Newspaper Page Text
corner ot the room, and burying his head in the bed .lothes, tried thus to suppress his cries. ‘ Mrs. Aikin, aware that the wants of these suf. i'erers would not justify a moment’s delay of the suc cor they needed, called the boy to her and despatch ed him to tier husband with a note, which she hasti ly wrote w ith a pencil on the back of a letter.— While he was gone, she had leisure to observe the extreme wretchedness of the apartment, in which there was not an article of furniture, save a straw bed and its scanty covering. There were shreds of the garments strewed about the floor, the ‘light stufl',’ the poor crazed woman hud been burning to warm her infant. ‘ "Have you been long sick, my friend she asked, w ith the faint hope of obtaining a rational answer. ‘ “ Sick ! sick I’’ replied the mother, “yes, a good w hile, 1 have been sick a trifle ; the intermit tent and the typhus, but 1 believe I am getting the better ot it a!!, for yesterday I felt quite hungry.” ‘“And did you take any thing?” asked Mrs. Aikin. ‘ “ Oh yes,” she answered, drawing near to Mrs. Vikin, and whispering with an air of great self com placency, “1 did indeed take something—all I had n the house—an excellent thing to blunt the edge of one’s appetite—laudanum—you know, Ma’am, it is doctor’s stull', and the doctors know how to cure an appetite.” ‘ “ Clod help you, poor woman 1'’ exclaimed Mrs, \ikin. God help me reiterated the poor creature, with a piercing cry, “ there is no help for me,” anil ■■lie sunk on the side of the bed and wept freely.’ We could have wished that the repentance of the dishonest hoy had been described in more striking terms, that his sufferings might have operated as a more effectual warning. Some readers mav pt r haps think that the story would have been imnrov cd if the last two paragraphs had been omitted.— The present of the breast pins to children in a situa tion such as is described may not appear the most appropriate. Extract from the \ddress of Solomon Sucthwick, Esq. delivered at the opening oflhe Apprentices’ Library in Albany. Let me warn you against an error, which too many apprentices fall into, who conn ive that from 'he moment they are indented, their parents have :io fur"her claims upon them. It is true indeed hat the parent cannot claim any thing which is due to the master, lint filial piety and afli-c.lion are tics of nature which no artificial or adventitious ties can sever. Continue, therefore, not only to love, but to cherish, if requisite, so far as \ou can do so, your tender and affectionate parents: and the more especially if they are labouring under age and infirmity, and cast into the vale of poverty.— Give all the succor in your power to their wants, soothe their declining years, and their infirmities, by acts of giatitude and kindness : And beware if ' you would not kindle against you the wrath of your eternal Judge, in the great day of account, how you adopt any course of conduct that shall wring their aged hearts with anguish, and precipitate their grey hairs with sorrow to the grave, n ' never le’ it he said of you,that you have with parricidal insensibili ty dissolved the ties of filial aRjpction ; that you have barbarously and wickedly “ Steep’d a mother’s couch in tears, And ting’d a father’s glowing cheek with shame.” Hut rather let me anticipate, as I do with emotions inexpressible, indescribable, that you will not only never disturb the peace of a father’s mind, but that your mother’s shall realize the bright, the consol ing picture of the sweet I’oet of Hope : “ I.o ! at the couch where infant beauty sleeps, Her silent watch the mournful mother keeps, She, w hile the lovely babe unconscious lies. Smiles on her slumb’ring child with pensive e\ es, And weaves a song of melancholy joy:— Sleep, image of thv father, sleep, mv bnv. No lingering hour of sorrow shall be" thine ; No sigh that rends thy father’s heart and mine . Bright as his manly sire, the son shall be reform and soul: but, ah ! more blest than he ' 1 Thy fame, thy worth, thy filial love, at last, Shall soothe this aching heart for all the past. With many a smile my solitude repay. And chase the world’s ungenerous scorn away. And say, when summoned from the world and thee, I lay my head beneath the willow tree. Wilt thou, sweet mourner, at my stone appear. And soothe my parted spirit lingering near ? Oh ! wilt thou come, at evening hour to shed The tears of memory o’er my narrow bed ; With aching temples on thy hand reclined, Muse on the last farewell l leave behind, Breathe a deep sigh to winds that murmur low, And think on all my love, and all my wo I Ml'. C.urrm, one of the Editors of the New-York. ; Statesman, who has been for some time travelling | in Europe and edifying the public with his obser : rations, has given, in one of his last letters, an ac ! count of his visit, in l’aris, “/« tee the king am! j rnyal fami!a t.u! in public at the palace of the Tail \ Iccic.t—'t he following is an extract : \\ e at length reached the dining room, which is spacious but was filled to overflowing, even to the w inflows, with ladies and gentlemen who had been presented at court, and were therefore privileged to remain during the w hole bampjet—a preroga tive which I felt little anxiety to enjoy. Tempor ary boxes had been erected around the hall, over looking the table. These were filed with ladies in foil dresses, who sat all the evening patientlv, watching all the important movements at the fes tive board. A little incident occurred, showing to w hat extent a taste for such scenes is carried by j fashionable people in Europe A general In the l>r itish army, who bail behaved with great gallantrv in several battles, and received two wounds in the service of his country, tamely suffered himself to be pushed from place to place by the waiters of his majesty, all for the sake of seeing a man, of probably not half the talent or worth of himself, munch his bread and take his soup The table was in a semi-circular form, on the outerside of which, near the centre, the King was seated, with the Duke d’Angouleme on his right, the DuchesS'-dJAngouleme on his left, and the Duchess dc Henry on the extreme right. They all sat at respectful distances, looking cold and un social enough, staring at the crowd, and the crowd staring at them —His majesty is a genteel man in his appearance, with rather a thin face, and a grey head, with no marks of decrepitude, though n r. at the age of sixty-nine.—There was nothing pecu liar in his dress, lie seemed less embarrassed hr his awkward situation, than the rest of the roys: group, who sat like statues over their plates, while he handled his knife and fork with a good deal < rase and dexterity. His whole appearance is s . like the Philadelphian, who accompanied u>, tha tile latter lias several times been taken for tin king, while walking the streets of Pads. All the others are a poor lot. The Duke and. Duchess d’Angoulcme are both coarse in their fca turcs, particularly the latter, who lias a hold mas dime lace, and looks as n she might be a Catharine 01 hes~... in churacter. she is said, howc\ er, to he a woman ot talents, and to have an ascendency ii. the caninet, whence originate all the ultra measures ol the Government. The king has not half the ability ot Toms \\ III. — Aware -i ins weakness, he is inclined to relax the cords ot government, am to pursue a popular course; out his authority is overruled by others. 11 is son, the Dauphin, is nov. at the age of about 5P, and looks as old as h: father. Oil las shoulders, and after him, the young Duke of Bordeaux, who is now a sick child and w. not at the table, the future hopes of Trance res'. I he Duchess ot Berry is a small, inferior looking woman, with nothing prepossessing in her appear anre. Both of the ladies were dressed in black, w ith their robes profusely studded with diamonds Our observations were limited in time to a few minutes, occupied in passing through the room, close by the table ; but by throwing our observa tious into joint stock, and by balancing opinions, we have probably arrived at a suflicient degree ot accuracy. On the whole, this was the greatest farce I have ever attended. It is converting the palace into a menagerie, and the royal family into so many lions, fur the amusement of the multitude. —Intelligent Frenchmen consider the show, which recurs annually, in the same light as 1 have done It is a relic of royalty, at least two centuries behind the age, which the mere progress of reason lux rendered ridiculous. VARIETY. The marriage of Alexander III , King- of Scot land, to Margaret, daughter of Henry II., King ot England, both infants often years of age, occasion ed a display of magnificence exceeding all that had ever been seen before in England. Hesides the Kings of England and Scotland, with their retinues, the <pit en dowager of Scotland, who resided in France, joined the company with a splendid train of the nobles of that country. Notwithstanding tlie rapine of the popes and the folly of the cru sadrs, the nobles of England afforded to make a most splendid display. On the marriage day, Ut ceniher 2Gtu, Idol, a thousand English knights a;, peared in anti.its of silk, and the day foil r.viiu- ;;l new and different robes. Six'v Scottish knii-hts and many others, were handsomely dressed, but th - historian tlecl nes specifying tin- excessive profu sion of the occasion, lest the account should apnea' incredible and disgusting The archbl.-hop York had the expensive honor of hi ing landlor 1 to this jolly company, assembled from Englaud, -•