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Sunday dispatch. [volume] (New York [N.Y.]) 1845-1854, February 27, 1848, Image 4

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McDonald Clarke.
Probably few men suffered more from want in the
midst of plenty, than this unhappy child of song.
Cradled in affluence, his childhood knew no sorrow;
but ero ho became of an age to buffet successfully the
cares of life, lie was called to weep for the death of
both father and mother who were* wrecked at sea,
with all their property they were then bringing to
the land of their adoption. Thrown thus early upo>
he world-, without mondy, totally unfitted for manual
labor, and incapable of supporting himself, his proud
spirit soon ostracised itself from his early friends, and
he passed a life of misery and want. Its few last years
were m this city, where his home was the streets in
summer, and any rude shelter in winter. Ho was well
known by a few men of wealth and respectability
who could and should have saved him from wretch
edness. One can only conjecture why they did not.
The closing scene of his life was in keeping. Thrust
from the doors of a wealthy citizen by the machina
tions of a scoundrel who called himself a friend
stung with bitter disappointment—taunted by a me
nial’s insults—he wandered in a state of mental aber
ration, bare-headed and half-clad, through the streets
on a winter’s night, during the severest storm of the
season, until he was taken, exhausted by hunger and
nearly dead with cold, to a cell in the Tombs. From
thence, he was the next day, removed to the Lunatic
Asylum, where, a few days after, he found peace in
death. No friend closed his eyes. He was buried by
strangers. According to his own desire, his body was
placed in a quiet and retired spot in Greenwood Ce
metery. But here his “summer seeming friends” did
not let him rest. Anxious to connect their own names
with the memory of his genius, they ostentatiously
circulated a subscription paper among themselves to
build a monument to his memory, evon at a funeral
made at the cost of comparative strangers. Though
they had kept studiously aloof from his death bed,
and did not lift a finger to prevent his being ignobly
buried in “Potter’s Field,” they were now ready with
their “subscriptions.” Subsequently, they sacreli
giously removed his body from the grave chosen by
himself, and without the consent of his relatives,—
against his own known and recordedwishes.to the spot
w here it now lies. Here they erected their monument
io his memory, which was duly chronicled as their
act in the papers of the day, and thus their pitiful am
bition was gratified. It is enough now to know, that
the living poet suffered for the common necessaries
of life,' with their knowledge, over whose dead body
they have erected a costly monument. The act is its
own trumpeter. A recent visit to Greenwood sug
gested the following
THOUGHTS
at McDonald clarke’s monument.
The pompous column pointing from thy tomb,
But mocks the memory of thy hapless lot.
Poor child of Genius—for thy bitter doom
Was but to struggle—die—and be forgot!
But it shall stand, enduring shame to those
Whose purse-proud vanity could place it here, ;
Yet closed their eyes upon thy living v,*oes.
Nor gave to thy hard late the pitying tear.
The gold thus lavished on thy lonely grave,
Had saved thy heart its bitter pangs while living;
But heartless plenty could not give to save—
It only gave when marble marked the giving.
They mocked the memory of the gifted poor,
With marble tomb and pompous form of wail,
But drove the living sufferer from their door,
Nor gave—to save thee, starving, from a jail!
While the proud builders of this marble fane,
Uncaring in their luxury could dwell,
Thy wasted form was racked with want and pain,
Within the cold walls of a felon’s cell!
They gave thee not a thought, when in the storm
Thy oared head battled with the winter’s snow,
But from its chosen grave they dragged thy form
To place it where their monument would shew!
Thy earnest wish while living, to be brought
Where wild-flowers only should bedeck thy bed,
Was nothing to the honied fame they sought,—
With gifts for stone, they had denied for bread!
Thy wants while living, and tfiy dying claim,,
Were all alike unheeded by the tools
Who sought to blend the glory of thy name
With the false halo that around them cools.
May every wrong they heaped upon thy head
Be present still with them to mark the deed—
And every good they should have wrought the dead,
Be yet denied them in their hour of need!
Oh may the thought of how thy being perished,
Cling like a curse to all their hearts’ desire—.
And the high fate of what thou had’st been, cherished,
Be burned upon their hearts in lines of fire!
New York, February, 1818.
Entered according to the Act of Congress in the
year 1847, by Williamsqn & Burns, in the Clerk’s
Office of the District Court of the Southern District
ot New York.
FRANK CARTER;
Or Adventures of an Enthusiast
IN THE'CITY AND WILDERNESS.
By the author of ‘ Jack Long, or Shot in the Eye 9
• PART SECOND.
CHAPTER V.
'Phere arc a great many nice people in New York—
as well as in the great world, who cannot understand
why ‘•persons” should do naughty things. They don’t
do them, to-be-sure, and they don’t see why other
folks should. , ■ ,
They don’t get drunk—not they! although every
hour in the day they throwaway the best juices of
life in flooding off the poison of tobacco—though
they make themselves and their neighbors into very
bad and very useless bacon with pipe and cigars,
though they spoil carpets, grates and every thing
they can spit on from the pulpit downward—though
their quivering nerves and neuralgic pains, and their
irritable impatience, and their dyspepsia, and their
torpor, have forced them to the doctors and drug
shops, till they have become walking medicine
chests, labelled with the blotch and blur, that being
interpreted, reads all manner of poisons—but they
don’t get drunk, not they! Though their bellies en
tomb all the plethoric animals that the butchers
“ have killed to save their lives,” as the common peo
ple say, when they see an animal diseased with ex
cessive fattening for the table, or when, as is the case
often in New York, the animal is charitably slaught
ered because it has beebme incapable ot swilling
swill, and with the rottenness of thousand of miliany
tubercles to the square inch of its mucous membrane
it is dying of drunkenness, to feed the calm lives ot
those who never get drunk! Though their stomachs
are blistered with bblognas, and imitation bolognas
though “ their eyes stand out with fatness,” and their
brain is so greasy that it would more readily make
tallow candles, than discover the philosophy of pov
erty, or learn that there was no very admirable
ethics involved in the starvation or brutalisation of
the masses, though all this is true of them, yet they
never get drunk, not they. .
Though the good lady mother of a family, drinks
tea till her skinny heck looks as .if it were cov
ered with wrinkled and very old parchment—though
she has to bind a black silk handkerchief around her
head to keep it from splitting with pain, for the poor
and interesting invalid, is “subject to nervous head
ache”—she never gets drunk, not she!
Though her temper becomes daily sharper thon
her wit, though her children shrink from her evil eye,
though her husband is Caudleized till he becomes a
very immoral man and drinks wine, and basks in the
smiles of some very wicked but very pleasant nymph,
who has not taken out a licence to torment him for
life, and though she goes into hysterics at the smell of
the poor man’s breath even when he ventures home
at ten, and gets very crazy and very cold, m these
same hysterics and very troublesome to undress, till
the husband gets used to unlacing boots, getting tiny
hooks out of their appropriate eyes in the back of a
very tight dress, and then unlacing and unpining,
and unmaking toilet and contour with the patience of
a Job and the skill of the anatomist, or mantua maker,
yet she never gets drunk, not she! She hates drunk
enness and wine drinking, as piously as she hates
literary women, if her husband happens to be book
ish and finds some facilities for conversation with
such ladies—this kind hearted variety of the species
that wonder how people can do naughty tilings, has
away of being good and wondering to the purpose.
She wonders who takes care of Mrs. B’s children
when shewrites verses and prize stories,(to buy bread
for these children) and she wonders why men should
always like such masculine women, and then she
gives in the same breath a very feminine and scanda
lous reason for it. And though this sweet lady tea
drinker, might have the excuse of all these, and sun
dry more pleasant amiabilities to strike a balance
sheet if she only chose to indulge in brandy and
water, gin sling and portwine, yet she has no taste
for arsenic, turpentine, etc., and hysterics; cold ex
tremities, jealousy and spasms are decidedly more
feminine and pious than lying under a table at a con
vivial supjler, till a friend, or the waiter carries the
individual to bed. or watching one’s legs, or locomo
tives to speak delicately, to see whether in crossing
one, another they actually change places, .or not—
taking sight by the hydrants and getting from one to
another and trying to count them, to take note of pro
gress, and not being able,—and when at home shaking
hands with oneself, with the congratulations of one
who has safely navigated the streets laden to the gut
ters edge with the “ good critter.” It is not a nice
point with the pious wonderers, to decide between
the comparative merits of an orthodox apoplexy
manufactured from coffee and turtle soup, and other
full feeding, and one imbibed from a brandy bottle
without tea spoon or fork. The only person who
' sees no particular difference is the undertaker, and
conventional usages trouble him but little—he lives
at the end oi them.
It is marvellous what a number of good people
there are in the world who never commit unfashion
able sins—they never get drunk, not they. If they eat
tobacco, confections, medicines, soups, surloins and
every variation of “death in the pot,”—if they drink
all sorts of narcotized beverages, till a person in
health is a rarer specimen than ever Barnum discov
ered, or ever will, though he got the sea serpent, dis
cover perpetual motion, or square the circle—yet
they never get drunk, not they! They have not the
sins of humanity, they,have,only its peccadilloes,
they know who deserves to be saved, and they know
that no drunkard has part in the kingdom of heaven;
and if by heaven, they mean a state of calm happi
ness consequent on true health material, or spiritual,
then the poor fevered drunkard knows it too, and the
voice of those who cant and wonder at his badness,
can never make his knowledge clearer, or their own
estate less pitiable.
When will men form temperance societies to put
down stock gambling, speculating in copper, corn,
and every thing conceivable. When will fanaticism,
• four days meetings,” and revivals, be met by a sani
tary police, and the brain be treated with the attempt
at mercy, that cholera and yellow fever obtain.
Be all this as it may, our friend Frank, amidst all
his dissipation was either shrewd or simple enough
to believe himself nearly as sober a man as any of
those he met in the ordinary conditions of society.
Certainly when he contrasted himself with the more
extraordinary or transcendental conditions, he knew
himself to be a soberer man, with three bottles of wine
under his belt. Yes, three or even four or live, and
the more heady the wine, the better. Because, as we
have said, his consciousness— or the poise of his in
ner life was never shaken, but only disturbed for a
time by these excesses. Although this disturbance
might last for months together—yet that alert
guardian would come to the rescue upon some sud
den impulse, and at once he would stand all erect
with a clear vision, long enough at least, to take his
observations—calculate his meridian and ascertain
his precise place.
He was now ready to go under the fog again with
comparative impunity, while the transcendentali.st
could never by any mistake get out of the fog at all..
It only required some peculiarincident which should
appeal to the indomitable instincts of beauty and
holiness within, to rouse him from the drunkenness of
wine to a free, true and generous expression of him
self, Understand—he did not drink the frightfully
poisoned mixtures, which our facetious countrymen
humorously call wine—nor did he poison himself
with meat, coffee, tea, &c , or else it would have taken
him a week to wake up sufficiently to realise a noble
impulse
He drank the light wines of Europe and had the un
worthy mood oi suicide overtaken him in his des
pair, ho would have hesitated little between one
glass of laudnum and a few of brandy—that dark hide
ous, upastainted draught which we call brandy.
Frank urged no plea for drunkenness of any kind,
and we have seen that he- carelessly plead guilty so,
far as he was concerned, and laughed at a public
opinion which besotted itself, and railed at him. But
what he would have urged, had he turned apostle is,
that our charitable world should learn to look the
truth lull in the face, and remember that there are
mofe kinds of drunkenness than one known amongst
men.
He indulged in no sophistry with himself, and was
not therefore weak and childish enough to suppose
that his own individual sin was in any degree lessen
ed or paliated by the fact, that so great a majority ol
. those about him were sinners, even in a ■worse and
lower sense than himself.
Let us be charitable, one to another, and God help
each man to bear his own burdens. Indeed, the fact
that the world which so bitterly denounced his vice,
which had at least the manly merit of scorning con
cealment—was itseil so debased as to take shelter
behind the sneaking covert-of conventional vices be
fore it could stimulate itself up to the courage, to
shout the co wardly hue and cry against him—would
have moved his compassion and sympathy, rather
than anger, had he by any accident been made aware
of the fact, that there- was a hue and cry going on
about him.
But with all his consciousness, he was unsconcious
of this, for he was too much occupied at present with
the darkness, famine, and desolation, which filled his
own soul, to think how sublimely devoted, it would
seem in him to become the missionary of this same
favorite famine, darkness, and desolation of his own
to the benighted Sandwich Islanders of the next door’
It was about a drawn game between society and
himself, lor he made up by indifference for all the
clamors it could raise, and thereby quite re-establish
ed the equilibrium of silence.
It will, be remembered, that the creed through
which Frank first introduced himself to us, was very
simple and austere, and we shall mark whether the
first love of both intellect and passion, has been equal
ly forgotten, and gone out in moanings beneath the
shadow which has fallen upon his life.
It was now several months since the duel, and the
life of Brank continued, in the general features of its
eccentricity to be rnuththe same as that we have dis
closed before.
He had taken the precaution lately; to carry arms
on his person whenever he went out at night—be
cause he had good reason to believe that his house
was watched, and that his steps were dogged from
place, to place
At first he had paid no attention to the fact—which
his indomitable habits of observation had never fail
ed to note, in spite of the wine he had drank—that
there were always persons in sight, loitering about
the I’ark, when he came out from his house.
Although at first he did not notice this particularly
• from a feeling of recklessness-yet gradually the re'
collection of it took hold upon him in spite oi himself
’ He found that go where he might, into alleys and
dens however obicure. he would always, when he
came forth, find that there was some body on the
alert in the neighborhood. Then if he went off, even
at full speed through the dark streets—as he some
times did, there seemed to follow him, a sort of faint
ghost-like, sound ot pursuing steps.
He came at last to notice this fact with a degree of
nervous apprehension which he could hardly account
for. From what quarter could this sort of insolent
surveillance come?
He tried to escape from this haunting sound of steps
pursuing. He would run on for several streets, and
then dodge behind the columns of some public edi
fice or crouch beneath the vestibule of some private
building, and wait for the pursuing steps to come on
but always without success, for when he stopped all
was as still as death.
At last, one night he armed himself, changed his
ordinary disguise, and thrust a pair oi India rubber
shoes into the large pockets of his rough over coat,
and came forth at the usual time with the determina
tion to find out at all risks, who this was,and what
this presumptions dogging meant.
He walked off with his boot-heels clattering along
tlie pavement, and after turning down two or three
streets and around several squares, he become con
vinced that ho was followed as usual. He now ran
on at lull speed until he tubned a corner, and then
quickly slipping on his India rubber shoes, glided
back with noiseless foot-fall, keeping as much within
the shadow of the lamps of possible.
The night was dark and in a little while he heard
the faint pattering of coming feet. He hid behind
the columns of a church.
He had scarcely concealed himself, when a man
came up with a cautious gliding step, as as if in fear
that the sound of his own foot-fall, would prevent
him from hearing something for which he listened
ahead.
His body was stooped and his ear, turned towards
the ground or pavement rather. Frank at once recog
nised the posture of an Indian pursuing his enemy or
his game by the nice sense of hearing, which detects
the flying tread, in reverberations along the earth.
He sprang out at once, from his concealment to
grapple with him. Withall the angry eagerness ot
his spring, Frank was not quite quick enough to se
cure the person of his pursuer. The man seemed to
have felt him coming—so alert was he in escaping
from his clutch, and Frank only succeeded in tearing
out a fragment of the rough over coat he wore, which
remained m his hand. The man had succeeded in
wresting himself from his imperfect grasp, by a move
ment as serpent-like as it was vigorous—but in the,
momentary struggle, which occurred under one of
the street lamps, Frank thought he recognised the
pale, copper face, of a half-breed Indian, he had ob
served to be the particular attendant of Freta at the
rancho, in the wilderness.
He stood still, looking at the fragment he held in his
hand, in blank and stolid amazement for some mo
ments while the receding footsteps throbbed upon his
startled ear.
“ Great God!” he mutterred, “ is she here?”
(To be continued.)
2oljii Omncu ■‘Ziratns.
John Quincy Adams was born m the town ot
Quincy, Mass., on the 11th day of July, 1767,
and christened by the name of John Quincy, af
ter his great grand father, who was a distin
guished citizen of the province in the early part
of the eighteenth century.
At the age of eleven years, he accompanied
his father to France, and received the daily ca
resses and instructions ot Dr. Franklin and other
distinguished men there. Thus he in a great
measure entered public life in early childhood.
In 1780, he again accompanied his father to
France. He went to school a short time in
Paris: and on the removal of his father to Hol
land, he was sent, first to the public school of
Amsterdam, and afterward to the city universi
ty of Leyden. In 1781, then only fourteen years
of age, he accompanied Mr. Francis Dana to
Russia. Mr. Dana had been appointed ambas
sador to that couit, and young Adams went as
his private Secretary. In the winter of 1782-’3,
he travelled alone through Sweden and Den
mark, thence to Hamburg and Bremen, and
reached the Hague in safety, where his father
was then minister for the United Slates. When
i n 1785, his father was appointed a minister to
England, he asked leave to return home and
complete his education, for hitherto his book
studies had been constantly interrupted. He
entered Harvard university, where he graduat
ed in July, 1787.
At the age of twenty he commenced the study
of Law with Theophilus Parsons, of Newbury
port,* and after completing his course of study,
be removed to Boston and commenced practice,
employing his leisure in writing upon political
| subjects. His essays, showing it to be the duty
1 of the United States to remain neutral in regard
f to the existing quarrel between France and Eng
land, were read with admiration, and they effec
tually aided m resisting the efforts of Genet to
involve the United States in the controversy.
They gave him a reputation as a writer and
statesman, and his talents were appreciated by
Washington.! In May, 1794, lie was appointed
resident minister to the Netherlands. Toward
the close of his administration, Washington
appointed linn minister to Portugual: but while
on his way to Lisbon, he received a commission
from his father, (then president,) which chang
ed his destination to Berlin,! where he effected
a commercial treaty with Prussia. In May,
1797, he was married to Louisa Catharine,
daughter of Joshua Johnson, of Maryland, at the
time residing in London.
He returned to America in 1801, and in 1802,
lie was elected to a seat in the senate of Massa
chusetts. In 1803, he was elected to a seat in
the United States Senate, where fie uniformly
supported the measures of Mr. Jefferson. For
this support the Massachusetts legislature cen
sured him, and in 1806 he resigned his seat.
In 1809, Mr. Madison appointed him Minister
Plenipotentiary to the court of the Emperor of
Russia, and he was the first who occupied that
station. The Emperor Alexander admitted
him to adegree of intimacy quiteextraordinary,
and when the war between the United States
and Great Britain was declared m 1812, he of
fered his mediation, but it was rejected by the
latter government. In 1814, Mr. Adams was
placed atthehead of the American commission
ers at Ghent, to negotiate for peace. In con
nexion with Clay and Gallatin, he negotiated a
treaty of commerce with Great Britain, on the
basis of which our present commercial relations
with that country are founded.
In 1814, Mr. Adams was appointed Minister:
to the court of St. James, which post he occupi
ed until 1817, when President Monroe offered
him a seat in his cabinet as Secretary of State.
He accepted the office, and remained therein
during the eight years’ administration of Mr.
Monroe. His indefatigable industry, and clear,
statesman like views, rendered him one of the
most useful men in the country.
In 1824, Mr. Adams was one of the five candi
dates for President of the United States. In
consequence of this number, by which the votes
in the electoral college were divided, that body
could not make a choice, and it was referred to
the House ol Representatives. Mr. Adams was
chosen, and on the 4:11 of March, 1825, he was
inaugurated. The Senate being in session, he
at once nominated his cabinet, which .nomina
tions were confirmed.N
Mr. Adams’ administration was one.of almost
unbroken peace and prosperity—peace with for
eign nations, and tranquillity and prosperity at
home. Such being the case, there are but few
prommenteventsin his administration requiring
especial notice, and these chiefly relate to our
domestic affairs. Unlike his predecessor, Mr.
Monroe, Mr. Adams found a powerful opposi
tion to his administration rapidly growing up,
and at the close of his term, the party lines
were very distinctly drawn.
In 1824, some difficulty arose between the
general government and State of Georgia, re
specting the extinguishment of the Indian ti
tles in that State,§ but it was soon amicably set
tled. In August, a treaty was concluded with
the northwestern tribes, and a general peace
with the savages ensued. In September, La
Fayette departed for France in the frigate Bran
dywine IT When he left Washington, Mr. Ad
ams pronounced an eloquent parting address, in
presence of a vqst concourse of people.
The first session of the nineteenth Congress
passed but few acts of general public interest,
and when the second session opened, hostility
to the administration was so strongly manifest
ed, that it was evident, that measures, even of
acknowledged public utility,would,if proposed by
the President or his friends, meet with much
opposition. Mr. Calhoun, the Vice President,
was alienated from Mr. Adams, and the opposi
tion, daily accumulating strength, assumed the
decided lineaments of a distinct party, before
the close of the session in 1827. As early as
October. 1825, the legislature of Tennessee no
minated Gen. Jackson as a candidate for the
Presidency, which nomination was accepted bv
him, and he resigned his seat in the Senate of
that State.
A general tariff-bill was passed on the 19th ol
April, 1828, in accordance with numerous peti
tions and memorials from northern manufactu
rers and others. It was very unpopular in the
Southern States, and attempts.were made for its
revision, but it remained in force until 1832,
when it was changed by tl* compromise-bill
offered by Mr. Clay.
The presidential election took place in the au
tumn of 1828. Public feeling was highly excit
ed, and all the bitterness of party rancour which
distinguished the two parties at the time of Mr.
Jefferson’s election was exhibted. The candi
dates were General .Jackson and Mr. Adams;
the result was the election of the former by a
vote in the electoral college of one hundred and
seventy one to eighty-eight On the third of
March, 1829, Mr. Adams left the Presidential
chair, and retired to private life, beloved by his
political friends, and highly respected by his op
ponents.
The most prominent features in Mr. Adams’
administration were those'pertaining to the do
mestic policy of the government, and time alone
can determine how far that policy was based
upon sound wisdom. That much was done for
the true honor, glory, and prosperity of the coun
try, none can deny. During his administration,
internal improvements had been fostered with a
liberal hand, nearly fourteen million’s of dollars
having been expended for these and other bene
ficial objects; more than five millions of dollars
were appropriated to the surviving officers of the
Revolution, and at the same tiniethe interest on
the public debt was punctually paid, and the
principal was reduced more than thirty millions
of dollars; When Mr. Adams left ,the executive
chair, the United States were at peace with all
the world.
But he was not long permitted to enjoy the re
pose of private life, In 1830, he was elected to
represent in Congress the district in which he
resided, and m December, 1831, lie took his
seat in the House of Representatives. From
that time he has been a member of the House,
and one of its indefatigable laborers. His fervid
eloquence on all occasions where his feelings
were warmly enlisted, gave him great power in
d‘ bate, and obtained for him the appellation of
the .
“ OLD MAN ELOQUENT.”
* While a student in his office, Parsons was chosen
to address Washington on the occasion of his visit
there.- He asked each of his students to write an ad
dress. That of Adams was chosen and delivered by
Parsons.
t Mr. Jefferson, who formed an acquaintance with
him in Paris, recommended Washington to introduce
him into the public service.
was made by the advice and appro
val of Washington.
ll_He appointed Henry Clay,of Kentucky, Secretary
Bichard Bush, of Pennsylvania, Secretary of
the I reasury ; James Barbour, of Virginia, Secretary
ral ’ r ’ an< * ' r ‘ continued Attorney-Gene-
§ A few Creek chiefs, in violation of a law of their
nation, negotiated with the United States for a ces
sion of all their lands in Georgia and Alabama. The
matter was finally settled to the satisfaction of both
Georgia and the Indians, by the latter retaining their
lands m Alabama.
This was a new frigate, and was named Brandy
wine jn honor oi La Fayette, who was distinguished
lor his valor m the battle at the river ol that name,
during our Revolution.
Influence of the Will over the Body.—
If a person, at an advancing age, is unable, by an
effort ot the will to “ pluck from the memory a
rooted sorrow,” the intellect is liable to become
disordered, and may gradually sink into an in
cipient state of desponding melancholy; whith,
if not suffered to grow upon him, he may, by a
persevering effort of mind, disperse those la
mentable impressions which, if allowed to exist,
gradually sink into a confirmed imbccihy of
mind; and sometimes derangement. Persons
so predisposed should by eyejy means, which
nature has placed in their power, dissipate
ffloorny reflections; and, by an effort of mind,
think on subjects that encourage cheerful
thoughts; which, though at fust, may appear
oilllcult to effect, vet by a constant persevereiice
oi the will, all melancholy reflections may be
ultimately subdued, and lively associations in
agreeable and intelligent society render the in
tellect more happily disposed.
Some years ago, the following notice was
posted about the estate of Lord Camben: “ No
tice to Sportsmen In consequence of the uni
versal scarcity of game. Lord Camden does not
intend to shoot himself, or any of his tenants
until after the 25th instant.
[Original.]
Sketches by ilje (Haptain.!
NUMBER TWENTY-EIGHT.
A YANKEE Tn A HAREM.
The reader may be sure that it was a long time
before the French undertook the conquest and
colonization of Algiers, a conquest which has
cost so much, and a colonization which amounts
to so little, that 1 developed the strongest ot
Yankee characteristics, by thrusting my curious
gaze within the sacred precincts of the Dey’s
harem.
I was just into my nineteenth year, rather
slight in person, with a fresh complexion, and
not the slightest foreshadowing of a beard on
my face—when I was m Algiers, eight-and
twenty years ago.
A party of French ladies, with whom I was
acquainted, had been invited to visit the ladies
ol the Dey’s domestic establishment, on the fol
lowing day.
“ I should like to be of the party,” I exclaim
ed, with not the remotest idea that my wish
would be gratified.
“And why not!” said one of the party, a
young married lady, who was delighted with
the sport which such an adventure promised;—
“why not! you’ll pass very well for a girl, if
you’ll agree to behave modestly;” and she rath
er provokingly patted my beardless face.
1 didn’t like the idea of donning petticoats,
but 1 was very anxious to inspect the Dey’s
housekeeping arrangements. The ladies con
sented to take me, and I agreed to repair to their
house early the next morning, to be rigged out
for the adventure.
Byron has given a very tolerable idea of the
difficulties which attend the assumption of fe
male csstume by one of the other sex; but poor
Juan’s sufferings were as nothing compared
with those I endured under the direction of my
French lady friends. They insisted that the
disguise should be perfect; ’it would be a glo
rious adventure, they said, if I was not discov
ered; but any awkwardness on my part, or any
disarrangement of my gear, would attract the
notice of the sharp eyed guardians of the harem
—guardians not likely to be charitable in such
matters, the more especially aS they never need
ed chanty themselves—the poor neuters—and
my head would be the penalty of my curiosity,
and the carelessness of my dressing women.
After two hours spent in arrangement, observa
tion and directions as to my walk, the way I
should carry my hands, &c., the ladies said I
would do—
“ And now being femininely all arrayed,
With some small aid from scissors, paint and twee
zers,”
I-“ looked in almost all respects a maid—”
and we started on our visit.
“■Don’t take such long steps; ladies never
walk in that fashion,” said one of the ladies;
“ walk mincingly and nice, as though there were
pebbles in your shoes—there, that is better; put
your toes out, throw your head a little back—not
so much—and be a little more easy in your car
riage if possible; your skirt has a very unlady
like swing. You needn’t carry your arms as
though they were both dislocated above the el
bow—cross them in front, that’s a good girl, and
fancy that you are your , sister, and not her
brother.”'
1 was wonderfully patient under these afflic
tions, and was rewarded with very encouraging
words and smiles from my companions, who de
clared, at last, that I wasja credit to their sex; a
compliment which I took the wrong way, since
it seemed a kind of intimation that 1 was no
credit to my own.
We were received at the harem by a very Ba
baish looking person—a civil, passionless indi
vidual, who at once conducted us through the
intricacies of an oriental domestic structure, in
to the court yard. Perhaps I did not open my
eyes then! There were thirty or forty most
beautiful creatures, who suddenly left off their
sports, and gathered with childish curiosity
around us. One whom I took to be her lady
ship, the Dey’s bride, A No. 1, and who did the
hono.r3 with charming grace, was particularly
attentive to me. She made me sit down by her
side, when coffee was brought in, and through
the aid ot a venerable neuter, who spoke a little
f rench, I managed to get up quite an interesting
conversation. Pipes were produced, and her
ladyship was astonished and delighted to see me
roll out volumes of smoke, which I did with a
real relish.
In good time we were called away to the bath.
This was more than my French friends had
counted upon, when the adventure was first
proposed; but it was too late to retreat now. In
we all went to the large and deliciously cool
bathing apartment; there was the spacious ba
sin in the centre, and there were the attendants
to assist us in disrobing. The dear, unsuspect
ing orientals began to divest themselves of their
garments; but when they saw us decline the
services of the attendants, they gathered around,
chattering, and laughing, and insisted on our
participating’in their aquatic sports. Not we!
My triends did not know what to do, or what to
say They were wiser than the ladies of the
harem and would not bathe; I could not. Stay
there we must; that was embarrassing enough
to them. Two pretty girls, who were quite
ready to plunge into the pure waler, caught hold
of me, and endeavored to loosen some of my
gear 1 resisted in womanly style, but with a
man’s strength, and they soon desisted, though
I saw that they were surprised and chagrined.
Finally, to put an end to the scene, I gave them
to understand that the day was a sacred one
according to our religion, and we could not
bathe, though we could drink coffee, and I could
smoke. This seemed to satisfy them, and they
at once, and,with a joyous shout, plunged into
the basin.
The scene which followed, I shall not attempt
to desetibe. I was so malicious as to ask my
companions if they enjoyed it. Theygaveme a
look, which was quite significant enough to
prevent my repeating the question. It seemed a
very little time to me, that which the fail occu
pants of the Dey’s palace passed in the bath, but
it was an age to my companions. They bit their
lips with vexation; the color went and came in
then cheeks, and their eyes flashed with anger,
whenever they detected the malicious smile
which I could not repress.
All things have an end—the bathing sceneter
minated at last, and we all passed into the ad
joining apartment, where refreshments were
again served. It was when Baba was helping
me to coffee, that I caught the eyes of the old
rascal bent enquiringly upon me. To say that 1
was frightened, gives but a faint ideaof the effect
caused by those little, cold, malignant eyes.
For a moment I was palsied with fear. Without
a doubt my disguise had beeil penetrated. I al
ready felt the bow string ; there was a choking
sensation in my throat; I was in the sack, and
floating in the bay ! The reader will be good
enough to remember' that I was only eighteen
years old, and was moreover a woman to all ap
pearance. This horrible state of doubt and ap
prehension fortunately lasted <nly a short time.
In a few minutes we arose and took our leave.
Old Baba escorted us to the outer sate, and
never once took his eyes off' of me. When we
were fairly out, I took a long breath and blessed
God.
We walked home in silence. After I had re
sumed the habiliments belonging to me, I re
joined the ladies. They had somewhat re
covered their composure, and asked me how I
felt?
.“As though I would like to be the Dey of Al
giers,” I replied with a bow, “and you, ladies,
were members of my interesting family.”
Nothing more was said. It was a harem scar
um adventure.
Horrible Death.—We translate the follow
ing from a French paperA banditti, consist
ing of eight persons, were rectly arrested dur
ing the night, in a village near Vence. As it
was too late to transport them elsewhere, they
were put into a dungeon, and lhe chief of the
band, notorious for his cruelty, and the number
of assassinations he 'rid committed, was con
fined in an old tower, which had been uninhab
ited for some time Towards midnight, the
sentinel, who was n- ar this tower, having heard
at first oaths, an.*: ntierwards groans, reported
this to the local authority. Little importance
was attached to it, and they waited till morning
to confirm the circumstances; hut what was
their astonishment when, at break of day, they
repaired to the tower, they found the prisoner
dead, and all his limbs mangled. In order to
discover the cause of so terrible a death, they
deposited in the same place several pieces of
poisoned food. At the end of two days, thirty
two serpents were found dead tn the same
place.
Applauding in Churches —lt is proposed
that, inasmuch as certain churches have become
mere fashionable resorts for the gay andtonnish,
where the display of dress, opera-glasses, and
opera manners is impudently made, the custom,
also operatic, of applauding the music and the
fine sentiments of rhe preacher, be incontinent
ly adopted. Only think what an effect it would
have to hear nine hundred and ninety-nine pairs
of white kids making the arches of Grace ring
again with their clapping, while above the man
ufactured dm rose multitudinous bravos, bravis,
bravas. 11 owever—it would be merely a revival
of an old custon, for we are told by history
“ that in the fourth century the people were not
only permitted, but sometimes were exhorted by
the preacher himself to approve his talents by
.dapping of hands, and loud acclamations of
praise. The usual words used were ‘Orthodox!’
‘Third Apostle!’&c. Therefore if people will
insist on making theatres’ and opera houses of
their churches, we insist on the applause also—
Hey, hey !Go it! Orthodox— bravo, bravt, brava!
Third Apostle! clap-clap-clap!”— Elephant.
Extra Detonation —The Satntific Meihan
ic says that Mr. Robert Wallace, of St. John,
N. B.„ recently constructed u brass trumpet,
about five feet long, with a bell mouth, the latter
two feet eight inches in diameter. The instru
ment is fitted tightly on the end of a loaded mus
ket. On the discharge of which a very loud
noise is produced, similar to that resulting from
a cannon of a large calabre. Such an instru
ment. must prove to be useful and economical, on
board of ships and at light-house stations, for
the purpose of making signals in foggy weather,
ot in the night time, or upon occasions of dis
tress.
{JCW-fThe ladies who take chloroform to pro
duce insensibility, while undergoing toothdraw
ing, &c., should recollect one serious fact—that
the state of excitement into which chloroform
throws a person, strongly resembles in one par
ticular, the effects produced by inhaling what is
vulgarly termed the “laughing gas,” and that
persons m that state sometimes do little acts
that, at least, they woifld be ashamed of in
their sober moments. We need add nothing
further.
Henry Fieldins.—A correspondent of Doug
lag Jerrold’s Newspaper says: “It may not be
generally known to the public, that, in a humble
lodging in the western suburbs of London, ob
scure and unknown, resides the grandson and
legitimate offspring of the author of “ Tom
Jones.t’ His present descendant is about fifty
years of age, and albeit with the prestige of so
great a name, and not without talent, is, I be
lieve,' wholly unknown to the literary world.
He is happily provided with a small indepen
dence.”
OCj- Mr. George E. W. Thompson killed, on
the 29th ult., on the banks of the Tunica, in Lou
isiana, a wild turkey v/hich weighed, when,
dressed, thirty-three pounds and a quarter! be
sides twenty-one partridges, sixteen squirrels,
seven rabbits, three wild ducks, four owls, two
hawks, and thirty-two blackbirds!
Punishing Calumny.—ln the middle ages, in
France, a person convicted of being a calum
niator, was condemned to place himself on all
fours, nnd bark like a dog, for a quarter of an
hour. If this,custom were adopted at the pre
sent day, we guess there would be some bow
wowing. /
A Mr. Baker is a candidate for Congress
in Illinois. It is thought that he will make a
<Zoug/i-faced representative.
[Original.]
To Woman.
(TRANSLATION OF THE SECOND ODE OF ANACREON.)
BY A MEMBER OF THE BALTIMORE BAR.
[Anacreon was the most celebrated of the lyric
poets of Greece. His verse, marked by the inspired
accents of passion, and flowing in the sweetest me
lody, have ever made him a favorite with the young.
He teaches neither the elevating tone of morality,
nor the searching truths of philosophy—yet what
cannot genius do? The accomplished libertine, by (
the sorcery of an inspired mind, makes us iorget ins .
errors and feel an interest in his very weaknesses. ;
The erratic course ot the lawless meteor is forgotten j
amidst the splendid scintilations of its own creation. I
He sings of love, the myrtle wreath, and rosy bower, |
for he has told us in his own beautiful language— i
?/ Xvpij yap [t6vovs “ Epwrr?” afiet
for my lyre sings only love.]
Nature with ajust decree,
To all did give a part;
To fishes, fins to swim the sea;
To horses, hoofs to start.
She gave to cattle, horns to wield
When danger threatened near;
To hares, their feet to skim the field,
When pressed by hounds to fear.
She gave to birds their plumage bright,
To soar upon the air;
To lions, teeth to dare the fight,
And mangle in their lair.
She gave to man, decision’s brow,
And wisdom’s prudent tongue;
But when she came to woman, now—
Behold her gifts were gone.
But quick upon her brow she threw
A radiance bright as day:
Upon her neck of snowy hue,
The flowing ringlets play.
And from her eyes a mellow light,
Gleam'd beauteous to the view;
As when the sun with beams so bright,
Shines soft through evening’s dew.
When thus array’d in ev’ry grace,
Nature upon her smil’d;
Gave the expression to her face.
And own’d her favorite child.
From that day she has ruled, the queen,
Above both sword and fire;
The radiant vision of the poet’s drcam,
And theme of ev’ry lyre.
[Original.]
lehtral) an&
BY JENNY SMITH.
“ Look you, friend, it is nothing to me whether you
believe it, or not; what 1 say is true.’*
One dusty, hot summer’s day, panting with
heat, I stood in the small country tavern of
the village of Claremont, New Hampshire,
waiting for the stage which was to convey me
for a long visit to Aunt Keturah’s.
Some of my city readers may not have seen
that most uncomfortable of all conveyances,
and for their edification, I will describe.—
Several years since, they were common all
over New England, but their rivals, the steam
cars have gradually driven them to the remote
corners of the States.
With a coach like body confidently setup
on four wheels, and a team of four smart
horses, it looked defiance at all the farmers’
chaises and go-carts it met upon its route. It
contained three seats, each contrived, so that
by dint of much crowding, packing and ad
justing of positions, nine persons could be
seated; all the extra bandboxes, and dropsi
cal bundles, were deposited upon the knees
of the unlucky gentlemen, who patiently bore
the burdens imposed upon them, although
sometimes piled nose high; on the back of
the carriage was a rack, capable of contain
ing the heavy baggage and trunks of the
travellers; the driver was perched upon an
elevated seat in front, as smart a looking Jehu,
and as proud, as any one could desire.
I soon heard the horn sounded, which an
nounced its approach, and with a crack of the
whip, and an extra flourish upon his horn,
Mr. Flanders drove his horses up to the door.
After attending to their wants, and arrang
ing my baggage, the driver with the polite
ness and courtesy of his craft, assisted me up
the steps, and graciously pushed me through
the narrow door. A cheer to the horses, a
cut of the whip, and we are off, amid clouds
of dust.
As soon as I was well seated, had arranged
my feet, and elbowed places for my arms, I
began to take a leisurely survey of my travel
ling companions, there were eight ot us; in
the opposite corner to myself was a fat old
lady with an enormous basket upon her lap,
which she had resolutely refused to allow a
gentleman to carry for her, although he re
peatedly told her it Would be only a pleasure;
a farmer and his daughter sat beside her ; two
young school girls occupied the back seat,
while by my side sat two young men. They
were all silent when I entered, and as the
stage started early in the morning from a dis
tant part of the state, I imagined them to
have bustled about before the dawn, wakeful
and anxious end now that they were so well
upon their route, resigning themselves to half
waking dreams. I also, had my dreams; and
not a little exciting they were, so drawing my
green veil over my face I resigned myself to a
flood of fancies, and projects which flitted
across my brain.
Gradually however, as we travelled, our
party seemed to arouse themselves; the old
lady wondered whether we were near the town
where we stopped to dine, and with the far
mer discussed the probabilities of heavy crops
and a good baying season ; the young school
girls recounted their conquests to each other;
and a murmured conversation was going
on between the young men near me. I caught
a sentence in which Aunt Keturah’s name
was prominent, and fox- a moment, started in
alarm lest I was discovered; one oi these
young men, then thought 1, must be my cousin
Ebenezer whom I am to meet at my Aunt’s.
With many sidelong glances, I discovered
him in the one who sat next me—proud, noble
arid intellectual was the cast of his head,
while around his mouth played a satirical
smile; it was as if he had two natures, the
one ethereal, refined, spiritual; the other,
earthly, conceited, vain there was a melan
choly deepening the shade upon his brow, a
touch of scorn and contempt passing over his
countenance as he talked, which interested
although it repelled.
“ Does your cousin share your feelings, I
heard his companion ask ?” “ I neither know,
nor care, he replied,” although I am going to
Aunt Keturah’s, expressly to meet, her; I
have only seen her once, and that, was while
I was a college boy; she was then, a green,
unformed girl, sallow and thin, with a long
poking head, always thrown in advance of
her body, her eyes were covered with green
goggles, and altogether, she formed a most un
interesting picture, for me to contemplate as
my future wife.” Much more conversation fol
lowed, and as I heard, I inwardly burned with
a desire for summary 'Vengeance ; ridiculous
as was the summing up of my youthful charms,
and true as I knew the description to be, I yet
winced, as it was brought so vividly to my
recollection; even Aunt Keturah’s favorite
proverb, so often repeated in those days, came
up as a finish to the picture, “ Handsome is
that handsome does.”
But unknown to my cousin, who had just j
returned from Europe, with the return of'
health, and strength, I had grown to be quite !
passable, as a young lady, and admirers were
not wanting, who told me my form was a I
model for the sculptor, my eyes more brilliant!
than gas light, and my auburn locks graceful
as the twining tendrils of the vine;' true, 1 ;
had some misgivings about their sincerity for (
Aunt Keturah always came in for a share with i
myself, and the same lips that whispered deli- |
cate flatteries into my ear, eulogized her
youthful charms, and caressingly admired I
her amiable disposition.
My cousin’s companion, whom he called J
Sam, told him 1 had many admirers, and cited I
his friend Styles, whom he said had been re- I
fused point blank by me, although he vowed
he would evejj take the old lady, could he be
certain of the neice,—“her only reply to all
otters, is, that she is engaged to cousin Ebe
nezer, and that she fully agrees with her
father, and uncle, the names and money must
be kept in the family.”
But my cousin was incredulous, and declar
ed that my money was my only attraction;
that I might take his, and as for the names ef
Keturah, and Ebenezer, millions would never
tempt him to curse a child with either of
them.
As I listened in silence, I inwardly vowed
to subdue this knight, who would not ac
knowledge my charms, and to make him love
even the green goggles, for sweet Keturah’s
sake. Down deep in the recesses of my heart,
1 had a lingering penchant for him; at the time
he visited my lather’s I was all he described
me to have been, and he particularly, had
shown me the most grateful sympathy; his
kind heart had been touched by my suffering,
and revealed itself in affectionate words, and
ready action, I had cherished these remem
brances, and a kindly feeling had grown up
then for him, and when my parents left me
an orphan, consigned to Aiint Keturah’s guar
dianship, I was well satisfied to hear his
praises, for he was a great favorite of hers, —I
always read his letters addressed to her, but
he never mentioned my name, and until this
day 1 had not the slightest suspicion how I
was regarded by him.
We could trace our ancestry back through
many generations, to the Mayflower, and the
names of Keturah, and Ebenezer were reli
giously preserved in the family, until my
cousin and myself, with Aunt Keturah, were
the sole representatives of our old puritanical
ancestors; our parents were all dead, and our
aunt, faithful to both of us, was intrusted with
our guardianship, and the consummation of
the union, planned between us, by our pa
rents ; if either of us married another person
, without her consent, that one’s property, was
| to be equally divided between the other, and
I our aunt; but she good soul, with enough of
this world’s goods, inherited the old pride of
ancestry, and thought it little less than sacri
lege, to doubt the wisdom of those preced
ing us.
The knowlege that my cousin was on his
I way to my aunt’s at the same time as myself,
was not a little embarrassing, and I resolved
to stop at the next town, and fully arrange my
plans, trusting to chance, for a conveyance
when ready to proceed.
I had apparently not been much noticed by
my cousin, his mind being so 1 much absorbed
by his future prospects, as to leave him no
time for way-side pleasantries, and observa
tions.
As we drove up to the tavern where we
were to dine, the old farmer alighted, and
quietly helped out his daughter ami myself,
and we went into the “ best room” of the inn,
the gentlemen remaining in the public bar
room. I ordered a private room, and gave
directions that my trunks should be trans- :
ferred to it from the stage; the old lady with
the basket, was also to remain, and proved i
very inquisitive with regard to my future des
tination, and in return for my monosyllabic <
replies, she confidingly gave me a sketch of
her whole history, up to the present time,
when she expected Johnny, her nephew, to
come in a wagon, and take her to his own
house. She was one of those gossiping busy
bodies, who are invariably sent for, when the
measles, whooping cough, or the other thou
sand and one maladies which attack little
folks, make their appearance—received with a
blessing, and. with a god speed, sent upon their
i way, when the emergency passes.
• My room was soon prepared, and attended
by the landlady, 1 proceeded to occupy it; it
. was a cool, comfortable apartment at the back
of the house, o’er shadowed by a drooping
elm, and fragrant, with the perfume of the
honey-suckle and woodbine, that rising with
j each other, clambered in at the window; the
! whitest of linen covered the bed, and draped
I thejwindowand toilet, while the bare boards of
i the floor, bore incontestable marks, in their
'. unsullied whiteness, of the labors of my wor
' thy hostess.
j After drawing off my travelling attire, I
| threw myself into an easy chair before the
I window, in a half dreamy state; the sun left
me there, twilight crept on and gradually
grew to night, the whippoorwill sang out his
mournful call, and the noisy talkers below
! stairs, had all gone to their homes, before my
plans were fully settled; then, after arranging
' my toilet for the night, I took a leisurely sur
vey of myself in the glass, and with a self
complacent smile, surrendered my charms to
old Somnus’ arras, and was soon in the land of
dreams.
I dreamed I was transformed to an ogress,
with green goggles, while a host of Ebenezers
’ pulling them from my eyes, threw ms down,
down, and I kept falling all night.
j With the morning sun I rose, and after a
I lengthy consultation with the landlady, and
j some valuable assistance from her, I packed
I all brilliant garments in a trunk by themselves,
i and proceeded to array myself in the quaker
costume with which she furnished me ; dress
ed in a rich brown silk, I could scarcely re
press a sigh of regret, when I saw my fair
proportions curtailed, and the voluminous
folds, upon which I had prided myself, re
placed by the nice plaits, smoothed down
around the waist, with an exactness regard
’ less of all symmetry; a plain muslin kerchief
, was drawn about my throat, and my long
sleeves, buttoned close to the wrist, without
even the relief of a cuff, but when I came to
the arrangement of my hair, then indeed, was
I half inclined to resume my old dress ; my
ringlets, rich and luxurious as my flatterers
had often told me, must be smoothed back,
and the least inclination to a wave, must be
repressed ; my cheeks were full, and rosy, so
I hastily gulped down a sigh, and drew my
tresses tightly back from my forehead—then I
drew forth the old green goggles, and placed
them over my eyes, and with drab shawl, and
hat, went forth from my room, prepared for
my visit to my aunt.
The stable boy was to carry me there, a dis
tance of some dozen miles, and with a mar
tyr like air, I bade the landlady farewell,and
seated bythe fragrant lad, started upon the
route. The sun was high up in the heavens,
when we left, and from the slowness of our
' steed, who had been taken from the > field
work for my accommodation, I had hopes of
not reaching Salem until after dark. As I
jogged along in the rickety old chaise, up hill
and down, my ride was enlivened by the
blunt questions,and naive remarks of the boy
seated so familiarly beside me. »
The long afternoon stole away, and as we
neared the city, the lights glimmered out,
one by one, and gradually in the streets rang
. ed themselves in long files on either side of
. us. The tired old horse, as the suspicion
, flashed upon him, of approaching rest and
[ food, actually started into a brisk trot, lash
t ing the old chaise at his heels, in a perfect
i fever of excitement; the stable-boy snuffed
audibly, as the fumes of punch and beer as
i saulted us from the open doors of the pot
houses, and I, I shrunk back in a corner of
' the chaise, trembling with excitement.
“Cheer up, Miss,” said my companion, as
we drove through the court-yard, and rode
up to a side-door of my aunt’s house. “Here’s
your aunt’s house—l’ve bin here afore; she
' gives the best price for country eggs and
. butter;” no aunt Keturah appeared, however,
' to welcome me, and after paying the boy, I
rushed up to my eld room, desiring the ser
vant to send her up to me.
I threw myself upon an old lounge, and
anxiously awaited my aunt’s entrance.
, She soon came ; when she first entered, a
vast degree of exultation was visible in her
countenance—but as she fully took in my
j whole appearance, she, without waiting to
welcome, overwhelmed me with a torrent of
! reproaches; she told me that she had labored
very hard, ever since my cousin’s arrival,
to convince him that I was utterly changed,
and just as she hoped that I arrived to prove
the truth of her assertions, I must, by my
folly, destroy them entirely; she did not con
ceal from me the disgust he entertained for
the anticipated connection, or his mean opin
ion of my charms, in hopes I might be induc
ed to alter my costume; but with opposition,
my resolution, which had been fainting,
strengthened, and with the perversity of my
character, I resolved that very night to meet
him.
After Aunt Keturah had spent her kindly
wrath; a few kisses, and an assurance that all
would be well, restored her to humor ; she
even assisted in smoothing back the refracto
ry ringlets, and said playfully it was well I
could not take the gloss from my hair, or pull
out my long lashes, although in wearing gog
gles I had done the next thing to it.
The tea bell sounded, and leaning upon
Aunt Keturah’s arm, I entered the room, my
cousin was already there, and evidently await
ing our entrance ; as my aunt named us to
each other, he gave me a look of surprised
disgust, and took his seat at table; through
my goggles I watched him; he did not once
raise his eyes towards me, and evidently
wished me to understand that from the very
first, his disgust and abhorrence were invin
cible.
Aunt Keturah violently dilated upon her
surprise at my adoption of the Quaker cos
tume, and corresponding belief in their pecu
liar views; and with this safe vent for her
dislike of my proceedings, she wrathfully as
saulted cousin Ebenezer, who, drinking his
tea. in silence, gave me to understand that
my csnduct and opinions were not of the
slightest consequence to him.
When the tea table was removed, Aunt:
Keturah took her knitting, and I amused her
with news of her friends in the country, cous
in Ebenezer took a book, and soon seemed to
be absorbed in its contents, but I watched
him closely while we talked, and I saw that.
for the long evening, he never took his eyes |
from the same page.
When I bade him good night, Codrage,.
I said I to myself, 1 have distracted his atten-1
| tion —one thing gained.
The next morning, as I met Aunt Keturah j
at the breakfast table ; she told me Ebenezar :
had gone out, leaving word that he would not i
I return until late in the evening; I well j
knew what influence I had in causing his ab- I
i sence; but in doing the amiable to Aunt Ke
! turah, and smoothing her ruffled plumes, the
I morning passed away ; my young acqu..intan
; ces dropped in during the afternoon and ’
\ evening; greatly surprised were they at the ;
! change in me, which they supposed to be
real; the goggles were accounted for, by com-
, plaining of weak eyes,
• We were a merry party of gentlemen and
I ladies, when Ebenezer entered the room ; he
seemed much surprised at the appearance of
things; but alter the introductions, quietly
seated himself apart in silence. In my con
versation, however much 1 might jest, I
never for a moment forgot my disguise, nor
the peculiar characteristics of the class, to
which I was supposed- to belong; my cousin
took no notice of me, and evidently looked
upon the gentlemen who flattered me, with
contempt.
That evening, as 1 bade him good night, I
confess my hopes of winning him in Quaker
costume, began to waver.
I dreamed again, that I was a great owl,
with staring green ..eyes, that cousin Ebene
zer wore green goggles, and that I suffocated
him in the grasp of my claws.
Several days thus passed, and he gradually
came in earlier in the evening; sometimes
joining in our conversation ; often reading
to us. One night, in the height of a discus
sion, which threatened to prove.boisterous, I
as if involuntarily, raised my goggles. He
had commenced a sentence very earnestly,
but paused suddenly, as he looked up, and
snatching the glasses from my hand, threw
them out of the window; immediately he re
lapsed into silence, and apparently forgot the
subject under discussion, and in silence, on
his part, the evening passed away; nothing
farther was said about the glasses; my search
under the window proved fruitless, they
were not to be found. I waa not sorry to be
relieved of wearing them, although it was 1
who now dropped my eyes under my cousin’s
earnest glances; I could no longer look at
him unobserved, but I felt my power, altho’
very courageously 1 resolved not to use it.
One morning, as I sat at my work, and Ebe
nezer reading to me, Aunt Keturah, flushed
and heated, hurried into the room, and be
sought us to go into the garden and gather
her some currants; she was to receive a
house full o f company in the afternoon, and
each supplied with a basket, we left the
house.
Although tn the heart of the city, Aunt
Keturah’s house was surrounded by a Icrge
garden. The estate had belonged to her
grandfather, and by him had been enriched
with choice fruit and fragrant shrubbery;
each of its succeeding owners had taken pride
in preserving it in its original beauty and
neatness. The morning was cool, and the
fruit trees loaded with their ripening bur
dens, made the old surpentine walks shady
and quiet—a long walk at the lower end of
the garden, was bounded by currant bushes,
and thither we proceeded. The clusters of
rich fruit hung in tempting profusion, and j
in silence we gathered them: sometimes I
was near Ebenezer, again I ran to a distance,
my long repressed spirits burst forth in live
ly songs, and finally, weary and fatigued, I
threw myself upon a bench, and called to my
cousin to finish, as I should do no more.
Without a reply, and with a gravity unusu
al to him, he seated himself beside me, quiet
ly he drew the comb from my hair, and it
fell in long ringlets upon my slioulders. “ I
have long suspected, Miss Propriety,” he
said, “that you were only playing Quakeress.” .
This imputation, I stoutly denied; but with- i
out listening, he went on, “ You must have i
been aware, he said, upon your arrival, that
your appearance here, was disagreeable to
me, and that I was evidently at no pains to
conceal my dislike ; but now, that I can tell
you how exceedingly beautiful I think you,”
and here he attempted to take my hand,
which I proudly drew away. “ I will re
mind you of our first meeting, a long time
since, at your father’s; much as my feelings
were touched by your suffering, my boyish
heart could not look upon a union with you,
as anything but repulsive, and my absence
abroad so leng, was owing entirely to a wish
to delay as long as possible; I will not deny
that I came here with the intention of break
ing the engagement so pren aturely made by
our parents. I had heard that you were ad
mired, and Aunt Keturah was incessantly
sounding your praises in my ears—judge
then of my surprise when I beheld you.
There were the same green goggles, and in
disgust for the deception practised upon me,
I never looked upon you again during the
evening of our introduction ; insensibly, how
ever, as I read, I became interested in your >
conversation, and your brilliant wit and fasci- ;
nating relations, found in me a ready listener; ■
that night I caught myself regretting the
green goggles. For several days I absented I
myself, and, I soon discovered that by all j
your acquaintances, you were highly prized, !
by the gentlemen were even called beautiful.)
' I watched you closely; how closely you can
never know; the scant, close-fitting robe
' showed your form perfect in womanly grace;
your head and forehead I could not but ack
nowledge were classically moulded, and the
proudly swelling throat rose in majesty above
the folds of your snowy kerchief. The day
you accidentally threw aside your glasses, I
caught the mischevious twinkle of your eyes;
they were not weak; a flash of intelligence
shot through my mind, I had a dim recollec
tion of having seen your face before. I soon
dismissed the idea as impossible, though even
now, as you sit by my side, it haunts me.
From this time I made no effort to avoid you,
and in the beautiful language of the Quakers,
my dear cousin, my whole heart is thine.
Wilt thou be mine
I had listened with inward emotion—but
my evil genius whispered, “ he thinks thou
art, ready and willing, and hast been only
waiting for his long deferred decision.”
Aunt Keturah just at that moment appeared,
and with a scornful laugh I left him, and
rushed past her into the house, and up to my
room; too late to repent of the step I had
taken, I, fancied my cousin already fanning
the expiring flames of his old disgust, reviv
ed by my coquettish conduct, and now, when
my earnest, passionate love had met a response
in his breast, by my own hand I had destroyed
my happiness; but with the tears I shed,
were mingled the pride and passion that made
me resolve upon concealing the misery and
desolation within my heart. As the dinner
bell rang, I forced back the tears to my eyes,
burning and salt, and almost choking with
the swelling at my throat, resolved to meet
my cousin again, with a pride and reserve
that would effectually guard my secret; but
I found Aunt Keturah only there, so weary
with her morning’s exertions, as not to no
tice my appearance; she said my cousin had
• gone out for a ride, and in silence we finish
ed our meal.
Company distracted my attention during
the afternoon and evening, and weary and
wretched, late at night, I threw myselt upon
my bed, to dream that as cousin Ebenezer
and myself stood at the altar about to plight
our faith to each other, a spectre, in green
goggles forbade the marriage. °
Thus passed the night, and in the morning
no aunt Keturah appeared; it grew late, and
no breakfast bell sounded, so I resolved to
proceed down stairs alone, but on the way I
met a servant, who told me that aunt Keturah
had been sent for during the night, from the
village of B . My cousin had been thrown
from his horse, and was lying at the inn dan-
• gerously hurt, and with a broken leg. She
had left a message for me riot to be alarmed,
saying she would send as soon as possible I
was crushed to the earth, and at last in a fit
of anguish and rage at myself, tore my Qua
ker garments and consigned them to the fire;
arrayed in my old costume, I passed the day
in watching the street, and late in the after
noon the same old stable boy that had driven
me, in the same old rickety chaise, drove to
the door; my cousin was very ill, and wished
for my immediate presence. In five minutes
I had every thing arranged, and we were on
our way to B . It was during the small
hours of the morning that we reached the vil
lage ; aunt Keturah met me at the door, and
without a single exclamation at my changed
■ appearance, she led me gently to my cousin’s
room. His ear was listening for my approach;
his eve watching for my entrance; and, as I
opened the door, his arms were raised, and
with a scream of anguish at his suffering
countenance, I rushed into them ; heart beat
to heart, concealment was at an end, and in
the passionate fervor of this, his first em
brace, all was understood and forgiven.
For weeks I watched beside him, and when
able to be moved,we journeyed slowly to aunt
Keturah’s; on the way, he told me that the
landlady had informed him of my change of
apparel at her house, and he was convinced I
was the young lady who left them there, on
his way to aunt Keturah’s; a thousand times
he playfully begged my pardon, and a thou
sand times I laughingly accorded it.
Soon he began to walk with crutches, and
then, only with a cane, leaning upon my arm;
and down the . old serpentine walks of th»
garden I led him, now strewn with autumn’s
changing leaves; there was a calm and set
tled. brightness upon everything, and the
glorious aununn days glided in sweetness
away,—all our stormier passions were at
rest, and a deep and quiet happiness made
our hearts blissful with overwhelming con
tent.
One day my cousin startled me with the
expression of his fears, that his lameness
would be permanent, the muscles of his leg
were contracted, and already unknown to me,
he had received professional advice ; the only
presented was in having his leg broken
again, and reset; contrary to all, aunt Ketu
rah’s commands, or my whispered pleadings,
he was resolute, saying he submitted as much
lor my sake as his own.
Thanks to the discoveries of modern sci
| cnce, his sensibilities were deadened, and the
: horrid operation performed without the least
; pain ; he sits before me propped up in the
j corner of a couch, writing.' Aunt Keturah is
already talking of wedding cake and bridal
favors.
He throws a letter he has been writing, to
me, for my signature.
I Dear Sam—l am recovering slowly, after
this my second trial, thanks to the good nurs
ing ol aunt Keturah, and the devoted love of
my cousin. She sits opposite me, a perfect
| woman ; the angel of my future life, the bles
sing of my anticipated home—the green gog
| gles have lain next my heart for months, and
the sweet name of Keturah shall go down to
posterity linked everlastingly with that of
. Ebenezer. In one month from this day, come
to our wedding.
Ebenezer and Ketur ah.
—1
Heads and Tails.
The Philadelphia City Item has the follow- !
j ing “ good one
We heard a short story the otherday, which
we will throw in here byway of episode. A
very poor woman found a silver dollar. It
was a god-send ; bnt it placed her in a dilem
ma. She had scarcely a “ stitch of clothing,”
and the “ hunger-pain” was gnawing at her
stomach I
“ What shall Ido she mentally inquir
ed: “ shall I pay attention to me back or me
stomach ?”
The question was a poser, and after musing
a minute, she said,
“ I’ll toss for it 1 Heads for the back —tails
for the stomach 1”
Up went the dollar, and down it came with
the head uppermost.
“I’ll give the stomach another chance !”
said she.
Again the head was uppermost.
“That was not a fair toss,” said she half
aloud. “I’ll give the stomach another
chance.”
The eagle was uppermost this time.
“Ah! ha!” exclaimed the hungry woman
—“ I knew the stomach would win it.”
Fast Color.—A lady a short time since
sent an elegant dress to a dyer’s with instruc
tions that he should dye it in handsome colors,
warranted not to run: and she was somewhat
surprised when the garment was sent home
ornamented all over with beautiful little
American flags, accompanied by the following
explanatory note: —
“'My dear Lady— The colors I have se
lected and used for your dress, have been
tried by the English and the French, and
more recently by the Mexicans, and as they
are convinced, no doubt, that these colors
always stand, I have no hesitation myself in
warranting them not to run.”
Happiness.—No man can judge of the happi
ness of another. As the moon plays upon the
waves, and seems to our eyes to favor with a
peculiar beam one long tract amidst the waters
leaving the rest in comparative obscurity— yet
all the while she is no niggard in her lustre, for
the rays that meet not our eyes seem to us as
though they were not; yet she, with an equal
and unfavoring loveliness, mirrors herself on
every wave—even so, perhaps, happiness
falls with the same brigetness and power
over the whole expanse of life; though, to out
limited eyes, she seems only to rest on those
billows from which they are reflected back upon
our sight.
Singular Circumstance.—A man was
found in a farm yard at Ovingdean, Sussex,
England, weltering in his own blood, having
dreadfully mutilated himself in a manner to
which we cannot more particularly allude.
He was conveyed to the County Hospital,
where he now lies in a precarious state. He
comes from Dover, and is about thirty years
of age. He is a religious fanatic, belonging to
a sect called “ The Latter Day Saints,” and he
says he committed the act “ to do God jus
tice.”
A lady reading that a man had been sen
tenced to six months’ hard labor for dog-steal
ing, observed to a friend, with a shudder,
“ Gracious, my love, what would certain of
our sex have to endure for entrapping
80* Dr. Dolland says, “That if persons are
always supposing that they are liable to a certain
distemper, the nerves will so act on the part, that
it is very likely to come upon them.
[From Howitt’s Journal.]
The Niobe of Nations.
BY FERD INA ND F REIL IGR ATH.
The landlord cares lor ox and hound,
Their worth a peasant’s worth surpasses!
Instead pt draining marish ground—
Or Irelands wild and drear morasses—
He leaves the land a boggy fen,
With sedge and useless moss grown over;
He leaves it for the water-hen,
The rabbit and the screaming plover.
Yes, ’neath the curse of Heaven! Of waste
And wilderness, four million acres!
To you corrupt, outworn, debased,
No wakening peals prove slumber-breakers!
OJi! Irish land is landlord’s land;
And therefore by the way-side dreary
The famished mothers weeping stand.
And beg for means their dead to bury.
A wailing cry sweeps like a blast
The length and breadth of Ireland thorough;
The west wind which my casement
Brought to mine ear that wail of sorrow,
Faint as a dying man’s last sigh,
Came o’er the waves, my heart-strings searing,
The cry of woo, the hunger-cry,
The death-cry ot poor weeping Erin.
Erin—she kneels in stricken grief,
Pale, agonized, with wild hair flying,
And strews the shamrock’s withered leaf
Upon her children, dead and dying.
i She kneels beside the sea, the streams,
' ~A nd By her ancient hills’ foundations—
Her, more than Byron’s Rome, beseems
The title, "Niobe of Nations.”
[Original.]
Woman;
In all Ages and Nations.
PART THIRTEEN,
cou rYs hip.
(Continued from our last.)
The elements of our present civilization
sprung up in the North ; and the true digni
ty of woman was recognized in the mythology
of Odin.
We find, therefore, that the ancient Scan
dinavian women were chaste, proud and emu
lous of glory. Their rights, in the affairs of
love were so far respected, that their own
consent was to be won, before parent or guard
ian was consulted. To gain the affections of
these haughty and high-toned dames, two
things were necessary. The lover must not
only be able to captivate his mistress by his
personal qualities and assiduous attentions,
but he must have performed such feats of
arms as to have gained a renown that would
make him worthy of her hand.
It is true that these observations apply es
pecially to the higher classes of society—but
as in all countries these set the fashions in
manners and morals, we should doubtless find
that all classes were governed by the same
general principles.
Such portions of Scandinavian literature as
have been preserved, afford us some fine ex
amples of this union of love and war among
the bold nations of the north.
One of these is the following
ode of king regner lodbrog.
We fought with swords that day, wherein
I saw ten thousand of my foes rolling in the
dust, near a promontory of England.. A dew
of blood distilled from our swords; the ar
rows which flew in search of the he’mets bel f
lowed through the air. The pleasure of that
day was equal to that of clasping a fair virgin
in my arms.
We fought with swords. A young man
should march early to the conflict of arms—
man should attack man or bravely resist him;
in this hath always consisted the nobility of
the warrior. He who aspires to the love of
his mistress ought to be dauntless in the clash
of swords.
We fought with swords in fifty and one
battles under my floating banners. From my
early youth, I have learned to die the steel of
my lance with blood; but it is time to cease.
Odin hath sent his goddesses to conduct me
to his palace. lam going to be placed on the
highest seat, there to quaff goblets of beer
with the gods. The hours of my life are
rolled away.
Such was the life, the glory, the love and
; the religion of King Regner—such was the
, spirit ot the times of which we are speaking
—a spirit not entirely lost among the de
, scendants of the Norsemen.
We have a beautiful and touching ode of
Harold the Valiant, of a latex* date, in which
he enumerates the exploits by which he had
hoped to gain the affections of his beloved,
each stanza of which ends with a complaint
of his want of success. It is worthy to be
transcribed as an illustration of the ancient
northern life and literature. We prefer a li
teral translation to any attempt to give the
bold spirit of the composition in English
verse:
ODE OF HAROLD THE VALIANT.
My ships have made the tour of Sicily;
there were we all magnificent and splendid.
My brown vessel, full of mariners, rapidly
rowed to the utmost of my wishes. Wholly
taken up with war, I thought my course
would never slacken ; and yet a Russian maid
en scorns me.
In my youth, I fought with the people of
Drontheim; their troops exceeded ours in
number. It was a terrible conflict. I left
their young king dead on the field ; and yet a
Russian maiden scorns me.
One day, we were but sixteen in a vessel, a
■ storm arose and swelled the sea; it filled the
loaded ship, but we diligently cleared it out;
thence I formed hopes of the happiest suc
cess ; and yet a Russian maiden scorns me.
I know how to perform eight exercises: I
fight valiantly ; I sit firmly on horse-back ; I
am inured to swimming; I know how to
glide along on skates ; I dart the lance, and
am skilled at the oar; and yet a Russian
maiden scorns me.
Can she deny—that young and lovely maid
en—that on that day, when posted near a city
of the southern land, I joined battle, that then
I valiantly handled my arms, and left behind
me lasting, monuments of my exploits.’—and
yet a Russian maiden scorns me.
I was born in the high country of Norway,
where the inhabitants handle their bows so
well; but I preferred guiding my ships, the
dread of peasants, among the rocks of the
ocean, and far from the habitations of men. I
have run through all the seas with my vessels;
and yet a Russian maiden scorn me.
Such were the exploits and loves of the old
Norsemen. At this day we should call them
freebooters, buccaneers, robbers, pirates—yet
centuries after, the same race is doing the
same things, with a little more formality and
hypocrisy. Under our old religion of Thor
and Woden, or Odin, men believed that cour
age in war, and the slaughter of their ene
mies entitled them to the highest seats among
the gods ; their descendants are as brave and
furious in war, but profess to believe in a
very different religion— a religion of love and
peace ! But we stray from our subject.
Besides arts and arms, the Norsemen had
their charms and incantations, to acquire the
good graces of the fair —all these things prov
ing that their women were not slaves "in theix*
affections, but that, instead of being given
away or sold, they had to be wooed and won.
Odin, the prophet, and afterwards deity, of
the northern mythology, probably alludes to
some potent, love-compelling charm, in the
folb wing extract from one of his discourses:
THE SECRET OF ODIN.
If I aspiie to the love and favor of the
j chastest virgin, I can bend the mind of the
j snowy armed maiden, and make her yield
I wholly to ray desires.
I know a secret which I will never lose, it
is to render myself always beloved of my mis
tress.
But I know one which I will never impart
to any female except my own sister, ox* to her
whom I hold in my arms. Whatever,is known
only to one’s-self is always .of great value.
Odin’s directions how to proceed in court
ship, contained in the Hava-Maal, or sublime
discourses of Odin, contain, however, no allu
sion to any secret charms. The advice strikes
us as extremely sensible :
Odin’s ADVICE TO LOVERS.
“ He who would make' himself beloved of
a maiden must entertain her with fine dis
courses, and offer her engaging presents.
He must almost incessantly praise her beau
ty*
ft requires good sense to be a skillful
lover. If you would bend your mistress to
your passion, you must only go by night to ■
see her. Where a thing is known to a third
person jt never succeeds.
We have one more incident to relate as il
lustrative of the manners and customs of the
old northern nations of Europe in respect to
the matters of which we are considering
The young women were not always content
with relying upon what fame had reported of
the prowess of their lovers : they often pre
fered to have an occular demonstration of
their courage and skill, before the irrevoca
ble choice was made Of course the men
were not backward in gratifying this inclina
tion. The man who would go to distant lands
and perform deeds of' heroism, for the pur
pose of winning the love of some fair lady,
would never hesitate to risk his life, when
she was looking on, the witness of his valor,
the reward of his success
A hero, who aspired to the hand of a lady,
was also required to perform some feat of
arms of an importance, proportionate to the
rank of the lady of his love. This, with
other curious matters is illustrated in the
following story of—
GrYMER AND THE PRINCESS OF SWEDEN.
Grymer, a youth early distinguished in
arms, who well knew how to dye his sword
in the blood of his enemies, to run over the
craggy mountains, to wrestle, to play at chess,
trace the motions of the stars, and throw far
from him heavy weights, frequently showed
his skill in the chamber of damsels, before ;
the lovely daughter* of King Charles.
Desirous of acquiring her regard, he dis
played his dexterity in handling his weapons, 1
and the knowledge he had attained ot the •
sciences. At length he ventured to say to .
her, Wilt thou, 0 fair princess, if I may ob- |
tain the king’s consent, accept me for a hus- .
band ?
To this question she prudently replied: .
I must not make that choice myself, but go :
thou and offer the same proposal to my fath- J
er.
Grymer, accordingly, proposed to king .
Charles for the hand of the lovely princess ]
of whose heart he felt assured. But the |
king answered him in a rage. Thou cans’t i
indeed, handle thy arms, said he, but what 1
feat hast thou performed, what victory hast 1
thou ever achieved or won to entitle thee to ;
the hand of the Princess of Sweden ? Thou .
must gain a great battle, and give a plenteous ]
feast to the wolves, that hovel* around the ,
bloody field, before my daughter can be thy <
wife! t
Grymer told the king that nothing would
give him so much pleasure as to gratify him
in this matter; and the king, pleased with his
ardor, pointed out to him, in a neighboring
kingdom, a hero renowned for arms, whom,
if he could conquer, the princess should be
his reward.
Grymer, elated with his success, went to
inform his princess. She was greatly agitat
ed, and feared that her father had devoted her
lover to death, but far from dissuading him
from his undertaking, she provided him with
a suit of impenetrable armor and a trusty
sword.
Grymer went forth, slew his adversary
and the most of his warriors, returned victo
rious, claimed his bride and at the death of her
father reigned King of Sweden.
We have one similar instance, in the scrip
tures. When the young Jewish hero, David,
fell in love with the daughter of Saul, that
crafty king sent him on a dangerous expedi
tion against the Philistines.
“ And Saul said, thus shall ye say ifnto
David, the king desireth not any dowry, but
a hundred foreskins of the Philistines, to be
avenged of the king’s enemies,”
David killed two hundred, and was married
to hisbeleved Michal.
A stranger custom is said to have prevailed
among a people in Scythia. Every young
man who paid his addresses to a lady was
obliged to engage her in single combat; if he
vanquished, lie led her off in triumph, and
became her husband and master ; but if the
lady, as often happened, proved victorious,
she led him off in the same manner and made
him her husband and her slave.
Our customs differ in two respects. The
question of supremacy is not decided till
after marriage, and it generally requires many
combats, instead of only one !
[Original.]
of ti)£ (Otg.
NUMBER TWO.
Since l&st week several cases of small-pox
have come to my knowledge, and one fatal
case. They have been treated by “ regular
■ physicians,” and their results have awakened
enquiry. I, therefore, feet called upon to say
a few words more upon the treatment of this
usually loathsome disease.
Violent and large applications of water
should not be made in this disease. Plunge,
douche, and shower baths should not be
given.
Promoting the action of the skin by pack
ing in the wet sheet, with the dripping sheet
after, are the principal remedies to be relied
on in small-pox, and all remedial means must
be modified to suit different cases and to meet
different symptoms.
Persons who live simply and bathe daily
are not liable to take small-pox, or any other
contagious disorder, nearly so readily as those
whose bodies are filled with the virus of dis
ease by bad living and neglect of bathing.
I remember a curious confirmation of this
, fact which occurred some years since in Bos
ton:
A sea captain was exposed to small-pox and
wished to be vaccinated. He applied to a
. physician, who attempted to vaccinate him
; without success. Subsequently applied to an
- other ; and several equally vain attempts
■ were made to vaccinate him. At length the
. physicians made enquiries as to Ids habits.
He said he did not know of any thing peculiar
. in his habits, only he had a fancy not to eat
• animal food, or drink spirits. The doctors
f assured him that this was a very injurious
fancy, and advised him to eat animal'food at
. least once a day, and take brandy as often.
. I|p took their advice and in a few months the
. vaccine virus found a congenial soil in hissvs
> tern, and “ took” readily.
The rage'for chloroform seems not vet to
I have reached its culminating point. That
' there are cases where insensibility would be
' mercy, even at the expense of severe poison
; ing, none can deny. If the use of chloroform
can be confined to such, it may be claimed as
a highly useful discovery. But there : s a
L childish weakness, even with regard to the
I endurance of slight suffering, with many per
sons. The great want of the world is true
! heroism, and this weakness is in great mea
' sure owing to disease. To the sick—“ the
; nervous,” as they are called, mole hills seem
' mountains in the way of difficulties. They
seek indulgence because they are diseased,
' and this indulgence continually augments
their illness.
That chloroform is poisonous when inhaled,
. we think no one in his senses will deny, after
’ having witnessed its effects in intoxicating,
. stupifying, and rendering insensible. The ef
, feet is different on different persons, just as
is the case with drunkenness. It is in fact the
most intimate and dangerous kind of drunk
eness—being the result of the poison of alco
hol etherialized and coming by inhalation im
mediately into the circulation.
To persons of delicate and frail constitution
and diseased nervous susceptibility, chloro
form must of course be much more prejudi
cial and dangerous than to stronger persons.
; When the nature of this poison is understood,
: the fact of its being harmful in proportion to
' the weakness and disease of the patient is the
most common-place deduction.
Several of my patients have recently in
haled the chloroform for the purpose of hav
ing painless operations performed upon the
teeth. In a majority of cases I think the suf
fering has been much greater from the effects
of the poison than would have resulted from
the extraction of the teeth, or other opera
tion upon them, in the usual state. In several,
cases the nervous wretchedness that followed
the use of the chloroform, could only be ap
preciated by those who have lived the next
day or two after a “ spree.”
I am. now decidedly of opinion that no exi
; gency has yet occurred in my practice suffi
ciently painful to justify the use of this poi
. son to produce insensibility. I am by no
means prepared to say that such necessity
. may not occur hereafter.
In the cases of poisoning by the use of chlo
roform, that have come under my treatment,
I have found the same means necessary and
efficacious that I have used in delirium tre
mens. As opium is considered the sheet-an
chor of allopathy, for the relief of pain, so the
wet sheet envelopment is the sheet-anchor of
water-cure for the relief of pain, of conges
tion, and that indescribable class of nervous
symptoms, where the suffering varies from
the extreme of weakness and weariness, to
the most acute and tormenting neuralgia.
In the last cases ofpoisoning by chloroform ,
which I have treated, I ordered the daily use
ofthe wet sheet from one hour to an hour and
a half, until the symptoms were entirely re
lieved. In delirium tremens the patient
should at first continue longer in the envelop
ment than an hour and a half. After the cir
culation is equalized and the skin resumes its
activity, then the “ nervous symptoms,” as
they are termed, are to be met and soothed,
and removed by the wet sheet envelopment
for an hour at a time.
The application of the wet compress to the
great nervous centres is next to the wet
sheet in its efficiency in stimulating the whole
vital economy in the most desirable manner,
and removing morbid matter from the sys
tem.
The greatest good is obtained from the wet
bandage when it is applied about the abdo
men, directly over the solar plexus. This
wet bandage should be worn during the in
tervals between the packings. The use of
chloroform by parturient patients must be a
subject of deep anxiety to all, especially
when the true nature of the article is under
stood. But the importance of this subject de
mands that it be deferred to another number.
Medicus.
[Original.]
World’s Hefonnew.
NUMBER TEN.
iKsculapins.
There are those who deny the existence of the
great inventor of the healing art. They say
'that many absurd and impossible things are told
of him, and that we have not sufficient evidence
that there was ever such a person.
Now, if we deny the existence of all persons
of whom things are told, seemingly absurd and
impossible, ourlist of heroes and reformers will
be much shortened: and if we stop to demand
other evidence thanwehave, we shalllosemuch
by our incredliuty.
When we find a god in the ancient mythology
we may look for an extraordinary man, previous
to his apotheosis. Ideas of this kind must have
some origin. zEsculapius had his temples and
statues and worship, at one period, over a large
portion of the earth. He was called the son of
a god. We may very well conclude that he
was at least an extraordinary nian.
rEsculapius lived, according to the story
which we consider sufficiently authentic for our
purposes, and which must do for the want ot a
better, about fifty years before the Seigeof Troy.
If a really earnest doubter question us in regard
to the probabilities of that story, we must refer
him to Homer, who wrote the history of a por
tion of that seige, and to Lord Byron, who paid
a visit to the graves of the fallen heroes.
Coronis, ■ daughter of Phlegyas, a Prince of
Thesalay, was so extremely beautiful that she
inspired love in the heart of Apollo, the god of
light, musicand medicine. It is not likely that 1
a god, and more particularly such a god, should :
sigh long for the favors of a mortal maiden,
however beautiful. Whether he dazzled her by
his splendor, charmed her by his lyre, or in his
character as god of medicine, administered to
her a love potion, too powerful to be resisted,
does not matter. The important result is that
the beautiful Coronis, while accompanying her
father on an excursion into the Peloponnesus,
gave birth to JEsculapius, declaring, at the same
time, with a solemn oath, the secret of his pa
ternity. In other words, she swore him upon
Apollo.
Her princely father did not know what was
best to be done with his extraordinary grandson;
but concluded, that as his father was a god, he .
would look after his nurture and education. He
left the boy exposed upon a mountain, where if i
Apollo did not take care of him it was pretty 1
sure that nobody else would; and the event *
justified this conclusion. 1
Aristhenes, a shepherd, m the neighborhood 1
of this mountain, about this time, lost his dog
and a favorite she goat. Both were missing at 1
the same time, and for several days he sought i
high and low for them, but not high enough,
until he had clambered up this mountain, where
he found his goat suckling a child of dazzling 1
beauty and resplendence, while his dog kept
guard by their side, forming a nice family party, i
The shepherd gazed in astonishment at this J
strange spectacle. His favorite dog and goat
there could be no mistake about—but the radient
child, with rays of glory round his head, he ■
could only consider as some divine being. He
therefore reverently took the babe in his arms,
and went joyfully down from the mountain,
While the goat kept close to his feet on one side,
and the faithful dog on the other.
The story of this child soon spread abroad,
and people flocked to see him. The young
rEsculapius was adopted by Chiitm who was
the preceptor of Achilles. As he grew up he
showed an extraordinary aptitude for the hea’lino
art, and soon cured diseases of the most dan
gerous kind, and, it is said, even raised the
dead.
In the cure of diseases and especially of
wounds, zEsculapius made use of means which
are not usually found in our Materia Medina.
It is said that the most dangerous wounds and
maladies yielded to his operations, his remedies,
lus harmonious songs, and the magical words
he employed. He "devoted his life to the relief
of the unhappy The gods were not jealous of
his suceess, until he had raised the dead, when
Pluto having complained that his domains were
invaded, and represented that men, relieved of
the fear of death, might neglect to reverence
the gods, Jupiter killed him with a thunder
bolt.,
JEsculapius left two sons, both of whom he
instructed m the healing art. They were both
in the seige of Troy, and not only fought brave
ly, but were of great service in taking care of
the wounded. His wife’s name was Hygeia.
■After the death-of /Esculapius, and when the
belief had become common that he was more
than mortal, temples were erected to him,
wherever men desired the greatest of blessings
—health. These were situated, either on some
promontory near the sea, on some breezey hill,
’ on the margin of a clear river, or over some of
: the mineral and hot springs with which his
C i? u ? a ' Joun^s - His temple at Rome was in
i the form of a ship and built on an island in the
, liber. There was never built a temple of zEscu
. lapius, where there was not a plenty of pure air
and water. To these were added music and
. magnetism, or magic, as it was then calledand
it is not strange that such temples should have
: been every where the resorts of the sick and the
afflicted.
We have not thought it necessary to trace [the
story of this great father and acknowledged dei
ty of medicine, through all its curious metamor
phoses. There are some hard stories about his
mother, such as her unfaithfulness to Apollo, and
his revenge; but as they come to us on single
authorities, and without respectable corrobora
tion, we do not feel called upon to give them any
■ credit.
L In all the temples of JEsculapius were hung
, up tablets, the votive offerings of his worshipers,
. on which were inscribed the cures he had per
formed; and this publication of such certificates
was m those days considered perfectly “ regu-
i lar.”
The dog and the cock are sacred to /Esculn-
• pius for their vigilance, and the raven for his
forecast.
ORIGINAL.
“If I had a donkey vot vould n’t go.
Dye think 1 d vollop him ? oh, no, no !
' Kim up, Nedd°”’ e ” beanß ' and Say ' !
REFINED VERSION.
‘ If I had an animal averse to speed
; I never would beat him; no, indeed !
Go,°on Edward.” 1 ° a ‘ S ' “ I,rOCOcd !
When the question was agitated in Lon
: don, which would be the safest place to put
■ Napoleon, so that he could not get out, a gen
tleman who had a long suit pending, advised
i the ministers to put him in a court of chan-
■ eery.
1 Mail Failure.—“ Mamma,” said the
i daughter of Mrs. Smith, “ what do printers
i mean when they say another mail failure—
. Cave Johnson?”
’ _ “ Wh y Nancy,” replied the old lady, “ that
> fellow Johnson has been foolin’ some poor
, woman creeter.” :
“ But ma, they say it was on the rail road.”
J Child, child, it’s no odds; they’ll fool you
; , any where I’ve known gals fooled with on'
> i the way to meeting /”
\ , TRUE LOVE.
» T i?,? , .»P n %^ ,rc ’i s b - k e tliesummcrdcw.
' < I 1u!,s around when all is still and hush.
s unseen until its bright drops strew
vVi.n odors herb and flower and bank and budi
i Oh, love—when womanhood is in the lln-di
’ i u. ct u j an' s a young.and an nnsDotted thin’--
t i His first breathed word, and her h ,li •oi.', iSiis blush
'' ; Are fair as light in heaven, or n.-' .h , f./ .Spring. ’
■ gt> How little <lO, we kn . .< blindly
i I pursue some wished-for object, and strain
5 nerve to attain it, that, when
i : attained, it will realize our fondest anticipa
: | tious how little do we know that we may,
■ m fact, be seeking our own misery ; or at
■ least, that'disappointment may ensue, and
• that the greatestxpleasure the prize was capa-
; ble ?f affording may have consisted in its pur
i suit. r
J 80- We believe there are none whose souls
,! are more truly dead to the voice of God, speak
i ing through his works, than those upon whose
i lips you constantly hear the words, “ beauti
. j ful, ’ “exquisite,” “delightful,” “ charming ”
“ superb,” “ romantic,” “ delicious,” &.c.
33“ If the speculator misses his aim, every-
■ body cries out, “he’s a fool,” and sometimes
£ he s a rogue.” If he succeeds, they be-
seige his door, and demand his daughter in
marriage.
A Good Maxim.—“..The more quietly and
peaceably we get on, the. better—the better
for our neighbors. In nine cases out of ten,
the wisest policy is, if a man cheats you quit
dealing with him; if he is abusive quit his
, company ; if he slanders you take care to live
> so that nobody will believe him; no matter
! who he is or how he misuses you, the wisest
way is generally to let him alone; for there
is nothing better than this cool, calm, quiet
way of dealing with the wrongs we meet
with.” .
Gamblers.—lt is calculated that there are
at the present time, within the State of Ark
ansas, about one thousand individuals who are
professional gamblers,
f
GRAKD
MEDICAL AND SURGICAL£OFFICE,
No. 141 Fulton St., N. Y.
TO THE PUBLIC AND PHYSICIANS.
We make the following offer which cannot lailto
be satisfactory to all.
All invalids are invited to call at this office between
the hours of 10 and 12 o’clock, A. M., and 2 and 4 PM
bunging, if convenient, their Family Fhv» lCl ab of
Medical Attendant with them.
During the hours above designated, we will ex.
amine the following cases: « va.
.No 1. All cases belonging to the practice of Physt
cians in the line of Medicine. • J
No. 11. All cases belonging to the SCROFULOUS
c kV s diseases, whether internal or external,
lelongins to the class of Disease
called CHRON IC, either internal or external.
. No. IV. All kinds of SURGICAL CASES, in which
instruments may or may not need to be used.
No. v. All cases of SYPHILIs, in all their stasres • 1
Catarrh in the Urethra. 2. Swelling or Abscess
es in the Groin. 3. Ulcers, Sores or Pimples abou
the parts. 4. Strictures in the Urethra— all which
are primary cases. 5. Secondary Syphilis, d. Ul
cerations. I. Scirrhus. 8. Tumors. 9. Decayed
Bones. 10. Sore Lyes and Scald Head. 11. Fistula
in Ano and in Perineo. 12. Cancers. 13. Hemorr
hoid or Piles. 14. Hemorrhages or Bleeding from
any part, m male or female. 15 Chronic Bronchitis,
or Ulcerous Sore Ihroat and Nose. 16. Catarrh
in the Head. 17. Stone oa Gravel, and all other dif
ficulties in the Urinary orirans. 18. All old Chronic
Mercurial, Rheumatic, Scrofulous and Inveterat
diseases of every kind.
dences " ° ° fl<3r to V ' S ' T 1111 In '’alids at their resi
lOHEIGNERS OF ALL COUNTRIES CONVERSED WITH BY
THE H.XAMINtNG PHYSICIAN, IN THEIR OWN LANGUAGE.
All persons presenting themselves for examina
tion, at the hours above mentioned, shall receive Me
dical Counsel and Advice
. , , WITHOUT CHARGE.
All s111 j AM es McALLISEII hereby fromise to the
public and Physicians throughout the United States.
an J persons who shall receive or purchase any
ofthe medicine presented by the Physcians. whom
I have employed in my office, which may fail to ac
complish all that they promise they shall do in the
CURE OF EVERY FORM OF DISEASE, SHALL HAVE EVERY
FARTHmG.OF THE MONEY WHICH THEY MAY HAVE Ra“d
SSJta keceht and formise in writ-
ni p to this effect will be given to every patient who
wishes it, with my signature attached.
Ordinary cases of all kinds of diseases examined
for at all hours, (Sunday’s excepted)
NO CHARGE MADE FOR ADVICE
OR EXAMINATIONS IN ANY CASE WHATEVER.
All Regular Physicians may receive, if they wish, a
full knowledge of the Medicines and Treatment em
ployed m this office, with the mode by which we ar
rive at a correct diagnosis and prognosis in all cases.
without charoe— and also a Treatise which gives
the Treatment and Remedies adapted to all cases ot
disease.
Persons at a distance can be prescribed for by send
ing a written description of their case, post paid, and
money to pay for the medicine merely. The medi
cine can be sent m any way the patient or his friends
may order.
most COMPREHENSIVE TREATISE
I s -’ iorms and stages, with th®
REMEDY which is WARRANTED to cure in every
case, wholly and forever— For sale at this office.
Wholesale and Retail. Also, MEDICINE for MALA
0F ALL kinds, including those intended for the
DISEASES of WOMEN and CHILDREN—which are
warranthd to cure in every case, if the directions
are strictly followed. Wholesale and retail, bv
JAMES McALISTkR,
No. 141 Fulton street, New York
OFFICE IN PHILADELPHIA, No. 198 RACE ST.
OFFICE IN BOSTON, No. 8 UNITED STATES
HOTEL
McAlister s all-healing ointment
CONTINUES to maintain an unequalled reputation
m the cure of the most aggravated internal and
external diseases,, whether of recent date or long
standing. All tins is owing to its extraordinary power
and success m restoring the insensible perspira
tion, and thus cleansing the blood and all internal
organs of all morbid, diseased, or offensive matter
through the natural outlets, the pores of the skin
Without vomiting it cleanses the stomach and cures
dyspepsia—without purging, it relieves the bowels of
constipation, and restores their tone—without bleed
ing. blistering, or leeching it allays inflammation,
fever, nervous irritation, and pain—without poultices
and caustics, and plasters, it cleanses and heals old
sores and ulcers, burns and scalds—without cupping
and scarifying it cures sore and inflamed Eyes and
Ears; and without pills, powders, or syrups, it cures
diseases of the Lungs, Liver, Stomach, Bladder, and
Womb, with promptness and safety and without in
convenience or pain.
GRA DNDEPOT.No’. 141 Fulton sti ae.tNew York
sunirax! Wisp aid),
S PUBLISHED EVERY S U N DA Y MOR Nl N G
AT NO. 41 ANN STREET, NEW YORK,
By Williamson & Burns,
And delivered to subscribers in the City, Brooklyn,
Williamsburgh and Jersey City, at the rate of one
shilling per month, by regular and faithful carriers.
Persons who wish to receive the paper regularly
should send their names to the office. Those who de
pend upon newsboys are apt to be disappointed,
especially in stormy weather.
The Sunday Dispatch will be sent by mail to any
part of the World at the rate of $2,00 per annum, pay
able in all cases in advance.
TO ADVERTISERS.
A limited amount of advertisements will be inserted
upon the following terms
ONE SQUARE (OF SIXTEEN LINES,)
One Time, - - - - Si 00 I Three Months, - - $5 00
One Month, - - -200 Six Months, - - - 00®
Two Months, - - - 350 | One Year, - - - - 16 00
Longer or shorter advertisements at the same rates.
All orders must be addressed, post paid and enclos
ing amount of subscription, to the Publisher#
|A. J. WILLIAMSON, >p ub i iflh6Pa .
WILLIAM BURNS.
How little

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