Newspaper Page Text
VOLUME 11. |
BY C. It. HANLEITER.
IF © E IT IS Y.
“ Much yet remains unsung.”
Fertile “Southern Miscellany.’’
LOVE’S REMINISCENCES.
1 love in solitude alone
To pass dull time away :
Alas! the happy days have flown
Os transient, rosy May !
I love the softest summer wind
That hastens heedless by.
Which brings my early days to mind,
And tender childhood nigh.
I love the last sad gleams of day
Upon the evoning moon ;
I love her light, who watched my way,
‘Mid fortune’s darkest gloom ;
1 love the streak of early dawn—
The star’s last fading light—
And then, the first bright lieams of morn
Ends sorrow's gloomy night.
O yes I I love the sunshine too,
“ Like kindness, or like mirth,
Upon a human countenance,
Is sunshine on the earth.”
” I lore the sunshine everywhere,”
Says Mary Ilowitt’s verse ;
I love a pure,bright atmosphere—
But not an empty purse !
I love the noon-day sun, that smiles
O’er life's unhappy way—
While evening's kindly shade beguiles
The despot’s servile sway. •
I love the flowers that early bloom,
Though “fading like my youth ;’’
1 love the longest day in June,
And never-ending truth.
I love the India Tree, that so
In Southern soil abound ;
I love the friendly oaks that grow
In native soil around ;
And there, beneath, where children play,
Upon the greenest grass,
The peaceful hours of setting day
Thus innocently pass !
J. L. BLOUNT.
Savannah, Georgia.
ca———n——
[£ [LI ©T[£ ® TAILII©
THE BARBER OF CADIZ.
Translated from the Spanish for the New Mirror.
The war and civil dissensions, which de
volved Spain for six years, intioduced into
that unfortunate country not only public
and arnas, with illustrious victims, hut disturb
ed the quiet of families who were the
most indifferent to the interests of par
ties. We have a touching story to relate,
which proves that no citizen can shield him
self from the troubles of his country and his
time.
It was more than twenty minutes after
nine, when the barber, Pedro Nunez, on a
beautiful morning of last spring, entered
the hedchatnlier of Seignor Alava, alcaid
mayor of Cadiz. Nunez, for twenty years,
at nine precisely every morning, had trim
med the worthy face of Seignor Alava, and
now for the first time the honest man found
himself belated in the performance of his
most important practice. The magistrate,
on his part, had not noticed this slight dere
liction, absorbed as he was in counting some
very large sums of gold and silver, ranged
in piles on the leaves of his secretary. The
same preoccupation hindered him also from
observing the extraordinary agitation of the
barber, when he came into the room, and
which could not have aiisen solely from the
fear of having caused the alcaid to wait
for him. The face, and indeed the whole
appearance of the poor fellow, were so dis
turbed that it would have seemed truly com
ical had not an expression of grief and fe
rocity been observed in his dark eyes,
which were moistened with tears. His
glance had a peculiar light, followed by an
involuntary shudder, at the sight of the pre
cious metal on the table, and the view seem
ed greatly to augment his repugnance to his
customary services on this day.
“ I am ready for you, Pedro,” said the
confiding Alava, seating himself in his el
bow-chair, without the least thought of ta
king the precaution of shutting up his se
cretary.
The barber tied the napkin under the
magistrate's chin, opened his case twice,
seeming to forget what he was to take out
of it, confounding his soap and brush with
his other implements ; then, stealing a
frightful grimace at the imposing personage,
he awkwardly dashed the boilitig water up
on his chin.
“Take care! Nunez,” said the scalded
alcaid ; 44 what the d—l are you about ?
What has made you so distracted and care
less this morning V’
“ Pardon, excellency,” stammered he
timidly.
And going from one extreme to the other,
be poured so much cold water into the sha
king-dish, that this time Seignor Alava
thought he was going to shave him with ice.
To ayert this little difficulty, he asked Nun
ez the political news, and the affairs in the
city ; but instead of relaxing, as was his
usual habit, and giving a loose to his tongue,
the barber only replied in monosyllables,
and in a few moments the conversation drop
ped. The alcaid saw be must lose the
amusing wit of his Figora for this day, so,
without giving himself the trouble to ask
what ailed him, occupied himself with his
own thoughts as he touched the last hag of
crowns turned out upon the edge of his se
cretary.
& JFamfljj Jlftosflajjev : SJcDotetr to RCteratuvr, agriculture, i?EecliaiUc&, duration, jForctflu aun JPomcsrtfc EnteUtoctuc,
The Monumental Church,at Richmond, was
erected in 1813, on the spot where the the
atre stood. It was dedicated on the 4th of
May, 1814. The Rev. W. H. Wilder de
livered the dedication sermon. It is an ele
gant edifice of an octagon form. The stee
ple, on the northeasterly side, is one hun
dred and thirty feet high. On the north
westerly side of the church, and adjoining
it, is the monument, the foundation of which
occupies thirty-six feet square, within the
walls of which is engraved the following in
scription :
“ In memory of the awful calamity, that
by the providence of God, fell on this city,
on the night of the 26th of December, in the
year of Christ, ISII ; when, by the sudden
and dreadful conflagration of the Richmond
theatre, many citizens, nf different ages, and
of both sexes, distinguished for talents and
for virtues, respected and beloved, perished
in the flames ; aud, in one short moment pub
lic joy and pi ivate happiness were changed
into universal lamentation ; this monument
is erected, and the adjoining church dedica
ted to the worship of Almighty God, that,
in all future times, the remembrance of this
mournful event, on the spot where it hap
pened, and where the remains of the suffer
ers are deposited, in one urn, may be uni
ted with acts of penitence and devotion.”
The perspective view of the Monumental
Church, from which the engraving present
ted in this number of the Magazine is taken,
was dtawn by William Strictland, F. S. A.
Isaac Sturtevant, of Boston, was the master
builder.
An account of tlie burning of the Rich
mond Theatre, will not, we trust, he consid
ered out of place. It is compiled from the
Rev. Timothy Alden’s collection of Ameri
can epitaphs and inscriptions, a rare and
valuable work. •
On Thutsday night, the 26th of Decem
ber, 1811, it appears that the theatre, on
Shockoe hill, in Richmond, was attended by
an unusual number of people. The panto
mine, entitled Agnes and Raymond, or the
Bleeding Nun, was to have closed the amuse
ments of the evening. This had been trans
lated for the occasion by Mr. Giradin; and
many, who had seldom repaired to this place
The barber started, seized his razor, and
began to go over the whitened checks of
the magistrate; but, in spite of all his ef
forts to l id himself from the powerful attrac
tions which carried him elsewhere, and es
pecially towards the unfortunate finances nf
Seignor Alava, be could not fix his attention
or the delicate operations of his profession ;
his hand trembled every time his eyes were
directed towards the money, aud the cloud
that passed across his torehead was like the
shade of fatal thoughts, and these thoughts
seemed to grow more poignant and terrible.
When the alcaid leaned back in his chair,
and presented his chin to the razor, an agi
tation impossible to describe was observed
in the looks and movements of the unfortu
nate Nunez; he cast a wild look from the
face of the magistrate to the toilette, loaded
with silver, passed his tiemhling hand over
his forehead, damp with a cold sweat, then
seeing the head of Seignor Alava thrown
back, his throat exposed—he flung the ra
zor from him suddenly, uttered a piercing
cry, and darted from the chamber.
This sudden flight aroused the alcaid
from his quiet reflection, and burst upon him
in a most horrible light.
44 1 am robbed !” he exclaimed, without
thinking of confirming it by a look—a mere
suspicion having destroyed the confidence
and honesty of twenty years ; and, springing
from his chair, he sent all his servants and
a troop of alguazils on the track of the bar
ber.
In fifteen minutes, Pedro Nunez was
brought back to the Seignor Alava ; but not
before he found out that not one piece of
money had been abstracted from his trea
sures. The fugitive, far from seeking to
MADISON, MORGAN COUNTY, GEORGIA, SATURDAY MORNING, JULY 8, 1813.
MOMHUMHSfCIfm ©KUtDTCKIp IS o<gK! TOMS, OTSmOem.
of recreation, now attended in order to wit
ness its performance, principally through
civility to their fellow-citizen. In the first
act of this afterpiece, one of the scenes ex
hibited the cottage of a robber, which was
illuminated by a chandelier. When the
curtain fell on the close of the first act, and
before it rose for the second, this chandelier
was raised aloft among the oil painted scene
ry. By a fatal inattention, the lamp was
not extinguished ! The fire instantly caught,
spread with rapidity, and, in less than five
minutes, the whole roof, as well as the sus
pended combustible materials,was in ablaze.
44 It burst through the hull’s eye in front; it
sought the windows where the rarified va
pour sought its passage, fed by the vast col
umn of air in the hollows of the theatre, fed
by the inflammable panels and pillars of the
boxes, by the dome of the pit, by the can
vass ceiling of the lower boxes, until its suf
focated victims in the fiont were wrapped
in its devouring flame, or pressed to death
under the smoking ruins of the building.”
The imagination may better paint, than
the pen of the writer describe, the unutter
able anguish of the gay assembly. In one
moment, hilarity and joy were exchanged
for the most agonizing sorrow and distress,
and a multitude of precious and immortal
souls, at a time they little expected, was
plunged into the world of spirits. Shrieks,
groans, agony, and death, in its most tetrific
form, closed the tragic scene !
The following is a list of the unhappy vic
tims to this dreadful calamity, taken from
the Gazettes published at tlie time, and cor
rected by the writer of this article in May,
ISI4, from verbal information received of
sundry people at Richmond :
From Jefferson ward, his excellency,
George W. Smith, Governor of Virginia,
Miss Sophia Tourin, Miss Cecilia Tourin,
sisters, Joseph Jacobs and his daughter, Miss
Elizabeth Jacobs, Cyprian Marks, Mrs.
Marks, the wife of Mordeica Marks, Miss
Charlotte Raphael, daughter of Solomon
Raphael, Miss Adeline Bausman, Miss Ann
Craig, Mr. Nuttal, a carpenter, Pleasant, a
mulatto woman, aud Nancy Peterson, a wo
man of color.
From Madison ward, Abraham B. Vena-
hide himself, went directly and boldly to his
humble shop, where the alguazils found
him, in the midst of his family, confounded
with terror and surprise. His brave and
honest family, indignant at the suspicions
cast upon their chief, would not leave him
either for tlie menances or entreaties of tlie
alguazils, and were all there shuddering,
bathed in tears, in the chamber of the lauaid,
together with the domestics of tho house
and agents of the police. A charming
girl, tho dear and last child of the barber,
made herself observed above all by tlie ex
treme violence of her protestations, and her
deep, heart-rending sobs. If tlie arrest of
Nunez was the occasion of such grief, it
was evidently not the only cause—and in
that was a mystery which tlie Seignor Ala
va could not fathom.
“ Pedro,” said he to the poor fellow,
whose first agitation had given place to the
deepest dejection, “ I was wrong to think
you had robbed me, and I am eager, my
friend, to make you honorable reparation.”
Saying ibis, he ordered the alguazils to
release their captive ; but he was astonish
ed at the little emotion manifested by ti e
barber and his family at this ides. If their
indignation was abated their grief was not,
and that served only to confirm the alcaid in
the first idea he conceived.
“ I have only one thing to ask you,”
said, he, addressing Nunez ; 44 it is the ex
planation of your strange flight, which led
me to suppose you guilty.”
The barber looked round him several
times, twisted the rim of his hat convulsive
ly in his fingers, and replied to the magis
trate in a careless, yet most bitter tone—
“ You—you are, perhaps, too quick in
hip. Esq., president of the Virginia Bank.
William Southgate, son of Wright South
gate, Benjamin Botts, Esq., an eminent at
torney, and his wife. Miss Arianna Hunter,
Miss Mary Whitlock, Miss Juliana Harvie,
Mrs. Sarah Heron, Mrs. Girardin and her
child, Mrs. Robert Greenhow, Mrs. Moss,
child of Baruch Judah, Mrs. Lesslie, Ed
ward Wanton, a youth, George Dixon, a
youth, William Brown, Mrs. Elizabeth Pat
tison, John Welch, a stranger, lately from
England, nephew ofSirA.Pigott, Miss Mar
garet Copland, Miss Margaret Anderson,
Miss Sarah Gatewood, Miss Maty Clay,
whose father wasthen a memberofcongress,
Miss Lucy Gawtbmey, Miss Louisa Mayo,
an orphan, Mrs. Gerard, Mrs. Eleanor Gib
bons, Miss Ann Green, Mary Davis, Thom
as Frazier, a youth, Jane Wade, a young
woman, Mrs. William Cook and her daugh
ter, Miss Elizabeth Stevenson, Mrs. Convert
and her child, Maltha Griffin, Fanny Goff,
a woman of color, Betsey Johnson, a free
woman of color, and Philadelphia, a man of
color.
From Monroe ward, Mrs. Taylor Brax
ton,Mrs. Elizabeth Page,Mrs. Jerred.James
Waldon, M iss Elliot, of New Kent, Mrs. Jo
seph Gallego, Miss Sarah Conyers, James
Gibbon, Esq., lieutenant in the Navy of the
United States, Mrs. Thomas Wilson, Miss
Maria Nelson, Miss Mary Page, Mrs. La
forest,and Mr. Almerine Marshall,of Wythe
county.
To the foregoing, these are also to he add
ed :—Miss Elvira Courts, Mrs. Pickit, Miss
Littlepage, Jean Baptiste Rozier, Thomas
Lrcioix, and Robert Ferrill, a mulatto boy.
Many, who escaped with their lives, were
much scorched in the flames, some were kill
ed and others were greatly injured by throw
ing themselves from the windows, or by be
ing trampled under fool in the attempt to
escape with the crowd. Mrs. John Boslier,
and Ed'ward James Harvey, Esq., expired,
soon after the dreadful catastrophe. Some
are cripples, a considerable number has
dropped into the grave, and others languish
ed under the weight of disease, in conse
quence of injury sustained at the time of the
melancholy conflagration. —American Mag
azine.
justifying me. Seignor Alava ; because, if I
did not actually rob you—l was on the point
of yielding to a temptation far worse.”
“ Miserable man !” exclaimed the alcaid,
stepping hack totbe farthest end of the room,
whilst the alguazils again laid their hands
on Nunez, to the renewed consternation of
his family. “ Miserable man !” lie repeat
ed, folding his arms in painful astonishment,
“ what demon could inspire you with crim
inal thoughts after a life of irreproachable
integrity 1”
“ Irreproachable, indeed!” replied the
barber, proudly ; 44 and yet,” he added in a
husky voice, “it is only too fine, I have
failed by dishonoring myself with one
crime.”
He became pale as death, a shudder of
agony agitated him, and from his livid eyes
the tears streamed freely.
44 Is it possible !” sighed the daughter,
pressing his hand with the liveliest compas
sion.
Nunez hung his head in reply, and the
poor girl, bursting into tears, flung herself
in his aims.
“ Pedro,” said the alcaid, in a tone more
paternal than magisterial, “ the culpable
thought you have just avowed could not
have been natural to the mind of an honest
man ; and I am persuaded you have yet
withheld some secret, the revelation of
which may possibly justify you. Confide
in me freely and without fear, since both
your freedom and reputation depend on me
now.”
1 lie barber looked earnestly at the mag
istrate, as if to assure himself whether he
was disposed to be indulgent, and then his
restless gaze w-bb fastened on his daughtei, J
still clinging tenderly to him.
“ Speak, my father, speak !” said she, nf- j
ter a short pause ; “ death sooner than dis
honor.”
Nunez cast another glance at the alcaid,
full of the keenest anguish, and at last con
sented to confess to the Seignor Alava, on
condition that his family only should remain
in the room with them.
The alcaid, seeing nothing to fear, order
ed the alguazils to retire ; and the barber
slowly began to speak, trying to subdue the
emotion of grief and terror which again
paralyzed his mind and body.
“ Monseigneur,” said he in a broken voice
“ before obliging me to intrust with you my
honor, I thought of confiding in you free
ly an interest no less precious ; and would
to heaven 1 had derided to have recourse to
your generosity at first! I should not now
be reduced to implore your clemency ; but
the idea even of your high reputation took
away from me the hope 1 conceived ; be
cause, what you could do for our safety.
Monseigneur, you could also do for our loss;
and I tremble still in this moment to be un
derstood only by your justice, while daring
to address myself to your compassion.”
” What do you mean, Pedro 1” deman
ded the alcaid, who did not understand his
meaning. “ You speak of justice, of safety,
of loss. Are any of your family in dan
ger 1”
“ Alas ! yes, some of us ! Wait, Mon
seigner, you shall know what it is—what 1
ought to have told you two hours ago, in
stead of exposing myself to the abomina
ble thoughts which will kill me with re
morse—for I have done you great wrong in
supposing you were net humane enough to
lie touched by misfortune. You see, Mon
seigneur, all my family here before you, at
your feet with me ; but there is a young
man, who was to become one of us, a brave
and handsome sailor in the queen’s navy,
the youthful friend ar.d the affianced of my
Juniata—this pretty gill who washed your
hands with tears, Monseigneur, and whose
life or death will be decided before night.”
“ Good heavens ! How 1” said the alcaid.
“Stephano (the name of my future son
in-law) beViugs to the Reine Mere, a cor
vette, which returned from her first voyage
the other day, and lies now at anchor in the
port of Cadiz. There was on hoard the
Reine Mere an officer whom they had ar
rested on tiie shore, at the time lie was go
ing mei to tlie troops of Don Carlos—a
miserable, or perhaps unfortunate man—
alas! who can know ? This officer was
condemned to be shot by the garrison of
Cadiz ns soon as they ai rived here ; and, as
.Stephano was known to he the first sailor on
board the corvette, he was appointed to
guard the officer. An office a thousand
times accursed, for by it the heart of the
best hoy in the world turned the head of
one of Spain’s most faithful servants! Yes,
Monseigneur,this officer ofSatan succeeded
in exciting the pity of poor Stephano. By
what means lam ignorant; he must, with
out doubt, have told him that his death would
ruin his family ; or that he also had a be
trothed, whose love was the charm of his
life ; and the lover of my Juniata, who
breathes only for her, the son-in-law who
would sacrifice his days for me as for a fa
ther, wished to restore a son to his parent,
a spouse to his well-beloved. So one mor
ning the condemned was not found on the
corvette. Immediately accused of having
favored his escape, Stephano at first badly
defended himself—generous men know not
hardly how to speak falsely—in a word the
unfortunate youth confessed the whole be
fore the council of war, and was condemned
to die ! And the garrison are going to shoot
him this evening instead of the officer he
saved ! And my Juniata cannot survive her
affianced, for she lias told me so,and I know
her ! lam going to lose two children in
stead of one ! ’Tis that, Monseigneur, ’tis
that which caused my despair.”
The poor man was interrupted by the
grief of his family, and stopped, suffocated
with his own.
“ I heard of this event, Nunez,” said the
alcaid, mastering his own emotions, “ and
from my heart I pity you for the sad share
you have in it, but I see not what this had
to do with what has passed between you and
me to day.”
“ I have not. ended,” replied the barber,
with a painful effort. ’ “You shall judge
yourself, Monseigneur, of all the evil 1 have
encountered since this morning to save the
unfortunate .Stephano. 1 have been to one
after another of his judges, and those who
are to be his executioners ; but 1 have
learned that justice has no mercy for any
one in these fital days of civil war. I then
addressed the guard of my son-in-law, and
sought to move him with my supplications,
of the officer affected Stephano—only less
courageous, less disinterested than the good
man. (1 tremble to confess it, Seignor Al
caid,) he consented to let him escape from
the corvette on condition that he should have
enough given him to enable him to escape
also and go to live in some foreign land.—
4 Bring rne three hundred ducats,’ said he,
4 and 1 will instantly leave the Reine Mdro
with Stephano under safe disguise, and hire
a vessel to take us both beyond the reach
of danger.’ Three hundred ducata ! Holy
Virgin ! Were Ito empty all the purses of
my richest friends, and beg from all Cadiz,
I could not be able to get one quarter of
that sum! It was after all these fruitless
j NUMBER 15.
WM. T. THOMPSON, EDITOR.
efforts this morning I came to you, Monaeig-,
neur. partly to perform my services, partly
to tell you my troubles j but a fear, which I
shall repent all my life, froze the words on
my lips before I had reached your door. I
considered you were alcaid-tnaynr of Cadiz,
that your office was to enforce justice in
stead of arresting its farmidaMe course, that
you had no control over military jndg-,
ments; in short, that perhaps I might has
ten the loss of my son-in-law by confiding a
scheme to you which you would consider
culpable.”
“Ho on,” said the magistrate, 44 go on.”
“ Well, I was in this cruel uncertainty
when I perceived the heaps of gold and
silver spread out oh your secretary. 4 Oh,
heaven !’ said I to myself, 4 it would take
only a handful of jhis gold to save my poor
Stephano and my Juniata 1” Thia thought
once entered into my mind would not leave .
me, Monseigneur, and it gave birth to oth
ers more fatal, more terrible, and my poor
head was filled by them, was turned upside
down, in spite of all my efforts to drive
them away with horror. Aninfemalwoice
whispered that the lives of my daughter i
and son-in-law were within my reach, that ‘
I had only to extend my hand to insure \
them. Ah ! can you conceive of this ter- ‘
tigo, Seignor Alava, can you comprehend J
it I On one side, Stephano and Juniata, dy
ing one after the other—one killed by the
bullets of a wretch and a traitor, the other
stabbed to the heart by incurable grief — on
the other side, a simple motion, some pieces
of superfluous treasure to carry off, which
the sun with its glittering rays seemed to
point out to me, on your table ! The cur
sed voice incessantly murmured in my ears
that 1 had only to watch when you were
not paying attention ; to save my children
it would not he a crime; that you were al
so in my power, at my mercy, under a fatal
instrument; that if 1 had no other means
to insure my flight and gain time necessaiy
for my project, a single movement of the
itßtrumetit would reduce you to silence.
Ah !” continued the barber, shuddering all
over, “ I saw nothing) heard nothing, hut
the whistling of balls ands corpse dragged
away by executioners, the cries of my daugh
ter demanding her betrothed snd expiring
in my arms; then that gold I always that
gold— two steps from me l under my hand!
’Twas then, Monseignenr, you leaned hack
in your chair; I saw your throat stretched
under my razor. I fled, shrieking, for fear
I might destroy you and carry off yonr mo
ney. You know the test. This is all I can
say for my justification. I enn neither ur
vive my remorse nor the grief of losing my
children; have then no pity, Seignor Alcaid,
if it is only, fur me you have any.”
“ I have pity for all of you, my frietida,”
said the magistrate, letting the tears fall at
the end of the lamented recital. *• Do you
think it is yet too late to go to Stephano aud
fulfil the conditions demanded for hia re
lease ?”
‘1 he barber opened his mouth, to reply
to this unexpected question; but the emo
tion it caused him was so sudden a contrast
to those which had just exhausted hia
strength, that he could only stammeT two or
three unintelligible syllables, and fell faint
ing on the floor.
“It is not too late, Monseigneur. I can
take your orders,” cried Juniata, with such
energy as fully confirmed wbat had been
said of her love.
“ well,” replied the alcaid, giving
her a handful of gold ; 44 go, my child, car
ry it to the guard of your lover.”
It is vain to tell of the blessings showered
on the magnanimity of the Seignor Alava ;
they were so loud, Nunez was recalled to
himself, and the alguazils came forward
from the threshold of the chamber.
44 Silence !” said the magistrate to the
bewildered family. 44 You can go,” added
he gravely to the alguazils. 44 Nunez is sn
honest man, against whom there is no cause
of complaint.”
At the end of half sn hour Juniata re
turned, saying, that Stephano and bia guard
were sailing for France.
“ Depend upon the alcaid-mayor,” said
the Seignor Alava, 44 to hasten his return to
Cadiz, and to shelter him from all suspicion.
Military justice is as transient as it is terri
ble ; but in civil justice he shall find com
passion.”
“ Ob, forgive me !” cried Nunez, fling
ing himself on his knees at the feet of Seig
nor Alava. ” Was it possible for me to
have thought of robbing, of assassinating a
man like you !”
“ Nunez,” replied the alcaide, with ironi
cal seriousness, “ we cannot separate thus,
Seignor Pedro.”
“ Why, your excellency!” asked tho
poor fellow with astonishment.
“ Because you must finis h your work, my
friend,” gsyly replied Alavs, pointing to bis
half-shaved face.
“ Thanks! thanks ! Monseignenr,” ex
claimed Nunez, in ecstacy. “ 1 should ne
ver have da red to hope for that favor again.”
The worthy barber finished the operation
very differently from the way in which ho
commenced it; and if his emotion made
him cut the chin of his excellency, be had
not the least disposition to do any further
mischief.
Thought and Action. —Meditation and ac
tion have been compared to Rachel and
Leah; the one was the more pleasing, the
other more fruitful.