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Qâ AJYD DELAWARE REGISTER . Printed and Published, every Thursday by MENDENHALL & WALTERS, No. 81, Market-st. (three doors above the Fanner s Bank,) at $2 50 per annum, payable half yearly in advance , or $3 at the en d of the yea r. • NO. 38. VOL. 1. WnZOZNGTON, DEL JULY 1,1824. TERMS» — ADV F. KTI ÉEMENTS not exceeding will be inserted four times for one one square dollar, and 20 cents for each subsequent inser tion.... If continued for three months, $2 50—for «ix months, $4 50; or for one year $8. (Xj* Subscribers are entitled to the privilege of having their names, place of residence, and occu pation, inserted in the Register, oratis. No subscription will be discontinued until all ar rearages arc paid, undone week's notice given. Frank Osbatdistone'a lament over the grave of Diana Vernon. " You know how long and happily I lived f with Diana—You know how 1 lamented her. But you do not—cannot know how mach she i" deserved her husband's sorrow- Rob Roy. Oh wc had loved, when joy was near, And fondly smiling flirted o'er us— Yes, we have loved through hope and fear, As lovers ne'er have loved before, us. Oh wc have loved, when grief hath spread, With hand profane, its thorns around us, When woe its mildew o'er us shed. And in its iron hand both bound us. * We've loved—but where are now the hours ; Of bliss that love was ever bringing l Or where, are now the blooming flowers That in our path were ever springing ? We've loved—but where is now that charm That like a radiant star was beaming ? Where is its ray—so bright and warm— That over us was ever streaming ? Those hours of bliss with thee have fled ; That star, Diana, now hath faded— These roses on thy tomb lie dead— When thou wast gone they drooped unaid 1 cd. Yes, wc have loved, when one by one The friends of early youth have vanished Till every beaming eye was gone, Where radiance once all sorrow banished. Yet still we loved, although around Have w e beheld Death's devastation ; Blest in each other, still we found " An Eden of our own creation." But e'en those visions of delight Th' insatiate foe of man hath broken ; Of all that once was fair or bright, Rememberance holds the only token. Oh 1 there's a cord within my breast, Visions of former bliss awaking ; Wh»n memory's touch is on it prest, It vibrates till my heart is breaking. From earth's delights and joys, oh why Should fate a form so beauteous sever l How could it doom a heart to die, 1 That should have lived in bliss forever ? And am I left ? O'ejrthv cold tomb I drink the bitter draught of sorrow ; I feel within my soul the gloom Of that dark night which kuowes no mor row. I That night—the night of fell despair— Forever spreads its curtain o'er us ; Within me—all seems chill and drear— ft Without—thy tomb is still before me. Farewell ! thy heart hath ceased to beat, M Thy calm blue eye is closed forever ; Farewell, farewell, untill wc meet j To part again—oh never,never! An evening thought among the Alpe. By Henry Neele I marked you Alp, while morning's ray Upon its summit shone, On earth his mighty shadow lay, Oe'r mead and valley thrown. But now that evening's sober tints Bid day's warm radiance fly, Withdrawing- from the world he prints His shadow on the sky. So fares our mortal pilgrimage ; While youth's bright morning shines, Earth and its joys our hearts engage, There every wish inclines. But as that morning wanes to cvc, Are nobler longings given ; Earth's heartless vanities we leave, And fix our hopes in Heaven. Who'll buy a heart? who' U buy? who'll buy? Poor heart of mine ! tormenting heart ! Long hast thou teaz'd me—thou and 1 May just as well agree to part. Who'll buy a heart ? who'll buy ? who'll buy? They offer three festoons—but, no ! A faithful heart is cheap at more : Tis not of those that wandering go. Like mendicants from door to door. Here's prompt possession—I might tell A thousand merits : come and try. I have a heart—a heart to sell : Who'll buy a heart ? who'll buy ? who'll buy How oft beneath its folds lay hid The gnawing viper's tooth of woe— Will no one buy ? will no one bid ? Tis going now. Y'cs ! it must go ! So little offered—it were well To keep it yet—but no ! not I. I have a heart—a heart to sell : Who'll buy a heart ? who'll buy ? who'Ubuy ? I would 'twere gone! fori confess I'm tired—and longing to be freed ; Come bid, fair maiden ! more or less— So good—and very cheap indeed. Once more—but once—I cannot dwell So long—'tis going—going—fic ! No offer—I've a heart to sell : Who'll buy a heart ? who'll buy ? who'll buy ? Tu Ce — tw ' ce — an< I thrice—the money down, The heart is now transferr'd to you ; Fair lady, make it all your own, ; And may itever bless you too ! ! Its broken and its wounded part I Y° ur touch can heal. Go lady ! try, And I will give you all a heart, l «ou would pçt buy—you woald not buy. SERIOUS REFLECTIONS. TIME. " On fit klc wings the moment* haste, Ami hulun.-'a favor. ni*ver fast." What is that which softens the sorrow of so many inhabitants of this earth, and cl.ys the pleasures of others, and makes them in sipid to their taste ?—which conies upon us, burthened with the fates of men, aud passes by to the judgment tin-one of heaven, loaded with their virtues or their crimes ? It is Time ; which moves steadily and swiftly on ward, and bears with it all that ever has been Its power exceeds that of the greatest mon arch of the earth ; for what is there it cannot do, or where is that which can withstand its power ? The loftiest and firmest temple ev en reared by the hand of men, crumbles to dust as it approaches it, and the fairest flower that ever shed fragrance in the air, hangs its head and withers at its touch. It is impossible for men to comprehend it, for when he attempts to reason on its begin ning or its end, he finds that his mental facul ties are unable to grasp it, and he loses him self in the dark mystery that enshrouds it,un till he is gtad to turn the subject from his thoughts, and rest them upon the more com mon events of the present or the past. It has been the remark of the most learned of men, that time is but an island in the vast and boundless ocean of eternity. An idea of this kind may be indulged, when it is read in the pages of a poem—for poetry is mostly a fiction : but I am astonished that it should even be seen on the records of truth—that it should be set down among the various pie ces of information contained in a Philosophi cal Treatise. Man cannot yet conceive of time ; why then should he meddle with e ternity ? The inhabitants of the earth may sink into the tomb, and change again into the dust from which they sprung—the earth, that now moves so regularly in its orbit, may go—we know not where—and creation itself may cease to be—but time will never have an end.—It rolls along, like a mighty wave, with a steady and unceasing motion. It turns aside for nothing—it pauses for nothing ; hut seizes upon every thing it overtakes, and they arc lost in the deep and impenetrable darkness wnich no mortal eye can pierce. Of what avail is it then, that man, feeble man, should labour so hard for that wealth or glory, the one of which, a few years may deprive him of, and the other, in a little while, he may cease to feci. ' If,' says a very celebrated and beautiful writer, * such thoughts were always predom inant, we should sec the absurdity of stretch ing out our arms to grasp that which we cannot keep, or of wearing out our lives in endeavouring to add new turrets to the fabric of ambition, when the foundation itself is shaking, and the ground on which it Standes is mouldering gway.' It is a melancholy reflection, when we see the vast crowd of human beings moving in all the beauty of life, that the great Subduer of all things will soon erase them from the list of living beings, and overwhelm them in their glory, in one mighty and indistinct heap of destruction. The great and the ebscure, the rich men aud the pauper, will all feel the dreadful influence of his hand—they will fall silently into decay and be thought of no more. A great man is like a wav e of the ocean, which for a little time raises itself a bove the surface, but sinks again to give place to another, and is lost amid the tumul tuous waters by which it is surrounded. There arc many who, in the beginning of life, heed not the moments, as they pass swiftly by them, and who are willing to spend them in idleness and pleasure.—They forget how precious would be those minutes to the sinking mariner, when the dark waters seem closing forever over his head. Those who have experienced a feeling of this kind, know there is much importance even in a single minute. O'HALLOEAN i OK THC ISSOIIOENT CUIÏF. Dr. M'Henry, has judiciously and happily se lected that most interesting portion of Irish H s to.* , the rebellion of 98, and Ins given ns a vivid and accurate picture of that bloody era, with a truth and brilliancy of coloring that is rarelr e qualled. The author has studiously pr. serve 1 a strict impartiality, and has recordeu the events ■and delineated the characters with the fidelity; ot the historian tvlward Barrymore (the Hero) is a young gen tleman of liberal education ana of noble parent age His family had always been firm adherents to the house of Brunswick, and act ive supporters of the Protestant ascendancy ; they advocated and carried into effect the tyrannic measures of government, and were looked upon by Catholic Irishmen as their natural enemies Edward Bir rymure, whilst shores of the county of Antrim, was miraculously rescued from drowning by (PHallor-n : widen circumstance was a sufficient introduction to the family of that chit it,in came enainnre i with grand daughter of the Insurgent Chief) and he cone acquain ed with the intended insurrection. O'llalloran conceived it necessary for the safely of the United Irishmen, that Barrymore should be detainedfill custody; he was secretly seized and confined in a cave from which he escaped in a disguise furnished him by I-'.llen O'Hulloran. After liis departure, our heroi w th the brutish addresses of a French emniisary, and by tha no less brutish love of a villain, Sir Geoffrey Carebrom, the last of whom made seve ral daring attempts to gi;t her in bis power, all nititccessful bv the lSurchell The plot or story is simply this. to the Northern an cxrur Whilst llif-rc, lift fir •'.lien 0'Hullor..ti, (ifie I ■ «'as peslc of which proved like presence of our hero. Tlie rebellion as is well known was quickly quelled, O'Hulloran was condemned to die. Bar rymore by interceding with Lord Camden, pro cured Ilia pardon, and hastening upon the wings of gratitude and love, saved hint as they were leading him to the gallows. l-ord Camden was shortly afterwards removed —lord Cornwallis (his successor) established a lenient and pacific form of government ; which effectually checked the insurtection— more whilst the f .rmer high-handed and coercive mea sures of Camden, increased and cherished it. Among the first fruits of Cornwallis* clemen cy, was the pardoning of sir Francis Ilamil'on, (the f.vther of otir heroine.) Sir Francis had killed in a duel, the elder brother of Sir Geoffry Carebrom, and was consequently proscribed In the laws of his country, he sought safety under the disguise of a recluse—he dwelt near and long watched over 1rs father and his child. Ed ward Marr)inore and F.llcn O'llalloran were mar ried, lived long and happily, &. &.c. This is but af -int outline of the s ory, from it may be gleaned much valuable and important informa tion, and we unhesitatingly recommend it to the no: ice of our readers—we have but room to give the short and affecting account of « NELSON'S EXECUTION.** " The regiirn nt halted and was drawn up be fore the jail. Ir> a few minutes they saw Nelson hroug .t on a cnminoo farming ear, surrounded by soldiers. Ilis coffin was behind him, and a man who. as they were informed, was the esecu tinner* sat on tue otner side of the vehicle. It stopped a fi w minutes in the middle of the street; when one of the clergymen placed himself along si-*e of Nelson, with » bible in his hand. In a short time another vehicle of the same sort ap pea red. It confined OMI.dlorm, his coffin, anil it s clerical attendant. The ladies saw but one glimpse "f it ; for they could look no more, -.heir hearts became fiunt, their vision indistinct and their heads swam dizzily as they w. re removed from tile uppa ling view " i'he heavy monotonous sound of the muffled (hums, now healing time to die music of a dead march, informed them that the procession tit parting on its fatal erra id : and when the la dies had recovered suffi it fitly to look into the -tr»-ei, all was Ju-re as still ::«ul quit t as if noth ing of importance had taken pi ice. The p.-oces sion having taken the ro.ul to Ballycarry, Mr. Wilson and the ladies at tended by their servants .n ! Jeoum Hunger *e* off mi another road to a oid p-ss'ug it towards l.arne. ** Tli military with th«.ir prisoners, halted a bout half a mile to the sjuth of (tally carry, (at the noithero end of which viilag* stood the ca bin in vvluc.h Nelson's moth, r resided) to give the sol li'-i-s tune to form their ranks t..r marching thr ugh die village. The slaw pace, the dead music, at d the solemn belt was agdo heard, and continued until «he car on which Nelson w.s seat-d, came opposite his mother's door. The whole hen stopped nod Nels .n's mother sud denly fainted in the arms of ner son. "The i xecudoner selected an ash tree, which grew near the end of tie house for the gallows T' e car was soon drawn forward under the spreading branche s of flint tree, on which Nul son had often asc ended, in pastime, with all the sprightly playfulness anti innoc- nc ' of childhood. After the affect* ng r-eretv>ny of bidding farewell t*i several of his friends^nd playmates, who were permitted to approach him, the clergyman com .enC'-d divin a ■ Wui-hhip by s ng.ag the 43d psalm, in uhit'll Wilson and several of the by-slander* joined. The c'ei-gymin -lien addressed the throne of Meav-n in a s' vie so ferveni and pa thetic, as to draw tear* from the eyes of all pre sent, not excepting 'lie rough soldiers them selves. When he had finished he asked the youthful Victim, if h had my thing to comrimni - ate to the people c-mc. ruing his death Here piled that he had no'lung nt re to say than that he dull innocent ; for lit- had never murdered, nor ever ini ended to murder am one—that on t he «lay of the rising, he had gone with a message to some ot sir GeoH'rv's men who were united Irish men, to '-all tnem out; but hat he had with him, nor had he threatened any of them. That lie was willing md ready to die; since he as he died innocent, he would go to ■in was sure Heaven, " T',e executioner now adjusted the rope and asked him if he was ready, he replied that he only wished to see I, s mother onre more, and then he would be rcauy. Ilis mniher was sup ported 'ol'tvard to him, for let- distress rendered .,fr unable to support herself. "On! my William! my lovely child!" ex claimed she—"they mu. de; thee,"—she- would have continued, but grief clitked her further ut terance. ".Mother," said lie s'oupiug to catch her in out you kiss iri- »lid bless me be fore I die !" she raised her eyes swimming in cars, and wiih an almost canvulsive effort, e.Usp ed him to hir bosom ««(Hay the God of He» ven bless thee my dear sot !" she cried : " wilt soon be with 'hv fallet- and ! will soon tul low thee " a sign to the ex-cm inner, Us mother was moved, and the work ot death proceeded on. was soon finished amid the agonizing horror, but profound silence uf the nssfmbled multitude : his body was then cot down, and delivered, a melan choly, a heart-rending presett to his disconsolate mother. "Hong, long, will the maidens of the sur rounding c. iiu-ry. pause to drop a tear, »s they pas3 the s[)' t where the remains of this toothful martyr are deposited ; and with swelling bosoms idnpt the language of Ireland's sweetest melo dis 1 , when they pathetically express their sor rows lor his cruel fate. ' Oh ! breathe not his name, let it sleep in the shade. Where cold and unhonored his relics are laid : Sad, silent and dark, be tlie tears that we shed, As the night dew that lads on the grass o'er his head ; But the night ilew that falls though in silence it weeps, Shall brighten with verdure the grava where he si ops, And the tear that he shed, though in secret it rolls. filial! long k ep his memory'preen in our souls." hit arms, tliuu Amen," criet the victim and giving re It FUOM T11S SI'ECTATOH. Ilie geledi fontes, hic moUia parafa Lycori, llie nanus, liie toto tecum amsumertr ævo. Yin-. Bel. 10. v. 43 Homo see vvliat pleasure* i" our plains abound; The woods, tlie fountains, and the flow'ry ground ; could live, anil love, and die with only Dhtdxn. Hilpa was one of the hundred and fifiy daugh ters of Ziluph, one of tlie race of Cohu, by whom some of tlie learned think is meant Cain. Site was exceedingly beautiful ; and when site was but a girl of threescore and ten years of age, re cei veil the addresses of several who made love to Iter. Among those were two brothers, Hat-path and Shalum ; Harpath being first-born, was mas ter of that fruitful region which lies at the foot of Mount Tirzah, in the southern parts of China. Shalum (which is to say tlie planter, in the Chi nese language) possessed all the neighboring Here you. a bills, and hat great range of mountains which goes under the name of Tirzafi, Harpath was oFa haughty, contemptuous spirit; Shall of a gentle disposition, beloved both by God and It is said that, among the antidiluvian women, the daughters of Cohu had their minds wholly s*'t upon riches; for which reason the beautiful Ililpa preferred Harpath to Shalum, because of his numerous flocks and herds, that covered all the low country which runs along the fuot of mount Tirzafi, and is watered by several foun tains and streams breaking out of the aides ofthut mountain. Harpath made so quick a dispatch of his courtship, that lie married Hilpa in the hundredth year of her age ; and being of an insolent tem per, laughed to scorn his brother Shalum for hav ing pretended to the beautiful Hilpa, when he was master of nothing but a long chain of rocks and mountains. This so much provoked Sha lum, that he is said to have curs d him in the bitterness of-his heart, and to have prayed that one of his mountains might fail upon his head if «•ver he came within the shadow of it From this time forward lia. path would never ven ure out of the valleys but came to an un timely end in the two hundred and fiftieth ye r of his age, being drowned in a river tempte*' to cross it. This river is called to this day, from his name who perished hi it, the rivet Harpaih: and, what is very remarkable, issuer out of one of those mountains which Shalum wished might fall upon his brother when he curs ed him in the bitterness of hw heart. Hilpa was in the hundred and sixtietn year of her age at the death of her husband, having brought him but fifty children before lie was snatched away, as has been already related. Ma ny of the antediluvians made lové to the young wi<low, though no one wa* thought so likely to succeed in her affections as her first lover, Sh* lum, w.ho renewed his court to her about ten years after the death of Harpath ; for it wns not thought decent in those days that a widow should be seen by a man within ten years after the de cease of her husband. Shalum falling into a deep melancholy, and resolved to take away that objection which had been raised against him when he made his first addresses to Hilpa, began, immediately after her m image with Harpath, to plant all that moun tainous region which fell to his lot in the divj sion of this country. He knew how to adapt ev ery plant to its proper soil, and is thought to have inherited many traditional secrets of that art from the first mao This employment turn d at length to his profit as well a* to his amuse nt' nt ; his mountains were in a few years »haded with young trees, that gradually shot up into groves, woods, and forests, intermixed with walks and lawn» and gardens ; insomuch that the whole region from a naked and desolate prospect, be gan now to look like a second paradise. The pleasantness of the place, and the agreeable dis position of Sh.dum, who was reckoned one of the mildest and wisest of all wiio lived before the flooJ, drew into it multitudes of people who were perpetually employed in the sinking o' wells, the diggiugof trenches, and the hollowing of trees, fur the belter distribution of water through every part of this spacious plantation. The habitation of Sludum looked every year mire beautiful in the eye of Hilpa, who, after the sp .ee of seventy autumns, was wonderfully pi as- d with (he distant prospect of Shalum*» hills, which were then covered with innumerable trees, and gloomy scenes, that gave a magnifi cence to the place, and converted it into one of the finest landscapes the eye of man could be hold. The Chinese record a letter which Shalum is said to have written to Hilpa, in the eleventh year of her widowhood. 1 shad here translate it, without departing from that noble simplicity of sentiments, and plainness of manners, which ap pear in the original. Shalum was at this time one hundred and eigh ty years old, and Hilpa one hundred ano seventy '' Shalum, Master df Mount Tirzah , to Hilpa, Mistress of the Tallies* " In the 788th year of thç creation. " What have I not sutter<*d, O diuu .laughter of Hilp.ib, since thou gavest thysvlf away in mar riage to my rival 1 1 grew weary of the light of the sun, and have ever since been covering my and ten years have 1 bt waded the loss of thee on the tops of Mount Tirzah, and soothed my mel ancholy among a thousand gloomy shades of m\ own raising. My dwellings ure at present as the garden ot God, every part of them is filled with r.uiis ami flowers and fountains. The whole mountain is'perfumed for thy reception. Come up into it, Ü my beloved, and let us people this spot of the new world with a beautiful race ot mortals; let us multiply exceedingly among this, delightful shades, and fill every quarter ot them with sons and daughters. Remember, O thou daughter of Zilpah, that the age of man is but a thousand years; that beauty is the admiration but of a few centuries It flourishes as a moun tain-oak, or as a cedar on the top of rirxth, which in three or tour hundred years will fade a* way, and never he thought of by posterity, unless a young wood springs, from its roots. I hink well on this, and remember thy neighbour in the mountains.** . Having here inserted this letter, vrhi^h I look upon as the only antediluvian biUet doux now ex tant, I shall in next paper give the answer to it, and the sequel of this story« urn was n. fie a» to ■ in ed a a COLLECTANEA. SIMPLON ROAD. The Simplon road, wltich surmounts one of the snowy summits of the Alps and opens a communication between France and Italy was projected by Napoleon and executed by his order. It is a stupendous work and ex cites the admiration of every traveller. The highest part of the road is 6000 feet (up wards of a mile) above the level of the sea. It is upwards of forty miles in extent, and passes on the extreme declivity of ridges, over awful chasmsand foaming torrents, and through prodigious masses of rock. 1 he road is so constructed that the slope no where exceeds two and a half inches in six feet, and carriages can descend without lock ing the wheels at any place. There are six galleries cut through the solid rock, the most prodigious of which is 40 rods long 27 feet wide and 30 feet high with three wide openings cut through its sides to admit light. Thirty men were employed night and day (being relieved every eight hours by as many others) for eighteen months in effecting th'u to of gallery. On the lower side of the road there is a wall laid with stone and mortar, with posts ten feet high erected at intervals to dis tinguish the road from the precipice, when the whole is covered with snow. The quan tity of masonry on this wall and at the abut ments is immense. The road passes over 264 bridges. Fourteen stone houses are built at certain intervals across the mountain, the occupants of which are bound to keep their stoves heated night and day in cold weather, and a room ready for travellers. The Catho lics have small oratories on the route, each containing a small crucifix, where they stop and perform their devotions : and near the top is a convent of monks. On the Italian side of the mountain is the village ot Simplon, with twenty houses ; and the cottages, where the poor remain in the summer to feed their goats are found in every part of the Alps, some of them at an amazing height. 4 Nothing which Napoleon has executed, (says professor Griscom) will be regarded with more unmingled satisfaction, or furnish a more durable monument of his public spirit, than the Simplon road. It must ever com mand the plaudits of Europe.' SINGULAR ROBERY. The following adventure, which happened in 1821, at Mara, near Langres, would make no bad figure in a melo-drama. A person passing through a wood towards nightfall, was stopped by a man who presenting a pis tol, demanded his money or his life ; the traveller gave liim twelve francs, declaring it was all he had abeut him. The robber took the money that was offered, and the traveller made off as fast as his legs could carry him ; half dead with fright, yet hap py at having got away so cheaply. He soon reached a farm house, where believing him self to be in safety, he requested hospitality after having related his adventure ; adding that he had contrived to save a considerable sum from the rapacity of the robber. The mistress of the house, who was at this time alone, offered him an asylum but said he would be obliged to sleep in the hay loft; this offer was accepted with gratitude, our travelle.-preferring an uncomfortable bed to dangerous rencontre«. —He had scarcely laid himself down in the hay loft, when he heard the master of the house ; the latter related to his wife, that fortune had not been very favourable to him this time ; that he had met with but one traveller, from whom, he had got no more than twelve francs. From the circumstances of his narrative, his wife was persuaued that the person whom she had taken in, was the very same whom her husband had stopped ; she informed him of it, and they agreed that during the night the man should go up into the hay-loft and push the traveller down, while he slept, and that the wife armed with an axe, should imme diately despatch him. Very luckily, our traveller had not lost a word ef this conver sation ; he kept himself upon his guard, and at the moment when the assassin mounted the ladder into the hay loft, to execute his project, struck hin a blow on the head, so that he fell quite stunned to the floor below, where his wife instantly cut off his head with her axe. The traveller fled to the neigh-' boring village, and gave information of the circumstance ; the officer of police repaired to the spot, and the woman was arrested. LADY STANHOPE. Persons who read the public papers will remember that Lady Hesther Stanhope, an Englishwoman, made herself, either by her beauty or her skill, Chief of a tribe of Arabs, in the Desarts ofSyria, over whom she reign ed with absolute power. News has lately been received of this extraordinary woman, whose family, rich and powerful, have vain a mile from Saide, Tt&^î?' ilt " ate ^ '} alf this sovneign was gone to JeolP-X heard that of the mountains. The two Enght lle middle her the letters and books, with whlCP sent were charged, and at the same time requePV^ ed permission to pay their respects to her personally ; but she replied, that she had laid down as a law, never to suffer an English man near her. The two captains, were in formed that she was generally dressed like a Turk; that the people adored her, and were never satisfied w ith talking of her beau ty and magnanimity .—Paris paper. We have never heard of this singular fe male except through the French papers. On reference to the Mercury of May 31,1816 find the first mention of her, which we copied from the French journals. Lady Hesther Stanhope is there described as the niece, friend and intimate companion of the late Mr. Pitt; after whose death she formed the project of travelling in the Levant. She visited Malta and Constantinople, and was shipwrecked in her voyage to Palestine. She was rescued, and conveyed to Syria ; af ter which she travelled in all directions, ac companied by our countryman Bruce, who aided the escape of Lavalette. The same accounts add, that after innumerable adven tures she was then at the head of some tribes of Bedouin Arabs, who regarded her as a be ing of a superior order. This was the sub stance of the French account of our fair coun trywomen in 1816, to which, together with the more recent intelligence from Paris, our readers may attach what credit they deem it deserving of. we SKATING IN HOLLAND. From the Annal « of «porting and fancy.. Gazette March 1. During the winter, Holland presents « spectacle which may be enjoyed at ajmaU expence. When the canals the lakesi uje fr£ 2 en* they travel on the ice with skates.