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The Wilmingtonian, and Delaware register. (Wilmington, Del.) 1824-1825, July 01, 1824, Image 1

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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.

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