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Sunday dispatch. [volume] (New York [N.Y.]) 1845-1854, December 06, 1846, Image 1

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VOLUME 11. NO. 1.
' IWMn Wiephtclj.
A. NEW VOLUME!
The Largest three eent Newspaper
PUBLISHED IN THE WORLD!!
ONLY ONE DOLLAR A YEAR ’
TO M.9IL SUBSCRIBERS ; OR
ji’lirco. Cents per week in the City.
f"?’ The Second Volume of this, LARGE and
?OI UL Alt Journal wjfl he commenced fu the first week
jn December. Though our paper has been hut one
year in existence, it. has obtained a standing and circu
lation seldom attained in the history of Newspaper en
terp?ize. This is the more flattering to the Publishers,
when we take into consideration the fact, that the
col*, try is, and was, prior to the commencement of the
DISPATCH, flooded with Newspapers and Periodicals
of every var ! ety>and description. While we would
thank the public Yor the'liberal support extended to
our undertaking, we cannot, in justice to ourselves, say
that the encouragement was altogether unmerited. —
Evereffort which enterprize and talent could
surest. has been tirade to render this paper in every
re,* <ect what a Weekly Newspaper should be—a per
«e:t the Times and a welcome visitor to the
hn I.T of every intelligent family in the land.
The aim of the Publishers of the DISPATCH
h is teen, and will continue to be, to present a sheet
. or s hy .the patronage and support of all classes of the
c?:'i'-‘.nu,n;iy—devoted to Amusement, Instruction, the
Sciences, History, Biography, Tales and Poe
' “ -kEf lies and the Drama.
the-Editorial Department of the DISPATCH, all
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In addition to.the amountof talent heretofore employ
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srs of the day, for the production of an
Original Story of Real Life,
Founded upon the most thrilling event of recent occur
rence in this city, and the- secret workings of Society
in this great seat of Mystery and Crime. The names of
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to make it truthful, characters must bo introduced which
the narrow-minded and bigoted will find fault with, but
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t& nave a good influence upon the community. Vice
needs but to be seen in its naked deformity, to be abhor
red'and shunned. There is more romance in real life
than ever the imagination conceived or produced.
Tins story will be in all respects a picture of City Life,
■—its pleasures and trials—virtues and vice?--tempta
tions and mysteries. We think we can safely predict
for this story a reputation second, only to the works-of
Sue and Dickens.
V- T e have also made arrangements for a scries of
Interesting Original
Skfetches of our Public Men,
Together with Biographical Skethes of celebrated men
of all countries, by a gentleman who is the author of
some of the best sketches in_thelanguage.
As the papeccontains
Thirty-two Long Columns
•We are enabled to give an immense amountof matter,
which will always be of the most choice and varied
character. For further particulars we refer the reader
to the paper.
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paper one year without cost.
ADVERTISEMENTS
Will be inserted at the r.ate of One Dollar per Square
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every subsequent insertion. Advertisements for a lon
ger period at the same rate.
‘ - OlHce 41 Ann Street,
A. J. WILLIAMSON, ) D ... ,
WILLIAM BURNS, j Publishers.
■ T.TT-ir.-. 11l »ujmi 1.l i HUB ,m n«
[Written for the Sunday Dispatch.]
(Bne vf tl)c
OF
NEW YORK.
CHAPTER THE FIRST.
W1 .CH INTIMATES THAT A LADY MAY KNOW LESS
THAN SHE WISHES TO, BUT MORE THAN
. IS GOOD FOR HER.
O:i Saturday evening, the 23d of August, 18-15, at
half-past eight o’clock, an elegant carriage, to
which was harnessed a span of black horses,
was standing before the door of a house on the
north side of Washington Parade Ground.
On the box, the image of patience, sat an En
glish coachman, who also performed the office of
groom, and if necessary, other duties. His
livery was so simple, as to be, even in a demo
cratic country, scarcely objectionable.
The house was one of twenty, exactly alike in
their external appearance. Four stories high,
marble steps, silver plated knobs and hinges, it
stood in its rank, neither more nor less magnifi
cent than its neighbors of the same block. The
number does not seem to us to be of any im
portance.
While the carriage stood thus by the walk,
while the coachman sat impassively upon his
V l iion, while the horses were standing in their
habitual attitude, to which they were trained, so
as to show their fine forms to the best advantage,
a tidy came out of a house a iew ffowslielow,
walked hastily up the street, and ran up the steps
with a springing agility, which evidenced youth,
health, and the indefinablegrace of a harmonious
activity. It may be said also that the little, well
booted foot and ankle indicated a correspond
ingly beautiful development of the whole figure.
Iler dress, simple and elegant, not less than
her movements as she walked, and her attitude
as she stood, waiting the answer to the bell, in
dicatadposition, education, and, if one may ven
ture to say as much of a woman as of a horse or
a dog,'blood and breeding. But this is not in
sisted'upon.
From the alacrity with which the door was
opened, it was evident that the lady was ex
pected. She walked into the parlor, where the
shutters were closed, and the argaud burners of
a rich chandelier were shedding their soft ra
diance oyer furniture, of which it is quite
enough to say that it was very new and very fa
shionable, and therefore perfectly useless to de
s iribe, except in an auctioneer’s advertisement.
'Mr. Thomas J3ell will, doubtless, furnish the ne
cessary particulars to those who are curious in
c-. inet ware oriipholstery.
-fb. ! ? lady visiter was met and cordially wel
comed by the lady of the house,’a woman yet on
the sunny side of forty, with coal black hair and
eyes, high check hones, aquiline nose, and a
complexion so pale as to require, and perhaps
justify, the slight tinge of rouge which gave their
only color to her cheeks and lips. For the rest,
she. was tall, thin, and bore the marks of having
been, twenty years before, a most beautiful—at
least a most striking and impressive woman.
Such was the personal appearance of Mrs.
Charles Henley, as she stood waiting for her
guest, and the evident companion of whatever
visit she was about to make. But what a contrast
was the lady whose light step and pretty ankle,
perhaps, first attracted the reader’s attention!
She was scarcely more than twenty, her figure,
neither tail nor short, was developed to the lines
of the purest symetry, and just ready to run over
them, passing from the elegant to the voluptuous.
For the rest, her hands corresponded to her feet,
as is usual; her eyes were a bright depth of
liquid azure; she had a nose a very little more
piquant than the purely Grecian; her hair, a fine
brown in the shade, in the sunshine seemed dark
auburn her dimpling cheeks required no rouge,
and a little rosy mouth looked as if, whateaer its
employment, it could not fail to please. In short,
she was charming.'
Both ladies were dressed just as they should
havi been, taking into consideration the season,
tliei. respective ages, and the business in which
they were about to engage. If any reader can be
for one moment in doubt, it is .well known that
the fashion plates of the ladies’ magazines are in
fallible, and it will be but little trouble to turn
back to the number of Graham or Godey, for the
latter part of the'summer of 1845.
‘ I hope I have not kept your waiting, my dear
Mrs. Henley, ’ said the younger of the two ladies,
-is she shook the hand extended to her by the
elder matron.
‘ Oh ! no. The carriage was ordered too early,
and we have fifteen minutes to spare,’ said Mrs.
Henley, calmly consulting herl’Epine.
‘ You can’t imagine how curious I am,’ ex
claimed the other lady ; who, it now occurs to
us, uas not been introduced by name to the
reader, but whom we beg leave to designate as
Mrs. Mary Vanderlyn.
. The flushing of Mrs. Vanderlyn’s cheeks, the
expression of her eyes, and a certain restlessness
in her manner, indicated more excitement than
the word curiosity properly expresses.
‘ But, my dear Mty*y/ replied the elder matron,
speaking slowly, as if weighing her words and
watching their effect,—‘it is not always best
to be curious. Remember what the poet says,—
' “ Where ignorance is bliss’
‘ ’tis folly to be wise,”
I know ; but it must be an unconscious ignor
ance. When we know that we are ignorant of
anything that concerns its, it is bliss no longer
Then doubt is agony. Whatever the result, let
me know rather than suspect.’
‘My dear Mary—how excited you get.’
‘ Can you wonder I Ah! if I should discover
any thing in regard to Edward.’
‘ You can still withdraw. 1 have proposed you
for the vacant seat—but it can easily be filled.
JThere -were seventeen proposed, and you were,
by my influence, elected. Will you retreat T
‘No, up! A thousand times no. I know too
much not to go further. It seems like the tree of
knowledge. I must taste the forbidden fruit.’
‘Really, you are very amusing with your si
miles, to-night,’ responded Mrs. Henley, with a
slight accent of sarcasm.
‘ Pardon me. It seems natural that I should be
a little excited.’
‘lt is; but you will require now and for the fu
turej all your coolness, circumspection and dis
cretion ; qualities which I know you to possess,
and which you cannot too soon bring into play.’
‘Ah ! this is becoming-very serious,’ said the
charming Mrs. Vanderlyn, growing a little pale,
i and trembling in spite of herself.
‘lt is serious—more than serious f said the
other, with a frigid, an almost stern, expression.
‘ You will have fearfui power, but power always
carries wbh it care and responsibility. You may
avoid them—you may live peacefully and happily,
without possessing the secret.’
‘ Never ! on the contrary, I burn with impa
tience. I must go forward, because, having a
glimpse of the light, I see that I should step back
into darkness. Dear Mrs. Henley, dear friend,
you will aid me.’
‘ I will—and that you may need it less, I will
prepare you for what is coming. We have still
time to spare,’ said she, again consulting her
watch, with a calm business-like air, ‘ and, if be
lated, we can drive the faster.’
‘You will consider what I now say as a part of
the secret, which you will soon be sworn to
keep. Five years ago, I was one of nine ladies,
who formed the secret association, to which you
will soon belong, filling a vacancy caused by
death. The idea was taken, either from the Ma
sonic lodges, or the secret tribunals of the mid
dle ages Woman is weak, deceived, and be
trayed—but know ledge is power—power either
protects, or avenges her wrongs. Two years ago
I became the president of this society, and
though we number but nine, there are more than
nine hundred who act as our subordinates, who
execute our wishes without knowing how, who
procure us our information—they know not for
what purpose. By this means We penetrate into
every dwelling—we are acquainted with every
transaction—men’s motives and operations are
laid open to us—we are thus aware of every
movement m society, and those we chose to in
terfere with we influence or control.
‘ Notwithstanding her weakness, and partly in
consequence of it, woman governs everywhere—
but we have reduced her empire to a system.
We exert our influence over society on fixed
principles. In short, my dear, in our domestic
and social life, there are few things we do not
know, and there are also few which we cannot
accomplish. But I warn you again—this very
knowledge may be the source of exquisite misery
—this power may punish, but, alas! it cannot
cure.’ Mrs. Henley uttered, the last words, as if
profoundly impressed with their truth, or, as
if this had a personal application.
‘My dear friend, you know too much of hu
man nature—and of me, to believe that I can
falter now ; though, perhaps, you do well to
warn me.’
‘I do it with good motives. You have been
married four months.’
‘Yes.’
• You have been happy T
‘ Most happy!’
‘ Last Sunday night, Mr. Edward Vanderlyn
came home at past midnight, and found his pretty
little wife sobbing on her sleepless pillow.’
‘ You know that!’
‘ You forget how much I know.’
‘ And you know where he was that night.’,
‘ Mrs. Henley bowed her head in sign of affir
mation.
‘ O tell me truly then—do not deceive me !’ the
young wife exclaimed.
‘Not now. In a week from this you will be
vastly wiser, my dear Mary.’
, ‘Oh / how you are torturing me ! But I must
know all—the best and the worst. Come, it
must be time. Yon see how impatient I am.’
‘ I see how much you suffer—but it may be as
well now as hereafter, and the sooner you are
armed against it—the better. Come then. ’
The ladies stepped into the carriage, the di
rection was given, and they passed quickly into,
and then down Broadway.
In the crash and rattle of that ill paved street,
it was difficult to converse, and the ladies rode
on for sometime in silence. Mrs. Henley felt a
shudder at her side, and clasped a hand as cold
as marble—the glare of a strong light at that mo
ment fell upon the face of Mrs. Vanderlyn, and
showed her cheeks and lips as pale as death.
‘ Mary, my dear child !’ exclaimed Mrs. Hen
ley, ‘do you feel ill I Shall we return I’
‘No,’ almost gasped the other.
‘ But you are ill, you look pale, you shiver ’
‘lt is nothing-—it is gone,’ said Mrs. Vander
lyn; and by a strong effort, she resumed her com
posure and usual self possession.
The flash of the next lamp showed Mrs. Henley
looking at her with a sad, a sarcastic, almost a
bitter smile. Her brow was smooth and cold, her
black eyes glistened like a serpent’s, but a mock
ing smile, not quite devoid of an expression of
sympathy, played about her thin lips.
They drove on in silence, until the carriage
turnedjdown one of the streets, running from the
Park to the North River, and drew up before the
door of a plain, ordinary looking house. They
alighted, and while the younger of the two la
dies trembled in every limb, they ascended the
steps, and passed in at a door which seemed to
open of itself to receive them. One moment they
were alone.
‘ Be firm, my child,’ whispered the elder lady,
pressing her friend by the hand.
‘lam!’ she said in a voice unnaturally calm.
‘ You will hear much to surprize you.’
‘ I have already heard what has made me very
unhappy.’
Mrs. Henley smiled as usual,but said no more;
and the next moment they enter upon a scene,
which demands a separate chapter.
CHAPTER THE SECOND.
WAS IT MURDER 3 WAS IT SUICIDE I
In a city, there shall be on one side of you, and
within ten feet, separated only by a brick parti
tion wall, a marriage festival; on the other a
death bed, and opposite, just across the street,
-shall be at once a birth and death, that frequent,
but always terrible tragedy of domestic life.
And on that night, that fatal 23d of August,
within an hundred feet of the room where pre
sided Mrs. Henley, and where sat Mrs. Vanderlyn,
there was enacted a tragedy, fearful, terrible, but
at the time inexplicable, a nine days wonder—
but not so soon to be forgotten by some whom
this narrative concerns.
The eventful night fiad passed—the sabbath
morning dawned, and at an early hour there was
observed an unusual stir, at No. 80 Chambers
street—or as the next day’s papers had it, a great
excitement. Indeed, the attic story of that house
presented, on that morning, a fearful spectacle.
A young girl, who had slept in one of those
chambers, rose, and opened the door of a room
adjoining. She stood still for one moment, and
then her shrieks of terror rang through the house,
and aroused all its inmates.
It was a lodging house, kept by one Madame
Hazard. Among her lodgers was a handsome
and popular English tragedian, an Italian music
teacher, and a French teacher of his own and
other modern languages. All these were aroused
by the wild shrieks which came from the attic
story.
In various degrees of deshabille they rushed
up stairs —nor was Madame Hazard the last;
and they stood all together at the door of a little
apartment and contemplated the scene within.
Upon,.the floor, in the middle of the room, up
on some articles of linen, lay extended the body
of a young female, entirely naked, cold, rigid,
and too surely dead. Her limbs had fallen into
a natural attitude of grace, and her form was
very beautiful.
They all looked, with staring eyes, in dead
silence, at the ghastly sight—for the body of the
girl was gashed with wounds, and a knife was
firmly clasped, in one of her hands; but this was
not all. They saw. that her neck was tightly
bound round with fold upon fold of linen, cut
from an under garment, and as if this were not
enough—as if her life had not yeilded to stabs or
strangulation soon enough, her mouth was filled
full with the same strip of linen, which was
wound several times around her throat.
Thus she lay, motionless, cold, dead, but still
beautiful. It would have given the most indiffe
rent stranger the heart-ache’. How much more
the group, who were now gazing upon her, but
who had as yet Scarcely ventured over the thresh
hold !
But yesterday, Sophia had been full of life, and
seemed full of gayety. Yesteiday, the music
teacher had sung .to her his choicest love song.
Yesterday, the tragedian had made to her the
most impressive speech he could remember, ac
compained with the most appropriate and moving
gestures. Yesterday the teacher of languages
had told her in French, Spanish and Italian, that
she was charming—and now all were looking
upon a still beautiful, but cold and forever inani
mate statue of clay.
The girl who had first given the alarm by her
cries, knelt down by the body, and looked upon
the rigid features and deathly eyes. An old
negro woman, Sarah, took a sheet from the bed
and spread it over the body, and the Italian went
across Broadway, into the Park, and brought
back a policeman An hour afterwards, theie
was a crowd'in the rooms and passages—report
ers with their notebooks—doctors examining the
body—and others gratifying their curiosity. A
knot gathered about the door, and those who
went in or out cast significant and unpleasant
looks at Madame Hazard, who went about,
wringing her hands, and appearing to be in the
greatest distress. Finally the Chief of P-olice
came—and then the Coroner, and after a long
examination, a verdict of suicide was rendered
For a whole week this case was a subject of re
mark in the various newspapers The lodgers
deserted the house—the landlady abandoned it.
The death of Sophia Smith was soon forgotten
by most of those who had not some special rea
son to remember it. But certain questions have
ever since being asked by certain people, who are
fond of penetrating into mysteries.
What was it I they asked then, unsatisfied
with the verdict of the coroner’s jury. Was it
really a suicide ? they have continued to ask, or
was it a murder I
Those who contended that it was murder, said,
it is not in the nature of a young girl to expose
her naked form, even in death, to the rude gaze
of she knows not whom. It is contrary to all the
instincts of her nature, and what the most aban
doned would shrink from with horror —much
more an intelligent, sensitive, sweet girl like So
phia Smith.
How, they asked, could a woman lying upon
the floor strangle herself I In the moment that
strangulation should commence, her strength
would fail—the instinct of self preservation would
resume its power, and the bandages would be re
laxed. Her mouth was filled with linen, but one
with the mouth still breathes. So filling
it would gag, but by no means suffocate.
But the knife, which she held in her hand, and
the seven gashes with which her body was disfr
guredl Do not the muscles relax in death I they
asked, would not a knife so field have fallen from
her fingers'!
The doctors examined, and decided in accord
ance with the verdict of the jury, and the, discus
sion of the matter in the papers, was either stop
ped by those who found any agitation of the af
fair unpleasant—or, as its interest subsided, they
ceased of their own accord.
The father of the poor girl, a worthy farmer of
the interior, came to New York, bowed down by
this sore and terrible calamity. He gazed upon
the face of his beloved child, with an aching and
desolate heart. If he walked along the street he
heard the mention of her name, sometimes con
nected with a ribald jest, or heartless sneer. At
his hotel, the affair was the subject of unfeeling
conversation—it seemed so to him; and if to dis
tract his thoughts from his sufferings lie took up
a newspaper,then the death of his beloved daught
er,with all the details and speculations connected
with it,was sure to be the first paragraph that met
his eye.
The poor old man jook the corpse ofhis child,
conveyed it to a steamboat, and as he watched
bes’de the coffin, he felt a relief as the shades of
night fell upon the toiling steamer on which he
was embarked, and he could see the spires of the
wicked city of New York no longer.
The scene we have described above, and which
was given with more or less ofgraphic in detail in
all the papers of Monday, occurred on Sunday
morning.
At ten o’clock that day,Mrs, Henley was sitting
by the bedside of Mrs. Vanderlyn. The eyes of
the latter were red with weeping. She looked
haggard for want of sleep, her hands were burn
ing with fever.
‘I have news for you, my dear Mary,’ said Mrs.
Henley. ‘ Your husband was not at Home all last
night.’
‘ zllas ! is that your news 1 Doi not know itT
she replied, burying her flushing face in the pil
low.
‘ I have heard from Number 80 Chambers
street.’
Mrs. Vanderlyn sprang upright upon her couch,
and grasped the hand of her friend with both her
own, but said not a word.
‘ Be calm, my dear,’ said Mrs. Henley coldly,
and without, allowing a muscle of her counte
nance to betray the least emotion. Me was found
this morning, dead! - Our information was quite
correct —it is seldom otherwise—she was found
lying upon the floor; her life was quite extinct.’
‘ And Mr. Henley V
( He looks moody and disturbed, but says no
thing.’
‘ And Edward—my God’—what of him'?’
‘ Hush ’ he comes !’
The door opened, and Mr. Edward Vanderlyn
entered, looking pale-and harrassed, as if he had
passed an unlucky night at the gaming table.—
Mrs. Henley rose to'leave the youngjiusband and
wife to their privacy.—An act so entirely proper,
that we follow h£r example.
|To be Continued.]
The American Press -—What a vast amount
of humbug, of fraud, of meanness, of corruption,
of oppression, of cruelty, and wickedness, as
well in private as in publiolife—as well in low
as in high places—is not kept in check, and
averted from us, by the sleepless vigilance, the
fearless interference, the ceaseless denunciations
of our public press ! ’Tis a potent preventive to
check evil—or rather may be regarded as a tre
mendous tribunal, to which the haughtiest and
fiercest among us is amenable, before which,
though he may outwardly bluster, he inwardly
quails, whose decrees have toppled down head
long the most exalted, into obscurity and insig
nificance, and left them exposed to blighting ri
dicule and universal derision. It is true that this
power may be, and has been, abused ; that good
institutions and their officials have been unjustly
denounced- But this is rare: the vast power
above spoken of exists not, except where the
press is unanimous, or pretty nearly so; and as
the American people are a just and truth-loving
people—with all their weaknesses and faults—the
various organs of their various sections ana
parties rarely come to approach unanimity, ex
cept in behalf of a good and just cause. Let the
most potent journal in the republic run counter
to the feeling and opinion of the country, if we
could imagine a journal so obstinate and short
sighted, and its voice is utterly ineffectual —the
objects of its deadliest animosity remain un
scathed, though, it may be, for a brief space ex
posed to the irritating and annoying consequences
of publicity. All our institutions profit prodi
giously by the wholesome scrutiny of the press,
in any and every department of government, ty
ranny, peculation, misconduct of every sort, is
ouickly detected, and as quickly stopped and re
dressed. While conferring these immense social
benefits, how few are the evils, how rare—as I
have already observed —the misconduct to be set
off! How very, very rare are prosecutions for
libel or sedition, or actions for libel, against the
press ; qnd even when they do occur, how rare
is the success of such proceedings!
And what are we to say of the press of the
United Kingdom of Great Britain, pandering
(with some bright exceptions,) to the vilest
passions, the most depraved tastes of the most
abandoned amon» the people, and mercenary
and merciless libellers.— J. L. Moffatt.
NEW YORK, SUNDAY 'MORNING, DECEMBER 6, 1846?
-irn-wiirmu nun iiii r Mn.wauuii.i-in him—-, ,-x-j ..
[Written for the Sunday Dispatch.]
(Ditr Actors.
Mr. Fleming.
The paucity of sterling American actors, may
be attributed in a great measure to the fact, that
the majority of our y oung men, who possess the
ability to succeed in the higher walks of the his
trionic art have, in our country,surer and quick
er means to obtain fame and fortune ; another
reason is that those who do seek reputation and
profit in pursuing the dramatic profession,are too
impatient to await the slow and tedious drilling
so necessary to obtain a knowledge of the busi
ness of the stage, and that ease and finish which
nothing but continued practice can impart. With
out no [knowledge of the art, and
often destitute of every qualification essential to
the production of a good actor, with one bound
they aspire to reach the lofty summit which
Kemble and Kean and Booth attained only after
long years of study and practice, added’to extra
ordinary genius.
There is no profession more
natural physical and intellectual endowments, —
none that demands such continued and uncea
sing toil, and in which eminence is only to be ob
tained by slow and'progrcssive steps. . .
Mr, Fleming is an exception to our remarks
relative to native actors. For several years, he
has been'performing at various southern and
western theatres, content to enact any charac
ters that managers allot him.
In tragedy, comedy, and farce he has ‘ strut
ted his brief hour upon the stage,’ and in each
he has found admirers.
His appearance in Canada won him a host of
friends, and his Hamlet produced quite a sensa
tion. The Montreal Herald in an article of con
siderable length thus notices him:
‘ Mr. Fleming is, we perceive, very popular,
and deservedly a favorite with the audience ol
this house. Most of Shakspere’s characters are
difficult and arduous, and therefore elevated
above the capabilities of many actors we have
seen attempt them, yet we find this gentleman
catching the spirit of his author and presenting
an animated and impressive portraitof the crook
ed back tyrant, the generous Moor, and the phil
osophic Dane. He is in general chaste in his
manner, and succeeds, at proper seasons, in co
loring highly the part he is personating, by pic
turesque acting,characteristic looks, deportment
and attitude. Where lofty sentiment, or nobili
ty of demeanor are required as characteristics he
frequently astonishes. Mr. Fleming has faults ;
he has many and he often exhibits in them a da
ring ‘ greatness,’which proves him no ordinary
your>g man. Both in his beauties and in his
faults, there is an originality which shows a
thinking mind; as far as we can judge and if our
recollection serves, he is no copyist—he follows
no model. It seems to us, that when he studies
a part, he perceives how it should be
and his execution may be mellowed, (if we may
be.allowed the expression) to softness and keep
ing by the experience he has gained from living
examples, and by a careful examination of the
recorded style of the great masters who preceded
him ; these blended into one, form a style pecu
liarly his own. When he fails in certain por
tions of a character, it appears to us, that it is
more from circumstances connected with the
stagehand lack of experience, than from want of
thought. On another occasion we will endeavor
to point out some of this gentleman’s faults, A
man who will bear criticism so well,' must, if he
continues to improve,by and by become a study.
To night he plays Hamlet, and the best compli
ment we can pay him is to say, that we intend
to see it again. For a first-performance ol the
part, his last attempt in this character had a
great many beauties, and afforded satisfaction to
all who witnessed it. He has all in his favour,
voice, judgement, features and person. We have
often wished we could see some rising actor,
some aspiring youth, directing his attention to
the points which have raised Charles Kemble, as
formerly elevated John and his yet mightier
Sister, to the head of their intellectual profes
sion In Mr. Fleming there is much material,
and we should not be surprised to hear of his ra
pid and great advancement, if he studies hard
that he is industrious is evident from the care he
bestows upon all he undertakes.
Mr. Fleming is at present performing m Bos
ton. During Mr. Forrest’s engagement,he play
ed second characters with him, if we may judge
from the press, with much success. The Daily
TV’wies says:
‘ The piece was excellently cast and played.
Mr. Fleming made a.very powerful impression
asPythias. This gentleman has firmly esta
blished his reputation among us as an actor of
great, ability, whose future promises to be bril
liant and honorable. The expectations we had
formed of him from his popularity at the Saint
Charles, New Orleans, during the last winter sea
son have been fully realized.’
And the Boston Evening Gazette has also the
following:
‘ Fleming’s lago was better performed than we
have seen it done by a member of any other
stock company in Boston for years. “ Honest
lago,” who knows all qualities oi human dealing
with a learned spirit, in his humanity—but who,
in his mental essence, is an incarnation of “hell’s
arch fiend”—is the main spring of the action of
almost all the characters ot the play. He is the
first on, and almost the last off the scene. He
has work of colossal magnitude to perform. Of
the two leading characters, this is the most ar
duous. Cook chose it as such—and the elegant
Cooper, whose like ‘ we ne’er shall look upon
again,’ played it with thrilling effect. To attempt
to act it, therefore, before a community,
many of whom still retain in their minds the ima
gery of the style of playing it by these two mo
narchs of the stage ; puts at risk the reputation
of the actor cast in the part. If he fail below me
diocrity, he is sure to fail, if he come up to it, he
will get but faint praise. He must rise far above
mere respectability, to succeed. Fleming aimed
to do so. In the celebrated soliloquy, where the
Ancient broods over his imaginary wrongs from
Othello, and says:
‘ Nothing shall or can content my soul
Till lam even with him, wife for wife.’
he was quite effective, and developed all the la
tent malice of his heart. When Fennell and
Cooper alternately acted lago, the manner of de
livering this soliloquy was much praised by a cri
tic of that day, whose judgment of histrionic
matters is not excelled by any living commenta
tor. But we are “ Laudator temporis acti.,’ The
mighty are extinct.
We hope yet to see Mr. Fleming a ‘bright par
ticular star’ at the Park Theatre. His devoted
study, untiring industry and ambition will yet
lead to eminence. * # *
Original.
Capital punishment.—We took occasion, m
announcing the execution of the negro Thomas,
last Sunday, to intimate that the hanging of men
is generally good for their souls. In other words,
that men condemned to be hung being of the
lowest class, that is, the most ignorant, the most
uncared for and consequently the most depraved,
are little likely to be brought under the influences
of the gospel, until they are brought under the
ban of the law, and a period has been put to their
lives. When this time arrives, human beings,
whose spiritual welfare had been before entirely
lost sight of, suddenly become objects of great
interest, and their preparation for the ‘great
change,’ a duty which no clergyman would ne
glect. This being admitted, it follows that the
salvation of a certain number of men is se
cured by hanging them. If then we abolish
the gallows and substitute perpetual imprison
ment, we still give the great adversary a chance
for the possession of souls ; whereas if we sen
tence, then convert, then hang, we baffle the de
vil and dismiss the purified sprit to eternal bliss.
No one can fail to understand the argument.
No one can controvert it. We know of men, our
readers know, who escaping the halter on mere
legal technicalities, or from the indisposition of
jurors, founded on conscientious scruples as to
the right of man to take the life of man, have pur
sued their career of crime. Of their guilt we
had no doubt at the very moment of their acquit
tal, nor had the community. But they were en
larged, and now live unrestrained depredators on
society, more hardened than ever. 'Suppose they
had been convicted, as they deserved to be,
would they not in the immediate presence of
death have been converted. And if converted,
would they not be in Paradise, and their souls
forever beyond the influence of the tempter I
We do not hesitate then to say that the gal
lows is one of the appointed agencies for the
salvation of men, it is designed for those who
cannot by less stringent means be brought into
the ark of safety; it is a blessing in disguise to
the thousands of our fellow beings, who, to our
understanding, which cannot penetrate the mys
terious designs of Providence, seem to have been
born but to be cursed Poverty, ignorance,
friendlessness—the curses which hover around so
many of the human family from the cradle to the
grave, are their portion. Society neglects these
until they commit crime ; then it cares for them.
Some it imprisons: others it hangs. The latter
are the most fortunate, for they are finally and
happily disposed of.
.. ..
Caiib Krfonn.
The progress of a principle.—Something
equivalent to the ‘ Vote-yourself-a-farm-doctrine,’
is exciting public attention in England, and even
the Times, which is high tory enough, one would
think, to oppose the incursion of such a principle
among the dry bones of feudal tenures, begins to
perceive the necessity of reform of some kind.
It is possible, or rather strongly probable that the
remedy for the admitted evil, which the Times
would suggest might not be the right one, but
one step is made towards a cure when the nature
of the disease is ascertained. The following ex
tract from a London letter in the Journal of Com
merce, which embodies the remarks of the Times,
we commend to the attention of our readers:
The condition of the poor in the North of Scot
land is far worse than the world has hitherto be
lieved possible; and a sum of money out of the
consolidation fund must be given to save them
from positive starvation. Already the thousands
and tens of thousands of acres of non-producing
land, are looked upon with a jealous eye, and the
Times of the 2lst October, boldly dashes out the
truth when it says : ‘ Are millions upon millions
of Scotch paupers to be thrown upon the consoli
dated fund I Are the hereditary tenants of the
Dukes of Sutherland to be maintained, and
*a hundred Anglo-Irish potentates to be supported
by ‘public works,’ and fed on charity wages by.
•the ind ustrious and orderly population of England
in addition to its own proper burthens 1 It is un
necessary to argue again so absurd, so indecent
a proposal. It will not be done. It will not be
attempted. The proposal is only taken as an ad
mission that some fundamental change in the re
lations of the Scotch and Irish poor to the land
on which they arid their fathers were born, and
to the chiefs to whom they and their fathers have
paid tribute, is imperatively and instantly re
quired.’ * * * ‘The land must be made to
produce all it can.’ * * ‘ Nearly half of Scot
land is subjected to a law (entail.) which con
demns the soil to barrenness, the owners to po
verty, and the bulk of the inhabitants to degrad
ing destitution.’ * * * ‘ The whole population
is thrown cn masse on the State. Land, also,
must now be regarded as a whole. In a certain
constitutional sense, it must be resumed by the
state, and granted anew to its proprietors, newly
enfranchised and conditioned.’
These are the most important words that have
appeared in this powerful organ for years. They
have created an immense sensation among the
large landed proprietors, as well as with the
great bulk of the people. It is impossible to
coolly look on and see millions saved from starv
ing by the funds taken away from those devoted
to the paying the expense ot the executive, while
those unhappy persons ought to be, and could be
and must be, employed upon land, now occupied
by deer and grouse, and which, to an extent al
most incredible, is in its primitive, virgin condi
tion. .
This accursed law of entail—happily, never to
be known in the United States ! —keeps six mil
lions of acres in Scotland, fully capable of culti
vation, in a state of nature. What employment
would this land give, if reclaimed from its wild
and sublime desolation I Just about one half of
Scotland is beneath the fearful influence of that
unjust law; and the unhappy small proprietors,
as well as the inheritors of vast tracts, have no
means by which they can help themselves. They
are handbound, and many of the former mort
gaged up to the rental, and the latter also, but not
to the same extent, are ‘heavy in deeds.’ Un
happily for Scotland, the statute Ist James VII.
of Scotland, chap. 22, authorises perpetual entail,
a law then passed to evade the corrupt and perni
cious system of confiscations, which were so
summarily and frequently resorted to in those
decide days.
Mesmeric Influence.—Glanville, in his rare
and curious work upon witches and apparitions,
has a passage which reflects somewhat upon the
subject of Mesmerism, as it is known in our
times, and shows that it was not wholly un
known in his. He'.says:
‘So that I am apt to think there may be a pow
er of,real fascination in the witches eyes and ima
gination, by which for the most part, she acts up
on tender bodies. “Nescio quis teneros oculos.’
For the pestilential spirits being parted by a
sprightful and vigorous imagination from the eye
and meeting with those that are weak and pas
sive in the bodies which they enter, will not fail
to infect them with a noxious quality that makes
dangerous and strange alterations in the person
invaded by this poisonous influence, which way
of acting by subtle and invisible instruments is
ordinary and familiar'in all natural efficiencies.
And ’tis now past question, that nature, for the
most part, acts by subtle streams and apovrheea’s
of minute particles which pass from one body to
another. This kind of agency is as conceivable
as any of those qualities ignorance hath called
sympathy and antipathy, the reality of which we
doubt not, though the manner of action is un
known. Yea, the thing I speak of is as easy to
be apprehended as how infection should pass in
certain tenuious streams through the air from
one house to another. Yea, some kinds of fasci
nation are performed in this grosser and more
sensible way, as by striking, giving apples, and
the like, by which the contagious quality may be
transmitted, as we see diseases often are,by the
touch. Now, in this way of conjecture, a good
account may be given why witches are most pow
erful upon children and timorous persons, viz :
because their spirits and imaginations being
weak and passive, are not able to resist the fatal
invasion ; whereas, men of bold minds, who
have have plenty of strong and vigorous spirits,
are secure from the contagion,’ <fec.
The Street Preacher. —We like to hear the
street preacher. He is mostly poor, and from
the scantiness of his money unable to get accom
modation, wherein he may hold forth his pecu
liar views. His opinions, too, are given with
much more force, and received with more im
partiality, inasmuch as they come from motives,
other than those of ‘ filthy lucre.’ He can get,
too, a large audience who are attracted by the
novelty of the thing. He is quite eloquent al
so— his eloquence is that of honesty, and pro
ceeds from a consciousness in hjs own breast, of
the -truth of what he is saying. He pays no re
gard to metaphor, trope or gesticulation, but
speaks in away, that proves his desire, to bring
conviction to the minds of his hearers. The
street preacher is generally a come-outer, one
who perceives abuses in existing affairs, and
feels under the necessity of entering his protest
and offering some plan to rectify those abuses
He does not care for the sneers, cavils, and in
sults of the multitude. They may pelt him with
missiles, and besmear him with eggs ; they may
drive him forcibly from his stand, but they can
not eradicate his indomitable energy. He is al
ways meek, unresisting and inoffensive, and-it
must be confessed, has a right to disseminate
his idiosyncracies, however absurd and ridicu
lous the}' may appear. The street preacher is
almost always an itinerant—travelling to and
fro, engaged in what he deems to be ‘the truth,
the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.’ —
Sometimes he may be found distinguished by a
copious profusion of beard, and preaching to the
world, that one man has as good a right to a coat
as another, and that man is placed in a position
unfavorable to his proper developement. You
will find him in every form, and heralding forth
every doctrine. He is übiquous—you will find
him everywhere, and wherever you find him, he
is the same earnest, devoted, energetic, and un
popular street preacher.— Pitsburgh Clipper.
Colonel Alden Spooner, the veteran editor of
the Brooklyn Star, is making up the ‘ Chronicles
of Brooklyn,’occasionally enriching the dry re
lation of fact with quaint comments, which can
hardly Tail of being appreciated. We make a
few extracts from the Chronicles :
December 3, 1817.—The Brooklyn Humane
Society, (for distributing charity during winter)
‘ convinced by painful experience that insti
tutions of this nature have a direct tendency to
beget among a large portion of their fellow-citi
zens habits of improvidence, indolence, dissipa
tion and consequent pauperism,’ resolved that the
Society be dissolved; and notice given to such
persons [that they are not to expect relief from
any funds of the Society during the approaching
winter. Perhaps a society now existing may
take a hint from this historical fact!
February 4, 1818.—It is announced that the
ferry company have commenced buildinga horse
boat, to be completed by the 4th. of July, to run
with the steamboat.
February 18.—Long Island Sound was entirely
closed by ice between Cold Spring and the Con
necticut shore.
Major-General Andrew Jackson visited New
York and Brooklyn.
Military Memoirs are a popular class of lite
rature. It few non-military men make them their
chief study, still fewer do not upon occasion wil
lingly take them up and dip with pleasure into
their animated pages. The meekest and most pa
cific, those in whose composition no spark of the
belligerent and pugnacious is discernible, yet
dwell with interest upon the strivings, dangers,
and exploits of more martial spirits. Even the
softer sex whilst gracefully shuddering at the
bloodshed and horrors of war, will oftentimes
seriously incline to read of the disastrous chan
ces, moving accidents, and hair breath escapes,
that chequer a soldier’s career. The poetical
and the picturesque of military life appeal to the
imagination, and act as a counterpoise to the
massacres and sufferings that painfully shock the
feelings. Amidst the wave and rustle of silken
banners, the glitter and clash of steel, the clang
of the brazen trumpet, and hurra of the flushed
victor, the blood that buys the triumph and soaks
the turf vanishes and is overlooKed ; the moans
of those who died upon the field, linger in hospi
tals, or pine in stern captivity are faintly heard,if
not wholly drowned. The pomp and pageantry
of war, the high aspirations and heroic deeds of
warriors, too often make us forget the countless
miseries the strife entails, the peaceful peasant's
ravaged homestead, the orjihan’s tears, the wi
dow’s desolation.
A transcendental writer in Boston, maintains
that profane swearing is the popular recognition of
the Deityi
®dst India Sporting.
Marvellous Adventure with a Tiger.
To the Edi tor of the Bengal Magnzine:
My Dear Friend—The subject to which you
referred just now,are indeed of a somewhat pain
ful nature, but as I am given to understand that
some misconceptions exist regarding them,! will
endeavor to give you a simple narration of the
extraordinary facts that have directly given rise
to the occasion of your remarks. ‘My hairs ?s
white, but not from years,’ as one of your late
Bard writes —though for the matter of years I
fear I have but few to look forward to, being,—
egad! I can scarcely believe it myself, but when I
look back upon the rapid strides with which sea
time has destroyed the past—on the wrong side
of three score and ten ! There is a slight flash
ing meteoric appearance at the end of my nose ;
but the same cause I aver established this pheno
menon I can sometimes feel a gentle quivering
of the eye, and the right hand appears to have
half forgotten its wonted courage—for many a
time has it of late days borne the brimming glass
within an inch and a half of the point, (I should
write ‘aperture’ I think properly) that it was in
tended to reach when the precious liquor in a
most unaccountable manner served to moisten—
not the anxious palate and throat—but, descend
ing, through that almost imperceptibly small space
between its once carefully tied and ornamental
snowy cravat, unwittingly spiled the capricious
shirt frill, that still I am proud to say, peers forth
from the opening of my fancy waistcoat. True
it is that these symptoms would betoken the ef
fects of by gone scenes—far ah ! how far, differ
ent from that which I am now about to relate to
yon, and to which in very truth I affirm, are to be
ascribed the melancholy signs that I am compel
led to acknowledge. My hair grew white in a
single night ! nay—l believe in a single hour,and
the other symptoms of weakness above mention
ed were brought about by the same fearful and
oh ! most memorable cause ! Even at this
length of years that have elapsed sjnee then, the
very thought of the events which I am about to
relate mikes the very few thin remaining
hairs that are left, painfully erect themselves
round my ears and the back of my head. Indeed
I feel I cannot proceed farther without a drop of
that creature comfort that through ail my trials,
through good report and ill report, has so hand
somely stood my friend. So now to commence.
In the year of Grace 1814, my very valued
friend Captain McClenchem of the Bengal Artil
liry, having suffered much in his health during
a residence of many years in some of the most un
healthy parts of India —to say nothing of divers
wounds that he had received at different times in
actual service, and his life being at last consider
ed sufficiently endangered in the opinion of his
medical adviser, he was allowed to try, as a re
prieve, a few years’short residence at the Cape.
It was thus and then that I became acquainted
with this truly estimable and zealous officer. —
Our acquaintance quickly ripened into trne friend
ship, and on his partial recovery he clenched my
half determination to accompany him myself to
Calcutta, that city of palaces, its inhabitants so
justly call it, and thence to Pollyhagabad, where
a relation of mine and partner was occupied in
superintending his extensive Indigo works. I
ought perhaps, to give you some more detailed
account of my friend Capt. McC,, for he was no
common man. At the time that I mention, he
was evidently the mere ‘shade,’ —the melancho
ly remains of what he had been ; viz : a hand
some man: he was of a certain age, say forty,
but—-
* So iron of limb.
Few of our youth could cope with him.'
as your own poet before would say, and said of a
Mr. Minoti, Capt. McC , was now a miserable
looking—mind, only ‘looking’—thin, emaciated,
yellow Indian, but without his strength and acti
vity perfectly undeniable even now, (what, must
he have been ten or fifteen years ago !) He was
a hero, both in the battle and sporting field,
though his modesty seldom intruded his ‘ deeds ’
upon his audience. I can call to mind a few of
his feats which would astonish you, and would
put the presence of mind and pluck (I think this
is the word in use among you young gentleman,)
of many a one with a much stouter body to the
test.
I recollect well his quiet way of teljing how on
two occasions while following in the track of the
giant monster of the. forests, the wild elephant,
he had the temerity to rouse their attention and
rage by plucking the hair out of their tails ! not
however without their taking ‘ notice' of it, and
that instantly (well they might! I imagine they
felt the insult as keenly as you would, should any
one pull your nose ) . Satisfaction was immedia
tely demanded and given, in both instances—in
faith, one received a ball in the ‘ball’of his eye—
and the other, ‘ one for the nob.’ I shall only
add one more instance of his coolness and un
flinching presence of mind, and as the circum
stance is well authenticated, I have no hesitation
in doing so. At the celebrated defence of the for
tress of Hogunghur, or some such name, when
by the way, his energetic conduct and activity
were afterwards so highly commented on in the
G. O. C. C. of that day, ha was observed stand
ing on the breeching of a 24 pounder, which had
been somehow for the moment disabled, giving
direction to some gunners who were near him,
and pointing with his forefinger to some objects
to which he was particularly anxious to airect
their attention ; while in this act a bullet struck
the extended finger near the hand and knocked
it clean off Nothing, daunted, however, and
fearing that the newly awakened attention of the
men, would have been disturbed had he taken
down the wounded limb—he instantly raised his
next finger—the ‘reserve’ if I may so call it, and
continued his instructions as if nothing had hap
pened. These instances are sufficient for the pre
sent, though I could give you a hundred more of
the same nature to illustrate and confirm the in
domitable courage and presence of mind @f my
gallant friend.
It is now full time to return to my story. Af
ter a somewhat tedious voyage, we reached the
mouth of the Hooghly River, and from some
cause or other, either from the want of wind, the
want of tide, or what not, we. were compelled to
anchor. Cramped up as we had been for months
on board ship, the very sight of land to me was
delightful, and the temptations for wishing to
stretch my legs once more on terra firma propor
tionate. (Had my legs been stretched a little
more when I was a child, I fancy I should have
been something more than 4-11 without my
shoes —in my prime as it is called, as was the
ease!) I had no intention of going ashore with
out company of some sort, and on mentioning
the idea to my gallant friend, he clenched the
thing at once by offering to accompany me him
self. The land was anything but picturesque, or
inviting, being an extended barren sandy plain,
without stick or stump on it excepting a few Pal
mi ras, that here and there grow up in pairs, as if
for company, and an occasional bush or two of a
few inches in height. However, terra firma, to
a landsman like me, has charms, let it be even
such as this appeared, and as the long boat was
ordered ashore to fetch fresh water, of which we
had been on rather short allowance lately, we
took the opportunity after packing up as much
“ prog and provend,” (this is the expression the
Captain used,) as we could manage to carry with
us, and landed also. It appeared that by acci
dent the head of one of the large water butts had
been stove in, and being/consequently useless,
was sent adrift, and the sailors proceeded to their
avocations. In the meantime, McC, and I, after
a reasonable trudge, returned, and looked out for
some convenient spot, where we might discuss
with comfort our stock of good things; vain was
cur search, and as a last resource we succeeded
in rolling the neglected cask to a certainly rather
out-of-the-way place, and having opened our
stores, commenced operations in a very deter
mined style under its hospitable shade.
Already had the cold turkey poult and ham be
gun to look remarkably foolish ; we were be
ginning to be exceedingly good natured and al
fectionate; the memory of those who were “far,
far away;” each of the leading branches of the
respective families of McClenchem and Von
Duncks had been individually and duly honored,
and we were getting on pretty well, if I recollect
right, towards the middle of my gallant friend’s
(Scotch) cousins—when, but I must pause for a
second, and appeal to my staunch friend and
supporter—Heaven and earth ! that sound! will
it ever cease to haunt me! —Eeigh! what a creep
ing of the bipod I feel even now as I think of it;
was like 10,000 devils with cold in their heads,
snoring and grunting altogether within three
yards of us. Oh! that horrible moment! how
yain in me to attempt to describe it! that snort
ing howl, not loud but deep, awfully terrific and
fearful. Who that has once heard it can forget
it! and who can understand what it is that has
not heard it! However, to proceed. Capt. McC.,
who,'as I said before, was a thorough sportsman,
twigging, (as I think you express ir,) in an in
stant, that even 10,000 devils would be mere jokes
when placed along side of the real owner of this
infernal sound, had hardly time to shout to me
“Lookout! by G —, Dunck! mind your eye!”
and with a bound that would have beaten the*
once celebrated Hammersmith ghost into fits, he
alighted on his feet behind the water butt. Agi
lity of this discription never was much my forte,
and it was fortunate that there was no absolute
necessity for it at that moment, for I had barely
time to scramble as fast as my nature would al
low me, to the side of my friend, when the fright
ful cause for our rapid, and I may now say mas
terly manoeuvre, presented itself one yard and a
half—true as I live, only one yard and a half—no
more—before us—in the shape of a royal tiger,—
1 should say more correctly tigress,—as we had
ample time to satisfy ourselves'” on this point, as
the sequel will show. Egad! sir, there we were
—all three of us, with only a cask between our
selves and the monster. I think I might venture
to say that none, of three individuals had ever
been placed in such a predicament before. By
jingo, I can tell you it was no joke—only imagine
yourself as one of the actors in this scene, °and
you will, I think, confess that it was anything
butt a joke. How the devil the brute ever got so
close to us without our being aware of its propin
quity, has ever been a matter of wonder and as
tonishment to me, for, as I said before, there wad
not a stump or a stick, or shelter for a mouse in
the place. However, there’s the fact. It was
quite enough, there she was, and there we were
also dodging round and round the cask in an
agony of despair utterly indescribable.
At one time we were in hopes that the ham
and the good things mat’lay scattered round us
would tempt the brute, even if it was only fora
moment or two, giving us time for something
like reflection and rest, but no She appeared,
by the flash of devil in her eye, determined to
have us in the end, if she waited a week. For
two blessed hours, as I live, did the monster
sweat us around our cask. Human nature could
not possibly hold out much longer. Eyen the
Captain was nearly done up—you may imagine
then what a state 1 was in : he acknowledged to
me after all was over that he could not call to his
recollection a single instance, where lie consid
ered there was so much danger, or when he had
been so long and at close quarters with an animal
of the ferocious disposition then before us. It
was fortunate indeed for us, as it ultimately
proved, that the brute at last lost evidently all
patience, and her temper, always irritable, now
began to work her into a state of the most savage
excitement. Again and again did she stop for a
moment, as if determined upon some coup de
main, which she had not the resolution to put
in force; at last collecting all iier energies and
strength, she made a dash at the cask," with the
intent of clearing at one spring the frail obstacle
that separated us. As our good luck would have
it, the cask was standing upon its bottom, and
the head having been, as before stated, stove in,
the animal in her endeavors to scramble over it,
tilted it oyer, when my gallant companion, with
characteristic presence of mind, which did not
forsake him even at this awful moment, giving
the cask the little heel that was necessary, com
pletely caged the brute under it. This I learned
afterwards, for at the moment that the animal
made her spring, I conceived myself as good as a
dead man, and flung myself frantically on my
knees, facing my death the best way I could, for
I did not for a moment imagine my escape possi
ble.
Not so my iron hearted friend, who in calmly
awaiting the result, showed that inherent cour
age and coolness for which he had been so re
markable during many adventures in his milita
ry career. In an instant he was standing on the
inverted cask, and yelling to me to follow him,
and by Jove I was not long .in doing so
The sun was gradually sinking in the western
horizon, and with it would vanish all our hopes,
for we could see no prospect of release or help
We could distinctly hear our’imprisoned enemy
growling beneath our feet, not unlike the rum
bling of an earthquake or volcano as she turned
herself round in her cage a few inches only be
low us, but conscious that she mu?t be too cramp
ed for room to exert her strength, and elated
with our partial success, it was sometime ere
the sickening thought occurred, that by our pre
sent position we were hardly more safe than if
we had been sitting over a mine, and a quick
match in full blow within a few inches of the
combustibles. Thus were we, to all intents, as
securely attached to our cask as Prometheus of
old to his rock. After a painfully anxious time
thus spent. I at last saw my friend, with one fool
on the rim of the hogshead and balancing him
self carefully with the other, eagerly watching
the bung hole. In an instant his striking counte
nance was lighted up with one of his own smiles,
as he calmly laid his stumpy fore-finger on his
lip to enjoin silence, and cautiously bending
down on his knees, he extended his right arm
over the side as if engaged in the pleasing occu
pation of tickling trout; and before I could well
make out what he was about, he made a sudden
spiing to his feet again—and in a second had the
monster’s tail out of the bung-hole almost to the
very root at’one pull—and with the little assistance
that I could‘afford him, being something shorter
than my companion, we consummated this feat.
It was clear that so long as we could keep the
cask between ourselves and the tigress we should
be safe from her attacks, and imagining besides
that by our united strength we might in the end
drag her down to the river side, where we hoped
to find our shipmates,,&c., and might then take
her on board ship dead or alive, we cautiously
descended. Alas! vain and absurd hope—surelv
did we miscalculate our respective powers, for
though entirely deprived of the use of her nmd
legs, in consequence of her tail toeing diawn
home (as the sailors would call it) through the
bimg-hole, we were no sooner on our legs, than
she walked clean away with us in spite of our
utmost exertions to check her, and made direct
ly for the interior, growling and squinting at us
the while, as if she looked upon us as her own
peculiar property, and this indeed, situated as
we were, we had no immediate prospect of dis
proving. Miles and miles did we traverse,
dragged along in this infernal manner, the Cap
tain holding on like grim death by the tail of the
brute, and 1 by his.
I cannot deny thnt I had several times the di
abolical temptation (to which I.suspect most per
sons under similar circumstances would be liable)
to bolt at once and run for it, and leave my com
panion to do the best he could by himself. lam
now of course glad that I did not yield to this:
one reason perhaps for my not doing so, I must
confess, was the recollection of my friend’s
great activity, and through which, though I might
get some start, at first, he would soon have beaten
me in the long run—when I must have fallen a
victim to the tigress and my own baseness. A
heavy jungle was now in sight.
“ We near’d the wild wood —’twas so wild
I saw no bounds on cither side.”
The additional resistance that some rough
ground in the neighborhood as well as the stumps
of some trees that now occasionally occurred,
enabled us to offer, gave my gallant friend an op
portunity for trying an experiment, which he evi
dently had been conning over in his mind for some
time past, and which, tor its wonderful success,
I can most conscientiously recommend to any one,
who may chance to be placed in a similar painful,
and I may say anxious predicament. This was
nothing else than the bold and original concep
tion of tying her tail in a stout knot sufficiently
large and tight, to prevent its slipping through
the bung-hole on our releasing it. Accordingly,
choosing a favorable moment, when a good pur
chase enabled us to apply our united efforts to
advantage, we succeeded in effecting this superb,
and as it ultimately proved, triumphant manoeu
vre ! just as the sun was setting below the horizon.
It was an awful moment indeed—had the knot
slipped in the smallest degree, one or both of us
must have paid the penalty of my awkwardnessj
in a horrible and untimely end. Again and again
was it examined, till the Captain at last pro
nounced it safe —and having in mind the well
known effect that similar appendages have upon
the nerves of other animals,—he gave the signal
—when we commenced a howling and yelling
sufficient to have alarmed the very dead, playing
the devil’s tattoo, with every accompaniment we
could devise, (in assisting at which I risked the
safety of two bottles of the most undeniable
Scheidam, which by some accident I found in
the pockets of my coat,) and finally “ cast off.”
How can I find words to express a tithe of my
ecstatic delight and the veneration with which
I locked upon my friend, when we saw the good
result of his masterly stratagem. With one long
fiendish roar of mingled rage and fright, she
made the best of her way off, the extraordinary
appendage and our screams a| parently driving
her almost frantic, as she sneaked away from
sight into the dense jungle.
The feat was indeed a master piece of courage
and presence of mind that I imagine, and what
is more so my friend has never been surpassed—
seldom I should think equalled. McClenchem
has often referred to it himself as his chief d’-
ceuvre, although nothing by the move.
In pulling hair out of the* tai Is of wild elephants,
as I before said, shooting alligators with small
shot, nay in one instance with paddy: riding a
hippopotamus, and catching elephants with jins,
as you would snare pheasants in England, are
merely child’s play to it. The last adventure was
a clincher to all the rest.
We quickly, as you may imagine, made the
most of our weary legs in retracing our footsteps
to the landing place, where we had left the boat,
&c. Fear added strength and wings to me or I
never should have reached it—for we had the
greatest difficulty in finding it. The boatmen
were on the point of pushing off, as it was nearly
dark, and they had made a most ineffectual search
for us. Indeed, seeing the foot prints of a tiger‘
&c., on the spot, together with the wreck of our
last repast scattered about in every direction,they
came to the conclusion that we must have met
with a dreadful end. Once on board we related
qur adventures to the gaping skipper, and other
listeners, who would hardly give us credit for
our story, till some of the tigress’s hair was ob
seived upon our hands and sleeves. Capt. Mc-
Clenchem’s courage and presence of mind was
applauded again and again. For my part, I be
came dangerously ill with delirium &c., during
the paroxysms of which the only thing that could
keen me quiet, (and this too was the suggestion
of the captain,) was by fastening a thick rope
somewhat greased to the foot of my bed, and gi
ving the other end into my eager hands, which I
continued to pull for hours together. I ultimate*
ly recovered, but 'slowly, and have ever since
been the wreck I now am.
In conclusion, I should that curiosity in
duced the captain to make subsequent inquiries
regarding this tigress and the cask, but all he ever
learned through the natives,(for it is a part little vi
sited by Europeans) was, that about a yeai or
two after, two cubs were killed in the vicinity,
having each a most extraordinary enlargement at
the root of the tail, about the size and form of an.
oyster barrel; and though he never succeeded in
getting, in spite of his utmost exertions, any
thing more thana very imperfect skin, minus the
most interesting portion, and a ‘ bone ’ that did.
certainly bear a strong resemblance to a ‘ stave,’
yet he thought and I agree with him, that these
identical cubs must have been, without a shadow
of doubt, the progeny of the tigress in question,
and their not being captured alive, or recovered
when dead, is the more to be regretted, as,inde
pendently of the obviously valuable addition to the
zoological collection, they taen must tor
ever have set at rest the long disputed question,
‘ to wfiat extent the effects of external objects on
a mother can influence the physical confli mation
of her unborn offspring.’
I hope the narrative has satisfactorily account
ed for the symptoms of premature old age, with
which I commenced this communication. Such
a fright as 1 had on this occasion.would have
been enough to have turned a black man white,
much more a white man’s /urtr. The shock too,
to my nerves,has been such as I have mentioned.
What wonder, then, that my hand should shake,
and that my few grey hairs should still stand half
erect, after the recapitulation of die above awful
facts, and that 1 find a difficulty in once more
signing myself,
.Yours,very obediently,
Von Dunn.
P. S.—Poor Capt. McC. lost his life, I after
wards heard, about nine years ago, in attempting
to perform the above feat a second lime. The tail
of the monster was duly seized, but being a terri
ble ‘man eater,’and mangey, the hair other tail
came off in his hand, and the tail slipping through
the bung hole, the tigress turned upon him and
killed him at one stroke.
PRICE THREE CENTS.
Jilts. Woiuwan’s pig.
A few days since (says the St. Louis Reveille,)
an Irish lady, residing in the lower part of the
city, was thrown into a state of extreme agony,
on discovering, for the first time, that a beautiful
‘ famale pig’ she had been tending with anxious
care and solicitude was ‘clane’ gone and miss
ing. In many minds this announcement of the
loss of a pig will awake no sympathy, because
they have never, like Mrs. Donovan, ‘ tinded ’ it
through the interesting stages of juvenile porker
hood up to the period when its hams and shoul
ders had attained a marketable size—when, in
short, it was ‘ hog round’ to the tune of a weighty
consideration. On discovering her loss, she
posted Justice Butler for a search warrant,
procured it and an officer to serve the document,
and then, with her young son Tim, started off to
a pen owned by a negro near Spruce and Fifth
street. Tim had discovered the pig in the ne
gro’s pen.
‘ Is this the road, Tim!’ inquired she.
‘ Faix, it is. mammy,’ responded her hopeful.
‘ Thin, afficer, dear,’ says she, ‘ we’ll soon
take it from the dirty nager. Its mesilf that
prayed to the blessed vargin the day, as I wint
along the sthrate, that I’d get back me pig, and
troth, her riverince was pintin’ Tim, to the spot
at the same time.’
Arrived at the pen, Tim pointed out the pig,
and his mother commenced coaxing it to her
with a loaf of bread. As the other porkers would
divide the bounty of Mrs. Donovan with her fa
vorite, she grew so excited at the ‘onmannerly
bastes,’ that it was with difficulty Tim could
keep her out of the pen.
‘ Well, there is your pig, madam,’ says the
officer; ‘ I surrender it into your possession?
‘And is it in the pen you give it tome' 1 ? in
quired Mrs. D.
‘Certainly, madam,’ answered he;. ‘I have
found your property, and deliver it into your
possession?
‘Oh, yis; plase to do all your duty, officer
dear, and git out me pig?
‘ What! get in the pen V inquired he.
‘Yis, av course,’ says she: ‘would ye have
me climbin’ among the pigs, whin it’s your duty !
and. besides, didn’t his honor give ye the bit of
paper to git the pig V
This appeal was too much for a gallant man to
back out from, so over he went among twenty
full-grown porkers, and after getting covered
with mud from head to foot, he succeeded in get
ting out Mrs. Donovan’s pig, and, attaching a
cord to its hind leg, he surrendered the cord to
the lady and her son Tim. About fifty negroes
had gathered around during the progress of these
proceedings, and they were passing their opinion
on the matter.
‘ Dat’s a funny proceeden? said the owner of
the pen— ‘ de idee of white folks stealin’ a nig
ger’s pig in daylight?
‘ Got no right to be a nigger,’ says another.
‘ Dat’s a fact, child—heah !ha ! he-ah! I isn’t
got nuffin to say, ’cept dat pig’ll nat’rally come
back, Stephen!’
‘ The blissins of the Vargin Mary follow ye,’ •
says Mrs. D , for you’re a dutiful officer;’ and off •
she. and Tim travelled one way, while the officer,
blessing them and the pig in quite a different
strain, started the other.
The officer had barely time to change his
clothing,, and get back to the office in respectable
trim, when in dashed Mrs. Donovan, and Tim
at her heels.
‘ What is the matter now !’ inquired the jus
tice.
‘ Och, dear, the pig!’ exclaimed she; ‘it’s
clane gone back to the nager’s pen?
‘ Yes, and I’m beg pardon,’ says the
officer, ‘ but I’m blessed if it don’t stay there un
til the end of time, before I get it out again?
‘ It was the nager that tuck ft,’ says Tim ; ‘he
ent the rope, and gin a grunt, and, be jabers,
about fut wint the baste after him, in spite of all
we could do?
‘ How do you know that this is your pig V in
quired his honor.
‘ How do I know, is it V exclaims Mrs. Dono
van. ‘ Sure I know it from every trait in its
character. Didn’t I raise the barrow with me
own hands, and isn’t she the most illegant pig for
her diminshions that iver two eyes luckt at, and
whin I said to her in the nager’s pen—pig’ pig I
—didn’t she, as knowing as a fox, grunt back at
me ’ Sure a barrow pi" like her is a small for
tune to an industhrious family by raisen of his in
crase?
‘You are confounding the genders, madam,’
said his honor—* you first call it a he and then a
she?
‘ls it the ginders ye call the pig!’ answers
Mrs. Donovan. ‘Well, ivery country has its
own way in naming things; but uv wan thing I
am certain, intirely, and that is she has most
beautiful linkers of pigs !’
This settled the question of gender, and came
nigh knocking his honor’s gravity into wrinkles.
Another order was issued for the lady’s beautiful
pig, and Tim and her were made happy by being
again put in possession.
Anecdotes of the Bench and the Bar.—lt
is a curious coincidence, that the two greatest
chancery lawyers of their day, of the English
bar, should both have been forced into the pro
fession by incidental circumstances. Romilly
says, that what principally influenced his de
cision was the being thus enabled to leave his
small fortune in his father’s hands, instead of
buying a sworn clerk’s-seat in chancery with it.
‘At a later period of my life, after a success
at the bar which my wildest and most sanguine
dreams had never pointed to me—when I was
gaining an income of 8000 Z. or 9000 Z. a year—
-1 have often reflected how all that prosperity had
arisen out of the pecuniary difficulties and con
fined circumstances of my father?
Lord Loughborough (then Mr.
began as an advocate at the Scotch bar. In the
course of an altercation with the Lord President,
he was provoked to tell his lordship, that he had
said, as a judge, what he could not justify as
a gentleman. Being ordered to make an apology
he refused, and left the Scotch for the English
bar. What every one thought ruin, turned out
the very best thing that could have happened to
to him—
‘ There’s a divinity that shapes our ends,
Rough-hew them how we may?
Lord Tenterden’s early destination was
changed by a disappointment. When he and
Mr. Justice Richardson were going the home
circuit, they visited the cathedral at Canterbury
together. Richardson commended the voice of
a singing man in the choir. ‘Ah!’ said Lord
Tenterden, ‘that is the only man I ever envied.
When at school in this town, we were candidates
for a choiister’s place, and he obtained it?
Lord Eldon used to relate of himself, that, on
one occasion, at the close of his address, Lord
Thurlow said to him, ‘ I was with you, Mr. Scott
—till I heard your argument?
Tn 1784, the Benchers of the Middle Temple,
which comprise all the most learned men of the
Bar, who are members of the society ? brought an
action against a lighterman for driving his cart
against their wall and damaging it. When the
cause came on, it was found that they had sued
in London instead of Middlesex ; a nonsuit was
entered, attended by a hearty laugh at the lumi
naries of the law. •
A criminal, after listening to the condemned
sermon which preceded his execution, turned to a
companion and remarked, in the preacher’s hear
ing, ‘ a very good sermon, but rather too per
sonal?
‘ What should my son do to get on in the law !’
said a father to a learned judge. ‘Do, sir! let
him spend his own fortune; let him marry and
spend hit wife’s, and then he has some chance?
‘ Some men,’ said another, have got on by their
talents, others by their connection, but the great
majority by not having a shilling in the world!’
And thus it is, the lawyer must be like a Dutch
convict; if he does not pump he must drown—he
must see no other resource.
A certain worthy judge having been applied to
by a counsellor who had a remarkable obliquity
of vision, for a rule to show cause, observed,
looking him in the face, ‘ You may take a rule
nice eye, (nisi )
In a case argued by Serjeant Hill, after the
court had given its decision upon the case,
(which was against the Serjeant’s client,) Lora
Mansfield said,—‘Now, brother Hill, that the
judgment is given, you can have no objection on
account of your client to tell us your real opinion
and whether you don’t think we were right?
The Serjeant said he always considered it his
duty to do what the court desired, ‘and upon my
word,’ said he, ‘ I did not think that there were
four men in the world who could have given such
an ill-founded judgment, as you four, my lord
judges, have pronounced?
Two celebrated judges, one remarkable for his
Falstaff appearance and the other a remarkably
little man, travelled in a close carriage, and by
some accident were upset in a ditch: the coach
man was seriously injured, and lost his senses;
ihe two judges were, from the position of their
carriage, unable to extricate themselves. A
countryman was passing, and the corpulent judge
cried out, ‘ For God’s sake, lend us your assist
ance !’ ‘Who are ye!’ said the countryman.
‘ We are the Judges of Assize,’ said the robust
judge. ‘ Dang’d if I’ll assist ye, ye false man,’
said the countryman, ‘for trying to gammon me
that ye are judges of a size,’ —and away he went
leaving the unfortunate judges to do the best they
could.
At an assize at Lancaster, said Lord Eldon,
we found Dr. Johnson’s friend, Jemmy Boswell,
lying upon the pavement, inebriated. We sub
scribed at supper a guinea for him and half
a crown for his clerk, and sent him, when he
waked next morning, a brief, with instructions
to move, for what we denominated the writ of
‘ Quare adhaesit pavimento,’ with observations,
duly calculated to induce him to think that it re
quired great learning to explain the necessity of
granting it to the judge, before whom he was to
move. Boswell sent all round the town to attor
neys for books, that might enable him to distin
guish himself—but in vain. He moved, however,
for the writ, making’the best use he could of the
observations in the brief. The judge was per
fectly astonished and the audience amazed. The
judge said, ‘ I never heard of such a writ—what
can it be that adheres pavimento t Are any of
you gentlemen at the bar able to explain this !’
The bar laughed. At last one of them said, ‘My
lord, Mr. Boswell last night ‘ adhtesit pavimento?
There was no moving him for some time. At last
he was carried to bed, and he has been dreaming
about himself and the pavement.’—Ohth’s N. x.
Legal Observer.

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