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; T ill -11 fe" I IS? i;ll " - -r - - . ..-....- . - ' - - . ' - . - . - ---- ' , , " - - . , - - . " " WHERE DEMOCRATIC PRINCIPLES POINT THE WAY;TtEN THTY' CEASE TO LEAD, WL CEASE TO FOLLOW." --' .' - :." VOLUME IX; 4,;: EBBlBlpM ; l-s '" PIBER 41, Till: LVG R ATI-FIJI. MAN. Titali9, a noble Venitiaii, one day, at a bunt ing party, fell into a pit -which had teen dug to catch wild animals. He passed a whole night and day there, and I will leave you to imagine his dread and his agony. The pit. whs dark. Vitalis rau from one side of it to th other, in the hope of finding om branch or root bw which Ire might climb its sides and get out of his dungeon; but he heard such confused and extraordinary n.isea, growling., hissings, and plaintive cries, that he became half dead with terror, and crouch ed in a corner motionless, awaited death with tae most horrid di3may, . On the morning of the second day he haard some one passing near the pit, and then raising bis vice, he cried out, with the most dolorous accent, "Help, help ! draw me out of this ; I am perishing !" A peasant crossing the forest heard his cry. At first he was frightened ; bdt, after a moment or two, taking courage, he approached the pit, aad asked who bad catled ? "A poor huutsman." answered, Vitalis, "who has passed a long night and day here. Help me out, for the love of Uod. Help me out, and I wi.l recompense you handsomely."- "I will do what I can," replied the peasant. Then Massaccio (such was the name of the peasant) took a bedgebill which hung at his gir dle, and cutting a branch of a tree strong enough to bear & man, "Listen, huntsman,1' said he, "to what I am going to say; to you. I will let down this branch into the pit. 1 -will fasteu it against the sides and hold it with my band: and by pull ing, yourself out by it, you may get tree froin I your prison. J "Good," answered Vitalis;. "ask me anything j jcu will, and it shall be granted."- j "I ask for nothing," said the peasant, "bat I ! Ain going to be married, and may give what you j like to my bride." So saying, Massaccio let down the branch i he soon felt it heavy, and the moment after a j monkey leapt merrily oul of the pit. He had fallen, hie vitalis, and had seized quickly on ( L. - 1 U - ..T 1- i lua uiuuuu vi .uussaixio. --ii was ine uevu bure- j Ij which spoke to me from the pit," said Mas jldccio, I unning away with affright. "Do you abandon me, then cried Vitalis, in a lamentable accent ; "my friend, my dear ' friend, for the love of the Lord, for the love of your mistress, draw me out of this ; I beg, I im plore you ; I will give her wedding gifts, I will ... v. . j v . "Hug, t , B- T . UVfc Itt IMC U1C VI .411 ItlU UJL . rible pit." Massaccio was touched by tlfcse prayers He retiirned to the pit let down anoth her branch, woods echo j AniaJi&njump-ad. uuiV miig tbo With a roar or ueught. - "O certainly, certainly, it wa? the dvil I beard," said Massaccio, and fled away figiin, but stopping short, after a few paces, he heard again the piercing cries of Vitalis. '"0 God," cried he ; to die of hunger in a pit ! Vt"i no one then come to help me? Whoever you may be, I implore you-fco return; let me cot die when you can save me, save me. I will give you a house and field, and cows and gld all that yon can ask for ;"save me, save me only. Massaccio, thus implored could not help re turning. He let down the branch, and a ser pent, hissing joyously, sprang out of the pit. Massaccfo fell on his knees, half dead with fear, ftnd repeated all the prayers be could think of to drive away the demon. He wns only brought to himself by hearing the cries of despair which Vitalis uttered. , . "Will no one help me 5" said he. "Ah, then, must 1 die? O God, O God ?" and he wept and cobbed in a heart-breaking manner.- "It is certainly the voice of a man, for all that," said Massaccio. "Oh, if yon -are still there," sajd Vitalis, "in the name of all that is dear to you, save mc, that 1 may die at least at home, and not in this horri ble pit. I can say no more; mv voice is exhaus ted. Shall I give you my palac e at Venice, my possession, my honors I give, them all 1 and may I die if I forget my word. Life, life only, save only my lite." Massaccio could not resist such prsrcrs, and mingled with such promises. He let down the branch again. "Ah, here you are at last," said he, seeing Vitalis come up. "l'es," said he, and uttering a cry of joy, he fainted in the arms of Massaccio. Massaccio sustained, assisted him, and bronght him to himself; then, giving him his arm, "Let us." Baid he, "quit this forest;" but Vitalis could hardly walk he was exhausted with hunger. . "Eat this piece of bread," said Massaccio, and he gave him some, which he took out of bis wallet. - , "My benefactor, ray saviour, my good angel," said Vitalis, "bow can lever suCiciently recom pense you j" ' "You have promised me a marriage portion for my bride, and your palace at Venice tor my self," said Massaccio. But Vitalis now -begun to regain his strength. . "I'es, certainly, I will give a portion t. your wife, my dear Massaccio, and I will make you the richest peasant of our-village. Where do vou live!" . "At Capalalta in the forest ; but I would will ingly quit my village to establish niysclf in the palace you. have promised me." "Here we are out of the forest," eaid Vitalis, "I know my road now; thauk you, Massaccio." "But when shall I come for my palace and the portion of my intended ?" rejoined the peas ant. "When you will," said the other ; and they separated. Vitalis went to Venice, aud Masaaccio-to Ca palatta, where he related his adventure to bis lnistregs, telling her what a rich portion she ws to have, and what a palace she was to live in. Tho next day early he set out for Venice, and asked for the.palace of the Signor Vitalis went Etraight to it, and told the domestics that he should come Bhortly with his mistress in a fine carriage to take possession of the palace which the Signor Vitalis had promised to give him. Massaccio appeared to those who heard him mad, and Vitalis was told that there was a peasant in bis ball, who asked for a marriage portion, and said the palace belonged to him. . '"Let him be turned out immediately," said Vitalis ; "I know him not." The ralets accordingly drove him away, with insults, and Massaccio returned to his cottage in lccpair, without daring to see his mistress. At cue comer of bis fire-place was seated the mou- key, at the other the liou and the eefpent had twisted itself in spiral circles upon the hearth. Massac.. . was seized with fear. "The mau has driven me from his door," thought he, "the lion wilt devour me, the serpent will sting me, and the monkey will laugh at me; and still this will be my reward for saviog them from the pit." But the monkey turned to him with the most amicable grimace; the iion, vibrating his tail, come and licked his hand, like a dog caressing his master, and the serpent, nnrolling his ringy body, moved about the room, with a contented and grateful air, which gave courage to Massac cio. "Poor animals!" said be, they are better than the Signor Vitalis; he drove me like a beggar from the door. Ah! with what pleasure I would pitch him ag lin into the pit. And my bride I whom I thought to marry . so magnificently I have not a stick of wood in my wood-house, not a morsel of meat for my meal, and uo money to buy any. - The ungrateful jvretcu, with his por tion aud his palace I" -" ' i'hu3 did Massaccio comulain. Meanwhile the monkey began to make significant faces, the lion to agitate his tail with great uneasiness, and the serpent to roll and uuroll its circles with great vapidity. Then the monkey, approaching his benfactor, made him a sign to follow, aud led him into the wood-house where was regularly piled up a quantity of wood sufficient lor the whole year. It was the monkey who had col lected this wood in the forest, and brought it to the cottage of Massapcio. Massaccio embraced the grateful ape. Tfie lion then uttering a deli- cate roar, led him to a corner where he saw the enormous provision of game, two sheep, three kids, bares. and rabbits in abundance, and a fine wild boar, all covered wiih the branches of trees to keep them fresh. It was the lion who Lad hunted for his benefactor. Maccaccio patted kindly his mane. "And you, then," he said to tie serpent, "have you brought me nothing? Art thou a Vitalis, or a.good and hone3tnimal like the monkey and the lion ?" The erpent glided rapidly under a bean of dried leaves, and . . .. . 1 . . re-appearea immeaiateiv. reanair itself sunei blv on its tail, when Massaccio saw with surprise a l i I- , ....... .... -- , O - mJ utauuim uiamona in its moutn. "A aiamoua. cried Maasaccio, and stretching, forth bis hand to stroke caressingly the serpent and take its olfcring. . , - .. , Massaccio then s?t out immediately for Ve nice to turn his diamond intu mouev. ""The iew- tuci I Liu UiUHIVFUU, 1 L VU2 VI HAe 11 11 C b t j nUlCl. "How much do you ask for if ?" s-ttd he." i "Two hundred croons," said Massaccio think - ing his demand to be greatf jt .yas hjardly the j tuth part of tii.q. v.-tlSc-f the stone. -'TUiewe!!er ? looked ut Massacoio. and SiuJITo sell it at that-1 i..price you must be Tobberad I arrest you." "li lt not wortli so much, give less,"" said Massaccio; "I nm not a robber, 1 am an honest j man; it was the serpent who gave me the dia mond." But the police now arrived, and conducted him before tho mscistrate. There he recounted his adventure, which appeared to be a mere fniry J vision, let, as Signor italis -was' Implicated in the story, the magistrate referred the affairs to the state inquisition, and appeared before it. "Relate to us your history," said one of the inquisitors, "and lie not, or we will have you thrown into the canal." . Massaccio related his adventure. "So,"nid the inquisitor, "you saved theSig r.or Vitalis V "Yes, noble Signoc" "And he promised you a marriage portion for ! rour bride, and his palace at Venice for vour- self?" , i "Ye?, noble signor." "And be drJve you like a beggar from bis i doer?" - , "Yes, noble signor." ... " I .pt. t Sl ffnnp V i f nl : (innonl " soirl ic earn a inquisitor. Vitalis appeared. , , Do you know this roan, Signor Vitalis?" Vitalis replied, "I know not the man." The inquisitors consulted together. "This man," said they, speaking of Massac cio, "is evidently a knave and a cheat; he must be thrown into prison. Siguor Vitalis, you are acquitted." Then, making a eign to an olficer of police, "Take that man, said he, "to prison." Massaccio fell on his kneus in the middle of the hall. ".Noble signors, noble signors," said he. "it is possible that the ' serpent may have wished to deceive nie. It is possible that the ape, the lion and the serpent may all be atlelu sion of the demon; but it is true that 1 saved the Signor Vitalis. Signor Vitalis," (turning to him,) "1 ask you not for the marriage portion for my biide, or for youT palace of marble, but say a word for me; sutler me not to be thrown into prison; do not abandon me; I did not aban don you when you were in the pit." "Xoble signors," said Vitalis, bowing to the tribunal, "I can only repeat what I have said; I know not the man. Has he a single witness to produce?" . ' ; At this moment the whole court ,was-ihrown into fear and astonishment, for the lion,Ahe mon key, and the scrpeut entereu the hall together. The monkey was mounted on the back of the liou, and the serpent was twined round the arm of tho monkey. On entering, the lion roared, tffe monkey spluttered, and the serpent biased. "Ah. these are the animals of the pit,"' cried Vitalis, in alarm ' . "SiguorVitalhv" resumed the chief of the in quisitors, when the dismay which this appari tion had caused had somewhat diminished, "you have asked wliei e were the witnesses of Massac cio? You see that God has sent them at the right time before the br of our tribunal. Since then, God has testified against you, we would be culpable before him if we did not punish your ingratitude. Your palace and your pos sessions are confiscated, and you shall pass the rest of your life in a narrow prison. .And you," continued he, addressing hkuself to Massaccio, who was all this time caressing' the' lion, the. monkey aud serpent, "since a Vnitian has pro missed you a palace of marble, and a portion for your bride, the republic 'of VenicewiM ac complish the promise; the palace and possesions of Vitalis are thine". You,- said he to the secre tary of the tribunal, "draw up an account of all this history, that thepeople of Venice may know, ttrotigh ail generations, that the justice of the tribunal of the.state inquisition is not less equi table than it is rigorous." Massaccio and bis wife lived happily for many years afterwards in the palace of Vitalis, with the monkey, the lion and the serpent ; and Mas saccio had them represented in a picture on the wall of his pal ice, as they entered the hall of the tribunal, the lion carrying the monkey, and the monkey carrying the serpent. ULESSI.YG of a good deed. by T. 8. AHrtlCR. I should like to do that, every day, for a year to come," said Mr. William Everett, rubbing his hands together quickly in irrepressible plea sure. , . - Mr. Everett was a stock and money broker, and had just made an "operation." by which a clear gain of two thousand dollars was secured. He was alone in his officf ; or, so much alone as not to feel restrained by the presence of an other. . And yet, a pair of dark, sad eyes were fixed intently upon his self satisfied countenance, with an expression, had he observed it, that would, at least,, have excited a "moment's won der. The owner of this pair of eyes was a slen der, rather poorly dressed lad, iu his thirteenth year, wnom Mr. Everett had engaged, a short time previously, to attend in his office and run upon errands. lie was the son of a widowed mother, now in greatly reduced circumstances. His father. had been an early friend of Mr. Ev erett, it was tuis tact which led to the boy's introduction into the broker's olfice. "Two thousand dollars!" The broker bad uttered aloud his satisfaction ; but now he com muned with himself silently. "Two thousand dollars! A nice little' sum that for a single day's work. I wonder what Mr. Jenkins will say to morrow morning, when he, hears of jsuch an ad vance in these- securities ?" From some cause, this" mental reterence to Mr. Jenkins did not Increase our friend's state of exhiteration. - Most probablv. there was sme- , thing in the transaction, bywhich he had gain er b ujuujuiiic ueurn oi money, that, in calmer moments, would not bear too close a serntinv something vthat Mr. Everett would hardlyilikej x l i i . m - . t r- "1 to uyo uiazoueu iortn to the world. Be this as it may, a more sober mood, in time, succeed ed, aud although the broker was richer by two thousand dojlars than when be arose in the morning, he was certainly no happier. An hour afterwards, a business friend enme t into the office of Mr. Everett and said : "Have you heard about Cassen?" "No ; what of him ?" "He's said to be off for California with twen ty thousand dollars in bi3 pockets mora than justlv belongs to him." - . "VhaU"- - i . -. . - ; . , - "Too true, I believe. IKs name is in t!.o list of passengers who left Xew York iu the steamer yesterday." - "The scoundrel!" exclaimed Mr. Everett, who, 'by this time, was very considerably ex cited. "He owes you, does he ?"Jsaid the friend. "I lent him three hundred dollars only day beforeyestCr-Jv," . "A clear swindle." - J'Yes it Is", on him ! O, if I could only get my Land3 iand int0 his PockeL , 'flere a0.twe?ty dolla ' 1 Vi am a. a T;;r mother, ana civa them tn her .Mr. Everett's countenance, as lie said did not wear a very amiable expression. this, -: Don't get excited about it," said the other. "I think he has let you off quite reasonably. Was that sum all he asked to borrow?" "ifes." "I know two, nt least, who are poorer by a couple of thousands by his absence." But Mr. Everett was excited. For half an hour after the individual left, who had commu nicated this unpleasant piece of news, the bro- t ker walked the floor of his office with comprcss- ed lips, a lowering brow, and most unhappy feelings. Tip two thousand dollars gain in no . way balanced in his mind the three hundreJ lost. Tne pleasure created by the one, had not pene trated deep enough to escape obliteration by the other. Of l this, the boy with the dark sad eyes had taken quick cognizance. And he comprehended all. Scarcely a moment had his glance been removed from the countenance or form of Mr. Everett, while the latter walked with uneasy steps, the floor of his office. As the afternoon waned, the broker's mind grew califler. The first excitement, produced by the loss, passed, away ; . bnt it left a sense of depression and disappointment that completely shadowed his feelings.'-.. v ' ----- - Intent as bad been the lad's observation of his employer during all this time, it is a little re markable, that Mr. Everett had not once been conscious of the fact that the boy's eyes were steadily upon' him. In fact, he had been, as was usually the case, too much absorbed in things concerning himself, to notice what was peculiar to another, unless the peculiarity were oue read - i lly used to his own advantage. '. '. "John," said Mr. Everett, turning suddenly to the boy, and encountering his large, earnest eyes, "take this note around to Mr. Legraud." John sprang to do his bidding ; received the note, and was off with unusual lieetness. But, the door which closed upon his form, did not shutout the expression of his sober face and humid glance from the vision of Mr. Everett. In fact, from some cause, tears had sprung to the eyes of the musing boy, at the very moment he was called upon to render a service; and quicker than usual though his motions were, be had failed to ponceal them. A new train of thought now entered the bro- i ker's mind. This child of his old friend had been taken into his office from a kind of chnrit- able feeliag though of very . low vitality .w He. paid him a couple of dollars a w.eekrand thought little more about him, or his widowed mother. He had too many important interests of his own at stake, to have bis mind turned aside for 4 trifling matter like this. But, now, - as the im age of that sad face for it was unusually sad at the moment when Mr. Everett looked sudden ly towards the boy lingered in his mind, grow ing every moment more distinct, and more touch ingly beautiful, many considerations of duty and humanity were excited. " He remembered his old friend, and the pleasant hours thevbad spent together, in years long since passed, ere gener xus feelings had hardened, into ice, or given place to an all-pervading selfishness. He re membered, too, the beautiful girl his friend had married, and how proudly that friend presented her to their, little world as his bride. The lad bad ' her - large dark, spiritual eyes only the light cf joy hail faded therefrom, giving place to t All jms was now. present to the mind of Mr. Everett, end thouch he tried, oncn nr nr;. during the boy's absence, to ooliterate these re- coiiect.-vos: ae was unable to do so. - "IJtneYyour raotiier John?" asked the rro- ker k'tij. when the lad-Lad rttuynad frour bk errand. " . , The question was so unexpected, that it con- fnsed hiri. "She's well thank you, sir. well,- ith-er thank you, sir." No not very gAnd the boy's face Hushed, and his eyes suffused "Not rery well, you say ?" Mr. Everett spoke with kindness, and in a tone of iaterest. "Not sick, I hvpe?" "No, fiir; not very sick. But " "But jfciiat, John," said Mr. Everett, encour- aginglyw "She's in trouble," half stammered the boy, while the color deepened on his face. "Ah, indeed? I'm sorry for that. What is the trouble, John ?" The tears, whieh John had been vainly stri ving to repress, now gushed over his face, and with a boyish shame for the weakness, he turn ed away and struggled for a time with his over mastering feelings. Mr. Everett-was no little moved by so unex- A .1 1 1 ", . - WV .. . . peeieu ;an emiuiuon. lie waitcJ witb a new born consideration for the boy, not unmingled with respect, until a measure of calmness was restored ' Johi," he then Eaid, "if 'your mother is in trouble! it may be in my power to relieve her. "O, slrl" exclaimed the lad, eagerly, cominjr up to Mp. Everett, and, in the forgetfulness of the moment, laying his smalThand upon thatof his employer, "if you will.'you can." Hard indeed would have been the heart that could hsve withstood the appealing eyes lifted by JohniLeverling to the face of Mr. Everett. But, Mr, EveretLhad jiot a- bard heart. Love of self aid the world had encrusted it with iu difference towards others; but, the crust was now broken through. - - - "peak freely, my good lad," said he, kindly. "Tell ma of your mother. What is her trouble?" - "We - are very poor, sir."-Tremulous and mournful was the boy's voice. "And mother isn't wei. She does all she can; and my wa ges heipj a little. . Jiut, there are three of us children I anel l am the oldest. None of the rest can earn any tiling. Mother couldn't help getting behind with the rent, sir, because she hadn't tie money to pay it with. This morning, the man who owns the house where we live, came for some money, and when mother told hiin that h lnrl nonP- hf irnt rh :- n n rr- ' mil fVirrlit- ened lis all. He said, it the rent wasn't paid by ned lis ail. lie said, it the rent wasn t paid by to-morrow he d -turn us all into the street. Toor mother 1 She went to bed sick." 'How much does your mother owe thb man ?" asked Mr. Everett. ' 'O, it's a'great deal, 6ir. I'm afraid she'll never be able to pay it; sndl don't know what we'll do." "How much ?" "Fourteen dollars, sir," answered the lad. "Is that all?" And Mr. Everett thrust his avuu uuiuv ji - r . . 1 n -r with my compliments." The boy "grasped the money eagerly.'and, as he did so, iu an irrepressible burst of gratitude, kissed the hand from wffich he received it. He rdid not speak for strong emotion choked all ut- terance ; but Mr. Everett saw his heart iu his large, wet eyes; and it was overflowing with thankfulness. "Stay a moment," said the broker, as John Levering was about passing through the door. Perhaps I had better write a note to your mother." - "I wish you would, sir', answered the boyfc as he came slowly back. . A brief note was written, in which Mr. Ever ett not only offered present aid, but promised, for the sake of old recollections that now were crowding fast upon his mind, to be the widow's future friend. For half an hour after the lad departed, the broker sat musing, with his eyes upou the floor. re 01J times, a man rarely met a friend with His thoughts were clear, and his feelings tian- xt inviting him to imbibe) and smacking his quil. He had made, on that day, the sum of two tuousanu aonars oy a singie transaction, but the thought of this large accession to his worldly iroods did not give him a tithe of thd pleasure he derived from the b.stowal of twenty dollars. He thought, too, of the three hundroi dollars ho had lost by a misplaced confidenc ; yet, even as the shadow cast from that ev;ut began to fall upou his heart, the bright fac of John Levering was conjured up byjancy.and all was sunny again. " - - -. Mr. Everett Vent home to his family on'that evcning,a cheerful minde.1 ;maii. Why $ Not becaucse he was richer by nearly two thousand dollars, jrhat-eircumstauce wouldhave ossess ed no power to lift, him above the bi.dowed, frett ul state which the loss of three hunlred had produced. Why ?, He - had - bestowe of his abundance', and thus made suffering hearts glad; and the consciousness of this was perading his bosom with a warming sense of doiignt." Thus it is, that true benevolence larries with it, ever a double blessing. Thus it yis, that' in giving, more is often gained than iu eager accu mulation, o'r selfish withholding. Itctorial Drain ing Room Companion? j- Population of the Grace. Under this nead the Jfercheuif't Lfijer has some very curious and interesti-g calculation. It estimates the average of American births per second, for the last eighteen hundred and lifty-three years, at about 815. This would make the whole number of human bcingg who have lived sipce the birth of Christ, about thirty-two thousand millions. Deducting from this number the nine hundred and sixty milliots,' who form the present popu lation of tho glube, and it leaves the number of thirty-one thousand and forty millions that have gone to the grave." Of this number, the estimate is that nine thou sand million have dred'by wars. Eight thousand millionby famine and pesti lence; " Five hundred millions by martyrdom. Five hundred and eighty millions by intoxica ting drinks. " Thirteen thousand millions naiural or other wise. - By this estimate it will be 6ecn that war and strong drink haus sent one-third of the human race to a premature grave. "Wollingtoa Saving Hapolcoa's Lifo. The following passage from the memoirs of the late General V. Muffiing, written by himself, under the title of "Ana meinem Leben, will per haps at this moiisent be read with soms interest. Muffling was the agent of all the communications between the hcad-quarteis of Blucer and the Wake ot WeUiRytrnr dvjnug thelaarch of tb uea vii x ana, aiier tne return oi iApo.eon irom Elba: . . . "During the march, (after the battle of Va- ' terloo,) Blucher had once a chance of taking Napoleon prisoner, which he was very anxious to do ; from the French commissioners who were sent to him to propose an armistice, he demand ed the delivery of Napoleon to him as the -' first condition of the negotiations. I waschart-ed by Marshal Blucher to represent to the Luke of Wellington that the Congress of Vienna ad de clared Napoleon outlawed, and that be es de termined to have him shot at the mommt that he fell into his hands. Yet he wished to know from the duke what he though, of the matter; for if he (tho duke) had the same inteitions, the marshal was willing to act with him fi carrying them into effect. The duke looked : me rather astonished, and began to dispute thf correctness of the marshal's interpretation of te proclama tion of Vienna, which was not at ek intended to authorize or incite to the murderof Napoleon ; he believed, therefore, that no jight to ehoot him in case he thould be made prisoner of war, could be founded on this documtft, and he tho"t the position both of himself andthe marshal to wards Napoleon, since the victof had been won, was too high to permit such ai act to be com mitted. 1 had felt all the foce of the Duke's arguments before I delivered be message I had very unwillingly undertaken, and was therefore not inclined to oppose theiu. I, therefore, con tinued the Duke, wish my fpend and colleague to see this mutter in the fight I do ; such an act would give our name toiistory stained by a crime, and posterity'wouh'say of us, they are not worthy to be his conqertrs; the more so, as such a deed is useless, rod cau have no ob- j ject. - Of these expression I only used enough to dissuade Blucher fromJis intention." There are three despatbs given by Muffling in the appendix to his mtnoirs, in which the ex ecution of Napoleon is urged on the Duke of Wellington by Blucher ;they are signed by Gne- ) isnau, and leave no dbt of the determination to revenge the bloodshed of the war on the cause of it, had he fdeh into the hand of the Vrusoiau commander' Blucher's fixed idea was that the Emperor shld be executed on the very spot where the DucfEnghien was put to death. The last desnatch elds an unwilling nnspnt tn Tkl... i- it j calls his inte terferene "dramatic magnanimity," which the l'russiadiead-quarters did not at all comprehend, aware of the Prfiably but few Frenchmen are .a ykv-. or that it in n istorical fact that Napoleon's life was saved b-nis rival, whom it cost no small exertiqa to savdt. (N. Y. Ev. ror. ( r TB Old Oaken Backat. 1 This beaut'ul and popular song or balad is ' said to have nd its origin under the following Circumstancdi which give it additional inter- j est: J Some yer ago, when Woodworth, the prin- 1 ter, and setral other Old New Yorkers,' were ! brother tjioa in a priniting-offiee, which was f situated ai?the corner of Chesnut and Chambers I streets, tlre were very lew places m tno city of New Yjk where one could enjoy the luxury of a rcall 'good drink.' Among the tew places most wothv of natronape. was an establishment ,' f - . kept byAI dlory, on Franklin street, on or about the sane epot where St. John's Hall recently stood. Woodworth, in company with several partieir friends, had dropped in' at this place one atcrnoou, for tho purpose of taking some 'brandy and water, which Mallory was famous for teeping. Vie lijuor was super-excellent, and Wood work secined inspired by it; for after taking a arugui, ne iam nis glass upou me tauie, rc nfmber, reader, if vou please, that in those 'jp3 declared that Mallory's eau dc vie was supe- s.;or to anv he had ever tasted. No.' said Jl. vou nre nuite mistaken: the! e was one thin; 'you are qui which, iu both our estimations, far surpasses this, in the way of drinking.' What was that ?' asked Woodworth, dubiously. 4The draught of pure, fresh spring water that we used to drink from the old oaken bucket that bung in the well, after our return from the labors of the field on a sultry day in summer.' The tear-drop glistened for a moment in Wood worth's eye. 4True ! true !' he replied, and soon .after quitted the place. He returned to the office, grasped the pen, and in half an hour The Old Oaken Bucket,' one of ihe most delight ful compositions iu our language, was ready, in manuscript, to be embalmed, in the memories of succeeding generations. IHE OLD OAKEN BUCKET. How dear to this heart are the scenes of my childhood Wbeu fond recollections present them to view ! The orchard, the meadow, the deep-tangled wild wood. And every loved ppot which my infancy knew; The wide-spreading pond, and the mill fiat stood by it, The bridge and the rock where the cataract fell; The cot of my father, the dairy house near it. And e'en the rude bucket that hung in the well! . TVe old oaken bucket, the iron-bound bucket,' The moss-covered bucket, that hung in tho welll , The moss-covered vessel I hail as a treasure; For often at noou. when returned from the field, - , I found it the source of an exquisite pleasure, The purest and sweetest that nature cau yield. How ardent I seized it with hands that were " glowing And quick to the white pebbled bottom it fell; Then soon with the emblem of truth overflowing, And drippiog with coolness, it rose from the well ; The old oakeu bucket, the iron-bound bucket. The moss-covercl bucket arose from tho well. How sweet from the greca ra9y ceive it. brini to rc- As poised on the curb it inclined to my lip ; Not a full blushicg goblet could tempt me ta leave it. - Though SUe 3 with the rcciar tLft fabled gci eips. And row, far removed fram the loveu situation. J EWfcll, T"ls.ney revoi-U ty my fatuer's plantut:uu', ? pind i'lu fr lit i.r.rwicaili24 ia tb w ell f The old caken bucket, the iron-bound bucket. The mobs-covered bucket, which h&cgs in bis well. Rotnaoce or Ileal I4fe. Naprlecn's Letters lo Jc?pplun. During and immediately after the r;reat battla of AuEteiiitt, Napoleon addressed a scries of letters to Josephine. They ore appended to aa article in the last number cf Harper's New Monthly; and they will be read with more than ordinary interest. The great Captain evidently cherished the deepest affection for bis first wife, aud no portion of hia h'utory is fraught with more romantic charm, thau that iu which he turned aside from the cares of State, to bate'uU heart to the idol of his early devotion. The fal lowing are the letters alluded to : "iiOcL.1805 10 o'clock. A. II "I am Gtill in good health. I start for Stutt gard where I shall be to-night. The great ma noeuvres cctDcicnw; Tba armies of Wurtemberg end of Baden hav united with mine. 1 am in a good position, and 1 love you. Napols.O!c." "12 Oct. 11 o'clock at night. "My army has entered Munich. The energy is beaten. Every thirig announces the most thort, successful, and brilliant campaign I Lave yet made. I am very well. Tho weather is, how ever, frightful. I change my clothes- twic a day ; it rains so inceesuntly. I lovo you, ad embrace you. Napolicj;." "10 Oct. "I have been, my gcd Josephine, much fa tigued. During all the days of an entire week, I have been drenched with rain, and my fefcthava beeu nearly frozen. This has made me a Jittl ill. To-day 1 have obtained some repose. I have fulfilled my design. I have destroyed the Austrian army by simple marches. 1 have ta ken C0,000 prisoners, 120 pieces of cannon, 90 flags, and more tUau SO generals. I now go iu pursuit of the Russians. They re undone. 1 am content with my army. I have lost but 1500 men, and of these two-thirds re but fciightlv wounded. Adieu, my Josephine. A thousand loving words to yon." "o Nov. 10 o'clock st rizM am in TUll ttwrrtt - no wtrtimcr to-- j orr The earth is covered with a foot of enow. This 1 13 a little severe. Happily our niarcn is turouga fnnBt. . nm 'tttr v ;..- satisfactorily.- Mv enemies ought to be mora anxious tban 1. ldc.irc very union to hear troin you, and to learn that yru arc free from inqui etude. Adieu my love. I must sleep." "15 Nov. J o'clock at night. "I left Vienna two days ago, riy love, a litt'.s fatigued. 1 have uot yet secu the city by day. I parsed through it ia the night. Almost all my troops are bevoud the Danube pursuing the Bu sians. Adieu, my Josephine. The very moment it is possible, I shall send for you to come to me. A tn.usana .owng woras tor you. Nafole." "16 November ll have written fur you to coine immediately to Baden, and thence to Munich, by the way of vr -'uAa gtuttgard. luring with you the means of ma king presents to the ladies and to the func tionaries who nay serve you. Be unassuming, but receive all homage. Everything is due to you. You owe. nothing but courtey. The Elec tress of Wurtemberg is daughter of the King of England. She is a lovely woman. Treat her with kindnesd, but without affectation. 1 thall be most happy to Mse you the ui.uior.t my affairs will allow mc to do so. I set out immediately for my advance pnard. The weather is fright ful. It enows continually. As to the rest, my affairs are prosperous. Adieu, fciy love. . NAroLros." "3 Deo. 180."i. 'I send Lebrun to you from the fiyld of bat tic. I have beaten th Russian and At!tri.ii armies comraauitnl by the two Emperors. I nci a little fatigued. 1 have bivoucked eight days iu the open air, through nights severely oold. 1' shall pass to-night iu the chateuu of l'rinco Kauuiu, where I go to sleep for two or thrco hours. Th Fvusaian army is not only beaten, but destroyed. I embrace you. Natoleos." 'December ft "I have concluded a truce. Tho Jlu.sians have implored it. The .victory of Austerlitz is the most illustrious of all which 1 hate gained We have taken .5 flag, 1..0 pieces of cam. on, and 20 generals. More than 0,000 are blaiu. It is an awful upectaele. The Emperor Alexan der is in despair. I aaw yesterd-.y, at niy " biv . ouac, the Emperor of Germany. We conversed for two hours, and agreed upon an immediate peace The weather is dreadful. liepose is again restored to the Contiuent. Ect us hope that it will extend throughout the world. The English will not be able to make headway tigaiuM us. I look forward with great pleasure to the moraeut when I thall again nee you. Adieu, my love. I am pretty well, and um very desiroud to embrace you," '10 Dec, 1603. It is long H.nce I have hevd any news from you. The brilliant fees of BaJeq, Stuttgard. and Munich, cause the poor soldiers, dreuched with rain, and covered with blood and mire, to be forgotten. I set out immediately for Vien na Ihe ltussians are goue. Tiwy return t their own country thorouahly ben ten and thor oughly humiliated. I desire intensely to return to you. Adieu, my lov. Naioleon." The following letter, of which we give a fac simile, conceals beneath the ecusblance of mirth fulness, a spirit wounded by apparent nnglect : "I'J December. "August Empress ! Not one letter from you since your departure from Strasbourg. You have entered Dal in, turgai-J, and Mutii.h without writing us one word. That is not very amiable nor very tender. I ain still at Brunn. The Rus sians have gone. 1 have a truce. Condsceud, from tho summit of your 'grandeur, to occupy j yourself a little witb your bl.ivos. I . 1 'I 1 V. 1 M I ! I h 1