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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” & jpamtlg JlctosiKTjJtt*: DcDotrtr to Httcrature, &srfcultuve, 3?Hecfwimrs, 23tmcaUou, jFovefsw atifc ©owc&Uc JtiUcUCgciue, scc. 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