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Sunday dispatch. [volume] (New York [N.Y.]) 1845-1854, September 15, 1850, Image 1

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SmtamdßMfi fligpatch,
—— - -
. .TH / W>»W
WILLIAMSOH & BURNS, Publlshsi*. )
StartlhiU ©rfafnal Narrator.
Written Hvpvesslu tor His SJajcr. ®opi> 3Rfal)t Securrt glccor&ina to 3iato.
Tho third of July was a busy day for the actors
in that strange drama.
Wild Bill, accompanied by Mad Jack, and
half a dozen more of his most desperate fighters,
continued the search for Ellen. At noon, they
had made not the slightest discovery ; then the
idea flashed on tho brain of Jack, “I’ll bet fifty
to one she’s at Merceau’s.
The young lover felt an icy pang at his heart,
as he exclaimed : “ Then in heaven’s name, let
us go there at once.” Mad Jack answered:
“ what I and get ourselves handed over to tho
“No fear of that,” rejoined Bill; i( Merseau
will never cali a policeman in my case : I know
too many of her dark secrets. Here is the plan :
you all go on separately, and enter before me;
pay your respects to tho girls, and thus excite no
suspicion. 1 will afterwards find my way in, and
you will hear my voice if I need your assistance.”
Accordingly tho friends parted, and proceeded
by (Miferent streets to the common rendezvous.
Wild Bill lingered so as to allow his comrades
leisure to gain their posts, but ho was too impa
tient to linger long. When he rang for admit
tance. Merseau herself came to the door, pale
and trembling, she faltered: “ What do you
want 3”
“ Ijot mo in, and I will tell you.”
“O, Bill, do excuse me; I cannot to-day, wo
have had a death in the establishment.”
“ Lot me in, or you will have another death, .
and this time by hanging.”
“Oh! Bill.”
“Not a word more,” retorted the youth stern- ;
ly, “ let me in this instant, or I will go and de- :
nounoe you for the murder of Maria Lee.” The
menace produced its immediate effect; the door
opened, and Merseau conducted the intruder to
her parlor, asking in tones of sad deprecation as
they entered : “ Hear Bill, what is your business
with me to-day.”
“You have an innocent girl caged up in this
prison of shame, and I have come to set her free.” :
The fat woman denied the accusation with a
hundred oaths, but she trembled so violently ;
that BiH was confirmed in his suspicions. I
He seized her by the arm with a grasp of iron,
saying in a fierce voice that could not be resisted: ■
“ Bring the keys, I will examine every room, :
from the basement to the garret.”
“Do as you like,” answered Merseau. “I 1
will send Annette with you.” i
“ Yes,” rejoined Bill, still holding the courte- ’
zans arm, “and while I and Annette would be ]
searching empty apartments, you would bo re
moving tho poor girl from the establishment.
Come, I do not quit you a second till she is :
found.” 1
“ Well, since you must have it so, I will satisfy
you: I will begin with the lower rooms and show 1
you every one to the garret.”
Merseau’s desire to begin with the lower rooms •
determined Bill to reverse the order of search, he 1
said, “ begin with the highest rooois first,” and ’
the fat woman, jingling her bundle of Jkeys, led '
the way up stairs.
As they approach the fourth story, the youth j
distinguished a low, piteous moaning in an apart- j
ment to the right. He doubted not that the vic
tim was Ellen, and grasping Merseau’s arm till ’
she screamed with pafti, dragged her to tho door. ]
As the key was inserted in the lock, a man’s (
voice cried furiously from within, “ don’t open ]
the door, or I'll shoot you dead!” The fat 1
courtezan cowered down, but Bill seized the key,
turned it, and throw back the door., The first
object caught by his eye was the dandy Doctor
Smith, presenting a pistol with a hand that ■
shook like a leaf. 1
The youth secured the door behind him, and
cast a rapid glance at the bed : a pale girl, with ’
her face all bathed in tears, was stretched there ‘
apparently in a dying condition; but a single 1
flash of sight showed him that this was not ’
Ellen. He then looked at Doctor Smith who 1
was still shaking his weapon, and cried in a
voice of thunder: “ Give up that pistol!”
“Go away, or I will shoot—l will certainly 1
shoot,” stammered horrified dandy. ’
Bill clutched the pistol and wrenched it from
his hands, and then pushing the coward down ;
into a chair, took a seat before him, and said : ]
“Do you remember, quack, what I promised you *
“ O, no,” replied the Doctor, quivering with a
fresh ague fit.
“ I promised you a hundred lashes with the
horsewhip,” rejoined Bili, as he drew the imple
ment referred to from his pocket, and paid five ! ;
The poltroon roared with pain, and begged:
“ Mercy ! mercy ! —I never injured you !”
Wild Bill eyed him with a smile of ineffable •
scorn and said : “ Open your pocket book and
give me the letters of Isabel.”
“ O, upon my honor, I have not got them sviih
me,” answered the doctor.
“You lie: it lacks only an hour of the ap
pointed time for you to meet her, and sell them
back for two thousand dollars; but I will pay for
them in advance with the horsewhip.”
“Do believe me : I have not got them: they !
are at home in my trunk,” persisted the atro
cious ou Ward-
Bill then stood up and counted off, “ one, two,
throe,” &c.—twenty-five keen blows over the
head, face and back, the villain yelling all the
while : “ Have mercy, have mercy—here are the
Having completed the castigation, Bill took
the letters and put them away in his bosom, and
pointing at the bed, inquired: “ Who is that
poor girl T”
Having recovered somewhat from her terror at
the strange scene, the girl herself answered:
“Alice Noel. Oh! have pity on me, and take
me out of this dreadful hell.” The young man
opened tho door, kicked the doctor from the
room, and grasping the hand of Alice, led her
down stairs and into the street. She was saved.
At the same hour a very different scene was
transpiring in the preacher’s library; wetrust
our readers have not altogether forgotten that
elegant studio, with a description of which our
first chapter opened. The mirrors shone as bril
liantly as ever on the walls; the figures in the
fresco seemed as vivid; the pictures smiled as
sweetly, and the marblo busts stood as firmly on
their mahogany tables. But the possessor of all
this splendor had experienced an incredible
change. _ The reverend Henry Hewet, pastor of
tho fashionable church, did not look like the
same man he was, only two days ago. His dress
disordered, his hair uncombed, his beard unsha
ven, his face flushed as if with a stream of purple
light, he paced the floor of his magnificent apart
ment with the uneven steps of a madman ; he
was the madman of love ! The passion for Ellen
had come upon him as the sun of morning comes
upon the isles of equatorial seas. There was but
a faint glimmer, and then a burning glow, and
then the god of fire and love leaped to his throne
in tho thrilling heart.
The preacher paused, and placed his finger on
tho brow of tho bust of Washington, and mur
mured in hollow tones; “ 1 had thought to equal
thee in purity and patriotism!”
He approached his marble Cicero: “ I had
dreamed of rivalling the fame of thy eloquent
JElo touched Napoleon: “ I had determined to
make my heroism in my sphere compare with
thine in thine own !” He then lifted the damask
from the veiled figure, and a hideous skeleton
was revealed. The minister apostrophized it
with a strange shudder: “And thou, ghastly
grinner, wert my memento, to urge mo with
lightning speed on my arduous way ! But now
—now—it is all over ! my last star has sat, and
I am the slave of an unconquerable passion !”
A knock was heard ; tho preacher opened the
door, and like some horrible apparition, Menotti
appeared; but there was an angel beside him--
the angel of beauty—Ellen, pale and weeping !
Hewet was too much astonished to articulate a
word. He even trembled with extreme agita;
tion, and drew his hands across his eyes, as if to
ehut out the light of a blinding vision.
Menotti spoke, in soothing accents: “J. trust
you will pardon my presumption; 1 took the
liberty of bringing my daughter to see your pic
tures ; piease oblige me by amusing her for a
brief space; 1 shall return presently.” And
without waiting for a reply, he pushed the girl
in, closed the door, and departed.
The preacher led Ellen to a seat on a sofa, and
then himselt sunk down m a. chair, at a short,
distance before her. As he gazed on her fea
tures, so transcendently beautiful, his own grew
perfectly pallid, and ho seemed incapable of ut
tering tho Bound of a syllable. Ellon spoke in a
voice inustcial with tho teudernees of pity : “lire
you indeed very unwell, sir
The young minister started, and now his limbs,
body, and inmost heart writhed like his twitch
ing face, and he answered mournfully: “Yes - I
»m very unwell!” Then his head dropped or,
bis bosom.
“ v > r hat is your sickness 1” asked Ellen kindly.
lovo° Witli a CT J an S u ' 3 L ; “Love !
. “ l . ie ? y° u lo va like me,” said the beautiful
girl, grzmg way to a stilling burst of tears.
J he preacher thought his passion was recinro-
Gated; and with spanning%y ed , an d crimson
checks, ho sprung forwards, and o l aspC( j tho gir l
in hl? arms. But ho started back in dismay - fur
quick as a flash of light, Ellen unsheatheda dag
ger, and aimed a thrust at his throat which
however, fortunately, only grazed his ch’n ’ ’
“ Did you not say that you loved I” faltered
Hewet, bewildered with the singular chanpein
her conduct. 6
“ Yes ; I love,” rejoined Ellen, “ but not you
—O, not you ! )f
The preacher fell back powerless in his chair;
a new passion, more intense than love, mightier
than the fire-dream of madness, pouredits bitter,
burning waters through his heart: it was jeal
ousy. He remained a moment, quivering, writh
ing, wavering, agonising; and then bounding to
his foot, exclaimed involuntarily, as it were:
“A ou love ! And whom do you love I”
.“I cannot tell you his name,” answered the
girl, blushing and weeping together; “but if
you ever see him, only once, you will remember
him for ever, ho is so beautiful and so good !”
j. hen a dreadful recollection appeared to cross
her soul, and she raised a piteous cry: “ Oh ? !
where is ho ’ where is ho I Have they killed
him V’
The door suddenly opened again, and tho
pawnbroker re-entered. He remarked, with a
sinister smilo: “ Reverend sir, lam sorry for the
trouble I have given you; as you see, tho poor
girl's reason is wandering; 1 had hoped that the
sight of these exquisite masterpieces of art and
genius, combined with the spiritual solace which
you know so well how to administer, might have
contributed to her euro; but it seems the case is
hopeless. Come, Ellon, let us be going.” And
after a low bow to the stupefied Hewot, Menotti
led away his pretended daughter.
Tho preacher dropped his high forehead on his
hands, and meditated for the space of fifteen
minutes. He then dressed himself hastily, and
proceeded to his wife’s apartment. The dark
eyes of Isabel were red with weeping; but tho
husband failed to observe the fact, so great was
his agitation. He uttered but a sentence : “ Is
abel, I shall walk down town, and not return till
night; should any one call, and wish to see mo,
please say that I will be disengaged to-morrow.”
He then departed.
As soon as ho was gone, Isabel said : “And
this is wedded life! He comes, and my heart
thrills not; ho goes, and I feel no pang! He in
spires nothing in my breast but cold indifference ;
because ho feels nothing else himself. His words
are wind to extinguish, not to kindle a pure
flame; his very kisses are touches of ice; and
yet, were ho ardent, I could worship him as a
god !”
Her soliloquy on the dull monotony of wedded
life was broken by a signal at tho door. “It is
tho demon of my destiny; ho brings the fatal
letters; but oh! Heaven, I have not tho money!”
murmured tho unhappy woman, as she descended
to admit her visitor. A surprise, however,
awaited her; tho visitor was Wild Bill. After
merely formal compliments, she conducted him
into the library.
“ I have a present for you, Isabel,” said tho
young man, as soon as they were seated; and ho
offered the package of letters, which he had
wrested, by terror and the horse-whip, out of
tho hands of Doctor Smith.
llio beautiful woman received tho package,
broke it open, and turned pale as death. “Do
not bo alarmed,” remarked Bill kindly; “Ihavo
not road a. single line, and more than that, al
though circumstances seem to bo against you,
1 am satisfied, without even a pledge, of your
innocence;” and he went on to detail minutely,
how he came to possess tho letters.
Varying emotions were depicted in vivid colors
in tlio countenance of Isabel;.but she did not
have tho opportunity to reply, not so much as to
tender her gratitude; for at tho instant she
heard tlio bell ling, ami glancing her eye through
tho window, exclaimed: “My God! it is Mr.
Hewett and that wicked colporteuse ; and they
will come directly to the library!”
Show mo some place of concealment,” cried
Bill, earnestly ; “1 must not ba seen hero by
that wicked woman. ”
Isabel rejoined : “There is but one chance,”
and she touched a spring in the wall; a door
opened, and they both disappeared in the par
sou’s secret chamber. It so happened that one
part of the wall, betwixt this chamber and the
library, was so thin as to render even low con
versation distinctly audible.
A minute afterwards the reverend Henry and
the colporteuse came in, and took their seats
on the sofa.
“ Yes,” said the colportcuse, continuing a
subject, which had evidently been commenced in
tho streets: “I am not mistaken—the singer
loves you to distraction, just as you lovo her.”
“ Sister Bertrand!”
“0, you need not deny it,” replied she, with
a smilo; and although it pains mo exceedingly
to resign one whom ladore so much, still 1 am
willing to give another proof of my affection by
aiding you to obtain the beautiful finger.”
“ 1 shall bo grateful,” answered tho preacher,
in sepulchral tones; “for I do not believe lam
running mad!”
“ All lovers are mad,” rejoined tho woman,
with a loud laugh.
“ But she was hero in this room not an hour
ago, and she did not show any preference for me.
Ou the contrary, she plainly declared her attach
ment for another,” said the parson, as if speak
ing to himself.
" She only wished to try tho strength of your
“ How do you know that 1”
“ She told me so herself.”
“When and where I”
“Afow minutes after she left your house,
when I mot her in the streets.”
“ When will the be at your residence I”
“ To-morrow night at twelve o’clock ”
“And you think sho wishes me to bo there T’
asked the reverend Henry, in a tremulous voice.
“ How can you doubt it, when she sent the in
vitation herself I”
“ Well, 1 will attend at tho hour.”
“I must now bo walking,” said the colpoeteusc;
“I have several calls to make this evening.”
“ 1 will go with you as far as the end of the
Place,” replied the preacher; “I must see a
friend on business;” and ths two departed to
Then Wild Bill and Isabel issued from their
concealment, both pale and agitated from differ
ent causes. The youth retired without much
ceremony, and Isabel but who knows what
she then did'!
It may afford amusement to note, briefly, the
subsequent tracks of the colporteuse during that
eventful afternoon Her next visit was to the
dwelling of John Hewet, the Broadway mer
chant. Sho sought a private interview, and told
him the same, lying tale which she had previ
ously told his son, the parson—namely, that
Ellen was deeply in lovo with him. In this
manceuvre, however, sho experienced consider
able difficulty, from the natural timidity and
suspicion of tho elder Hewet. But she finally
succeeded in arranging a meeting for eleven
o’clock tho ensuing night; yet truth compels us
to add that tho worthy merchant insisted as an
absolute preliminary, that Ellen should bo de
prived of her dagger before going to the paphian
Sister Bertrand then proceeded to promenade
in Broadway until sho mot with drunken Tom
Hewet, tho younger son; and repeating tho
same story, fixed an appointment lor him with
Ellen the next night at half past elevon. After
wards she called on the pawnbroker, and held
an interview that lasted till dark. She then re
turned home, to indulge her dreams of ecstatic
revenge !
It was the purple twilight hour, the fourth of
July, in said year of grace, independence and
1 tie. colporteuse, sister Bertrand, was seated
alone in her most magnificent parlor. She was
so thoroughly changed in her general annoar
ance, and more especially in her dress, tliat it
would have been difficult for an ordinary ac
quaintance to identify her at all. Instead of her
usual plain sable, she wore a loose habit of the
Imost and whitest lawn; her neck glittering
with diamonds and gold, was bare to the bosom;
I and her arms, adorned with costly bracelets,
were naked to the shoulders. Gay wreathe of
i natural and artificial flowers surmounted her
hair. In short, she was fitted out as a bride—a
; biide of tho gorgeous and voluptuous East. Her
countenance, however, was not that of a bride,
unless, indeed, she purposed being wedded at a
jubilee ot witches. A fierce scowl contracted
her brows; her eyes gleamed with an expression,
at once demoniac and appalling ; while every
five minutes her lips quivered with unutterable
sneers of scorn and malice; and with each con
vul.ion of the purple lips, one sound became ar
i tioulate it was a single word, only one—a word
ot triumph—“ Revenge!”
Hour after hour, she continued to brood, in
toe same erect, statue-like posture, over her
guilty dream—that dream of fire. At length
tno clock struck nine, and then she awoke with
a start; her features grow mournful, and sho
, bowed her head on her clasped hand, murmur
. mg as it were, m « dying voice, ‘‘ My daughter,
on .my daughter! 1 would give even the eer
l tamty of revenge for tho hope of one kiss—one
iao /t B 'y eet . kißst ' ronl my little blue-eyed Mary !”
' ™ ■*, i the > iu . btant > a hollow, unearthly warning
! 'I«La ea r rd; lt ., was impossible to say whence it
I .ssued, from the floor beneath, from the ceiling
' Or . the key-hole ; but it was
■ there, ana it did not resemble the tones of hu
, man speech ; it seemed rather tho last echo of
rumbling thunder-and jt said: “Woman of
I crime, remember thy daughter to-night
! She turned pale as the dead; uSconeoiously
crossed herself; and whispered with bloodless
lips: “ There it is again! tho Fame ghostly sen
tence every night! this is the fourth night!
What can it bo I Some spy’admitted by means
of Bill’s false kc&s I or a disembodied soul horn
the home of tho damned !”
The colporteuse was relieved by the entrance
of a visitor. “ Well, lam hero,” said Merseau,
as sho plumped down in a large rocking-chair,
and began to put forth furious exertions with
her fan.
“ The servant will show you to your room,”
replied Sister Bertrand : “ bo reo.dy when I want
you, and Epeak out boldly, telling all you know
concerning tho death of Maria Leo,”
“ Yes,” said the fat courtesan, as sho retired
with tho maid; “but recollect you are to war
rant the safety of my establishment.”
A half-hour elapsed, and Sister Bane rushed
into the parlor, exclaiming: “Oh! the horrid
city, so wicked, so profligate, and yet because it
is tho Fourth of July, they have illuminated it
like n. holl 1”
“ The servant will show you to your room,”
said the colporteuse ; “none of my visitors must
recognize each other till they meet in the same
apartment. Be ready when I call you.”
“Ba sure that I am always ready to testify
against all sorts of crime,” replied Sister Bane,
as sho vanished.
At half past ten o’clock Menotti appeared,
leading in the pale and weeping Ellen. He
bowed; and the mistress of the house remarked:
“ Tho servant will show Ellen to her room, and
you to yours.” Menotti and Ellon retired with
out a word.
With elevon o’clock came John Hewot, the
merchant of Broadway. “Is the pretty sylph
here I” ho inquired.
“ Yes,” replied the mistress; I will conduct
you to her room ; it is perfectly dark ; and you
had better not make any noise until she bo
“The devil!” muttered the merchant; “I
thought you told mo that she wanted mo.”
“ She did,” rejoined the mistress; “but she
is timid, and after she got in the chamber was
taken with a sudden fit of repentance.”
“ Are you certain she has no daggers about
her I” inquired the merchant, feeling the recent
scratch on his cheek.
“Be satisfied on that head; I searched her
Tho colporteuse then lit another candlo, and
led the merchant up stairs. They approached
a large saloon in the third story. Having left
her light at some distance, the colporteuse turned
the koy gently, and partially opened tho door.
A deep moaning and sobbing sound was heard
as of some one in very great distress
“ Go in,” whispered tho woman; but do not
mako yourself known, till she becomes quiet.”
He entered, the door was locked behind him,
and the mistress returned to her parlor.
Sho then penned a note to Sarah, the mer
chant’s wife, saying that her husband was mor
tally sick, and imploring her attendance as spoo
dily as possible, cautioning her, however, not to
acquaint any one else of the fact, as a terrible
mystery was involvod in tho affair. Sho wrote
a similar letter to Isabel, folded and addressed
them, and put them in her bosom.
Then drunken Tom Hewet came in, and by a
miracle he seemed to be more sober than usual.
“ Has my angel of a singer arrived, he asked
“ Not yet, but she will be here in a few mi
nutes ; the servant will show you to your room,
and when tho girl comes I will bring her to
you,” answered tho mistress, and Tom followed
tho maid up stairs.
Half au hour more fled away, and the Rever
end Henry made his appearance. Pallid and
trembling, ho inquired in a hollow whisper: “Is
sho hero I”
“ Yos,” answered the woman, but she is very
much agitated at this moment; Menotti has
abused her shamefully to-night; tho servant
will conduct you to a room, and as soon as I can
get her sufficiently composed, I will take you to
her;” and the preacher followed tho maid to his
Tho colporteuse then ran to the front door of
the principal hall, and gave the letters she had
written for Sarah and Isabel to a cabman, who
had boon waiting to receive them. She enjoin
ed him in a whisper to make tho utmost dispatch;
ho drove off with the rapidity of a whirlwind;
and she went back to her parlor.
Tho excitement of tho volp&rtense had now
almost reached the zenith of phrensy. She pa
ced the carpet alternately, laughing with con
vulsive shouts, and clapping her hands in rap
tures of fiendish joy, continually repeating the
same wild word —“ Revenge!”
Very soon tho roar of a whip, and the rattle
of flying wheels were heard approaching clown
the street. She bounded into the air, and ex
claimed, “ they are coming they are coming !
and now for tho end !” Sho then said to the
servant, “keep tho ladies in this apartment till
I returnand hurried up stairs. She flew to 1
drunken Tom, and led him to the saloon where
sho had locked up Ellen; the reader will re
member that Tom’s father was also in this same
saloon. She opened the door softly and listened,
but all was silent as a chamber of tho dead.
Sho then whispered to Tom : “ Go in there and
wait a little while ; I will bring the girl present
ly.” Thon instantly she pursued a similar course
with the Reverend Henry: and secured the
When the wicked woman returned to her par
lor, it was to witness a scone of tho most heart
rending anguish; tho wives of her victims had
arrived, and were in a state bordering on de
straction. “ Oh! for God’s sake, lead mo to my
husband, if ho is yot alive,” cried Sarah, wring
ing hor hands with looks of unutterable despair.
Isabel said nothing, but her pale face was tho
picture of terror and woe !
“ Come along, you shall see them ; they are
both in one bed,” answered the demoness with a
mocking burst of laughter, and she led the way
up stairs. But as they came near the fatal
chamber, there suddenly arose within the storm
of a deafening tumulc —shouts, shrieks, blows
and curses ; then three or four pistols exploded
together, and tho voice of John Hewet, tho mer
chant, was heard calling out: “ Help! help !
murder! murder!”
Tho colporteuse turned the key; and rushed
in with hor light, attended by the tonified
wives. Sho insrantly closed and re-locked the
door. Here all description fails mo. The father
and his two sons recognized each other, and stood
recognized by their ladies. Fortunately no flesh
wounds had resulted from their melee in the
dafk. But far deeper and more dangerous
wounds had been inflicted than any over dealt
with lead or steel—heart-wounds and wounds in
tho soul, such as might heal over nover more to
The affectionate Sarah flew into the arms of
her husband, who remained stupefied, utterly
bewildered by the shock. The Reverend Henry
recovered first. “Thia is your work, old she
fiend,” he shouted, beside himself with rago;
“and you shall atone for it in blood!” Ho
thrust his hand in his bosom to unshcath a knifo.
“ Not so fast, my dearest lover,” retorted the
Demoness, scornfully; “ you see this bell-ropoin
my hand! Well,; if 1 but give ono jingle, ton
policemen will have you tho next minute.” The
parson sunk in a chair, and covered his eyes with
his handkerchief.
Tho demoness proceeded: “ I have appointed
this night for a general introduction of the
Hewet family to each other —for as yet they are
total strangers ” She then gave a loud knock
on tho door; turned the key; and Merseau en
tered. The demoness said: Mrs. Merseau, bo
so good as to tell this proud lady, Isabel, what
you know as to tho death of Maria Lee !”
The fat courtesan replied: “Parson Henry
brought the girl to my establishment in a cer
tain delicate state, you understand me; and ho
left her and a vial of liquid, telling me to give
her six drops, three times a day. Not expecting
any harm, I obeyed his direction; and tho ninth
day tho poor thing died in convulsions! Tho
baoo was dead, too, of course !”
Isabel sent up to heaven a wild cry, as if a
knife wore in hor heart, and tho Reverend Hen
ry groaned like ono dying. Tho demoness
Tho demoness then gave two knocks on tho
door, and Sister Bane entered. “ Sister Bane,”
said tho colporteuse, “ bo so good as to tell Par
son Henry what you know as to tho love-letter
of Isabel, aud Doctor Smith.”
Bane answered: “O, horrid! wicked ! But it
always will bo so till wo got a new earth. Well,
you see, as how ono day 1 went to Isabel’s room
when sho was out; and sho had forgotten to
lock her so 1 thought 1 would examine
tho curiosities, when to my holy horror, the first
thing I saw proved to boa pile of love-letters
from Dr. Smith, and copies of her own an
swers !”
'I ho preacher sent up a piercing cry of rage
and jealousy, and Isabel groaned like ono dying;
but tho demoness laughed louder and wilder !
the then said: “ JNow it is my turn to tell
what 1 know, John: the Father—Henry, the
elder son—-and drunken Tom, the younger—all
three made an assignation to pass the night
with a common street singer in my house. But
the daddy anticipated the boys ; he has been
with tho girl for two whole hours. There she is
now, behind those curtains !”
The sobs and screams of a female voice from
the bed, attested in a terrible manner the truth
of the charge. A general groan ensued; but
the demoness seemed bursting with roars of
laughter. Site looked at the merchant with
blazing eyes, and asked: “ JhonHewet, can you
tell mo who I ami” The merchant was dumb
as a tombstone. She then cried, like the blast
of a trumpet: “lam your wife—the belle of Bb.
Louis —Rose Green !”
The peal of ten thousand thunders breaking
into one, could not have been more appalling to
the tortured family than the sound of that name.
It took away tho very power to scream or groan.
The victims remained mute, pale, quaking, like
sinners at tho bar of the final judgement !"
At this crisis of unmitigated horror, Menotti
emerged from a closet, and appeared on tho
stage. All his features were illuminated with
the light of a hellish joy ; the writhing smile on
his lips looked hot enough to scorch and blind
tho eyes of a beholder. He glared around the
room, end then fixed his gaze on the countenance
■ of (he colporteuse. He said—and his voice was
' the howl of a devil: “As this is the night of
: strange introductions, 1 will now introduce my
self : Gentlemen and ladies, let me make you
acquainted with the hunchback oi St. Louis—
i Alfred Sharon !”
No hell, either of reality or imagination, could
have surpassed the terrors of the company, then.
It was like the touch of a blazing torch among
bleeding heart-strings. The colporteuse sat a
moment in apparent stupor as one smitten with
the blow of a hammer on the brain ; but instant
ly afterwards sprung to her feet, and shaking her
clinched fist in Menotti’s face, yelled out: “ Vil
lain, you lie Alfred Sharon has been dead
fourteen years—drowned in the deep sea I—dead!
dead! dead!”
The pawnbroker replied not with the tongue,
but opened the bosom of his shirt, and showed
five livid, natural marks, resemblimg the impress
of a bloody hand, on the naked skin above his
heart. TLo nviuail C>&>V 16 aud cLiicKud . “•’T’io
he ! ’tis he !” She then fell down and clasped
his knees, imploring: “Oh! Sharon, give mo
back my daughter! Tell me—oh! tell me,
where is my daughter!—my little blue-eyed
Mary! the angel! Give her back! give her
back, and I will pardon all ”
“ There she is,” howled Menotti, pointing at
the curtains ; “ there she is ! —go kiss her !
There she is—fresh from the arms of the father
to whom you assigned her!”
While the rest looked on with white lips and
chattering teeth, and while Menotti indulged
peal after peal of diabolical laughter, the col
porteuse rolled, quivfered, writhed on the carpet,
foaming at the mouth, and rending her hair;
then suddenly she bounded up and seized the
monster’s throat, and griped his nose betwixt
her teeth. He roared with the pain and dashed
her to the floor. She sprung up again, and
rushed at him like a tigress; he struck her down
with his open hand. She struggled to her feet,
and tottering to the bed, cried in a voice of un
speakable despair and sorrow: “Oh! my daugh
ter, forgive me ! I did not know that it was you !
Indeed 1 did not. Come to my bosom, thy poor
mother’s bosom—my sweet, blued-eyed Mary—
Ellon—or whatever else may be thy name. Como,
although thou art dishonored by thy own father,
I can never hate thee; then do not hate me !
Come—we will go to some far off country, here
none have ever seen us, where none shall over
see ! We will live in a little cottage in a vale,
beneath the mountains, and I will pillow thee
to sleep on my heart, as 1 used to do when thou
were a child ! Mary, Ellen, oh ! daughter of
my soul, come.
Sobs and shrieks from the shuddering girl in
the bed were the only answer. Then the mother
endeavored to pull the cover so as to reveal her
daughter’s face ; but the latter wound it around
herself more firmly than ever, uttering shriek
upon shriek!
At the instant new actors arrived on the stage.
The door opened, and Mad Jack walked in, dis
playing his club of Hercules with innumerable
proud flourishes. He was followed by ten more
of his best fighters all armed to the teeth with
sticks, knives and pistols.
“ How d’ye all du !” said Mad Jack, making
a low bow at the pawnbroker. No one replied
a word.
“ What have you got there, sister Bertrand !”
inquired Jack, glancing at the bod, where the
colporteuse was continuing her efforts to disen
gage the girl.
“ Oh! it is my daughter—my Mary—my El
len ! Alas ! I did not know who she was,” said
the colporLeusej beating her breast, and tearing
out her hair
“ You might have kissed your bible oath to
it, that she was somebody’s gal,” rejoined Jack;
“and therefore you ought not to have plotted
her ruin,” ho added. “ But I’ll bet you a cool
hundred, if you dare, that the wench you have
in that , bed aint your daughter, no how, nor
nuthin like her.”
“Oh ! yes, it is Ellen ! it is my daughter!”
cried the distracted mother; “1 locked her up
hero myself!”
“Come out and show yourself, Sal,” said
Mad Jack, in a loud, laughing voice.
Then the bedclothes jostled, and the girl
bounded into the arms of the colporteuse, ex
claiming, “Tso got no mudder; I be bony glad
to hab you.”
Sister Bertrand started back in surprise and
horror, murmuring : “ This is not Ellen. Oh !
where is Ellen !”
The girl that had just bounded from the bed
was thoblackest and the ugliest in all New
Yolk. The fighters burst out into roars of
laughter, in which the negross joined with the
heartiest good will. Menotti, perceiving that
his prey had escaped him—that his great dream
of revenge had turned out a mere bubble, gave
a despairing howl, and drew from his pocket a
large revolver, intending to shoot as many of
his foes as possible ; but before he had time to
elevate and fire, a stroke from Mad Jack’s club
shattered the monster’s arm and it dropped pow
erless by his side!
. Jack then placed the biggest ehair he could
find in the saloon on the marblo centre-table,
ascended, and took his seat as on a throne. He
waved his club like a sceptre, and exclaimed—
“ Now I am king of those diggings, and I’m
goia to pass sentence against the guilty, and 1
shall proceed in regular order from the lowest to
tho highest.”
Ho then handed a dirty paper to one of his
comrades, and said, with comic gravity, “ Tim,
call the roil; a name at a time, remember.”
Tim took the scrap, covered, as it was, with
pencil-marks, and cried out in a voice hoarse as
the roar of a hurracane : “Isabel Hewet!”
The proud, beautiful woman grew pale, but
did not tremble; indeed, during all the previous
scenes, she had displayed extraordinary courage
and presence of mind.
.Mad Jack addressed her: “ Lady Isabel. Tho
king will not order a hard sentence against you,
because your false moves have all been caused
by the snufiling parson, your husband. This is
your punishment—never to write another note
to any dandy doctor.”
Tim called a now name—“ Sister Bane !”
“ Sister Bane,” said Jsck; “you’re ad d
go?sip, and general mischief-maker; and as you
are always punished orfully by living tho lile of
an old maid, and carrying about a face sour
enough to turn all the water in New York har
bor into vinegar. I’ll only add another small
penalty—that you be condemned to read your
own tracts !”
Tim called again—“ Merseau !”
“ Let Mersean slide,” remarked Jack; “she’s
damned already!”
The next name was that of Tom Hewet.
“Let him pass as a temperance man,” said
king Jack; “while his throat is open for the
neck of a bottle, there will never be a flood of
Tim called together—“ John Hewet, the fath
er, and the reverend Henry Hewet, the son !”
Mad Jack pronounced solemnly; “ Your pun
ishment,. gentlemen, is the curse of Memory—
the memory of Maria Lee, of Ellon, and of this
night.” The father and son both groaned.
There was another call—“ Sister Bertrand,
the colparteuse!”
“ Sister Bertrand, your sins have been very
great,” said king Jack; “and you deserve a
dreadful punishment. Live on, then, to know
that the lovely daughter, you strove to ruin,
hates you—and will hate you for ever !”
The wicked woman fell on her knees before
the table, and implored, “ Say where is my
daughter ! Oh ! for pity’s sake, tell me where
is my child !”
“ Where you never will see her, or hear from
her again,” replied Jack. “ She and her lover,
Wild Bill, wore wedded, an hour ago, and start
ed for Boston, thence they will sail for England.
Bill’s father is dead, and has left him a princely
foituro ’
The colportcuse writhed on the floor like a
crushed, reptile. Jack proceeded: “ Perhaps
you think it strange how wo defeated you so
easily. But you did not know what a cunning
dog Bill was. He had false keys to fit every
lock in your house, and that enabled him to find
out all your secrets.”
Tim, then called the last name—“ Louis Me
notti !” lhe cold sweat lay thick on tho pawn
broker’s forehead, and bloody foam hung on his
lips He stood tho image and representative of
a demon chained, impotent in strength, but al
mighty in the will to do evil.
Jack addressed him mildly, and his voice even
trembled, like that of a humane judge, enun
ciating tho sentence of death on some dpomed
prisoner: “Louis Menotti —your past life has
been the biography gof a devil, and your future
will embody pages in the history of hell! Man,
so groat, so grasping, so rich this morning, to
night you are a beggar!”
The wretch looked vacantly in the face of the
speaker, with glaring eyes, as if he did not com
prehend his meaning.
Jack went on-. “I repeat it, Louis Menotti—
to-night you are a beggar. Ben Moore, and his
thieves of the Five Points, were admitted three
hours ago by your own brother Baptiste. They
burned every paper which they could not use,
down to the very bottom of your strongest safe,
and they bore away all your jewels and money ;
yes, yes, you are a beggar!”
“ It is false !” howled Menotti, anti began to
chow his tongue betwixt his teeth, like a person
with convulsions.
“ I arranged tho plan, not to possess the plun
der myself, but to punish you,” rejoined Jack;
“ 1 only kept one toy to stow you, and satisfy
you chat it was done. Look at this !” He held
up a necklace of pearls and diamonds, worth
But the moment the bright jewels flashed on
the vision of tho pawnbroker, he made a prodi
gious leap straight upwards in the air, and fell
down on the floor lifeless as a log of wood. Ho
fell beside the co/portause, who still lay there
writhing in her agony, bleeding at heart, cruci
fied in soul, and calling wildly for her lost
Here, in pity, the curtain must fall.
The Duchess of Gordon —Lady Maxwell’s
daughters were the wildest romps imaginable.
Au old gentleman, who was their relation, told
us that the first time he saw these beautiful girls
was in the Hight, where Miss Lane, afterwards
Duchess of Gordon, was riding on a sow, which
Miss Eglintouno thumped lustily behind with a
stick.— Traditions of Edinburgh:
To a Lady, on her Marriage.
At beauty’s happy shrine I bow,
A votary e’ei as erst I’ve clung ;
Her gentle ray illumes my brow,
Her spell aroind my lyre is flung.
Oil! there are 4ays of youth and bli«s,
When Love ean ill conceal the sigh ;
When thoughts above Earth’s drear abyss
Dart from th* soul and beaming eye.
The heart may ne’er forget the charm
Which Beauty hath around it cast;
Thus mine with thoughts of thee shall warm.
Till all of Love and life are past.
Fond treasured one ! thou now art wed,
May he who thy fair hand bath won.
E’er love thee, till life’s spark hath fled,
E’er deem thy happiness his own.
The world hath many a, winery care,
'IO ciuii me biuw, iu soar tbelioait ,
But while thou’rt here, as mortal, ne’er
May such to thee their pangs impart.
W Senna amU Welcome.
When the immortal Jenny was informed that
there were seven hundred competitors for the
two hundred dollar prize, she at once exclaimed,
“ Then there will be six hundred and ninety
nine disappointed poets.” Now Jenny is a bit
of a wag, for tho moment she had uttered the
above mathematical result, she burst into a glo
rious laugh—one of those peculiar laughs which
we described in our last, and which only can
come from the free, happy and innocent heart.
Of course the seven hundred save one, must be
disappointed in getting the two hundred dollars;
but that is no reason that they shou dbe pre
vented from obtaining as much notoriety and
eclat as Mr. Taylor, the author of tho success
ful song, or Mr. Genin, the purchaser of the two
hundred and twenty-five dollar ticket, Regret
ting that they should lose all their time and
labor of brains-scraping for nothing, we have
been enabled to procure a few of the best
These all possess decided merit, and the only
wonder to our mind, is that Mr. Taylor was
considered superior to the authors of the songs
wo have obtained. We feel certain that tho
Committee could never have examined tho entire
seven hundred songs. How could they in tho
course of only two days !
We understand the principle objection to these
beautiful productions to have been, that their
measures corresponded to that.of some familiar
national airs. We regret exceedingly that they
should have been rejected on that account, for
the more easy and familiar they are, the more
apt will they be to remain in the memories of,
the listeners to th*
entirely too late, we should like the contest to
be again opened in order that a re-examination
should be made of these particular poems ; but
we learn that the two hundred dollars have al
ready been paid to Mr. Taylor; and, of course,
Mr- Barnum will not pay another such sum.
The first which wo give, was objected to on
account of its strongresemblance to “Greenland’s
Icy Mountains;” and the fact that the air to
that song is of too solemn a character for a wel
come song. One of the Committee contended
that it was perfectly proper that a welcome song
should be solemn, but he was overruled by the
majority and put down as very unfit for tho* office
to which Mr. Barnum had appointed him. We
are so situated ourselves that we cannot decide
upon either of the songs as being superior to
the rest. They were furnished us merely as
specimens, and we can only report them, and
the actual conversation which took place in
Committee on the respective merits.
That our readers may no longer be kept from
this “ feast of reason and flow of soul;” wo now
give “ Jenny Lind Greeting to America,” No.
1, as it stands on our list. Our readers will
understand that “ No- 1 ” does not refer to
quality, but to the time of reception at our
From Switz'lands rocky mountains,
My native, cheerful shore ;
From happy vales and fountains,
I’ve crossed the wide Eea o’er ;
To come to Castle Garden,
To let you hear me sins,
And sing J will, for sartain,
The rolling notes I Lring.
I left my poor old maminy,
To come across the sea ;
And though no spinning Jenny,
I can spin notes, you see.
I love your smiling faces—
Your loud applause I love ;
I love your ladies’ graces—
Their smiles 1 kno* approve.
Then welcome land of freedom,
Of Johnny-cakes and corn ;
Sweet land of liberty-dom,
Where no one is forlorn.
My songs—l hope you’ll lain ’urn—
They’re glorious songs for me—
So roll your notes to Barnum—
He’ll roll them back to me.
There is an originality in the above song that
is perfectly delightful.
“Sweet land of liberty-dom,”
is a poetic license of great excellence, and wo are
always ready to encourage an author who strikes
out on so brilliant an idea. The modest desire
for everybody to learn her songs is but an appro
priate simplicity, entirely corresponding with
the feelings of the delightful cantatrice.
“ Though no spinning-Jenny,” is an illusion
to the beautiful and extensive manufactures of
this industrious country, and would have been
duly appreciated by the lords of Lowell. Al
together this is a very excellent song, but wo
have others to examine, and must pass on.
We understand that there was no particular
objection made to number two, except the re
semblance at starting, to “Cease, loud clarion,”
and the terminating Ethiopic words, of “ Oh!
hush.” It was thought that it would not be
considered grateful to a welcoming audience, for
her to end her song with a request for silence.
It was remarked by one of the committee, that
if these words were placed at tho commencement
instead of at tho end of the stanzas, the expres
sion would be delightful. We think so too, and
wonder the committee did not take tho liberty of
making tho change themselves. On an impor
tant occasion, such as one of J enny Lind’s con
certs, to have begun with a crash of instruments,
and then, in a loud and commanding tone, for
the songstress to have exclaimed “ Oh! hush !”
would have been excellent, both in sentiment
and effect. Properly uttered, the deafening wel
come shouts of the audience would have instant
ly subsided, and she would .have had a quiet
house to sing to. We believe this song might
have been adopted but for another suggestion.
One of the committee feared that the pointed al
lusion to the Dutch and Irish might give offence
to the foreigners among us from other lands. In
order that our readers may see ths application
of these suggestions, will now give them
Oh, stop that loud trombone,
lluph, shrieking clarionet;
Pipe but the magic flute alone
Or murmuring flageolet.
With limpid tones and cadence falling sweet,
Superior to rhe music in the street;
Played by the genius from Italia’s shore,
Whose high notes whistle and whose low ones snore,
Both high and low to merchants clerks, a bore,
I come this glorious land to see,
And warble out sweet minstrelsy.
Oh! Hush !
Land of the brave and free,
To Dutch and Irish, home;
Across the Atlantic sea
In big steam ship 1 come.
These tears that fill my eyes are tears of joy,
Gold with my thoughts would make a base alloy;
Oh ! Jouathau no longer is a boy.
My happy heart spasmodic still will jerk,
Hurrah, for Barnum, Genin,and New York.
I’m music mad! Look at my eye !
Hurrah for all America !
Oh! Hush !
It was thought by some that offence might bo
given to that industrious class of peripatetic mu
sicians who grind melody for babes and nurses.
Mr. Clark was fearful that such would be tho
caso. He had a great admiration for the
“ music in the street,
Played by tho genius from Italia’s shore.”
Ho acknowledged that the “ merchant’s
clerks” were generally opposed to these itine
rants, but if Mr. Ripley did not object, ho did not
know that ho should. Mr. R, thought that mu
sic did interfere with the entrees in tho day book
and ledger, and would rather tho committee
wouljl pass the song, though he confessed ho was
truly delighted with the style and conception, of
the poet. Mr. Benedict, being a stranger, did
not desire to adopt any sentiments, ho a ever
beautifully expressed, which might be construed
into even the appearance of giving any offence.
Number two was consequently placed on the re
jected shelf, and tho committee proceeded to the
reading ef
Leader, spare the bow—
Stop all your music now—
It only is so so, \
When I but make my bow.
See! all on tip-toe stand,
To hear my cheery notes ;
Leader, stay thy hand,
Or you shall have no floats.
In youth I loved to slug,
It only to my cat ;
Lean man, stop that string,
Stop the flute, you fat.
Sharps, flats-, naturals,
All buried now must be—
Leader, stop your squalls,
Or I will estop tiiee.
Happy, blooming land,
Sj very green and nice,
You’ll take me by the baud
And make me‘nappy twice :
Once with the shout of boys,
And once with dollars bright ;
Stop, loader, stop your noise,
Or you and I will fight.
When this song was read, there was a general
silence, which was well understood by all except
Mr. Benedict. Ho sat gazing first at one and
then another in utter astonishment, at the sur
prise which appeared upon the countenance of
each. This mute moment was at last broken by
a half audible ejaculation from Putnam, who
showed some little impatience as he said: “ 1
thought he said ho would not write.” Benedict
looked for an answer, but none camo; save by
mysterious nods Jules could stand it no longer,
and exclaimed, “ Gentlemen, who is he?'”
“He!” returned Knickerbocker, “he! why
he is the author of songs in all the known lan
guages of the world. Zfe! why every knows
/iwi—who he is.”
“Ask the professors of foreign languages in
our colleges,” said Putnam, in his own peculiar,
half-English, half-Amerioan stylo.
“I do not know him'.” said Jules, rather
“Neither is it altogether necessary that you
should,” replied Redfield, “but you will prob
ably see hijii often enough, if you remain with
Mdllo Jenny any length of time, or over happen
to see a Now York parade.”
Mr. Benedict perceived that there was some
impenetrable mystery attending not the piece,
l.nt. tho uxxppenod Author ; f'O lio quietly hnndfid
tho “poem” to Mr. Clarke, who as quietly
placed it among the rtjected, and proceeded to
open the next.
We will pass it as silently as Mr. Clarke did,
and give our anxious readers a strange melody,
which required tho concentrated brains of the
entire committee before it could be road. Mr-
Clarke at length contrived to read the horrible
manuscript, and we give it below, as—
(written in the scandlenovtan dialect.)
Hatsof genins, beebesc ane,
Barn umticke tsallth ego ;
Ich tanke !
Twotwent yfive, bidin ther ain,
Bybea venecra tcher atab low,
Ich tanke!
Colemanstett sonhow ardtoo ;
Rath bunlib byandd unlap,
Ich tanke!
Carp oting thewhar vesal Ithro—
Mus icser enad erat tap
Ich tanke!
[Note bv the Author — Here comes in full blast
of the double sixty pound, triple valve trombone, as
a preluda to the following third and lust verse ]
Landofm uchho usesg reatbi gno ise—
Than kfullpe oples, widemou thedboys—
Ich tanke !
Wism yfing eron myn ose,
1100 kwhi chwa ythe win dheb lows,
Ich tanke !
Mr. Benedict made this out much better than
any of the rest of the Committee, but was high
ip offended at tho author for introducing the
very silly note between the second and third
stanzas, suggestive of the manner in which tho
music should be closed. As a musician he could
not suffer a mere poet to dictate to him the style
in which a song should be composed. Finding
that Jules was really offended at tho author’s
thoughtless remark, the Committee passed a
most characteristic poem to tho shad© without
further observation.
A careful examination of this poem will show
their great want of judgment in their hasty de
cision. It forms a descriptive ballad of remark
able truth and great poetic ability. We doubt
if anything superior to it, in its way, has appear
ed, even in the Knickerbocker ; and wonder that
Mr. Clark, with his usual eye to business, did
did not secure the name of the author as a regu
lar contributor to his wonderful magazine. It
contains the entire history of Jenny’s life, from
the moment cl her arrival, until her debut on
Wednesday night, and not another song of tho
whole seven hundred, possessed ZActZ merit. It
is truthful even to a description of the weather
at tho time of tho sale of the tickets; and refers
ivith great accuracy to the appearance of the
wharves on Sunday, September Ist.
Beyond its very superior merits as a poetical
production, the piece should have been most
critically examined in regard to its highly valu
able chronological information. Wo are pleased
to understand that Mr. Putnam appreciated its
worth, but it is now too late to recall the doings
of the Committee, and we pass to the gay and
spirited number five. Wo are sorry to say that
this also was rejected on account of giving of
fence to Mr. Benedict, as he considered tho style
entirely too familiar. Now if we properly un
derstand tho character of the gay and joyous
Jenny, it was just the song likely to correspond
with her light and gloosome heart—easy, natural
and perfectly innocent. But let the reader judgo
Come along, Benedict! come along, Jules !
Hey, Benedict, oh ! come along Jule!
Don’t you see the elephant ? he a great fool is .’
Come along, Benedict ! come along. Jule !
The roaring hippopotomas come from the wave,
He was so cold that he couldn’t sing a stave ;
He had no tail for to hitch tv a stump,
So he roiled himself over, and went back ca’ thump.
Come along, Benedict.’ &c.
In Castle Garden they fixed a sounding-board,
Right overhead, so that 1 ean be heard;
And every time I sing. I’ll have to blow,
And I’ll wheel about, turn about, and do j Ist so !
Come along, Benedict! &c.
I'll do the singing—Bar num do the blowing—
That’s tho way that wo are going ;
My notes shall run all over the town,
And I’ll send them up so high that they’ll never
come down.
Come along, Benedict! &c.
I love the Yankee nation much more than I can tell—
-1 hope that they’ll love me too, every bit as well;
And when back to Switzerland 1 been come, (
We’ll talk of Castle Garden and Barnum, the hum —. .
Come along, Benedict! &e.
When Mr. Benedict has bean longer in our
country, he will find that this is truly our na
tional style. We are a free sort of people in all
our ways, and delight in song, whicn gives vent i
to our ecstatic feelings. There is no half-way ;
formality about a Yankee, and Jenny nas dis
covered that at her concerts already.
The idea of Mr. Redfield that Mr. Barnum
could bo offended with tho last lino, is entirely ;
preposterous. Barnum knows better. In fact,
he understands tho taste and liberality of the
Americans better than any man alive, and he
invariably goes with the current. The tide
nover runs sideways when Peter goes a fishing,
and ho knows it.
Mr. Clarke did advance the idea that the rat
tling stylo of the poem would be pleasing to the
audience, but he was overruled. Mr. Benedict
declared his inability to set it to music, when
Mr. Clarko quietly remarked that he could fur
nish him a thema from a celebrated Virginia
melody, called “Jim along, Josey;” but the
composer thought it would be absurd. Mr.
Clarke assured him that it would not —that the
thing had been done by “him ” “ Him !” ex
claimed the composer, * who is him! once more! ’
The rest of tho committee fearing something un
pleasant, placed number five on the shell, and
passed on to the next.
As we have gone through our copies, we too
will close. W e may as well state that among
tho poems, several were written in different lan
guages. One in no less than seventeen, aud one
was in the unknown tongue. This has been lor
warded to Mr. Gliddon, at the express dosiro of
Mr. Barnum. Tho labors being closed, Mr.
Taylor was invited to a magnificent supper, and
in the course of the evening onv of the gentlemen
sung “Jim along Josey,” whioh perfectly de
lighted Mr. Benedict —who declared that ho
should have gone for number five had he known
the air before ; but ho was glad ha did not, as
he could never equal its magnificent beauties.
At a lata hour in the morning the committee es
sayed to go home, but were compelled to aban
don so excellent an idea in consequence of hav
ing their hats weighed down with bricks. The
last that was seen of them, the four were sing
“ Come along Benedict, come along Jules,”
And J tries himself was beating very uncertain
time to their still more uncertain music.
Getting the Wrong Animal by he Ear.—
In the subjoined epistle, we suspect that our let
ter-trap has caught a communication intended
for a sporting contemporary :
“ Ser,—6 bob 2 joes is too hi a Tutch for mo i
Therefoare rito to ax Your adwioo on a pint of
lor witch a Reglar subscryber to yure Gurnel
ope you wil Aford tis of a case as I red about in
it piece ripport won day lass weak of one thos.
Channing beln pulled up afore tho Beke by the
Siaty for Perwenshen o’ crulcty To hannimals.
Thos. channing war won o’ the Licins’d shep
pards in the wiotorier park and As sitoh wos"a
gittin of some ship into a slorterus wereby as he
druv each jimmy in he took and snick'd a bit off
is oar for to mark im wereby tho Secretairy to
tho Crulety Coves as im Hup at washup street
aud mistr. Hammill gives im <£3 & costis or 3
“ tho Paper sed Channing was quite took abak
at being Acused of crulety tor such a thing as
snickn a Shoap’s Ear and didn’t make no boa
oret of avvin did it he only done ho sed as the
I Bucher told im and he was a Custom’d to it hail
is Life and ad No ideer but wot it was all rite
wen lo and becld you he found his Self in for thre
pound or 3 weaks!! ’
“ser the kivestshnn i Beg to ax yer is as fel
lers, iam in the Canine Imo as peraps you Nose
and as fine a st add both toy and sport in i’vogott
as yude Wish to sea. Ow about cropin a dogg’s
ears if doin of it to a ship is agin the lor ! is a
covo obleg’d to let his Dogg be spiled for Fitin
as well as in Buty and Gro up a Muf and fit for
Nothink for want of Cropin is Eers wen a I’upy
or if so bo he Cropps ’em dooin wot he likes with
is own his he to be ad up for crulety and Fin’d
or Kivodded ! an answer wil obleeg your umbal
servint “jim Greaves.
“ n.u Rode Orgust 9 1850
“ P. S. A prime badjer Hepp and Ratts allys
on Aud to try Doggs.”
Mr. Greaves will perhaps be amazed to
hoar that tho law, so far from regarding tho end
■proposed in cropping a. dog’s cars—namely,
•' Fitin,” as justifying tho means, considers it
decidedly in the light of an “ aggeravation ”
as he would say—of the offence.— Tunch.
A Nun’s Wish —Southey, in his “Ojxniana,”
relates the following When I was last at
• L’sbon, a nun made her escape from a nunnery.
The first thing for which she inquired, when she
reached the house in which she was to be secre
ted, was a looking-glass. She had entered the
convent when only five years old, and from that
time had never seen her own face.”
[Original Translation from the French.]
£l Duel at JJalpacaiso.
Since the transformation of Chili into o, Ro
i public, tho penal legislation by which that coun
try was governed during tho Spanish dominion,
has undergone but trifling modification, notwith
standing the care with which tho present autho
rities are now endeavoring to adapt it to tho
particular character of the people. Hero, as in
Spain, duelling is looked upon as a crime, de
manding the utmost severity of the law. The
man who has tho misfortune to kill his adversary
in an “ affair of honor,” renders himself amena
ble to the highest penal punishment, which is
death ; and in the event of his only wounding
him, he is, according to tho nature or danger of
the wound, condemned to ten, fifteen, or twenty
years imprisonment’. With regard to tho sec
onds, (padrinas) independent of imprisonment,
their estates and property are confiscated.
This penalty, which in a great measure corre
sponds with the edicts of Richelieu and Louis
XIV, has become necessary in a country where
sudden ebullitions of passion are not unfrequent
among a people whose climate renders them na
turally “ hot-headed,” and hence the frequency
of quarrels, and inflexibility of resentment
lhe object of this rigor in the laws, is to ren
der them more reflective and mild in manner,
and more affable in their relations towards each
other, although on tho other hand, it deprives
them.of that dignified independence and hauteur
peculiar to the Spanish “ hidalgo.”
In Spain, when on the point of engaging in a
duel, it is customary with the parties to make
over thc-ir property or effects to another, on
quitting the country or making the necessary
arrangements for flight. In Chili, these precau
tionary measures are disregarded, although the
law ia the same in both instances This arises
from tho exercise of toleration in the tribunals
of the latter country; hence it seldom or ever
happens, that lhe true spirit or letter of the law
is carried oub.
In these “affairs of honor,” the European
inhabitants are generally the chief actors, as
may be seen in tho following instance, which
lately produced so painful a sensation in tho city
where the tragic event occurred
Tho Count de F. had been for some years
Consul at Valparaiso. His rare and exalted
merit, his youth, accomplished manners, and
personal elegance, placed him in the highest
rank, in the heart of a population who consider
ed physical advantages as constituting the palm
of superiority Arrived at Valparaiso, with the
cold speculative ideas of a European, ho was not
long m contracting the contagious action of
manners then unknown to him. He was every
where favorably received, and eagerly sought
after by the gay world. The young Count at
the period to which our narrative applies, felt
himself at the very supreme acme of human fe
An American ship had just entered the roads
of Valparaiso. One of the passengers, a little,
thin man, aud whose physiognomy betrayed no
thing remarkable, wended his way to the house
of the Consul, and presented his card to the ser
On the card the following words wore in
scribed—“ Mr. S , Consul of Franco to
He was immediately introduced, seated him
self with the greatest composure, and thus ad
dressed Count D’F :
You may remember the passage I had the
honor of making with you on boafd a French
man-of-war about a year ago, on her way to
Peru; on which occasion, a warm discussion
arose one evening at table, on a subject of the
most trivial character—a bottle of efiampagne.
One of the guests arose, and approaching the
party addressing him, struck him a. blow ! It is
not necessary for me to name the agressor. Sir,
tho man whom ho struck is myself.* Do you re
member this !”
“Perfectly,” replied the Consul, turning
deadly pale.
“ The captain of the man-of-war having land
ed you at Valparaiso, refused to allow me to dis
embark. I consequently pursued my course,
and arrived at Lima; a year has now elapsed
since tho occurrence, and you perhaps imagined
them forgotten, but the .disgrace and dishonor
attending a blow is ever freah in tho memory of
a, man oi integrity and honor. I solicited per
mission of leave of absence from my government,
which was refused me ; 1 have therefore taken it
myself. I engaged my passage on board an
American whaler, which was about sailing for
this port. I omba’ked—and here lam
“ Come with the resolution ol fighting me !”
“ Of course ”
“ And will accept of no reparation or apo
logy J”
“ Yes, one, and only one. That, here, to
morrow—in presence of two witnesses, the one
chosen by yourself, the other by me/?I shall
take the satisfaction of returning the blow with
which you insulted me.”
The Count started, cast a harried glance at
his adversary, as scarcely crediting such a pro
position could bo seriously meant, and in a grave
tons replied:
“ ’Tis well, sir, return this evening with a
What passed during the painful intervening
hours may be imagined, in tho mind of the
Count—a man whose courage was unimpeacha
ble, whose delicate susceptibility of insult re
coiled at the very idea of submitting to co out
rageous a reprisal; such humiliation is impos
At ton o’clock in the evening, however, the
Peruvian Consul entered, accompanied by a na
val officer, and found the Count anxiously await
ing him, together with his friend, an officer in
the civil department of the state.
“Do you consent?” inquired Mr. S., in a
half articulated voice.
“ Yes,” replied tho Count, with a bitter
Trembling, half wavering, and a prey to ’an
insurmountable emotion, he hesitated to take
that revenge which he himself had prescribed.
The seconds stood with breathless interest, when
on raising his arms and extending his hand to
strike, the Count, with frantic rage, seized both
the hands of B. in his vigorous grasp, and ex
claimed : _
“Can it be possible, that because you have
summoned resolution to bear up against the de
gradation of a blow for a year—that I should
submit to such an infliction tor life ! you little
knew me, to suppose that I was so credulous, or
so mad. You are truly amusing, sir; but unde
ceive yourself—l am no stoic—l am a man !”
“Better still,” replied 8., saying which, with
the most candid loyalty he intimated to the sec
onds, that though the party injured, he was not
in the least desirous or taking advantage of his
position—and taking in consideration the great
reputation ot the skillful duellist, ho had perfec
ted himself in the exercise of both tho sword and
pistol during his sojourn at Lima.
This declaration placed the seconds at liberty
to ciierthe Count D’F. the choice of weapons, to
which the latter, scornfully shrugging up his
shoulders, replied; “Ma foi, gentlemen, whe
ther it be the pistol, sword or dagger, is the
same to me.” Upon which the parties left tho
Tho Almcndral, situated on the borders of tho
bay, was at this period the most secluded and
least inhabited part of Valparaiso. At tho pres
ent day this vast space has completely changed
in appearance ; it is now as lively with anima
tion as it was formerly dull and deserted. Small
houses and coquettish little cottages have been
built in successive tiers up the acclivity of tho
mountain, which forms the background of the
Almendral: from the summit of this graceful
ampitheatro the eje extends over a vast expanse
of ocean, to the distant horizon —on the playful
billows of which float myriads of vessels, with
their variegated colors designating the different
nations to which they belong, and giving tho
surrounding waters, and bay of Valparaiso, a
moat beautiful panoramic appearance
Beyond the Almendral, and from the crescent
height which girt the faubourgs of the city, im
mense.plains of a reddish soil extend, without
pasture or vegetation, which, however, aro not
devoid of beauty, being diversified with moun
tain vallies, romantioaliy located.
During their approach to the desired spot, not
a word escaped the lips either of the principals or
seconds, in this duel about to take place; while
the shores of the bay being deserted, they might
easily gain the Almendral unobserved, if we ex
cept, perhaps, the arricrosy who enliven tbeir
journey by wild, uncouth songs, while driving
their convoy of mules, journeying sometimes
iramenoD distances with valuable merchandize.
And such is the general security in travelling on
tho road in Chili, and the innate respect for
property, and the characteristic indifference oi
these poor people to riches—and their other
wise hospitable manners, that the merchants of
the country, are in the daily habit of commit
ting to the charge of three or four peones, from
one point of the republic to the other, a sum of
40,000 silver mares in bars, or in specie, without
the slightest apprehension of danger.
Lhe spot selected by the combattants, was
most favorable for such a purpose. It was a nar
row neck of land, uniformly level, and shut in
between the sea and mountains.
The socon is here tried to effect a reconcilia
tion, in calling to mind the long period which
had elapsed since tho infliction of the injury—
and the forgetfulness in which it must have been
buried by the other parties then present when
the fatal quarrel occurred.
But 8 wa j inexorable. “ Impossible,” said
ho; “ 1 feel no was if his hand was upon me.”
With regard to the Count—if he did have any
secret compunctions, or private family matters
to ruminate over and reflect upon before enter
ing into this deadly field at this critical moment
■ —iris mind seemed completely disengaged from
all consideration—cf youth, family and love,
■ which link us so fondly to existence.
The bright, calm night enabled us to dispense
with the use of the torches, which the seconds
had brought with them, and permitted of their
’ taking aim, as if it were broad daylight.
; Five and twenty paces, tho prescribed dis
. tauce, were measured
> 8. took up his position liko a practical hand,
• covering well his chest by a side inclination,
> hence, presenting but a slighter portion of his
; person, to tho fire of his adversary.
With head erect, determined eye, elegant at-
titude, and a clear smile of assurance, the Count
exposed his full front to the -weapon of death.
Ono moment after, a double simultaneous re
port was hoard, while tho two adversaries re
mained immoveable, and maintaining tho erect
position they had each assumed. Neither had
- been hit. The arms were re-loaded, and they
■ again fired—but in the unguarded movements of
> tho Count in lowering his arm, the pistol acci
• dcntly went off, and lie thus lost his ball.
Mons. S. strenuously refused to take advan
tage of his adversary’s accident, when the Count
exclaimed in a linn voice : “ Fire Sir, I demand
it.” Ilis adversary did so, and for a moment
we were lod to imagine that his skill had failed
him—but suddenly the Count turned pale, his
fingers were thrown open, his pistol fell, and tho
moon which had been momentarily veiled by a
cloud, now shewed a stream of blood, which
trickled down from beneath his hair over his
He beM-mo exhausted, and slightly murmured
“ I am a dead man,” fell upon the earth, and
grasping a tuft of grass in his hand, lay as if
life wore already extinct.
Immediately on seeing his antagonist stagger,
Moss. 8. uttered a piercing exclamation of hor
ror ; and by one of those inexplicable contradic
tions, (though familiar to the human heart) that
same man, who, during a long twelve month,
had, with a rare energy, harbored a spirit of
deep and unforgiving revenge—and had ripened
that revenge into action—that man was horror
struck, when the fatal deed was accomplished.
He frantically rushed towards the dying man,
marked with death like agony, tho blood flow
ing from the wound over the beautifully mould
ed features of his victim —then still holding the
fatal pistol in his hands—and deaf to the solici
tations of his second, he fled towards tho city
bare-headed, and with haggard eye like one sud
denly struck with delirium.
S. lately died at Carthagena, after having
seen several of his children fall victims to a
strange fatality one after the other Feeling
himself about co expire, he ordered his son into
bis presence, and there in a last solemn inter
view related to him the whole of the particulars
of his quarrel with the Count, as also its fatal
issue in the night duel at tho Almendral, confes
sing that from that dreadful moment the appari
tion of the Count wan everprerent, at his table, at
the foot of his bed, in the world, and in sol tu:c,
whenever in, fact, tho insurmountable terrors of
his conscience conducted him ; then, showing
his son the fatal weapon which deprived a fellow
being of existence, and which was suspended
from the wall, shrouded in crape, he thus
solemnly addressed him:
“ Keep this pistol as the better part of my
inheritance, the remembrance which it calls
forth will perhaps render you less the slave,
than your unhappy father has been, to
the cruel laws of what is .falsely called
‘honor;’ and, moreover, the fatal history oi
that weapon will teach you tho terrible price of
£tn Appeal
Fellow Clerks Your attentive perusal of the
following appeal is earnestly solicited :
First, We address those who are members of
our association. To you we look with special
claims for your active cof-operation. You have
become members of our “ fraternity,” and are
therefore identified with all our proceedings.
You are familiar with our objects, our aims, and
our principles ; for you have been initiated into,
and have become a part of our organization
V/e call upon you faithfully to discharge your
obligations, for on your fidelity, in a measure,
depends the triumph of our glorius cause.
Speak to your fellow clerks; rest not until you
have enlisted them in the cause and made them
members of our association.
Secondly, We address ourselves to those who
arc not members of our association. We labor
for you as well as for those who arc already with
us; but you derive only indirect advantages.
Wo comprehend in our movement, the entire
body of the dry goods clerks of Naw York.—
What wo have already achieved, under many
disadvantages, is an earnest of what we - may
achieve, if we are only true to cursives. Join
uj and we will do you good. For. tho trifling
euiu of 37 j cents per month and one dollar initi
ation froy-ur present you will derive advantages
which may be of incalculable Vallie bo you.
We are busily engaged in making-preparations
for the opening of our Library and Reading
Rooms. In this excellent work wo are encour
aged by the co-operation of tho merchants them- ,
selves; and this ought to be an additional incen
tive to our increased exertions. Tho 30 among
you who have not yet reaped the advantage of
early closing, so far as tho measure has been
carried out, exercise patience, fulfil your duties,
and ere long you also will net fail to be recipients
of this great boon.
A. L. McMahon, Cor. Sec’ry.
N. B —The following are tho present officers
of our Association, with, their residences. By
applying to any of them you will obtain such
information as you may require. Delay not;
but at once identity yourselves with us.
President—H. H. Tiohenor, 231 East Broad
Ist Vice President: —Wm. R. Harrison, 61
Division street.
2d Vice President—Edward Wright, 113 For
syth street.
3d Vice President—C. Crowe, 5 Monroe
4th Vico President—-Jas. W. Fedden, ’ 133
hirst Avenue.
Corresponding Secretary—Augustus L. Mc-
Mahon, 134 Mulberry street.
Recording Secretary-Wm. If. Chaddoc 135
Grand street.
Financial Secretary—S. S. Sherwood 135
Grand street.
Treasurer—W. H. Fanning, 17 Catharine
l* fc J rUßtee n - W. Pino, 59 Grand street,
oi V U3fceo ~Walter Payne, 42 Beach street.
31 Trustee—Oliver C. Denton, 339 Grand
Conductor—Louis Triganne, 62 Canal street.
Assistant Conductor—C. L. Bailey, 238
[Entered in Friends Book of Records of Marriages,
in page 57, (No. 57.)
Whereas Robert Macy ye Son of Thomas
Macy & Deborah his wiffe of ye Town of Sher
born on Nantucket in ye Province of ye Massa
chusetts bay in New England Etc. & Abigail
Barnard Daughter of Benjamin Barnard De
ceased & Judith his wiffe of Nantucket Town
and Province above said.
Having declared their intentions of Taking
each other in Marriage before several Public!?
Meetings of ye People Caled Quakers on Nan
tucket wose proceedings therein after a deliber
ate Consideration thereof were allowed by ye
said Meetings, & they appearing clear of all
others, and having Consent of Parents & all
others Concerned.
Now these aro to Certifie all whome it may
Concern that for ye full accomplishment of said
intentions this, third day of ye Eleventh month
Caled January in ye year according to yo Eng
lish account one thousand seven hundred &
Thirty & one, they, ye Said Robert Macy &
Abigail appeared in a Public Assembly
of ye affbre said People & others met to geather
for ye purpose at yo house of Judith Barnard
(widdow) on Nantucket & in a solemn manner
he ye said Robert Macy taking ye said Abigail
Barnard by ye hand did openly declare as fol
io weth, friends 1 desire you to be my witnesses
that I take this my friend Abigail Barnard to bo
my wife promising by ye Loras assistance to be
unto her a True & faithfull Husband till by
Death we are separated, then and there in ye
said assembly ye said Abigail Barnard did in
like manner declare as followeth friends I desire
you to be my witnesses that I take this my friend
Robert Macy to be my Husband promising by
ye Lords assistance to be unto him a true &
faithful wiffe till by Death wo are separated. &
ye said Robert Macy and Abigail according to
the Custom of Marriage now Abigail Macy as
a farther Confirmation thereof did then & there
to these presents, set their hand. 3
> Robert Macy.
5 Abigail Macy.
& we whose names are hereunto subscribed
being present among others at ye solemnizing
of their said Marriage & subscription in manner
aforesaid, as witnesses hereunto have also to
these presents subscribed cur names yo day and
year above written.
Thoms Macy Jabez Bunker
Timothy Barnard Andrew Gardner
Joseph Macy Abel Gardner
Jabes Mrfcy James Gardner
Richard Macy Benjamin Barney
Ebenezer Gardner Love Macy
Mathew Jenkins Deborah Macy
Jethro Folger Priscilla Coleman
Both Macy Barah Gardner
Nathan Starbuck Judith Barnard
Barnabas Coleman Dinah Starbuck
Bachelor Hussy Ruth Barnard
Jethro Gardner Mary Jenkins
Nathaniel Coleman
Scraps for. the Curious.—lf a tallow can
dle be placed in a gun and shot at a door, it will
go through without sustaining any injury ; and
if a musket ball be fired into water it will not
only rebound, but bo flattened as if fired against
a solid substance.
A musket ball may bo fired through a nano of
glass, making the hole tho size of the-ball with
out crocking the glass ; if tho glass ba suspend
ed by a thread, it will make no difference, and
the thread will not even vibrato.
Cork, if sunk two hundred feet in the ocean
will not rise, on account of the pressure of tho
In the arctic regions, when tho thermometer
is below zero, persons can converse more than a
mile distant, Dr. Jamieson asserts that he
heard every word of a sermon at the distance of
I two miles.
ft was house-cleaning time, and I had an old
woman at work scrubbing and cleaning the
. paint.
“ Folly is going,” said one of my domestics,
r as twilight began to fall.
f “ Very well. Tell her that I shall want her
“ 1 think she would like to have her money fur
to-day’s work,” said the girl.
1 took out my purse and found that I had no
thing in it but gold. ,
”1 haven’t the change this evening,” said I,
“ tell her that I’ll pay her for both days to-mor
The girl loft tho room and I thought no more of
Polly for an hour. Tea time had come and pass
ed, when one of my domesticts, who was rather
communicative in her habits, said to me, “ J
don’t think Polly liked you not paying her this
“ She must be very unreasonable, then,” said
I, without reflection. “ I sent her word that 1
had no change. How could she cxpoct that 1
could pay ?”
“ Some people are queer, you know,” remark
ed the girl who had made the communication,
more for the pleasure of telling it than anything
I kept thinking over what the girl had said
until other suggestions came into my mind.
“ I wish I had sent and got change,” said I, as
tho idea that Polly might be really in want of
the money intruded itself. “ I would have been
very little trouble.”
This was the beginning of a new train of re
flections, which did not make mo very happy.—
To avoid a little trouble, 1 had cent the poor old
woman away after a hard day’s work without
her money. That she stood in need of it was
very evident from the fact that she had asked
for it.
“ How very thoughtless in me,” said I, as I
dwelt longer on the subject.
“ What’s tho matter'?” inquired my husband
seeing me look serious.
“ Nothing to be very much troubled at,” Ire
“ Yet yma are troubled.”
“lam, and cannot help it. You will, per
haps, smile at me, but small causes often produce
much pain. Old Polly has been at work all day
scrubbing and cleaning. When night came she
asked for her wages, and I, instead of taking the
trouble to get the money for her, sent word that
I hadn’t any change. I didn’t reflect that a poor
woman who has to go cut to daily work must
need her money as soon as earned. I’m very
My husband did not reply for some time.
“ Da you know where Polly lives T’ he inquir
ed, at length.
“ No ; but I will ask the girl.”
And immediately ringing the bell, I made in
quiries as to where Polly lived: but no one in
the house knew.
“ It can’t be helped now,” said my husband in
a tone of regret. “But I would be more
thoughtful in future. The poor always have
need of their money. Their daily labor rarely
does more than supply their daily’ wants. I can
never forget a circumstance that occurred when
I was a boy. My mother was left a widow when
I was but nine years old —and she was poor. It
was by the labor of her hands that she obtained
shelter and food for horself and hor three little
Once —1 remember the occurrence as if it had
taken place yesterday—we were out of money
and food. At breakfast time our last morsel was
eaten, and we went through thejjlong day with
out a taste of bread. We all grew very hungry
by night; but our mother encouraged us to bo
patient a littlo while longer until she finished
tho garment she was making, when sho would
take that and some other work home to a lady
who would pay for the work. Thon, sho said,
we should have a nice supper. At last the work
was finished and 1 went with my mother to help
to carry it home, for she was woak and sickly,
and tven a light bundle fatigued her. The lady
for whom sho had made the garment was in good
circumstances, and had no want unsuppliod that
money could supply. When wc came into her
presence she took tho work, and after glancing
at it, carelessly said,—
“It will do very well.”
My mother lingered; pecoiving which, the
lady said rather rudely - -
•'You want your money, 1 suppose. How much,
does the work come to 1”
“ Eight shillings,” replied my mother.
The lady took out her purse and said—
“ 1 haven’t the change this evening. Call
over at any time and you shall have it.
And without giving my mother time earnestly
to urge her request, turned from us and left the
I shall never forget tho night that followed.
My mothers feelings were sensititive and inde
pendent. She could not make known her wants.
An hour after our return home she sat weeping
with her children around her, when a neighbor
came in, and learning our situation, supplied our
present need.
This relation did not make me feel any mor©
comfortable. Anxiously 1 waited on the next
morning the arrival of Polly. As soon an she
camo I sent for- her, and handing her tho money
she had earned tho day before, said—
“ I’m sorry I hadn’t tho change for you last
night. Polly. I hope you didn’t want it very
Polly hesitated a little and then replied,
“ Well ma’am, I did want it very much, or I
wouldn’t have asked for itl My poor daughter
Hetty is sick, and I wanted to get her something
nice to eat.”
“ 1 am sorry,” said I, with sincere regret.—
“ How is Hetty this morning 1”
“ She isn’t so well, ma’am, and I feel uneasy
about her.” •
“ Come up to me in half an hour, Polly,”
said I.
The old woman went down stairs. When she
appeared again, according to my desire, I had
a basket for her, in which were some wine, su
gar, fruit, and various little matters that L
thought her daughter would relish, and told hor
to go at once and take them to the sick girl.—
Her expression of gratitude touched my feelings
deeply. Never since have I omitted, under any
pretence, to pay the poor their wages as soon as
earned. —27ie Gall Reporter.
.Supposed Death of a Miser from Star
vation.—Mr. W. Baker, jun., held an inquest
at the Swan Tavern, Upper Clapton, England,
on the body of Benjamin Augustus Wallis, aged
fifty, a gentleman of independent property, resi
ding at Stamford Grove, ’Upper Clapton, who
was supposed to havo died from starvation. Tho
deceased who was a single gentleman, and of
very eccentric habits, had resided by himself at
No-4 Stamford Grove, for upwards of twenty
years, and although he was possessed of ample
means, he kept no servant, and never allowed
any one to enter his house, which was splendidly
furnished. Ho was remarkable for his parsimo
nious habits, and sooner than give a fair price
for food, he has been known to go without any
for days together. He had not been seen about
since last Friday week, and the parties in the
adjoining house becoming alarmed at not hear
ing or seeing any thing of him tor upwards of a
week, on Saturday evening last an entrance into
tho house was effected, by forcing an upper win
dow. On entering, they discovered the deceased
on the bed quite dead. Tho only food found in
the house was a small quantity of pudding and
a dried crust tied up in a handkerchief. The
jury returned a verdict of “ Natural death.”
Superstition in England.—A case came on
for hearing, recently, before the magistrates ati
the Town Hall, Ax bridge, England, which dis
closed the existenco of a superstition which in
these days is really marvellous. A woman
named Hester Cooper summoned Ann Jefferies,
the wife of a small farmer, for assaulting her ;
and it appeared from the evidence that the com
plainant having in the neighborhood tho reputa
tion of being an old witch, tho defendant, who
was under tho delusion that she had been be
witched by her, forced her way into hor house,
threw her down, severely maltreated her, and
with a sharp instrument punctured hor hand t ill
the blood flowed with sufficient copiousness to
enable her to sprinkle her body with it, as a
moans of dispelling the charm. Tho defendant
insisted that the coplainant had “ overpowered”
and “hag-ridden” her, and that sho was justi
fied in the course she took to rolieve herself of
the “ hag-spell ” The magistrates told her if
she did not compromise the matter thoy would
send her to gaol, and an arrangement was coma
te. iwj|
A. Raj Story.—The following dodge is said,
by tho Gcrma.vitGwn Telegraph, to havo been,
recently enacted in tho city of Philadelphia, as
the play-bills have it, with “ unbounded sue
| cess:”
“A fellow, half dandy, half-loafer, entered a*?
oyster saloon, and gave his order for a> plate off
‘raw.’ While swallowing the bivalves, a huge
rat cams rushing over the counter. The oyster
eater and oyster seller started at the sight, and
the latter maderush for the critter, followed,
by several of the ‘hangers on’ about tho saloon*
but the rat succeeded in making his escape*
through the back door. Tho party had scarcely
returned, and the customer had swallowed hiff
last oyster, when another rat appeared. The*
result in thia case was the same us in the*
former one, and tho landlord and his friends
returned to discover that bis customer had
disappeared, after borrowing from tho till
its contents, amounting to fifty dollars. The*
rogue had an accomplice outside, who bad lets
the rats in at the window ! Shrewd tribk that,
and worthy the reputation of a
la wy er. ’ ’
Italy Republican.—-Italy seems to bo emi-’
nently a republic an country. Whenever her
different people, by any happy circumstance,
have been masters of themselves, they have ne
ver. if wo except, perhaps, the case of the Sici
lian Vespers, made choice of. any but a popular
government All tho reigning families in the*
country have erected their thrones in violence ;
none of them is of popular choice, but are derived
from a race of foreign usurpers. No ruler in It
aly has ever been defended with such beautiful
examples of devotion as wo read of in the histo
ries of other countries. God save the Ring, and
Vive le Roi, arc shouts which find no echo in
Italian hearts.

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