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By G. H, RUNDLETT.
THEGAZETTE & UNION
= IS PUBLISHED WERKLY, AT
Ne. 31 DANIEL STREET,
s -~ PORTSMOUTH.N.H.
T Taaxs.—sl.so per g’nh;;‘,xx ADVANCE—S 2 at the close
.‘#\M" < .. adk i .
'Advertisements inserted at liberal rates. 5
';l3l# WOoRK executed with neatness and despatch stthis
Al edmninlfiflon!mulibeaddhmd, postage paid,to
the publisherat Portsmouth .
~__ POETRY.
ettty e e S —————
3 From the Ladies’ Keepsake.
What though 11l Betide Us.
. BY ¢ D. STUART. # o
Oh ! what though ill betide us,
If those we love are nigh, :
' To soothe the brow of sorrow,
And calm the heaving sigh #
-» ' One loving smile will banish
The clouds of care and pain;
! ©One loving word will bring us
. i s Joy’s sunshine back again.
" B ’!"g“fim storm that sadness .
: " Eer cast upon the heart, g 1
Is but a fleeting shadow,
& Which love can bid depart:
No weight of wo can ‘thrall us,
If those we love are near,
“To soothe the drooping spirit,
And dry the falling tear. ;
. Our hest and brighiest treasure, ,
Our balm for every pain,
< Tsin the hearts that love us— |
A linked and golden chain.
And with that chain to guard ns—
A charmed and shining mail— |
© + Oh! what though ill betide us, |
: It eannot long prevail.
: A Sister's Death. :
: She died upon a winter’s night,
A leng, long time ago ;
» When the large round moon had a wintrv look,
Aas it shone on the hreast of the frozen brook,
And over the fields of snow.
As she lay that night in the pale moon light, ]
Which fell round her peaceful bed, .
. She seemed like the form of a sculptured saint,
W ithout sign of woe or mortal taint,
With a glory around her head.
With her eyelids closed and her lips apart,
: And her arms. like the marble fair,
. Cross'd on her bosom, and gently press'd,
She lay. as she sunk to her peaceful rest,
In the mute revose of prayer. :
| When the morning broke, and we gazed again,
. A smile to her face seemed given ;
And though our spirits were crushed and sad,
The Christmas bells soon made us glad ;
For we knew she woke in heaven.
The Merry Traveller.
One day, as I journeyed, alone, o'er the plain, :
T met one who bore, on his shoulder and caue,
A wallet that weighed him ?h down to the earth,
Yet he trudged on as gay as though freighted with mirth.
‘With burden so heavy, pray how can you sing,
I exclaimed, a: we met ; with the air of a king,
‘He replied, if it only were twice as much more.
It was merrier borne ; and he sang. as hefore.
This world is a wearisome hurdenw ol cares,
But Cheerfulness eases the shoulder it bears,
Contentment and Love lichten every one’s load,
And level all hills in the traveller's road.
X LD i
MISCELLANY. |
The Double Love. 1
A FACT. |
Grace, harmony and elegance were raving forth
their splendors for the delight of a nation—for
Elssler wus on the stage. The ballet of the even
ing was Le Dieu et la Bayadere Perhaps the
world does not afford a finer or more appropriate
plot ; and ravely bas a beautiful story been mar
ried to sweeter music, It does not, to be sure, ad
mit those wild, these bewitching flights that make
the peculiar magic of this surpassing creature ; but
still it affords-a fine display of the powers of the
most wonderful pantome that ever acted eloquence.
Mark bow every limb of this airy being waves to
the melodious music, as if the life that gives them
motion had its origin and centre in those sounds—
as if the music were an inspiration, that like a
transfusing deity, charged her whole frame with
buoyant power. If you saw not the orchestra, you
might sn;;_pose that her limbs gave off the music.
One skillfal to translate into sound these biero
glyphics of motion, might write the opera by the
eye. She sinks, as evening declines along the
valleys ; she rises upon the sight, like morning
dawning on the hills. As she throws forth her
arms or feet, they seem to melt away into light,
and to leave behind them a kind of flash.
But from the dancing—even from such dancing
—my aittention was diverted towards a young ac
tress who sang in one of the choruses. It wasa
new face, and sarprisingly beautifal, and of a most
ofifm{land engngin% style of beauty, that lay
rather in « flashing and sensitive expression than in
the contour of the features. Her restless, glanc
ing, dark eye, and the delicate impatience of her
Tip, indicated a genius that was little in keeping
with the commonplace creatures around her. Her
voice too, though- repressed by a painful timidity,
“was infinitely superior to every other in the com
pany, in"a wild, enchanting sweetness. She
seemed a mere child, but one could augur the most
brilliant achievements for such powers in the fu
ture,” |
~ While I was wondering who it could be. and
~ how she bad gotinto such an insignificant position,
- .saw my tall friend Granville making his way
‘through the pit to get at me, as_l sat in the centre
ofit. He had been dining out, and his intellects,
“niever -of the clearest, were.now in & state of the
- most-charming confusion. Whether he was divert
ed At iwfimug in'the pit, or what ‘other inexplica
“ble jest had gotten into his hewd, he was no sooner
seated than he began to giggle at me, and holding
g‘m his head, mgh:limm intermission. He
“presently: ldoked up at the stage, and made all sorts
'@f ridiculous remarks about the performers. There
" was a “fellow with long bair, who played Bramah
‘M’l locks,” said Granville, with a titter,
#are in great order to-night ;I' wish his'key was
“ml." Then fixing or my little Malibran,
who'broke forth at that minute, “Hiss her off I” he
“stuttered out, “her voice is as cracked as her repu-
M'fi»‘ia PEoNE PR a fnid % i ; "
= #But not-quite so false,’’ said a clear voice be
“hifid; “as your reputation to the eharacter of a
& n T I SR nmy Saiatitm Wt . 5 g
* “looked round and saw the person from whom
: T e e 7 i
fifl cose in his m‘%‘
* TARVING FOSC 1Y S T e ¥ »NP
L Shonght, bo was gin 1 gut Mo bead %¢ of the
T hous si an uproat—and Farn thet oo -
S Y Lo e W‘%
friends," and found that the little singer had pro
duced on others the impression she had made on
me ; the manager also seemed to have: becot::{.
aware of her merits, for in an opera that was an™
nounced for the end of the week, the second part
was given to her.
I was at & musical party at Mrs. B.’s, the follow
ing evening ; and at a late hour this person—whose
name I now learned was Clara Corelli—came in.
Her figure was slight, but perfectly well made, and
her movements graceful to enciammenl‘. Her
complexion, which was of a bright roseate hue,!
formed. a striking contrast with bher large and
flashing black eves. Her light bair, which curled
naturally, was done up in a manner perfectly novel
but very tasteful. You would, perhaps, have
called her appearance outre, bad it not been for the:
refined beauty and faultless delicacy that reigned
throughout ;as it was, she seemed a romantic
thing, and illustrated Bacon’s remark, that the
beauty that bas in it some strangeness and irregu
larity, is ever the most fascinating.
She tripped towards the piato, and played a few
‘popular pieces with great expression and finish. I
understood Mrs. B. then to ask her if she would not
play something of her own. Her fingers ran hur
riedly over the keys for a few moments, and “her
‘voice then.broke out into one of the wildest and
‘most exquisite melodies I ever listened to in my
tslife. Both the weords and the air were wholly
new, and seemed the very breathings of an impas
sioned spirit. The burden of it was the utterance
of a boundless, infinite love, that soared purpose
less—its exalted object unknowing of the ardor,and
incapable of being made to know. It was an air
of melting plaint and pathos, mingled with thrilling
ecstacy and rapturous delight. T never heard such
power of voice, nor such exhaustless gushing forth
of sensibility. The most piteous, still deepening
melancholy pressed upon the chords, like the shrill
wind mourning keenly through the leafless woods ;
and then, though it yielded rot nor changed, it
became charged with a delicious transport of happi
| ness, and the united but not blended emotions rolled
| on together till it seemed as if the heart of the Y;r
former must be crazed by the excitement. Her
notes sometimes pierced the ear like the tones of
the nightingale, and then melted away into breath
ings as “gentle as the morning light.” It seemed
as if her soul had become vocal in a harmony as
various as its faculties, :
While the air proceeded, T saw the person whom
I had encountered the night before at the ballet,
come forward from the other room. He ap
proached the instrument and looked at her for a |
minute or two, and then turned on his heel and
went back. When she saw him, an immediate
change took place in her manner : her voice trem
bled—broke ; she finished the piece in a hurried,
defective manner,—then glided away from the
piano, and threw herself into a large chair near to
me, ir a state of mingled excitement and exhaust
ion, -I approached her,
““The possession of so rich a talent,” said I,
“must confer on you a happiness that ccmmon per
sons cannot conceive of.”
“I am most unhappy.” she replied.
“It is strange,’ said I, “if one who can confer
such delight on others, does not enjoy it herself.”
“The misery of the heart,” said she, “is the
inspiration of genius. Art is the monument of
man’s discontent.”
“Ah " said [, “I gather from your song that you
are in love.”
“I know not what is love, To have lost your
soul in the being of another—to have your spirit
kindled into a wild and infinite craving,— and
become a ship that sails an unknown sea without a
rudder, a bird that soars without a home : this is
not love—it is anguish, it is rapture.”
Mre. B. brought up the gentleman I have spoken
of before, and introduced him to her as Mr. Beau
mont. As he approached, her face was suffused
with blushes and her head bent down upon her
| bosom. He conversed with her a little while very
| eivilly, but perhaps a little coolly, and then with
{drew. 1 spoke to her, but received no answer—
. and looking at her, saw the tears silently gushing
from her closed eyes. I tried to rouse her, but she
'seemed lost in gloom and hopeless dejection. 1
~walked away and spoke to Mr. Beaumont. He
was very gentlemanly, and impressed me so agree
ably that I determined to cultivaté him.
. - When Clara appeared in the opera, she dis
played a splendor of voice and a delivacy and
precision of execution, which raised her at one step
to the highest eminence of admiration. She was
under the highest excitement until she had distinct
tokens of complete and unquestionable triumph ;—
her manner then rose to a calm dignity and a
-more exalted grace. The prima dorna was totally
eclipsed, ard towards the close seemed content 10
play the second part. The town was taken, as it
were, by storm ; every body hastened to heap up
honor and praises at her feet, and a career was
opened which promised to outstrip even Malibran’s,
Her proud, ambitious, sensitive spirit seemed uot
to be satisfied with even these tributes ; and how
ever high the homage of society rose, her mind
~seemed still above it. |
.. There was'a mystery about her character, which .
“interested me. I could see at once from her action
“and her singing that she possessed intense and fiery
susceptibilities, and a heart that experience must
have sounded to the depths. Yet was she the ten
derest youth ; her manner and powers had the
maturity of a woman, but her light, glarcing, un
steady - countenance was that of childhood. I de- |
termined to go and see her : and as I knew there
'is always one way to the female heart, I took with
‘me some chains and rings as presents. I found
her alone at her lodgings. I expressed the interest
I felt in her, and assured her of the real friendliness
of my wishes ; but it was in vain until T produced
the gifts—her heart then opened itself, and we be
. came very intimate and confidential. T told ber of
' my sincere disposition to serve her, and that any
| communication she honored me with should be
!u«rfllly kept. Tat last prevailed on her to give
r me a little sketch of her history, :
‘ ““My father,” said she, *“was a native of Italy,
and a person of rank. He forfiited his estate for
opposition to the Anstrinn tyranny, and came to
this country poor. Hv married, and my mother
died soon after my birth. We lived alone in the
conntry. My father conceived that 1 showed ex
traordinary eapacity for music ; and being himself
K:ol'oqndl_v instructed in the art, he spent most of
is time in developing the powers of my hand and
voice. His pride cut him off from associates on the
| one hand, and his poverty on the other —und we
| lived therefore wholly alone, % 1
. “One day—it was one of those bright deep days
in June whew heaven seems to be descended on
the earth, and to encompass it—l walked out into
{ the 'fldwkxm the great rond that ‘f-wl near
our house. A little brook crossed the way, and
| passed under a small stone arch. 1 sat down be
side it, and leaned over the water to ‘pluck some
flowers that grew in it. I presently hearil a noise
above me, and on m I saw, standing.on:
in.‘b«b‘fl?t.i B | M being I ever
behe'd” '_'{ts}", gYy Fooow gl s o - S
[story with her.eyes fixed on the ground ; “His
irg around it, made him glorious as the sun. - wus
eton anh wged by U Hdury, S6°7 Y BuTobi'e
He spoke to me, and his voice seemed o pierce so!
A R 7 eVe L R St SR SQIATL TR e eS e e RIS
AND REPUBLICAN UNION.
PORTSMOUTH, N. H., TUESDA¥Y MORNING, NOVEMBER 11, 1851,
voice was wholly gone ; and I said that leflfl&“
sing without my piane. He made me ghow bim
where | lived, and promised to see me again, foF
he was.then hurried. He then left me ifldt,, at
down as one in a dream. It was an Gl&flm a
perfect delight, as if a pure and unfading. sunlight
skone ufmn my being. | sat there almost uncon=
scious, I know not how long—and it has seemed 1o
‘me that I should not since have been 5o enslaved to
his spirit, if I had not then, by me§ ugfi.? so long,
‘imbibed that énchantment so deeply, and admitied
it to the recesses of my bosom, andimibued my soub
with it. PN i
“The nextafternoon, a carriage came do“%
the house of a rich lady who lived at a little dis
tance, to bring me up ‘there with some of my.
music ; and when I reached the K:do_d,«' I found that
he was there, and it was he that had told the' lad; ¥y
of me and caused her to send for «me. There was
a small party of youny ladies in. the parlor, and L.
went to the piano and played;and none of them
came near me ; but he came to 'me, and spoke in.
so soft a voice, and turned oté{; E:-‘ig‘M"fq,: ‘me §
and I touched his hand, and felt his fragrant breath’
o my cheek—and T was so happy 51&3 1 w
gladly have died in thatmoment, After a Jitthe
while the company went iy to léa in another room,
and I came away ; and when I had left the house,’
I became so much afraid that I should not se€ him
again, that I turned back to speak to him. - A ser
vant called him-into the entry ; but when he came,
my voice was gone—and when he asked me what 1
wanted, ‘1 could not speak. But I pointed toa
little girl that was with me, and she told him I had
come back to tell him that if he would come to my
house the next day, I would play a particolar
piece he had asked for. And he thanked me
kindly, and shook hands with me, and promised to
come.
*“What,a flash of joy darted throngh me when I
saw him, through the window, coming in “the next
day ! I thought I' was happy in expecting him, bat
the thrill of rapture that my frame then trembled
with, told me how'dull and miserable my life had
been before. 1 wanted to rush to his arms; but
though he was very kind and friendly, be was so
cold, so frigid. T played, and as he sat beside me,
that visit was a long ecstacy. I played on and on,
that he might have no opportunity of going away ;
but at last he rose, and said that bhe must leave me
—and T remained, exhausted and wretched. 1
went to my room and wept. It was ominous of
my fate, for I never saw him again.
“In after days it was my satisfaction to note all
the places where he had sat; and I marked the
leaves of my music books which he had touched,
that T might never forget them ; and I tried to
find if be had not left something behind him, if it
were only a straw or a leaf. And often and often
did T sit beside the brook where I had met him,
and picture him standing on the bridge ; and it
seems to me that then [ was not wholly waking,
but wrapped in a vision, dream being mingled into
my life,
“But T was rudely awakened by the sudden
death of my father. That event, which in other
circumstances might have prostrated me, roused
and strengthened my energies. lat first sank in
despair : then my spirit rose against the oppression
of misery, and I braved and triumphed over it.
My soul was absorbed in one resclution to find the
person who had produced upon my feelings so inef
faceauble .an impression. I said to myself, ‘He
loves me not, because I am poor and obscure ; 1
will go forth into the world ; T have genius. I can
toil ; I will grow rich—l will be famous—ll will
subdue the world—l will win his affection.” T sold
all the furnithre except the piano ; I moved to the
capital, and devoted my days and nights for three
years to the ardent prosecution of music. I was
resolute, daring, determined to succeed ; T was in
tolerant of failure—l was incapable of it. I offered
my services at last to the manager of the theatre ;
and fearing lest I might be embarrassed, T appeared
first in an obscure piece, unannounced. “Since
then I have gained nrl the applause I could have
wished for—l am famous. But can I win his love ?
[ thought not of that defeat. If} cannot, I am
wretched in the midst of my fame—l am over
whelmed in the pride of my triumph.” :
I listened with deep interest to the wild and
strange narration of this child of passion. As she
concluded her narrative, her manner became inex
pressibly saddened ; the color left hér cheek, and
she hung down her head as if in lifeless woe. I
asked if she had seen the person that she spoke of,
since her appearance in publie.
*1 bave,” she said gloomily,
“Have I your perwission to guess who it is ?”
said 1..
“Oh, no, no, no !’ she cried, stretching out her
arms, “you do not know, and cannot possibly con
jecture—you would certainly be mistaken.”
I had, however, no great difficulty in sntisfying
my own.mind as to who the person was, 1 left this
ardent and engaging female, greatly interested in
her. * oy
I subsequently saw a good deal of Beaumont.
Our tastes and pursuits were much alike, and we
took to one another a good deal. He spoke of
Clara with admiration of her genius,.but with in
difference of feeling. He did not remember hav
ing seen her before.
. His affairs afterwards fell into some embarrass
ment. His debts were not large, and weuld bhave
been perfectly “insignificant at another time than
one of universal commercial distress. He possessed
a handsome real estate, but it was one of .those sea
sons of - protracted values when, as the Quarterly
Review once said, a tailor might cheapen Carlton
House. Some difficulty about trustees or outstand
ing titles rendered it impossible to mortgage. 'His
crediturs were pressing, and his property was ok
the point of being sold, and undoubtedly the state
of the currency and the confusion of the titie would
cause it to be sacrificed for a song. <1 heard thesé¢
things with regret, for it struck me that December
was not a very agreeable period of the year in
which to be turned out into the. street.
I was sitting alone in my room, on a bleak, tem
pestuous night, when I heard s hurried tap at the
door, which was opened immediately, and a person
wrapped. in a black cloak, dripping wet, came in.
The cloak was thrown aside, and revealed the per
son of Clara’ Carelli, - Her flushed ..countenance
showed her high excitement. She threw a packet
upon the table. - .. RatFauiig .
I have heard,” said she, breathlessly, “that Mr,
Beanmont has been - arrested - for -leht. = The
amount of his debts is ‘in money in that pareel. I
beg of_you that you will at once see it applied to
the satisfying of his creditors, and procure his re
lease, But-I enjoin upon you, on no agcount to
let bim kdow from whenee it comes.™ . .. ..
. 1 was astonished at this sincere and affecting’dis
play of romantic attachment, and %«z?!’ for a mo
ment in: silence upon the = beautiful and beaming
countenance beforeme. - . e
_“Do. not ‘delay,” she cried j I ask: you as'a
friend. He may be at this moment in ‘@ noisome
PO IT coit (B bl amit ok w-“r’. e
" 1 groaned inwardly as T listened to the bail driv,
ing against. the wingows, and - thought that the
storm had fever been so violent us'it.was ut that
moment. Thourh parsion might render orie m&ff
-hommmm;‘;_swm to'tell hér this, and
to sajzgest that it would be more hum ',‘b_ leave
**me Ahap.to_bring DM 00l QLI OB SRCY
B Sal.) St '*’;?, ::«-’1
A aggmert v e e e
| that it was needless, or to diminish the glorious sat
sfaction she must feel in the consciousness of such
(& deed. Taccordingly ordered a hackney coach,
'and, having set her down at home, drove to Beau
(mont’s. Her last injunction to me was, not to dis
-olose the person from whom the money came.
¢© When I reached his house, it was as I suspected
'=—he had not been arrested. “However, 1 found
that T had ‘come very opportunely—his creditors
ware ther with him, and they were arranging for
the ale of his property. - I called. him aside, and.
it the ' money in his hands, with such information
B:th:ita source as I . was -permitted to give. He
Mesitated .logtg time about accepting it, but finally
jaequiesced. The men were paid on the spot, and I
Euinll “‘ilathfacfion, before I left him, of shaking
inds with him s a free man. Tof course drove
|B% ornce” to Clara’s, to inform her of ‘the result.—
BBagmont was pedetrated with gratitude for an
g t which prevented the sacrifice of his property,
P’ the next day lodged in my hands security for.
re , pment.
‘% E ‘l_t%!ipt_’gnd myself hid once or twice called
on Clara. 'On the QGcasionlof :[islevisits v:nxer B
NEr was generally lapm essed. andsilent. We called
~ “Ha!” said he, as we eatered, *I want you to
sing for-us that charming little air you gave s last
night. Bat, Mademoiselle Carelli, your piano is
gone ! how is that ?” -
She hesitated a moment, and then said, with
some confusion, *‘lt is sold.” - ;
“Sold ! why, it is indispensible to you! Aba! I
see, Mademoiselle—you .have been extravagant,
_.vm,l'huve got in debt, you have been obliged to sell
it.”
~ Her face was turned from him as she sat, and
'was deadly pale. She breathed hard—*No, no,”
said she.
“Ah! it is sold for somebody else, then ; you
have some lover, perhaps, who is in difficulty.” 1
“It was sold for you.,” she said, scarcely articu
lately. Then, bursting into.a passion of tears, shel
added, “] know not what I say.” : |
I came forward. T saw that her feelings had
made her speak against her intention. but T now
deemed that an explanation was indispensable,
“It is to this admirable person,” said I, “that you
are behelden for the money you received through
me. lam aware for the first time that the sale of
her piano furnished part of the amount.”
Beaumont fell upon his knee, and pressed her
hand 1o his lips.
“How can I express my obligation for such tran
scendent goodness ? In uttering my gratitude, let
me add te it my unfeigned love. It has always
been the passionate wish of my heart to be loved
sincerely and ardently., T was interested in you
from the momert I saw you ; and 1 should have
expressed my feelings, had it not been——"
“I understand vou,” said she, interrupting him :
“you thought me too humble, too base—l am un
worthy of you, who are so noble.” ’
“Not so, not so,” said he. *“But T will be frank
with you, Clara: Years ago it was my fortune to
meet with a yourg person whose beauty and ge
nius captivated my heart. It was in the coauntry.
I iold not my love, but left-her till T could see if
such arrangements could be made as would permit
me to declare myself. When I returned she was
gone, and I have never seen her since. For her
sake, I would not woo another ; but I am now cer
tain. of never finding her — and you alone are
worthy to take that place of empire in my affec
tions.” ;) 3
It would be impossible to describe the fire of de
light, and surprise, and pride, that kindled her
countenance as he proceeded, W hen he had end
ed, she threw herself into his arms and eried, “]
am she ! T am she! You remember ——” but
her voice failed —she had fainted.
When ber senses were restored, I took my leave
of a scene so hallowed to these parties as the mu
tual éxpression of a passion so profound, so deli
cious.
Beaumont often labored subsequently to account
for his not having recognised her. The change of
name, of position, of dress, and the great difference
which three years and the development of a mind
so ardent and mature had wrought, seemed to him
to explain the mystery. But Clara, satisfied with
his later affection, often rallied him on the want of
depth in his first love. '
THE NEWSPAPER.—As we feel the sunshine ; as
we breathe the balmy air; as we draw our life of
life from household affection—all unconsciously—
so we drink in the pleasures and blessings of the
newspaper ; careless yet eager, and though depen
dant,unthankful. He must be an imaginative man
who can tell the value of the ngwspaper, for only
he can faney what it would be to be deprived of it.
Another Byron might write another “Darkness”
on the state of a world newspaperless. If we
should attempt to personify such a world, it would
be under the form of ablind man holding in his
hand the empty string from which his dog had es
‘caped ; or the good’ lady in~Hood’s picture, with
her foot advanced to step on board a steamer, which
she suddenly observes to have moved six feet from
‘the wharf. Or, again, astranger in the bottom of
a mine, who. after blowing out his *Davy,” runs to
‘the shaft and finds that somebody has taken away
the ladder.—N. P. Willis. ;
PoisoN oF TRE ToADp.—lt is an ancient and
still common opinion that the toad possesses a sub
tle venom, but at present this is'deemed fabulous
by the scientific. M. M. Gratiolet'and - Cloez, as
appears by the reports of the Academy of Scien
ces have shown by experiment that they. secrete a
deadly poison. They inoculated small birds with
the milky floid contained in the dorsal and parotid
pustules of this animal, and found that they died
at the end of five or six “minutes. Even when
dried the fluid destroyed birds, ‘Death oceurred
without convulsions, and -all exhibited marked
signs of apoplexy. ‘ : '
Two Per Cext A MonTH!—We never saw the
other ends-of some of the Wires at Wall street better
designnted than in the fullowing passage from an arti:
cle in the Hersld, on “Sunday in New York.”
«If, during the week, the stravger should be surprised
at the intense activity and -insane eagerness to make
money, which .prevails a:nong our business men. let
him look at their handsome wives and daughters as
they sail omt te church in a fall Sunday apparel, and
he will wonder no longer.. This vast, uninterruvted
stream of twenty-five dollar bonnets, fifty dollar silks,
vard wide ribbons, embroidered shawle, velvit robes,
and costly feathers, hespeak an unparallgd extravagance
in the families of the industrious and prosperous, many
who make up the great body of the population of every
large city. The expensive and osientations style of
this immense class—both in :their dress and manner of
livitig—is one of the -most striking characteristics of
of our cowntry and. oor age. No where else in the
world can one tenth of so greay a number of expensive
ly (we do not say well) dressed women le seen in the
&mafim‘mo@tggm as.in Broadway on a fine Sun
day morning When we encountered this brilliant
procession. last Sunday, and remembered that money
was worth 2 per cent. a month in Wall street. we could
not help roughly estimating u; enormous interest the
husbands and fathers of New York bestow upon their
wives and daughiers” -
' Tae Misr !‘l;‘ul;. —Mr. -\;::twmh&:f 'm'rs?ld,i
3 yment in this county, has cutand brougat down
over the railroas tbh:'rq{gm ‘season, “%fa?ty-mmci
e e
the expense of bringing them here over t
3 LODIRINEG" &/ VUL TOI- I 8
has bought a tract of land" of he Cohnecticut river,
and iv_goi niz into: the business this' winter Jargely. —
Portland Argem. : S Sewweh sdi |
The Lovers’ Well
In spite of a burning sun, we walked along the
banks of the river Waagto Skalko,a monasiery
at some little distance from Trenstein said to have
been the residence of a St. Benediet, ene of the
earliest preachers of Christianity its Hungary. We
‘mistook the spot it appears, and ofily reached the
church erected many vears after by & Count Thur
-2% on a rock where the saint met his martyrdom.
The monastery us we found next day, when we
passed it on the opposite side of the river, was con
cealed from our view by a small wood, under which
we lay to rest ourselves; we lost nothing, however,
for it is a plain white-washed building, withont any
pretension to architectural beauty. The object of
our walk was answered; we had a beautiful view
of the valley, and were not a little amused with
the groups of peasants which every pot-house af
forded us. True Sclavacks, they were most of
them by this time glorious; even shime (of the fair
sex seem to have yielded to the soft temptation.—
The fidgle or the bag-pipe was hard wt-work ; and
though I may have seen %,ore elegant I, never saw
more eéarnest dancing. e Scof . faast not
ild{:r&imsolf -that bag-pipes, 'lhm e “than the
shepherd’s plaid, are peculiar to *the land o' cakes;”
the latter we shall find common amdng the Wal
lacks, and the former*s never absent from a Sela
vack festival; and I'can assure him that it is quite
as grating in the mountains and valleys of Hunga
ry, as among the rocke and rivers of bonny Scot
land,
Towards sunset we ascended the castle hill, fol
lowing the stairs cut in the rock which lead down
almost to the town, and which are defended by
towers and gates in every practical part. Tt was
not very long since the castleof Trenstein was in
part habitable, but uncovered walls soon yield to
wet and frost in a climate like this, and much has
fallen and more is fast tottering to decay.
Fortified by the Romans, the Magyars fonnd the
castle of Trensteiu a strong fortress when they
first arrived in the country ; since then it has been
at times a garrison of the crown, at times the seat
of its worst enemy. Sometimes its possessors have
proudly assumed an almost independent state, un
der the title of the Counts of Trenstin, and lords
of Waag; and often has its importance, by excit
ing the ambitioas hopes of its masters led to their
shame and destruction. Under John Zapolya it
was besieged and burnt, but having been rebuilt
by Alexis Thurzo, it fell a second time into the
hands of the Transylvanian leaders, Its most se
vere trial, and its last, was in 1707; when held by
the troops of Rakotzy, it was besieged by ‘the roy
alists, and its garrison reduced to such extremities
that they ate up even the dogs, cats and wice, rath
er than yield to their opponents. Since that time,
Trenstin Castle has heen dismantled and left in the
‘hands of the Counts Tilveshagv, to whom & great
\ .
part of the county of Treustein belongs.
- To me the most interesting part of the old ruins
was the lovers’ well, sunk through the solid rock,
four hundred and fiftv feet,—and that too by the
force of true love. But I must tell the tale as
Mednyansky has recorded it.
It was in the reign of Mathias Corvinus that
Trenstin was in the possession of Srephen Zapolya,
a powerful chief, who added much to the strength
and magnificence of the noble pile. Like many
other ~astles, however, placed on the summit of
rocks Trenstein paid dearly for the advantages of
its situation, by having no supply of water, but
what was afforded by cisterns, evidently insufficient
1o enable & large garrison to support a long seige,
To Zapolya this deficiency in his favorite castle
was a source of deep disappointment, nor hud any
one been able to propose an effectual. remedy for
lit.
“Musing one day on this mortification, as he saw
his new works nearly completed he was roused by
the announcement that a Turkish merchant had
arrived who wished to treat with him for the ran
som of some prisoners whom he had captured in
the last war, and brought home with him in slavery.
As a soldier alive to the courtesies of war, Zapolya
at once expressed his willingness to take ransom
for all such as still remained in his hands; ‘as for
those I have given to my followers, they are no
longer in my power, any more than the voung girl
whom my wife has chosen for her bandmaid; for
the former, you must treat with their present maa- J
ters; for the latter, she is become such a favorite
with her mistress, that Tam sure no sum would !
ransom her.” ‘But might I sée this maiden ?* anx- |
iously demanded the young Turk. The girl was
sent for, 'Omar ' ‘Fatime !’ burst at the same mo-{
ment from their lips as they rushed into each oth
er’s arms. |
. “Fatime, it appeared, was the daughter of a‘
Pacha, and the affianced bride of Omar, who lost |
her in the night when Zapolva had attacked the'
Turkish camp, and her lover disguised as a mer-{
chant, had undertaken this journey in search of
her. .
“Enraged at the Turk’s presumption, Zapolya
ordered Fatime back to the Countess’s apartments
and deaf alike to the entreaties and high offers of
the lover, positively refused to deprive his-wife of
an attendant she liked. In vain Omar supplicat
ed, in vain he threw himself passionately at the
feet of Zapolya and begged of him his mistress.—“
At last angered by his perseverancé, the haughty |
lard swore he might more easily obtain water from
the rock they stood on than compliance from him: }
“Try,’ said he in scorn, ‘and when the rock yields
water to your prayers, I will give up Fatime, but
not till then.’ *‘On your honor!" exclaimed the
young Omwar, springing to his feet, ‘vou give up
Fatime, if I obtain water from this rock ?* ‘lf you
do,” said the knight astonished that the Turk
should have understood him literally, ‘I pledge my
knightly word to release your mistress and all my
prisoners ransom free.”
“What is impossible to youth and love? Omar
aided by the captive Turks set to work, and long
and patiently did they labor at the unyielding
stone. Three wearisome years were passed, and
they saw themselves apparently as far from suc
cess, as at the commencement, when, almost ex
hausted with fatigue and despair, the joyful ery of
‘water | water " burst on their ears,; The spring
was tound— Fatime was free!”—Pagets Hungary
and Transylvania. ~ :
RaT Carcrers.—The rat-catchers of Paris have
just held a meeting at the Hotel de Ville; their delib
etations 'were presided over by the Inspector of High
ways, who also exercises jurisdiction over the gutters
and sewers. . The object of the meeting was to take
‘measures for the coming rat-campaign. A million and
2 half of these vermin are supposed at this moment to
be undermining Paris. It was decided that uicotine
should be the poison used in their exlermipa_gion. Lst
year 1,143,300 rats were killed, and their tuils were
depasited at the Hotel de Ville in proof of the fact.—N
~ Tag Buve Rose.—The following extract from u
Jate Paris letter, will -be read with great interest by
m‘: and amateur gardeners: &m A L
' “The horticulturists, botanists, and | amateurs
,w y, are just now in a high i:su"tflxd,t_mm.—
“The great rose-garden at Luxembourg. where all the
‘known varieties of that' beantiful- flower are collecied,
i M%Miw&fl{u‘ ¢ iniits family. . The wriumpt.
‘of modern horticulture is about to see the day, or, at
least 0 hope and ‘pray all those interested. This
I, s aovbivg mar no s tan e 31w Rt
e e e
O et S e W S
LR TR T . GRS NS e e Wil eUi
Vol. XCVII---No. 46.
R TN S VT - . 4
: le.-'l‘in is a metal winch has a fire white o lof
like silver When fteshy its brilbaney is very great —
[t has a slightly disagrecable taste, ab:t emils a pecn
liar smell when rabbed. It seems to have been one of
the earliest articles of commerce in Briain ; for the
Phoenicians traded 1o England for tin five handred
vears hefore the Christixn era They called Britain,
Baratanac, or the lund of tin ; and some have thought
that 10 be the origin of the present name of the j~land ,
It is an aricle of considerable exportation 1o this day.
Some countries in Germany have mines of tin; bas
the supply is no more than sufficient for the use of the
country itself. Itis England which affo.ds to most
-other nations this simple and nseful material. The tirt
~mines are situated in Cornwall and Devonshire, wherg
also are many productive mines of copper.
In some places the ore-of lin bears so much the ap
pearance of common stones, that itis only by their
great weight that the presence of tin is discovered. In
other parts, tin and earthly substances are <o intimately
mingled that they seem like a stone of a bluish-gray
color. ‘
The ore is usually found in veins, called by miners
lodes. These veins penetrate the hardest rocks Small
~veins are first discovered, not more perhaps than half
‘an inch in diameter, hat they increase .in size as they
are followed _ The direction of these is usafly
pounds’” weight,-are fonnd. Sometimes the vein, or
lode, breaks off suddenly ; and they have to hunt for
the continuation Miners, who are’scenstomed 1o ths,
are aware that a little on one -side .they shall find the
broken vein; they dig. therefore, and in general, soon
discover it. They follow thus the lode, or vein. let it
wind which way it will throngh the flinty rock. When
the waters become troublesome, they are pumped up
by machinery, kept in constant motion by steam en
gines Sometimes it is more convenient to cut a drain
called an adit, sloping downwards to let them off,
To raise the ore to the surface, they frequently sink
a shaft just over the spot in which they want it. Hero
the geometrical knowledge of the captain of the mine
isshown. Whatever may be the windings of the min:
below, he rraces similar windings on the surface above
and tells the workmen where to begin sinking the shai
or well ; at the sume time. those below begin working
upwards, and both work on until they meet. In this
case. if those above shou!d be but half a vard perpen
dicularly away from those below, it would be thought &
“bungling atfair. The rope 10 descend through the shafs
must descend perpendicularly; if it press apainst the
sides, it will not work. At the top of this shaft is placed
a windlass hv means of which the kibbuts, or baskets
of ore, are wound up,
Near 31. Ausuiie, in Cornwall.isa ‘in mine, which
has not less than fifiy shafts, half of which are stillin
use : some of these veins have been worked a full mile
in length. The depth of the shaft is nearly seven hun
dred feet. At St Austle’s Moor. there is another mine
of stream tin. Into & narrow valley. about three miles
long. many smail streams from the hills empty them
selves. Almost stagnating they have formed a collee
tion of soil nearly twenty feet deep; and the several
materials of which this is composed have sertled—the
heaviest at the hottom of course—into several strata.
The first strata are earth, clay, and gravel; then
comes a stratam of more stony substances and firmer
consigtence : these reach to the depth of ten or twelve
feet. Beneath these comesa layer of tin stones : some
biz as an apple, some small almost as sand. The tin
found in these stones is very pure. At the depth of
eighteen or twenty feet, you com= to the <o'id roek. in
which i< no tin. They wash off the earth, sand and
gravel, by condueting narrow streams of water through
sthe most promising parts. and thereby they lny bare
{ the tin stones with tolerahle ease. =
, The ore when raised, onr of the mine is hroken by
| stamping mills : ‘they confinue stamping nli the ore is
! small enough to pass away rthrozeh an iron grating be
ueath. A run of water, in the meantime, helps to
cleanse it. The next process is to melt it. which is
done in furnaces bailt on purpose; the melter having
ahout one third of the produce tor his trouble. Iris
then assayed to exnmine its tineness. When it has
“been ran into large blocks, it must be coined before it
can be marketable, This is done by the proper officer,
who cuts off from one corner a small part. and then
stamip= it with the seal of the Duchy of Cornwall, and
the name of the smelter Adav of four shillings on
every huadred pounds weight is paid to the Prince of
Wales. as Duke of Cornwall. This brings in from ten
[ 10 thirty thousand pounds per annum
The substance of pewter is tinj tue other metals,
mingled 1o make it pewter, are.lead and brass in small
qnantities. In the operation of making tin plate, verv
thin plates of iron are covered with » coat of tin. which
' gives to the tin more solidity and firmne-s than it pos
| sesses natarally The process is as follows :— Thin
[ plates of iron, perfectly clean and bright. are dipped
l'into melted tin. The affinity between the metals is
such that the iron is instantly and firmly covered with
l a thin layer of tin. This tin covering keeps the iron
from rusting. and also renders it very pliable under the
hammer. so that itis easily formed into many articles
used in cooking. The surface of this tin plare is ren
dered peculiarly smooth by being passed between pow
erful rollers.
Tin makes part of the cargoes sent ont to China —
The Dutch made great profit by sapplying the Chinese
from some mines of tin in Sumatra; and now the East
India Company share the rrade, by sending out yearly
many tons of tin from the English mines.
As to the business of being profound. it i with wri
ters as with wells ; a person with good eves may see
to the bottom of the deepest, provided any water he
there ; and that often, when there is nothing in the
world at the bottom besides drvness and dirt, though
it be but a yard and a half under ground. it shall pass,
however. for wondrouns deep, upon no wiser a reason
than because it is wondrous dark. —Swift.
-
How 1o CurE A CoLDp.—Of all otker means of cur
ing colds fasting is the most effectual. Let whoever
has a. cold eat nothing whatever for two dayvs, and his
cold will be gone, provided he is not confined “in bea,
because by teking no earbon into the system by food,
but consuming that surplus which caused his disease
by breath, he soon carries off his disease by removing
the cause. This will be found more effectual if he ndds
copious water drinking to protraced fasting. By the
time a person has fasted one day and night he will ex
perience a freedom from pain and a clearness of mind
in delightful contrast with that mental stupor and phy
physical pain caused by colds. And how infinitely
better is this method of breaking up colds than medi
cines!
Tue CußaN Lapies.— Sale of Jewels at New Or
leans —Last week. J. 1.. Carman, an auctioneer of this
city, sold at Banks' Arcade, some three hundred pieces
of jewelrv of every variety and kind. Mzany of them
were intrinsically very valuable, being rare stones, ele
gantly aet—many were valuable from their antigue and
quaint form and character—and all possessed an addi
tional value. These were the contributions of the la
dies of Cuba, to the effort which was made to redeem
their lovely isle from the bondage of the Spaniard. As
they were all separate pieces, and emhraced every chare
acter of jewelry. from the coral necklace of an infant—
the tiny emerald of a little miss—to the brilliant dia
mond and lustrous pearl of the full grown Dona—and
the old-fashioned breast pin locket—and even the spec
tacles of the matron—we presume that they were trib.
ates from different donors. Many of the pieces were
marked with the names of the fair givers There was
a beautiful diamond pin which brought sixty dollars—
it was marked with the beautiful name Fidelia—there
were magnificent earrings. which the fair Vaturia gave
to the cause of Cuban Indenendence. whilst innumer
able Marias, Isabelles, Inez’s. &e.. robbed their easkets
“of their richest jewels, and offercd them upon the-altar
of “Querida Cuba” .
. There was a mournfnl interest attached 1o this :ale,
It was & sorrowful and heart sinking refleceiion 10 think
how vain and profitless were these noble tokens of pa
triotism and generosity. S
‘The original cost of this collection must have great
1y exceeded five thousand dollars. Sold at auction,
the mennz’,mfi:eayns of conrse much less. Many
persons. however knowing the history of the collection,
mmmmm token and memenio of so
‘nohle a contrihution. 3 siogle
- Thers is one fact of which these jowels afford confir
Aemption of Ouha. by *he hands o ber sons 11 is the
additionn mmmw@mww
‘v of the women over the men in this. sy i ali othes
BRI R s Svt L e