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VOLUME I. |
BY C. R. HANLEITER,
IP © IE T K Y □
“ Much yet remains unsung.”
For the “ Southern Miscellany.”
•‘SING NOT TO ME OF OTHER TIMES.”
Sing not to me of other times,
Os silver streams and sunny climes—
Os days of hope and gladness—
They drive my brain to madness.
What boots it now that e’er I loved,
What boots it that I constant proved,
Or won thy yielding heart ?
Or that we had to part ?
Vain— vain— alas! to weep or sigh ;
We see no more the azure sky ;
The music of the past is gone,
And hopes that made us one.
FIESCO.
Montgomery, Alabarha.
JOHN ’S ALIVE !
OR THE BRIDE OF A GHOST.
A Talc of Love and Adventure.
BY WILLIAM T. THOMPSON.
Ch apte r VIII.
John determines to reconnoitre before venturing to
make himself known —Ascertains that his family are
still living— Visits Mary's residence—Discovers his
old rival in the act of pressing his suit—The ghost
nets at important part—Tr. Thaw's encounter with
the ghost—llis discomfiture.
Mv first impulse was to ascertain whether
my family were still all living, and such was
my anxiety to be assured that my poor old
mother had not fallen a victim to my rash
and wicked deception, that I was on the
point of hastening to her residence, and if
she was still alive, to throw myself at her
feet, confess and explain all, and implore
her forgiveness. But she was a firm believ
er in the supernatural and entertained such
a dread for ghosts and apparitions, that I
was sure that the re-appearance of her own
dear son, unlessshe was previously prepared
for it,would be a greater trial to her than his
sudden and melancholy exit.
Almost mechanically my feet carried me
to the door of my once happy home. But
I dared not to enter. For some time I pac
ed up and down the side-walk in front of
the house. A strange gentleman entered,
and shortly after re-appeared with my two
sisters; a feeling of deepest contrition sent
the blood to my temples as I noticed that
they wete dressed in second mourning,
doubtless for me. The windows of the par
lor were hoisted ; and as my sisters step
ped into the street, I saw my mother’s head
thrust out —“ Take your shawls, girls,” said
she, in a voice that harrowed up a flood of
tender recollections, “ it will be chilly when
you return.” I was too much elated to hear
the reply and hastened away, leaving my
sisters and their gallant in conversation with
my mother, happy in the assurance that
death had not entered my home during my
absence; and now anew hope revived
within me that all might yet be well.
My next anxiety was to ascertain whether
Mary, for whom 1 now felt the tenderest re
gard springing up in my bosom, still sur
vived. I soon found myself in the vicinity
of her residence, and after passing to and
fro before it for some time, I ventured, when
no one might observe my movements, to
steal a glance within. There was the little
parlor, the scene of so many pleasant recol
lections, where I had passed so many happy
hours with her whose every smile had shed
a ray of joy upon my soul, and whose every
tone was music to my ears —but it was de
solate. Could it be possible that she was
dead 1 Or was she worse than dead—mar
ried to another ! The thought was madden
ing—and though I felt that I deserved no
better fate, yet the uncontrolled grief which
she manifested at my funeral, encouraged
ine to hope that there were no grounds for
my latter suspicion, and that if she was still
living, she would forgive and yet be mine.
With these reflections I left the spot with
the determination of again returning, at a
later hour, to make further investigations.
Occasionally passing the house to observe
whether there was yet a light in the parlor,
I continued my rambles through familiar
scenes, until at length my attention was ar
rested by a tall gentleman, who entered the
house over which I was keeping such faith
ful vigil. A lightsoon shone from the parlor
window, and I approached with the hope of
satisfying my curiosity on a subject which
increased in interest the longer I was kept
in suspense.
Stepping lightly upon the little veranda
which extended along the whole front of the
building, I cautiously approached the win
dow, and looked in. A tremor ran through
my whole frame, and 1 could almost hear
the violent throbs of my heart, as I beheld,
seated near the centre table,my own angelic
Mary ! lovelier far than ever, and like my
sisters, still in her mourning weeds. The
gentleman whom I had seen enter, sat with
his back towards me, a little distance from
her, with whom she was engaged in conver
sation.
“ Will you never,” said he, “ give over
wasting your thoughts upon that hair-brain*
ed fellow 1”
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My breath was suspended, as I waited for
her answer.
“ I beg,” replied Mary, “ that you will
drop the subject. I have often intimated to
you that my affections were not in my pow
er to bestow, which I should think would
leave you without motive for recurring to a
matter which must ever remain a source of
sorrow to me.”
My breath came free again.
“ Cruel girl,” exclaimed the exquisitely
dressed spark, as he sprang upon his knee
in a real stage attitude—“ will you never
relent—will you not renounce one dead,
who, when living was unworthy your love
—and by bestowing your affections upon
one who can appreciate theinestimable trea
sure, and whose love for you has no bounds
—will you, dearest Mary
“Say no more, and do get up, Mr. Thaw.”
Thaw! 1 could hear no more. My
first thought, when 1 heard that hated name,
was to massacre him upon the spot. But
my better judgment triumphed for once, and
I contended myself by compressing my
clenched fists, until the blood started to the
surface. I could not listen longer, and 1
determined to break up the courtship for
that night at least. I resolved to bring su
pernatural power to my aid, and if possible
to bluff off’ my rival by haunting the pre
mises. What horrible noise should I make,
that would sound ghost-like, was my next
study.. I recollected that several years be
fore, when quite young, as Mary and my
self were passing down Arch street, we dis
covered an old sailor lying drunk in the gut
ter. As we approached him, l remarked to
her that he was dead, and that the body
snatchers would be apttogethim ; on which
the old fellow raised his bead as well as he
could and shouted, in a most ludicrous tone,
“ John’s alive ! John’s alive !” as loud aslie
could hallow, until we were out of hearing.
There was nothing in the incident, hut the
exclamation afterwards become a by-word
with us, and often when I had stolen upon
her, I had startled her by a tap upon the
shoulder, at the same time that I exclaimed
in her ear, “ John’s alive!” I was assured
that she would at once recognize my voice
and our old by-word, which she knew was
only known to ourselves, and which no doubt
she had last heard from my lips.
Mr. Thaw still refused to rise, and per
sisted in doing the impassioned lover before
the mortified girl, in a truly dramatic style,
while she begged and entreated him not to
act so.
“ I care not,” lie continued, “ though you
frown upon me, and repulse me a thousand
times—l would not yield to such a rival
when living, much less when dead. I’ll—”
“ Do get up Mr. Thaw, and do not act so
foolish,” interrupted Mary, endeavoring to
withdraw her hand which he had grasped
and was conveying to his lips.
“ I will not rise from your feet—no power
shall move me hence, until you promise me
that ”
“ John’s alive!” I exclaimed, in a hollow
voice.
“ Ugh ! what’s that 1” gasped the startled
Thaw, springing to his fact.
“Itishe! it is his ghost!” cried the faint
ing girl, as she fell back in her chair, with a
frantic scream.
My object was attained, and I suddenly
decamped, leaving the frightened couple to
their reflections, while I wended my way to
an obscure lodging, where I intended to re
main until I could devise some plan of mak
ing myself known to my friends.
On the following day the ghost story was
current among the gossips of the neighbor
hood. Various exaggerated accounts of the
affair were in circulation, but all the old la
dies agreed as to my identity, and pronounc
ed it nothing more than right that the cruel
authors of my untimely death, should be
visited by my spirit. 1 liked the turn the
matter had taken, and hoped by keeping up
my ghostly visits, to drive my hated rival
from the field, though I was not without
some qualms of conscience when I thought
of the distress which my scheme would ne
cessarily inflict upon Mary, against whom I
no longer felt any resentment, since 1 was
now well assured that she remained true to
her plighted faith. Indeed it required some
effort to overcome my misgivings on this
subject. But such was my implacable hatred
to Thaw, and so strong was my desire to
consummate my revenge for the suffering he
had caused me. that 1 could not forego the
opportunity thus afforded me of annoying
him, even at the severe cost of her for whom I
now entertained sentiments of regard, equal
ly devoted and sincere, if not so ardent and
intence as my first fond delirium of love.
Accordingly on the following night I de
termined to do the ghost to perfection, and
prepared to “ dress for the character,” by
taking a sheet from my bed.
As I anticipated I found Thaw in attend
ance, offeiing his condolence to my poor
terrified Mary, and endeavoring to persuade
her that it was all a hoax, attempted to he
practiced upon him by some of his mis
chievous acquaiutances. After listening
some time, I placed myself full before the
window, and when he asked her what rea
son she had for thinking that it was my ghost,
and 9he replied—“ Because he said”
“ John’s alive !” 1 exclaimed, in the same
tone, as I strode past the window.
“ There it is again !” in a faint voice from
Mary, and a loud “ uph !” from Thaw, as
he caught a glimpse of my retiring form,
was all I had time to hear.
MADISON, MORGAN COUNTY, GEORGIA, SATURDAY MORNING, OCTOBER 8, 1812.
Suddenly depositing the sheet out of sight*
I hastened from the place; but before I
turned the corner, I noticed that my exam
ple had been speedily followed by Mr.
Thaw.
I had succeeded too well to abandon my
project, and I determined to watch my op
portunity, and whenever 1 could do so with
safety, to give them a call.
On the following night I observed a light
in the parlor rather earlier than usual, and
so soon as I conceived that I would be free
from interruption from persons passing in
the street, with my eyes and lips well smear
ed with burnt cork, my face well powdered,
and my sheet as before, I stepped lightly
upon the porch, and stole a look in at the
window. Two or three of Mary’s acquain
ces were sitting with her, and the idea oc
curred to me that they were watching for
the ghost. Though Thaw was not there, I
did not like to disappoint them, and passing
slowly past the window, I exclaimed as be
fore—“ Jolm’salive !” One universalscream
came fiom the inmates of the parlor, and as
1 turned to leave, a heavy missile whized
past me, just grazing my side, and passing
through the railing in my rear, carried away
two or three pieces by its force. On raising
my eyes in the direction from which it came,
I beheld my rival coming full tilt to meet
me. What was to be done 1 If I attempt
ed to escape into the street, the hue-and-cry
which he might raise would certainly cause
my detection. With my usual presence of
mind, I stood motionless and still, until my
assailant was about to clutch me in his grasp
—then dropping suddenly down, I grasped
him by the ai.kles and tossed him, partly by
main strength, and partly by bis own impe
tus, far over my head on to the side walk;
and in less than three seconds from the mo
ment I first discovered him, was again in the
street. To remove all signs of the cork and
powder was but the work of a momeril, and
by the time a crowd had been collected by
Thaw’s groans, and the screams of the wo
men, I was mingling with the astonished
and inquisitive spectators.
“ Are you much hurt, sir 1” enquired one,
of the bewildered Thaw.
“ Oh, it’s a ghost,” gasped lie with bis first
breath, as he rosefrom the pavement, against
which his head and shoulders had come in
rather unpleasant contact.
“ Yes indeed,” said a little girl, who held
a lamp in her hand, “ for we saw it, and it
said ‘ John’s alive,’ as plain as anything.”
“ Oli! yes we all saw it, and heard it too,”
exclaimed several of those standing upon
the porch.
“ Did you see it, sir 1” I enquired very
earnestly of Mr. Thaw, who stood trem
bling in every joint, and deadly pale.
“ I was watching for it,” he replied, as tlie
crowd gathered round him, “ but did not
see it until I heard it speak. On hearing it,
l rose up and threw a brick-bat at it, which
passed right through the shadow, but it nev
er moved. Still thinking it might be some
body, I rushed towards it, and just as I was
about to take hold of it, it vanished, and I
knew no more until I found myself on tire
bricks here, dreadfully stunned.”
“ They say it is very dangerous to take
hold of a spirit,” said a little duck-legged
man, with eyes like saucers.
“ To be sure it is,” replied a tall, broken
nosed Irishman, “for didn’t Michael Mc-
Cracken get four of his ribs broke, by
thrying to lay hould iv one that was walking
off wid the only pair of throusers he had in
the world.”
“Is it possible !” exclaimed thelittle man,
casting a most credulous gaze into the speak
er’s face.
“ To be sure it is,” replied the other, “for
didn’t Mike til me himself, the nixt mornin,
when I wint to see him, and the docthor
was puttin’ things to rights wid him.”
hen did that happen 1” asked ore,
“ was it this same ghost 1” •
“ Oh, no —this was a fortnight ago, come
Sathurday night, that Mike seed the ghost.
Its abed be was, in his own house sleepin as
harmless as a suckin pig, whin he heard
somethin sneeze like. Who’s there 1 sis
he, and he seed somethin white at the fut iv
his bed. I’ll be betther acquainted wid ye,
my lark, sis Mike, and wid that he thurned
out. Who are ye, sis he ? I’m a spirit,
Michael McCracken, sis the ghost. The
divel yc are, sis Mike, (not belaving a
word iv it. Whisht, sis the ghost as it juked
past him, without touchin the floor. But
Mike had a dhrop in his head, and wasn’t
afread of the divel, so he wint to take hould
iv the sperit, whin it vanished like a snuff',
and poor Mike knowed no more till he found
himself on the floor in the mornin’ wid four
iv his ribs broke, and his throuses and the
very shate ass the bed was missin.”
“ Mercy on us!” groaned the little man.
There was some doubts expressed by the
crowd as to the genuineness of Michael's
ghos{; but there were too many witnesses
to testify to the appearance of the one which
had used Mr. Thaw so roughly to leave any
doubt upon the subject.
“ It isnowtwoyears since the man drown
ed himself, I believe,” said one,
“ Yes, and this is the third time lie has
appeared since Miss Carson came from the
country.”
“ There must be something wrong, or
his troubled spirit would not walk the earth
o’ nights in this way,” said the little man
who turned to each speaker, and seemed
anxious to hear every word that was uttered
in relation to the affair.
“ It’s very singular—very singular, in
deed,” said the wondering crowd.
Mr. Thaw made a brief examination of
his bruised cranium, upon which be discov
ered several prominent developments that
were not there before, adjusted his battered
beaver as well as he could, and went limp
ing home, perfectly satisfied that be had en
countered a spirit from the other world.
Well, thought I, as I left the astonished
crowd still pressing their enquiries concern
ing the mysterious apparition, and discuss
ing ghost stories in general, if my discom
fited rival does not now raise the siege, then
he is indeed proof against ghosts.
Chapter IX.
John begins to apprehend that he is carrying ihe joke 100
far—Seeks an interview with an old friend —VVilh
difficulty establishes his own identity, and engages
him to prepare his family lor his reception—The
meeting—Convinces Mnry that he is no ghost—Dis
covers anew relative—The wedding day appointed-
Two grooms to one bride—The wedding—The ghost
again—The astonished parson—The explanation—
The consummation—The end.
On the following morning, the penny pa
pers blazoned forth the full details of’ the
ghost story. The affair had created a con
siderable sensation among the credulous
and marvel loving portion of the communi
ty, and I began to fear that I was again
making Philadelphia too hot for me—to use
a homely but very significant expression—
should Iby any mischance be discovered.
My vindictive spirit had been somewhat ap
peased by the discomfiture of Mr. Thaw,
and upon reflection, I determined to discon
tinue my ghostly visits, ere I should have
fallen into my old error, of carrying my
jokes too far, if I bad not done so already.
I was now extremely anxious to make my
self known to Mary and my family, and
seriously meditated howl should again come
to life without frightening them all out of
theii wits. I resolved to seek an old friend
and school-mate, who had in days past been
my confidant, and make him the mediator
between the dead and the living. 1 found
him at his law office—he had married since
he attended my funeral, and the old crow
time bad left her track in his eye, hut in ev
ery other respect, he was the same frank,
courteous fellow that 1 had known in former
times. I found it no easy matter to broach
the subject to him, notwithstanding. Re
questing a private conversation with him, I
declared myself, but it was not until I had
narrated to him all the circumstances of my
singular abveriture, and recalled to his mind
several matters connected with our past
lives, that he seemed willingto acknowledge
me; and though the hearty gripe of the
hand which I gave hirn when lenjoinedhim
to secresy to all but my family and Mary,
could not but convince him that be was con
versing with flesh and blood, he seemed to
recoil from me as if still unconvinced, so
long and firm had been his conviction of my
death. After gently reproaching me for my
conduct, and being cordially assured of my
full repentance, be took a professional view
of the matter, and consented without fee to
become my counrellor and attorney. I de
sired him to prepare my mother and sisters
for my reception on the following day, and
to have Mary one of the patty. He pro
mised to do so, and we parted to meet at
ten in the morning.
Agreeably to appointment, I found my
friend at his office, who informed me that
my family were nearly frantic with joy at
the news of my return, and that Mary was
so exceedingly happy to learn that her John
was indeed alive, and that I was ready and
willing to forgive her for all the suffering she
had caused me, that she had been in a state
of almost hysterical mirth ever since he had
broke the matter to her.
It was a joyous meeting, when I embrac
ed my fond old mother and affectionate sis
ters —who all gave vent to their overjoyed
hearts in a flood of tears. Mary colored to
the temples as she approached in her turn.
“ John’s alive 1” 1 exclaimed, as I sprang
forwatd and impressed a kiss upon her lips.
“ That's no ghost,” said she, as she turned
blushing away. Next came the strange gen
tleman whom I bad seen with my sisters on
the first day of my arrival. He was intro
duced to me as my brother-in-law. He had
been married to my oldest sister only a few
weeks, and was shortly to return to the
South, his place of nativity.
After the first tumultous greeting, I was
compelled to detail the events of my life
since my mysterious departure, which elicit
ed many a tear, and many an exclamation of
wonder from the intensely interested and
sympathisinglisteners. After dinner I drew
Mary to the sofa, where uninterrupted, we
recounted all that had passed, and conversed
seriously and rationally of the future. 1
found her all my heart could wish—fond,
generous, attd forgiving—and I regarded
her as a rich treasure, the possession of
which would abundantly compensate for all
my past trials.
From her I learned the sad history of her
own sufferings during my absence, and
though the recital pained me, and caused
me to execrate my past conduct, yet I could
not but feel a degree of gratification 8t the
evidence of ber unalterable attachment.—
She had Spent most of her time in the coun
try, and had returned with my youngest sis
ter from Northumberland only a few iveeks
previous to my arrival in Philadelphia.—
Though Thaw had been importunate and
annoying to her at a time, when she refused
to see any company, he lmd lost sight of her
shortly after my funeral, and had only had
an opportunity of forcing his society upon
her since her return from, the country. —
“ And,” she concluded with a smile, “ 1 do
hope the fall he got the other night has ef
fectually abated the ardor of his attach
ment.”
It was evident to all that it would be im
possible for me again to make Philadelphia
my borne, and that 1 would be incurring a
great risk by even permitting it to be gen
erally known that I was still living. I could
not expect to make reparation to the family,
the sanctify of whose vault 1 had violated ;
and should it be discovered that my suicide
was but a hoax, curiosity would be immedi
ately excited to know who bad been taken
from the river and buried in my stead. Be
sides the notoriety which my recent exploits
were calculated to give me, when it should
be found out that Mr. Thaw’s ghost was no
other than myself, wits calculated to disturb
my quiet, if not to derogate from my stand
ing in society.
My brother-in-law, who was a young
physician, suggested that I should accompa
ny him to the South, which 1 consented to
do, on condition that Mary would make one
of the party. This proposition met the ap
probation of my mother and sisters, and to
crown my wishes Mary readily yielded to
my proposal of a speedy marriage; and all
was arranged for the consummation of our
happiness. The day was appointed for out
wedding, which was to he conducted with as
much privacy as possible, on that day week,
at which time my brother-in-law would be
ready for his departure. In the meantime,
I kept within doors, only venturing into the
street at night, and then carefully avoiding
observation. I saw Mary frequently, who
assured me that her family were perfectly
reconciled to our union, since the explana
tions I had given them of my past conduct,
and the assurances of my thorough reforma
tion.
During the intervening week, Mary in
formed me, much to my surprise, that Mr.
Thaw had recovered front his fright, and had
again urged bis pretentious to ber hand. I
still entertained a desire to complete my re
venge upon him, whose importunities it
seemed tto denial or entreaties could dis
suade ; and now au idea occurred to me,
which, if I could secure the co-operation of
Mary, would cap the climax of the whole
affair. After much persuasion, I succeeded
itt inducing Mary to become an accomplice
in-the execution of my design, which 1 urg
ed would be but a just retaliation for the
annoyance be had been to me, and a fit re
ward for his pertinacity in thus pressing liis
suit against her known wishes. It was ac
cordingly arranged that she should accept
the gentleman's proffeted hand, and appoint
the following Wednesday, the day designa
ted for our own union, for the wedding
day, leaving the issue of the affair to me.
Matters being thus arranged, there were
now three of us preparing for the wedding
—Mr. Thaw, Mary, and myself. The auspi
cious night approached. Thaw was in ec
stacies, and might be seen, arm in arm with
his groomsman, a fellow of his own kidney,
sauntering up and down the street as the
dusk of evening {approached and the gay
company began to assemble, almost incap
able of suppressing bis ineffable delight.
My sistersandbrother-in-law, wereofcourse
invited. Early in the evening, a considera
ble number of young persons were assem
bled, pi incipally all the personal friends of
Mary and my sisters, who had invited the
company; Mr. Thaw being content only to
bring his groomsman. The parson had ar
rived, and every thing was in readiness, but
before entering the pat lor, Mary assisted me
to dress the ghost in a superior style.
“ There,” said she, as she adjusted the
bandage about my jaws, and smoothed down
the folds of my long winding-sheet—“you’ll
do for John’s alive, now ” Then shaking
her taper finger at me, with an arch look, as
she went to join the company in the pat lor,
don’t you fail to he there in time—remem
ber—you must come when the parson says
1 hold their peace.’ ”
“ Never you fear—l’ll be there. Tell
sisters to scream their best, and don’t let the
room be too light.”
“My stars ! John, how horrid you do look
—l’m aft aid you’ll frighten the parson off
too, and that’ll spoil all.”
“ No danger—be ain’t afraid of ghosts—
but if he goes to run, you must all catch
hold of him.”
Mttry entered tho parlor, and I took my
post at the door, where 1 might, through the
key-lade, observe the movements of the
wedding party. The door was left slightly
ajar, and Mary took care that no one should
be in the way to obstruct its opening.
Thaw was dressed m a long-tailed blue,
with large metal buttons, brimstone-coh >red
pants, and while satin vest, and his long
soap-locks, which had just then came in
fashion, were combed down over his lantern
jaws, and glistened with bgar’s-oil and po
matum, until they almost vied in lustre with
his glittering buttons. He sat in a fidget
for some time, devouring with his great
sheep’s eyes, my modestly attjred Mary,
whom lie was about to lead before the par
son.
Every thing being in teadiiieas, the de
lighted groomled forward his blushing bride.
The good pat sort commenced his ceremony
of tying the matrimonial knot, with all the
accustomed solemnity, while Thaw bent up-
| NUMBER 28.
W. TANARUS, THOMPSON, EDITOR.
on the assemblage a look of complacent sat
isfaction that spoke plainer than words the
joyous emotions of his heart on the eve of
such an auspicious event. There was a
death-like stillness in the room. The par
son proceeded:
“If any have aught tosay why this couple
should not be united in the holy bans of
wedlock, let them now speak, or for ever
after hold their peace.”
“ I forbid the bans,” I groaned, in a sol
emn tone.
“ Now, who’s that V ’ said Thaw, in a
voice that betrayed at once his rage and
trepidation, as be cast Iris eyes fearfully over
his shoulder, and amazement was depleted
in every face that met his view.
“ John’s alive !” I exclaimed—the door
flew open as if by magic, and I strode slow
ly into the room in my ghostly attire.
A loud scream burst from the affrighted
females. Mary fell into my sister’s arms,
who screamed her loudest. Thaw, with
the exclamation of “Lord preserve us,” in
his mouth, fell sprawling over his terrified
groomsman, who was endeavoring to make
his way through the parson’s legs to the
door. Even those who were in the secret,
shrunk in the comers, or hastened from the
room, while the good parson stood with up
lifted hands, the picture of astonishment
and wonder.
“ I come to claim my bride!” I continued.
“Walt!—oh!—ah! ah!” shouted the
little groomsman, almost breathless with
terror.
“Don’t touch it! don’t touch it, for your
life 1” shouted Thaw, as he and his man
made their rapid exit through the door.
Hastily divesting myself of the white
sheet in which I was enveloped, and renmm
ing the powder and coik from ray face, I
commenced to apologize to the parson, who
seemed even more than ever amazed.
“ I beg your pardon, sit, for the interrup
tion which my strange, and rather uncere
monious appearance has occasioned. lam
very sorry that circumstances should have
rendered such a course necessary. I would
be very loth, indeed, to break up a wedding
party, and rather than the affair should prove
a failure, with the lady’s consent, I will glad
ly supply the place of her absconded lover.”
The old gentleman stared; but my sis
ters and Mary coming to my aid, who were
bis personal acquaintances, matters were
soon adjusted, and the face of the good par
son assumed its wonted calmness*and
benignity of expression.
“ Well,” said be, with a long breath,
“ young peojile are full of their tricks, butl
never expected to be called upon to marry
a ghost.”
Producing the license, the ceremony pro
ceeded without further interruption, and
John Smith and Mary Carson, were duly
pronounced man and wife. Thaw left the
city in the night line for New York, having
discovered that a trick had been played off
upon him, and with my happy bride, in com
pany with my brother and sister, I took my
departure on the following morning for the
sunny South, where I am now settled,
after all my hardships and adventures, the
happiest
JOIIN alive !
ln]Q©T©^o©AlL a
NAPOLEON AT MOSCOW.
BY ALEXANDER DUMAS.
It was on the 14th of September, 1812,
at two in the afternoon, that the French ar
my discovered the holy city from the heights
of Mount Salvation. As had been the case
fifteen years before at the aspect of the Pyr
amids, one hundred and twenty thousand
men immediately clapped their hands, shout
ing, “ Moscow ! Moscow!” After a long
navigation in that sea of steppes, land was
at length descried. On beholding the city
with the golden cupolas, all was forgotten,
even the terrible and bloody battle of La
Moskowa, which bad saddened the army as
much as if it bad been a defeat. After
touching with one hand the Indian Ocean,
France thought she was about to extend the
other to the Polar seas. Nothing bad ar
rested her progress, neither the desert pf
sands nor the desert of snow. She was
really the Queen of the world, she who had
had herself successfully crowned in every
canitol.
The shouts of the whole army which
broke up its ranks in eager impatience,
brought up Napoleon himself. His first
feeling was an inexpressible joy, that bright
ened his brow. As all the rest, be exclaiip
ed “ Moscow ! Moscow !” standing erect jn
his stirrups; but the shadow of a cloud was
immediately seen to pass over his forehead
as lie resumed his saddle and uttered the
wo nls” Je etaif tempt.” ‘/ ‘ ;
The army halted, for Napoleon, keeping
his eyes eagerly fixed npou the town, ex
pected that from one of its gates some de
putation of long-bearded noblemen and
young girls with boughs would come forth,
bearing the keys of the holy city upon k a
silver plate. Every thing, however, re
mained silent and solitary, as if the city
were asleep; no smoke arose from the
chimneys. Large flights of crows hovered
round the Kremlin, and alighted upon some
dome, the gold of which disappeared as be
neath a black sheet. :
On the other side of Moscow we thought