled on his
eye-lash. “ I have not deserved this kind
ness,” he murmured in the choaked tones of
convulsive agony.
Edward,” said his wife in an earnest, 1m*
faint and low voice, which indicated extreme
and fearful debility, “ we have not a moment
to lose. By an exchange of garments you wifi
be enabled to pass out unmolested. Haste,
or we may be too late. Fear nothing for me,
I am a woman, and they will not injure me for
my efforts in behalf of a husband, dearer than
life itself.”
“ But, Margaret,” said the husband, “you
look sadly ill. You cannot breath the air of
this dreadful cell."
“ Oh, speak not of me, my dearest Ed
ward,” said the devoted woman. “ I can en
sure every thing for yo0 sake. Haste, Ed
ward—haste, and all will be well,”—and then
aided, with a trembling hand, to disguise the
proud form of her husband in female garb.
“ Farewell my love, my preserver,” whis
pered the husband in the ear of his disguised
wife, as the officer sternly reminded the sup
posed lady that the time allotted for her visit
had expired. “ Farewell—we shall meet a-
gain,” responded his wife—and the husband
passed out unsuspetctK and escaped the ene
mies of his life.
They did meet again—that wife and hus
band—but only as the dead may meet—in the
awful comuiuuings of another world. Affec
tion had home up her exhausted spirit, until
the lust great purpose of her exertions was ac
complished in the safety of her hnsband, and
when the bell tolled on the morrow and the
prisoner's cell was opened, the guards found
wrapped in the habiliments of their destined
victim, the pale but still beautiful course of the
devoted Wife.
DEATH BY HYDROPHOBIA.
The subject of this notice was a little girl
by the name of Johnson, two and a half years
old. On the 20th of April last a small dog
passed into a yard, 138, Chrystie street, where
she was at play, and seizing' her by tho nose,
drew Iter to the ground. Before he was beat
en off, he bit and lacerated the nose very se
verely. The dog Immediately ran home into
a neighboring street, and his master, after
learning tho injury he had done, dispatched
him the same day. Particular inquiries were
made whether the dog had manifested any
hydrophobic symptoms, but nothing could bo
learned, save the fact that he had bitten two
children, one of whom still continues well.
This act of violence was referred wholly to tho
dog having been irritated by the boys in the
street. The child in question soon recovered
of her wounds, & continued perfectly well until
Tuesday afternou last, (13th June,) when she
became lrctful and complained of pain in tho
head and stomach. The mother prepared an
infusion of senafor it, supposing its illness to
arise from some derangement of tho stomachy
but whenever sho attempted to administer W
the child would shudder and bcoome convul
sive. Indeed, the first circumstance that at
tracted the attention of the mother, was the
peculiar actions of the child, whenever it
drank : for during the afternoon it was thirs-
ty, and asked for water; but when it swallow
ed the water, it would tremble, and choak, and
attempt to spit it out.
Early Wednesday morning, Dr. Mead of
Cliff street, from whom we received the parti
culars, was called to attend the child. He
found her lying quietly on her bed, cheerful
and intelligent; for the cbiki was remarkably
sprightly for its age, and seemed pleased with
the idea of being made well. Said she had no
pain, except a little in the stomach ; allowed
her person to he examined freely, but when
the nose was touched, would recoil with a
shudder ; and when it was pressed, she would
thiustout her tonge, with a shriek, and catch
her breath as if suffocated. This was not in
cidental, for it wa®Sried several times, with"
the same result. The cicatrix of the wound
appeared perfectly well, and there was no ap
pearance of disase or discolouration of the
part. She was asked to drink some water.—
She seemed thirsty, and readily assented. A
cup was brought, and she rose in bed and
grasped it with both hands, and filled her
mouth ; but in an instant she dashed the
cup from her, and seemed to spit or blow the
water from her mouth, with a force and sound
as if it were ejected from a heated crucible ;
and fell upon the bed in horrible convulsions.
In a few moments shu was quiet and compos
ed again. These experiments were forbidden,
as they added greatly to the sufferings of the
child. Several attempts were made to admi
nister medicine, but unsuccessfully, for every
effort to swallow even the smallest quantity,
would bring on a spasm, and a distressing con
striction of the throat, which would eject it
from her mouth. The dread of water continu
ed to increase during the day, (Wednesday,)
and at evening,, if a person wore to 'approach
her with a tumbler of water, it would bring on
a recurrence of the paroxysms. In the course
of the evening the spasms would recur sponta
neously with increased [\gwer and frequency,
until she exhibited all the horrors of this fear
ful malady. The eyes wild and protruded,
gnashing of the teeth until the tongue become
lacerated ; frequent spittings and foaming at
the mouth; retching, which was peculiar -
It would return at regular intervals of a * few
moments, attended with but ond effort, as if the
stomach were suddenly affected by a spasm,
and forcibly expelled through the constricted
iarnyx, a little frothy mucus. Then again tho
horrible convulsions—shrieks,——not to
be described, and dreadful to behoid....u«til
she became gradually exhausted, and expired
yesterday morning, 40 hours after the in vasiou
of the disase, and 57 days after tho infliction
of the wounds. Several physicians m the
child, and no doubt was left ou their minds as
to the
June 1
oftho i
of Com.
Mu