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THE MIEPUHEMC, IH PUBLISHED EVERY WEDNESDAY, OVER J. D. WINN’S BRICK STORE. cotton avenue, Macon, ca. AT *3,00 PER ANNUM, IN ADVANCE. RAPES OF ADVERTISING, &c. One square, of 100 words, or less, in small type. 75 cents li>r the first insertion, and 50 cents li>r cacti subsequent insertion. All advertisements containing; more than 100 and loss than 200 words, will be charged as I wo squares. To yearly advertisers, a liberal deduction will b< made. Sales of Land, by Administrators, Executors,' or Guardians, are required bv law to be held on the first Tuesday in the month, between the hours of ten in the forenoon, and three in lire afternoon, at the Court House in the county in which the pro perty is situated. Notice of these must tie given in a public gazette, sixty days previous to the day of sale. Notice to debtors and creditors of an estate, must he published forty days. Notice that application will be made to the Court of Ordinary tor leave to sell land, must be publish ed four months. Sales of Negroes must bo made at public auc tion, on the first Tuesday of the month, tietween the legal hours of sale, at the place of public sales, in the county where the letters testamentary, ol administration of guardianship, shall have been granted, sixty days notice being previously given in one of the public gazettes of this Slate, and at the door of the Court House where such sales are to lie held. Notice for leave to sell Negroes must he pub lished for Jour months before any order absolute shall be made thereon by the Court. All business of this nature will receive prompt attention at the office of THE REPUBLIC. All letters of business must be addressed to the Editor, post paid. 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, tIF.it.EK IN LAW, MEDICAL, MISCELLANEOUS 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.