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11l til A I>S I Alt DS.
FI,OVI> HOUSE.
BY B. S. N E WCO M B.
Macon, Georgia. Oct. 19,1814. 1-ts
WHITING & MIX,
WHOLESALE AM) RETAIL DEALERS IN'
BOOTS AND 'IIOI'.S,
Near the Washington Hall, Second street.
Macon, Georgia. Oct. 19,1844. 1-tl ;
J. L. JONES & CO.
CI. O T Hllfi ST «It I'.
(Vest side Mulberry Street, next door befoic the 1
Big Hat.
\\ »c. »n, Georgia. On. 19, IS4 I.
NlSliirr & WING FIELD,
ATTOIt AK Y S A T I. A TV.
Office on .Mulberry Street, or er Kimberly s Hut
Store. , '
Macon, Georgia. Oct. 19,1841. l-'l
DOCTORS J. M. & 11. K. GREEN,
Corner of Mulberry and Third Streets.
M icon,Georgia. Oct. I‘*. IN fI. 1-tl
1.7 J . 4 It OS'.
Has tor Sal e
PRY GOODS <V GROCERIES ,
BOOTS, SHOES, CABS. AND HATS,
.•It John l). ll'inn's Old Store.
Macon, Oct. 25, 1811. 2-ls
FREEMAN & ROBERTS,
Saddle, llit mess, and. Jl hip,
nANIFAC T O It Y .
lhahrs in oil hinds »</ Leather, Saddlery 1
Ilunoss and Carnage Tnmmings,
O.i Cotton Avenue and Second street, Macon,Ca.
October 25, 1841. 1
JOSEPH N. SEYMOUR,
DC.ll l.lt IN
l)Rt UOOI*'. GROCF.RIES, HARD
WARE, Ac.
Uriel; Store. Cherry Street , Unis ton's Range, first
door below Russell S. Kimberley *.
Macon, Georgia. Oe*. 19, 1844. 1-tl j
GEORGE M. LOGAN,
DEALER IN
FANCY AND 'I’A FEE DRY’ WOODS,
Jl int-1 Care, Crockery, Class-Ware, See. &.r.
Corner of Second and Clterrv sireeis.
Miicon, Genitfia. Oct. 19, ISA I- I-if
D. i 7 W . GUNN,
DEALERS IN
KT A I* E E II K Y WOODS,
Groceries, Hardware, Crockery, &.c.
M arou, Georgia* Oct. 19, 1944. 1 —if
SAMUEL .1 RAY & CO.
Ttr.AI.KKS IX
FAMY A > D .VIM I*l. E DRY GOODS,
Heady Made Clothing, Hats, Shoes, Itc.
Si coin! street, a tew doors from the Washington
Hotel.
Macon, Georgia. Oct. 18,1544. l-'f
REDOING WHITEHEAD,
DEALERS IN
FANCY AND S’FAFEE DRY GOODS,
Groceries, Hard H are, Cutlery, Hats, Shoes,
Crockery, &c. &.c.
Corner of Colton Avenue and Cherry streets.
Moron, Georgia. Oct. 19,1844. I—it
• B. r. ROSS,
dealer in
DRY GOOD'S AND UKOCERIEK.
Macon, Georgia. Del. 19, 18-14. 1 -if
J. M. BOA ROMAN,
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and School Books; Blank Books and Stationery
of all kinds ; Printing Paper, &.c. &e.
Sign of the Large Bible, hen doors above Shot
well's corner, west side of Mulberry Street.
Macon, Georgia. Oct. 19,1844. 1-tl
B. R. WARNER,
AUCTION AID COJI MISSION MER
CHANT.
Dealer in every description of Merc / andise.
“The Public’s Servant,” and subject to receiving
consignments at all times, by the consignees pay
ing 5 per cent, commissions for services rendered.
Macon. Georgia. Oct. 19, 1841. 1 —ts
Fat fur Mathew Involved in Difficulties. —
A public subscription hits been commen
ced for the relief of Father Mathew, the
apostle of temperance, who, by his liber
ality in support of the cause, has involv
ed himself in great and ruinous pecunia
ry difficulties. Lord Cloncurry has con
tributed .£SO. It appears, from a para
graph in the Cork Examiner, that the
Rev. Mr. Mathew has actually been ar
rested for debt. His debts are said to
amount to £.'5,000. The money now
collecting will speedily exceed this sum,
and leave the philanthropic friar some
thing in hand.
The most unaccountable thing we know
°* ' P > that black-\>crrics when green arc red!
BY 11. C. CROSBY.
volume i.
MI SC EL LA NY.
THE LAST MOMENTS OF PRINCE
TALLEYRAND.
BY AS EYE-WITNESS.
The antechamber was deserted, for the
anxious domestics had crowded one and
all to the apartment nearest to the one oc
cupied by their beloved master, in order
to obtain the earliest information respec
tingthc progress of his malady. There,
perhaps, never existed a person who,
with so little apparent effort, possessed in
so great a degree the power of tout 'dialing
the affections of his dependents as Prince
de Talleyrand. Os those who were with
him at that moment all had, with few ex
ceptions, grown grey in bis service; while,
of those who had started in their career
with him in his youth, none remained : he
had lived to see them all go down before
him into the grave. The Prince had .al
ways been accustomed to treat his chief
domestics as persons worthy of confidence
and many a subject of the highest impor
tance, which had been nursed with the
greatest secrecy through the bureaux of
the Foreign Ollice, has been discussed at
full length, and with all liberty of speech,
before his valet de ehambre. It was in
deed, his custom for many years before
his death to select the hour allotted to his
toilet for the transaction of most important
atlairs, and the discussions of the most
weighty politics, and never upon tiny oc
casion has he been known to dismiss his
valet from the chamber. Perhaps some
apology may be found for this apparent
carelessness in the fact of his trust never
having been betrayed. The most remar
kable of the whole tribe was decidedly
lhe venerable Courtiade, one to whom, by
reason of his long services and devoted at
tachment, the Prince allowed a greater
latitude than to any other,anil whose home
ly remarks and shrewd judgments upon
| passing events afforded him the greatest
'amusement. This man had entered the
j Prince’s service long, before the breaking
'out of the first revolution, and died “still
in those voluntary bonds” hut few years
ago, during the embassy to London. It
was said the grief w hich he experienced
in consequeneeofbeing left in Paris,ow ing
to his advanced age and growing infirmi
ties, contributed tn a great measure to has
ten his death. His attachment was rather
that of a member ol the canine species than
ol a human being. During the early years
ofhis service he had partaken of all the
vicissitudes ol the ever-changing fortunes
of his master. The Prince would take a
peculiar delight in recounting to strangers
the story of his llighi to America, when in
obedience to a secret friendly warning, he
resolved to lake his immediate departure.
Courtiade was with him at the moment
that he received the letter which was the
cause of fits decision, and the Ptince im
mediately confided to him the step he was
about to lake, at the same time advising
him, as he hail a wife anil family to whom !
he would doubtless wish to hid alien be
fore venturing on so long and perilous a ;
journey, more especially since the period
ofhis return must be distant and uncer-|
tain, that he should let him depart at once
anil follow in the next packet whit h should
sail. “Non, non,” replied Courtiade, in the
greatest agitation; “you shall not leave |
the country alone and unattended—l will]
go with you;but only leave me till to-mor- j
row night!” ‘That cannot be, Courtiade, ’
returned the Prince; “the delay will en
danger your position, without being suffi
ciently long lobe ofserx ice to yourselfanti
your wife.” Bah? e’est bien de ma fem
me «lont il s’agit!” exclaimed the valet,
I with the tears rushing to his eyes ; “It is
i that accursed w asherwoman, who has got
i all your fine shirts ami your muslin cra
vats, and how in God’s name will you be
I able to make an appearance, anil in a fo
i reign country, too, without them ?”
1 shall never forget my first interview
with the Prince, nor the singular impres- j
sion which litis very Courtiade then pro-'
iducod upon me. I was admitted, as was
usual with all persons who came upon af- ■
; fairs demanding attention and piivacy, j
at the hour of the Prince’s toilet, ft was]
] a little while after the revolution of July,
j and just before his embassy to London 1
I found the renowned diplomatist seated
(tranquilly at his bureau, which mostly j
j served him both tor a writing and dressing
(table. It was, I believe upon the very
! day that the Prince was to take his fare
well audience of Louis Philippe, ere he
| sat out for England, and he was to appear
upon this occasion in the usual court cos
tume. One valet was busily occupied,
with a most serious countenance in pow
dering with might and main the thick mas
ses of his long grey hair. Another was
kneeling low at his feet, endeavoring, al
though with difficulty from his constrain
ed position beneath the table, to buckle]
jthefatchets of his shoes. Ilis secretary
was seated at the bureau besides hitn, oc-
Icupied in opening, one after the other, a
huge collection of letters with astonishing
rapidity, scanning the contents of each,
quietly throwing some into the waste pa
per oasket, and placing the rest in a pile
beneath for the inspection of the Prince.
I could not hut admire the sang froid with
which, while listening to my errand, to
him personally of the highest importance,
he suffered himselt'to be invested with the
embroidered paraphernalia ofhis official
( uniform. When the attire was completed,
(the door of die chamber was opened, and
in stalked, with tottering steps, the aged
H.HDT. GEORGIA. WEDNESDAY, DEt’ETIREK 11. ISil.
weather-beaten Courtiade, laded with di
vers small boxes of various forms and si
zes. These were fillet! with the ribbands
and insignia ofi he multifarious orders with
whit h the Prince was decorated. It was
< urious to w itness the total indifference
with which the Prince Was decorated. It
was curious to w iit.ess the total indiffer
ence with which the Prince suffered him
self to he ornamented, as contrasted with
die eager solemnity of Courtiade, to whom
the desire to fill this office with becoming
dignity (lor it was the only duty which in
his latest years devolved upon him) had
become the chief aim and object of his
existence.
I have hern led into this involuntary di
gression by the remembrance of my own
sensations as 1 traversed the now silent
and deserted apartment, and was earned
hack in memory to that first interview, in
wardly com paring the anticipations o< that
moment with those by which my soul was
upon this occasion so depressed and sad
dened.
When I entered the chamber where repo
sed the veteran statesman, he had fallen
into a profound slumber, from which some
amendment was augured by the physician
although it might partly beascrihed to the
fatigue induced by the overexcitement lie
had undergone a few hours previously, in
the performance of the last act of the che
quered drama of his existence—his retrac
tation —an act which, after having been
visited with praise and blame, with scorn
or admiration, and each in an exaggerated
degree, must lor ever remain a mystery.
It must have cost him much—those alone
who were about him at the moment can
tell how much—lor he well knew that the
eyes of all parties would be turned upon
him, and that his motives would be scan
ned with various reasonings, according as
the opinions or the interests of each were
concerned: for there were many from
w hom praise w as to him more hitter than
blame, or even ridicule, from others ; and
he knew well that none would view the
step in its proper light, as a sacrifice small
in itself—important only because it was
the last, the sacrifice ofi every feeling, of
every consideration, to the power to which
he had taught every sentiment to fiend for
so many years, until it was said that all
had been crushed by the mighty giant,
that love, revenge, even ambition, that all
absorbing passion of the master mind, had
been led captive, or perished in the strug
gle, with his reason ! A report has gone
abroad of his having been tormented anil
persecuted, even on his death-bed, to ex
ecute this deed. This is, however, far
from iln- truth; it had for sometime oc
cupied his thoughts, and among his papers
have been found many poof's; amongst
others, fragments of a correspondence with
the I’ope upon the subject, which must
necessarily tend to confirm the assertion.
But the fact is, lie was influenced in this
measure, as in many other instances,
wherein lie has drawn down the blame of
the sticklers for consistency, by the desire
to spare pain and trouble to hisfamilyjbe
knew thiit his relatives would suffer much
inconvenience bv his resistence on his
death-bed to the execution of certain reli
gious formalities to which in his own mind
he attached not the slightest importance ;
and w hatever may lie slated by his ene
mies with regard to the cold and calcula
ting policy which had guided ail his ac
tions, it cannot he denied that he had ever
held in view tln*elevationand aggrandise
ment ol his family. In tiiis aim he had
never been deterred, neither by dullness,
nor incapacity, nor even by ingratitude;
and as we have scan, be moreover made
it his care beyond the grave. Because bis
powerful and passionless soul rejected all
the petty sentiments which actuate men
ol ordinary character; lie was governed by
bis reasons alone, and listened to nought
beside.
The slumber, or rather lethargy, into
which the Prince had fallen, hail contin
ued for about an hour after my arrival,
and it was curious to observe, as time
drew on the uneasiness which was mani
fested, even alas! by those nearest and
dearest, lest this repose, however salutary
should endure beyond the hour fixed by
the King for his visit. It was with some
difficulty that he was aroused from this
1 oblivion, and made to comprehend the im
portance of the event which was about to
i occur. He was scarcely lifted from his
reclining position and seated on the edge
of the bed, when, punctualas the hand up
on the dial, his Majesty, followed by Ma
dam Adelaide, entered the apartment. It
was a study both for the moralist and
painter to observe the contrast between
these two individuals assented thus side
by side, beneath the canopy of those old
green curtains, they scented grouped as
for the composition of some historical pic
ture. It was startling to turn front the
i broad expansive forehead, the calm and
I stoic brow, attrl the long and shaggy locks
which overshadowed it, giving to the dy
] ing statesman that lion-like expression ot
countenance which had so often formed
the theme of admiration to poets and to
artists, and ihen to gaze upon the pointed
crown, well-arranged toupee, the whole
outward hearing, tarit soil peu bourgeois
of the King, who, even at thisearly hour of
the morning, was attired according to his
custom, with the utmost precision and
primness. Despite of the old faded dres
sing gown of the one, and the snuff-color
ed coat, stiff neckcloth, and polished boots
of the other, the veriest barbarian could
have told at a glance which was the ‘the
last of the nobles,’ and v. liicli the 'fir-t
PRO PATRIA ET I.EG I BUS.
citizen of the empire. 11 is Majesty was
the first to break silence, as in etiquette
bound to do. It would be difficult to de
fine the expression which passed across
his features ns he contemplated what
might he called the setting of his guiding
star. Perhaps he could not himself have
rendered an account of the exar.t impres
sion which the scene produced upon his
mind.
‘i tun sorry Prince, to see you suffer
ing so much,’ said he in a low tremulous
voice, rendered almost inaudible by ex
treme emotion. ‘Sire, you have come to
witness the sufferings of a dying man, and
those who love him can have but one wish,
that of seeing them shortly at an end.’
This was uttered in that deep, strong
voice so peculiar to himself, and which 1
age had not had the power to|
quench, nor the- approach of death itself
been able to weaken. The effect of the
speech, short as it was, was indeserilm-(
blc—the pause by which it was preceded
ami the tone of reproach, calm and bitter 1
in which it was conveyed,—produced an!
impression which will not be soon forgot
ten by those who were present.
The royal visit, like all royal visits of J
an unpleasant nature, was of the shortest
duration possible. -It was evident tlmt
his Majesty felt it to lie an irksome mo
ment; anil that he was at a loss what coun
tenance toassume, and after uttering some
expressions of consolation lie arose to take
his leave, hut too visibly pleased that the
self-imposed task was at an end. Here
the Prince once more, w ith his usual tact,
came to Ins relief, by slightly rising and
introducing to his notice those by whom
he was surrounded, his physic ian, his se
cretary, his principal valet, and his own
private doctor ; and then a reminiscence
of the old courtier seemed Income across
him, for with his parting salutation he
could not forbear a compliment.—‘Sire,
our house has received this davan honour
worth}’ to be inscribed in our annals, and
one which my successors w ill remember
with pride and gratidude.’ * *
Towards the middle of the day the
Prince began to grow more restless and
levelish. 1 could not resist tlie temptation
of seeking relief from the stifled air of that
close chamber, and passed through to the
drawing-room. 1 was verily astounded
at the scene which there met my eyes. Ne
ver shall I forget the impression produced
by the transition from that silent room—
that bed of suffering—to the crowded n
partmenl where “troops of friends”—all
the elite of the society of Paris—were as
sembled. There was a knot of busy poli
ticians with ribbons at their button-holes—
some with powdered heads, some with
bald heads—gathered around the blazing
fire; tlieiranimated conversation, although
conducted in a low lone by the good taste
and feeling of him who directed it, filled
the apartment w ith its unceasing murmur.
1 observed too, some of the diplomatist’s
oldest friends, who had come hither from
real and sincere attachment, anti w ho took
no part in the eager debates of these poli
tical champions.
##**##
Presently, however, the conversation
ceased—the hum of voices was at an end
—there was a solemn pause, and every
eye was turned towards the slowly open
ing door of the Prince’s chamber. A do
mestic entered with downcast looks and
swollen eyes, and advancing towards Dr.
C. who like myself, hail just then sought
an instant’s relief in the drawing-room,
whispered a few words in bis ear. lie
arose instantly and entered the chamber.
The natural precipitation with which this
movement was executed but too plainly
levealed its cause. It was followed by
the whole assembly. In an instant every
one was on the alert,and there was a sim
ultaneous rush to the door oft he apartment.
M. de Talleyrand was at that moment
seated on the side of the bed, supported
in tlie arms ofhis secretary. It was evi
dent that Death had set his seal upon that
marble brow, yet was I struc k with the
still existing vigour of the the countenance.
It seemed as il all the life w hich had once
sufficed to furnish forth the whole being
now centered in the brain. Fiom time to
time he raised his head, with a sudden
movement shaking hack the longgray locks
which impeded his sight,and gazed around
and then, satisfied with the result of his
examination of that crowded room, a tri
umphant smile would pass ac ross his fea
tures, and his head would again fail upon
his bosom.
From my profession, and the circum
stances in which 1 have been placed, it
has fallen to my lot to be witness of more
than one death-scene, but never in any
case did the sentiments displayed at that
awful hour, appear so utterly consistent
with the character liorne by any individu
al during life as in the case of the Prince
de Talleyrand. He saw death approach
neither with shrinking nor with fear, nor
yet with any affectation of scorn or of de
fiance, hut rather with cool and steady
courage, as a well-matched honorable fin
with whom he had wrestled long and brave
ly, and to whom, now that he was fairly
vanquished, he deemed it no shame to
yield, nor blvshed to lay down his arms
and surrender. If there be truth in the
assertion that it is a satisfaction to die amid
the tears and lamentations of multitudes of
friends and host of relatives, then indeed
must his last feeling towards the world he
was for ever quitting have been one of en
tire approbation and content, for he expi
red amid regal pomp and reverence; and
of all those whom be perhaps, would hurt-
S. M. STRONG, Editor.
sell have called together, norm were wan
ting. The aged friend ofhis maturity,
the fair young idol ofhis age, were gather
ed on bended knee besides his bed, and if
the words of comfort whispered from the
book by the murmuring priest failed to
reach his car; it was because their sound
was st isled by tbe louder wailings of those
whom in life he had loved so well.
Scarcely, however, were those eves,
whose every glance had been watched so
long and with such dorp interest, for ever
closed, when a sudden , lumge came over
the scene. One would have thought that
a Right of crows had suddenly taken wing
so great was the precipitation with which
each one hurried from the hotel, in the hope
of being first to spread the news among
the pa" U? setoreutcricof which he or
she ha < \ ,<> l»e the nrucle. Ere nig fit
lull that chamber, which all the day had
been crowded to excess; was abandoned
to the servants of the tomb; and when I en
tered in the evening 1 found the very arm
chair, from whence I had so often heard
the Prince launc h the courtly jest or stin
ging epigram, now occupied by a hired
priest, whispering nrayers lbr the repose
of His departed soul.
It was after the death of the Prince that
the awe and devotion with which he had
inspired his household became evident.
Not one of the domestics left bis station
upon any pretext whatever. The atten
dants waited each in his turn, arid at the
same staled hour, to w hich lie had been
accustomed during his life. I tnvselfsnw
the cook, punctual to the hour in the mor
ning at which he had torso many years
been summoned to receive his orders^now
followed by his bevy of tnarmitons, with
their snmv-white costumes and long car
ving-knives, walk with solemn step to the
foot of the bed, and kneeling down with
cotton cap in hand, breathe a shoit pray
er : each sprinkling the corpse with holy
water, and then the whole procession
withdrew in the same silence with which
they had entered. 1 was deeply struck
with the mixture of the sublime and the
ludicrous in this scene. It reminded me
of the whimsical creations to be met with
in some of the old German legends.
Contrary to the usual French custom,
which ordains that interment shall ensue
eight-and-fortv hours after decease, tiie
public funeral, upon that occasion of the
disposing ol the body in the church of the
Assumption, did not take place until the
following week, owing to theembrdinment
which wasa work of time; while the trans
ferring of the corpse to its final resting
place at Valeneay could not be accomplish
ed until the month ofSeptemhcr, the vault
which was preparing even before the
Prince’s death being yet unfinished.
Independently of the imprest which I
felt in tiie ceremony, as well as the desire
to tender this last homage to one w ho had
upon every occasion or my intercourse
with him been all kindness and urbanity
to me, I determined to repair to Yaleny.iv
and witness the funerals—for atone fell
stroke had death swept fiom the curlli all
that remained of that one generation. The
Prince de Tallyrand—tlie w ise, the witty,
the clever, and the cunning—was to go
down to the grave with the guiltless and
simple-hearted Duke, his brother ! Upon
tiie same occasion, too the small tomb of
ol the infant Yulande, wherein she had
peacefully slumbered lbr n space of two
years, was routed, and the tiny coffin \v:s
to accompany thatofthePrinccon its long
and dreary journey. The hearse which
was to convey the bodies was the same
which had been constructed expressly for
the removal of the corpse of the ex-Queen
of Holland Irotn Switzerland, in appear
ance something resembling an ammunition
waggon, with covered scats in front, where
in were stationed two ol the personal at
tendants of the Prince. The body was
raised from the vaults of the Assumption
at midnight, aud the little snow-white cof
fin, was placed upon the elaborately
wrought oaken chest which contained it.
I was told by a friend, who witnessed
the scene, that nothing could exceed the
(dramatic effect of the departure of the
] coarse-laden vehicle from Paris. The
j disinterment of the child from the lonely
I cemetery of Mont Parnasse—the lading
[ of the ponderous coffin by the light of tor
ches—the peculiar rattle of the hearse
through the silent streets at that solemn
hour, and beneath that calm moon, which
makes ‘all that is dark seem darker still.’
One incident is worth recording. On
starting from the iron gates of the chapel,
t one of the postillions turned and shouted
the usual question. ‘Vers quelle barriere!’
and was answered hv a voice proceeding
from the hearse itself, ‘Barriere d’Enftr.’
Jf ho is Mrs. Volk V —The Washington
correspondent of the New York Exjmss
says: “l have seen it stated in some of,
the public prints, that the lady oflhe Pres
ident elect was a Miss Easton, who was
once an inmate of President Jackson’s
house at this place. It is not so. I have
known the amiable and accomplished la
dy of Mr. Polk for many years. She
was the niece of the late distinguished
Judge While, ofTennessee, and was mar
ried several years before General Jackson
was President.”
Ancient. —the oldest meeting-house,
says the Salem Observer, now standing in
New England, and probably in the lim
ited States, is the Rev. Mr. Richardson’s,
in Hingham: being erected in 1630—164
v< ars ago.
BATTLE OF GROKOW.
The battle of Grokow, the greatest in
Europe since that ofi Waterloo, was fought
on the 25th February IS3I, and the place
where I stood commanded n view of the
whole ground. The Russian army was
under the command of Diebitsch, and
consisted of 112,000 infantry, 40,000 cuv
nlry, and 312 pieces of cannon. This
enormous force was arranged in t%vo lines
of combatants, and a third of reserve.
NI'.TIHEU 9.
Against this immense army the Poles
opposed less than 60,000 men and 100
pieces of cannon, under the command of
General Skrzynecki. At break of day,
the whole force of the Russian right wing,
with a terrible fire of fifty pieces ofiartille
rv and columns of infantty, charged the,
Polish left, with the determination of car
rying it by n single and overpowering ef
fort. The Poles, with 3500 men and 12
j pieces of artillery, not yielding a foot of
i ground, and knowing they could hope for
(no succor, resisted this attack for several
I hours, until the Russians slat ked their fire.
| About ten o'clock the plain was suddenly
| covered with the Russian forces issuing
irotn the cover of the forest, seeming one
undivided mass of troops. Two hundred
pieces of cannon, p .sted on a single line,
commenced a fire which made the earth
tremble, and was more terrible than the
oldest officers, many of whom had fought
at Marengo and Austerlitz, had ever be
held. The Russians now made an attack
upon the right wing; but failed in this, as
upon the lelt, Diebitsch directed the
strength ofhis army against the Forest of
Elders, hoping to divide the Poles
two parts. One hundred and twenty pie
ces of cannon were brought to hear on this
one point; and fifty hattnllions, incessantly
pushed to the attack, kept up a scene of
massacre unheard of in the annals of war.
A Polish officer who was in the battle told
me ilie small streams which intersected
the forest were so clinked with dead that
the infantry marched directly over the
bodies. The heroic Polos, with twelve
hattallions, for four hours defended the fo
rest against the tremendous attack. Nine
times they were driven out, and nine
times, Ly a series of admirably executed
manceuvies, they repulsed the Russians
with immense loss. Batteries, now con
centrated in one point, were in a moment
hurried to another, and the urtillerv ad
l vanned to the charge like cavalry, some
times within a hundred feet of the enemy’s
, columns, and there opened a murdejous
j fire of grape. At three o’clock the gene
rals, many of whom were wounded, and
most of whom had their horses shot under
them, and fought on toot at the head of
their divisions, resolved on a retrograde
movement, sons to draw tiie Russians on
the open plain. Diebitsch, supposing it to
j be a flight, looked over to the city and cx
; claimed, “Well, then, it appears that, al
ter this bloody day, I shall take tea in the
Belvidere palace.” The Russian troops
! debouched from the forest. A cloud of
Russian cavahy, with several regiments of
j heavy cuirassiers at their head, advanced
ito the attack. Colonel l’ientka, who had
kept up an unremitting fire from his batte
ry tor five hours, seated with perfect sapg-
j Jroid upon a disabled piece of cannon, rt
j rnained to give another effective discharge,
then left at full gallop a post he had so long
; occupied under the terrible fire of the en
emy’s artillery. This rapid movement of
j his battery animated the Russian forces,
j The cavalry advanced on a trot upon the
lineofa battery of rockets. A legible dis
charge was poured into their ranks, and
the horses galled to madness by the flukes
ol fire, became wholly ungovernable and
broke away, spreading disorder in everv
direction; the whole body swept helpless
ly along the fire of the Polish infantry, and
in a few minutes was so completely anni
hilated, that, of a regiment of cuirassiers
who bore inscribed on their helmets the
“Invincihles,” not a man escaped. The
wreck of the routed cavalry, pursued bv
the lancers, carried along in its flight the
columns of infantty; a general retreat com
menced, and the cry of “Poland for ever”
reached the w alls of W arsaw to cheer its
(anxious inhabitants. So terrible was the
fire ol that day, that in the Polish armv
there was not a single general or staffofti
j cer who bad not his horse killed or wound
ed under him; two-thirds of the officers,
and perhaps ot the soldiers, had their
clothes pierced with balls; and more than
a tenth part of the army were wounded:
, 30,000 Russians and 10,000 Poles were
: left on the field; rank upon rank lav pros
trate upon the earth, and the Forest of
Elders was so strewed with bodies, that it
received from that time the name of the
“forest of the Dead.” Tlie Czar heard
with dismay, anil all Europe with aston
ishment, that thecrosscroflhe Balkan had
been foiled under the walls of Warsaw.—
All day, my companion said, the camion
;uding was terrible. Crowds of citizens
of both sexes and till ages, were assem
bled on the spot, where we stood, ear*
nestly watching the progress of the battle,
sharing in all its vicissitudes, in the high
est stale of excitement as the clearing up
til' the columns of smoke showed when
the Russians ot the Poles had fled; and he
| described the entry of the remnant of the
Polish army into \\ arsaw as sublime and
terrible; their hair and faces were begrim
ed with powder and besmeared with
, blood; their armor shattered and broken;
and all, even dying men, were singing pa
triotic songs; and when the fourth regi-
I merit, among whom was a brother of mv
companion, and who had particularly dis
j tinguished themselves in the battle, cross
ed the bridge, and filed slowly through the
streets, their lances shivered against the
c uirasses of the guards, their helmets bro
ken, their faces black and spotted with
i blood, some erect, some tottering, and
some barely able to sustain themselves tn
tht! saddle, above the stern chorus of pa
triotic songs rose the distracted cries of
mothers, wives, daughters, and lovers,
! seeking among this broken band for forms
I dearer than life, many of whom were tlnn
sleeping on fb<* battle field.