The national era. [volume], November 28, 1850, Image 1

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- THE NATIONAL ERA.
(J. BAILEY, EDITOR AND PROPRIETOR; JOHN G. W H IT TI E R, C 0 R R E S P 0 N D1 N G EDITOR.
^QLTlV^NOria WASHINGTON, THURSDAY, NOVEMBER 28, 1850. WHOLE NO. m
The WlMil Era ti Pobh.had Weekly, fteveatk
sirrrl,?ppMllf Odd Vtlltvi' Hall.
TMMI.
I' 00 1 illirs per annum, payable i* arhniux.
\ Ivcrtisements no! exceeding tan linen inserted
i h r.'o t iin>*8 fur one dollar j twjr aubeoquonl inner
tion. twent/-H?e oeuts.
All communications to the Kra, whether on
business of the paper or for publication, should
be a Mreised to O. Bsioxr. Waskinfta*, D C.
BUKI.I. A BLANUHARP, PRINTERS,
Sixth ?treel, ? few dour* iouth of Pennsylvania avtnue.
THE NATIONAL ERA.
WASHINGTON, NOVEMBER 2'., 18A0.
For the National Kra.
(curraioHT 'scumed acoordino to law.i
MCkOllY HAM: OR THE OUTCAST.
A ROMANCE OK THE BLUE KI Oft E.
IN >OUK PARTS.
BV MRS. EMMA D K. N SOUTH WORTH.
" I can bear scorpion'* uting*, tread field* of fire.
In frozen *0If* of cold eternal lie,
He timed aloft tiirnii*h track* of endlef* void,
Hut cannot live in chauie."? Joanna Buillie.
I'ART III.?Continued,
I; Litten >"> Well, I listened eagerly, too eagerly.
lie jmused, dropped his head upon his hands
and seemed to be diring into the past. Deep si---?
broken only bv the
lence reigneu ? f , .
supernatural!/ Jood ticking of the chamber clock,
hurrying on towards midnight. There he sat
upon the foot of the bed, his elbows resting on
his knees, his face buried in the palms of his
hands, his stringy, jet-black locks falling forViru.
AoJf/der Sifter shndder shakiug hia frame !
" Poor fellow ! he does not know how to begin,"
thought 1, and 1 waited anxiously some time, a
feeling of delicacy withholding me from interrupting
hita, until I found, by the cessation of his
shudders and the perfect immobility of his form,
that he had fullen into a fit of deep abstraction,
and that his thoughts were far, far from me.
Then, after some hesitation, I recalled him, by a
word spoktn in a low, gentle tone, " Wallraven!"
He started slightly, raised his shaggy black
head, and gazed upon mc from his light gray eyes,
with the bewildered look of oDe awakened from a
deep sleep, with a dream still overshadowing his
spirits.
' Wallraven!'' said I again, in a still kinder
tone, " you were about to give me"
"11a! ha! ha! Oh, thou son of Eve! Never
tell mo of woman's curiosity ! HV have not a bit,
have we?" laughed he, in the most sarcastic and
exasperating manner. You will wonder, perhaps,
at the strange patience I had with that bitter
and sardonic youth ; but, iu truth, 1 was more
paiued than angry at his ironic and insulting
tone, for under all was betrayed the profoundest
sorrow, the acutest suffering. I felt the same
compassionate toleration for his ill temper, that
we fed for the irritability of any dearly loved
stiff rer. I replied, gently?
" I did not solicit your confidence, Wolfgang.
It was voluntarily proffered on your part; and I
UU you uow, that unless by so doing I can very
materially serve you, I have no wish to pry into
your secrets, further than fidelity to my sister's
under existing ciruuiualanccB seems U?
require."
' To what existing circumstances do you refer?"
he asked, quickly.
"To your relations, or implied relations, with
Minn Fuirfield."
" And what do you suppose them to be?''
" From what 1 witnessed this evening, 1 presume
that you are engaged,'' I replied ( gazing at
him with anxious scrutiny.
1 " You are wrong?we are not engaged !"
" Not! Is it possible that Regina has rejected
you 1"
" No ; for I have not tendered her my hand."
' What! not! Then you intend to do so at
the tirst opportunity."
" No! I have no intention of ever offering myself
to Miss Fairfield!"
" Then, by Heaven! much as I have forgiven
you upon my own account, you shall first give tne
satisfaction for your unpardonnble conduct of this
evening, and then swear never to offeud Miss
Fait field by coming into her presence again."
' Oh! Ferdinand, tny fine fellow, don't flare
np. You do not know what you are talking
about!''
" 1 say I will have satisfaction!"
"And so you shall; any and every satisfaction
you please, Mil as much of it as you please!
Come! I will fight, or apologise, aa you will.
" Sir, you nre my guest. I beseech you, with
all convenient speed that you put yourself in
some more practicable relation to the brother of
the woman you have offended, that he may"
" Blow my brains out with a better grace !"
" Cull you to a strict account for your proceedings
of this evening ''
" 1 have betrayed friendship, trust, hospitality ;
1 merit death! Shoot me where 1 sit, Ferdinand.
I wish you would I"
" You are mad."
"I kissed her twenty times, Ferdinand, and I
never intend to marry her. Come, why don't
you shoot me ?"
"You are a lunatic?you are not responsible
for any word or act," said I, and 1 was beginning
to feel so If I had been ever so angry with him,
my resentment would have vanished, when with
one of his sudden changes of mood he dropped
his hru1 upon my shoulder, and sobbed and wept
hVe the melting of an avalanche, gasping bet?'in
whiles, in low, earnest, fervent, interrupted
tones?
I lov. u. i worship your beautiful and haughty
si-ti-r! Love her brciuse she is fiir, worship
her hi cause she is proud ! Yes, yes! 1 worship
' hi- ground she walks on?for it is holy ground !
the pebble her foot spurns?for it is a precious
font-! Words! words! breath! air! Look you!
I'e iple h ive talked about dying for their beloved!
I am 'Join^ v ! I mn doifui U
!. ingu ige cannot convey the heart-rending tone
in which these words were spoken He weut on?
Yes, yes ! I will ' account' for my 1 conduct
of this evening ! 1 had firmly repressed my feelings
for six wteks. 1 thought the dancer over
r well nigh orer ! I went up to her to-nigbt, to
her a<iit>u, with the stern determination o(
neeer, nerer seeing her again. She held out her
hand? looking up to me with her beautiful, bewildering,
maddening eyes?eloquent with lore
reproach, im/</try?and, and, the great tide
of lr">g suppressed emotion ruahed in, tilling my
ke.?rt, flooding my braio, bearing down and
""eeping away reason, memory, understanding!
*0'l I did and said?tow. wmuic tUuu/if Cotne
"< me, if you pie ire! Yea, I will meet you
wh>n anil where you please, and lye my bosom
,0 your knife or ball, but nerer rmae my hand
agairiHt ?<>?, my brother, my heart's dear brother!
'? 'he name of llearen, then, why don't you
"peak to me ?'
llecauae 1 have nothing to any. I am mystified
and miserable!"
" V et, oh ! do not abut up your heart to me I
do not! Vou lore me I do not, therefore, lay up
'emoree for all your long futare life by harsh
nrw* to me now?for look yoa! my life will be
short?bj ^^,1, Ti0|fBt j | it! Hpeak to
meP
"Alas! Wallraven, what shall I say? You 1
entreat me not to shut up my heart to you I do
not do it. On the contrary, it is you who clone
yours to me. Yet do not misunderstand me; I do
not complain of this, though the p.i*ei<.n you
hare declared for my sister?a passion that I see
but too clearly exists. *nd is reciprocated?makes I
me extremely auxious, upon account of Regius, i
when I reflect upon the dark mystery whieh you i
oonfess has blighted your own life, and dread msy
blight hers !"
lie dropped his head upon my shoulder again,
and with a huge heart sob gasped?
441 cannot! I cannot! I cannot, by the broken
heart of my dead mother! by the smitten brow of :
my gray-haired father! 1 catthot rereul to you this
blasting mystery ! 1 hate tried hard this evening i
to tell you, and the words 4 Mirk in my throat f
But this 1 will promise you?ne?er to see Miss '
Fairfield again! Ah! you cannot guess the suf- i
feriug I bring myself, the suffering 1 withhold
from you, on making this promise!"
441 do not demand such a promige; yet ? but |
Wolfgang, such a demand will depend upon your
reception of a question I am about to ask you,
which you may auswer or not m you sec fit. This
dark secret ? is it connected with guilt or with
ddisease '" ?? * <
"No! no! no! God knows, that whatever
may he their other misfortunes, the WallraTens
are physically, mentally, and morally sound! "
41 Why, so 1 have always heard of them. They
are even proverbial for those qualities. Now, in
the name of Heaven, give me your hand, my dear
Wolfgang! Win Regina if you can! I feel sure
that your distress, whatever it may be, is morbid.
Nonsense! Love and friendship will cure you.
What! Young, healthy, handsome, moral, intelligent,
accomplished, wealthy, and of high rank,
loving and beloved, with no one to cross your
wisbtg ? what should trouble yoa? 1 begin to
think you a mere hypochondriac'' ? and so I re- 1
ally did. i
You will pronounce this hasty confidence very
wrorg?so it doubtless was ; but 1 loved W'oltg ing :
Wallraven with more than a brother's love; 1 was
by nature trusting to a fault; I was inexperienced
; and i have expiated the error by suffering in
every vein of my heart and braiD!
The next morning we sat out on our return to
the North, Wolfgang insisting upon our going, as
nreviouslv arraneed I hid stonned at Resina's
<lv?r, to sec if possibly she was up, but &U *m <
dark and silent in her room. We left without ;
seeing her again.
We reached the University some time after the
commencement of the term, and had to upply ourselves
with double vigor and persevernnce to our i
studies, in order to make up for lost time.
From the time of our reentrance into College, '
Wallraven was everything that tbe most exacting I
and fastidious friend could desire him to be?
calm, self-possessed dignified, gracious?though
seldom, perhaps never, cheerftil. He never vol- |
untarily mentioned Regina to me: and if ever I i
would name her to him, he would govern a strong- '
ly rising emotion, and say," As Milton toiled for 1
fame, as Napoleon toiled for dominion, so 1 toil
for Regina! One day, when wealth and fame
and power nnd dominion?such dominion as G<d <
gives genius?are mine, I may win her! When
I have power to place her in the highest rank of
society, in the most civilized city in a yet uncivilized
world, thm I will ask her to share her fate
with mine?not till then!" or something like it.
He ilvt toil. He gained the highest approbation,
the honor of the professors The most brilliant
auguries were drawn for his future I sharid
them all. 1 felt his power. 1 felt that if he could
once conquer a peace in his own bosom, he might
become just what he pleased.
As for Regina, she never mentioned him in any
her letters to me; but 1 knew too well that he
was not forgotten, by the tone of sadness that per- i
vuded all her expressed thoughts and feelings.
. !
PART IV.
THE INSIDE OK THE OI.I) HAI.I,.
" A loaexome lodge,
That eland* *o 1 oar Id lonely glen.
The grim, tail wlnit.iweii, dim and darVe,
At-' hung with ley hri*r and \ ewe ;
No htii11 11e ring aim here ever shone,
No h.tleiiome breeze here ever blewe,
Nu child, mi inatruii, may you Rpye,
No cheerful host."? Percy'* lltlii/urs.
The winter vacation approached, and 1 once
more pressed Wallruven to return home with ine
and spend f'hristmas. He declined the invitation,
and, to my surprise and delight, invited me
to accompany him to his own home in Virginia
I accepted his proffered hospitality with much
pleasure, and, writing to Regina not to expect me
there during the holydays, I prepared to accompany
Wolfgang to Hickory Hall.
I cannot tell you with what interest, w'th what
highly excited curiosity, I set out upon this journey
to the interior of Virginia. I do not know
what f expected to find; I only know that an old,
very old and unknown country house always possessed
a mystic charm for me, and here was one
that, with its own peculiar mystery, took hold of
both alfection and imagination
We journeyed by stage until we reached Washington
city.
There, at the Indian Queen Hotel, we met Mr. 1
Wallraven's handsome travelling carriage, wish
the splendid black horses, the well-dressed coachman,
and mounted out-rider
Early upon the morning succeeding our arrival
at Washington city, we set out for the Valley of <
Virginia. You know how wild and beautiful, how
savage Rnd sublime, the scenery becomes, as you \
approach the Illuc Ridge. We travelled by easy
stages, and were two days in reaching the grand '
pass of the Hoar's Walk.
It was the evening of the second day when we 1
began slowly to ascend the mountain. '
It was nearly pitch dark. Floating masses of '
black, heavy, and lowering clouds obscured every '
ray, even of starlight. It was intensely, bitingly ^
cold. Down from our tight opened, as it seemed,
to the very centre of the earth, a vast profound
abyss of blackness, cloud, and shadow, from the f
depths of which gleamed fitfully a lurid Rtream J
of red light, flitting hither and thither as we ]
moved, like a jack-o'-lantern, amid the blackness (
of that ocean of shadows. 1
"That is our destination, that is my home? }
Hickory Hall"?said Wallravcn, pointing to the j
elfish light.
" That f How in the name of Providence are i
we to get down there V inquired 1, in real anxiety.
" The road is oertainly very dangerous on such
a night as thi^and I am about to order the lamps
lighted." This command he accordingly gave,
and the carriage was stopped, and the lamps were
lighted.
We started again, and, soon taming snarpty to
the right, begun to descend into the rale; but
before we hud proceeded many yards, the coachman
drew up the horses, and, turning round, said
that the lamps only tnnde the matter worse ; that
i the lights and shadow* on the downward and
precipitous road were deceptive and dungerou"; j
and finally gave it as bis opinion, that we had |
better alight and walk down which we nccord- |
ingly did. or, rather, we cl'mh>d down?while the
coachman led his horses slowly and carefully he- ]
hind us. An hour's hard toil brought us to the |
foot of the mountain, where we resumed our seats
in the carriage, and were driven swiftly towards |
the lurid light that m irked the site of Hickory
Hall The carriage passed through an iirrhed
and broken gateway, the light fitfully falling
npon the fragments of the old and glistening
red sandstone that had once formed the pillars of
the gate We stopped immediately before the
broad old-fashioned hall door, to which a (light
of broad oak stairs and a portico led.
An old white-headed negro, with a candle in
his hand, cams out aud met us at the door, and
saluting Wall raven as "Master Wolfgang,"
showed ua into?
One of those old time wainscoted halls so common
to the old mansion bouses throughout the old
neighborhoods of Virginia The dark and polished
oak floor was uoctrpeted, and the vast room
was lighted up, as with a eon ingestion, by an im- |
rnenae (Ire of large and biasing hickory logs that
roared and crackled in the huge chimney. Grim
portraits frowned from the dark, oak panelled
walls, and the battle of Yorktown raged furiously
above the chimney pieoe. Four or five richly
carved high-backed chair* drew themselvea
haughtily up, repelling all advances. Nothing
looked hearty and cheerful but the great and |
glowing fir* that wanned and lighted the room f
so delightfully, and blatad and crackled no gaily,
a* to make amenda for all.
" Will you go to your room now, or wait till i
after supper, F-irfleldl John, how soon will 1
supper be ready P aeked Wolfgang of me, aud I
of the negro, in a breath. |
" In half an hour, sir,' replied the old man who i
hod conducted us in.
"In half en hour; well, Fairfield, what eay <
vouT Will you go to your own room? or '
John!'' ]
" Sir I"
" What chamber have you got ready for Mr.
Fairfield
44 Mrs. Wall raven's room, sir."
"The devilI"
"Yes, sir. You wrote us that the young gentleman
was delicate, and that hi? room must he
comfortable. Now. air. Mrs Wallrnven's room
La the only one as doesn t leak when it rain.i. ond
it is coming on to rain, sir
"Very well. la there a fire kindled there?"
" Yes, air."
" Are Mr Fairfield's trunks carried up ?"
" Yes, sir."
" Very well. Fairfiehl, will you go now to
your room to change your dress, or will you remain
here until after supper?''
"I will remain here. Wallraren; hut I am
sadly afraid, n>y de#r fellow, that I hive turned
Borne one, some lady, out of her room?that
would be dreadful!"
"Somelady! Humph ! romancing again What
lady do you fancy you have turned out of her
room ?"
" Mrs. Wallraren."
"Ah! Mrs. Wallraren. certainly It was Mrs.
Wallpavej^a rhjmU r ; but she was the last occupant.
MetfsVe has rmiol it fhr Mime time ! !"e
easy, my dear fellow, the room is yours?only I
hope it really don't leak."
"John!"
"Sir."
" Where is my father?"
" In his library, sir."
" Let him know that we hare arrived, lie expected
us to-night."
" Yes, sir "
" Go, then."
The old servant left the room, and soon after
ihp donr onpnp.il. find?
A tall and venerable old gentleman, clothed in
deep mourning, and with a head of hair as white
as the driven snow, appeared. Wolfgang sprang,
bounded to meet him. The old man opened his
arms, and silently and sadly folded his son to his
bosom. Then he cime to me, and with a singular
blending of sweetness, sadness, and dignity,
welcomed me to his house. He had scarcely done
bo, when the door once more opened, and?
I raised my eyes to see one of the most msjestic
and heautiful women I ever beheld advancing
within it. She. like the old gentleman, was
drcssel in deep mourning, and her fine black hair,
glittering in a thousand jetty ripples, was turned
in large Madonna loops down her ch-eks, carried
hack, and in a large woven knot behind. She
was too tall and too dark for my ideal of feminine
beauty, but then her form was so finely
rounded, her face bo darkly, graciously, richly
beautiful?a Cleopatra she was. such as we picture
the dark Egyptian Queen for whom a world
was lost!
"My daughter, Miss Wallraven," said the old
gentleman, as the lady came in; and then, "Const
ant ia. my child, this is Mr. Fairfield, with
whom Wolfgang, by his letters, has already made
us so well acquainted. Welcome him to Hickory
Hall."
Miss Wallraven offered me the most beautiful
dark hand I ever saw, and looked at me with a
pair of large, dark, humid eyes, whose languid
lustre haunted me many a day and night thereafter,
and in a voice whose tones wore at once
very low, and very full, round, and melodious, cordially
bade me welcome.
Id a few momenta after this, supper was announced,
and we wont to the table. Such a supper!
It was one such as only Virginian housekeepers
know how to set out.
Yes, the supper was perfect ? not ro the
company. Wolfgang w;ts sombre , the old gentleman's
manner grave and courteous; Mi-s
Wallraven's dignified and gracious; all very
admirable, but not nt all enlivening.
I f. If an enlhimi.mtie admiration of Miss Wall
raven ; but it w.as precisely the sort of admiration
one would feel at suddenly beholding some marvellous
masterpiece of unture or of art?some
richly, gorgeously beautiful creation, whose very
existence seemed a wonder " tiueen of Egypt,'1
"Clsopiirj," " Night,"Starlight," all things
darkly splendid, grandly beautiful, Seethed parallels
for her. Gazing on her, I caught myself
repeating these lines of Ilyron, and thinking how
strikingly they portrayed her:
" She walks in beauty,tike the night
Of cloudless climes ami starry skies,
And all that's heft of dark and bright
Meet in her aspect and her eyes."
After supper, we returned to the old wainscoted
hall; more logs were thrown on the blazing
fire, ami we gathered around it. The evening
passed pleasantly, with conversation, music, &c
At eleven o'clock we separated for the night, and
Wolfgnng himself attended me to triy room. It
was in the second story In keeping with all the
house, it was an old-fashioned apartment, the
two principal features being a large tent bedstead
hung with dark-green damask, and a wide fireplace,
in which burned and glowed that inevitable
oountry blessing, a good wood fire.
"I will retort your (piestion. 'How do you
like my sister,' Fairfield?"
" Ves 1 that was friendly?was it not? Vou
never mentioned your sister to me before , never
prepared a poor fellow for the danger that lay
before him?a regular ambuscade !"
I repented this flippant speech in a moment,
when I saw how seriously Wolfgang took it.
"I am no egotist; I never was I do not talk
>f myself and my family; i never did," he replied
"Pooh! You me in to accuse me of egotism,
aecause I L ive talked so much about my sister
Well! It is true I thought Regina the eery rh-f
Petuvreof nature until I saw Miss Wallraven 1 She
lasastnni-hed me! She has token away my breath
with admiration ! with wonder ! Can beauty like
hat ciist anywhere else than in the ideal world
>f poets and artists? Can such rich beauty real
y live and move and have its being in the actual
world ? be sensible to sight and touch ?"
Wallraven looked really offended.
" Come!" said he, " Constantia never set up for
{ood looks that ever I fc?ard ; most certainly she
las no pretensions to beauty; and, as to rivalling
Miss Fairfield in that respect?pshaw! Fairfield,
'onstantia is no subjeot for jest, let me tell you !
When I asked you how you liked my sister, I meant
row did you like her tu a pretty good girl, altojether
?"
"And I tell you that she takes my breath away
with her unparalleled, her wonderful beauty!"
" I marvel if you are crsiy, or sarcastic!"
" I am in earnest?deeply in earnest"
1 When you say Constantia is good looking !"
" When I say she is magnificently beautiful!"
"Heaven mend your taste I Why, she is too
tall,-too large, too daik /"
"So was that wondrous t|ueen of Kgypt, for
whom the dnui-god Marc Antony lost the
world !"
" Hum! Go to bed, Fairfi?ld "
"She is the only Cleopatra I ever saw, or
dreamed of!"
"You have been reading Petrarch. Good,
night, Fairfield. Daylight, breakfast, and a foxhunt
to morrow, will set you right! Get to sleep
soon as you can "
He left me, evidently sincere in bis natural
brotherly blindness to his bister's superb style of
beauty.
I was In fact dreadfully wearied nut, and. as
sooq os he had left roe, I threw off my clothes,
blew out the candle, and jumped into bed.
I could not sleep
The blazing hickory fire in the fireplace
illuminated the whole roorn with a dazzling
brilliancy that would hare left sleep out of the
>|ueation, even if a female face, beautiful as an
houri, had not gazed mournfully at in* from the
wall opposite the blazing fire. It was Constnntia's
dark face, with less of dignity and more of lore,
more of sorrow, more of religion, in it* expression.
"The eyes were shadowy, full of thought
and prayer." It was a Madonna count en anoe, and
the longer I looked at it, the more I adored it.
Yea! it was not a face to be pissed over with
mere admiration, ho wsvir ardent that admiration
might be?it wis a face to be ndorul; and as I
fazed upon its heavenly loveliness, something like
religious devotion moved in my boaom, and almost
impelled me to kneel before that image of divine
beauty, love, and sorrow I fell asleep, at last, |
with my imagination full of that celestial countenance
and my soul full of prayer
Suddenly I awoke with a start I It seemed to
ine that I bad l>een aroused from slumber as by
the shock of a galvanic battery. I trembled even
after I was awake as with a vogue terror, of which
I should have felt ashamed had I not ascribed it
to a hot supper sud the nightmare. I looked
around the room and upon the beautiful picture.
The fire was burning down low, and the flame
Hashed up and down upon the opposite portrait,
giving a convulsive motion to the feiturea, as of
tobbing I looked at the sorrowful sobbing face
with a feeling of deep pity, at though it had indeed
been the living sufferer that it seem<-<|.
["here was such an indescribable look of life,
love, anguish, on the beautiful features, I felt a
dreamy, mysterious, hot intense desire to wipe I
away the tears from that pictured face. It was a I
(tood while before 1 could get to sleep That 1
beautiful countenance, silently convulsed in the I
fire light, fascinated me. If I determinately closed <
my eye*, they would fly open again, and fix upon
the pictured sufferer. Nay, even when my eyes
were closed, the lorely face was still present to
my mind, and it seemed to me to be heartless to
go to sleep with such an image of beauty, lore, '
and sorrow, l>efore me. I was too imaginative. '
Well! the time, place, and circumstances, made
tne so.
At last I fell asleep indeed; but through my 1
dreams still slowly moved the iraageon the wall? 1
beautiful, good, loving, suffering, as I felt her to 1
have been ; and with her moved another being?a
perfect spectre, that might have been the consort
of Death on the Pale Ilorse?an old, decrepid,
livid hag. with malign countenance ami gibbering
laugh, whose look chilled and whose touch froze
my blood with horror. Suddenly a noise, a fall,
a smothered cry, awoke me, and. starting up in my
bed, I saw in the red fire-light, between the chimney
and the side of my bed, the very hag of my
dream, livid ! malignant! gibbering ! struggling
violently against Wolfgang Wall raven, who, himself.
an embodied typhon, with ail hell biasing in
his light-gray eyes, held her!
[to be CONTINt'kdl
For the Nstlossl Kr?.
TO MRS. LYDIA MARIA CHILD.
by j. c. h.
While many turn with supercilious sir,
And shun transgressors with the greste.it eare,
With holy horror anil with " holy grin,''
(Hating the sinner as they do the sin,)
Shut their pure eyes upon the world without,
Thinking contamination would, no doubt,
Fasten npou their garments, and might stain
Their reputation uud a growing name
Kor piety and virtue, or what naught,
Should they In sinners' company be caught,
^K'en though attempting to reform the man,
Hy pointing out Kedemption's wondrous plan,)
And, under cover of religious aeal,
IVspising all who feel not aa they feel,
Wrapped in mantle, BiOorar and Pniog,
I.ike Pneit aud Levitt, pace the other aide,
Thy voice ie beard in gentle accent* el?ar,
And fall* like music ou the listening ear,
Persuading sinners to reform, until
The sweet persuasion breaks the stubborn will.
? ??? ??
A word of kindness spoken, when the heart
Throbs 'neath the burden of some hidden grief?
A look, a smile of sympathy, when start
The mind's pent sorrows, seeking for reliefMay
this be oft thy pleasure to impart,
And thus euhauce the joys of life, how bilef!
Hamilton, Ohio, Ftbruary, 1850.
brum the Louisville Journal.
OI K FOREST BIROS.
Rut listen to one who has henrd the straius
both of the mocking bird uud the nightingale?to
Audubon himself: "The musical powers of this
bird.'; says he, " hate often been taken notice of
by European naturalists, and persons who find
pleasure in listening to the songd of different
birds whilst in confinement or at large. Some of
these persons have described the notes of the
nightingale as occasionally fully equal to those of
our bird. 1 have frequently heard both species,
in confinement uud in the wild state, and, without
prejudice, have no hesitation in pronouncing
the notes of the European Philomel equal to those
i.:?k i.i -l s- J- ?
VI a V? ??oir} WlilCU, tUUI'l 8UC BlUliy UIliier
a Mozart, might perhaps in time become very
interesting in her way. But to compare her essays
to the finished talent of the mooting bird is,
in ray opinion, quite absurd."
We would not for a moment hurt the feelings
of the
Swuft bird, tttfct ftLuTiii the ti.'Ue of fully,
Moat musical, Uit Unchwly "
We would not pluck a feather from " the lightwinged
Dryad of the woods." But she must not
engage in ft contest with the monarch of songsters?with
the Shnkspeare of the grove. If she
does so, she will certainly meet with a defeat in
this "music's duel." She may aspire to the honors
of lyric poetry?she may tie the Collins, the
Cray, or the Heinous, of the woods?but she tuns',
not claim to he
"Sweetest Shakn|ie*re, fancy'* child."
That title among the feathered songsters belongs
.. 41... ?: 4_~1 ?f 4L. ^ > e
jn i uunii y hi i iir iiiiumici ill i nr Aliicriuau KirrMI.
The name applied to our songster doeit not give
a proper representation of his character. Though
he takes the notes of others, he utters them with
a grace of his own. Like Sbakspeare, he "invades
others like a conqueror." He is no inere
imitator. He is one
" Wliutu Nature's sclfe has made
I'd muck berndfe ami Truth tu imitate."
Neither is the hard of the forest always dramatic
Like Shiikepcare, he is svhj-cUte as well as o6j>.citee.
lie has his own notes?his sonnets?as well
as his dramas.
Superficial critics, too, have brought against
him the same accusation that men of the I fume
school have brought against Shakspenre?that he
mingles together the serious and the ludicrous.
Hut in this both Shakepeares follow nature. In
nature, the mournful and the mirthful are found
side by side, like light and shadow in a picture.
No painting can be all light or all shadow. Our
songster is Democritus and Heraolitus in one. At
one time, wit and humor (lash from hirn like lightnings
from a summer evening cloud, or rather,
the Ha.<-A>s come in suoh rapid succession that
they form a continued gleam, an aurora l/oreuhs of
humor. Soon he changes to a plaintive strain,
and a beautiful melancholy spreads itself over all
things. He brings up before you the memory of
joys departed, the spirits of the beautiful nud be
loved, whose forms are with you no more. As
you listen to him, even the laugh and the song of
other days are echoed hy memory in pensive tones,
und the brightest scenes of post enjoyment are
enveloped in a sombre, though soft and pleasant
atmosphere. Vou seem to listen to a pitying angel
singing a lamentation ovsr man's perishing
hopes.
Hut let us leave the " bard sublime," and turn to
" The humble poets,
Whose suugH gurh from the heart,
A? ahuwera from the olotid* of sum mar,
Or tear* from the eyelid* I'art."
Let us first turn to other songsters of the same
family?of the genus lurrlus. Here we have the
thrushes, the c it-bird, the robin, &c. Some of ,
these, like the mocking bird, are dramatic They ,
sre the Beaumont* and Fletchers and Hen John- ,
sous, but not the Nhnkspearrs of the forest. We j
think even the poetical Wilson has not done justics
to the cat-bird, tie who rises in the early
twilight of summer will hear from the neighbor- ,
ing tree notes which send gladness to the heart,
and aome which even remind him faintly of the ,
mocking bird. We are intimately acquainted ,
with one of these birds, whom for several years j
we have delighted to call friend. He leaves us
at the approach of winter; but we know of few
. _ 1_ . k - .(, [? than
II l|'|>K-r IJI'MIl*'|i 10 IU III r lunwifiug njn.up, vui*u
wht n we awake on a beautiful morning, ami hear
bia first greeting. Ilia cut-cry, it must be conf>
wed, is not the moat beautiful aound in the
world, but the f tcefious fellow only doea the
thing for sport, just aa w!l-educ?ted men some*
times make use ofc<nt terms and popular phrases
Ilia eye hna a mi-chievnua twinkle while he ia at
it, an<l he Inugha iu his sleeve at the simpleton
who thinka him in earnest. Me is our feathere<l
Charles Lamb.
Our Hmita will not permit us to do more than
allude to the brown thrush, the wood thrush, and
water thrush. The song of the brown thrush ia
generally preferred to tha' of the robin ; but the
robin ia our Chaucer. There is such a simple
gladnees In bia morning notes?be j>our* forth bis
song with such tetloua and hearty good-will, that
we cannot refuse him this title. Me rescmblea
f'haueer, too, in the fict that his strains form a
prelude to the genorxl hurst of harmony in spring
I le Is the ' morning star ' of bird poetry, aa Chaucer
ia of Koglish
Hut we hear the numeroua tribe of warhtera?
the syliu.?all clamorous to be heard Mere
ia the little judigo bird, nttling away with its
busy song not of (be most elevated kind, but etill
pleasing. Me is the bird Anacreon, who makes
no pretensions to any deep feeling, and is too careless
even to laugh at the manifestation of deep
feeling in others Hut leave we him, to listen to
the delioi-c.. notes of the blue bird, our little birdangel,
whom we love as we love the sunshine
or the blue sky. The notea of this favorite bird
of oars are few, but they are notes from Heaven.
On a warm day in spring, when tbe earth is about
to burst out in its song of flowers, when the mild
air itself seems to be music from the blue sky,
then our little warbler open* his throat, and nature
herself sings in his voice. His notes are
Pew, for there are few such notes to be found in
the stores of haruiouy Those few notes speak of
jther climes,
' Where the ruirrsnt field* are of dailling glow,
And the flower* of everlasting blow.''
His notes affect us like the poetry of Spenser'
and, though his song is so short he ?.? our Spenser
jf the grove.
Rut we have no room to speak of our feathered
Wordsworth, the Raltiniore oriole; or of our Heman's,
the dove ; or of our Aristophanes, the bobo-liukuni;
or of our other feathered poetical
friends without number.
" And now, wouMit thoQ, O. man, delight the ear
With earth'* delicious sound*, or charm the eye
With beautiful creation* T Then |>a** forth.
And find them midst those many colored birds
That flit the glowing wood*. The tlcbest hues
Lie in their splendid plumage, and their tones
Are sweeter than the music of the lute,
Or the harp's melody, or the note* that gush
So thrillingly from Iteauty'e ruby lip."
Krum the N ew KngianJer.
WENDELL riMLLIPS.
Wkndii.i. Puillifs is the Patrick Henry of
New England. If he has less natural eloquence,
lees thrilling pathos, than the orator of the Revolution,
he has more polish and as much power of
origination. He is a ripe scholar, a lawyer of no
ordinary caliber, a magazine writer of considera
ble note, and a reformer of the most radical school
He is the pet speaker of the East. He has great
power of perception, sincere sympnthy for the oppressed,
and wonderful command over the 6tores
of varied knowledge treasured up in his retentive
memory. He has the gifts that universities cannot
bestow, the current ooin that cannot be counlerfeited,
ami will he widely circulated?the I
prophet's vision, the poet's fancy, the light of 1
genius He is at home on the mountain top, 1
and when he soars skyward he is not lost among
the clouds. He has all the sagacity of the man
of business united with the enthusiasm of the
Utopian. He seems to be equally related to Maia
the eloquent, and Jupiter the thunderer He i
admires the eternal, the infinite, the heaven-like, I
the God-approximating in the nst?re of '
whatever may be the color of the envelope that
coDtaina these attributes.
Mr. Phillips's speeches have in them the breath
of life?hence they live loop to swell the bosom
and make the heart throb He dors not go to the
lamp of the old sohools to light his torch, but dips
it into the sun, which Accounts for its gorgeous
fffulgence. lie is something of a metaphysician,
but is too much absorbed in the work of revolutionizing
public sentiment to devote his attention
to subtle research and profound analysis lie
makes but little prepiration, and always speaks
extemporaneously ; consequently, some of his addresses
are like a beautiful damsel in tUshnbiile.
His quotations then are ringlets rolled up in papers,
and the main part of the lecture like a loose
gown, which now and then reveals a neck of pearl
and a voluptuous bust of snowy whiteness and
beautiful proportions He is often brilliant,
never tedious. Sometimes his scholarship is seen
conspicuously, but it is never pompously displayed.
When the father of the Fugitive Slave
Law committed political suicide in the Senate of
the United States, Mr Phillijai took him for a
subject, and dissected him in the presence of a
college of reformers While in the process, he
discovered that the blood which ought to have
circulated through the heart had ascended to the
brain Upon a more minnte examination, it was
Ascertained that the bunch of muscles, commonly
called the heart, was completely dried up, and
quite black, to say nothing of its hollowuess.
It is a rich treut to hear Weudell Phillips speak
to a large and appreciative audience. Let the
reader fancy he is at a mass meeting in some forest
temple. The sun shines as though it wis
delighted with the gathering , the shy birds porch
in silence on ?.he trciiM, UN IbOUpli |
they were aatomshed at the proceeding , a song
mulltui tKu Us] L in rina with iiioln.lv Tlin nViuir. I
man announce* the name of a favorite speaker.
A genteel man steps gracefully upon the platform
lie itt neatly, not foppishly, dressed. A
pleasant smile illuminates his nohle face. He
leaps at a single bound into the middle of the Kubjtcf
He reasons and his logic ia on fire; he describes,
trad the subject is daguerreotyped on the
retina of memory; he quotes from some classic
author, and the excerpt is like an apple of gold
in a picture of silver; he tells a atory, and the impression
it gives is indelible ; he makes an appeal,
and tears llow freely , he declaims, and the people
are intensely excited; he soars, and his lips are
touched with a live coal from the altar of inspiration
When he stops, the hearer has a pain in
his side, and work for his pocket handkerchief
Mr. Phillips believes in a " higher law," so he
appeals to the sense of the everlasting in man
" He plays the Titanic game of rocks, and not
a game of tennis-bnlls," and yet he floods the
heart with singular and thrilling pleasure. He
is the primed mouth-piece of an eloquent discharge
who presents, applies the linstock ami
fires oil', and the conservatives who stand with
their fingers in their ears are startled by the report.
is there a mob? His words are like oil
on the troubled billows of the chafed sea; he rebukes
the winds of strife and the waves of fiction,
and there is a great calm The serene face of his
bosom friend, the leader of the league, is radiant
with smiles ; the severe front of a turncoat or a
tyrant present begins to relax ; the doughface is
asliamc d of himself, and determines that hereafter
he will be "a doer, and not dough;" the stiff- 1
limbed finds a hinge in his joints, and his supple
knees bow in homage to the speaker.
Hut I must find some fault, or 1 shall he deemed
a flatterer. Let me see?what shall I say? 1
"Oh, he is an impracticable radical; ho goes for
the dissolution of the Union, the dismemberment
of the church, the destruction of the politioal parties."
In this he is partly right and partly
wrong "The Christian should do for Christ's
sake what the worlding does for the sake of humanity,"
then there will be no neoessity for such a
reproof. The body politic should sever the leprous
limb of slavery,'and then America would
uot limp so as to become a laughing-stock and a
by-word to the nations of the earth. The political
parties at the North are leavened with antislavery
doctrines, and it is hoped they will
soon rise to the level of that benevolence which
will render such rebukes inappropriate. I declare
it is difficult for me to find any fault in him
Reader, you may be Herod, but I cannot be Pilate,
and consent to his oruoifiiion. I must confees
that I love the man, although 1 cannot endorse
all his creed. It is a pity that be limits his
usefulness by his fierce warfare against men And
measures that are too long or too short for his I
iron bedstead. '
Mr. Phillips is a man of fortune, and one of
the distinguished few *ho contribute to support
the enterprise in which he feels an interest us i
much as he expends in sustaining himself and
family. Physically, he is a noble specimen of a
man. His head is sparingly covered with reddish
hair? j
" The golden treasure nature showers down
(in tboim foredoomed to wear fame's gulden crowu."
A phrenologist would pronounoe his head
irorlh more than the Nouth would lie willing or I
iblc to give for it. lie haa large ideality and t
mbliinity, hence he soars. He has large compar- t
son an J cisnality, so he reasons by analogy. He '
is* largv hope and benevolence, and the genial <
lunahii e of good nature irradiates hie count ejance
lie hue large firmness and adhesiveness,
ind be abides by bis friends through evil and
food report. His face is pleaaant. ami indicates
?K|uisi<s taste, pure generosity, and Roman (irinie*s
I|e is now in the full rigor of manhood
idd ever ready at a moment's warning to battle
'or what he deems the right Wo be unto the
uan who enters the arena with him, for he wields
I two-edged sword of Damascus steel. Many
itrong men have been slain by bim, yea many
nighty men have fallen before him Had he
jnited with either of the great political parties,
it would have been chuseu as a champion ; for he
m as brilliant as Choats, without his hedlaiutlish
diosyncracies , clear as (Ray, without his aocouinodsling,
human-sacrificing, compromising disposition;
learned as Winthrop, without his bookshneas,
and dr twing-room mannerism ; genial as
"ass, without his dullness, Aery as Benton, withiut
his unapproachable self sufficiency. He
would entertain a promiscuous sudienoc better
than either of the above-named men. He is not
10 logical as the late lamented Daniel Webster,
not so luminous as the evar-oonsisteut Calhoun,
sot so Isarned as lbs second Adams, not so thrilling
as Kentucky's favorits, aud yet k# is a mors
instructive and more interesting speaker than <i
rither of those distinguished inen ever were, evitn 1
in their palmiest days.
Wendell Phillips is universally esteemed and
beloved. Kven those who hate his creed, and
dread his power, admire his disinterested kiudness
and irresistible eloquence. Ckay<>*.
A VERITABLE DRAMA.
N. r. Willis, one of the editors of the Hum*
Journal, says?We chanced, while at Constantinople,
to be well acquainted with the lady whose
career has terminated in the tragedy described
below. We will give a translation of the incidents
before recording what we knew of her.
They are copied, in the Cotirrvr ./?.< K'uls Unis of
this city, from the Semaphore, a journal of Marseilles.
which usually gives the news of the Orient
on its first arrival at that port. The event, that
paper states, hud made a powerful sensation at
Constantinople."
[transi.ation ]
A young Greek girl, of extraordinay beauty,
was married some years since to an Knglish physician.
Or Millingen, who had taken up his residence
in the Capital of the Hast. After the birth
of seven children, the husband having discovered
an intimacy between his wife and Feth-Pachn,
the nephew of the Sultan, procured a divoroe.
Soon after, the divorced beauty made a conquest
of Mehemet-P.ieha, pacha of Belgrade, who married
her on condition of her embracing the Mahoroedan
religion.
Allhniltrh vprv mnoli In lnvn \fcKittn?t ili.l nnt
-r? ??V.. ... .V.v, ww?v. "VV
seem, after a while, to he completely happy. One
Jay, at last, he reproached his wife that she had
home him no child. Discovering thus the cause
of his sadness, she determined to retaiu her empire
over him hya deception. A few weeks after,
she pretended to a prospect of maternity, and, in
process of time, presented him with a noble
boy?bought or stolen for her by a faithful slave
who was devoted to her interests. The village,
which was the birth-place, gave splendid fetes iu
honor of the event ; the child was named Belgrade
Bey. and the delighted Pacha had not the
slightest doubt that the infant was his own.
Soon after this. Mehemet was recalled from
his Government of a Proviuce, and sent to London
(where he now is) as the Turkish Ambassador
to that Court. But, before his departure, he
expressed the wish to have another son, a brother
to the beloved and beautiful Prince Belgrade, and
his wife declared significautly at parting, that
there was little doubt but his wish would hegrat\tiKV
Leaving net ber VSvne'wi
tinople, the Envoy took his leave, and the child !
was duly born, and the news sent to England,
and the name given to the second Prince was
Usnud Bey.
A few days after his birth, Usnud Bey fell dangerously
ill, and, hy order of the physician, he
was sent with his nurse to Pera, a rural village
on the Bosphorus, where foreigners reside,
and where the air is healthier than in the city.
Tbo infant soon returned in perfect health, in
charge of the same faithful nurse who had alone
assisted at the two births ; but there was one person
in the household who refused to recognise the
healthy child as the same one that was sent away I
This was nn old eunuch, who had brought up the I
Pacha from boyhood, and who was the confidential
master of his dependants In the presence of
the other servuuts, he said to his mistress:
" Madam, if that is Usnud Hey, he has miraculously
changed while breathing the uir of the
infidels at Pern I"
The mother said not a word, but, giving the
eunuch a look of fierce hatred, she sei/eu her
child and left the apartment.
Hut suspicion had taken possession of the mind
of the old slave, who had discovered the history
of his mistress, nnd w is well aware of the illegitimacy
of Helgrsde Hey The excessive 8(lection
of Mehcmct for that child had alone prevented
hiin, hitherto, from disclosing the secret. This
apparent repetition of the deceit, however, made
him resolve to clear his breast. He betook himself
to Pera, collected, with carc and sagacity,
circumstance aft' r circumstance, nnd established
indisputable evidence that the veritable llsnud
Hey died of his disorder nnd that nnother child,
Hough* nf poor parents. ?? substituted in his
pluOe. Hetnruing to his mistress, he took the
changeling in his arms, and boldly addressed her
" Madam, send back this child. I beg of you, to
Mossud, the fisherman ! I know all!"
The pretended mother, at this, became lividly
pale, and left, him with the single exclumation,
"It is well!"
Just before the hour of mid-day prayer, the
mistress inquired for the eunuch. As steward of
the household and his masters favorite, he had
sumptuous apartments of his own and a bath to
himself. She was answered that he was, that
moment, in the hath. I ler resolution was at once
taken. The old man was attended hy two servants,
while performing his daily ablutions, nnd
these she found in the ante-room,and ordered imperiously
away. She was alone with him.
"You wished to know everything?" she abruptly
said
" Yes, and I know everything I" he replied.
" To whom have you spoken of it?"
"To no one yet?hut I shall write to my master!"
fcL
" For how much will you keep (he secret ?"
" I will not keep it?I will write Immediately I"
" //'re, th'n, if n %'al for i/onr bttrr
And, with these words, she threw a cord suddenly
around the neck of the old man, tin lie lay
In his hath, and sprang back to strangle him
Weak and terrified, he could offer hut feeble resistance,
and soon lost consciousness. One of the
dismissed slaves had stealthily returned, and
found her struggling nt the cord, und exclaiming,
with the ruge of a fury
" Vou would know all! know more, then!
Write now to your master! Write now, old
rool I"
At these vociferations, and the chokings of the
victim, the slave (led, spreading the alarm with
cries of terror. Some of the servants rushed
into the street with the dreadful news, ami others
hurried to the bath-room, where the old eunuch,
dragged from his hath, had fallen senseless ou the
marble floor
Deliberately unloosing the cord, the mistress
calmly ami silently walked through the terrified
crowd, aud gained her own apartments.
The eunuch had been a kind old tnan to the
other servants, and the distress, at the frightful
vcene hefore them, was unbounded. Kvery possible
effort was made to restore him, but in vain,
lie rallied for a few momenta,summoned strength
enough to reveal the circumstances given above,
xnd died with the words on his lips
All the. vast city of Constantinople was aroused
with electric rapidity by the news Crowds rushed
to the palace, and, spite of the high rank of
ihc guilty woman, the Cadi ordered her to prison.
\ courier was despatched to London with the intelligence,
and she will remain imprisoned, and
he affair investigated farther, till his return
rhe criminal, to ull <|ueslious addressed to her,
jroudiy asserts her right to the life of the slave,
in 1 makes no other attempt at palliation.
From th# l'liila<t?l|?tit? Kerning Itullilln.
i u si an; ii u it ii u i %i ivaonuv no u i/nn l Til
br, iir.it r nun .11 /i.?ir.nti//i,v iiw ntui n 111
II LONDON.
H'Cut Development in Vainer.?Dr. JVsiier'? S'uilirs
ami Chang* of Vinot.
Lommjn, September 11, 1 %.'?(>.
Of course the object of my visit u> thim country
no occupied much of my attention, even during
ny first week in the world's capital. I bare nude
he acquaintance of several of the inost eminent
iomenpathist* in London, Drs. Dudgeon, Laurie,
4uin, Curie, and others; have visited their hoautals
and dispensaries, They nra very attrscive
men?learned, and very cordial. I bud them
natructive and agreeable in a high degree They
,re much interested, and of course I have become
0, in u rner.nl develop- m- nl 0/ hum-ojniihi/ 1/1 Vainer.
t has recently appeared 'bit I)r Tenter, a phyician
of the I Intel Dieu, a great hospital in Paris,
he very name of which is identified with thoae
d the greatest physicians of the world, and to he
thyaician in which is evidence at once of high
hbility?i say it has appeared that Dr. Tossier
ion been for several years past silently testing
he claims of homeopathy in his hospital practic ,
md has now come out decidedly in its favor, havng
TiHOuiieetl till ot/i-r pnlflu in hit ninth fortht
/?/<> i>l tno yi at. lie has published his experience
of the homeopathic treatment of pneumonia
ind cholera From the excellent preface of his
vork which lies before me 1 cannot forbear transsting
a few paragraphs;
"Of the many who Lave blamed the introducion
of homeopathy into thv hospitals, I know that
oine have done so through a laudable feeling of
lumanity for the patients, and a desire to sustain
he dignity of the profession. They will learn
>y these reports that humanity has only g???"/
>y its introduction, and that consequently the
h^ni/y of Ike piofestvon could have nothing to
oee."
Hpesking of the experiments, he says:
" Pucuuiunia is a disease frequent, acute, seri
j ous. whose symptoms sre marked and not easily
mistaken. I chose it, therefore, as the subject of
j tuy first experiment with the method of Hahnemann
After I had carefully studied the writings
of Hahnemann and his disciples, I read some
books containing descriptions of ca^es treated by
his method. Alter hating thus learned the spirit
of the formula?sum I in situild>u$ curaiUur?it remained
to satisfy myself as to the action of remedies
in intinitessimal doses To this question I
devoted six months of clinical experiment, choosing
such cases, both scute and chronic, as 1 felt
assured I should not injur*. At the end of a few
days the evidence that the mrdicines did act was
complete; nevertheless, I persevered for six
months It then remained for me to test the/W?.j"vtic
value of the new method. As for pneumonia,
it required particular precaution. In fact,
no light responsibility rests on him who ventures
to substitute, in the treatment of so grave a disease,
a new method for one which experience
sanctions. I could consent to run no great risk.
I managed in this way. In ordinary treatment of
pneumonia, the first indication is blood letting.
This, where properly administered, produces a
rmitisiOH of the febrile excitement, with sweat,
&e. Hut there still remains the consolidation of
the intl tuied lung to be resolved, which is usually
effected by tartar emetic and blisters It would
be imprudent to abandon to itself the iutlanimation
which still remains The fever would, in that,
case, light up again, and the lung go ou to suppuration
or carnifieatiou I ventured, however,
in the case of a patient who ha l already been
subjected to blood letting, to substitute phosphorus
3 30 for tartar emetic, which I should otherwise
(allopathically) have administered The patient
recovered without any relapse.
I repeated this experiment many times with the
same result. But I might reasonably attribute th.s
success to the blood-letting energetically employed
at the outset. All, therefore, that I could
iustlv ootiotn le from mv first essays was that if
I hud done uo good. 1 had at least, by my new
method, done no harm. I resolved then to diminish
gradually the number of the bleedings at the beginnings
of the treatment, and not to wait the
remission before having recourse to the llahnemauniun
treatment; still keeping in reserve, however,
the ordinary treatmeut in case amelioration
should not he speedily manifest. I diminished,
then, the bleedings by one, by two, by three, by
four inthejryxt mtient. beginning the udminisvraVioh
of the uew lehieaies wt.v cefsive?y neater
and nearer the beginning of the treatment. 1
began with a desc of acouite, followed by a dose of
bryonin in twelve or twenty-four hours The
less 1 bled, the more markedly were the patients
relieved after the admiuistriitiou of the inliuitessinal
remedies. I decided finally to bl???l no
more, and to have recourse entirely to the'homeopathic
remedies.'
" i cannot express the anxiety with which these
first experiments filled me. In spite of the injunctions
I left with the attendants to bleed us soon as
an aggravation should appear, in spite of reiterated
visits which I paid to these patients, it
seemed always as if some great catastrophe were
impendlug. Yet nothing of the kind occurred.
The patients first submitted to the treatment
recovered, and the rest were rapidly relieved.
For two years hut one boa died. Two others who
died were receivtd when already in thengouies of
death. Since this time 1 have employed the same
treatment in a great number of cases of pneumonia,
and my first fears have disappeared. I any no
more. Facts speak the rest.''
INDUSTRIAL EVIIIItlTKIN ill' hil.
KElilLATIONS ll\ TIIK < OMMIWIOKER* I!S
LONDON.
1 The exhibition in to bo opened in i Iy?i? Park,
London, on the 1st day of May, 18f?l. The
building. constructed ctiielly of cast iron and plate
glass, I.min feet long. KIN feet wide, nnd lt)S feet
high, with a machinery room, ttrtC feet long, and
18 feet wide, will be ueurly tire proof.
Goods will be received between the first of
J.innnry end the first of March, ls.il After the
latter day, none can be received.
The productions of all nations will be exhibited
together tinder one general classification
I. Articles exhibited will he divided into four
sectionH, viz:
I Itaw materials and produce.
J Machinery
.'I. Manufactures.
I Sculpture models and plastic art.
ft. Exhibitors will deliver their goods at their
own charge and risk at the building in Hyde
Park.
0 Articles liable *to perish during the period
of eightmonths, from the 1st of January to the
1st of September, are not suitable to he exhibited.
This applies more particularly to certain
articles derived from tho animal and vegetable
kingdoms
7. Exhibitors will beat the cost of their own
insurance. Glass cases, when n?|uired, must be
furnished hy the exhihiter.
8. Any exhihiter may, by permission of the
I Itoyal Commissioners, employ a servant to keep
in order and explain the articles which he exhibits,
but not to invite purchasers.
!I Prices tire not to be aflixed to tin' articles
exhibited, but may at the optic u uf the exhihiter
be stated in the invoice scut to the Koyal Commissioners
10. No articles of foreign manufacture cau bo
admitted for exhibition, unltts tin y conn: with tlf
t ryrrs% sanction of the central authority of tin country
of trhuh Pi' v nm the jiroilucit.
11. Goods will be admitted without payment of
duty, ami sealed with tho official seal of the hoard
of customs till their srrivul at the building, hut
bonds will he required of the owner or agents for
the payment of duties in case they shout I lie moM
in England after the exhibition is over. No goods
can he removed until the exhibitou is finally
closed.
IV. The rules of awarding prizes will conform
to the section or department to which the goods
belong
1II In the department of rate mulrrutl am! jnoiluir,
prixes will he awarded upon a consideration
of the value and importance of the article and the
superior excellence of the particular specimens
exhibited nnd in the case of prepared materials
the novelty and importance of the prepared product,
and the superior skill and ingenuity iu the
preparation, will tie considered.
14. In machin'.iy, prizes will he given with reference
to novelty in the invention, superiorty in
the execution, increased etliciency or increased
economy in the use of the article exhibited, its
importance in r .ocial view, and the difficulties
in perfecting it, will also be taken into account.
IIn nwuuf'tcturti, increased usefulness, such
as permanency of colors, improved forms snd patterns,
superior quality, or higher skill in work
manship, new materials used, and combinations of
materials, beauty of design in form or color, with
reference to utility, and cheapness relatively to
excellence of production, will he the bases of
decision.
Irt, la iculitture viodth ami the pi attic art, rewards
will have reference to the beauty snd originality
of the specimens, to improvements iu the proocss
of production, to the oppliontinn of nrt to manufactures,
snd, in the case of models, to the subject
they represeut.
17. Juries, to consist partly of Englishmen and
partly of foreigners, will lie composed of men of
known ability to form a judgment, shove the
oiiurtl.iSi.ri r\f uIiKaii nntlnnul nr t ml i vis! tift? bar.
" * I?
tiality,
IN No competitor for a priie can he placed on
a jury in the particular department in which he
in a competitor.
lit. To exbibiter* from the United States there
hare been allotted of ground apace, H5,000 aquaro
feet, auhjfct to a deduction of one half for paaanges,
and of wall or hangiog apace, 10,000 kquare loot,
not autiject to deduction.
The eccentric Dr. Ilylea had, at one time, a remarkably
stupid Irish girl ns a domestic. With
a look and voice of terror, he said to her iu haste,
"(Jo and tell your ni'Rtrcaa that Dr. Ilyh* bm
put an end to himself The girl tiew up stair*,
and, with a fie* of horror, exclaimed, at the top
of her lunga, " Dr Hylca hit* put an end to himaelf
I" The aatoaiabed wife ami d iught< r* rushed
into the parlor, nud there was the Doctor calmly
walking about with a part of a cow's tail, thit he
had picked up in the atrcet, tied to hie coat or
caeeock behind.
A Gknkrlouy.?Old Williams, of Doncaeter,
had, in the year 1700, two daughtera by his first
wife, the eldeat of whom wax married to John
Willey, the eon, and the youngeat whi married to
John Willay, the father; tbia Willey had u
daughter by hia tirst wife, whom old William*
married, and by her had a aon ; therefore, Willey
the father's aecund wife oould any?"My father
la my aon, and I am my mother*! mother; my al*ter
i* my daughter, and I am grandmother to toy
brother.''
" jsaM