Ellsworth American. [volume], March 23, 1855, Image 1

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IS PUBLISHED EVERY FRIDA\ MORNING RY
WM. H. CHANEY.
Office in OsgtKxI'n IHock, next door South of th<
Kiln worth Rank.
TERMS.
•*,00 per annum ; if paid alrictly in'advance •I,fi0.
tT>"Ar»TkRrisaM*NT8 inserted at reasonable ratef.
■■ffHBgBgggggffgiggggg!
■ffottrij.
(Written for the KlUw.irik American.
The Dying Oirl to her Mother.|
nr MYRA N.
I'm hastening to heaven ;
Yes, I feel 1'in almost there;
My days are nearly spent, mother,
I'in near the dark, cold tomb !
My breath grows short and quick,
My pulse beats teebly now.
And colil and deadly sweat, mother,
Is standing on my brow.
Yet I do not/ear to die;
This world is dear to me,
But dearer far is keaeen, mother.
And there fain would I he.
This life seems all a dream
That passelh swift away;
I'm waking from that dream, mother,
To an immortal day.
My heart aspires to heaven.
Tho' the lies ol earthly love
Cling closely to my heart, mother,
Yet stronger ties above,—
Ay. holier, purer bonds
Unite mysoul with heaven.
Where affection’s cords ne'er break,
mother,
Where hearts are never riven!
Yet it is karil wiih thee to part,
It is sad to bid a lieu
To one so fondly loved, mother,
To one so kind and true;
But soon we'll meet again
In a happy, peaceful home,
Where life is ne'er extinct, mother.
Where parting's never known.
Then brush away each tear.
And restrain each bursting sigh,
And let urn take thy hand, mother,
And breath n last good bye!
We'll shortly meet again,—
The angels bid me come
llark ! hear that music sweet, mother,
“Father, thy will be done!”
frlrrteb.
I From the American B*< I
THE UEdUAIl:
— OR —
FOUR 1UXDRED A YEAR!
FOUNDED ON FAt T.
nv Jtas 11. V. CHENEY.
It is now nearly half a century ago,
that a young medical student named
Paul Dumas was finishing his profession
al studies in the hospitals of Paris, and
looking forward with the hopefulness of
youth to a lile of honor and enjoyment.
The gayeties of the dissipated metropo
lis could not allure him, for lie was an
enthusiast ii/Aeience, and devoted to its
pursuits; nor could the most practiced
CIKJUclie cinaiiKie ••• “ ..
bis heart w.i shield’d by an earthly at
tachment, and all hi. tender thoughts
were given to a simple hearted girl, who
had tong since accepteJ his boyish vows,
and promised to share with him the sun
shine and clouds of life—if clouds could
pver arise on the rose-tinted horizon of
their future. Simple in his habits, and
with limited means which scarcely ex
ceeded the expenditute demanded hy the
student of a liberal profession, his only
indulgence was an occasional visit to a
(heater, or an hour of couvivialily passed
With a fellow student at a restaurant.
Through the severe studies of the long
week he looked forward with fondest ex
pectation to the approaching Sunday, for
he always passed that quiet day with his
.mother, who resided at Versailles; ami
there, he knew, the pretty, blushing
Madelaine was always wailing at the eti
trance of the shady avenue to meet and
.welcome him. How often tnadame la
pssre looked impatiently from her little
eine-covered portico to catch a glimpse
jot him, and how long she waited their
tardy steps, we must leave to the imagi
nation of our readers.
As Duma* passed the city gale weekly
zm hi* way to Versailles, he invariably
remarked a beggar who seemed to havt
Stationed himself at that thoroughfare foi
ghp season, and who never failed to cry
amt in the deeorus accent of his ordei
•• Remember the poor, if you please, kinc
air, over It grace dt Ditu." The younf
student always answered the appeal b)
(browing a sous or two into his ragget
flat. This beggar was a tall fellow u
the prime of manhood, with keen eye
aqd well moulded features, and he had i
pertain cast of expression which Duma:
often fancied odly belied the degradet
mendi uy of his appearance. Whaieve
it was that attracted him, he came to tool
at the beggar with a sort of friendly in
terest, and Anlhouy, as he was called
was never disappointed of the expuctei
sous.
One day, as Dumas was liestowing hi
j alms, an elderly gentleman well powder
■ed and well dressed, was passing by, t(
| whom also Anthony addressed his usual
petition, stretching forth his stalwart
arm, which looked much better fitted to
weild the spade or artizan's tools than to
be employed in that ignoble service. The
gentleman stopped and surveyed him
coolly for a few moments, asking some
questions, to which it must he confessed
poor Anthony gave no very atisfactory
responses, and then thus addressed him :
"It surprises me to sec a man like
you, who Mem healthy and able to work,
degrade yourself by herding with beg
gars at the gate ; you were made for
something better, and I wish to raise you
from this loathsome calling, and help you
to procure no income of 400 pounds a
year."
Anthony laughed at this strange speech
—he could not help it—and the student
joined with him: both appeared to think
the old gentleman was demented.
"Laugh tf you please,” observed the
stranger, not at all disconcerted—“hut
listen tu me and follow my advice. I
was once as poor as you are; 1 had not
a sous to call my own, nor a friend to give
me one. But, thank God, 1 had a sturdy
will, ami instead o( begging 1 made my
self n basket ot reeds, gathered with my
own hands, and went through nil the
towns and villages of iny native province
asking—not (or alms—hut for old rags,
which were given to me for nothing.”
Here the beggar and student stiHed a
laugh, hut their interest was excited.
‘‘I sold them,” continued the old gen
tleman, “for a fair price to the paper
manufacturers. At the end of the year
i had accumulated quite a little sum,
and no longer begged /or rags, hot bought
| them, and was soon able to purchase a
donkey and a little cart, which enabled
me to extend my business, i not only
acquired, hot saved , my money rapidly
increased, and.at the end ol ttirce years
I could command a capital of XIS2 ‘0.—
I limn married a prudent thrifty wife,
and connected myself in business with
her father, a paper maker. Our alfiirs
prospered, wealth flowed into our hands,
and I have now retired with a handsome
independence and resigned my business
to my son, who early learned from me
the necessity of perseverance. Do as I
have done, my friend, and success will
follow you.”
The powdered gentleman finished with
a polite hoie 10 his auditors, and passed
on his way without waiting to hear their
comments. A shade of deep thought
crossed the beggar's face, anil Duinas
walked on, pondering the story in his
inind, and not quite satisfied whether it
was a true experience of life or a mono
mania of the stranger's mind. Hut the
beggar and his eccentric adviser were
both forgotten, when Dumas saw his
mother's collage peeping through the
trees, and the lair Madelaine waning as
usual at the little wicket to receive her
lover.
On the following Sunday, Anthony's
place at the gate was vacant, and the stu
dent in passing fell a slight disappoint
ment at the absence of Ins familiar lace,
for he had reserved a f-.w extra sous for
aims that day. Dumas’ spirits were
light, for he had that week received the
highest honors of his class, and now felt
himself fairly launched upon the world,
and strong in energy and talent to w res
tle for its prizes.
Having received his diploma, Duinas
liassed a year in travelling through vari
ous countries of Europe with a wealthy
invalid ; and soon after he returned to
Paris, he married his faithful Madelaine,
and commenced in earnest the practice of
his profession. Honor and success at
tended him ; lie became eminent for Ins
skill and learning, and beloved for his
humanity, wlide in domestic life he fully
realized me rumamic urc.iius ui juum.
Years passed sway, and sous and
daughters had grown up around him,
when Dr Dumas had occasion to visit
Brussels soon alter the battle of Water
loo had sealed the fate of Europe. Pass
ing through the streets of that ancient
city, he was attracted by so many rare
and beautiful works of art, which he was
induced to purchase for home gifts, that
his purse became sensibly lightened, and
he turned bis steps to an eminent bank
ing house, to which he had brought let
ters of credit. The senior partner of the
house, a tall, fine looking man, whose
hair was slightly tinged with grey, stood
in the midst of several clerks, and when
Dumas entered he bowed courteously to
him, and directly led the way to his pri
vate office. As our physician took the
letter from his pocket and presented it to
the banker, the eyes of the two met, and
confused reminiscences darted through
the inind of each—a vague consciousness
that they had seen each other before, bul
when, or where, neither could at first
recall.
The hanker at last sa d—“Pardon me
sir, but did you not some thirty years age
reside at Paris, and on Sundays always
pass the gate on your way to Versail
les?"
A sudden light flashed on M Duma9
“What!” he exclaimed with intense as
tomshment, "is it you Anthony—An
thony, the beggar at the Paris gate’—
' Pardon me," he added in some conlusior
' “bu 1 am strangely bewildered-"
“There is no mistake, sir," replied tin
• ci-devant Anthony—now Mori ieur Be
; langer.the most wealthy and inftuenlia
■ banker on the continent—“you see tin
powdered gentleman was light—lie ha:
i helped ine to X100 a year, and”—lie ad
Jed smiling—“I will not reckon liov
< many cyphers at the end of that.”
I Time hud dealt gently with the twi
I men who thus stood together, under cir
jcumstances so peculiar—the beggar o
, Paris, and the young student in medi
cine, alter the lapse of so many years
| travelled by such different paths, they
| met again, each crowned with honorable
-success, the result of earnest, self-reliant
I exertion.
i As it was the business hour of the day
IDutnas soon look leave of the banker.af
I ter promising to dine with him at five o’
, clock, when he hoped tu obtain some clue
'to the singular good fortune which had
j transformed the beggar into a benefactor
lof princes—for the great house of Belan
j ger 3i Co. had more than once interposed
I its munificent loans to uphold the totter
jing thrones of Europe.
Never did lover await with more im
j patience to (ulfil an appointment with his
mistress, than did Dr Dumas (or the hour
of five; and scarcely had the first stroke
sounded from the areat cathedral clock,
before he stood on the steps of the h id
some mansion to which M Belanger’s
j address directed him. The door was
opened by a footman in plain livery, and
Dumas, like one ir. a dream, heard his
name announced, and was directly usher
ed into an elegant drawing room, where
M Belanger, with his wife and two hand
some and accomplished daughters, were
watting to receive him. As the worthy
'physician glanced around on the well-ap
pointed and luxurious establishment of
itis beggar friend, anti remarked the
grace and refinement of the ladies, and
the ease and simple dignity of the host
himself, he seemed as il subjected to the
fitful changes of a fairy spell, and could
scarce refrain from rubbing his eyes to
test the reality of his impressions.
Dinner was shortly announced, a re
past served up with elegance and taste,
but free from any ostentatious display,
while the most agreeable conversation
....i....1 ,i.„ n„.l
ilm.m il zest to the entertainment. As
soon as the ladies retired, and the ser
vants had withdrawn, M Belanger, being
left nlone with the doctor, filled their
glasses with choice wine of the rarest
vintage, and proposed a toast—“The
memory of tiie powdered gentleman."
It was a signal for cheerful and unre
served confidence, and the toast was
drank witli enthusiasm.
“You have sustained your self-posses
sion admirably to-day ” said M Belan
ger, “and in return I owe you some rela
| lion of the fortunate events which have
led to my present position. You will
observe that 1 indulge no false shame for
my former low condition ; I can only re
gret the reckless conduct which brought
me to the degraded state of mendacity
in which you first beheld me. anti let me
add, when 1 was so often relieved by the
sous which you never failed to throw in
to my ragged chapeau. I have great
! faith m the law of affinities,' ’ he contina
led—“for from the first time 1 saw you, I
left drawn to you as lo a friend, and the
kind word and sympathizing look, often
given vitli your alms, kept my better
nature from dyiug out, and served ns a
link to bind me to the manhood I had
degraded ” Ills voice for an instant
slightly trembled, and he then cheerfully
resinned :
“l was horn of honest parents in the
humblest walks of life, and my earliest
instructions inclined me to the path of
virtue. Mv nature I believe was not vi
cious, but impulsive, easily swayed by
circumstances, and averse to earnest la
bor. I was brought up in ignorance, ex
cept a few snatches at the village school,
when I could be spared from following
my father to the field, aud some chance
lessons from our good cure, who fancied
me because I was cpiick in my percep
tions and retained lus instructions with
very little trouble to myself it must be
confessed; but though these lay long
dormant in a neglected soil, the seed bore
late fruit, and was turned to good account
_ r._lit'
“When yet a mere stripling, I was
drafted into the conscription of the First
Consul; but with my idle habits, 1 could
not endure the rigid discipline of Napo
leon's soldiery, and with very little com
punction 1 seized the first opportunity to
desert; for in my loose code of morals,
the forced oath that bound me to a mas
ter whose conquests gave me neither
profit nor renuwn, was null and void, I
tied to a remote district, where 1 wan
dered many months, earning a scanty
pittance when necessitated to labor in
the field or workshop, but with my heart
ever yearning for my native home, where
I had left parents too blindly indulgent,
and a sweet girl whose love had saved
me in many a reckless and despairing
hour. A year of hardship and exposure
had so changed my features, that 1 scarce
needed a disguise, and, yielding to my
intense longing, in the dusk of a sum
mer's evening, 1 once more stood at the
door of niv father’s humble cottage. I
bad already heard Iroin the villagers a
sad tale, anil I found it a changed abode,
My poor mother had died broken-heart
ed, and she—my once joyous and loving
Annette—filled her place in the house
hold, the wife of my eldest brother.”
Again this man c-f many vicissitude:
paused with brimming eyes. After s
lew moments, he proceeded in bis narra
tive i
“She was pursuaded to believe in<
dead, and rny brother had long loved her
I looked at her unseen through the low
ly casement, and knew from her palu am
altered lace that she had never been un
true to me ; 1 had no feeling of reproacl
fur her, and I believe she was never un
deceived respecting my fact —Irout tlm
'Iday I have been a strXgcr in my kin
! dred. Life became insufporlably weari
some to ine. I had no longer an object
at slake worth striving for, and the kind
ly impulses of my nature seemed to die
within me. I cast mysflf recklessly on
the world, and became familiar with its
lowest phases. But thank God, there
was still within me a principle not whol
ly abandoned, which Left me from re
volting crimes, and at times neved me to
better resolutions, though alas! thev
were fleeting as the earjy dew
‘I will not dwell on this part of my
history. Bjr chance I turned my steps
towards Baris, and on my way fell in
with a compuiy of strolling players, with
whom i made a temporary engagement,
and rose by degrees from a mere scene
shifter to the dignity of of a Hramitc prr
S0IK7. Sly success was very flattering.—
I had at that time the advantage of a
good person—pardon tny vanity, sir—
and some versatility of talent, and the
constant, excitment of such a life reliev
!ed the misery that still preyed on me in
j secret. I hud already a few trancs in
I my pocket, more than l every possessed
lin my life before, and i began to think
I seriously of breaking off with my lawless
I companions and fitting myselffor a higher
order of the drama. Whether my in
tentions were divined by my associates I
connot tell, hut the same night that we
arrived in Paris my money was stolen
from my Bucket while I slept. When I
awoke anu discovered my loss, my sus
picions were directed to one of the coin
pkhy whose honesty was by no means!
sans rr/trurhr, and in consequence of my
accusations I became involved in a fracas,
which ended by leaving me Iirui3ed and
senseless on the ground. When I re
covered, some hours afterwards, I found
inyselfin a hospitul, where some charit
able person- had conveyed me. The
surgeons attended ine with care and
success, for which 1 then felt little grati
tude, and at the end of a few weeks 1 was
pronounced convalescent, and turned ir
. . .1 ..._> _
..
'In the great Babel of that vast city,
I was like a moth on the surging waves
of society—a stranger, no one would
trust me ; and without money, where was
I to look for friend or helper! It was in
this state of utter destitution that I sta
tioned myself at the harriere gate, and
day by day begged alms of the passers by.
For three months or more, I followed
this trade of beggary, as you can ’remem
ber. I had sunk into the very abyss ol
despair, and no friendly ray shone down
to guide me out ol it. Every night I
counted the gain of my idle calling, but
often ii barley suflied to pay for the stale
loaf 1 eat,mid the straw on which I stretch
ed myself in a misrahle attic at night.—
I shunned companionship with all living
things, and began fo take a strange de
light in boarding my paltry coin, ns a
miser would bis golden treasure. You.
sir, were standing by when the powdered
gentlman addressed hi- monitory reproof
to ine, hut neither of you could have fa
thomed the overwhelming emotion which
his words aroused. From a state of
frigid apathy I awoke at once to a new
life—a life of hope and ami earnest desire,
and from that moment the energy of a
strong will and the determination of a I
settled purpose were roused into conti'iu
ed action. You, my friend, passed on
your way, and my blessing followed you
for kindness never to be forgotten ; ami
the powdered gentleman went Ins way,;
little dreaming what a spirit he had
awakened, and what a life-long influence,
Ins words were destined to exert una
wayward and despairing mind. The
blessing of one who was ready to perish (
has ever followed him, though his name
is unknown and it has never been per
mitted me to thank him.
‘On the evening of that eventful day,
[ returned to my wretched garret for the
last time; but I was too much excited for
_ _i__ir _: .
my sordid earnings, the gathering of
many weeks, and to my surprise they a
mounted to several francs. At earliest
dawn, 1 hastened lo an old clothes shop
near at hand, and exchanged my tptlered
garments for some in better keeping with
my improved ideas, and removed to a
remote faubourg of the city, where my
person was wholyuaknown.
The very kind words of the elderly
gentleman constantly rung in my ears
and stimulated ine lo exertion. ‘Four
hundred o year !’ was it possible lo create
such a fortune from the very humblest
beginning ? Such, he asserted, had been
his experience, and why should it not be
mine ? A determined will is half the
battle won, and that very day I began to
tight it. Almost literally following his
advice, I procrucd an old basket for a few
sous, and with much more assurance than
when I stood at the gate, 1 went from
house to house, through all the obscure
streeis and alltys, begging for rags,
which were seldom refused me. 1. even
affected somewhat ol the coxcomb—for
in my youth I was rather vain of my
good looks—and placed my old hat jaun
tily on my head, trimmed my whiskers
becomingly, and look care to show iny
fine teeth when I addressed a pretty
grisetlc ; and the little finesse succeeded
admirably. My stock of rags accumulat
ed very fast ; for beside begging, I pick
ed them up in all the refuse places out
side the city, often going to the river at
nightfall to cleanse them; and at this
day I scarcely know whether to blush or
sinilc at the meanness of my occupation,
• and the all-absorbing interest with which
I followed it without weariness or disgust.
■ The 'tour handled a year’ haunted my
imagination—it seemed actually like a
crown of glory suspended over my head,
which I might reach by intense and un
ceasing exertion. Every week, I sold
my rags at a certan paper manufactory,
and the proceeds were carefully secreted
about tny person —I could not trust my
treasure a moment from me. At the end
of three months, I had accumulated a
stun which quite encouraged me ; in six
mouths, I left off begging, and began to
purchase.
‘i had then mounted the first step of
the ladder, which is always the hardest to
climb. At the end of a year, 1 bought a
smart suit of clothes, second hand—for I
was still penurious—and also a donkey
and cart, in which I travelled around the
environs of Paris, and traded more exten
sively and to greater advantage. I soon
became well known as an enterprising
rag merchant, and being strictly honest,
and always punctual to nty engagements,
I gained good credit, and liegan to con
duct business on a very lucrative scale.—
By degrees, I left olf travelling in mv
donkey cart, and employed a confidential
agent iu that sevivee. I conformed my
dress and style of living to my improved
circumstances, and in the course of time
purchased a share ir. a large paper manu
factory, and became an active partner in
the concern.
'I must here relate an incident which
occurred about this time, which shows
how slight a circumstance, apparently,
may influnce the destiny of one's life.—
An opulent manufacturer, with whom I
had extnsive dealings, requested my at
tendance at Ins house on a particular oc
casion, as he was suffering horn illness
and could not meet me at his place ol
business, it was the lirst lime I had
ever entered so finely furnished a man
sion, and my eyes were quite dazzled by
the imposing elegance displayed in ail
his appointments; perhaps a more culti
vated last, might have discerned some
what of parvenu pretension in the ornate
adornment; but to me, such distinctions
were then unknown. As I stood in an
ante-rnoni. wniliiirr the siimnmons ot the
man of business, and rather awed by the
splendor around me, my eyas were at
tracted by the portrait of a young girl,
most exquisitely beautiful, and the habit
of a nun of some conventional order, in
which she was portrayed, gave a saintly
expression to her beautv, which seemed
to me truly angelic. Vou must remem
ber, sir, that I was then young and en
thusiastic, and unaccustomed to forms of
beauty, and you will not he sttprised
when i tell you that 1 actually bowed be
fore the painted semblance, and crossed
myself devoutly. Bull descended sud
denly from.my altitude, for a low, sil
very laugh, evidently suppressed, rung
painfully hi my ear ; and turning round,
I saw the fair original of the picture, tlm'
in the more worldly dress of a rich bro
cade, standing at the open door, with a
companion of her own age, and looking
at mo with an expression of mingled i
mirth and astonishment. What could I
do ? Coloring to my very temples, and
attempting an awkward bow, 1 foolishly
stammered a few words, in which apology
and compliment were oddly mingled.
But the young lady cut me short by' a
mere look of chilling hauteur, and quiet
ly vanished through the door at which
she was standing. I was stung to the
quick by her contemptuous bearing, and
angry at my own folly, for I could not
but feel conscious that I must have ap
peared to her, gauke in the extreme, not
to say perfectly ridiculous. But, strange
as it may seem to you, the impression ol
that lovely picture, and the still more
beautiful original, never faded from my
memory ; her very scorn was captivating,
and raised a proud, defiant spirit, which
had never stirred in me before. From
that hour, a new ambition possessed me ;
hitherto the sordid love of money, an in
tense eagerness to acquire riches for
their own vulgar distinction, had aiiinia
lhi rvtrj leeiiug ui my soui, iiiiu uri'tMi
me to incessant toil and persevering ex
ertion. Bui ill in vision of loveliness over
turned die cold philosophy ot Mammon,
and though still earnest in accumulating
wealth, it was for a Holder object than
the mere love of gain, and a strong de
sire for intellectual improvement re
deemed the base alloy of selfish acquisit
ion which had so long been my ruling
passion. From thst time Mademoiselle
St Kegis—so she was called—became
the bean-ideal of my imagination. Wlint,
1 thought, was wealth will its coveted
honors, unless / might hope to share it
with a refined and beautiful woman—
one like her—though 1 would not stoop
to woo even sueli a one, unless I could
offer, with my golden coffers, a soul ca
pable of appreciating her intellectual cul
ture, and trained to be worthy her com
panionship”
M. Belanger here paused, and, with a
cordial smile, replenished the well drain
ed glasses.
“On the shady side of fifty, my good
friend,” he resumed, “ibis may all sound
very like sheer romance ; but no one who
has loved truly and Imppily can ever quite
forget the day dreams of his youth—
nay, if 1 mistake not, your reminiscences
at this moment sympathise very warmly
with my own. But to return to my
episode. From that day I applied my
self earnestly to the task of self-instruc
tion; 1 was firmly resolved to make
amends for the neglect of my early edu
cation. My days were still absorbed in
busy projects ol gam and merchandize,
and the syslsmallc course which I had
commenced in abject poverty was car
ried on unremittingly and with increased
success. But when the business {of the
day was over, l turned to my books with
A
1 the ardor of * first love; i reviewed the
' meager instruction of my childhood, a:ul
! found the value of even the simple ele
I incuts which had then been taught me.
'Midnight often passed, am! morning
< dawned, while I was still poring over the
; lettered page, anil the satisfaction I ex
j perienccd from this new accession of
ideas far more than compensated lor all
tnv toil and self denial. The world ap
[ peared like a new creation to me ; for,
faculties wakened to intense enjoyment ;
and Irom a sordid worshipper of senseless
gold 1 felt myself rising to the standard
of an intelligent an immortal being. 1
was not ashamed to take instruction from
accomplished masters in every depart
ment of literature and science, for I loved
learning for its own sake, and for its
graceful influence in every station of
life.
"Rut 1 must not weary you with these
details. Four years of success—not
without a due share of encouragements,
losses and oft repeated labors, but with
unabated perseverance —bad realized my
golden hopes; I stood in the proud con
sciousness of independence—self sustain
ed, the carver of my own fortune, the ac
tual possessor ol four hundred a year !
You will imagine that my ambition was
no.v satisfied—alss, for the vanity of hu
man wishes! The fortune so alluring in
the perspective seemed now paltry and
insignificant. J continued to toil on, hut
as I said before with nobler aims nod
higher aspirations. My capital aug
ineiitcd rapidly, and good fortune seemed
to attend all iny speculations. 1 had
long since ignored the humble calling ol
a rag merchant, and in the great vortex
of Paris one's indentity may soon he lost,
i Ireipienied fashionable places of resort,
maintained a handsome establishment,
anil with the open sesame of a golden
society. I might have married advanta
geously; hut though two or three years
had passed since I obtained that momen
tary glimpse of Mademoiselle St llegis,
and I had never attempted to see her
again, yet she dwelt perpetually mi my
ihiiiu, io uit; rxciusum oi mi inner lemnie
influence ; mid by tbo.se ingenious devices
which love only could suggest, 1 contriv
ed to learn much of her outward life.—
All that 1 heard of her seemed to height
en my respect and admiration-. She had
just returned home from a convent where
she was educated, when my admiration
of her portrait introduced me so awk
wardly to her notice; and since then,
she had lived in comparative seclusion,
devoted herself to tlie comfort of her
invalid father, and cultivating for his
pleasure the varied talents with which
she was richly gifted. Though many
suitors, even of high rank, had proffered
their addresses—fur apart from her per
sonal attractions, she was sole heiress of
her lather's wealth—she turned coldly
from them all and at twenty was still
tree in her affections and happy in the
exercise of her tiiul duties, seemed little
inclined to resign them fur any dearer
lies.
“The wear and tear of life had not
yet rubbed out the rnuance o! my youth
and us lime passed on, my quixotic pas
sion for the lovely Adele increased, and
i at lust resolved to pul my feelings to
the test of personal obsei ration. Mon
sieur St ifegis had purchased a chateau
in the neighborhood of Marseilles, where
lie lived in hospitable stme ; Sind us I of
ten Iriquented that great commercial city
1 loiind iiu difficulty hi obtaining an in
troduction to him. 1 may remark, that I
had changed my name and neither lath
er nor daughter appeared to retain the
slightest recollection of my former visit.
1 need hardly say that our acquaiiitaiice
soon ripened into intimacy ; hut us a true
chronicler ol these solitary love passages
u! my life I must couless the niortilynig
truth, that 1 made slow progress in Adc
le's tender reguids, and many months
elapsed beiure 1 could win a suille more
kind or flattering than those bestowed
on nil w no approached Her. Out to make
a long story short 1 had at last the hap
piness to wiu a heart a? true and noble ,)s
ever umn was blessed with. I can as
sure you, in all sincerity,”—he added,
with a happy smile—‘'that the lover has
never been merged in the husband ; and
after-five and twenty years experience, i
can truly say, the Adele of my youthful
idolatry was not more dearly prized than
is now the admirable wile to whom 1
presented you to-day.”
Here M Belanger paused, and taking
out his jewelled Shull' box, tapped it
gravely on the lid. Perhaps lie awaited
a response to bis conjugal thge ; but Dr.
Dumas by a natural transition, was men
tally comparing the mature woman ol
I forty five—still handsome and attractive
to be sine, but inclined tu embonpoint
—with the fair and graceful girl of twen
ty. who had kindled so much enthusiasm
hi her lover. **Sic transit gloria, thought
the logical professor, as lie wiped the
glasses of "his spectacles, and replaced
them carefully oil Ins nose. M. Belan
ger proceeded—
•'i have little more to relate concern
ing myself, for prosperity is generally
uneventful. Previous to our betrothal, 1
informed Adtlo of my humble origin
and reminded her of tiie circumstance
which had first introduced me to her.—
But she treated the subject as more bad
inage, and Ijer lather, though ambitious
for his daughter, bad himself risen iri^o
humble life, and carved his own fortune
in the wurld- Adele would not consent
to marry while her father lived and re
quired her care; hut when his death took
place about a year after, my long tried
affection was rewarded and I began truly
to enjoy prosperity. We fixed our rest
dencc in this city, mid the business i f
the well known house of flelanger &. Co,
which has uot unfrequenlly negotiated
with crowned heads anil (lie nobles of OUT
land, is now conducted by rr.y sons, to
j whom I have resigned its management.
! My long story is now ended, and it re*
quires no deep philosopher to point the
moral.
The vicissitudes of my eventful life
have inpressed me with many striking
lessons; above all, (hey have taught me
never to despise the meanest human be
ing, but to hold forth a helping hand to
the most abject and deiqrned. Few could
appear more degraded than did poor An
thony at the gate and many, 1 doubt not,
have souls equally capable of progress
and improvement. In my children I have
constantly instilled the text of the pow
dered gentleman, all also preached to
them from iny own experience the neces
sity of a determined will and untiring
perseverance, if they would accomplish
any great object in life, or leave behind
them a worthy and enduring name.
(C>rref|u».t<l<!ncr nf ih« JmiuiaM
Letter from New York.
Nnw York. Feb 22, I80.V
Mr Editor :—The most ardent patri
ot must lie satisfied with the manner in
which the one hundred and ihenty-third
anniversary of tha Mirth day id' Wash
ington was celebrated in this city. If
noise, demonstration, ahd a multitude of
people, are any guarantee lor the patriot
ism of our nation, then we are sale for
one generation at least. The day open
ed clear and beautiful. The city, always
crowded, seemed more than full. Broad
way, by the vigilance of Mayor Wood,
was swept clean last night. The public
houses, theatres and public buildings,
were draped with flags, and all along the
route of the processions, festoons com
posed of the star spangled banner, inter
woven with those of other nations, deco
rated the public ways. The City Hail
was irta le unusually attractive as one of
the great centres of interest. Not only
were the various wings decorated with
the American flag, hut springing from
the dome floated the massive white silk
banner called the ‘Mayor’s flag,' used
only on gala days, wlicu the city has an
active interest in the proceedings of the
rljiv.
Among the associations early on the
ground, was one called the ‘American
Protestant Association.’ It is like aml|
unlike the order ol Know-Nothings. It
is a secret association. It is made up of
lodges or chapters. It is political. It
hates the Catholics, No man can join
I unless he is an avowed enemy to the
Pope. But unlike the Know-Nothings
it is not native American. It allows its
members to hail from any land as that
of their birth. It is composed of native
Americans, Scotch, English, Irish and
French. If the man is a Protestant and
hates the Pope, it is enough. It is a
charitable association. In time of health
each member is taxed. But in lime ot
sickness he draws the weekly sum of
from three to five dollars, and his funeral
charges arc paid when he dies. Every
meeting ol the lodge is opened hy read
ing the Scriptures ami prayer, and in.
the same way are they closed ; and when,
they parade, each lodge has carried be
fore it a large open Bible, a "type ol its
faith. No member must break the Sab
bath, trade in ardent spirits, or use pro*
frane or obscene language. And no.
meeting can be held where there are sold
malt or spirituous liquors. The nssnein-.
lion celebrated this day hy a procession,
anil a review by Mis Honor the Mayor.
The display was most imposing. The
procession was very long— about twenty
live chapters or bulges look their place,
anil the chief marshall informed me that
about five thousand members were out,
while the order itum!«rs more than tun
thousand. In connection with thisassn
ciat ion are several uniformed companies,
pledged to the saint principles and hound
by the same oulhs—one ol them born
the significant name of '.Yu Surrentftr
*-»«•«* “ JIIMIIOIIA Ulus 1.1 11 IU
become a powerful rival to the Know.
Nothings. As I shall speak of the re
view ol this assooiationjlsifore the Mayor
Wood, in another place, 1 will omit it
here.
Following this association came the
■Order o!' United Americans,’ and a host
of them there were, and as fine % looking
set of men as seldom beholds. Among
tlie order were many military companies,
with more than a dozen bands of music,
and most elegant banners. The procea.
Sion was led by a mounted cavalcade,
and then followed the Continental Guard
in the uniform of the revolution, the
Washington Coutinentals, the American
Volunteers, the American Coni menials,
iho Baxter Light Guard, the Uone Star
Guard,the Stiles Muskeitcers, with many
unknown companies, ns an escort. A
multitude of men followed,almost enough,
one would imagine, to letcrnime ihe late
ol llic next ['residential campaign, lit
the procession were many cars aud car
riages, drawn by from four to eight
horses; some ot them represented the
temple of liberty, in which were seen
many young goddesses. After tne review
ol tills order l>y the Mayor, it moved
up Broadway to the Academy of Movie,
to hear the orati m. TSi ■ vast theatre
was immediately filled: thou amis went
iiw.iy unable to even put their fool over
the threshold. Amongst others your cor -
respondent was obliged to turn aw»y,
though kingly furnished with sit adoMMSi
inn ticket, and cau mv antbmg tl lb
exercises within. Thumb* R WhiuMjp,
Esq., was the orator.
At the hour of twelve tbe booming