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volume I. |
IjV c. R. HANLEITER.
POITBY.
the voices of life.
“ VVe spend our years as a tale that is told.” —David.
Like the sunset hue in the drups of dew,
When night shades chase the day.
Like the rainbow’s gleam on the leaping stream,
Our life flies swift away.
With a stealthy tread by the bridal bed
Creeps He of the icy breath ;
A kiss leaveth He, then laugheth in glee ;
•Tig -he hollow laugh of Death.
He nimeth bis dart at a maiden heart
lie loves the beautiful best—
And the brightest gem of his diadem
He tore from a mother’s breast!
11, is plucking now from an infant’s brow
The bud that is bursting fair;
la the dismal lotnb will he hide its bloom
No flowers can blossom there.
In youth’s sonny hour, with a witching power,
Hope leodeth a merry round,
Cut the hoar old sage knoweth life’s brief page,
A talc that hath ceased its sound-
O! nothing hath birth in the beautiful earth
Bat speaks with a tongue of fire,
Beyond the blue dome the True hath its home;
Then heavenward, my soul, aspire.
©GCET©[HIIE©o
the haunted inn.
BY C, F. HOFFMAN.
My horse bail cast a shoe, and stopping
about sunset at a blacksmith’s cabin, in one
of the most savage passes of the Allega
nies,a smutty-faced leatheru-aproncd fellow,
was soon engaged in putting his feet in or
der, to encounter the flinty roads of the
mountains, when the operation was inter
rupted in the manner here related :
“ Pardon me, sir,” cried a middle-aged
traveler, t itling up to the smithy and throw
ing himself from his horse, just as the shag
gy-headed vulcan, having taken the heels of
my nag in his lap, was proceeding to pare
off the hoof, preparatory to fitting the shoe,
which he had hammered into shape and
thrown upon the black soil beside him :
“ Pardon me” —repeated the stranger, rais
i„or his broad brimmed beaver front a head
remarkable for what the phrenologist would
call the uncommon development of “ ideal
ity,” revealed by the short locks which part
ed over a pair of melancholy gray eyes—
“matters of moment make it important for
me to be a dozen miles hence before night
fall, and you will place me, sit, under sin
gular obligations, by allowing this good fel
low to attend to my lame beast instantly.”
The confident, and not ungraceful man
ner, iu which the stranger threw himself
upon my courtesy, sufficiently marked him
ns a man of breeding, anti I. of course, com
plied at once with liis request by giving the
necessary order to the blacksmith. His
horse was soon put in traveling trim, and
leaping actively into the saddle, be regained
the highway at a bound ; clieckinghis course
then a moment, he turned in his stirrups to
thank me for the slight service I had ren
dered him, and giving an address, which I
have now forgotten, he added that if ever I
should enter ’s valley, I might he sure
of a cordial welcome from the proprietor.
An hour afterward I was pursuing the
same road, and rapidly approaching the end
of my day’s journey. The immediate dis
trict through which I was traveling, had
been settled by Germans in the early days
of Pennsylvania—a scattered community
that had been thrown somewhat in advance
of the more slowly-extended settlements.
In populousness and fertility it did not com
pare with the regions on the eastern side of
the mountains; but the immense stone
barns, which, though few and far between,
occasionally met the eye, not less than the
language spoken around me, indicated that
the inhabitants were of the same origin with
the ignorant but industrious denizens of the
lower country. One of these stone build
ings, an enormous and ungainly edifice,stood
upon a bill immediately back of the Wolfs
wald hotel—a miserable wooden hovel
where l was to pass the night—and while
descending the hill in the rear of the village,
l had leisure to observe that it presented a
6omewhat different appearance from the oth
er agricultural establishments of the kind
which 1 had met with during the day. The
massive walls were pierced here and there
with narrow windows, which looked like
loop holes, and a clumsy chimney had been
fitted up by some unskilful mechanic, against
one of the tables, with a prodigality of ma
terials which mado its jagged top show like
some old turret, in the growing twilight.—
The history of this grotesque mansion, as I
subsequently learned it, was that of a hun
dred other scattered over our country, and
known generally in the neighborhood as
“Smith’s,” or “ Folly.” It had
been commenced upon an ambitious scale,
by a person whoso means were inadequate
to his completion, and had been sacrificed
at a public sale when half finished, in order
to liquidate the claim of the mechanics em
ployed upon it. After that, it had been us
ed as a granary for awhile, and subsequent
ly, being rudely completed without any re
ference to the original plan, it bail been oc
cupied as a hotel for a few years. The
ruinous inn had, however, for u long period
beeu abandoned, and now enjoyed the gen
& JF&mflg : 33cfcotcfc to Sericulture, J&ccftauics, znrocatiou, jForciflw auU ©omcattc KuteUiseuce, &c.
eial reputation in the neighborhood of be
ing haunted ; for ghosts and goblins arc al
ways sure to take a big house off a land
lord’s hands, when he can get no other
tenant.
“We bant no room for mynheer,” said
my host, Peter Sclimidtson, laying liis hand
on my bridle, as I rode up to the door of a
cabaret near this old building ; while three
or four waggoners, smoking their pipes up
on a bench in front of the house, gave a
grunt of confirmation to the frank avowal
of I’eter. I was too old to stager, however,
to be so summarily turned away from an
inn at such an hour; and throwing myself
from my horse without further parley, ltold
the landlord to get me some supper, and
we would talk about lodging afterward.
It matters not how I got through the even
ing until the hour of bed-time arrived. I
had soon ascertained that every bed in the
hostelrie was really taken up, and that un
less 1 chose to share his straw with one of
the waggoners, who arc accustomed to sleep
in their lumbering vehicles, there was no
resource for me, except to occupy the lone
ly building, which bad first caught my eye
upon entering the hamlet. Upon inquiring
as to the accommodation it afforded, I learn
ed that, though long deserted by any per
manent occupants, it was still occasionally,
notwithstanding its evil reputation, resorted
to by the passing traveler, and that one or
two of the rooms were yet in good repair
and partially furnished. The good woman
of the house, however, looked very preten
tious when I expressed my determination
to take up my abode for the night, in the
haunted ruin—though she tried, ineffectual
ly, to rouse her sleeping husband to guide
me thither. Mine host had been luxuriating
too freely in some old Monongahela, brought
by a return waggon from Wheeling, to heed
the jogging of his spouse, and I was obliged
to act as my own gentleman-usher.
The night was dark and gusty, as with
my saddle-bags in one band, and a stable
lantern in the other, I sallied from the door
of the cabaret, and struggled up the broken
hill in its rear, to gain my uninviting place
of rest. A rude porch, which seemed to
have been long unconscious of a door, ad
mitted me into the building, and tracking
my way with some difficulty through a long
corridor, of which the floor appeared to have
been ripped open here and there, in order
to apply the boards to some oilier purpose,
I came to a steep and narrow staircase with
out any balusters. Cautiously ascending, I
found myself in a large hall which opened
on the bill side, against which the house was
built. It appeared to be lighted by a couple
of windows only, which were partially glaz
ed in some places, and closed up in others
by rough boards, nailed across in lieu of
shutters. It had evidently, however, judg
ing from two or three ruinous pieces of fur
niture, been inhabited. A heavy door,
whose oaken latch and hinges, being incap
able of rust, were still in good repair, ad
mitted nie into an adjoining chamber. This
had evidently been the dormitory of the
establishment, where the guests, after the
gregarious and most disagreeable fashion of
our country, were wont to be huddled to
gether in one large room. The waning
moon, whose bright autumnal crescent, was
just beginning to cast above the hills, shone
through a high circular window, full into
this apartment, and indicated a comfortable
looking truckle bed at the further end, be
fore the rays of my miserable lantern had
shot beyond the threshold.
Upon approaching the pallet, I observed
some indications of that end of the apart
ment being still, occasionally, occupied.—
The heavy beams which traversed the ceil
ing, appeared to have been recently white
washed. There was a small piece of car
pet on the floor beside the bed, and a de
creipt table, and on arm-chair whose burly
body was precariously supported upon three
legs, were holding an innocent tete-a-tete in
the cornel adjacent.
I’ve had a rougher roosting-place than
this, thought I, as I placed my lantern upon
the table, and depositing my saddle-bags
beneath it, began to prepare myself for rest.
My light having now burnt low, I was
compelled to expedite the operation of un
dressing, which prevented me from examin
ing the rest of the apartment: and indeed,
although I had, when first welcoming with
some pleasure the idea of sleeping in u
haunted house, determined fully to explore
it for my own satisfaction, bolbre retiring
for the night, yet fatigue or caprice made
mo now readily abandon the intention just
when my means for carrying it into execu
tion were being withdrawn ; for the candle
expired, while I was opening the door of
the lantern, to throw its light more fully up
on a mass of drapery, which seemed to bo
suspended across the further end of the
chamber. The complete darkness that mo
mentarily ensued, blinded me completely.;
but in the course of a few riioinonts the
shadows became more distinct, and gradual
ly, by the light of the moon, 1 was able to
make out that the object opposite to me,
was only a large old-fashioned bedstead, pro
digally bung with tattered curtains. I gave
no further thought to the subject, but turn
ing over, composed myself to rest.
Sleep, however, whom Sliakspcarc alone
has had the sense to personify as a woman,
was coy in coming to my couch. The old
mansion wheezed and groaned, like a hrok
en-winded buffalo haul pressed by the hunt
er. The wind, which had been high, be-
M ADI SON, MORGAN COUNTY, GEORGIA, SATURDAY MORNING, DECEMBER 10, 1842.
came soon more boisterous than ever, and
the clouds huddled so rapidly over the face
of the moon, that her beams were as broken
as the crevicesof the ruined buildingthrougli
which they fell. A sudden gust would ev
ciy now and then sweep through the long
corridor below, and make the ricketty stair
case crack, as if it yielded to the feet of
some portly passenger—again, the blust
would die away in a sullen moan, ns if baf
fled on some wild night-errand, while anon,
it would swell iri monotonous surges, which
came booming upon the ear like the roar of
a distant ocean.
I am not easily discomposed, and perhaps
none of these uncouth sounds would have
given annoyance, if the clanging of a win
dow shutter had not been added to the gen
eral chorus, and effectually kept me from
sleeping. My nerves were at last becoming
sensibly affected by its ceaseless din, and
wishing to cut short the (it of restlessness
which I found stealing upon me, I determin
ed to rise and descend the stairs at the risk
of my neck, to try and secure the shutter so
as to put an end to the nuisance.
But now, as I rose in my bed for this pur
pose, I found myself subjected to anew
source of annoyance. The mocking wind,
which had appeared to me more than once
to syllable human sounds, came at length
upon iny ear distinctly charged with tones
which could not be mistaken. It was the
hard suppressed breathing of a man. I
listened, and it ceased with a slight gasp,
like that of one laboring under suffocation.
I listened still, and it came anew—stronger
and more fully upon my ear. It was like
the thick suspirations of an apoplectic.—
Whence it proceeded, I knew not. But that
it was near me, I was certain. A suspicion
of robbery—possibly, assassination—flashed
upon me ; but were instantly discarded, as
foreign to the character of the people among
whom I was traveling.
The moonlight now fell full upon the cur
tained bed opposite to me, and 1 saw the
tattered drapery move, as if the frame upon
which it was suspended, were agitated. I
watched, I confess, with some peculiar feel
ings of interest. I was not alarmed, but
an unaccountable anxiety crept over me.
At length the curtain parted, and a naked
human leg was protruded through its folds
—the foot came with a numb, deatli-like
sound to the floor—resting there, it seemed
to me at least half a minute before the body
to which it belonged was disclosed lo my
view. Slowly, then, a pallid and unearthly
looking figure emerged from the couch, and
stood with its stark lineaments clearly drawn
against the dingy curtain behind it. It ap
peared to be balancing itself for a moment,
and then began to move along from the bed.
But there was something horribly unnatural
in its motions. Its feet came to the floor
with a dull, heavy sound, as if there were
no vitality in them. Its arms hung, appar
ently, paralyzed by its side, and the only
nerve or rigidity iu its frame, appeared about
its head ; the hair, which was thin and scat
tered, stood out in rigid tufts from its brow
—the eyes were diluted and fixed with an
expression of ghastly horror, and the petri
fied lips moved not, as the hideous moaning,
which came from the bottom of its chest,
escaped them.
It began to move across the floor in the
direction of my bed—its knees at every step
being drawn up with a sudden jerk nearly
to its body, and its feet coming to the ground
as if they were moved by some mechanical
impulse, and were wholly wanting in the
elasticity of living members. It approach
ed my bed—and mingled horror and curios
ity kept me still. It came and stood beside
it, and child-like I still clung to my couch,
moving only to the farther side. Slowly,
and with the same unnatural foot-falls it
pursued me thither, and again 1 changed
my position. It placed itself then at the
foot of my bed-stead, and moved by its
piteous groans, l tried to look calmly at it
—I endeavored to rally my thoughts—to
reason with myself, and even to speculate
upon the nature of the object before me.—
One idea that went through my brain was
100 extravagant notto remember. I thought,
among other things, that the phantom was
a corpse, animated for the moment by some
galvanic process, in order to terrify me.—
Then, as I recollected that there was noonc
in the village to carry such a trick into ef
fect—supposing even the experiment possi
ble—l rejected the supposition. How, too,
could those awful moans be produced from
an inanimate being I And yet, it seemed
as if everything about it were dead, except
tho mere capability of moving its feet, uud
uttering those unearthly expressions of suf
fering. The sceptre, however, if so it may
be called, gave me butlittlo opportunity for
reflection. Its ghastly limbs were raised
anew with the same automaton movement;
and placing one of its feet upon tho bottom
of my bed, while its glassy eyes were fixed
steadfastly upon me, it began stalking to
wards my pillow.
1 confess that I was now in an agony of
terror.
I sprang from the couch and fled the
apartment. Tho koen-siglitedness of fear
enabled me to discover an open closet upon
the other side of the hall. Springing thmugh
the threshold, 1 closed tho door quickly af
ter ine. It had neither lock nor holt, but
the closet was so narrow, that by placing
my feet upon the opposite wall, 1 could
brace my back against the door so as lo hold
it against any human assailant, who had on
ly his arms for a lever.
The perspiration of mortal fear started
thick upon my forehead, as 1 heard the su
pernatural tread of that strange visitant ap
proaching the spot. It seemed an age be
fore his measured steps brought him to the
door. He struck it—the blow was sullen
and hollow, as if dealt by the hand of a
corpse. It was like the dull sound of liis
own feet upon the floor. He struck the
door again—and the blow was feeble, and
the sound duller than before. Surely, I
thought, the hand of no living man could
produce such a sound.
I know not whether it struck again—for
now its thick breathing became so loud,
that even the moanings which weie mingled
with every suspiration became inaudible.
At last, they subsided entirely—becoming
at first gradually weaker, and then audible
only in harsh sudden sobs, whose duration
I could not estimate, “from their mingling
with the blast which still swept the hillside.
The long, long night had at last an end,
and the cheering sounds of the awakening
farm-yard, told me that the sun was up, and
that I might venture from my blind retreat.
But if it were still with a slight feeling of
trepidation that I opened the door of the
closet, what was my horror when a human
body fell inward upon me, even as I unclos
ed it. The weakness, however, left me, the
moment I had sprung from that hideous
embrace. I stood for an instant in the fresh
air and reviving light of the hall, and then
proceeded to move the body to a place
where I could examine its features more
favorably. Great heaven! what was my
horror upon discovering that they were
those of the interesting stranger whom I
had met on the road the evening before.
The rest of my story is soon told. The
household of the inn were rapidly collected,
and half the inhabitants of tlie hamlet iden
tified the body as that of a ‘gentleman well
known in the county. But even after the
coroner’s inquest was summoned, there was
no light thrown upon his fate, until my
drunken landlord was brought before the
jury. His own testimony would have gone
for little, but he produced a document which
in a few woids told the whole story. It
was a note, left with him the evening before
by Mr. , to be banded to me as soon
as I should arrive at the inn. It briefly
thanked me for the slight courtesy rendered
him at the blacksmith’s, and mentioning,
that notwithstanding all precaution, his lioise
had fallen dead lame, and he should be
obliged to pass the night at Wolfsvvald, he
would still further trespass upon my kind
ness, by begging to occupy the same apart
ment with me. It stated that owing to some
organic affection of his system, he had long
been subject to the most grievous fits of
nightmare, during which, lie still preserved
sufficient powers of volition to move to the
bed of his servant, who being used to liis
attacks, would, of course, take the necessa
ry means to alleviate them. The note con
cluded by saying, that the writer had less
diffidence in preferring his request to be
my room-mate, inasmuch, as owing to the
crowded state of the bouse, I was sure of
being thrust in upon someone.
The reason why the ill-fated gentleman
had been so urgent to press homeward, was
now but too apparent, and my indignation
at the drunken inn-keeper, in neglecting to
hand me liis uote, knew no bounds. Alas!
in the years which have since gone by, there
has been more than one moment, when the
reproaches which I then lavished upon him,
have come home to myself. For the piteous
ly appealing look of the dying man, long
haunted me; and I sometimes still hear his
moan iu the autumnal blast that wails around
my casement.
THE FIELD OF WATERLOO!
11 Y DUMAS.
In three hours we had passed through the
fine forest of Soignees, and arrived at Mont
Saint-Jean. Here thccicerreics come to at
tend you, all saying that they were the
guides of Jerome Bonaparte. One of the
guides is ail Englishman patented by his
government, and wearing a medal as a com
missimnaire. If any Frenchman wishes to
see the field of battlethc poor devil does not
even offer himself, being habituated to re
ceive from them pretty severe rebuffs. On
the other hand lie has all the practice of the
English.
Wc took the firstguidetliat came to hand.
I had with me an excellent plan of the bat
tle, with notes by the Duke of Elcliingen
(who is at this moment crossing his paternal
sabre with the yatagan of the Arabs,) and
asked at once to be led to tlie monument of
the Prince of Orange. Had I walked a
hundred steps farther,there would have been
no need of a guide, for it is the first thing
you sec after passing tho farm of Mont Saint-
Jean.
We ascended the mountain which had
liecn constructed by tho hand of man upon
the very spot where the Prince of Orange
fell, struck in the shoulder while charging
chivalrously, his bat in bis band, at the head
of his regiment. It is a sort of round pyra
mid, some hundred and fifty feet high, which
you ascend by means of a stair cut in the
ground and supported by planks. The
earth of which the hill is formed was taken
from the soil over which it looks, und the
aspect of the field of battle is a consequence
somewhat changed ; the ravine in this place
possessing an abruptness which it had not
originally. On the summit of this pyramid
is a colossal lion (the tail of which our sol
diers on their return from Antwerp would,
had they not been prevented, cut off,) which
has one paw placed on a ball, and with its
head turned to the cast menaces France.—
From this platform, round the lion’s pedes
tal, you look upon the whole field of battle
from Braine L’Allendandthe extreme point
reached by the division of Jerome Bona
parte, to the wood of Frichermont whence
Blucher and his Prussians issued ; and from
Waterloo, which has given its name to the
battle no doubt because the rout of the Eng
lish was stopped at that village, to Quatre
Bras where Wellington slept after the de
feat of Ligny, and tlie wood of Bossu where
the Duke ot Brunswick was killed. From
this elevated point we awoke all the sha
dows, noise and smoke, which have been
extinguished for five-and-twenty years, and
were present at the battle. Yonder,a little
above La Haye Sainte.and ataplaco where
some farm buildings have since been erect
ed, Wellington stood a considerable part of
the day, leaning against a beeoh, which an
Englishman afterwards bought for two hun
dred francs. At the same time fell Sir
Thomas Picton charging at tlie head of a
regiment. Near this spot are the monu
ments of the Gordon and the Hanoverians ;
at the fool of the pyramid is the plateau of
Mont Saint Jean, which would he about as
high as the monuments which we have just
mentioned, were it not that for the space of
about two acres arour.d this spot, a layer of
ten feet of earth has been taken away in or
der to form the hill. It was on this jtoint,
on the possession of which depended the
gain of the day, that for three hours the
main struggle of the battle took jilace. Here
took place the charge of the 12,000 cuiras
siers and dragoons of Kellermann and Mil
haud. Pursued by these from square to
square, Wellington only owed his safety to
the impassability of bis soldiers, who let
themselves be poignarded at their post, and
fell to the number of 10,000 without yield
ing a step ; whilst their general,tears in his
eyes, ami his watch in his hand, gathered
fresh hope in calculating that it would re
quire two hours more of actual time to kill
what remained of his men. Now in one
hour he expected Blucher, in an hour and a
half Nighr : a second auxiliary of whose aid
he was certain, should Grouchy prevent the
first ally from coming to his aid. To con
clude, yonder on the plateau, and touching
tlie high-road, are the buildings of La Haye
Sainte, thrice taken and retaken by Ney,
who bad in these three attacks five horses
killed under him.
Now, turning our regards towards France,
you will see on your right in the midst of a
little wood the farm of Hougoumont, which
Napoleon ordered Jerome not to abandon
were he and all his roops to perish there.
In the face of us is the farm of Belle Alli
ance, from which Napoleon, having quitted
the observatory at Monplaisir, watched tho
battle for two hours, calling on Grouchy to
sive him his living battalions, as Augustus
id on Verres, for his dead legions. To the
left is the ravine where Cambronne, when
called upon to surrender, replied, not with
the words La garde meurt (for iu our rage
to poetize everything, we have attributed to
him a phrase which he never used,) but with
a single expression of the barrack-room
much more fierce and energetic, though not
perhaps so genteel. In fine, in front of all
this line was the high road to Brussels, and
at tlie place where tlie road rises slightly,
the spectator will distinguish the extreme
point to which Napoleon advanced, when
seeing Blucher’s Prussians (for whom Wel
lington was looking so eagerly) debouch
from the wood of Frichermont, he cried,
“ Oh, here’s Grouchy at last, and the bat
tle’s ours.” It was bis last cry of hope :in
another hour that of Savvc qui peut sounded
from all sides in his ears.
Those who wish to examine in further
detail this plan of so many bloody recollec
tions, over the ensemble of which we have
just cast a glance, will descend the pyra
mid, and, in the direction of Braine L’Al
lene and Frichermont, will take the Neville
road which conducts to Hougoumont. It
will be found just as it was when, called
away by Napoleon at three o’clock, Jerome
quitted if. It is battered by the twelve
guns which General Foy brought down to
the prince. It looks as if the work of ruin had
been done but yesterday, for no one litis re
paired the ravages of the shot. Thus you
will be shown the stone where Prince Je
rome, conducted by the same guide whom
lie bad employed before, came to sit; ano
ther Marius outlie ruins of another Carthago.
If the corn is down you may go across the
fields from Hougouinout to Monplaisir,
where Napoleon’s olisevvatory was, and from
the observatory to the house of Lacosto,the
Emperor’s guide, to which, thrice in the
course of the buttle, Napoleon returned from
Belle Alliance. It was at a few yards from
this house, and seated on a little eminence
commanding the field of buttle, that Napo
leon received Jerome whom he had sent
for, and who joined him at three iu the af
ternoon. The Prince sat down on the Em
peror’s left, and Marshal Boult was on his
right, and Ney was sent for, who soon join
ed them. Napoleon had by him a bottle of
Bordeaux wine, and a full glass which lie
put every now and then mechanically to his
lips; and when Jerome and Ney arrived be
| NUMBER 37.
W. T. THOMPSON, EDITOR.
i
smiled (for they were covered with dust and
blood, and lie loved to see his soldiers thus,)
and still keeping his eyes on the field, sent
for three glasses to Lacosto’s house, one lor
Ney, and one for Jerome. There were but
two glasses left, however, each of which the
Emperor filled and gave to a marshal, then
he gave liis own to Jerome.
Then with that soft voice of his, wbicM
knew so well how to use upon occasion.
“ Ney, my brave Ney,” said lie, thou ing him
for the first time since his return from Elba,
“ thou wilt take the 12,000 men of Milhaud
Kellermann ; thou wilt wait until my old
grumblers have found thee; thou wilt give
tlie covp de boutoir; and then if Grouchy
arrives the day is ours. Go.”
Ney went, and gave the covp de bout-air ;
but Grouchy never came.
From this you should take the toad to
Genappes and Brussels across the farm of
Belle Alliance, whereßluclier and Welling
ton met after the battle ; and following the
road, you presently come to the last point to
which Napoleon advanced, and where he
saw it was not Grouchy but Blucher who
was coming up, like Desaix at Marengo, to
gain a lost battle. Fifty yards off the right
you stand in the very spot occupied by the
square into which Napoleon flung himself,
and where he did all lie could to die. Each
English volley carried away whole ranks
round about him ; and at the bead of each
new rank, as it formed, Napoleon placed
himself: his brother Jerome from behind
endeavoring in vain todrawhim back, while
a brave Corsican officer, General Campi,
came forward with equal coolness each time,
and placed bimself and bis horse between
the Emperor and the enemy’s batteries. At
last, after three quarters of an hour of car
nage, Napoleon turned round to liis brother:
“ It appears,” said he, “that death will have
none of us as yet. Jerome, take the com
mand of the army. I am sorry to have
known thee so late.” With this, giving his
hand to his brother, he mounted a horse
that was brought him, passed like a miracle
through the enemy’s ranks, and arriving at
Genappes, tried for a moment to rally tho
army. Seeing liis efforts were vain, he got
on horseback again, and arrived at Laon on
the nighr. of the 19tli-20tli.
Five-and-twenty years have passed away
since that epoch, and it is only now that
France begins to comprehend that for the
liberty of Europe this defeat was necessa
ry : though still profoundly enraged and
humiliated that she should have been mark
ed out as the victim. In looking, too, round
this field where so many Spartans fell for
her; the Orange pyramid in the midst ofit,
the tomb of Gordon and the Hanoverians
round about; you look in vain for a stone, a
cross, or an inscription to recall our country.
It is because, one day, God will call her to
resume the work of universal deliverance
commenced by Bonaparte and interrupted
by Napoleon,—and then, the work done, we
will turn the head of the Nassau Lion to-
Europe, and all will be said.
THE LAPLANDERS.
With the most limited means of enjoy
ment, the Laplanders are the happiest peo
ple in Europe. They can never have a fix
ed home, around which they may gather the
comforts of life. They have no gardens, tio
grain, no fruits, not even in their long glar
ing summer—which is almost an incessant
day—are they blessed with the sight of a rich
ly verdant landscape. Their barren soft
and ungenial climate, alternating between
the dreary winter prospects of unlimited
snow fields, and tire scanty sameness of the
arid summer forbid all this. Yet no people,
not even the Swiss, love tlieir native land so
ardently as these poor step-children of na
ture. They live in tents, summer and win
ter, and—except fish—the reindeer furnish
es their whole subsistence. It gives them
food, raiment, and dwellings,and forms their
only wealth and pride. Some Lapps have
as many as two thousand of these useful an
imals. They live chiefly on moss, and when
they have exhausted the supply in tlieir
neighborhood, they snuff up the wind, and
start off’in search of fresh pasturage. The
owners have nothing to do but to strike tlieir
tents, pack up tlieir goods and tlieir little
ones, and follow them. In this way they
lead about tlieir patient, good natured mas
ters, at all seasons, sometimes remaining six
or eight weeks in one spot, and sometimes
not as many days. Having so little to occu
py and entertain them in their way of life,
tire Lapps are driven to domestic habits, and
their family attachments, like tlieir national
predilections, are tender and strong. They
speak with a kind of fond pride of the nor
fhem lights that illuminate the darkness of
tlieir polar winter, of the perpetual day that
brightens their summer, cud of the flectncss
ami sagacity of tlieir matchless reindeer.
One of tlieir greatest pleasures is story
telling. A large circle will collect in a tent,
half buried, perhaps, in the winter’s snow,
and seated on skins spread on the ground,
each of the ring, in turn, relates an adven
ture, a legend, or an historical event. In
this way they receive and impart much Cu
rious information, and become more intelli
gent than one would suppose, from the ap
pearance of tlieir rude camps and uncouth
dresses. This community of tastes, inter
ests and amusements, strengthens in a won
derful degree their social feelings. Noth
ing can detach a Lapp from his tamily, and
they pine if even for a short time they are
kept fiom their beloved encampment.