Staunton spectator. [volume], September 04, 1850, Image 1

About Staunton spectator. [volume] (Staunton, Va.) 1849-1896

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LYTTELTON w\nDELL,jEditors & Proprietors. _b___rr=r==============r--—-. vta VT fr
-— Q rATIVTON. VA., WEDNESDAY, SEPTEMBER 4, 1850._ Nft -
VOL. XXVII.
STAUNTON SPECTATOR.
TERMS.
W n, -spectator- i, pMi,h,«o,r,o«‘'^
Two Dollars a year, if paid m advance, or
S Wl Cml.ifdtlayd “»»»•"*« > ,A.
No subscription xnllbe discontinued, but
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same proportion. -d •
<A« y«ar. _ __
POETRY. __
E PLIR1BVS USIM.
..In American National Song.
Though many and bright arc the stars that appear
Jn that flag by our country unfurled,
And the stripe^that arc swelling in majesty there.
Like a rainbow adorning the world;
Their lights are unsullied as those in the sky,
Bv . deed that our fathers have done,
And they’re leagued in as true and as holy a tie
In their motto of “.Many in one.”
From the hour when those patriots fearlessly flung
That banner of starlight abroad,
Ever true to themselves, to that motto they clung
A* they clung to the promise of God.
By the bayonet traced at the miduigbt of war
On tho field where our glory was won,
Oh ! perish the heart or the hand that would mar
Our motto of “Many in Cue *’
Mid the smoke of the conte.t-thc cannon’s deep roar
How oft hath it gathered renown,
While those stars were reflected in rivers of gore,
When the Cross and the Lion went down.
And though few were the lights in the gloom of that hour.
Yet the hearts that were striving below
Had God for their bulwark and Truth for their power,
And they stopped not to number the foe.
From where our green mountain tops blend with tho sky,
And giant St. Lawrence is roll’d
To the waves where the balmy Hesperides lie
Like the dream of some prophet of old :
They conquered—and dying, bequeath’d to our care—
Not this boundless domiuion alone—
But that honor whose loveliuess hallows the air.
And their motto of “.Many in One.”
We are many in one while there glitters a star
In the blue of the heavens above,
And tyrants shall quail ’mid the dungeous afar.
When they gaze on that motto of love.
It shall gleam o’er the sea mid the bolts of the storm,
Over tempest and battle and wreck,
And flame where our guns with their thunder grow warm
'Neath the blood on the slippery deck.
The oppressed of the earth to that standard shall fly
Wherever its folds shall be spread,
And the exile shall feel *tis his own native sky,
When its stars shall float over his head.
And those stars shall increase till the fulness of time
Its millions of cycles has run,
Till the world .shall have welcomed its mission sublime,
And the nations of earth shall be one.
Though the old Alleghany may tower to heaven
And the father of waters divide,
The liuks of our destiny cannot bo riven
While tho truth of these words shall abide.
Then, oh ! let them glow on each helmet and brand,
Though cur bleed like our rivers shall run,
DiTide ut we may in our own native laud.
To the rest of the world we arc one.
Then up with our fl.g— let it stream on the air.
Though otir fathers are cold in their graves —
They had hands that could strike—they had suuls that could
dare,
And their sous were not bom to be slaves.
Vp! up with that banuer! where’er it may call
Our millions shall rally around,
A nation of freemen that momeut shall fall
When its stars shall be trailed on the ground.
MISCELLANY.
CUVIER AND THE SWALLOWS.
In his later years the celebrated Cuvier loved to recount
the incident which first turned his attention to the study of
natural history. While young, and in want, he was en
gaged as tutor to the children ot the Count de Heircy, and
with his pupils inhabited an old chateau in the Pays du
Caus, at Fiqoainville. Cuvier’s room looked towards the
garden, and each morning he was accustomed to open Itis
window and breath the tresh air before commencing the
instruction of his somewhat undisciplined pupils. One
morning he remarked two swallows building a nest in the
other angle of his small casement. The mala bird brought
moist clay in his beak, which the hen, as it were, kneaded
together, and with the addition of straws and bits of hay,
formed their future home. Once the frame-work was com
pleted, both the birds hastened to line the interior with
feathers, wool and dried leaves; and then taking flight to
gether into a neighboring wood, they did not return to their
nest until after the lapse of several days. Meanwhile some
important events had happened. NN hile the two swallows
were so busily employed in constructing their home, Cuvi
er had remarked two sparrows perched on a neighboring
chimney, who seemed to watch the progress of affairs with
much curiosity. The treacherous object of this surveillance
speedily became apparent; for no sooner bad the poor S"al- ^
lows left the coast clear, than the pair of sparrows took pos
session of the nest, and established themselves in it as com
fortably as though it had been their own property. Cuvier
remarked that they never absented themselves together
from the nest; one always remained on the watch, with its
sturdy bill protruded through the entrance, prepared to ex
clude every visitor except its mate.
At the end of the honeymoon the rightful owners returrt
*d. What was their surprise to find their nest pre-t»ccu
Vied! The cock flew indignantly against his dwelling, to
expel the intruders, but was met by the formidable beak of
,the male sparrow, which quickly repulsed the unlucky pro*
.prietor with a bleeding bead and rutiled feathers. 1 remb
ling with jage and shame, and his bright eye darting fire,
he returned to his bride, perched on a green bough, and
seemed fbr some moments to hold an anxious colloquy with
her. Then they took flight together and soon disappeared.
Presently the lien sparrow returned, and her husband
began, as Cuvier conjectured, to give her an an animated
account of his adventure, accompanying the recital with
certain curious little cries, which might well pass for deri
aive laughter. that as it may, the piudent pair did nut
spend much time in chattering, but hastened out in turns to
collect and store up a quantity of provisions. 1 his accom
plished, they both remained within, and now two stout
beaks were placed ready to defend the entrance. Cries re
bounded in the air; crowds of swallows began to assemble
on the roof* Cuvier recognized in the midst ot them the
expelled householders making their wrongs known to each
fresh arrival.
Ere long, there were assembled in full conclave upwards
of two hundred swallows. While they were chattering in
a style that fu'ly rivalled the performances of many speak- (
t.»# in more ambitious and celebrated meeting*, a cry of dis ^
tress was heard from one of the window sills. A young
swallow, tired no doubt of long parliamentary debate, had
betaken himself to the pursuit of some flies that were buz
zing about the window. Cuvier’s pupils had placed a snare
on the sill, and the poor little bird found one of his slender
legs entangled by the cruel horse-hair.
At the cry of the captive, about twenty of h;s brethren
flew towards him, and tried to set him free, but in vain.
Every eflbrt only served to tighten his bonds, and so in
crease his pain. Suddenly the swallows, as it \\ ith one
consent, touk flight, and wheeling in the air, came one bj
one and gavea sharp peck at the snare, which, after repeat
ed pulls, snapped in two, and the freed bird flew joyously
away with his kind companions. During this scene, which
passed withir. a few yards of Cuvier, and at the same dis
tance as the usurped nest, the tutor remained motionless,
and the two sparrows never once stirred their threatening pro
truded beaks.
Suddenly and swift as thought, flew a host of swallows
j against the nest; each had his bill filled with mud, which
j he discharged against the entrance, and ther. gave place to
another, who repeated the same manoeuvre. This they*
I managed to accomplish while two inches distant from the
i nest so as to keep out of the reach of the beleaguered spar
i rows. Indeed the latter were so effectually blinded by the
i first discharge of mud that they no longer thought of de
fjnding themselves. Meantime the swallows continued
to heap mud on the nest, until it was completely coversd ;
the opening would have been quite choked up but for the
desperate efforts made by the sparrows—-who by several
convulsive shocks contrived to shake off some of the pellets.
But a detachment of the implacable swallows perched on the
nest, and with their beaks and claws smoothed and pressed
down the tough clay over the opening, and at length suc
ceeded in closing it hermetically. Then were heard, from
hundreds of little throats, cries of vengeance and of victory!
i But the swallows did not end their work here. They
hastened to bring from all directions materials for a second
nest, which they constructed over the blocked up entrance
of the first one; and in two hours after tho execution of the
sparrows the new nest was inhabited by tho ejected swal
lows.
The inexorable vengeance was now completed. Not on
ly were the unfortunate sparrows doomed to expiate their
! crime by a lingering death, but they were forced during
their torment to listen to the joyful song of the two swal
lows, the cause of their execution. During many days'the
hen rarely quite-! her nest; she had laid six eggs, and while
she was hatching them her mate supplied her with insects
fur food. At the end of a fortnight,Cuvier remarked that the
cock was busy all day, in bringing an cnormus quantity of
insects to his household ; and looking into the nest, lie saw
six little yellow bills,all gaping wide for food. From that
time it became a constant source of pleasure to the tutor to
watch the progressive developement of the little family.
I Their yellow beaks became black and shining, their downy
j Ixidies were covered with smooth and elegant plumage, and
' they began to accompany their mother in her short excursions
from the nest. The cock taught his children how to seize
1 their pray in the air; how to fly high when the atmosphere
; was calm, and the flies disported themselves in the upper
regions; and how to keep near tho ground when the storm
was approaching ; for then uU insects seek a shelter.
Thus passed the summer, and autumn came. Crowds of
swallows once more assembled on the roof of the Chatau de
Fiqtiainville. They held regular conversations, ami Cuvier
amused himself with trying to interpret their lai geage
Tho children of the nest were placed in the midst ol the
troop with the other young swallows ; and one morning
took flight simultaneously, and directed their course towards
the east. In the following spring, two swallows, lean,and
with ruffled feathers, came and took possesion of the nest.
Cuvier immediately recognized them; they were the identi
cal birds whom he had watched with so much interest du
ring the preceding year. They began to repair their dwell
ing, and to stop tho chinks produced by the winter’s frost;
they rc-linedthe interior with soft dried moss and feathers
and ihen sot out for an excursion.
'Tho morning after their return, as they were gaily pur
suing their prey close to Cuvier’s window—for they were
now quite tame, and accustomed to liis presence, a hawk
that was soaring in the air pounced suddenly on the cock.
He struck him with his talons, and was bearing him off,
when Cuvier fired at him with a fowling piece, which was
luckily at hand. The brigand fell into the garden mortally
wounded; the hawk’s talons had deeply entered his sides,
and a grain or two vfshot had grazed his breast,and broken
one wing. Tho kind young man dressed the wounds with
all possible care and tenderness and then, with the assis
tance of a ladder replaced him in his nest, while the poor
lien fluttered sadly round her mate, uttering piercing cries
of distress. During three days she only quitted the nest to
; seek fur insects, which she brought to the cook. Cuvier
watched his poor little languishing head feebly raised to
take the offered food, but each day his strength visibly de
clined. At length, early one morning, Cuvier was awa
kened by the ciiesof the hen, who was beating her wings
against the window : he ran to the nest. Alas, it only con
tained a lifeless body ! From that moment tho hen droop
ed and pined away. She never left the nest, refused the
food which Cuvier constantly offered her,and, literally bro
ken hearted,expired five Jays after tho death of her beloved
companion.
This little history left a strong impression on the amiable
and gilted mind of the young tutor. It lead him to devote
liis leisure hours to the persevering study of natural histo
ry ; and many months afterwards he related the anecdote
to the Abbe Tessier.who was paying a visit to the chateau.
Revolutionary persecution had obliged this distinguished
man to take refuge in Normandy, and accept the situation
of physician lu the hospital of Fecamp. Struck with the
evident talent of Cuvier, he engaged him to deliver a course
of lectures unnatural history to the pupils attending his
hospital and wrote to introduce him to tho notice of Jussieu
Geoffroy-Saint-lBlare. Cuvier entered into correspondence
with these and other scientific men ; and after some time ,
passed in profound study, he was appointed to fill the chair
of comparative anatomy at Paris. The remainder of liis
glorious career is matter of history.—Chambers' Journal.
CO- The London Chronicle states that within the last,
two years 140,000 Murmons have emigrated Irom Great
Britain to the United States, most of them men of some ;
means from Wales and the Northen and Eastern parts of
England; 2,500 left Liverpool in 1849,bound for tho Great
Salt Lake, by way of New Orleans.
Dspkndi.no on Circumstances.—Said Dinah to Sam
bo, as they were taking a loving promenade.
“Sambo what your ’pinion’bout the married life? tink
it he de must happiest ?”
“Well, I’ll tell you, dat aro ’pends altogedder upon how
dey enjoy detnselves.”
Iv Is said that songs are pouring in at the rate of fifty per
day on Jenny Lind Song Committee. The Tribune says
that an octavo volume of thousand pages would not contain
the unsuccessful effusion ol American poetical genius.
Novel, Invention.—An ingenious \ankee, down east, I
has invented a machine for milking cows. 1 ho editor of:
tho Maine Farmer has seen it, and given it a fair trial.— 1
He says it empties the udder very freely and easily, and at
the rate of a quart per minute.
(ij* It is predicted that the timo will come when a man s ,
perspiration will drive him up hill like a locomotive. ^
TIIE TROY SUICIDE.
We published a brief statement of this mysterious
tragedy in our last. The subjoined communication}
explanatory of the affair, is taken from the Albany
Register, and is said to be from a reliable source :
The following devolopements in relation to that unhappy
! affair, aro communicated by a gentleman residing in this
. . rjk
' Dear Sir—'The extraordinary excitement arising trow
the melancholy murder and suicide at Troy, renders the
public anxious to know all the particulars in relation to it
and 1 do not know that it would be doing any person injus
tice, but would rather be the source of quieting the excite
ment and putting a stop to the many irrelevant stories cir
culated, concerning this tragic and awful occurrence to dis
close them.
Wm. A. Cal well has been a personal acquaintance of the
writer, for some fifteen years,interrupted only by an absence
of nine months at Auburne, and a three year’s cru ise as su
percargo, on board a merchant man to China, Sic. lie ar
rived at New York, from that cruise, in early summer.
Previous to bis leaving this continent, (some years previ
j 0US;) he was engaged to be married to the lady who resign
I cti herself to the horrid death with which we are all famil
iar. There was considerable opposition to the match,,which
j delayed the consummation of their desires. \\ hile absent to
China, and other parts of the world, the lady, now no more,
became acquainted with a gentleman by the name of Knapp
and her friends importuned her to accept his honorable pro
posals for marriage, to which at length she reluctantly
yielded her assent, and they were married, and have had
one child, which died early in May, and just previous to
Caldwell’s return.
Caldwell had sailed nearly around the world, and as he
neared his native shores the most prominent thoughts that
swelled his bosom, was the certainty, as he supposed, of
again clasping his Louisa to 1 is heart ; but he returned only
to find the object dearer to him than life, the wife of anoth
er. The iron entered his soul; he wandered about nearly
distracted ; but his better reason came to him, and he re
solved to shake it off. In the mean time, he found that she
desired to see him ; she, the wife of another, requested an
: interview. They met at last, but their meeting is not to
I be described. The years of absence that had passed, only
j |,ad bound them together more strongly, if possible, than
before; they met as they should not have done—as lovers.
Caldwell’s better reason at first did not allow him to think
1 of the future as she thought, and it doubtless would have
passed by, and left only despair fastened in their heatts; but
; they loved, and madly; and the former associations of youth
! came up before them more freshly at the thought ol a final
! separation. She did not wish to live without him, and told
him that she could not,and that it was her determination to
remain with him, notwithstanding she was the wife of an
other. Caldwell was too passionate and rash to resist that,
and it was talked over, that they should meet again.
He parted with her to visit his friends in Whitehall, and
went on board the evening boat for Albany. After the boat
{ Was under way, and while he was walking the deck, to his
j utter astonishment, she appeared before him. The thought
at once pierced him, that she had indeed abandoned her
home, and resolved, regardless of all the tremendous conse
quences, to share his fate: and her words shortly corrobora
ted what had passed like lightning through his soul. They
immediately proceeded to his state-room, and there they re
solved in the face of all the terrible circumstances around
them, never to part again. They did not part; but arrived
at Albany, and took lodgings at the Delavan House. He
left her there, and made his contemplated visit to White
hall,and returned in about ten days,she in the mean time re
ceiving her meals in her room,according to his suggestion,in
order to avoid observation. He returned and took rooms
with her at the American Hotel, where he wrote the pub
lished letter to the editor of a Whitehall paper; he remain
ed at the American a few days, but thought it was too pub
lic a place, and engaged lodgings at a private house in Jay
i street, where he remained about one week ; then took the
^ eastern cars and went to ^ illiamstown, and \va9 surprised
! and pursued by some one,as he remarked in 'I roy that he had
whipped two constables and escaped,the particulars of which
will soon appear. He escaped in a one horse carriage, and
arrived at the St. Charles Hotel,Tuesday morning, about
four o’clock. And the sequel is now before the world. They
there resolved to die—with his own hands he opened the
[Kjrtals of eternity. They both passed to the undiscovered
country, from whence no traveller lias returned. The pages
of romance can scarcely produce a parallel, or description
fraught with such startling and awful circumstances,as rep
resented in the truths of tins case.
I _ ___
Interesting Bridal Race.— rhe conditions of the bri
dal race are these—The maiden has a certain star), given,
which site avails herself of to gain a sufficient distance from
the crowd to enable her to manage her steed with freedom,
so as to assist in the pursuit of the suitor whom she prefers.
On a signal from the father, all the horsemen gallop after
the fair one, and whichever succeeds in encircling her waist
with his arm, no matter whether disagreeable or not to her
choice, is entitled to claim her as hi3 wife. After the usual
delay incident upon such occasions, the maiden quits the
circle of her relations, and putting her steed into a hand gal
lop, darts into the open plain. When satisfied with her po
sition, she turns round to the impatient youths, and stretch
es out her arms towards them as if to woo their approach.
This is the moment for giving the signal to commence the
chase, and each of the impatient youths, dashing his point
ed heels into his courser’s sides, darts like the unheeded
hawk in pursuit of his fugitive dove. The savannah was
extensive, full twelve miles long and three in width ; and
as the horsemen sped across the plain, the favored lover be
came soon apparent by the efforts of the maiden to avoid all
others who might approach her. At length, after nearly
two hour’s racing, the number of pursuers is reduced to
four, who are altogether and gradually gaining on the pur
sued. With them is the favorite; but, alas ! his horse sud
denly fails in his speed ; and as she anxiously turns her
head, she perceives with dismay the helpless position of
her lover. Each of the moro fortunate leaders, with anti
cipated triumph, bending his head on the horse s mane,,
shouts at the top of his voice, “I come, my Peri! I nt jour
lover.” But she, making a sudden turn, and lashing her
horse almost to fury, darts across their path, and makes or^
that part of the chummon (plain) where her lover is\am j
endeavoring to goad on his weary steed. The three others
instantly check their career; but in the hurry to turn bar.v
two of the horses are dashed furiously against each oth
er eo that both steeds and riders roll over tho P'3"1-*"
The maiden laughed, (for she well knew that she could
elude the single horseman,) and flew to the point where
her lover was. But the only pursuer was rarely mounted,
and not easily shaken off. Making a last and a separate
effort, he dashed alongside the maiden, and stretching out
his arm, almost won the unwilling prize j but she, bending
her head to the horse's neck, eluded his grasp and wheeled
off. Ere the discomfited horseman could again approach
her, her lover’s arm was around her waist; and amidst the
shouts of the spectators they turned towards the fort.
[ Bwslem's Beep into Turkithtan.
(33- They who tell me that men grow hard-hearted as
they grow older have had a very limited view of this wor^d j
of ours. It is true with those whose views and hopes are
merely and vulgarly wordly; hut when human nature-is
not perverted, time strengthens our kindly feelings and a-1
bates our angry ones. j
THE UEMON BRIDE.
“Nota Bena,” the New Orleans correspondent of
the Concordia Intelligencer, in his last letter, copies
the report which appeared in the True Delia, ol ihe
case of a man who was attempted to be murdere
I some nights since in the neighborhood of Annunci
ation square, by pouring molten lead into hts ear.
and says:
This reminds me of a singular incident that oc
1 curred within my own knowledge, some years ago,
in Virginia. Col. T., a gentleman of great respecta
bility, and frequently high sherifl and representative
of the county, died, leaving a wife and several chil
dren, among them a very beautiful daughter about
fifteen years of age. The widow, finding hersell em
barrassed, opened a boarding house at the county
site, and among her boarders was a Mr. W., a wealthy
merchant, over forty years, but a very fine looking
man. This gentleman was the prop and stay of the
family ; gave employment to the sons, educated the
daughter at a “fashionable academy,” and, very nat
ural I v, on her return, fell desperately in love with
her, when he should have preferred the mother. He
pressed his suit with perseverance, but the beautiful
Mildred resisted his appeals,and the importunities of
all her friends. Finally, however, after two years of
’assiduity und delicate gallantry on the part of Mr.
W., and” the combined tears, entreaties, threats and
persecution, of her family, the fair girl reluctantly
stood before the altar and became his wife. . I lie
next evening a large party was given them, but in the
midst of it Mr. YV., being attacked with vertigo and
sick headache, was compelled to withdraw. Ills
yotmg wife hung over him in the silent watches of
night, apparently in deep distress, and insisted on giv
ing him a potion: she poured out a wine-glass lull
of”laudanum, and he swallowed it, unconscious of its
nature. It acted as an emetic, but left him stupid
and wandering. His senses reeled. One moment
he lay motionless, as if on the brink of the spirit
world, and the next he would leap up convulsively
a strong man in his agony. Mrs. YV. denied all ad
mission into the chamber. At length he lell into a
ueep sleep. She then stooped for a moment over the
mouldering embers—approached the bed gazed at
her sleeping husband—and holding a heated .adle in
her hand attempted to pour a stream of melted lead
in his ear! She trembled, and the hissing liquid, in
tended to scald the orain, and thus kill without a
trace, fell upon his cheek. He shrieked in excruci
ating torture, and the revellers in the adjoining saloon,
rushed into the chamber.
•There writhed the still stupid husband, the lead
riveted deep into his cheek, and there stood the fiend
wife, her bridal fillets yet upon her brow, the instru
ment of death in her hand, and an empty vial labe -
led laudanum, lying on the floor. I he fearful real
ities of the cause flashed upon every one, and in the
confusion of the moment, she was hurried away, and
taken to a distant State. On searching the apartments,
an old magazine was found containing the conlessinn
of a woman, who had murdered five husbands by
pouring lead into their ears. The laudanum and the
lead, it was ascertained, she procured from the store
! of Mr. YV., a few clays before the marriage, and the
ladle was part of his wedding gift. The grand jury
next morning found a bill against the fugitive, and the
legislature, being in session, forthwith decreed an ab
solute divorce. What renders this case more extra
ordinary is, that Miss T. was proverbial for the bland
ness of'her manners, and uniform sweetness of dispo
sition. She was a blonde. The rose leal tinted her
lily cheek, as a sunbeam glows on snow. Her blue
eyes were indescribably sweet, and her golden hair
floated around a form more perfect and voluptuous
than ever Apolios dreamed of, or Petrarch sung.—
The sequel of this romance is yet more singular.—
Years rolled away, and YV. continued a wretched and
solitary man. But the spell of the enchantress was
<till upon his soul. He closed his store, sold his es
tates, collected his ample means,and traced her to her
distant retreat, to make a new ofler of his hand! She
had just married a gentleman of high standing, ac
quainted with all the details of her career, shuddering
at the tragedy, but incapable of resisting her charms.
Poor YV. Then, indeed did the iron enter his soul.
“The deadly arrow quivered in his side.” His early
love—his fluctuating courtship—his marriage and the
catastrophe—the flight—the divorce—his years of
misery_the new birth of his passion—and now his
disappointment, final and forever—came crushing
over him like an iceberg in the tide of bitter memo
ries, and he prayed for death! YVhelher this prayer
was granted, 1 know not. lie may yet wander, bro
ken-hearted, over the earth. If he died, a more wretch
ed, vet a purer and nobler spirit never winged its
flight to heaven. _
Wedding Dresses of Princesses.—'The Paris
correspondent of the St. Louis Republican furnishes
: die following particulars concerning the wedding of
three Princesses, whose marriages are shortly to take
place.
Nothing is talked of in the fashionable world at
present but three splendid marriages which have so
busied the merchants, milliners, and manlua-makers,
that the police believed for a little while that a con
spiracy was on the carpet. The brides are, the cou
sin of "the Princess of Prussia, the cousin of the Prin
cess ofSaxony, and the daughter of an English Duke.
The whole trousseau has been displayed for some
days past in the saloons of Madame Constantine,
the fashionable mcvchande de modes. Tickets of
admission were sold for the benefit of the poor, and
it was said that quite a large sum was realized.
The dresses are of course as splendid and beautiful
as French taste could make them. That of the Prin
cess ofSaxony is of white watered silk, covered with
the richest embroidery, and trimmed with lace. The
Prussian Princess lias" a dress of plain white watered
silk, and an over-dress of*rich point d’Angleterre;
while the Duke’s daughter will surpass both in a
dress of white watered silk embroidered in silver. Hie
bridal leaves ate of orange flowers and white jessa
mine, perfumed to nature, and so light and delicate
that the support of a knot of white ribbon, will) long
end at each side is necesscry. The veils are of point
d’Angleterre, long and wide enough to envelope the
fair brides completely. There are several other head
dresses for dinner and soirees, formed of wreathes of
different flowers, so admirably shaded and perfumed,
that it is difficult to imagine them artificial. One of
the most elegant ol the head dresses is a diadem made
of blue and pink marabout feathers, spangled with
small silver stars. This is something entirely new,
invented for the occasion, and will no doubt be wide
ly copied.
Extraordinary .Marriage.—A Mr. Hopkins, of
Lowndes county, Mississippi, aged fifty-six, redtenily
married a Miss Matthews, aged about thirty-five.
What renders this alliance so extraordinary is, that
both parties are so afflicted with rheumatism, that
neither has walked a step in twenty-five years, and
the bride is unable to dress or undress herself. 1 he
reason assigned by Mr. Hopkins for mairying INIiss
Matthews is, uthat some two years ago he mairieu a
woman that could walk, and she ran ofl with a stage
driver, and he wanted a wife that he was certain could
not get off. _
Don’t Waste.—Waste nothing! A crumb of
bread may keep life in a starving bird. A large and
useful volume has been written with one quill from
the wing of a goose ; and an inch or 60 of writing
paper has served for a dispatch to save an army from
falling into the enemy’s power. Waste nothing.—*
“Gather up the fragments, that nothing be lost.-’
JENNY LlffD.
There once was a poor and plain little girl, dwel
ling in a little room, in Stockholm, the capital of
Sweden. She was a poor little girl indeed then, she
was neglected; and would have been very unhappy,
deprived of the kindness and care so necessary to a
child, if it had not been fora peculiar gift, 'ihe lit
tle girl had a fine voice, and in her loneliness, in
trouble or in sorrow, she consoled herself by singing.
In fact, she sung to all she did •, at her work, at her
play, running or resting, she always sang.
The woman who had her in care went out to work
during the day, and used to lock in the little girl,
who hail nothing to enliven her solitude but the com
pany of a cat. The little girl played with her cat
ana sang. Once she sat by the window, and stroked
her cat and sang, when a lady passed by. She heard
a voice, looked up and saw the little singer. She
asked the child several questions, went away, and
came back several days after, followed by an old mu
sic master, whose name was Crelius. He tried the
little girl’s musical ear and voice, and he was aston
ished. He took her to the Director of the Royal
Opera at Stockholm, then a Count Pinnie, whose tru
ly generous and kind heart was concealed by a rough
speech and morbid temper. Crelius introduced his
little pupil to the Count, and asked him to engage
her as “eleve” for the opera. “You ask a foolish
thing,” said the Count gruffly, looking disdainfully
down on the poor little girl. “What shall we do
with that ugly thing ? See what feet she ha3 ? And
then her face! She will never be presentable. No,
we cannot take her! Away with her!”
The music master insisted, almost indignantly.—
“Well,” exclaimed he at last, “if y<Ju will not take
her, poor as I am, I will take ner myself, and have
her educated for the scene; then, such another ear
as she has for music, is not to be found in the whole
world.”
The Count relented. The little girl was at last
admitted into the school for eleves at the opera, and
with some difficulty, a simple gown of bombazine
was procured for her. The care of her musical ed
ucation was left to an able master, Mr. Albert Berg,
director of the song-school of the opera.
Some years later, at a comedy given by the eleves
of the theatre, several persons were struck by the
spirit and life with which a very young eleve acted
the part of a beggar girl in the play. Lovers of ge
nial nature were charmed, pedants almost frightened.
It was our poor little girl, who had made her first
appearance, now about fourteen years of age, frolic
some and full of fun as a child.
A few years still later, a young debutante was to
sing for the first lime before the public, in Weber’s
Frischutz. At the rehearsal preceding the represen
tation of the evening, she sang in a manner which
made the members of the orchestra at once, as by
common accord, lay down their instruments to clap
their hands in rapturous applause. It was our poor,
plain little girl here again, who now had grown up,
and was to appear before the public in the role of
Agatha. I saw her at the evening representation.—
She was then in the prime of youth, fresh, bright,
and serene as a morning in May, perfect in form—
her hands and arms peculiarly graceful—and lovely
in her whole appearance, through the expression of
her countenance, and the noble simplicity and calm
ness of her manners. In fact she was charming.
We saw not an actress, but a young girl full of nat
ural geniality and grace. She seemed to move, speak,
and sing, without an eflort of art. All was nature
and harmony. Her song was distinguished especially
by its purity, and the power of soul which seemed
to swell her tones. Her “mezzo voce,” was delight
ful. In the night scene where Agatha, seeing her
overcome, breathes out her joy in rapturous song,
our young singer, on turning from the window, at
the back of the theatre, to the spectators again, was
pale for joy. And in that pale joyousness she sang
with abursl of outflowing love and life that called forth
not the mirth but the tears of the auditors.
From that time, she was the declared favorite of
the Swedish public^ whose musical taste and knowl
edge are eaid to be surpassed nowhere, and year af
ter year she continued to sing, though after a time,
her voice being overstrained^ lost somewhat its fresh
ness, and the public being satiated, no more crowded
the house when she was singing. Still, at that time,
she could he heard singing and playing more delight
ful than ever in Panamia, (Zauberflote,) or In Anna
Bolena, though the opera was almost deserted. It
was then late in the spring, and the beautiful weath
er called the people out to nature’s plays. She had
evidently sang for the pleasure of the song.^ >
By that time she went to lake lessons oi'Garcia, in
Paris, and so gave the finishing touch to her musical
education. There she acquired that warble, in which
she is said to have been equalled by no singer, and
which can be compared only to that of the soaring and
warbling lark, if the lark had a soul.
And then the voting girl went abroad and sang on
foreign shores, and to foreign people; she charmed
Denmark, and charmed Germany, she charmed Eng
land. She was caressed and courted everywhere,
even to adulation. At the courts of the kings, at the
house of the great and noble, she was feasted as one
of the grandees of nature and art. She was cov
ered will, laurels and jewels. But friends wrote of
her, “In the midst of these splendors, she only
thinks of her Sweden, and yearns for her iriencis and
her people.” , . . ..
One dusky October night, crowds of people, (the
most part, by their dress seemed to belong to the up
per classes of society,) thronged on the Baltic harbor
at Stockholm. AH look towards the sea. There was
a rumor of expectance and pleasure. Hours passed
away, and the crowd still gathered and awaited, and
looked oui eagerly towards the sea. At length a bril
liant rocket arose and joy fully,far out on the entrance
of the harbor, and was greeted with a general buz
on shore, “There d. .Zn,c„Wcm .iw ft l" A large
steamer now came thundering on,making its triumph
ant way through the flocks of ships and boats lying
in the harbor, towards the shore of the “Skeppsbro.
Flashing rockets marked its way tn the dark as it ad
vanced The crowd on the shore pressed forward
as if to meet it. Now the leviathan of the waters
was heard thundering nearer,now it relented,t.owa
gain pushed on, foaming and splashing, now it lay
still. P And there on the front of lhe deC^ 'VaS 8ef'!
by the light of the lamps and rockets, a pale,graceful
young woman,with eye. brilliant with tears,and lips
radiant with smiles, waving her handkerchief to her
friends and countrymen on the shore.
It Was she again—otu poor, plain, neglected li.tle
cirl of former days—who came back in triumph to
her fatherland. But no more poor, no more plain^io
more neglected. She had become rich, she had be
come celebrated; she had in her slender person the
power to charm and inspire multitudes.
Some days later, we read in the papers of Stock
holm an address to the public, written by the belov
ed singer, stating with noble simplicity th.t, as ,
once more had the happiness to be in our
she would be glad to sing again to her
and the income of the operas in which .T*
season to appear, would be devoted to raise a fund for
a school where deves for the the theatre would be
educated to virtue and knowledge-’ Tbe intelligence
was received as it deserved, and of course the opera
house was crowded every time the beloved singer
sang there. The first time she appeared tn the“Som
nambula” (one of her favorUe roles,)the pub c, after
the curtain was dropped called her back wi lt great
enthusiasm, and received her when she appeared \
rroaroAliurrahs” In the midst of the burst of ep- 1
plause; a clear, melodious warbling was beard. The
hurrahs were hushed instantly. And we saw the
lovely singer standing with her arms slightly extend
ed, somewhat bowing forward, graceful as a bird on.
its branch, warbling as no bird ever did, from note to
note—and every one a dear, strong, roaring warble
—until she fell into the retournello of her last song,
and again sang that joyful aud touchihg strain:
“No thought can conceive how I feel at mj heart."
She has now accomplished the good work to which
our latest gongs in Sweden have been devoted, and
she is again to leave her native land to sing to a far
remote people. She is expected this year in the U
nited States of America, and her arrival is welcomed
with a general feeling of joy. All have heard of her
whose history we have now slightly shadowed out;
the expected guest, the poor girl of former days, lb*
celebrated singer of now-a-days, the genial child of
Nature and Art is—Jenny Lind.—Fredericka Brt
mtr.
Ruins of Humanity.—Of all the ruins on which
man can gaze, or on which his memory can dwell,
none are more painfully sublime than the ruin*
of humanity; and what are they? Not the Jeep
furrow which lime wrinkles on its cheek, or the sil
very whiteness with which years cover its head; not
the curved spine which bows the face to the earth,**
if it looked for the grave to rest in; for the wrinkled
cheek and the bleached head, and the stooping frame
are the appropriate accompcyriments of age and a*
beautiful in the system of life as winter with its leaf*
less trees and frozen streams In the systems of the
seasons, but the ruins of humanity are seen in wrin
kles which time has not made, in a frame trembling
with anxiety,- shaken with sorrow, humbled by sin,
withered by despair, when the beauty of youth i*
gone and the beauty of age has not supplied il*
place. ’Tis as melancholy a3 snow in harvest.
A Desolate Region.—We have already stated
that the English expedition in search of Sir John
| Franklin, under command of Capt. Austin, left th*
Whale Islands ou the 1st inst., the day previous to
the arrival of the American expedition. An officer
on board the English vessels in a letter thus describe*
the gloomy character of that region:
“In this forlorn region there is neither scenery*
manners, nor customs to describe. All is barrenoeae
and desolation, vo flower or shrub adorns the ice
bound precipices of this sombre locality—where,
seated on his icy throne, stern winter reigns supreme,
crowned with the gathered snows of 6000 years, ex
hibiting a singular contrast to the delightful garden*
of our native land, whose flowersand plants are at
this moment displaying their odoriterous beauties be
neath the genial rays of a midsummer sun.
Church Going.—Bishop Latimer, in one of hi*
sermons, exhorts his congregation to be constant at
public worship, in the following terms:
“1 would rather you would comers the tale is of th*
gentlewoman of London. One of her neighbors owl
her and said : “Mistress, whither go ye ?” “Mary,
said she, “I’m going to St. Thomas of Acres to th*
sermon. 1 could not sleep all the last night, and l
am going hither. I never failed of a good nap there.
And so l had rather ye would go napping to the ser
mons than not go at all, for with what mind soever
ye come, though ye come for an evil purpose,yet per
chance ye may be caught ere ye go, and the preach
er may chance to catch you on his own hook.”
Pretty Good.—A young lady remarked to a fop
the other day, that his penknife which, by the by was
a very neat one, in one respect resembled him^^
The ladies in the room commenced guessing how
it could be. At last, a smart looking boy, who had
until now, sat in one corner silent,was asked to gu«w.
After examining the knife pretty closely, he turndl
round, and in a cunning manner said. “Well, I d«n*>
know, unless it is because it’s dull.”
A Versatile Editor.—The ParisJcorrespondent
of the N. Y. Commercial speaks of an editor who
some time since edited three papers at the same tim*
_a bitter Royalist, a moderate Independent, and *
fanatical Socialist of the Cabet school. In each he
played his character perfectly. Sometimes heamua
ed himself by carrying on a furious discussion be
tween his three papers, striking terrible blowa at him^
self, and parrying them with great skill.
A little child seven years old, one day said to
her mother, “Mother, 1 have learned to be happy and
I shall always be happy.” “My dear,” said her
mother, “how can this be done.” She said, “It is not
by caring anything about mywlf, but trying to make
every body else happy.” ~
0 Carlysle asking “what thing to admire^W^ A
merica ever done,” has been filly answered thuaT^^
“She has produced a girl, deaf, dumb and blind, who*
with her own hands, did sewing enough to send a
barrel of flour to some of your starving country
men, sir!”
£f»Two Irishmen one day went a gunning*, a largo
flock of pigeons came flying over their heads. Pat
rick elevating his piece, and firing, brought one of
them to the ground. ‘Arrah, (exclaimed his compan
ion,) what fool are you to waste your ammunition*
when the bare fall would have killed him.’
--
0 There is not a man beneath the blue canopy
of Heaven, however chaste and moral lie may b«*
should his faults be written in plain and indeliblo
characters upon his brow, but what would blush
with shame. How quickly too would lie draw Itb
hat do a n over his eyes, to hide these faults from tho
0 “Teddy, my boy, jist guess how many cheeao '
there is in this here bair^nfauK Tm '
nve.
“Five,” said Teddy.
“Arrah! by my sowl, bad luck to ths man that
told ye!” ' __
0 A pious African at Louisville, stumbled whils
walking one very dark night,and was pitched head fore
most down a cellar, which afforded an “open en
trance.” Springing to his feet he exclaimed,“bress da
toddat 1lit on my Lead. If di» nigger h.d«r.p.
ed his shins so hard, 1 spec he broke his leg.
0 A tfenlleman of the bar in Ireland, was walking
onoday with a friend, who was extremely praise m
pronunciation: the latter hearing a person near him
say curosity for curiosity, excla.med, “How that fel
low murders the English language ” “Not so bad*
(said the other,) he has only knocked an.i out”
0 There arrived at New York during the week
ending on Saturday 24th August, thirty-eight emigrant
ships^bringing 6,685 passengers, principally from
England and Ireland. _
§3- The time to buy a thing is when you really
need it, cannot well do without it, can buy to good
advantage, make it profitable, and have the money to
spare to pay for it. _
0 Did you ever know a young lady who had
white teeth, to put her hand over them when
laughed ? _
0 There is a little baby out West, ^hoss arm
the elbow can be encircled by a ladya rwg. U jg
three months old, and weighs 1 3-4 pounds.
A smart boy that, who asked his father what
kind of wood the board of health Vt* {Bade of*.
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