Below is the OCR text representation for this newspapers page.

SMTTOWfffITIDW IT TTWWTO A TOW A WIWWTI? BmJJ Ull IHIMUm M i i&Miiiia U ifaM Bi 11 A TERMS, $2,00 PER ANNUM, IN ADVANCE. (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