Staunton spectator. [volume], September 18, 1850, Image 1

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

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I/rjTBLTON WAnDELL,jEditors & pjf0 ietorSt . __
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"m, XXVII. " ' " STAUNTON, VA., WEDNESDAY, SEPTEMBER 18, 1850._NO. XLIV,
ST A UN TON S PE 0 T A T OK.
TERMS.
The “SPECTATOR” is published oncta week, at
Two Dollars a year, if paid in udvunce, or Itvo Jlollurs
Hud Fifty Cents if delayed beyond the expiration qfthe year, i
fcosubscription willbe discontinued, but at the option 0/
Auditors, until allurrearaftsare jaid.
ct>All communications to the Editors, by mail, muslbe
post-paid, or they willnot he attended to.
(XP- AOrgltTISSVE.YTS of twelve lines for less,)
inserted three times for one dollar, and twenty-five cents for
each subsequent continuance Larger advertisements in the
tame proportion. A liberal discount made to advertisers by
POETRY.
THE LOVED AND LOST.
She sleeps that still and placid sleep,
For which the weary pant in rain,
And when the dew* of evening weep,
1 may not weep again;
Oh ! never more upon her grave,
Shall 1 beheld the wild flower wave.
They laid her where the sun and moon
Look on bei tomb with loving eye,
And I have heard the breeze of Juno
Sweep o’er it—like a sigh !
And the wild river’s wailing long,
Grew dirge-like as it stole along.
And 1 have dreamed in many dreams,
Of her—who was a dream to me,
And talked to her by summer streams,
In crowds, and on the sea—
Till in mv love she grew enshrined,
A young Egeria of the mind.
>Tis rears ago !—and other eyes
Have flung their beauty o’er my youth,
And 1 have hung on other sighs,
And sounds that seemed like truth,
And loved the iuus:c which they gave.
Like that which perished in the grave.
And I have left the cold and dead,
To mingle with the living cold—
There is a weight around my head,
My heart is growing old !
0 ! for a refuge and a home,
With thee, dear Ellen, in thy tomb !
Age sits upon my heart and brain,
My spirit fades before its time,
But they are all thine own agaiu.
Lost partner ol'their prime !
And thou art dearer, in thy shroud,
Than all the false and living crowd.
Rise, gentle vision of the hours
Which go—like birds, that eomc not back !—
And fling thy pall ar.d funeral flowers
On memory’s wasted traek !—
Oh! for the wings that made thee blest,
To flee away and be at rest.
MISCELLANY.
the imprisoned lady.
We derive the following curious passage of life one hun
dred years since, from the second series of Mr. Burke's
“Anecdotes of the Aristocracy:”— The Ladies' Companion.
Lady Cathcart was one of the four daughters ot Mr. Ma
ly n, of Southwark and Battersea, in Surry. She married
four times, hut never had any issue. Her first husband
was James Fleet, F.s<j., ot the ( ity ot London, Lord ot the
Manor of Tew rug ; her second, Capt. Sabine, younger bro
ther of Gen. Joseph Sabine of Quino-hal!; her 3d, Charles,
eighth Lord Cathcart, of the kingdom of Scotland,comman
der in chief of the forces in the West Indies ; and her 4th,
Hugh Macguire, an officer in the Hungarian service, for
whom she bought a lieutenant-colonel's commission in the
British army, and whom she also survived. She was not
encouraged, however, by bis treatment, to verily the reso
lution, which she inscribed as a posy on her wedding-ring:
If I Mirrive
I will have five.
Her avowed motives for these several engagements were,
for the first, obedience to her parents; for the second, money;
for the third, title ; and for the fourth, submission to the
fact that the “devil owed her a grudge, and would punish
her for Iter sins.” In the last union sha-met with her match.
The Hibernian fortune hunter wanted only her money.—
Soon after their marriage, she discovered her grievous mis
take. and became alarmed lest the colonel, who was despe
rately in love, not with the widow, but with the ‘‘widow s
jointured land,” designed to carry her oft, and to get absolute
power over all her property ; to prepare for the worst, her
ladyship plaited s me of her jewels in her hair, and quilted
others in her petticoat. Meanwhile the mistress ot the col
onel go far insinuated herself into his wifi’s confidence that
•be learnt where her will was deposited ; and Macguire get
ting sight of it, insisted on an alteration in his lavor, under
a threat of instant death. Lady Caiheart's apprehensions
of the loss of her personal freedom proved to be not without
foundation; one morning, when she and her husliand went
out from Tewing to take an ailing, she proposed after a
time to return, but he desired to go a little further. The
coachman drove on ; she remonstrated, “they should not be
back by dinner-time.” “Be not the least uneasy on that
account,” rejoined Macguire; “we do not dine today at
Tewing, but at t’hosier, whither we are journeying.”—
Vain were all the lady’s efforts and expostulations. Her
•udtlen disappearance excited the alarm of her friends, and
an attorney was sent in pursuit, with a writ of habeas cor
pus or nc exeat regno. He overtook the travellers at an inn
at Chester, and, succeeding in obtaining an interview with
the husband, demanded a sight of Lady Cathcart. The
-colonel, skilled in expedients, and aware that bis wife's per
son was unknown, assured ihe attorney that he should see
her ladyship immediately, and he would find that she was
going to Ireland with her own free consort. Thereupon Mac
guire persuaded a woman, whom he had tutored, to person
.ate his wife. The attorney asked the supposed captive, if
she accompanied Col. Macguire to Ireland of her own good
•will ? “Perfectly so,” said the woman. Astonished at
such an answer, he begged pardon, made a low bow, and
•el out again for London. Macguire thought that pu-sibly
Mr. Attorney might recover his senses, find how he had
been deceived, and yet stop his progress ; and, in order to
make all safe, lie sent two or three follows after him, with
directions to plunder him of all he had, particularly of his
papers. They faithfully executed their commission ; and
when ihe colonel had the writ in his possession, he knew
that he was safe. He then took my lady over to Ireland,
and kept her there, a prisoner, locked up in his own house
at Tempo, in Fermanagh, for many years; during which
period ke was visited by the neighboring gentry, and it was
his regular custom at dinner to send his compliments to La
dy Cathcart, informing her that the company had the hon
or to drink her ladyship’s health, and begging to know
whether there was anything at table .hat she would like to
eat? 1 he answer was always—“Lady Caihcari's com
pliments, and she has everything she wants.” An instance
of Imnesty in a p),<>r Iiishwuman deserves to be recorded.—
Lady Cathcart had some remarkably fine diamonds, which
•he had concealed from Iter husband, and which she was
anxious to get out of the house, lest he should discover
thtftp, She M neither fervent nor fiiend to whom she
could intrust them, but she had observed a beggar who used
to come to the house; she spoke to her from the window of
the room in which she was confined ; the woman promised
to do what she desired, and Lady Cathcart threw a parcel,
containing the jewels, to her.
The poor Woman carried them to the person to whom they
were directed ; and, several years afterwards, when Lady
Cathcart recovered her liberty, she received her diamonds
safely. At Col. Macguire’s death, which occurred in 1704,
her ladyship was released. When she was first informed
of the fact, she imagined that the news could not be true,
and that it was told only with an intention of deceiving her.
At the time of her deliverance she had scarcely clothes suf
ficient to cover her ; she wore a red wig, looked scared, and
her understanding seemed stupefied ; she said that she
scarcely knew one human creature from another; her im
prisonment had lasted twenty years. The moment she re
gained her freedom she hastened to England, to her house
at Tewing, but the tenant, a Mr. Joseph Steele, refusing
to render up possession, Lady Cathcart had to bring an ac
tion of ejectment, attended the assizes in person, and gained
the cause. At Tewing she continued to reside for the re
mainder of her life. The only subsequent notice we find of
her is, that, at the age of eighty, she took part in the gay
eties of the Welwyn Assembly, and danced with the spirit
of a girl. She did not die until 1789, when she was in her
ninety-eighth year.
In the mansion-house of Tempo, now the properly of Sir
John Emerson Tenant, the room is still shown in which
Lady Cathcart was imprisoned.
Easy mode ok Divorce.—The marriage contract
is the most sacred known to our law. Those who
enter upon it do it deliberately. The severrnent of
that relation should not be permitted for trivial causes,
at the option of either party. The extension of the
causes of late years has become too lax. Parties in
tentionally avail themselves of the statutes in order
to render themselves liable fora bill. Tliprearebut
two States where adulteries are the sole causes of di
vorce, South Carolina and New York. In North
Carolina divorces are permitted under no circum
stances.
During the early period of the Mosinc dispensation
all that was necessary to secure a separation was tor I
the husband to say that he made no further claim to
his wife. For five hundred years divorce was un
known in Rome.but subsequently it became common.
All that the husband had to say to his wife, in order
to secure an effectual dissolution of the marriage re
lation was, "Give me the keys out of the house.”—
This secured a legal separation.
France had taught us a fearful lesson upon this
subject. Within three months alter the new law of
divorce M as adopted there were as many divorces as j
marriages, and in eighteen months twenty thousand j
divorces were registered, Even in Connecticut, when
the law of divorce was telaxed, applications for di
vorce multiplied rapidly.
De Tocqueville says of American women, that no
where did the sex occupy a more elevated position
than in the United Slates; and to nothing was to be
attributed more directly than to our women the ex
alted character and stability of our institutions. And
Mr. T). contended that this elevated character of A
merican women might, with truth bealttihuted to the
difficulty of securing a divorce, and to the strict ven
eration with which the marriage contract was held.
At one time in France it was common for men to
have as many wives as they had years. A learned
author refers to an old soldier who, in eleven years,
had eleven wives. This was the result of the loose
divorce laws of France.—Detroit Tribune.
A Wedding in High Life.—The London Mes
senger dins describes a wedding, in high life, in Eng
land :—The parties who are to be united emer by the
side door of the church, and wait in the vtstry until
the clergyman is ready, and all is prepared. The
father, or whoever gives the bride away, then con
ducts the bride to the altar. The bridegroom follows
with the biiileinaids, ami the relatives and friends fol
low in the rear. The Clerk (who is the clergyman’s
deputy) then places the bride before the altar and the
bridegroom at Iter rig.it hand. The father stands be
hind the bride, that he may be ready to place her
right hand in that of the joyous bridegroom—for
everv bridegroom ought to be joyous and happy
on such an occasion. Thus there is no disagreeable
and perplexing waiting in the case—for the bride
does not approach the altar until the bridegroom is
prepared to follow, the lutiy of course in this, as in
every other instance, taking precedence. Were it
otherwise, people might say that the bride ran after
the bridegroom : but, as it is, lie is at liberty to “back
out,” even at the last moment,should a sudden change
come over the spirit of his dream !
The honors of a fashionable English wedding
breakfast are done by the bride’s mother, or elder sis
ter, if she have one; if not, some elderly friend. All
the oride is expected to do on her marriage day is to
attend to the post she has to take itt the ceremony.
’ fehe is to be given away, and to say, “I will,” and
I “obey,” which latter word some of our American
girls woutd deem a very difficult one to pronounce.
A Hoosier in Boston.—The editor of the Cincinnalti
Inquirer writing from Boston, tells the following story :
W estern folks feel in this Cityas though in a strait
waistcoat, for their personal liberty is so hedged in that free
dom of action is gone. Those addieteo to smoking especi
ally, feel twice the desire to promenade the streets of Boston.
1 heard an excellent anecdote of the adventures of a live
lloosier in this city, which illustrates the municipal regu
lations of this mummy dissecting city, better than a book.
Alter a good dinner at his hotel, he ignited a cigar, and
started out for a stroll. After a few steps a policeman tap
ped him on the shoulder,and inturmed him that the penally
was two dollars fur the offence uf smoking. He promptly
pulled out a five dollar bill, and received a three in change.
Proceeding on his walk,in few minutes he next met a beg
gar gill who asked lor something to eat. Recollecting that
he had the remains of a hunk of gingerbread, the peculiar
die: of Hoosierlaud, in hi3 pocket, he generously pr. ffered
it to the mendicant. Again was he tapped on the shoulder
by the policeman, and told it was against tho laws ut Bos
ton to give away offal, as it all belonged to the city,and
requested two more dollars fur this grave offence. The three
dollar bill was drawn out, and when the jHiliceinan tendered
one ill change u was refused by the lloosier, with the cool
remark, “Mo, keep it, I shall waul to whistle in «few min
utes”
Advantage of Law.—A funner cut down a tree which
stood so near the boundry line of his farm that it w as doubt
ful whether it belonged to him or his neighbor. The
neighbor, however claimed the tree, and prosecuted the man
who cut it, Ibr damages. The case was continued from
court to court. Time was wasted, temper soureq|Ud tem
per lost; but the case was finally gained by the prose
cute. The last my Iriend knew of the transaction,
was the man who “gained the cause'’ came to the law
yer’s office to execute a deed of his whole farm; w hich
lie had been compelled to sell to pay tliecosts. Then, house
less and homeless, he could thrust his hand into his pocket
and triumphantly exclaim, “I’ve beat him!”
«*T rees and vines which are kept the cleanest
hear the best; like the human body, the pores ol
their skin become clogged with dirt,and retain gasses
which should escape. Frees, the bark ol which has
been scraped and scrubbed, become more thriving and
more vigorous,
AN ANCIENT TERRIER.
There are many law phrases well calculated to mystify
a lay-visiter in our courts; the “0 yes!” for Oyez, may
escape his remark, but the swearing of a witness on his
! voire dire will be likely to puzzle him, if he be not aware
that vrai dire is the original term; and there are many ex
pressions used by gentlemen of the long robe, that will not
bear an out-door construction—witness the predicament in ;
which a delinquent juryman was placed on the occasion of
his presenting an excuse for non-attendanee :
“Accordingly, the next morning I appeared in court, arm
ed with my physician’s certificate and a two days’ beard,
S by way of what lawyers call ‘cumulative testimony’ of ill
1 ness. But it was all thrown away ; the court was engaged
! in an important jury trial; an action for trespass, as the door
keeper kindly informed me, which would probably last all
the day. 1 listened for a few moments to the defendant’s !
I counsel, a fat-headed man, who at the time of my entrance
1 was proceeding in a drowsy tone of voice to show what is
technically termed ‘a right of way ;’ but hearing nothing
from him that especially interested me, I began to retrace
my steps, and had just reached the door, when I heard him j
say with considerable emphasis, that he intended to produce j
in evidence an ancient terrier! Had my ears deceived
me ? No : I could not have been mistaken ; the words were
pitched on the speaker’s highest key ; so much so as to a
waken for an instant the senior judge, who had up to that
moment been indulging in a quiet slumber, leaving the du- 1
ty of taking notes to his associate on the right, who was
reading the morning paper. But my doubts, if I had any,
were soon dispelled by the suddeu interruption of the plain- j
tiff’s counsel, who jumped up very much after the manner ^
of the witness whose testimony he was about to oppose, and j
declaimed for an hour against the introduction of‘an ancient ,
terrier!’ Yes, those were his words, and no mistake.— |
How I went, heart and soul, for the defendant! How 1
feared lest his extraordinary testimony might be ruled out! j
How I reproached myself for having mentally set him down
for an old poser, before I had heard him utter those magic
words; and when he replied, which he did successfully,!
how I hung upon his accents, and once caught myself say- I
ing,almost aloud, ‘singed cat!’ And yet no sensation seem- !
ed created hy this to me most novel and startling debate.— 1
The lawyers all looked on without betraying any signs of!
wonderment; the old judge had subsided into hlpssed forget
fulness, which he appeared to take in brokendozes; the as
sociate was engaged in cutting an advertisement from the
newspaper; the clerk had pealed :tn apple, and was sharing
it with the crier; in fact, all things seemed to wear an ev
ery day appearance, as though nothing uncommon were
happening, ur about to happen ; and yet here, in the nine
teenth century,in an enlightened community, was theques
tion agitating as to whether a brute—a quadruped—no mat
ter how sagacious, should be admitted to counterbalance,
for aught court or bar might know, the evidence of an al
derman !
“Presently the old judge mumbled out the decision of
the court, of which the only words that I could distinctly
hear were‘Plaintiff's clothes/ ‘rents,’ and‘/ef them produce
the ancient terrici'!’
“But these few word9 seemed to throw some light on
the subject. My mind had lipen dreadfully exercised in
striving to divine how a dog, young or old, could prove a
right of way : ‘Mow could this dumb testimony avail ?’rea
soned 1; but when I heard the judge talking about the ani
mal in connection with the plaintiff’s clothes and rents, my
imagination, already on the stretch, was not slow in conjur- j
ing up the phantom of a plaintiff with torn pantaloons fly- j
mg from the aged canine protector of the defendant’s pre- j
niiscs. Yes, that must be the point. Fresh to uiy recol- j
lection came Bevis, the noble houndofthe Scottish knight, •
who throttled Leopold of Austria, the dastard insulter of
the English standard ; the dog of Montargis barked across |
my memory ; long-dormant anecdotes of the sagacious quad- j
raped were awakened, and began to arrange themselves in j
my mind, now prepared to witness what before I had only j
seen in print.
“While all this was revolving witjiin me, the trial seem
ed to be progressing in the old way again; the judges had j
resumed their former occupations of sleeping and reading ; .
: the clerk was peeling another apple, in which the crier
* seemed to take quite as much interest as was decorous in an
officer of the court; every thing had assumed the same ap
pearance, with the exception that now the witness’ stand
; was occupied by a short, puffy-looking man, very red, vory
i much frightened, with a very musty roll of parchment doc
uments in his hands. Many and dreary were the questions
put to him, and oft and drearily did he turn over the moul
1 dy-looking records and make response. I began to grow
nervous. There seemed to be no end to it. I looked at my
watch, and found that my dinner hour had long since pass
ed. Night was coming on; what would they think at
home? What would my wife say ? When I left her in
the morning, by way of practising for my lying apology to |
the court, 1 complained to hpr of feeling unwell; she told t
me I looked so; that long beard, which I had suffered to
grow for the purpose of mystifying the judges, came up in j
judgment against me. She was just the woman to send out!
a hell-man. And now I really began to feel ill. I had once
been seized with a determination of blood to the head, and
! the excitement under which I had been laboring forlhelast i
i five hours produced symptoms which I thought indicated
! another attack; the old judge, as he nodded, began to look
like a magnified mandarin ; the clerk was peeling a pump
kin ; the witness swelled, and the jury appeared packed.—
I could stand it no longer; in an under-tone I addressed a
quiet-looking pprson who sat next to me :
“ ‘When will they bring in that dog?’ said I.
“ ‘That what V replied the man, with as much surprise
as could be thrown into a whisper.
“‘That dog/ I reiterated ; ‘the terrier—the ancient ter
rier that they quarrelled about so long/
“The rush of blood that had been hanging about me seem
ed all at once to be paying the stranger a visit; his face at
first grew red, and then purple; his cheeks distended ; his
eyes watered, and his whole frame shook; it was nearly a
minuie4>efore he recovered from the paroxysm sufficiently
to say to me, in a something between a sob and a hiccough,
•The parchment roll in the hand of the witness is what
is called in law an ancient terrier/
“1 could not have had my senses about rne, for I recollect
distinctly of having made such loud use of a bad word as to
moke the walls eelto; the old gentleman on the bench star
ted from his sleep; the newspaper dropped; so did the
! clerk’s apple and the crier’s countenance.
“Mow I reached my own house has always been a mys
tery to me; but that night I had one continuous dream of
trying to climb a genealogical tree to get out of tlfe way of
a Pope’s bull!”
Music in Man.—The universal disposition ofltuman
beings from the cradle to the death-bed, to express their
feelings in measured cadences of sound and action, proves
that our bodies are constructed on musical principles, and
that the harmonious working of the machinery depends on
the movements of the several parts, being timed to each
; other, and that the destruction of health, as regards both
body and mind, may be well described as being out of tune.
Our intellectual and moral vigor would be better sustained
if we more practically studied the propriety of keeping the
soul m harmony, and regulating the movements of the body;
for we should thus see and feel that every affection which
is nut connected with social enjoyment, is also destructive
of individual comfort, and that whatever tends to harmonise
1 also tends to promote happiness and health.
ft i
A BEAUTIFUL LITTLE STOttY.
A few weeks since in coming down the North riv
cr, I was seated in the cabin of the magnificent steam
er Isaac Newton, in conversation with some friends.
It was coming late in the evening, and one after an
other, seeking repose from the cares and toils of the
day, made preparation to retire to their berths.—
Some, pulling off their boots and coats, lay themselves
down to rest; others, in the attempt to make it seem
as much like home as possible, threw off more of
| their clothing—each one as their comfort or appre*
| hension of danger dictated.
I had noticed on deck a fine looking boy, of about
six years of age, following around a man, evidently
his father, whose appearance indicated him to be a
foreigner, probably a German—a man of medium
height, and respectable dress. The child was unusu
ally fair and fine looking, handsomely featured, with
an intelligent and affectionate expression of counte
nance ; and from under his German cap fell chestnut
.Jiair, in thick clustering curls.
After walking, about for a lime, the father and son
stopped within a few feet of where we were seated,
and began preparations for going to bed. I watched
them. The father adjusted and arranged the bed the
clfild was to occupy, which was an upper berth while
the little fellow was undressing himself. Having
finished this, his father tied a handkerchief around his
head, to protect his curls, which looked as if the sun
light from tiis young, happy heart always rested there.
This done, I looked for him to seek his resting place,
but instead of this he quietly kneeled down upon the
floor, put his hands together, so beautifully childlike
and simple, resting his arms on the lower berih, a
gainst which he knelt; he began his vesper prayer.
The father sat down by bis side, and waited the
conclusion. It was for a child, a long prayer, but
well understood. 1 could hear the murmuring of his
sweet voice, but could not distinguish the words he
spoke. There were men around him—Christian men
retiring to rest without prayer; or if praying at all, a
kind of mental desire for protection, without suffi
cient courage or piety to kneel down in a steamboat’s
cabin, and before strangers, acknowledge the good
ness of God, or ask his protecting love.
This was the training ot some pious moiner.—
1 Where was she now ? How many limes had her kind
| hand been laid on the sunny locks, as she had taught
him to lisp his prayers ?
A beautiful sight it was, that child at prayer in the
midst of the busy, thoughtless throng. He, alone,
of this worldly multitude, drew nigh to Heaven. I
thank the paternal love that taught him to lisp his
evening prayer, whether Catholic or Protestant,
whether dead or living, whether far oil or nigh. 1
could scarce refrain from weeping then, nor can I
now, as I see again that sweet child, in the crowded
I tumult of a steamboat’s cabin, bending in devotion
j before bis Maker.
But a little while before, 1 saw a crowd of admi
: ring listeners gathering about a company of Italian
singers in the upper saloon—a mother and two sons,
1 with voice, harp and violin ; but no one heeded, no
one cared for the child at prayer.
When the little boy had finished his evening devo
tion, he arose and kissed Ins father most affection
ately, who put him into his berth to rest for the night.
I felt a strong desire to speak to them, but deferred
it till morning. When morning came,the confusion
of landing prevented me from seeing them again.—
But, if ever 1 meet that hoy in his declining years,
I’ll thank him for the influence ami example of that
night’s devotion, and bless the name of the mother
that taught him.
Scarcely any passing incident of my life ever made
a deeper impression on my intnd. I went to my room,
and thanked God that I had witnessed it, and for its
influence on my heart. Who prays on a steamboat ?
Who train their children to pray, even at home?—
Home Journal.
The Locust of the Salt Lake.—The shores of
the Salt Lake are infested by a sort of insect pest,
which claims a vile resemblance to the locust ol the
Syrian Dead Sea. Wingless, dumpy, black, swollen
headed, with bulging eyes in cases like goggles,
mounted upon legs of steel wire and clock-spring,
and with a general personal appearance that justified
ti'ie Mormons in comparing him to the cross of the spi
der on the Buffalo, the Deseret cricket comes down
from the mountains at a certain season of the year,
in voracious and desolating myriads. It was just at
this season that the first crops of the new settlers
were in the full glory of the youthful green. The
assailants could not be repulsed. The Mormons, af
ter their fashion, prayed and fought, and fought and
prayed, but to no purpose. The “Black Philistines”
mowed their way even to the ground, leaving it as if
touched with an acid or burnt by fire.
But an unlooked for ally came to the rescue.—
Vast armies of bright birds, before strangers to the
valley, hastened across the lake from some unknown
quarter, and gorged themselves upon the well fatted
enemy. They were snow white, with little heads
and clear dark eyes, and little feet, and long wings,
that arched in flight “like an angel’s.” At first the
Mormons thought they were new enemies to plague
them ; but when they found them hostile only to the
locusts, they were careful not to molest them in their
friendly office, and to this end, declared a heavy flue
against all who should kill or annoy them with fire
arms. The gulls soon grew to be tame as the poul
try, and the delighted little children learned to call
them pigeons. 'They disappeared every evening be
yond the lake ; but, returning with sunrise, continued
their welcome visitings till the crickets were all ex*
terminated.
This curious incident recurred the following year,
with this variation, that in 1S49 the gulls came ear
lier ami saved the wheat crops from all harm what
ever.
Pious Mothers.—Teach your little ones in the
nursery. The first principles of our holy religion
must be instilled into infant minds. A child will
. readily believe that about which it connot reason ;
tint so with the adult. God seeth always; His eye
is upon every action, marking the good and the bad; >
impress these great truths upon them constantly, and j
children will seldom grow up to manhood with de-1
praved hearts, even if surrounded from without by J
injurious influences. More than all, let your cltil- j
dreu see that you believe what you teach. Act your
selves, mothers, as if always impressed with a sense i
! of the Almighty’s presence; be cheerful, happy, mer
ry, but always earnest in divine tilings. Accustom j
them to regular hours of devotion,and they will early !
feel that it is common, constant, vet holy 1 tie. Thus j
you will give them an inheritance, better than wealth,
pleasure, or the highest worldly honor*—Thus you
will be conferring an eternal blessing on the heirs of
immortality. __
The Cheerful Heart.—ft is not essential to a
happy home that there should be the luxury of the
carpeted floor, the cushioned sofa, or the soft shade
of an astral lamp. These elegancies gild the
apartments, TXJt they reach not the heart. It is
neatness, order and a cheerful heart which makes
home that sweet paradise it is so often found to be.
There is joy, as real, as heartfelt by the cottage fire
side, as in ihe most splendid saloon of wealth and
refinement. The luxuries and elegancies of life are
not to be despised. But their possesions do not en
sure happiness. The source of true joy is not so
shallow. The cheerful heart, like the kaleidoscope,
. causes much discordant materials to arrange them
| selves in harmony and beauty,
f4
FROM THE NATIONAL INTELLIGENCE it.
SOLUTION OP A RIDDLE.
The New York Express says: The celebrated Anna
Seward left in her4 will a bequest of .£60 sterling’, to be
given to the person who should solve the following riddle.
We believe the reward has never been claimed i
“The noblest object in the works of art;
The brightest gem that nature can impart j
The point essential in a lawyer’s case,
The well known signal in the time of peace ",
The farmer’s prompter when he drives his plough.
The soldier’s duty and the lover’s vow;
The planet seen between the earth and sun,
The prize that merit never yet has won ;
The miser’s treasure and the badge of Jews,
The wife’s ambition and the parson’s dues.
Now, if your noble spirit can divine
A corresponding word for every line*
By ihe first letters quickly will be shown
An ancient city of no small renown.”
SOLUTION.
What object nobler than the ship
That rode the Deluge wave I
Than Light what brighter gem can be
That nature ever gave?
The lawyer’s case at last must turn
On Evidence alone,
And through the earth, as sign of peace,
The Cross to all is known.
. The farmer’s prompter sure must be
Th’ Abundance of his grain,
And jYon-rcsistance is the oath
By troops and lovers ta’en.
Fair Delia's face between the earth
And Sol’s bright lamp appears,
And Riches are that prize unknown
Which merit seldom wears.
Bright Ingots fill the miser’s dream
And load the Jewish chest,
While an Annuity is wished
By wife, alike, and priest,
My “noble spirit” thus with ease divines
The corresponding words for all your lines:
Your prize I claim—the money, and the fame,
For Alexandria is the city’s name.
ARTHUR J. STANSBURY.
A rk
L ight
E vidence
X (the Cross)
A bundance
N on-resiatance
D elia
R iches
1 nguls
A nnuity
THE FEMALE BLOODHOUND.
Much curiosity has been awakened during the last
few weeks, by the appearance of a strange and for
eign looking carriage upon the drive, whose fair in
mate* something strange and rather foreign-looking
otherwise, has been the universal subject of conver
sation amongst the loitering groups lounging on the
very edge of the curb-stone, which skirts the macud
aniized road. Who is the ludy ? What is she r—
Where does she come from ? are the questions to
which none but the initiated can venture a reply.—
She is attired in the deepest mourning, an:l her coun
tenance is marked by an expression of that fierce grief j
which strikes such a feeling of anxiety and dismay
into the minds of the beholder. Although still love
ly—for time lias dealt so gently with her, that sor
row has much to do in order to destroy that beauty
which once was the theme of admiration and envy
thoughoul the whole of Europe-yet few could
now trace in the pale and stricken figure which passes
slowly before us, with head bent low, and eyes gaz
ing on vacancy, the brilliant, all-conquering duchess
who, but a few years ago, shone forth the guiding
star of every continental court, whose sceptre ruled
alike the empire of beauty* of fashion, and of poli
tics, and who came with honor out of the struggle
with the great Lieven himself.
After four y&trs’ absence from Paris she has re
turned broken hearted, but upon far other motives
than those which guided her on her departure; love
of power, love of homage, love of admiration. She
has returned thither, led on by a love of vengeance j
alone, in search of revenge upon the murderers of
Licit no tvski* whom she is determined to pursue with
that undying hate of which the middle ages have left
u9 such terrible examples. The culprits were,it is said)
eight in number. Already have three of them been
taken in Germany through the exertions of this lady,
who scorning the feminine weakness of solitude and
tears, has set forth upon this dreary pilgrimage.
Fabulous stories are told, of course, concerning
her munificent offers of recompense to the agents of
police of the different cites, wherein she deems that
any of the murderers have found refuge. Two of
them have been already taken hero within the last
week. They were living under assumed names in
obscurity as common workmen, earning a daily pit
tance; but her long-armed,long-sighted vengeance
has reached them even here; and through her exer
tions alone have they been conveyed beyond the
frontier, and delivered up to the Austrian authorities;
but so long as that dark blue carriage is seen slowly
creeping up the Champs Elysees we may be sure
some other of the blood-stained criminals must be
concealed in Paris. For more than three months was
it beheld creeping along as we now behold it, up and
down the public promenade of the little town ofToul,
where it had been discovered that two women who
cheered the men on amongst the crowd to commit
the murder had sought refuge in disguise; and it was;
not until the very day that the unhappy creature was j
taken, bound and handcuffed between two gendarmes,
through the eastern gate of the town, that the grand
equipage, with its gloomy burden was seen to hurry
as fast°as four horses could convey it on the road to
Paris, still in pursuit of that revenge which is not
yet completed.
They say that our greatest painter is engaged in
painting a portrait of the unfortunate object of this
sombre and fierce attachment, and that the favored
few have been admitted to behold it in its unfinished
state. It represents “der hubsch Lichnoioski,” (as he
j was called from his great personal beautj) in the
j costume and attitude which he bore upon the very
i morning of his death. His magnifirent countenance
| and splendid figure, attired in the black velvet coat,
S the cap and tassel, the buckskin breeches and the
! shining Hessian boots, are all represented here to
the life, as well as the window and the balcony from
whence he breathed his last tender farewell, when he
descended to the gardh) in order to “chastise the in
solent canaille,” armed with his riding whip alone.
All grow beneath the painter’s hand as he follows
! the instructions of the desolate lady who thu9 cheats
: her sorrow for a moment, hugging to her soul the
memory of her last and dearest love.—Paris Corrcs.
London Pajxr.
Knowledge.—“One fountain there is,”s3ys MissBre
mer,“ whose deep vein Ins only just begun to throw up its sil
very drop9 among mankind—a fountain which will allay
the thirst of millions, aud will giV6 t0 dtose who drink
from it peace and joy.—It is knowledge, the fountain of
I intellectual cultivation, which gives health to make clear
his vision, brings joy to his life, and breathes over his soul’s
destiny a deep repose. Go and drink there from,thou whom
fortune has not favored and thou will soon feel thyselfrtch.
Thou mayst go forth into the world,and find thyself every
where at home; thoucanst cuhivaio thyself in thine own
little chamber; thy friends are ever around thee, and carry
j on wise conversations with tht*« nature, antiquity, hearen
| ait accessible to thee.”
I
THE COLD StWMtiR OS' l81ft«
Persons are in the habit of apeaking of the aum*
mer of 1816 as the coldest ever known* throughout
, America and Europe. Having in our possession some
1 facts relative to this subject, we propose to give
them, in order to revive the recollections of such •*
mong us as remember the year without a summer—
also to furnish correct information for such as feel
any interest in matters of this kind. We shall, there*
fore, give a summary of each of the months of the
year 1816, extracted in part from “Pierce on the
Weather.”
January was mild—so much so as to render fire# •
almost needless in silting rooms. December, the
month immediately preceding this, was very cold.
February was not very cold } with the exception
of a few days, it was mild lik^its predecessor.
March was cold and boisterous, the first half of it*
the remainder was mild. A great freshet on the O*
hio and Kentucky rivers, that caused great loss of
property*
April began warm and grew colder as the month
advanced, and ended with snow and ice, with a tem*
peralure more like winter than spring.
May was more remarkable for frowns than smiles*
Buds and fruits were frozen-—ice formed an inch in
thickness—corn killed, and the fields again and again
replanted, until deemed too late*
June the coldest ever known in this latitude*—
Frost and ice, and snow were common. Almost ev*
ery green herb killed. Fruit r.earfy all destroyed*
Snow fell to the depth often inches in Vermont, aev*
eral inches in Maine, and it fell to the depth of three
inches in the interior of New York ; it fell also in
Massachusetts.
July was accompanied by frost and ice. On thf
morning after the fourth, ice formed of the thickness
of common window-glass throughout New England*
New York, and some parts of Pennsylvania. Indian
corn nearly all killed; some favorably situated field*
escaped. This was true of some of the hill farms in
Massachusetts.
August was more cheerless it possible man tn«
summer months already passed. Ice was formed
half an inch in thickness. Indian corn was so fro
zen that the greater part of it was cut down and dried
for fodder. Almost every green thiug was destroyed,
both in this country and Europe. Papers received
from England said,“It will be remembered by the pee*
sent generation thatthe year 1816 was ayear in which
there was no summer.” Very little corn in the New
England and Middle States ripened. Farmers sup
plied themselves from corn produced in 1815 for seed
in the spring of 1817. It sold for from four to fiv®
dollars a bushel.
September Lunistied about two weeks of the mild*
cst weather qj^^taeason. Soon /titer the middle it
be camp very frosty—ice forming a quarter
of an inch in tmcKness.
October produced more than its usual share of
cool weather; frost and ice common.
November was cold and blustering. Snow fell so
as to make sleighing.
December was mild and comfortable.
.We have thus given a brief summary of the “cold
summer of 1816,” as it is called, in order to distin
guish it from the cold seasons. The winter wae
mild. Frost and ice were common in every month
of the year. Very little vegetation matured in tho
Eastern and Middle States. The sun’s rays seemed
to be destitute of heat throughout the summer; all na
turo was clad in a sable hue, and men exhibited no
little anxiety concerning the future of this life.—Bo
Chester American.
Fashionable Equestrians.—Canal street tret
thrown in a great state of excited curiosity yesterday
afternoon, by the appearance of a lady who wae
mounted on horseback, and was elegantly dressed in
an admirably filled riding-habit, apparently of the
most costly materials and which displayed her fairy
form to the greatest advantage. She wore a most
bewitching blue velvet riding cap, appended to which
was a dashing white plume, while in her hand she
held a delicate white ivory carved riding whip moun
ted with silver. Just behind her followed two ser
vants, whom from the bands on their sleek black hat*f
and their particular dress,there was no mistaking their
livery. The turn-out was so “dutangay” that every
one stopped on the street to admire the lady. “Who
can she be ?” was the general inquiry. “It is the
Countess de Alcoy,” suggested one. “No, that can’t
be,” said a knowing-looking individal, “for she only
lately arrived in New York.” “Aw, it must be the
fawci.iating Miss Arwebella,” said an exquisite, with
his eye-glass resting between his cheek and his eye
brow. “No,” replied his friend, “Miss Arwebelle
Dieawah is at the Pass.” “Could I only see her
face!” exclaimed a dry goods clerk, with a sigh. Bat
a green veil shrouded the beauteous face of the fair
admirer,much to the annoyance not only of the gentle
men, but also the ladies, who were looking out from
the balconies and windows.
When near Barronne street, however, the honee
of her attendants took fright, reared and plunged in
the most furious manner scaring the lady’a hone
which also commenced plunging. The excitement
now became intense. The clerks of the neighbor*
ing stores rushed out to run to her assistance, the
pretty milliner girls crowd to the edged of the side*
walk. Thrice the horse reared and almost fell back*
wards with the lady; and fair ones from the balco*
nies screamed with fear for her, while a black-eyed
beauty exclaimed, “Oh, she will be killed—why don’t
they go to her ?” But the fair rider still kept her
horse, while the crowd, which had now become re*
ally extensive through an addition of newsboys and
others, admired the symmetry of her form, and all
acknowledged her daring horsemanship. Just before
the valiant clerks of the neighborhood reached the
lady, however, a gallant knight was seen coming
dashing down the street to her rescue. Dismounting
from his own horse,he caught her steed by the bridle*
and putting his arm around her waist, lifted her in
safety to the sidewalk. Hundreds envied him at that
moment of ecstatic bliss; he had saved the lady’s lift
—he had won her heart.
But an accident happened which at once destroyed
all the hopes of that gallant knight. In lifting the
beautiful girl from the horse, her riding cap fell off
■ with the veil, disclosing one of the most remarkable
and beautiful ebony black faces,and as woolly ahead
as was ever possessed by a female darkey. Conceive
! the consternation awd horror of the saviour of thie
! armful of African humanity ! The poor man fainted.
Then hooted and shouted the crowd, and the n«W«*
boys hearing of the “deroicrnenl” of the affair, look
; up the hue and cry, and the darkies fearing their mie*
chievousness immediately made themselves scarce.-*
.V. 0. Picayune 2$th till.
“Well I Guess Not.”—A toper some time sine*
says an exchange went into a bar room in the west*
ern part of a Slate where it is unlawful to eell liquo*
1 and called for “something to driuk.”
“We don’t sell liquor,” said the law-abiding land*
lord; “but we will give you a glass, and then if you
' want a cracker, we will sell i( to you for three ceois P*
“Very well,” said the customer, “hand down
; decanter.”
The “good creature” was handed dowtu tn<{ onr
hero took a stiff “horn,” when turning around to de
part, the unsuspecting landlord handed, him a Hi+h 0f
crackers- with the remark i
“Y ou’ll buv a cracker ?”
“Well, no.” Mid the customer, pi guest not: you
sell ’em too dear; I can get lots on ’em five or sin
for a cent, anywhere elea ”
* • *