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(Original |'nrtq.
Kor tlie Southern Literary Gazette.
TO FANNY.
BY SOFHT-HET).
Like to a veil, floating gracefully down,
Fall t’”'bright tresses. Love,silken and brown:
Weave into letters those curls light and free,
petto;’- to bind, my Love, thee unto me.
Beauteous ;is ocean, as dark and as blue,
Shine their bright eyes thro’ their soft veils of
dew:
I, nii lti with love, or if dancing with glee,
Bond them,my dearest Love,bend them on me.
Like to the bud, by the dew of mom woo’d,
Blush thy sweet lips, my dearest love, warn,
ruby-hued;
Curved as young Cupid’s bow, melting, divine,
|V - them, my dearest Love, press them to
mine.
Like to the sea-foam, as graceful and white,
Twinkle thy little feet, active and light:
Small as the fairies’, that dance o’er the lea
Lowly down to them, Love, bend I the knee.
Graceful as Venus, when rising from ocean,
Waves thy light form with etherial motion:
But lovelier far is the light of thy soul,
That breathes, like soft music, a spell o’er the
whole.
Savannah, Ga.
For the Southern Literary Gazette.
TO MARY .
The dewy morn her light wing shakes.
Scattering afar the tears of night;
| p from her watery couch she breaks.
Vmi v.aking valleys hail her light.
Vet nature’s gladness may not cheer
The heart where silence speaks in sighs;
IV rays which light the darkness here,
Must shine from Mary’s kindling eyes.
The gladdening breezes leave the home
Where merry mermaids laughing play,
\ndi-001, and fresh, they smiling conn-,
To lave the burning cheek of day.
Canevening winds revive the soul
That droops, in absence from the grove
Where beauty’s streamlets constant roll,
Vnd Mary breathes the air of love ?
There s not a feathered warbler there,
But borrows sweetness from her tone,
And every passing breath of air
Softens for her its gentlest moan !
There could 1 but sooth her every sigh,
And all my heart’s full treasures give,
Others, to prove their love, might die,
For thee, dear Mary,/■—would live P.
Original C’nlrs.
For the Southern Literary Gazette.
CUVELLIER;
A TALK OF KENTUCKY.
RY RKVEBLY T.AOY.
PART I.
I shall relate to you a brief sketch of
f iivfiller's early life, as 1 gleaned it
from papers of his, kindly put into my
possession, by a friend who knew him
intimately. I would that I could give
them in his own glowing and fervid
language; hut besides being written in
french, they contained so much extra
neous matter, and were so extended,
‘hat I am compelled to excerpt as well
as translate.
Charles Theodore Cuvellier was the
-'ll of an old soldier of Napoleon’s
hi s only child, and born to him
111 his old age, who, after a life worn
” hi the service of the Emperor, re
tired to a small farm in the south of j
1 ranee, to spend the end of his days |
1 ‘i'det. solitude, and in rearing his j
big hoy, tlicit about fourteen years
■’ Towards the beginning of the
)>ar—not long after Bonaparte’s escape
tr ::i Elba—he fell under the suspicion
li! -"vemmont. A charge of treason
“ ;|s made out against him; he was
“1. condemned, and —guillotined. —
His property was confiscated and no
was left to the little orphan but
his Either s satire and cross of the Legion
°t Honour.
kittle Theodore was a genius of mu- I
!| i| in iiis birth. He had constructed
a ri|| h’ fiddle with his own hands, on j
“‘mil ho performed in such style as
“” I much marvelling amongst the
“i' l peasantry around, and who, in
‘ken of their appreciation of art and
-'"i'K clubbed together and bought
ailli a handsome violin.
1 was by playing the rude airs of his
■untry on this that he made his way
1 Marseilles, where he had an uncle
’ ting, and whom he hoped would
r; ‘iiT him some assistance.
remained with this uncle until he
eighteen years old, and made rapid
- rt ‘ Ss in music as well as in the
1111011 business education, which was
llls uncle, who was only in moderate
1 distances, could afford him. This
1,% though a good, honest man, was
patron of the fine arts, and drew no
■iraLle augury of his sieve's future
’' ss in life from the time he spent
learning the ‘harmony of sweet
• and judging him to be now of
“hen he ought to begin to shift
himself, his apprenticeship to his
ude, that of a shipwright, being
“1. he got him a situation on board
mer chantman trading to Smyrna,
I S| fice tE i i ® J ’
u *c lad would not hear the idea ot
I “"tinuing in that trade which his
I kinsman pursued.
‘■oilier did not fancy a sea-faring
111 he preferred any mode of
*’ to the odious drudgery of the
H hi
Hj, ‘ :ru!s ed about for twelve months
dU ° Us directions,” said he, “and
i I'iMM iiik mwm m uwmm, J m mm m mmm> mb m mmml bmomsobl
learned much more of the world than
I had ever known before; but I was
naturally of a wild, erratic disposition,
and although 1 frequently had very
stirring adventures, which relieved the
monotony of life before the mast, still
there was so much restraint on my
freedom, and so little time to cultivate
my favourite passion for music, that
this life grew inconceivably irksome to
me, and 1 made up my mind the first
good opportunity that offered, to leave
the vessel and go to Rome, to study
and perfect myself in the science of
music.
“One fine morning, our vessel touch
ed on the coast of Italy, between Na
ples and to get fresh water. —
Having been somewhat of an invalid
for a day or two, the captain kindly
permitted me to go ashore with the
boat’s crew, and take a stroll. I ob
served as we landed, a flock of wild
ducks in a little cove about a quarter
of tt mile to the north of us, and bor
rowed a pair of large horseman’s pis
tols from the boatswain, to shoot them.
As the filling of the casks would occu
py sometime, 1 concluded to treat my
self to a ramble along the shore.
The boatswain called to me as I
walked off, and told me that 1 had bet
ter not go far, as there seemed to be a
cloud rising and we might probably
have a squall, which would hasten their
return to the ship. I looked around,
the sun was shining as it shines only in
Italy; the soft blue sky was cloudless,
there was only a low murky cloud
hanging in the horizon westward, which
seemed to me so far off’ that it would
probably take a day for it to get over
head. Pooh ! said I, old Gaspard is so
anxious to be thought weather-wise,
that he often predicts a storm two or
three days in advance, so 1 walked on.
The wild ducks flew up before I could
get near enough for a shot, and I was
on the point of returning, when 1 espied,
peeping from behind a range of green
hills, a cluster of gray stone turrets,
which seemed to be the tops of some
ancient castle. There was a bold pro
montory which intercepted the view,
and 1 determined to round it and get a
glimpse of the scenery around the old
castle. I sauntered along, now picking
up a shell to admire its delicate tint
and texture, now skimming a pebble
along the motionles bosom of the bay,
now gazing at the glorious Italian sky,
or some white winged felucca in the
offing, now at the arabesque festoon
ing of a hill-side vinyard and its clus
tering purple fruitage, or the deep sha
dowy green of a grove of olives; in
dulging, in fact, in a dreamy elysium of
sensual bliss; shutting out from my
soul the dark and gloomy scenes of life,
all the misery and desolateness of my
condition, to revel in the sunlight of
existence, and the fairy like scenes that
surrounded me.
“ Turning a bend in the beech as 1
passed the bluff headland, 1 was startled
from my reverie bv beholding two
yens <V armes in the uniform of the
dread Inquisition, dragging a girl of
slender form robed in a simple white
chemisette ; with dishevelled hair flow
ing in a wild inass of black waves
down to her taper waist. I got a glimpse
of her features as she turned her head
accidentally, they were beautiful as a
boy’s dream of an angel, and her dark
eyes were swimming in tears. The
ruthless soldiers were conducting her
towards the old castellated building,
and having their backs towards me. did
not not observe my approach; so much
beauty in distress, and probably forev
er to be destroyed, was more than I
could stand, and regardless of the
dreadful consequences which such an
outrageous act might bring upon me,
with the rash impulse of my headlong
nature, 1 drew the two pistols from my
belt, took deliberate aim at the two
yen* d’ armes and fired, both at once ;
one of them reeled and fell, but the
other turned instantly and levelled his
carbine at me as soon as he observed
me, but quick as thought 1 dodged be
hind the bluff and took to my heels,
reloading my pistols as fast as I could,
soon the soldier appeared around the
point of land running after me at the
top of his speed, with his gun porte
ready to fire, when fortunately he stum
bled and fell, and his piece went off,
hearing the report and finding myself
unhurt, I turned saw what had happen
ed and like lightening 1 darted upon
him before he could recover, and pre
senting my pistol, which 1 had by this
time reloaded, at his head, shot out his
brains. 1 then returned to the girl, who
was kneeling upon the sand in an atti
tude of prayer with her hands clasped
and her black hair flowing over her
shoulders, she was pale with agitation
and ularm, but as she expressed her
thankful gratitude the warm blood
mounted glowingly into her fair cheeks.
“ 1 understood just sufficient Italian
to make her a gallant speech, as young
men are w'ont to do on such romantic
occasions, when she interrupted me by
exclaiming:
“ ‘Oh fly ! For God’s sake fly !
Thanks, a thousand thanks for your in
tended goodness—but what was really
precipitate rashness—you have done
me no good I fear—and yourself per
haps a great deal of harm, for how can
we escape the all-powerful arm of the
Holy Inquisition. Oh 1 terrible the
vengeance they will’ lining down upon
your head, and mine too. Death is
the least dreadful that they will inflict,
tortures —frightful, frightful tortures
will be our portion.’
“ ‘Dearest lady, never ! Flee with
me ! I will protect you. My boat is
moored in the bay, come with me. My
vessel is standing off this shore, hie with
me to my sunny France. I will be
your friend, your brother, your slave.
You shall never want anything while I
cair raise my hand.’
“ ’Oh God ! what can 1 do l If I re
main, death, and tortures more dread
ful than death, will be my fate. Signor,
you tire young, your appearance be
tokens a true and gentle heart. I will
go with you, there is no alternative.’
By this time it had clouded up and
a stifi breeze was blowing. W e start
ed oft’ together, however, turned the
promontory and hurried along the
beach towards where our sailors were
getting water, which was about a mile
distant. Every step we made the wind
increased, until by the time we reached
the little spring it was blowing a tre
mendous gale. Imagine my dismay,
when I discovered on reach ini*; the
spring that the boat had put off, forced
by the storm, and even the vessel was
out of sight.”
The story of the tair victim, of the
fearful Inquisition, was a common one.
She was the orphan niece of a drivel
ling priest-ridden old man, who forced
her to enter a convent against her will,
and one whose discipline was so austere
that the gay and light hearted Carina
could not endure it, and took advantage
of a fortunate opportunity to make her
escape, how she had been pursued, when
her flight was discovered and retaken
by the officers of the Holy Inquisition,
has already been shown.
They were in a sad plight Carina
and young Cuvellier, when the}’ dis
covered that the boat, their only hope
of safety, had departed. They wander
ed along the strand amid the howling
tempest, not knowing whither to direct
their steps, when by accident, they
found a small rocky cavern which af
forded them shelter from the raging
winds and beating rain. Here they re :
mained until night when it suddenly
cleared up and a beautiful moon shone
out from the white scudding clouds.—
They then renewed their journey, their
only hope being to get as far as possi
ble from the convent walls. Towards
day, Carina was so broken down with
the unwonted fatigue, that she declared
she could go no farther. They espied
a rude hovel ahead of them a few hun
dred yards. Cuvellier set out for it to
gain aid and refreshment, while Carina
seated herself on a rock to await his
return. On his way he discovered a
light fishing smack drawn up on the
shore with a sand box and kettle for
cooking purposes, a scoop net and a
couple of fishing rods. The idea oc
curred to him that it would be the safest
plan for him to get aboard and make
his way for Naples; he could do it
safer and with more ease and comfort
to Carini, whom he called and proposed
the plan to which she acceeded, as being
the most feasible. AVith much difficul
ty he succeeding in launching the boat,
lie then assisted Carina into it, set the
latteen sail, and in a few minutes they
were skimming merrily over the foam
ing sea. As the day dawned the breeze
freshened and soon they were out of
sight of land. They caught several
fish. Cuvellier kindled a fire with a
flash from the pan ofhis pistol, cooked
them in the kettle, and breakfasted
thereon with a good relish though they
had neither bread nor seasoning. Not
long afterwards they were becalmed
and the small supply of fresh water
which they found in a broken calabash
on the boat, giving out and also the fu
el to cook their fish ; they began to get
into a very uncomfortable situation,
when by good luck they found a sailor’s
chest, from some wreck probably, drift
ing by them —they secured it, “ and
found in it,” writes Cuvellier, “ besides
books and clothing of a character which
betokened that the owner must have
been an officer or man of some stand
ing, a jar of citron preserves, a flask of
seheidam, a drum of figs, and a half of
a mouldy Savoy cake, and in the corner
was a small canvass bag containg a
hundred louis d ’ or.” They subsisted
on this odd sort of provender for two
days, the second day about noon a
breeze sprang up and they went on
their way, but considerably bewildered
to know -w hat that way was.
“ It was rather an odd sort of situa
tion to be in,” writes he, “ lost on the
wide sea in an open boat, not knowing
which way to steer, for I understood lit
tle or nothing about navigation, and
was without compass or chart.
“ When night fell the star gemmed
firmament was our only canopy, Carina
made her couch in the stern-sheets and
CHARLESTON. SATURDAY, JUNE 29; 1850.
1 before the spar, thus making the
sail a partial curtain between us.
“1 had already fallen .desperately in
love with Carina, had made an avowal
of my “affections, and we had plighted
our faith together—it was rather a
strange sort of courtship and some
what romantic, but what else could we
do; could I sit by the day with a beau
tiful being by my side, her warm breath
often fanning my cheek, her soft hand
thrilling mine with its electric touch,
could I gaze on that heavenly brow,
those lustrous eyes by the hour with
all her beauty suffusing my soul with
burning love, and not speak of love ?”
On the third morning they discover
ed a vessel beating down towards them,
hailed it, and were taken on board. It
proved to be the Bessie Me Cow a, an
American sloop bound for Gibralter on
her homeward course.
Cuvellier told the captain his story
not being able to devise a plausible tale
on the spur of the occasion, and more
over from his impulsive temperament
he had conceived a liking for the skip
per s looks, and determined to confide
his situation to him, hoping that he
might probably be able to render him
some advice or assistance. Nor was
his confidence misplaced, the captain
was himself a frank noble hearted fel
low, and became deeply interested in
the fortunes of the two youthful and
handsome waifs whom he had found
drifting in eash other's arms, along the
sea of life. His advice was, that they
should go with him to America, and he
gave such a glowing description of the
Land of Liberty, that it fired the ar
dent spirit of the young Frenchman
with enthusiastic desire, to find refuge
under the shelter of the stars and
stripes. It was the very thing. He com
municated the idea to Carina, who ea
gerly embraced it. The noble hearted
skipper more than fulfilled his promises
to Cuvellier. On reaching New York,
instead of letting them shift for them
selves, or merely casting them on the
sympathies and compassion of the com
munity, he gave it out that Cuvellier
and his lady were two distinguished
Italian musicians, and thereby brought
them into notice and gave them patron
age at once.
“ But,’ said Cuvellier, “now came
the darkest period of my life, when for
tune began to shine on me with her
brightest smiles, the day star of my
destiny seemed to set in clouds.
“ There was one thing that wrung
me to the heart; with ail the impulse
of my passionate nature, 1 had placed
my whole soul’s affections on the love
ly Carina. Imagine my anguish, my
despair when 1 found that the image at
whose shrine 1 had been worshipping
as a divinity, was but a tinselled paint
ed idol! In the darkness of adversity
it had seemed a living reality, but the
sunshine of fortune had exhibited its
defects, its false colouring to the eye.
Carina 1 found to be a vain foolish co
quette, fickle, and fond of flattery and
glitter. God ! how early, how rudely
was my fairy dream of bliss swept
away by tlie rude touch of the world,
like the gilded dust on a butterfly’s
wing clutched by schoolboy’s fingers.
But it was only by degrees I learned
all this, for my blindness was equal to
my infatuation. As one fault and folly
after another forced itself upon my ob
servation, J would excuse and extenuate
and overlook them, and love her still
the same. Luckily for me, owing to
mv ignorance of the language, and
manners, and customs of the Ameri
cans, I had not as yet united myself to
her by the formalities of law, though
in the sight of God and in my own
heart 1 regarded her as my wife, and
intended as soon as could be convenient
to have the formal rites celebrated.—
But now my mind was altered, and I
determined before I was indissolubly
bound to her, to observe whether 1
could be happy with her or not. Still
I loved her, the incense of my former
worship still lingered about the altar
and hallowed it in my eyes. Some
times her foolish vanity or spleen would
mortify me enough to cause me to task
her about it, but a smile or a tear from
her large dark eves would chase the
frown from my brow, and the cloud
from my heart.
“ Her coquetry was often of such a
character as to arouse the green eyed
monster in me, and at times I felt like
forsaking her, fleeing from her fascina
tions which seemed, sirenlike, to be
wiling me to my own destruction.
“ In order to bind her to me by eve
ry tie which would influence a woman
to fidelity, and at the same time to leave
myself free, should she prove perfid
ious, I disguised a trusty friend as a
parson, and had a mock marriage per
formed. I did so because my love had
not yet died out, and the idea of leaving
her was intolerable to me, it was I who
had carried her away from her native
land, I was all whom she had on earth
to look to for protection, I could not for
sake her, and yet my love and jealousy
were such that I could not live with
her under the idea that she might be
faithless.
“ There was a‘handsome young med
ical student with whom I became ac
quainted in some way who used to fre
quent our house, he was one of my pu
pils, taking lessons on the violin, my
wife seemed very fond oU his compa
ny and conversation, and it ended by
my growing immoderately jealous of
him. In order to put the matter to a
final test, 1 came to her one day and
said.
“ ‘Carina, 1 have just received a letter
from a former pupil of mine now re
siding in Carleston, saying that if I will
come to that city l can get a large and
lucrative class, and as my business here
is growing somewhat dull at present, 1
think ‘ shall* accept his proposition,
and as he is very urgent, start imme
diately V
“ ‘Oh ! well,’ she replied, ‘ i am get
ting tired of New York any way, and
have a great desire to visit the south,
let us go by all means.’
Her readiness to go somewhat took
me aback, but 1 replied :
“ ‘But, my dear, it will not be ad
visable for you to go : you are getting
a fine salery as a choiriste in
church, and we cant afford to loose
it, besides I do not wish you to break
your agreement.’
“ ‘How long will you be gone V
“ ‘Well, three months at least.’
“‘Threemonths!’ cried she, throwing
her arms around my neck and sobbing
aloud.’
“ ‘Oh my dear Theodore 1 cannot
live without you for three months. —
Oh ! don’t go, or let us both go, don’t
go and leave me. Oh! Curvelier can
you leave me V
Her evident sincerity and grief, so
affected me that l felt almost like giv
ing up my plot as useless. But with
an effort I determined to carry it out,
knowing that there is no fathoming the
subtle mysteries of a woman’s heart,
so I told her gravely that it was neces
sary and must be done.
“ ‘Well if it must it can’t be helped,
but it will break my heart,’ and burst
ing into tears again, she left the room.
“ ‘lnstead of going to Charleston, 1
hired a room on the opposite side of
the street and concealed myself in it
to watch her motions ; for a week no
thing transpired, the young medico
came once during that time, but I was
overjoyed to see that the servant re
fused him with ‘not at home.’
“ ‘I began to think my suspicions had
been unfounded and to be luippy in so
thinking, when just as 1 was revolving
in my mind some excuse to tell Carina
for my sudden return to her, Master
Galen appears at my portals, knocks,
and it is opened unto him. He goes
in, late I watched, till night I bent my
burning eye balls on that door with
restless feverish anxiety, but he re
turned not. Next morning 1 saw him
issue out and toss a dollar to the grin
ning negro at the door ; he sauntered
away w ith a cigar in his lips evidently
well pleased with himself. Ruthless
roue ! little did you know, perhaps lit
tle care of the feverish madness that
was seething in the brain of the be
trayed friend and lover. All that day
l was in a perfect delirium; towards
night 1 somewhat cooled the burning
in my brain, and w ent to seek the friend
•t
who had acted as the mock parson.—
He watched w r ith me, and again became,
again was admitted.’
About midnight we entered my
domicil together by a night key.—
Stealthily we entered my chamber, a
dim taper was shedding a sickly light
revealing the scene of my disgrace to
my haggard gaze. They lay in each
other’s others embrace, she with her
snowy arms twined around his neck and
her black hair mingling with his ow r n
sunny flaxen locks, and their lips almost
touching. My first impulse was to
strike a knife into both their hearts.—
How quiet and calmly they slept; In
nocence itself could not have worn a
more unruflled brow'; Carina! little
did you know of the mad spirit that
was searching your adulterous slumber
to see if any trace of remorse, or con
sciousness of wrong had in thy dreams
furrowed a wrinkle on thy marble brow.
But no, it was as placid as that becalm
ed star lit sea on the broad Mediter
ranean, when 1 preserved thy innocence
from my own burning passion. I could
not kill her. But I plunged the cold
blade into the heart of my treacherous
friend without a pang of remorse, nay,
with a glow’ of satisfaction.
His heart blood spurted into her face
and awakened her. Never shall I for
get the shame and agony depicted on
those featurs as she gazed on my frown
ing brow, while I bent over her.
“ ‘Farewell Carina!’
A w'ild shriek burst upon my ear as
I rushed from the room.
(Concluded in our next.)
THE RED ROSE.
To sinless Eve’s admiring sight,
The rose expanded snowy white,
When, in the ecstacy of bliss
She gave the modest flower a kiss;
And instantaneous, lo ! it drew
From her red lips it blushing hue ;
While from her breath its sweetness found,
And spread new fragrance all around.
[Dr. Hooker.
Jtlrsrrllouq.
For the Southern Literary Gazette.
GERMAN POPULAR PROPHECIES.
An article of great interest, on Ger
man Popular Prophecies, from the pen
of Prof. Gregory of Edinburgh, ap
peared in a late number of Blackwood.
The copious extracts which follow em
brace the more important portions of
that paper, aiid cannot fiiil to interest
the reader. These predictions are not
vague and ambiguous but strangely
definite, distinct and minute in their de
tails. The present year must fulfil
them or prove their utter falsity. Pass
ing over Brother Ilerrman’s vaticina
tions, which are rather obscure, we come
to the peasant prophet, Jaspers, a
W estphalian shepherd. Prof. Gregory
says;
He was a simple-minded, pious man.
In 1830, soon after which time he died,
he publicly predicted .as follows ;
“A great road (said he) w ill be carried
through our country, from west to east,
which w ill pass through the forests of
Bodelschwing. On this road, carriages
will run without horses , and cause a
dreadful noise. At the commencement
of this work, a great scarcity will here
prevail; pigs will become very dear,
and anew religion will arise, in which
wickedness will be regarded as pru
dence and politeness. Before this road
is quite completed, a frightful war will
break out.”
These words, to the astonishment of
the natives, have nearly all been ful
filled. The railway from Cologne to
Minden has, since his death been car
ried through the very district he men
tioned in 1830, before the first EDlish
railway had been opened, and when the
primitive shepherd; of Westphalia were
little likely to know anything about
railways. The scarcity took place at
the time specified ; and his remark as
to anew religion is supposed to'apply
to a deterioration of manners among
the simple natives, consequent on the
opening tip of their district. A person
al friend of Jaspers collected the fol
lowing sayings, which the author, after
minute inquiry on the spot, considers
as genuine:
1. Before the great road is quite fin
ished, a dreadful war wall break out.
The railway has for a year or two
been in operation; but, up to the end
of 1849, as we saw by advertisements,
the second line of rails was not iaid
down. It is probably still only in pro
gress. Now’ in 1848 and 1849, we have
seen war in Schleswig-Holstein, Hun
gary, Italy, Posen, and Baden.
2. A small northern power will be
conqueror.
Probably the Danish war, and the
success of Denmark, is here meant.
3. After this another war will break
out —not a religious war among Chris
tians, hut between those who believe
in Christ and those who do not believe.
Here we must remember that the
simple and ignorant peasants of West
phalia have strong religious feelings
and prejudices, and are apt, like some
nearer home, to apply the term Infidel
somewhat rashly. Possibly Russia and
the Greek church may be here alluded to.
4. This war conies from the East. 1
dread the East.
5. This war will break out very sud
denly. In the evening they will cry
“ Peace, peace !” and yet peace is not;
and in the morning the enemy will be
at the door. Yet it shall soon pass,
and he who knows of a good hiding
place, for a few’ days only, is secure.
The probability of a war, in which
Russia shiil 1 take an active share, can
not escape any observer of the signs
of the times; and, with the aid of rail
ways, which were not known at the
date of Jaspers’ death, the sudden out
break is quite possible, even in West
phalia.
0. The defeated enemy will have to
fly in extreme haste. Let the. people
cast cart and wheels into the water, oth
erwise the flying foe will take all car
riages with them.
7. Before this war, a general faith
lessness will prevail. Men will give out
vice for virtue and honour, deceit for
politeness.
8. In the year in which the great war
shall break out, there shall be so fine
a spring, that in April the cows will be
feeding in the medows on luxuriant
grass. In the same year, wheat may
be harvested, (in his district,) but not
oats. (This appears to be likely to ap
ply to 1850. —W. G.)
He seems here to hint that the har
vest of oats will he interrupted by the
war; if so, the war occurs in autumn.
9. The great battle will be fought at
the birch-tree , between l nna, Hamm,
and Werl. The people of half the
world will there be opposed to each
other. God w ill terrify the enemy by
a dreadful storm. Os the Russians,
but few shall return home to tell their
defeat. Jaspers described this battle
as terrific.
We shall by and by hear more of
this birch-tree.
10. The war will be over in 1850,
and in 1852 all will be again in order.
11. The Poles are at first put down;
but they will, along with other nations,
fight against their oppressors, and at
last obtain a king of their own.
12. Fiance will be divided internal
ly into three parts.
* * * *
13. Spain will not join in the war.
But the Spaniards shall come after it
is over, and take possession of the
churches.
14. Austria will be fortunate, pro
vided she do not w'ait too long.
15. The papal chair will be vacant
for a time.
16. The nobility is much depressed,
but in 1852 again rises to some extent.
* * * *
18. There will be one religion. On
the Rhine stands a church which all
people shall aid in building. From
thence, after the war, shall proceed the
THIRD VOLUME-NO. 9, WHOLE NO. 109.
rule of faith. All sects shall be united;
only the Jews shall retain their old ob
stinacy.
The dome at Cologne is obviously al
luded to. \\ e shall see, hereafter,
that Cologne is expected to become the
seat of ecclesiastical rule by other
prophets.
19. In our district priests shall be
come so rare, that, after the war, people
will have to walk seven leagues in or
der to attend divine service.
20. Our country will be so much de
populated, that women will have to cul
tivate the soil; and seven girls shall
fight for a pair of inexpressibles.
21. The house of lkern shall be set
on fire by shells.
22. The soldiers shall march to bat
tle (or to war) first, then return, deck
ed with the cherry blossoms. -Vnd on
ly after that shall the great war break
out.
In spring 1848, troops marched to
Baden, at the time of the first insurrec
tion there, in which war General von
Gagern was killed ; and they returned
home decked with cherry blossoms.
23. Germany shall have one king,
and then shall come happy times. .
He spoke also of an approaching re
ligious change, and warned his children,
when that time should come, to go to
Mengede.
When jeered on his prophetic pow
ers, Jaspers often said—
YV hen I have long been in the grave,
you will then often remember what I
have said.
The next prophet quotqd is Spielbahn,
a Rhenish peasant who died in 1783.
Speaking of the present time (1848-
1850) and of what would follow he said:
1. In that time it will be hardly pos
sible to distinguish the peasant from the
noble.
2. Courtly manners and worldly van
ity will reach to a height hitherto un
equalled. \ea, things will go so far,
that men will no longer thank God tor
their daily bread.
3. Human intellect will do wonders,
(or miracles,) and on this account men
will more and more forget God. They
will mock at God. thinking themselves
omnipotent, because of the carriages,
which shall run through the whole world,
(or everywhere.) without being drawn
by animals.
4. And because courtly vices, sen
suality, and sumptuousness of apparel,
are then so great, God will punish the
world. A poison shall tail on the fields,
and a great, famine shall afflict the coun
try.
5. \\ hen a bridge shall be thrown
across the Rhine at Mondoff, then it will
be advisable to cross, as soon as possi
ble, to the opposite shore. But it will
only be necessary to remain there so
long as a man will take to consume a
7 lb. loaf of bread ; after which (that
is, in less than a week) it will he time
to return.
b. Thousands shall conceal them
selves in a meadow’ among the seven
mountains, (opposite* Bonn")
7. I see the destruction of the here
tics, with dreadful punishments; of
those who dared to think their puny
minds could penetrate the councils of
God. But the long-suffering of God is
at an end, and a limit is put to their
wickedness.
The worthy curate dwells with pecu
liar satisfaction on this prediction.
8. Observe well, thou land of Berg!
Thy reigning family, which proceeds
from a Margraviate, shall suddenly fall
from its high station, and becomes less
than the smallest Margraviate.
9. The false prophets (heretic cler
gy ?) shall he killed with wife and child.
10. The holy city of Cologne shall
then see a fearful battle. Many, of
foreign nations, shall here be killed, and
men and women shall fight for their
faith. And it will be impossible to
avert from Cologne, up to that time
spared by war. all the cruel extremities
of war. Men will then wade in blood
to the ankles.
11. But at last a foreign king shall
arise, and gain the victory for the good
cause. The survivors of the defeated
enemy fly to the birch-tree ; and here
shall the last battle be fought for the
good cause.
12. The foreign armies have brought
the “black death” into the laud. AY hat
the sword spares the pestilence shall
devour. Berg shall be depopulated,
and the fields without owners ; so that
one may plough from the river Sieg up
to the hills without being (Scotice)
challenged. Those who have hid them
selves among the hills shall again culti
vate the land.
13. About this time France will be
divided internally.
14. The German empire shall choose
a peasant for emperor. He shall go
vern Germany a year and a day.
15. But he who after him shall wear
the imperial crown, he will be the man
for whom the world has long looked
with hope. He shall he called Roman
Emperor, and shall give peace to the
world. He shall restore Siegberg and
Heisterbach, (two convents, above men
tioned.)
16. Then shall there be no more Jews
in Germany, and the heretics shall beat
their own breasts.
17. And after that shall be a good
happy time. The praise of God shall
dwell on earth ; and there shall be no
war, except beyond the seas. Then
shall the fugitive brethren return, and
dwell in their homes in peace forever
and ever.
Men should heed well what I have
said, for much evil may be averted by
prayer ; and although people jeer me,
saying I am a simple fiddler, yet the
time will come when they shall find my
words true.
See Jaspers’ predictions, Nos. 18 and
23. Brother Herrmann, also, in verses
96-100, prophesies happy times, and
the restoration of the convents of Cho
rin and Lehnin.
We now’ come to Anton, or Antho
ny, called “the Youth of Elsen.” He
had the gift of “second sight,’’and had
a great reputation as a true seer. The
| date of his prophecies is not given.—
| He said :
1. When the convent of Abdinghof
is occupied by soldiers, armed with
long poles, to which little flags are .at
tached, and when these troops leave the
convent, then is the time near.
At this time (1849) Prussian lancers
occupy the convent, which has been
I converted into a barrack. This was
not the case when the prediction was
| made.
2. From Neuhaus. houses may be
seen on the Bock, (Buck,) and a village
is founded between Paderborn and El
sen. Then is the time near.
The bock is a wooded eminence near
Paderborn, where an inn was built. —
To obtain a fine view from the inn, the
wood was lately cut through, and thus
the building* have become visible from
Luuiiaus. The village or dorf is a new
ly-founded country house, or rather
farm-house, with its appurtenances —
Sc otic a town.
3. When people see, in the Roman
field, houses with large windows; when
a broad road is made through that field,
which shall not be finished till the good
| times come, then shall come, heavy
times.
In the Roman field, on the high road,
to Erwitte, the Thuringian Railway
was begun in 1847. and a terminus, the
buildings of which have very large
windows, has been laid down on the
spot. The works have been, from the
necessity of the times, suspended for
the present. See Jaspers, No. 1. and
Spielbahn, No. 3.
4. When barley is sown on the Bock,
then is the time close at hand. Then
shall the enemy be in the land, and kill
and devastate everything. Men will
have to go seven leages to find an ac
quaintance. The town of Paderborn
shall have eight heavy days, during
which the .enemy -lies there. On the
last day, the enemy shall give up the
town to plunder. But let every man
carry his most valuable property from
the ground floor to the garret; for the
| enemy will not have time, even to un
tie his shoestrings, so near will sue
cour be.
In the summer of 1848, the first at
tempt was made to grow barley on the
Bock, a cold, high-lying district.
5. The enemy will try to bombard
the town from the Liboriberg, (a hill
j close to Paderborn;) but only one ball
; (or shell) shall hit, and set on fire a
I house in the Kampe. The fire, howev
er, shall soon be extinguished.
(*. The French shall come as friends.
French cavalry with shining breast
plates, (cuirassiers) shall ride in at the
Westergate, and tie their horses to the
trees in the Cathedral close. At the
Gierstor, (another gate,) soldiers with
gray uniform, faced with light t>iue,
shall come in. But they will only look
into the town, and then immediately
withdraw. On the Bock stands a great
army, with double insignia, (or marks
—possibly the two cockades, Imperial
German and Prussian, now worn by the
Prussians,) whose muskets are piled in
heaps.
7. The enemy shall fly towards Sak
kotten, and towards the heath. In both
places a great battle shall be fought,
so that people shall wade in blood to
the ankles. The pursuers from the
town must take care not to cross the
Alme bridge ; for not one of those who
cross it shall return alive.
8. The victorious prince shall enter,
in solemn procession, the castle of
Neuhaus, which shall be repaired (for
the occasion ?) accompanied by many
people with green boughs in their hats.
On the Johannes Bridge, before Neuhaus
there shall be such a crowd that a child
shall be crushed to death. While this
goes on a great assembly shall be held
ill and before the Eathhaus (Town
House.) They shall hurry (or drag) a
man down from the Kathaus. and hang
him on a lamp-post before it.
9. \\ hen all these things shall have
come to pass, then shall there be a good
time in the land. The convent (of Ab
dinghof) shall be restored; and it.will
be better to be a swineherd here, in ou£
land, than a noble yonder in Prussia
(proper.)
Here is an old prophecy of the battle
of the Birch Tree:
A time shall come when the world
shall be godless. The people, will
strive to be independent of king or ma
gistrate; subjects will be unfaithful to
their princes. Neither truth nor faith
prevails more. It will then come to a
general insurrection, in which father
shall fight against son, and son against
father. In that time, men shall try to
pervert the articles of faith, and shall
introduce new books. The Catholic re
! ligion shall he hard pressed, and men
| will try with cunning to abolish it.—
Men shall love play and jest, and
i pleasure of all kinds, at that time.
: But then it shall not be long before a
i change occurs. A frightful war shall
| break out. On one side shall stand
j Russia, Sweden, and the whole north;
1 on the other, France, Spain, Italy, and
J the whole south, under a powerful
| prince. This prince shall come from
j the south. He wears a white coat,
j with buttons all the way down. He
i has a cross <>u his breast, rides a gray
j horse, which he mounts from his left
j side, because he is lame of one foot. —
‘He will bring peace. Great is bis se
! verity, for he will put down all dance
! music and rich attire, lie will hear
: morning mass in the church at Bremen.
| (According to some traditions, he will
I read mass.) From Bremen lie rides
to the Haar, (a height near Werl;)
from thence he looks with his spyglass
towards the country of the Birch Tree
and observes the enemy. Next, he
rides past Iloltum, (a village near
Werl.) At Holtum stands a crucifix
! between two lime-trees ; before this, he
kneels and prays with outstretched
arms, for some time. Then he leads
his soldiers, clad in white, into the bat
tle, and, after a bloody contest, he re
mains victorious.
The chief slaughter will take pale at
a brook which runs from west to east.
Woe! woe ! to Budberg and Sondern