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Sunday dispatch. [volume] (New York [N.Y.]) 1845-1854, May 07, 1848, Image 4

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Persistent link: https://chroniclingamerica.loc.gov/lccn/sn83030362/1848-05-07/ed-1/seq-4/

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[Original.!
The Future.
[The following original poem, read by Professor
Buchanan, at the recent Birthday Fourier Festival,
in Cincinnati, has been sent to us in MS-, by an oblig
ing correspondent, a clergyman of that city.]
Like to dim and shadowy mountains,
Seen on Ocean’s farthest verge,
Mingling with its cloudy ramparts.
And its never ceasiog surge—
Thus to me the future seemeth,
On the horizon of time,
Rising o’er life’s stormy billows,
Dim, but real and sublime.
Cannot vision telescopic
Bring its glories to our eyes?
Have we not still mighty Seers?
Are there none divinely wise?
Aye! within the secret chambers
Of full many a glowing mind,
Gleams a light unknown to others,
As the sun unto the blind.
In that light is Heaven descended—
_ In that light is boundless truth
in that light the future dwelleth,
In the glory ot its youth!
Thus we see the future glowing,
Tn the sun’s all-dazzling rays,
Far beyond the dreary landscape
Of these storm beclouded days.
On Columbia’s thousand hill sides,
Waving vineyards, groves and flowers.
Give their incense to the breezes,
Ever changing as the hours.
On Columbia’s broad savannahs
Million palaces arise,
With their lofty, glittering spires,
Rising towards the sunlit skies.
And the choral songs of joyous
Freemen, o’er Columbia’s land,
Ring aloud from Plymouth harbor
E’en to California’s strand.
A cheering, swelling strain of music,
On it goes around the world,
As an angel army marching
With their banners never furled.
Thus that burst of joy is rising
From the palaces and groves,
Where the race of man is laboring,
Guided by attractive loves—
Where the beauty that enchanteth
Lingereth ever in our gaze,
Wheie the romance of young lovers
Live th to their latest days.
Life still flowing fresh and buoyant,
Jis the birds in Spring appear,
Thus the Future seemeth to us,
Let us bring that Future here.
[Original.]
21 Chid bg Mnnnligljt,
ON THE GULF.
BY THE AUTHOR OF ‘ OLD HICKS, THE GUIDE?
There is a singular incident connected with
the earlier period of the Texan war of revolu
tion, which I think worth recording. It was
related to me by an old camp comrade, in
whose word I have the most unbounded con
fidence. Tnat the story, so far as he is ac
countable for its incidents, is a true one I have
no shadow of a doubt. I will give teas nearly
as possible, after the manner in which he
told it to me.
Colonel F , and myself were on a fowl-
ing expedition in a small sail boat, upon that
arm of the Qabaca Bay, near the head of
which the town of Matagorda is situated.
This bay forms one of a long chain of such
bays, reaching to the mouth ot the Rio Grande.
These are only fenced off from the encroach
ing waters of the Gulf by a barren sand-bar,
which runs parallel with the mainland, and
is broken through here and there by narrow
inlets. This curious sand-bar, through the
whole of this great distance varies but little '
in width, which is seldom more than a few :
miles. However, near Matagorda Inlet, is its '
narrowest point; here it is not more than a !
mile in some places and seems a mere tounge j
of land which might readily be swept away '
when the waves ot the stormy Gulf beat high. !
We were running in close to the bar at this
.narrow place. It was the middle of the day,
and as our sail boat glided slowly but smooth- ’
ly, before the steady breeze, we gossiped 1
pleasantly of •past adventure to fill up the i
listless time of our inaction. i
Col. F. suddenly exclaimed, as we came I
nearly opposite to the Inlet, and looked up a I
long strait stretch of the bar, the white sand '
of which reflected the sun’s rays with dazzling 1
effect— 1
“ There I witnessed one night a more curi
ous scene than any of which we have been i
talking.” I
“ Let us hear it then, Colonel. It will be s
some time yet before we reach the shallows, i
Where the wild fowl feed. I must hear it by I
all means—l would even prefer losing a shot i
to the story, which has impressed you as so s
singular. That is rather an odd place for an i
adventure to come off on—to begin with.”
“ Yes it is 1 But even the place is not so I
odd as the scene. It was while we were I
hourly expecting the Mexicans to occupy i
Matagorda, on their march of invasion.— i
Volunteers were ariving every day to our i
assistance. The most of them came from the
States, by water in small vessels The Inlet
there, you perceive is quite narrow, and it
was then a very important point to be field by
our arms, as it was the gate through this large t
Bay, to the very heart of the most populous
portions of Texas. I occupied the extreme i
point of the bar with a small force, which we ]
thought would be sufficient to hold at bay any i
light vessels of the enemy, which might at- j
tempt to enter. We had no artillery, but we <
considered that our long rifles were sufficient <
for such a purpose. i
We had thrown up a sort of breast-work of i
sand, and had a rude and tattered marque of :
old sails, under which we tdok shelter from i
the early sun. One evening, quite a stir was t
caused in our little camp by the arrival of a 1
small schooner from New York. She swept
by Us through the Inlet without stopping, and 1
as we thought we could perceive that aho bad 1
on board quite a number oT volunteers, we let f
her go by, though we thought her conduct 1
strange; and when in answer to our hail, those
on board announced themselves as having t
come to fight for us, we gave them three t
hearty cheers of welcome and bade them God I
speed on their way up the Bay. Greatly to our
surprise—instead of proceeding at once as we 1
expected, up to Matagorda, they stood out t
parallel with this bar and came to anchor, s
about a mile and a half distant. ' i
I thought this a somewhat unaccountable i
manoeuvre, for if they meant to communicate I
with us they should have stopped sooner and
we were the only human beings this side of
Matagorda. Indeed when I came to think (
the matter over, I was greatly disposed to be
miffed at them for having been guilty of the
extreme discourtesy of passing us without j
stopping to greet us personally, in the good
old fashioned manly way, commontomen who
have mutually pledged themselves to danger
ous and chivalric enterprize. I could not
help regarding them with spite, and even .
some suspicion. They might be marauders .
of the worst stamp—white men—our own
countrymen,whocomingwithnogood purpose '
to either party, had the best reasons for not ‘
permitting themselves to be seen more
closely. Renegades of this kind had fre- '
quently made their appearance upon the Gulf, '
and harrassed the coast settlements, with re
lentless and most brutal ferocity, since our
troubles with Mexico commenced.
I determined to watch them closely, for as
I continued to dwell upon these circumstances
and my vexation, all sorts of vague doubts
and apprehensions with regard to them and
their motives, took possession of me. I kept
my glass leveled upon the schooner, watch
ing minutely the movements on board, so
long as the daylight lasted. When night set
in, it came on a clear and brilliant moon light
—so clear that I could make out with the
naked eye, the hull of the craft quite distinct
ly as it lay still and dark upon the calm, silver
ed waters of the Bay.
I said nothing to my men, of my doubts
and suspicions with regard to the character of
our new neighbors, but saw that every thing
was in a>condition of readiness for immediate
action on our part. I did this in a quiet way,
so as not to attract the attention of my men
particularly —for as the unusual and suspicious
conduct of the schooner, did.not seem to have
impressed them very much, I did not like to
subject myself by any committal to the charge
of having been an alarmist. I cannot tell
why I felt so restless about that confounded
little schooner—but that I did feel so and was
half ashamed of my uneasiness, you have per
ceived.
I never lost sight of that schooner for more
than a few moments, while I was bustling
around the camp, and when every thing be
came quiet an uncontrolable impulse led me
to walk down the level beach of that Island
bar, with a view of gaining a nearer position,
and one from which I could observe any
movements on board more clearly. I had not
advanced more than a half a mile, when I
saw a small row boat glide out from the dark
bulk over the moon-lit water. It seemed to
be heading towards the beach, in the direc
tion of my own position. .1 instantly stooped.
Could they have discovered me ? Shall I re
treat, were the questions which immediately
occurred to me.
But as the boat came out more clearly into
the moonlight, I saw from my crouching
position, its upper rim very clearly defined
and that there were only two persons in it,
who were rowing with a unhurried stroke. I
could perceive no flurry or commotion onboard
the schooner they had left.
Although my first idea was that they had
observed me moving along the beach, and had
sent out this boat to endeavor to intercept and
capture me—yet a few moments observation
sufficed to convince me that the persons in the
boat were entirely unconscious of my pre
sence —for their oar-strokes were so slow and
measured, as to preclude all idea of pursuit
on their part.
I could perceive that they did not even
turn their heads towards me. I had felt im
measurably relieved so soon as I perceived
that there were only two men in the boat —
for I was very well armed; but when I saw
how calmly and unconsciously they seemed
to come on, I felt ashamed of my first suspi
cions, and came’very near rising to walk for
ward frankly and take them by surprise, by a
friendly greeting.
As the boat came steadily on, 1 thought I
could perceive a sort of stateliness in these
figures as they were defined against the friend
ly moon, which did not seem to me altogether
natural. I cannot now, nor could I then ac
count for the feeling—but I certainly felt that
there was something strange and unusual in
that small boat, shooting out so quietly from
the dark hulk of that uncerimonious sort ot
schooner, and coming to this bare sand beach
with such a placid glide, with those two rigid
looking men in it-I did not know what to
make of it-but my curiosity was excited. I
determined at all risks to see what the thing
meant—for I was doubtful whether under the
circumstances, Mose men had not come to this
bare sand beach to look for turtle eggs /'
This was the only ordinary interpretation
of their manceuvers which common sense dic
tated—for though there were very few turtle
nests along this beach at any time, —I knew it
was a common idea with all cockney voyagers
that as these creatures laid in the sand the
first fair sand beach they came to at this sea
son would prove to be rich with eggs. I
pitied them as green-horns at first and while
this idea passed through me I cautiously drew
up to enjoy the fun. But when I saw them near
the shore, and land and draw up their boat
from the surf, and then step out along the
beach, in such a deliberate manner, I began
to realise that I had been mistaken as to their
being merely turtle-egg hunters.
I was now within a hundred yards of them
and could see with nearly perfect distinctness
all that they did. I could distinguish that
they were armed with cutlasses. After walk
ing a short distance from the boat and in my
direction, they paused a few paces apart and
stood looking at each other for nearly a mi
nute, without a movement and as I judged
without speaking. There was something in
the attitude of that mute regard, that made
my blood run cold. I found myself to have
been literally holding my breath while I
gazed in strange fascination at them—when I
was relieved by seeing them join hands in a
long still grasp. Then one of them seemed
to have spoken, for I could see the taller and
slighter of the two—(though there was little
difference in this respect) shake his head.
Their hands unclasped and with one foot ad
vanced, they threw themselves into position.
Quick as thought, two bright cutlasses were
flashing in the moonlight, and the ringing
clash of their meeting, sent a cold jar to my
heart. I sprang to my feet as if I had re
ceived an electrical shock from some power
ful concealed battery. I now approached the
combatants after a moment’sthought quite de
liberately, but with no intention of interfer
ing—for the rights of the duello are sacred
with us you know. So far as I could perceive,
every thing had been conducted fairly between
them and I had no right to interfere. They
seemed too to be nearly equally matched in
strength and activity.
A fight with cutlasses is al ways terrible,
and usually short —but it was not so in this
case—they were evidently splendid swords
men, perfect in craft and coolness—for the
clatter of their weapons rung upon the still
night air, like the swift fall of anvil strokes
and besides the white gleaming of their blades
as they threw off the moon, I could distinguish
the red sparkles which leaped off from their an
gry collisions. I have witnessed single combats
of many kinds with many different sorts of
weapons, but I never saw any to equal this in
dogged desperation and astonishing skill.—
Now one party would fall back as if retreat
ing—and when the other rushed upon him
unguardedly, would turn suddenly from de
fence to the assault—which would in turn be
avoided by the agile retreat.
The fight grew warmer, and they both be
came more unguarded. Now and then I
would miss the regular beat or dash of the
weapons for a single stroke and in place of
its clear ring, I thought I could distinguish
a dull sound and then one of the parties
would stagger. Any such advantage, the
other would follow up with the eagerness of
mortal fury. At last the tall and slighter man
came to his knees, and I saw his sword pre
sented above his head to parry the descending
blow of his adversary, who seemed to hurl
himself along with it upon him and then they
both came to the earth together.
I now ran towards the parties. They were
lying perfectly still—one upon the other.
The bloody blade of him who lay beneath,
had passed through the body of his foe, and
stuck out from his back, nearly a foot with its
dull shine. It was a terrific sight, as yet I
had heard no sound of voice from either of
them, and now there was not even a groan.
They lay there, silent beneath the cold placid
moon as they had been throughout that deadly
fight.
So strangely, had the concentration of this
relentless f ury which seemed to have inspired
them, and which only found a language in the
steely tongues of their cutlasses—impressed
me that the fight had seemed unreal, as though
they were two phantom warriors, and now. I
shuddered and felt my hair almost rising, as I
stooped to touch them. I turned over the
uppermost man and he was dead —stone dead 1
When relieved from the weight of his body,
the other breathed a long breath. I ran to
the water, and filled my cap, which I threw
into his face. He had swooned from the loss
of blood. He stared at me wildly as I stooped
over him.
“ Who are you?” said he feebly.
“ A friend.”
“ How came you here ?”
“It is sufficient that I am here 1 What does ,
all this mean ?”
“Mean? —It means a woman! That man
is the dearest friend I ever had in my life. He
loved the same woman that I did, without
either being aware of the fact until a fatal ex
planation occurred. Either of us preferred
death to a resignation of oiir idol, who was
entirely unaware of this unfortunate rivalship,
and had committed herself fully to neither of
us. We preferred this mode of adjustment
and now she is mine, if my poor friend Henry .
is really dead.” And he turned and pressed
a kiss to the blue lips of the corpse beside
him.
“ Yes, she is. mine if I ever get over these ,
horrible cuts—mine, mine, blessed Mary 1”
he muttered as he sunk into another-ewoou,
from which I had great difficulty in rousing
him.”
“ Well, here we are among the geese—you
took care of him, and he got well and married
that beautiful and non-committal witch in
New York, did he ?”
“ I suppose he married her, but I never
have found out. What I did find out, was
that he was afterwards one of the most heroic,
gallant, and chivalric gentlemen, who served
in the army of Texas—l am not at liberty to
reveal his name. There goes a fine flock.”
Bang, bang? •
[Original.]
anb ©pinions
OF ROBESPIERRE.
FROM “ MEMOIRS” WRITTEN BY HIMSELF.
TRANSLATED BY T. JEFF. SMITH, Jr.
VOLTAIRE AND ROUSSEAU.
What a glorious day for Voltaire must have
been that, when assisting at his apotheosis,
he was crewned by the actors of the Corneilie
Francaise, in the midst of an immense audi
ence who caused the vaulted buildings to
shake to its foundations with applause.
Never did the self-love of man receive
such delicate homage; never did the work
of a human being receive so usurious a
recompense. What was then to him the
reminiscence of the caresses of Frederic. and
the flattery of Catherine. What sovereignty
can ever grant a reward equal to that of a na
tion ! I will not attempt to describe the
magnificent scene; so many others, who
were present, have preceded me, who, more
struck with exterior objects, have been able
better to preserve the details in their mem
ory. In me, the sight awoke all the faculties
of my mind, and the reflections which it
absorbed, left to my senses, of all that sur
rounded me, but a confused murmur which
grated on my ear, and a brilliant light which
dazzled my eyes. What, I thought, is that
the homage paid by the people! The peo
ple ! where are they, in this assembly ?
these women brilliant with diamonds, youth
and beauty. These young men covered with
gold, —this public composed of all of elite,
wit, wealth of mind, taste, and fortune! —is
the public ? Is it not merely a handful of
grain drawn from the vast harvest ? Is it
not merely the aristocracy ? An aristocracy
of rank, of wealth, of intelligence? Yes!
and it is for this privileged class, for this
small fraction of the social body, that Voltaire
has brought forth his chef-d’auvres. And
with what triumph they welcome him 1 how
they intoxicate him with glory ! What then
would be the reward of him, who would
work for this disdained mass, who would
enable them, by enlightening, who would
restore to them the rights of-which they are
disinherited, and encite them to reclaim
them.
But let us be just; the writings of Voltaire
have, in a great degree, contributed to the
emancipation of the people. He did not ad
dress his remarks directly to them, because
they were not as yet capable of understanding
them ; but he has commenced, in the higher
ranks, a revolution which, in the end, has
descended to the lower; he has been obliged
to submit to the invariable rules of nature,
and look upon the people as they had been
looked upon for centuries preceding his time.
Let us forgive him his weaknesses, his er
rors, his pernicious frivolity; he has served
as the instrument of Providence and aided in
the accomplishment of its decrees.
In 1778 my ideas had not been sufficiently
matured by time and meditation, to accept of
these amendments. I had read the works of
Voltaire, at first, with all the ardor of a young
■ head which craved knowledge, then with the
- disgust of a soul which demanded religion.
His frightful scepticism, his mania for jesting
! with all, and without end or motive; his
■ servile adulation of princes, his haughty man-
• ner, the immorality of some of his produc
: tions, were revolting to my feelings, and
caused me to close my eyes upon those of
i his works which were filled with sublimity
■ and useful to the people. But that for which
I I could least forgive him, and which to this day
• appears to me an ineffaceable stain upon his
' memory, was his jealous hatred of Jean Jaques
I Rousseau, and the base attacks with which
■ he continually prosecuted that great man.
The author of the Social Contract was
i thenceforth, as he still is, the object of all my
admiration. I had felt, on reading his works
i that sympathy of sentiments and ideas "which
i causes one to adopt an unlimited confidence
■ in another, even to actions the most suscepti
r ble of dissection. I admired him for his ge-
- nius, and laved him for his character. To him
t alone I am indebted for the first firm deter
i minations which entered my mind. In spite
i of the efforts of those who had reared me, I
f had left college a very bad Catholic, and even
i slightly disposed to believe in Revelation.
1 Rousseau did not convert me ; but if the con
> fusion of my conscience did not appeal with
I sufficient vigor to my reason, in the belief of
; a Supreme Intelligence, the energetic and
’ religious tone of this great writer brought
back the first instinct, and to him I owe my
firm conviction of the existence of a reward
ing Providence; a conviction which has sus
tained and consoled me in a career thickly
sown with severe trials ; and which has given
me the power to brave prejudice and danger,
and to resist temptations, which might have
driven me from the route which my con
science had marked out for my passage
through life.
If I did not share in the adoration which
Paris paid to Voltaire, my feelings for the
recluse of Ermenonville far surpassed theirs
in ardor and zeal. The desire to see this il
lustrious man had become in me a perfect
passion. Emboldened by my enthusiasm, I
determined to hasten to his Hermitage, with
the hope of at least hearing his voice, or con
templating his cherished features. I men
tioned my project to none, for I would have
been laughed at, and I started alone, one
bright morning in June, for Ermenonville.
I went on foot, but my dreamy meditations on
the way greatly shortened the walk; for,
when, at the age of nineteen one idea, pre
eminent above all others, monopolizes the
mind, when, before one’s feet stretches an
open road, and in one’s head a bright future,
the end of a journey is soon accomplished. |
A young man, at that time of life, would have
done the same to meet a glance from a pair
of bright eyes, that I did to see a philosopher.
My heart beat violently on my arrival at
my place of destination. The nearer one ap
proaches a coveted object, the more timid he
becomes; but it was now no time for me-to
turn back, and I would have died of shame,
had I, through an unworthy weakness, aban
doned what I had come so far to accomplish.
I therefore entered the park ofErmenonville
and for some time I wandered aboat without
seeing any one—at last I met a person belong
ing to the house, who asked me the object of
my visit. I muttered the name of Rousseau.
My interlocutor smiled and replied; “I doubt
whether you will succeed in seeing Mr.
Rousseau; he is not over fond of visitors, and
his door would be closed upon you; but if
you are not unwilling to lose a few hours,
direct you steps towards the hillock which
you perceive at the right of those poplars f
there you will find the Hermitage, where
Mr. Rousseau daily repairs to botanise; you
may chance to meet him.”
I took the direction pointed out, with the
greater haste, as I felt that blushes were suf
fusing my face, and I imagined that I heard
the laugh of insolent lackeys jesting as they
spoke of the beardless disciple of a philo
sopher. I waited long in the environs of the
Hermitage, at times sitting on a rock, at
others walking with rapid strides or stopping
to reflect.
At last I saw, at the foot of the hill, a man
who, with his eyes fixed on the ground and a
voluminous herbarium in his hand, stopped
every minute to cull a plant or flower, which
he placed carefully aside. I should have
hastened to meet him but a sacred respect
seized me, and I remained where I stood. In
the meantime he was advancing towards me,
with so profound a pre-occupation that he was
soon within a few steps of me. I was then
able to contemplate him at leisure, for he did
not seem even to see me; he was of middling
size, with bright melancholy eyes ; his fore
head was expressive of both thought and suf
fering, and his whole bearing announced a
man broken down by evil, and the conscience
of evil. A light of satisfaction illuminated
by fits and starts his countenance, whenever
he discovered some new treasure for his
herbarium.
He was at my side : I had not even moved
and he had not yet seen me. I saw him
stoop to pluck a field daisy; I rushed forward,
grasped the flower and handed it to him. He
took it and looking at me, said—
“ What! it is not Stanislaus ?” ,
“ No, sir,” I replied, “ it is merely a young
man who has nothing henceforth to ask of
Providence, since he has now had the plea
sure of seeing you.”
He looked at me with more attention, and
then said —
“ You are already a flatterer, young man,
so much the worse for you.”
“At my age one does not flatter, but it is
then alone that he feels all the ardor of en
thusiasm. and is willing to walk ten leagues
afoot ”
“What! ten leagues on foot. You must
have most excellent legs, young man ; it is a
fact worthy to be presented to the Mercure
de France; ten leagues on foot! You know
that I myself am not afraid of a long walk,
and that therefore I know something of the
labor.”
I bit my lips and blushed with shame.
“ Come, my friend,” said Rousseau, “do
not get angry. You wished to see me, did
you? I am so strange an animal that lam
the curiosity of Paris. I have passed great
men in that city and know that the daily ex
clamation on meeting is, ‘ Have you seen that
crazy Jean-Jaques? Have you been to Er
menonville I’ Now, too, that Monsieur de
Voltaire is no more, I must represent him
also ;it is becoming unendurable. But still
lam not displeased with your visit; the face
of man has often deceived me, but I think I
recognise an elevated tone and open
candor.”
I urged the purity of my devotion, and I
rejected all thoughts of a puerile or culpable
curiosity.
“ I believe you,” said the great man, “ and
I esteem you the more for it. Do you know
how this barbarous curiosity of many will
end. It will kill me. After having chased
me about as they would a wild beast, they
will crusnme witn caresses. Willi be again
obliged to leave this retreat ? I might be
happy here! It is charming, it realizes my
brightest dreams, and since you say you have
read my works, you must know my meaning.
Oh, no! I cannot leave here alive; I have
marked out the place of my last repose—”
“ Did I dare express myself with the natu
ral frankness of my age, I would supplicate
you to banish these dark ideas. No, a man
like you should not abandon a life which may
be useful to'his fejlow men; never, perhaps,
has our country been more in need of your
eloquent lessons.”
“ Yes,” said he, “ a heavy mist is gathering
over the horizon of France; I hope, (for I love
it as my country,) I hope the tempest which
is on the point of breaking out will not last
long, and that the sun which follows will be
all the brighter and softer. But this is not a
scene for my labors, others will hasten the
accomplishment of this great work. How
beautiful will their task be ! Mine is com
pleted ; I have prepared the way, I have
sown a grain which is doomed to spring up
and prosper.”
I wished to continue, but he interrupted
me.
“Enough,” said he, “on this'subject,
young man. See how glorious is the drapery
of the earth ! let us cast aside worldly debate
and enjoy the charms of Nature; she is a
mistress who often smiles, who is never faith
less, and whom we always find yielding, even
after having discarded her. Would you like
to continue • the promenade with me ? take
my herbarium, walk by my side and speak to
me of nothing but the lovely flowers with
which we meet; I will give you a lesson in
the most beautiful of sciences.”
I followed him and spent two delightful
hours.
“ Stanislaus has cut me outright this morn
ing ; I am like all old men, faithful to fixed
habits; I always have him with ine in -my
botanical researches ; his absence has, with
out complimenting you, caused you a much
more welcome reception than you could have
expected under any other circumstances.”
I asked permission to call on him again.
“ No/’ he said; “ for I might be brought
to like you, and at that point of Life’s jour
ney to which I have arrived, I feel that I
should begin" to withdraw from all I love,
and to avoid forming new affections.”
I pressed him more warmly, and I at last
obtained permission to return to the. Hermit
age on the following month, to take, as he
said, a new lesson in botany.
I left him with tears in my eyes, but al
ready thinking ef my future interview. Alas,
during thg month following he died, and I
found nothing left but his ashes, which re
pose in peace in the “ Isle of Poplars.” This
visit to a man whose genius should command
the respect and admiration of his fellow citi
zens, has left in my mind bright thoughts
which will never fade; all the details are
present to my eye with the freshness of a
first impression,, and his soft voice still
vibrates in my ears.
Satan and Mephistopheles, the De
vils of Milton and Goethe. —Satan is a
colossal figure ; Mephistopheles an elaborate
portrait. Satan is an archangel scheming his
future existence ; Mephistopheles is the mo
dern spirit of evil. Mephistopheles has a
distinctly marked physiognomy ; Satan has
a sympathetic knowledge of good ; Mephisto
pheles knows good only as a phenomenon.
Much of what Satan says might be spoken by
Raphael; a devilish spirit runs through all
that Mephistopheles says. Satan’s bad ac- J
tions are preceded by noble reasonings ; Me
phistopheles does not reason. Satan’s bad
actions are followed by compunctious visit
ings; Mephistopheles never repents. Satan
is often “ inly racked Mephistopheles can
feel nothing more noble than disappointment.
Satan conducts an enterprise ; Mephistophe
les enjoys an occupation. Satan has strength
of purpose ; Mephistopheles is volatile.—
Satan feels anxiety; Mephistopheles lets
things happen. Satan’s greatness lies in the
vastness of his motives; Mephistopheles’s
in his intimate acquaintance with every
thing. Satan has a few sublime conceptions;
Mephistopheles has accumulated a mass of
observations. Satan declines; Mephistophe
les puts in remarks. Satan is conversant with
the moral aspect of things, and uses adjec
tives; Mephistopheles has a preference for
1 nouns, and if he uses an adjective at all, it is
only to convey a signification which he knows
1 to exist. Satan may end in being a devil;
Mephistopheles is a devil irrevocably Fra
zer’s Magazine.
dtj- An American Quaker said to a gunner,
during the revolutionary war, “ Friend, I
counsel no bloodshed; but, if it be thy de
sign to hit the little man in the blue jacket,
point thine engine three inches lower.”
OCy- “ You havegot thin shoes,” said Caro
line’s mamma to her daughter, “and they will
' wear out right off.” “ I got them to wear
out, right off," said she, as she thrust her arm
under that of her beau, and swartwouted.
The Future is Better than the Pas It*
LOST EDEN FOUND.
Not where long-passed ages sleep.
Seek we Eden’s golden trees,
In the future folded deep,
Are its mystic harmonies.
All before us lies the way,
Give the past unto the wind ;
All before us is the day.
Night and darkness are behind.
Eden withits angels bold,
Love and flowers and coolest sea
ls not ancient story told,
But a glowing prophecy.
In the spirit’s perfect air,
In the passions tame and kind.
Innocence from selfish care,—
The true Eden we shall find.
It is coming, it shall come,
To the patient and the striving,
To the quiet heart at home,
Thinking wise and faithful living.
When all error is worked out,
From the heart and from the life,
When the sensuous is laid low,
Through the spirit’s holy strife ;
When the soul to sin hath died,
True and beautiful and sound,
Then all earth is sanctified,
Up springs Paradise around.
Then shall come the Eden days,
Guardian watch from seraph eyes,
Ange-ls on the slanting rays.
\ Voices from the opening skies.
From the spirit land afar,
, All disturbing force shall flee,
Neither sin nor toil shall mar
Its immortal unity.
[Original.]
©fje toorking IHasses.
There are two remarkable books that have
just appeared, that claim our notice as signs
of the times, “ Wurthering Heights,” and
“ The Dreamer and the Worker.” The ques
tion, who is the author of WurtheringHeights?
we have not asked, and shall not attempt to
answer. It is a book fraught with extraordi
nary power; but there is an almost unrelieved
diabolism running through it, that would be
too much for a Christie street butcher boy,
should he chance to begin it. Still the interest
holds one like a wolf at the throat, which
now and then, at rather distant intervals lets
go his hold, and licks his victim’s face with a
soft, warm tongue, and then again seizes the
throat. As a myth showing the perversions
of humanity, and its Divine germs of good
ness, this book may serve no mean purpose.
We wish to believe that it will do good in
some way, for it were else a tremendous waste
of power.
We turn with a glad alacrity to “The
Dreamer and the Worker,” by Douglas Jerrold,
which is a noble work in its scope and inten
tion, though dull, common place, and tedious
in parts; There is a great deal of poor land
in almost every rich landscape, which only
seems intended to hold the world together,
and the intention of portions of this book
seems to be only to hold the remainder to
gether. Still there are other portions that
one reads with almost breathless interest, and
again parts that have a perfectly irresistable
wit and humor. A friend at our elbow, says
he has had the chapter on Mesmerism, read
to him three times by a charitable lady friend,
wno wanted him to enjoy the best laugh that
was possible, and instead of being bored by
the third reading, he laughed in the most
satisfactory manner to himself and his fair
friend.
We give some extracts from this work, to
show how truly human it is in spirit.
“ The working-classes are rapidly rising,
and more particularly the mechanic or artisan
class, who are, comparatively, the most ad
vanced of any other class in the world.”
“ Ob, Mr. Archer,” said Harding with an
emotion quite unlike his usual manner, which
was somewhat hard and self restrained, “do
not flatter the working-classes. I know you
would never mislead us; but indeed you help
to give us a higher opinion of ourselves, our
position and prospects, than the factswarrant.
How many writers, men of intellect and full
of the spirit of liberty and the wish to see jus
tice done by society and the laws to our hard
work—how many say, and constantly say,
that we are the great rising class of the pre
sent time. How have we risen ? Where do
we stand ? It seems to me, sir, that all other
classes have risen, and are rising around us,
and that we should be buried alive, if it were
not that they need the use of our spades for
themselves.”
“You surprise me, Harding, by talking in
this way. The millions are rising like a great
tide that will know no ebb ; the mighty shad
ow of the masses is already rising visibly upon
the base of the lofty pyramid of hereditary
power, darkening its lustre, and threatening
its downfall.”
“Icannot see it. A working-man’s ears
may hear it, but his heart cannot rejoice, be
cause he is unable to see it. What does he
really see ? Excepting the best hands—the
skilled artisans and craftsmen—what does he
see ? You tell me, sir, of the millions, and
the masses—where are they? When you en
ter a great city, you are struck with the mag
nificent palaces, and churches, and institu
tions, and theatres, and club-houses, and ho
tels —the large airy squares—the fine broad
streets —the shining rows of shops, filled with
all manner of things—and by the great num
ber of houses—always in splendor by day or
by night. These are all for the upper and
middle classes. When a gentleman at home,
or a. traveller abroad, has seen all this, he
considers he has seen this city. Well, sir—
but where are the millions we hear about ?
the masses we read of? Ha has only seen the
localities belonging to‘the few,’ and the com
paratively few. Is there another city— not
s<s free, nor sd conimodioUS ot course, but very
much larger of course, where ‘the many’—all
these millions, these masses reside ?—then
public and private work-shops, and their in
numerable colonies of homes ? There is
another city—what a city !—not quite a city
under ground, but a straggling series of holes
and corners, and side-lanes, and attics, and
lofts, and cellars and nooks behind dark walls,
and dung-heaps, and hovels and dens close to
cess-pools and slushy passages, and all the
dirty people crowded and jammed together in
these family-places—far behind and round
about, and out of the sight of the city which
gentlemen and travellers walk through and
admire. This is the great city of all great
capitals—the city kept out of sight—the un
known town within the famous town. The
city with the name does not itself know any
thing about our place. And this unknown
region ot the millions iand|masses, bears the
same relation to the city of the upper or mid
dle classes, which the drains and sewers, with
the rats, toads, and efts, bear to a splendid
river with all its shipping .upon it—except
that the populations of the sewers work for
themselves only, andarenot ship-wright-rats,
tailoring-toads, nor brewing and baking-efts,
who drudge through the mire for their betters
who float in the light. I ask your pardon
Mr. Archer—l would not say all this, if I
did not know it myself. I have not told you
half.”
“ Go proceed.”
“ I cannot —there is so much. What has
the progress of the world, with all its discov
eries and improvements, and increased practi
cal knowledge done for the working-classes of
England ? For them, printing has not been
invented—the great majority get nothing of
it—know nothing of it. Even the Bible, so
far as hundreds are concerned, has not been
printed. They never saw one, nor any good
book of any kind, nor could read one if they
had it. For the million, there has been no
home-felt good in the discovery of gas—they
can barely afford a rushlight. For them,
steam power has not come into the world ;
and the inventions and improvements in ma
chinery have chiefly been felt by the mischief
and deprivation they have caused to the ope
ratives during the change, and from which
great masses of them never recover all the
rest of their lives. The railway, gas, the new
machineries, the wonderful discoveries in
chemistry and electricity, which I read of in
the ‘Mechanics’ Magazine’—none of these are
or us—they are only for those who live in the
city that bears a name, and is fit to be seen.
Our city has no name—is never fit to be seen
—it never is seen—and is only known to one
or two medical men who have explored its
dark regions, and written accounts so very true
that scarcely anybody believes them. I can
see no rising classes here.”
The above conversation suggests to Archer
the following poem:
THE UNSEEN CITY.
There is an Unseen City,
As old as Babylon, ,
Where creatures dwell in narrow holes,
Burrows and crannies dark, like moles;
Poor exiles from the sun —
The ever-wakeful stars —the blessed noon;
Seeing no glory in the night or moon.
It is no black banditti
'I hat swarms these countless dens;
Where spiders weave above the head,
With rats and mice beneath the bed ;
Nor are the regions fens ;
Nor do the inmates love the efts and toads
And pestilential air ofthese unknown abodes.
Are they of monstrous features,
EK. oaf, or bedlamite,
Who swoll’n with sloth obscenely roll
Midst filth and gloom,.and odours foul.
Cursing, and cursed, by light 7
Or can they be some nation of a land.
Cast out from human eye by God’s wise hand 1
Who are the hideous creatures I
See I palace walls divide!
A strange bell tolls—downfalls the steeple !
“We are the wide world’s Working People,
Who dwelt,thus thrust aside !
Our city is around—beneath—behind —
And like our myriad graves, is Nameless -none can
v find
Irish Counting.—“ Teddy, me b’y, did
ye go to the parthy last night ?”
“ Och ! warn’t I there, darlin ? And warn’t
it a fine time we had Jemmy 1”
“ How many ov the b’ys did ye’ave thare?”
“ Oonly foor.”
“ An’ who were they ?”
“ There was mesilf, that’s one ? thare was
Barney Flin, that’s two ? the two Croghans,
an’ that’s thraa an’ —an’—fax, there was foor.”
Teddy commenced his count again.
“ The two Croghans, is one ? mesilf, that’s
' two ? an’ Barney Flin is thraa—is thraa—but
thare was foor, oony how!”
Not satisfied with three, Teddy scratched
his pate, and very emphatically recommenced
his counting.
“ Thare was Barny Flin, that’s one ? an’ the
two Croghans that’s two ; —an’—an’— be dad
there was Joor — but I can’t t’ink o’ the uthy
one !” .
gt}- “ Yer drunk again, hey?” “No, my
love, (hiccup) not drunk, but slippery, (hic
cup). The fact is, my dear, somebody has
been rubbing the bottom of my boots (hiccup)
till they are as smooth as a dem pane of glass.”
[Original.]
Progress of Weinocraqi
IN GREAT BRITAIN.
[The followirg article was written before the re
cent Chartist demonstration in London, and embodies
a sketch of the origin and progress of this agitation,
which we think will interest the reader at this time.]
—[Eds.
In tracing the rise and progress of the de
mocratic sentiment in Britain, we might ex
tend our enquiries as far back, as the dajs in
which Saxon Institutions, were first estab
lished in England. It took a long time for
the crown and aristocracy, to extinguish the
wild love of liberty, that old England’s yeo
manry inherited from their German ancestors.
But, it is not in accordance with our purpose
to portray the encroachments of the crown,
its strife with the aristocracy, the compromise
that ensued, and the subsequent struggles of
the middle classes to obtain a share in the
government. The impulse given to democra
tic principles, by the bold truths, boldly pro
claimed, ably advocated, and firmly establish
ed in our own revolution, was strongly felt in
Britain. The cause of the people was nobly
advocated by a few, but they had not the same
means of operating on the masses, that now
exist*, cheap literature was unknown, a great
majority of the people themselves were in
different, and the refined and educated, be
lieved that the people were base, dishonest,
and fit for nothing but labor. Few have done
more to remove that unworthy prejudice,
than Sir Walter Scott —a writer, whose opin
ions, were eminently aristocratic—yet he
portrayed the industrious smuggling laborer,
with a faithful heart. His works were uni
versally read by all who cotid read, and from
reading the adventures of these imaginary
characters, men were led to inquire if forti
tude, perseverance, honestyand love of know
ledge, really existed amoigst the despised
poor. The efforts of Broughim, Combe, Simp
son and many other influeniial men, aided by
the exertions of the workin; classes, succeed
ed in establishing libraries, ind reading rooms,
for the operatives, in all the large cities of
Britian. A great many jourieymen mechanics
became permament members of these institu
tions, and having no oppor.unity of becoming
capitalists, noteven having the hope of accu
mulating sufficient to purclase a piece of land,
or a building lot, all theirleisure hours have
been devoted to reading. The consequence
is, that two-thirds of the intelligent portion
of the mechanics of Britian are either Re
publicans or Socialists; ind their opinions
founded on conviction, are by no means light
ly formed—they have been the growth of
many years of bitter experience. In procur
ing the passage of the Reform Bill, the middle
classes sought the aid of theoperafives; libe
ral promises of immediate amelioration were
made, the country was agitated, and the aris
tocracy forced to yield. The blessings that
were to flow from the reform bill, never reach
ed the working classes; they soon • found
the moneyed power, as much opposed to
their interests as the landed aristocracy. The
new Parliament turned a deaf ear to all their
entreaties, a pampered heirling church still
weighed heavily upon them, a disgraceful
pension list abstracted a large portion of their
earnings, an unjust, unmerciful debt still
ground them to the dust, and amidst it all,
the Parliament of the middle classes, treated
the operatives, as if they had no business to
interfere. He is but a short sighted politi
cian, that believes all these lessons have been
forgot. The effects of seven years’ experience
of a middle class Parliament, resulted in the
British reformers demanding universal suf
frage as a right.
The British government has acted a pru
dent part, in securing their individual inte
rests, by resisting all demands for organic
changes. British statesmen know well, that
any extension of the suffrage, will ultimately
end in republicanism. Whigs, Tories and
Peelites, have all united in refusing to con
sider the demands for Parliamentary reform.
Any extension of the sufferage would be a
signal for a constitutional warfare, in which
all the different sections of the parties of the
day, would be merged in that of democracy,
or aristocracy. Just in so much as truth is
stronger than error, would the party of pro
gress be stronger than the party of conserva
tism ; therefore, the policy of ths Whigs and
Tories, has been to avoid the subject as much
as possible.
In 1838, the principles contended for by the
radical reformers, were embodied in a docu
ment known as the people’s charter; univer
sal suffrage, vote by ballot, payment of mem
bers, annual Parliaments, and no property
qualification for members. A national petition
to Parliment was adopted, and these princi
ples brought prominently before the people ;
they were explained at public meetings, and
in cheap publications, and discussed in every
workshop in the land. For a short time, a
portion of the middle classes, as a class in
the English acceptation, the worst in the
world, joined in the movement. The peti
tion was rejected with scorn by a reformed
Parliament, and then the question arose, of
how the charter was to be obtained. A por
tion advocated the employment of moral force
alone, and deprecated all appeals to arms ;
this idea was prominetly put forth in Scot
land, at a meeting on the Calton Hill, at
Edinburgh. It was not received with univer
sal favor in England; hence the division
among the chartists, one party, advocating a
preparation for a physical contest, the other
opposed to it. It is a singular phase in human
character, that there are men, who can calm
ly look on human suffering—see thousands,
yea millions of their fellow creatures perish for
want of food and shelter—convinced in -their
own minds, that a certain change will remove
it—and shrink from the sacrific of some hun
dred lives with an easier death—to procure
that very change. The press now began to
notice the large assemblages of the chartists,
and succeeded in alarming the middle classes;
the fastidious, the lukewarm, and the timid,
left the ranks of chartism. That greatest
autocrat ot modern times, Dan. O’Connell,
prohibited the introduction of chartist prin
ciples in Ireland; up to this time, Daniel
O’Connell was a favorite with the working
men of Britian; but his bitter hostility to
the only practical movement they had ever
been engaged in, completely alienated their
affections. Poor unfortunate Ireland took his
advice, when the aid of the Irish people, and
his tremendous power, united with the Eng
lish chartists, might have carried repeal,
when not a ray of hope existed for repeal in
any other course.
At the commencement of the chartist agita
tion, Mr. O’Connell was in a position to wield
a greater power than any other living man;
he had previously expressed his assent to the
principle of universal suffrage, and instead
of indulging in tirades against the Saxon race
universally, if he had used his influence to
unite the efforts of the British workmen, with
the Irish nation, the British Isles might have
been the first to show an example to the world
in the cause of freedom.
The great good obtained by the chartist
agitation, was, in arousing a spirit of enquiry
among the operatives. When partial riots
ensued, and the government in conscious
strength and proud triumph, banished and
imprisoned the leaders, the people were im
bibing a hatred of aristocratic institution
that will never rest till the right of self gov
ernment is firmly established. Perhaps it is
better for the cause of democracy, that chart
ism failed, that Louis Philippe proved re
creant to his trust, and that the promises of
Cobden & Co., have proved a delusion. Free
trade has not availed us anything; Parliament
neither heeds our petitions, nor relieves our
burthens, we must unite among ourselves,
and secure our own rights. These ideas have
gone abroad and have taken deep root.
It is true, it is only working men that adopt
these views, but there are thousands of intelli
gent operatives, who have no other hope for
themselves or their country, but a total change
of the present system; adversity has made
them energetic, and in the hour of action
they would be sure to lead the multitude.
After the excitement of chartism in a great
measure died strong effort was made
to engage the operatives in a co-operative
movement, having for its object, the establish
ment of a community on Robert Owen’s plan.
A leading idea of Mr. Owen’s is, that no gov
ernmental change can do any good, equality
of condition and education, is to be obtained
by substituting co-operation for the present
system of individual competition. Mr. Owen
has no faith in political democracy, and true
to his principles, has endeavored to engage
the wealthy and influential, in all countries,
to adopt his views, and remove the miseries
that afflict mankind. His efforts have been
all in vain, and while Owen and Charles
Fourier, were dreaming of some monarch, or
mighty capitalist coming forward, to put their
benevolent schemes in practice, the reflecting
portion of the working classes, were slowly
and quietly gathering a knowledge of the
great question of social reform. Monarchs
and wealthy men do not feel the evils of the
present system, and unless conscientiousness
and benevolence are largely developed, they
cannot see the necessity of change. Mr.
Owen, seems totally wanting in destructive
ness, he is like a man that would go into one
of our western forests, and commence sowing
wheat before he removed any encumbrance,
forgetting that the spreading branches ex
cludes the sun’s rays; that the root sticks
deep in the soil, and absorbs all the nourish
ment. We must first cut down the trees, that
have taken centuries to grow, exterminate
the wild beasts, prepare the soil, and we may
then expect a good harvest. And so it is in
Europe, political reform, must precede the
organization of industry. He must be the
dullest sceptic imaginable, that seriously
doubts man’s capacity to devise a method to
distribute the wealth that is now so easily
created.
During the last fifty years, there have been
as many discoveries made in the moral world,
as in the scientific, the difference consists in
the application. Scientific discoveries en
gage the sympathies of the wealthy, because
they afford the means of adding to their store
of gold. Every year we are adding to the
power of producing wealth—every startling
discovery, is immediately applied to the coin
ing of wealth—and to me it. seems a very
reasonable anticipation, that all should reap
the benefit by sharing the profits in society;
instead of warring in individual scrambles for
the lion’s share. We must defer our remarks
on the failure of Mr. Owen’s plan, and the
rise of the chartist co-operative land society,
until our next. Adopted Citizen.
[Original.]
Parisian (Bosaip.
Now that the more intense interest of the
Revolution, and the accompanying events,
has somewhat subsided, the Parisians have
resumed their former search for amusements.
The soirees have never been more animated,
nor the re-unions more numerous. It is true
that many of the adherents of the ancient
regime have closed their saloons, but for one
saloon which has been closed, there have
been ten clubs opened. This is more than a
compensation. The balls, concerts and fetes
of the fashionable world last but a few weeks;
the spring has already nearly brought them
to an end ; but a club con inues through all
seasons, and in this respect possesses great
advantages. There are at least two hundred
of them organised in Paris; each quarter has
its own, and each place of meeting is con
stantly filled. The system of clubs has taken
a firm hold and will not soon disappear.
But the spurious reports and mysterious
tales of the alarmists, on this matter of clubs,
are not to be believed; the fearful, those
short-sighted people, or those whose visual
organs are so delicate that they cannot bear
the rays of the republican sun, paint the
clubs in the blackest and most startling colors.
They will tell you that the members hold
there the most formidable language, profess
the most dangerous doctrines. All this is
either an absurd invention of fear, or the per
fidious exaggeration of malevolence. If ex
travagant words are sometimes uttered at a
club, the speaker of them is instantly silenced
by the clamors of the audience. But such
scenes are of very rare occurrence, and are
the exceptions only to the excellent spirit
which reigns.
Where can we find the re-union, or the
most select society, in which we should not
meet either a fool or a crazy person ? The
clubs are much less protected against such
characters, as the doors are open to w’hoever
chooses to enter, and liberty is granted to all
who wish to speak. But when a fool begins
to address them he is silenced without cere
mony ; when an insane man ventures a violent
proposition, his voice is immediately drown
ed in the shouts of laughter from his hearers.
Nothing is more effective than laughter.
It is a weapon which wounds neither those
who use it, nor those whom it strikes; but
this courteous weapon disconcerts furious
menaces, and kills stupid ranting sooner than
the most serious arguments or the most elo
quent harangue.
As a matter of course there are numerous
incidents in circulation among the laughter
laving Parisians, relating to the doings at
these same clubs, of which the following is
one of the most amusing;
An orator (who had doubtless taken too
much wine at his dinner) ascended the ros
trum and declared “that thirty thousand
heads were needed to save the country.”
Shouts of laughter, mingled with "hisses,
were heard on all sides. Some cried; “ Out
with him!” The orator made a plunge into
the midst of the crowd, and disappeared.
His place on the speaker’s stand was imme
diately filled;
“ Gentlemen,” said the new comer, “ I
also, like my predecessor, demand thirty
thousand heads.”
The storm was again raised; the orator,
with the most placid countenance, manifested
by some expressive pantomime his desire to
explain. At length his audience consented
to listen to him.
“ You have not understood me,” continued
he. “If I ask for thirty thousand heads, it
is not in order to make a bad use of them, nor
to deprive them of a single hair. Heaven
preserve me from such a thought! You will
better appreciate my intentions when you
know who I am. I am a hatter. It is then
in the way of trade, for the sake of patronage,
that I address my humble request to you. If
you will give me thirty thousand heads, I will
give them thirty thousand hats, and my for
tune will be made.”
This business-like proposition was received
with the most uproarious applause, and the
facetious hatter, profitting by the mirth and
good humor which he had excited, drew a
handful of his business cards from his
pocket and threw them among the assembly.
But, in a serious point of view, these clubs
are a useful laboratory where all new and in
teresting questions are discussed. Every
variety of topic, even the most utopian plans
of government, flourish in these fertile nur
series, which promise both fruit and shade
for the gardens of the future. But in order
that the fruit may not be tasteless, and that
the shade trees may be fresh, beneficent, and
not baneful, it is essential for every good citi
zen to contribute his share of good sense and
intelligence. Neglect alone can compromise
a future for which the present promises so
much.
There is but one thing about the clubs to be
critizised—that is the name. Why should
this be borrowed from the English ?
It is a word which has a variety of signifi
cations, and the Parisians are so little accus
tomed to the pronunciation of English, that
each one pronounces the word after his own
peculiar fashion. Some say cloob, others
cloub — another class pronounce it clob, and
yet others cle-üb.
These irregularities are only the least fault
of the thing.
Some of the clubs have singular names, but
the most remarkable among them is that of
Vesuviennes, which has been taken by a
newly organised association of women. It
was easy to foresee that women would not re
sign themselves to the forgetfulness in which
. their social and political rights had been left.
But this name of Vesuviennes is not easily
understood. _ Whether they mean to express
their volcanic tendencies, or to threaten so
ciety with an eruption by this word so signi
ficant of shocks, ashes and lava, is a mystery.
This reminds one of the first day of the
Revolution, when a gamin de Paris, hearing
the people and National Guards cry “ Vive
I a Reforme!” began to shout lustily “ Vive
la Chloroforme
He was very much surprised at the bursts
of laughter by which this was followed, from
the groups of workmen and National Guards
by whom he was surrounded.
An instant afterwards the cry was no longer
Vive la Reforme! but Vive la Republique!
This no one could misunderstand.
Courtiers, deception, flattery, have caused
the downfall of kings; the Republic wishes
to hear only the rude and austere language of
truth. It must be told, then, that it has been
guilty of a deplorable neglect and that one
half of the population refuses its adhesion to
the new order of things.
At a moment when union and accord are
so necessary, it is sad to think of the conse
quences that may possibly follow such a
schism. If it concerned only one class of
society, encased in its own moneyed interests,
or in its pride, it would be a slight thing, and
the State would suffer little; but, it must be
repeated, the discontented number one half
of Paris, and what is worse—the most beauti
ful half.
Yes! this dissatisfied half is the women.
The fair sex complain of having been for
gotten in the distribution of political rights,
and of having gained nothing from the Revo
lution, except it be an injurious and disdain
ful silence. But if every one holds his peace
respecting them, the women do not intend
to remain quiet about themselves; in the sad
position in which they have been placed and
where they are left, speech remains to them,
and they will use it; nor will their pens rest
idle. Let the Republic take warning, then,
and the government explore the abyss under
its feet.
The women are indignant at not having
been included in the universal suffrage, and
at not being allowed to vote at the coming
elections.
Their exclusion is a relic of ancient preju
dices.
“ Thus,” say the women, “ when all the
established customs and prejudices have
crumbled into dust, only that one remains
unchanged, unaffected, which considers wo
man as a secondary being, a nullity. She is
not affected by any conquests of liberty. The
new law accords political rights to men of all
conditions,to the most humble, to the most
ignorant, but woman still remains struck
with incapacity. It is frightful, it is odious,
it is intolerable! We will revolt in our turn,
and we will also erect our barricades, not in
the street, but in our houses, which will be
far more terrible.”
But they are ready to listen to reason.
The danger of a revolt is imminent. The
women hoped'to be no longer neglected, and
their disappointment is bitter.
“ The negroes are emancipated,” say they,
“ and we are still slaves
In the bad humor in which they women are
at present, they see their situation in the
blackest colors; and the future is full of
menaces for them. But aside from all exag
geration, their fears seem well founded in
certain points of view. The projects of so
cial reform which are already in agitation,
and which will soon be put into execution,
are conceived to the detriment of women and
the benefit of their masters. It could hardly
be otherwise. The laws are always in favor
of those who make them.
Amongst the thousand placards which
make the walls of Paris like the pages of an
immense album on which every one writes
his thoughts, his wishes, or his theories, can
be seen a large sheet of yellow paper, bearing
this simple sentence, written in large capi
tals :
“ Public morals demand the re-establish
ment of the law of divorce."
Who speaks thus of the public morals ? Is
it the wives ?
“.No, certainly not. It is the husbands.
Every thing about the placard betrays
them ; the laconic style, the majestic size
of the letters, every thing, even the color of
the paper.
But, whatever we may fear from these mal
contents for the future, order is established
for the present. One meets more rarely and
in smaller numbers, those processions which
used daily to traverse Paris on their way to
the Hotel de Ville, to carry their adhesion to
the government. All the world has now ex
pressed their wishes, and their concurrence
with the Provisional Government, and people
at length understand that the men invested
with power need all their time to work for
the salvation of the State. In the workshop,
as at the Hotel de Ville, each one obeys this
law of labor which makes the power and the
greatness of the country.
If the clubs have superseded the salons,
they have likewise thinned the audiences at
the theatres. The dramatic world continues
to be oppressed. The spectators are wanting,
not on account of economy, or a sad pre-occu
pation, but simply because citizens of all ages
and conditions pass at the clubs every even
ing, which is not claimed by public duties,
as guards.
This will not continue long, every one says,
but the theatres will not be able to sustain
themselves while waiting for better times.
Two directors have already succumbed and
left the enterprises in the hands of the actors.
The ball and supper at the Gardin d’ Hiver
for the benefit of public nurseries for the
children of the poor came off a few nights
ago. The feast, which was truely H< meric
in its character, consisting among other things
of bucks, roasted whole, and fish of almost in
credible size, —was exposed during the day,
to those who wished to see it, at a franc
apiece. This philanthrophic exhibition had
the inconvenient effect of adding to the
flavor of entrees by a seasoning of dust; but
this was of little consequence; as at night
the dust was not visible.
The great majority of the National Guard
have sacrificed their bonnet apoil, (high bear
skin caps) upon the altar of equality without
a murmur, or regret. However, as the great
est monstrosity can always boast of some par
tizans, it is impossible that, among the thou
sands of heads which have been covered by
it, the bonnet a poll should net have left
some regrets. Several of the discontented,
uncapped soldiers, preserve their martial
head-dress with the most religious care, and
have placed their bonnets a poil in glass cases
in the most conspicuous parts of their rooms.
This is, to say the least, a singular relic and
as singular a mantle ornament.
In the midst of the news of the overthrow
of thrones in one part of a world, and royal
concessions in others, we hear from Great
Britain that “ Queen Victoria has given birth
to another princess.”
This forms a strange contrast to the astound
ing rumors from all other quarters. The
general conflagration, the universal falling of
thrones, does not produce the slightest varia
tion in the regular yearly news from England!
But every thing must have an end in the
world and a Republic will yet be proclaimed
at London.
Shameful Treatment of an Artist by
the United Service Club.—A curious re
velation is made in the dlthenceuea respecting
the treatment of an artist by a committee of
the United Service Club. It seems that Mr.
Marshal Claxton painted for the Westmins
ter Hall competition a picture, the subject of
which was the burial of Sir John Moore. Not
having found a purchaser, Mr. Claxton very
handsomely presented the Work to the United
Service Club ; and it Was, to all appearance,
eagerly accepted. Having been presented
and received, the members of the Club seem
to have thought that with the painting they
had a further right to the artist’s services.
First, they request from him akey to his pic
ture ; and this Mr. Claxton sent. Then they
expressed a wish for an alteration in the cos
tume of the officers, and that Sir David Baird
might make way in the picture for somebody
else, on some small point of chronology. Their
next demand coolly suggested that the light
should be altered—the light of the picture,
be it observeed—to adapt it (we suppose) to
its place, the billiard room instead of the li
brary, its original destination, in making the
place suit the light of the picture. Next, Mr.
Claxten is informed that “ some gentlemen
had proposed covering up the face of Sir
John Moore ! ” Lastly, Mr. Claxton is de
sired to take his picture back again. “ But,”
says our contemporary, “by far the richest
bit remains behind—the Club will never get
over it. The reason assigned by those soldiers
for finally requesting the withdrawal of the
picture, exceeds anything we kr.ow of
in farce. The chairman of the committee in
formed Mr. Claxton, that it was to be removed
because some of the members objected to sit
in the room with a picture of a dead body! ”
—London Dispatch.
The Honor of the Parisian Populace.
—When the revolutionists who won the Re
public for France had forced their way into
the Palais Royal and had reached the apart
ments of General Athalia, one of Louis Phil
ippe’s aids-de-camp, they encountered the
General’s lady, a woman of dignified deport
ment and stature, whom the General had es
poused for her rare beauty, being but the
daughter of a poor fisherman of Granville.
“My friends,” she exclaimed, “I trust you
have not come here to offer any injury to my
self or my husband. lam not one of your
fine ladies, but a daughter of the people: I
throw myself on your protection. But I will
not leave my husband; he is confined to his
bed by illness.” Tho band were struck with
the boldness of the appeal. They repaired to
the general’s chamber, placed him in an arm
chair, and, headed by this daughter of the
people, they conveyed him to a iriend’s house
in the neighborhood. On reaching his desti
nation the General recollected leaving a sum
of 130,000 f. (£5200) in notes and gold in his
desk. He handed the key of the desk to a
working man in a blouse, whom he did not
know. An hour after the man returned with
every sous of the money. This is by no means
a solitary instance of the disinterestedness and
nobility of mind displayed by the people du
ring these most glorious three days.
Fraternization of the Pope and the
Sultan.—On the first of March last the
Pope’s Nuncio, Monsenor Ferrieri, had an
audience of the Sultan at Constantinople.
The Catholic Dignitary was received with un
usual honors. An address was presented on
the part of the Pope, to which the Sultan re
plied by assuring the Nuncio that he hailed
the accession of Pio Nino to the Papal throne
with feelings of joy, and that he sent Hekib
Effendi to Rome to express such sentiments.
He said he was happy that friendly relations
had been established between the States of
the Catholic Church and the Ottoman Empire
—he was anxious that civil and religious lib
erty should prevail in his dominions, and that
his subjects should look on him as a ruler who
would govern them through their affections,
and not by arbitrary sway !!! The world and
everything' are one wonderful revolution,
bringing happiness and liberty to man.
A Commission for a Husband.—Some
ladies have a very pleasant, and no less ingeni
ous way of commissioning their husbands to
make purchases for them; always assured, of
coruse that after the sweet manner in which
he has been asked to fulfil the commission, the
‘dear husband’ will generally defray the ex
pense and make the purchase in a liberal style,
worthy of one favored with such a confiding
affectionate partner. The plan generally an
swers well. Leaving the price to ‘dear Charles’
often secures something which ‘dear Charles’
would have thought it all too dear had not the
purchase, with most bewitching smile, been
“left entirely to him without Caroline saying
a word about the price.” 0 Charles, O Caro
line, you both know very well how to play
‘gammon.’ But that is no business of ours.
Feargus O’Connor.—Mr. O’Conner, sits
in Parliament for Nottingham. He is the son
of the late Roger O’Connor, Esq., of Connor
ville, Bantry Bay, Ireland, and nephew of the
late Arthur O’Connor, who resided many
years in Paris, in consequence of the part he
bore in the Irish Insurrection of 1798. Mr.
Feargus O’Connor is a member of the Irish
Bar, and has been for many years proprietor
of the Northern Star newspaper. He sat
for the county of Cork from 1832 to 1835;
was again returned in 1835, but unseated on
petition; was an unsuccessful candidate for
Oldham, in July, 1835, on the death of Mr.
Cobbett; and was returned for Nottingham at
the general election last year.
Leap Year.—This being leap year, the la
dies of Erie, Pa., have taken advantage of the
opportunity to go out serenading the gents.
A paper published at that place says :—Night
angels, in the shape of fair serenaders, have
several times within the last two weeks broke
in upon the slumbers of some of our citizens
by the mingled melody of the voice and the
guitar. We know they are beautiful, because
it must be that those who can send forth such
thrillingly sweet notes in the quiet gaze of the
moon and stars, possess the external marks as
well as the conception of beauty !
Names of Places.—The New York Star
says “ newspapers publishd in obscure places
would do well to put on the name of the State
as well as the town where they are published,
to avoid mistakes. It should be inserted con
spicuously. For instance, we have on our list
a paper published in Warsaw, called the
Republican. For some time we imagined that
it was published in Poland, and marvelled at
the freedom with which it dared to utter Re
publican sentiments. At length we found it
was Warsaw in Indiana.”
OO “ What do you call an impression ?”
asked a young lady of a typo.
“ This,” said he, kissing her, “ beautifully
registered too.”
“ Then take that as a token of thanks,”
she replied, slapping him in the face.
“ Pray don’t batter my form,” begged the
poor typo. . •
“ Then keep it locked up,” retorted the
miss.
It is true, that in dispositions, in which
a certain degree of fierceness is intermingled
with much capability of tenderness, in pro
portion as the affections are touched to un
happy or to fortunate issues, will the sterner
or the gentler qualities be developed. Pros
perity makes such persons calm, beneficent,
affectionate; reverses, instead of saddening,
arouse them to fury.
The following letter of recommenda
tion is a very disinterested one
Sir: —Mr. , may be a very good ac-
countant ; I know him to be a very clever
bookkeeeer. I lent him two Shaksperes,
three Scotts, and a Boz, eighteen months ago,
and he has not thought proper to return one
of them. I am, sir, &c. S. B.
(Xz* A living - minister, the Rev. Mr. Pit
ner, of the Illinois Conference, in a prayer
introductory to one of his maiden efforts at a
camp meeting, in a strain of rapid eloquence,
gave utterance to the following sublime in
vocation :
“ 0 Lord, come down here like a thunder
gust of woodpeckers, and tear all the bark off
these sassefacs.”
The Harp’s Wild Notes.
BY ELIZA COOK.
A Zephyr breath of wind is playing,
So softly none can trace its wings;
And lone and fitful in its straying,
It falls upon the silver strings.
They pour an answering strain that never
Could be awoke by minstrel skill;
The rarest melody that ever
Stirred from the chords to bless and thrill.
So rich, so full, so pure, so deep.
The air in dreamy sweetness floats;
But only spirit hands can sweep
Such music from the Harp’s wild notes.
So many a breast where music liveth,
May yielda store of measured tone;
Kull many a burning lav it giveth,
Its rarest breathing still unknown.
The throb of strange and holy feeling,
The dearest joy, the saddest sigh.
Will fill the soul with high revealing,
But, like the Harp strain, it must die.
None can record the matchless theme
That with the mystic wind-kiss floats;
And none can learn the Poet’s dream
That smgeth in the Heart’s wild notes.
Napoleon’s Disguise Detected. If the
life of Savage Landor was written, it would
he one of the most remarkable on record.
He has lived much abroad in the most event
ful times in the history of the world. He
witnessed the progress of the French Revo
lution ; saw Bonaparte made First Consul;
saw him and his armies go out to victory;
saw and conversed with the greatest of the
Generals, and the most remarkable men of
those times and scenes. His conversation,
therefore, abounds with facts and personages
from his own actual knowledge, of which
most other men have only read, and many of
which no one has read. On the fall of Napo
leon, he saw him ride, attended by one ser
vant, into Tours, whose inhabitants hated
him, and would have rejoiced to give him up
to his enemies. He was disguised, but Lan
dor recognised him in a moment. Hating
and despising the man as he did, yet he never
for a moment dreamt of betraying him. He,
however, went close to the fallen Emperor,
and touching his arm, said,
“ You are not safe here. I have penetrated
your disguise and others may.”
Sir,” replied Bonaparte, “you are, I per
ceive, an Englishman. My secret is in good
keeping.”
He mounted and rode away, wholly undis
covered by the townsmen.— London Court
Journal.
Salt.—Let us consider for a few moments,
the great blessings which salt has been to man
kind —not merely in the zest'which it gives
to the greatest delicacies and 'to the coarsest
diet >• but also from the various wonderful
properties which it possesses, andwhichhave
caused its application to an extent almost im
probable. Its anti-sceptic properties are such
and it has been so successfully applied to pro
visions, meat, butter, and all that without it
would be most perishable, are-sent to all quar
ters of the globe, in a state of complete pre
servation; from its anti-sceptic and resol
vent properties, it is of unspeakable value in
medicine, into which it enters largely; and
its internal and external use is considerable.
It is extensively used in a great variety of
manufactures. The farmer also reaps consid
erable benefit from its use ; he now finds that
the gnats, so injurious to his crops, are quick
ly destroyed by salt; and that it is the most
effectual remedy which can be used to eradi
cate thistles from the ground : its use as a ma
nure is well ascertained; it has been long
known as such to the inhabitants on the coasts
of Hindoostan and China, who use no other
than the sea-water, with which they sprinkle
their rice-fields; in the interior they sprin
kle the land, before it is tilled, with salt —a
practice which has always been followed by
the most beneficial results. Cattle have been
found to thrive so well, by salt being mixed
with their feed, that the ealting of hay has be
come very general.
{Xz* Mrs. Jane Moody advertises in the
Boston Journal that her husband has aban
doned her, although she has “ borne him
twelve children, and never gave him an an
gry word, notwithstanding his frequent ill
usages.” Jane has acted fully up to the old
injunction, “ bear and forbear.”
Louis Philippe is said to have arrived in
England without his wig; whereupon a cock
ney witling perpetrated the following:
Poor Louis Philippe from the Tuileries ran
And tore of his wig, like a desperate man;
His children came rushing, pell mell, into town.
And found that papa had no heirs to his crown.
Screw Loose.—The Cincinnati Commer
cial chronicles the escape of a named John
Screw from the jail of Montgomery county
Ohio. J
. The great condition of all pure enjoyment
is to have the heart free from every root of
bitterness, every feeling of envy and discon
tent.
Sunirag Uispatclj
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AT NO. 41 ANN STREET, NEW YORK
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wiLiYAM L BimN 0 R N ’ I Publishers.
DR. RALPH’S PILLS.
THE VEGETABLE
TSTHICH being founded on the only principle in
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ofdiSlS? is'thSefore ses h * Ve
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and alone sufficient lor the cure of most
A FEW REMARKS OS CONSTIPATION OF THE BOWELS AND
DISORDKRS RESULTING FROM ITS NEGLECT.
■*\?. w r v^ ns f a A r i e a ware of the evils arising from a
fy’Hye habit °f the bowels, or that it is the cause in
their own persons, of- many of the complaints un
der which they sillier. Even Apoplexy and many
serious disorders of the head are among this number;
so also is Dyspepsia, and where costiveness is not the
only cause of this distressing malady, it is always an
aggravating one. The same remark applies to dis
eases of the Liver,the Lungs, the Kidnies;-the blood,
loaded with impurities, has to circulate through
these tender structures, which it cannot do long with
out producing obstruction and disease in them Now
the source and. origin of these impurities is clearly
shown to consist in a derangement ol the stomach,
liver and bowels, in other words, in ’
A DISORD£RED o CONDmON OF THE ORGANS
This is a matter of very considerable importance
lor there are persons who have a daily movement of
the bowels and therefore conclude that their action
is healthful, although the evacuations are scantv of
c °l°r,and costive;—such persons are laboring
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the complaints they sutler, especially those ofTho
head,-as headache, dullness of mind, Sre from
this circumstance. These dry and hard masses have
always been accumulating fn the large intestine or
colon for several days-so that the offensive and fluid
humors, with which they were at first charged, have
been absorbed and earned into the blood! Now it is
confidently asserted, and the testimonial of many
very eminent persons, (besides those below) will be
published from time to time, in proof that the most
c?JJ 6I n> safe and natural means ol obviating this state
‘he blowels, is found in Dr Ralph’s Universal Vege
table Pills, and medicine which, though unadvertised
‘or‘h®A ast few years , has been in extensive use
But, the consequences of a costive habit do not ston
here, and. it is fit that they should be known in order
to be avoided;-an inward and Constant fever is oftei
attendant upon an accumulation in the lowerbowe s"
the tongue is foul, particularly in the mornin "tie
sleep is unrefreshing: the breath putrid and oliemive
the nervous system 100, as well as the parts subset
vient to the powers of intellect, as those o"sen“e aid
lllflUeDOed by °“£e
L^LR^D P g^^l S c7L E p L E L RIB N N S ERVOUS
Pills. Itisoy^ed“tha“ape b c e uliarlylefi?shihgde^ S
succeecltheTr'operation 38 ““ d
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1838, the tter ' dated Washin 4 ton City, D. C., Aug. 20,
’ REV. C. C. PARKS,
4St e ara^‘o e f d D W y R p h ep a a d a.y ed 70ur
T . . , PROFESSOR WALDO,
o?£™i e - ac li? r M G x e £ k and Oratory, in the High
School in the City of New York, says: S
1 know not what greater earthly good a kind
*^?XJ decoa f e rred upon me than an acquain
tance with this medicine.” (Also a case of Dyspepsia.)
REV. MOSES L. PENDELL.
Dr. Joseph Ralph:
J. £ ee M u duty b otind to certify that, having used
y 9^ r P i lßs Personally and in my family, for manv
{JS 1 consider them the best universal remedy 1
have ever found for almost all kinds of complaints
aii d t/o a t r ?b deci<iedly of the °P in i° n that they will do
mt they o re recommended to do. I not only con
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cured at once by the Pills. r ana A„ue is
MOSES L. PENDELL,
Walton, Del. Co.. N. Y, Sept., Minister>
withfiri AhHJ r Ai re sold in boxes at 25 cents,
fui\. dir ?.ctions and other important information.
«Jvin<2 U ;£ ai M Iy S l, w bich is much
New Clt Y» by Henry Johnson 273
corn 1 ®? Chambers st.; John B. Dodd, 771
Ninth St.; Coddingtons, 303 Hudson,
Winship, 77 East Broadway, cor.
At-P ui °n> 127 Bowery, cor. Grana st.
ACCOMMODATION.-Persons in any part of
ine united States, where there is yet no agency, can
nave a family package sent by mail, free of postage;
York C?t SmSjs1 ’ directed t 0 Box 2521 Post Ofoce, New
‘‘From the cheerful ways of men
Cut on, and, for the book of knowledge fair.
Presented with an universal blank.”— Milton
ROMAN EYE BALSAM.
DISEASES OF THE EYE are un
’ questionably among the most terrible
afflictions to which mortals, in this tran
sitory world, are liable. Those whose
eyes have been injured by close appli
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this Balsam. In cases of partial loss of sight from in
flammation, turn, or advanced age, it is equally bene
ficial. Many cases of total blindness, thathad existed
for years, have been completely cured by it. Jn this
case, ‘seeing is believing,’ and persons suffering in
like manner, should remember that delay in diseases
of the eye is always dangerous. The following cer
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thus afflicted:
New York, Sept. 4,1847.
Mr Henry Johnson— Dear Sir: It is with pleasure
1 unite my own testimony with others, in certifying
to the value of your Roman Eye Balsam for diseased
eyes and eyelids. I have been troubled with a most
severe attack of inflamed eyelids, called by my phy
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been under the treatment of the most eminent ocu
lists of this city. I have been blistered, cupped and
leached—have used caustic applications and every
other approved mode of treatment which the most
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and the end of the whole matter left me nearly as
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ment. i at last used your Eye Balsam, and at once
found its effect soothing, healing reducing the in
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bly removed by a nlir of tweezers twenty years be
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restored, and the cure is almost complete. It has
done for me what the be st medical skill could not ef
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ditional particulars, which the limits of this note will
not permit. Yours, very truly,
/ , , WM. T. PEEK.
Prepared and sold by HENRY JOHNSON, chemist,
(successor to A. B. Sands & Co.) 27S Broadway .corner
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(
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Wonder and Blessing of the Age.
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performed within the last two years, more than. 100,000
cures of severe cases of disease; at least 15,000 were
considered incurable. It has saved the lives of more
than 10,000 children during the two past seasons.
10,000 c. !se« of General Debility and
want of Nervous Energy.
Dr. Townsend’s Sarsaparilla invigorates the whole
system permanently. To those who have lost their
muscular energy by the effects of medicine or iadiscre*
tion committed in youth, or the excessive indulgence of
the passions, and brought on a general physical prostra*
tion of the nervops system, lassitude, want of ambition,
fainting sensations, premature decay and decline, hasten
ing towards that fatal disease, Consumption, can be en
tirely restored by this pleasant remedy. Thia Sarsa
parilla is far superior to any
Invigorating Cordial,
As it renews and invigorates the system, gives activity
to the limbs, and strength to the muscular system, is a
most extraordinary degree.
Consumption Cured.
Oleanse and Strengthen. Consumption can is oored
Bronchitis, Consumption, Liver Complaint, CoUc,
Catarrh, Coughs, Asthma, Spitting of Blood,
Soreness in the Chest, Hectic Flush, Hight
Sweats, Difficult or Profuse Expecto
ration, Pain in the Side, have
been and can be cured.
SPITTING BEOOD.
New York, April id, 1841.
Dn. Townsend— l verily believe that your Sarsapa
rilla has been the means, through Providence, of saving
my life. I have for several years had a bad Ceugh. It
became worse and worse. At last I raised large fl,Enti
ties of blood, had night Sweats, and was greatly deoili
tated and reduced, and did not expect to live. I have
only used your Sarsaparilla a short time, and there hae
a wonderful change been wrought in mo. lam now able
to walk all over the city. I raise no blood, and my
cough has left me. You can well imagine that I am
thankfill for these results.
Your obedient servant,
WM. RUBBELL, Catherine*.
Pemale Medicine.
* Dr. Townsend’s Sarsaparilla is a sovereign and speedy
cure for Incipient Consumption, Barrenness, Prolapsoc
Uteri, or Falling of the Womb, Costiveness, Piles, Leu
corrhcea, or Whites, obstructed or difficult Menstrua
tion, Incontinence of Urine, or involuntary discharge
thereof, and for the general prostration of the system
no matter whether the result of inherent cause or causes,
produced by irregularity, illness or accident. Nothing
can be more surprising than its invigorating sffesta
on the human frame. Persons all weakness and lassi
tude, from taking it, at once become robust and fall of
energy under its influence. It immediately counteracts
the nervelessness of the female frame, which is the great
cause of Barrenness. It will not be expected of as, in
cases of so delicate a nature, to exhibit certificates of
cures performed but we can assure the afflicted, that
hundreds of cases have been reported to us. Thousands
of cases where families have been without children,
after using a few bottles of this invaluable medicine
have been blessed with fine, healthy offspring.
To Motbsrs and Married Eadiea.
This Extract of Sarsaparilla has been expresslv pre
pared in reference to female complaints. No female
who has reason to suppose she is approaching that
critical period, " Ths turn of life,” should neglect to
take it, as it is a certain preventive for any of the
numerous and horrible diseases to which females are
subject at this time of life. This period may be de
layed for several years by using this medicine. Nor
is it less valuable for those who are approaching'wo
manhood, as it is calculated to assist nature, by quick
ening the blood and invigorating the system. Indeed,
this medicine is invaluable for all the delicate disea
ses te which women are subject
It braces the whole system, renews permanently the
natural energies, by removing the impurities of the
body, not so far stimulating as to produce subsequent
relaxation, which is the case of most medicines taken for
female weakness and disease. By using a few bottles of
this medicine, many severe and painfal ‘surgical opera
tions may ba prevented.
Great Blessing to Mothers and Children.
It is the safest and most effectual medicine for purify
ing the system, and relieving the sufferings attendant
upon child-birth ever discovered. It strengthens both
the mother and child, prevents pain and disease, in
creases and enriches the food, those who have used it
think it is indispensable. It is highly useful both before
and after confinement, as it prevents diseases attendant
upon childbirth—in Costivencss, Piles, Cramps, Swell
ing of the Feet, Despondency, Heartburn, Vomiting,
Pain in the Back and Loins, False Pains, Hemorrhage,
and in regulating the secretions and equalizing the cir
culation it has no equal. The great beauty of this
medicine is, it is always safe, and the most delicate use
it most successfully, very few cases require any other
medicine, in some a little Castor Oil, or Magnesia, ia
useful. Exercise in the open aiY, and light food with
this medicine, will always ensure a safe and easy con
finement
Beauty and Health.
Cosmetics, Chalk, and a variety of preparations gene
rally in use, when applied to the face, very won spoil it
of its beauty. They close the pores of the skin, and
check the circulation, which, when nature is not thwart
ed by disease or powder, or the skin inflamed by the
alkalies used in soaps, beautifies its own production in
the “ human face Divine,” as well as in tho garden ef
rich and delicately tinted and variegated fiowon. A
free, active and healthy circulation of the fluids, or the
coursing o.fthe pure, rich blood to the extremities, lb
that which paints the countenance in tho moat exon!-
site beauty. It is that which imparts the indescribable
shades and flashes of loveliness that all admire, bvl
none can describe. This beauty is tho offspring of
fare—not of powder or soap. If there is not a free aRiJ
healthy circulation, there is no beauty. If the lady
fair as driven snow, if she paint, and UM
and tho blood is thick, cold and impure, she is not bean
tiful. If she be brown or yellow, and there is pure and
active blood, it gives a rich bloom to the ehooks, and a
brilliancy to their eyes that is fascinating.
This is why the southern, yad especially tho Span
ish ladies, are so much admiiad. Ladies in the north
who take but little exercise, or are confined in oloso
rooms, or have spoiled their complexion by the appli
cation of deleterious mixtures, if they wish to ro
gain elasticity of step, buoyant spirits, sparkling eyes
and beautiful complexions, they should um Dr. Town
send’s Sarsaparilla. Thousands who have tried it, arb
more than satisfied, are delighted. _ Ladies of ovary
station, crowd our office daily.
Notice to the Imdieo.
Those that imitate Dr. Townsend's Sarsaparilla, have
invariably called their stuff a great Remedy for Fe
males, &c., &-C., and have oopied our bills and circulan
which relates to tho complaints of women, word for word
—other men who put up medicine, have, since the great
success of Dr. Townsend’s Sarsaparilla in complaint*
incident to females, recommended theirs, although pre
viously they did not. A number of these Mixtures, PilK
&c., are injurious to females, as they aggravate disease,
and undermine the constitution. Dr. Townsend's is th®
only and best remedy for the numerous female com
plaints—it rarely, if ever fails of effecting a permanent
cure. It can be taken by tho moat delicate female*
in any case, or by these expeeting to become mother*
with the greatest advaatages, as it prepares the system
and prevents pain nr danger, and strengthens both
mother and child. Be earafal to got the genuine.
Screfala Carwd.
This certificate conclusively proves that this Sam
parillahas perfect control over tho most obstinate dis
eases of the Blood. Throe persons cured in one koiM
is unprecedented.
Three Children.
Dr. Townsend— Dear Sir: 1 have the pleasure te
inform you that three of my children have Deen awed
of the Scrofula by the use of your excellent modfatee.
They were afflicted very severely with bad Sores j have
taken only four bottles; it took them away, faff
I feel myself under great obligation.'
Yours, respectfully,
ISAAC W. CJLAIN, IM Weerttott.
Opinions of Phynieisuas.
Dr. Townsend is almost daily receiving orders frees
Physicians in different parts of the Union.
This is to certify that wo, the undorsign«A Physfafans
of the City of Albany, have in numerous eases preserib
ed Dr. Townspnd’s Sarsaparilla, and believe it to bo
one of the most valuable preparations |n the market.
H. P. PULING. M. D.
J. WILSON, M. D.
B.B.BBIGGS, M.D.
Albany, April 1,1847. P. E. ELMENDORF, M. B
kJpper Ten Thousand.
The following letter was received from Mr. J. Silcox,
a gentleman of respectability and fortune, who is well
and widely known. Dr. Townsend’s Sarsaparilla has
cured thousands of patients in the upper circles of so
ciety, and is used both in New York and Albany by the
majority of the aristocratic families. They purchase in
the Spring, of Dr. Townsend, half a doz. or dozen bot
tles, and the whole family use it for a month or 6 weeks,
sick or well. There is no preventive for disease like it.
These families rarely, if ever, loose a child.
Ne?o York, Jan. 4,1848.
Dr. Townsend : Sir—ln justice to your remedy, I '
take the liberty of stating, that about two years since I
took a violent cold, which I could not remove. x lt became
a settled cough and a Bronchial affection of the Throat
and Lungs, which distressed me very much indeed.
My little son was in extreme ill health, and I procured
some .of your Sarsaparilla for him. He took it but a JI
short time, when we thought he had the Jaundice, but
found it threw the bile out through the pores. He soon
got better, which induced me to use it I done so, and
am very happy to acknowledge that it entirely cured
both me and my son, and we are now in the enjoyment
of excellent health. Your Sarsaparilla is beyond doubt
a most excellent remedy, and should be widely known.
Yours, respectfully,
V. SILCOX, 91 Amos Street
JjOmJ her Speech.
The annexed Certificate tells a simple and truthful
story of suffering and relief. There are thousands of
similar cases in this City and Brooklyn, and yet there
are thousands of parents let their children die, for fear
of being humbuged, or to save a few shillings.
Brooklyn, Sept, 23, 1847.
Dr. Townsend —l take pleasure in stating, for the
benefit of those whom it may concern, that my daugh
ter, two years and six months old, was afflicted with
General Debility and loss of speech. She was given up
as past recovery, by our Family Physician ; but fortu
nately I was recommended by a friend to try your Sar
saparilla. Before having used one bottle, she recover
ed her speech, and was enabled to walk alone, to tho
astonishment of all who were acquainted with the cir
cumstances. She is now quite well and in much better
health than she has been for eighteen months past.
J. TAYLOR, 12S York-st., Brooklyn.
CAUTION.
Owing to the great success and immense sale ofDr.
Townsend’s Sarsaparlila, a number of men who wero
formerly our Agents, have commenced making Sarsapa
rilla Extracts, Elixirs, Bitters, Extracts of Yellow Dock,
&c., &c. They generally put it up in the same shaped
bottles, and some of them have stolen and copied our ad
vertisements—they are only worthless imitations and
should bo avoided.
Principal Office, 126 FULTON STREET, Sun Build
ing, N. Y.; Redding & Co., 8 State street, Boston; Dyott
& Sons. 132 North Second street, Philadelphia; S. S.
Hance, Druggist,Baltimore; P. M. Cohen, Charleston;
Wright & Co., 151 Chartres street, N. O.: 105 South
Pearl street, Albany; and by all the principal Druggists
and Merchants generally throughout the United State*
West Indies, and the Canadas.
“ THIS IS BEAR’S OIL.”
“I think IT is.” follows the
re P ly « ? nd ve ry truly so. When
? man i 3 indefatigable in procur-
.something really good, the
are sure to appreciate it.
Think of obtaining Bear’s Grease
-j. or Fat from‘far off Oregon.’ The
north-western huntsmen now and then succeed in
destroying a black bear, and the grease of those hairy
creatures urings an enormous price in Europe. A
preparation from this article, in the shape of a sweet
scented oil for the hair, and warranted genuine, is
sold by HENRY JOHNSON, chemist and druggist,
No. 273 Broadway, corner of Chambers streets, in the
Granite Building. Price 50 cents for large, and 25 ct«.
for small bottles.
Remember, that to obtain the genuine Bear’s OU,
you must observe the name and seal of " Henry John
son.” None other is genuine.
MRS. GOVE’S
WATBR’CURE E STIIAjBJLII SHM EN T
OriN FOR RECEPTION OF PATIENTS AT NO. 2M. TINTS*
•Twcrr

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