FEINBERG/WHITMAN LITERARY FILE POETRY FILE "Ambition" (Jan. 29, 1842). Printed Copies. Box 26 Folder 13 Brother Jonathan. Vol. 1 New York, January 29, 1842 No. 5. Written for the Brother Jonathan. Ambition By Walter Whitman. One day, an obscure youth, a wanderer, Known but to a few, lay musing with himself About the chances of his future life. In that youth's heart, there dwelt the coal of Ambition, Burning and glowing; and he asked himself, "Shall I, in time to come, be great and famed?" Now soon an answer wild and mystical Seemed to sound forth from out of the depths of air; Like one as of a could--and thus it spoke: "O, many a painting, noble heart Cherishes in its deep recess The hope to win renown o'er earth From Glory's prized caress. "And some will win that envied goal, And have their deeds known far and wide; And some--by far the most--will sink Down in oblivion's tide. "But thou, who visions bright dost cull From the imagination's store, With dreams, such as the youthful dream Of grandeur, love, and power, "Fanciest that thou shalt build a name And come to have the nations know What conscious might dwells in the brain That throbs beneath that brow? "And see thick countless ranks of men Fix upon thee their reverent gaze--- And listen to the plaudits loud To thee that thousands raise? "Weak, childish soul! the very place That pride has made for folly's rest; What thoughts, with vanity all rife, Fill up thy heaving breast! "At night, go view the solemn stars Those wheeling worlds through time the same--- How puny seem the widest power, The proudest mortal name! "Think too, that all, lowly and rich, Dull idiot mind and teeming sense, Alike must sleep the endless sleep, A hundred seasons hence. "So, frail one, never more repine, Though thou livest on obscure, unknown; Though after death unsought may be Thy markless resting stone." And as these accents dropped into the youth's ears, He felt him sick at heart; for many a month His fancy had amused and charmed itself With lofty aspirations, visions fair Of what he might be. And it pierced him sore To have his airy castles thus dashed down. Written for the Brother Jonathan Timothy Bushnell, Esq." Or, A Day's Marketing. By H. Hastings Weld "Our fathers have eaten sour grapes, and the children's teeth are set on edge." Chapter 1.---Weddings. A wedding in 1810 was a different affair from the weddings of the present day. In some particulars we must confess that innovation has not improved the fashion. A wife should not be taken as one buys a horse, without form ceremony, or impressive circumstance. The occasion is not an every day affair, to be consummated in an odd leisure moment, or hurried over like the acknowledgement of a deed or an oath at the custom house. Such, however, seems to be the tendency of the present period. Men marry as if they "had as soon do it as not," to use a vernacular expression, and women promise to love, honor, and obey, without apparently thinking of the import of the promise, and with such an indifferent air that it is not to be wondered that they forget all about this in less than a month. There is none of the good old fashion of appointing the day, the very day, and bespeaking the parson, a year in advance. There is no counting the intervening month, then the weeks, days, hours, between the present and the day and the hour; no palpitation of heart, and blushing, and hesitating, and looking happy and foolish at the same instant---no advice from grave widows, graver old maids, gravest married matrons---no, not a bit of it. We expect, at the present rate of proceeding, a couple of young ladies may soon meet in the street, and thus discourse: "Why, Celia, you d'ye do? you're looking rosy this morning? you must'ni be engaged to-night positively, for Tom Delancey and Joseph Rivington are desperately smitten with you, and I've promised them both---separately, of course, you know, as the confident of each, that they shall meet you at our house this evening. Hubby's to be home at ten, and all are to drop in an accidental way. It will be delightful to see the two swains deny trumps, miss their suits, and throw away their hands while Hub and I pin them to the whist table, and you sit like Patience on the music stool, with that pretty left arm and wrist of yours on the keys of the piano! Do put your arm up on the black keys, sis, for the sake of the contrast, and load your fingers well with all the trumpery rings you can find. There's nothing like competition, and they'll think you have been in demand by such tokens. You will come over now, won't you, sis?" "Really, Angelica, I am engaged this evening." "Put it off." "I can't very well, Angelica. The fact is I was married last evening." "Well, I declare you ought to be ashamed! you didn't say a word to me about it when we were shopping yesterday morning! But who have you married?" "I didn't think of doing such a thing yesterday morning, my dear, and if i had, might have forgotten to mention it, those shawls we looked at were so heavenly. You know I couldn't buy yesterday, but I made my little man give me the money this morning before I would have any appetite for breakfast." "That was clever! But what is his name? We must understand our friends' names, you know, or we should seem awkward. "Let me see---oh here's Hubby's card, that'll tell you about it. Now for the shawl, and won't it make my hat look so bad that he must furnish for a new one?" "To be sure it will--and I suspect my gentleman will have to match both for me, or he'll hear of difficulty. But what kind of a person is this Mr.---Mr.---I declare I can't read his flourishes!" "Excellent, I'm sure---for I've known him a whole week." [Exeunt ladies---from the street into Stewart's] Now, reader, that was not the way they managed matters, when grandmother's cup was new. It was nothing like the manner in which Timothy Bushnell married his Mary---and, by the way, that puts us in mind that we have commenced a story. The matter had been talked over for the period of twelve calendar months, jokingly, by all the town---then for twelve more almost seriously, as something which might possibly happen one day or other--and then for the same period confidently, as a match made, and waiting only the proper season to be consummated. Our mothers postponed putting on the bridal wreath, as long as they deferred putting off the widow's weeds, feeling bound in both cases to think at least a year upon the subject. And when they wed, all the friends of both families were invited, and all the friends' friends, and nobody declined such an invitation. All sat demure, though a roguish look would be apparent in young eyes, if you looked into them close enough; and among the elders there seemed to be a universal expression, indicative of the fact that they knew more about matrimony than the young couple who were about to tempt its trials--more than they chose to tell. Filled with the high sanctity and responsibility of his calling, the Reverend gentleman has steadily eyed the fire, at the side of which he has the honored seat, for ten minutes by the clock. Sitting in a charmed circle, no one dares to approach him, or to offer conversation on any ordinary topic, at such a time; until at length the groom's-man places a packet in the parson's hand. He steals one glance at it, satisfied that all was right before, and places it away in the ample pocket of his coat. Now, then the parties who have been sitting an uncomfortable half hour, the observed of all observers, rise as he approaches them--the husband that is be red as a poppy--the wife pale as a lily. The bride's-maids and groom's-men wonder how soon they shall stand on the same line, but at the centre of it; and as they steal a glance across at each other, their tell-tale looks betray their simultaneous thoughts, and they blush too.---Almost a titter runs through the whole company---for eye language at such a time is quick as thought. But the Parson has opened his lips, and all is still but his voice---still as death. It is over. There is a moment of hesitation---then a rush at the victims. She who first kissed the bride, in olden time was sure of being first married. No wonder then that the girls at weddings overcame their habitual reluctance to kissing each other---a fruitless employment, except on such occasions, and with such assurances. Now for the cake and wine. The parson barely sips his---temperate old gentleman. Surely he cannot be going home! He elbows his way through the crowd, with a word for this lady---a smile for that, a nod of the head for one gentleman---a grasp of the hand for another. Steadily he pushes his way to the next room, and as the crowd give way for him, the ladies flit to the other apartment, and their places are filled by gentleman. Oh, ho! Now we see the attraction. It is that side-board, with bottles and decanters upon it, rivalling, in the hues of their contents, the brilliance of a country apothecary's window. The parson sees nothing there precisely as he wants it. A look at the servant is understood, and in a few moments is answered with a smoking pitcher.---The man of God holds in his hand a reeking glass, and waits only till young and old, married a single men, have followed his contagious example. But where is the bridegroom? Loud calls are raised for the happy man. "Come, come," the parson cries, for it is his privilege to utter the first stereotype joke; "you will have enough of Mrs. Bushnell's company when we are all gone!" Ha! ha!---breaks out the same old laugh, at the same old joke, which has been repeated at every wedding during the previous thirty years. Then, the Deacon ventures his witticism, a little broader than the parson's. And then the oldest married man present says, his say---and then the rest---but we can't think of repeating what folks would say in ear shot of the women, but just out of their presence, while the steam of the cup ascended to their nostrils. The bridegroom answers the call, for he has been at weddings before. The Deacon gives his invariable toast, and the Person, with a few of the elders, takes his leave, that "the young people may enjoy themselves." Jokes grow frequent, and laughing makes the throat dry. The remedy is convenient, and the ladies begin to find mere wine (we don't blame them--Sicily Madeira and poor Malaga, and shocking at that) very insipid. Attentive beaux are running from room to room, tripping over the carpet, and spilling that artfully compounded mixtures which they have concocted at the half request of their lady loves.--"Christmas comes but once a year," and a marriage not much oftener. Nothing said to-night is to be remembered to-morrow, nothing done is to be remembered otherwise than as an allowable joke at such a convocation. The husband has hard work to resist the artful endeavors of all present to upset what little brains drinking and the natural flurry of the occasion have left him. The wife is at length carried of by the not entirely sober women--and the husband is obliged to compromise for quiet, with rudely familiar male friends, by accepting the assistance of ten or a dozen awkward amateur valets de chambre; and at length the house is still Such was one of the occasions on which our fathers consecrated drunkenness, and the above presents but a feeble picture of an old-fashioned country wedding. Verity our fathers ate sour grapes--or drank the juice, which is worse--and the children's teeth are set on edge. CHAPTER II A House Warming--The House Too Hot Having married our hero, it may be well to say something respecting him; and in doing so, we shall but anticipate the usual questions at such a juncture; for the ladies are always curious to know the character of a man who has dared to risk matrimony. Perhaps this disposition for enquiring into the merits and demerits of a bridegroom is something akin to the curiosity of a man who has not drawn a prize in a lottery, to know who has, and to ascertain how near his own numbers came to the lucky ones. Perhaps too, the ladies may occasionally like to know that they man they have not caught is no very great loss after all. Detraction, however, could do nothing to injure Timothy Bushnell, up to date of his marriage. He was not a wonderful person, to be sure, but a very good man as the world goes. The commander of a company of uniform militia, he was still no Bonaparte. The graduate of one of the oldest colleges in the country, he was no phenomenon of erudition; and though regularly admitted to the bar he could not rival Cicero in forensic eloquence. Good looking enough, he was no Adonis; and conscious of the advantages which the inheritance of a moderate fortune gave him, he was still not purse proud, nor was he vain of any thing except his wife. That by the way, is a harmless vanity, of which it is a pity there is not more in the world. As the man vain of his person takes good care of his own dear proper self, so the man vain of his wife takes kind care of that other self, which should be ever dearest in a true husband's eyes. The world lay a smooth a pleasant before Bushnell; and but for evil fashions, now happily gone or going out of date, it might have realised in the fulfilment all that it promised in anticipation. There is no objection whatever to the virtues and amenities of life; none whatever to innocent mirth, though it may be boisterous. Nor are we of so straight a sect as to regard convivial follies, in moderation, as criminal; but inasmuch as these follies sometimes open the door to want, and all its train of vice and misery, it is the part of wisdom to be foolish as seldom as possible, and the perfection of wisdom to avoid entirely the folly of seeking false and manufactured mirth, when innate cheerfulness from conscious and continued temperance is so much cheaper. Bushnell took his young wife home to his new house--and a splendid house it was, as the fashion was in those days. The owner, just married, the first occupant of his own new house, and the Captain of the Cedarville Rifle Rangers, could do no less than warm the building, though it happened to be entered at a season when my house is usually deemed warm enough. A rare frolic was this house warming. The popular and worthy host moved among his guests sure of their friendship and kindness---and was challenged so often to drink to its continuance, that he found oblivion, for the moment, of any circumstance to mar his future prospects. To make a long story short, our host was coaxed away from his young wife, or kidnapped and put in bed long before his friends had done admiring his premises through that flattering medium Brother Jonathan. which gives the coleur de rose to every thing to which it is applied.- - -It was three months since his marriage, and, since the wedding night, he had so often received visits and congratulations, and had so uniformly responded to them in a spirited manner, that his little wife really began to fear he was entirely too good a fellow. And the event of this night, the first occasion on which he had ever been entirely “overcome,” filled her with alarm, and, we must add, led her to show altogether more disgust than was prudent, or politic. On the next morning Mr. Bushnell awoke with quite strong suspicions of a very bad headache ; and with an indistinct impression that he was in a strange room. He found that he had been the sole tenant of the bed ; and still unaware precisely by what circumstances this change had happened, dressed hurriedly, and proceeded to his usual sleeping apartment. Every thing there was in such order that it was evident the chamber maid had performed her daily duties; and now he bethought him that the sun looked unusually high in the heavens for a very early hour in the morning. Descending to the breakfast room, he found that deserted, and on a side table that most uncomfortable and repulsive of all offerings even to the healthy appetite, a deferred breakfast. Mrs. Bushnell was no where visible--he helped himself to a stale cup of coffee, and pushed into the street---trembling, tottering in his gait, pale, haggard, dispirited one moment, and the next breathing hard in a tempest of passion. "Hulloa, Bushnell! What the devil ails you? You look like an escaped maniac this morning." It was one of his friends---the Lieutenant of the Cedarville Rifle Corps. "You want a straightener this morning---come, I'm just going to take my eleven o'clock." Bushnell was led unresistingly into a bar-room. One glass stiffened his nerves, and steadied his hand, which had before shaken like a palsied limb. One glass restored his spirits, and he laughed with half glee, half shame, as Lieut. Carter told him of his mad frieks the night before, and how "all the company" said he was a "d--d good fellow," and how devilish funny it was, to see him bothering his wife, as she was coaxing him out of the room, and how he threw one of his own cut glass decanters at a splendid mirror---and how his wife's black eyes snapped---and how she must be a splendid woman---and all the rest. Devilish funny it wall proved to Bushnell, in the end. One and another came in, and again and again the glass went round. The bar-keepers flew about in ecstacy at the rush of business, and the wooden toddy stick of those days played the devil's tattoo in half a dozen tumblers at once. The whole of the previous evening's proceedings were talked over and over, till the dinner hour arrived, and then Bushnell finding himself alone in the bar-room--staggered home at noon-day. His wife might have prevented all this. At home he was just able to perceive that he did not perceive his wife. The table was placed for one, and he inquired, as he clung to a chair where "Mr-r-r-rs. B. kept herself?" The frightened maid told him his wife had gone out for the day. There he swayed, his eyes closing and half opening---his chin now sinking on his breast---now jerking up with an apparently involuntary motion. The astonished servant girl fled to the kitchen. He seized the decanter, which after the fashion of those days stood upon the board, and under the momentary strength of another glass, staggered to a sofa--extended himself upon it, and became insensible. It was past midnight when he woke. It seemed as if all the fires of hell were burning in his brain, and that their heart made the atmosphere too close to breathe. The room was deadly still, and the pale light of the stars threw a shadowy gloom over those objects which were apparent by their feeble aid. He groaned and moved heavily, his elbow striking the arm of the couch, with a force which awoke him to pain---but still left him in mental obscurity. He muttered a curse, and was still again. A stifled sob caught his ear. He almost suspended breathing. The sobs became more frequent, and at length the utterer lost all government over her emotions, burst into a passion of tears, and came and kneeling at his side, bowed her face down in his bosom, breathed his pestilential breath, unheeding it, and bathed his face with her flowing hair--- all wet with her tears. He placed his hand upon her brow and started with horror. It was cold, clammy cold, and he fairly shrieked in alarm, as what seemed to him death dews moistened his palm. She sprang to her feet, affrighted in her turn, and was on the point of alarming the house, when his husky voice recalled her. "For God's sake, Mary, strike a light, and give me a drop of water.!" Fervently did he clasp the refreshing cup to his parched lips; and then his self abasement and shame came to him with full consciousness. He feared to ask a single question, and his wife was too much heart-broken to reproach or to taunt him---but silence where he had a perfect right to expect an earnest expostulation, to say the least, was even more irksome than reproaches would have been. And on the next morning the same silence was continued. He had almost a good mind to be angry with her for it. He would have been glad to have made some explanation---to have uttered something in apology---to have offered promises for the future; but how could he introduce the subject? So passed breakfast. As he walked abroad he felt as if the very dogs which passed him gave him a leer of ridicule; and every indistinct sound of conversation which reached his ear was tortured by his imagination into a comment upon his recent conduct. Sick in body and mind, he would fain have restored again to stimuli, but the thought or the midnight scene of the previous night made him shudder. He preserved his self command, and returned to dinner at his wonted hour sober in more senses than one. An air of pensive welcome awaited him on the part of his wife. The ordinary topics of conversation were introduced, but still he seemed constrained and abashed. His wife pushed the decanter toward him. He declined--blushed--stammered--caught the moment when there were no witnesses---poured out a full confession of his folly without attempting a word of extenuation or apology, and then he was at home again. The victory was still in his wife's hands---but that wife was not wise enough to keep her advantage. Few women are. The husband had made ample concessions, and was entitled to something of the same manifestation of a conciliatory disposition on the part of his wife. She kindly but coldly received his apologies and professions, and not a word of admission fell from her that she was in any measure accountable for his folly. He felt that she was so accountable, and was grieved that she humiliated him by preserving the cold aspect of a pure judge, when she should have met his advances in a kindred spirit. All this might have passed. Bushnell might have forgotten one instance in which his wife claimed superiority, and assumed the dictator. He might have forgotten that his warmth of heart had betrayed him once into a humiliating position, which Mary had not magnanimity of soul to relieve. But she did not stop there. As the effects of the debauch wore off, and he would have gladly forgotten it, she ungenerously recalled it to his memory, indelicately and heartlessly alluding even before her frieuds and his own to circumstances which, had they been unmentioned, might have exterted no after influence. She ceased not to attack his companions, and thus drove him into the defence and society of men whom he would have gladly relinquished, at his dictates of his own good sense, if she had not forced him into such a position, that any change in his choice of acquaintances would not only have seemed to others the obedience of a hen-pecked husband, but would have been treated by the wife herself as so many submissions, of which she could daily remind him. Ladies! Ladies! you have a vast deal to learn yet, in the management of your husbands! A daughter was born to Bushnell. Such an event should be, and always is, in well regulated families, attended with a practical declaration of amnesty for all previous offences, and of suspension and oblivion to all pending disagreements. The heart of the husband is melted in kindness to the suffering partner of his bosom; the soul of the wife is lifted in gratitude to Heaven for the blessing vouchsafed; and both unite their hands and hearts over the little stranger with a renewal of the sentiments, in which they first pledged themselves to each other. But Mary, taught in too straight a school of matrimonial ethics---reared under the advice of a father who had not soul enough to sin, aided by the rigid virtue of an ancient sister, who rejoiced in stern single-blessedness, and seconded by the sententious monosyllables of a cold-hearted mother, whose life was as chill and monotonous as a lake in a morass---educated under such auspices, Mary Bushnell could not understand her husband, or her duties toward him. We have said that wedding was an event in a country town a few years ago. So was a birth---and above all, a christening. So are they still, in distant quarters, where fashion has not interposed her dictates against the better feelings of our nature. Congratulations met the [*116 BROTHER JONATHAN.*] happy father on all hands. No member of the Cedarville Rifle Corps passed him without a warm greeting; and his heart opened in kindness to all creation. Still, he forbore to touch the bowl—or only complied with what was then the mode, so far as ceremony imposed the necessity of tasting upon him. Weeks passed—the happiest weeks that Bushnell had known since his marriage. The couple had presented their infant at the baptismal font, and a congregation had witnessed the imposing ceremony—the ladies not forgetting to scrutinize the dress and general appearance of the young mother, and the gentlemen not concealing or suppressing their admiration at her surpassing beauty—the matronly ripeness and dignity of womanhood, which had succeeded to the delicate and girlish elegance that all admired upon the wedding day. "My dear," said Bushnell, as he bowed over the precious burthen which rested upon his wife's bosom—" Lieut. Carter—" "I do wish you wouldn't mention that odious man to me again." It was the first unkind word she had spoken for weeks. Timothy sighed—passed his hand through his hair, as if he could comb the effect of her unkindness out of his head with his fingers—walked to the window —waited in vain for her to resume the conversation, on any topic she chose, provided the tone was kind—and then, despairing of any such kindness on her part, took up his hat. "Mr. Bushnell," said his wife, "I thought you intended to spend the evening at home, but I presume that, as usual, you can find pleasanter associates abroad, than a feeble wife and troublesome child!" The man uttered not a word in reply. He had not been from her side during a single evening for a month. He put on his hat, and as he sallied forth, at the door he met Carter. To ask him in was impossible. A feeble excuse, the illness of his child, was invented. The man who had proposed to be Bushnell's guest that evening, at the hearth-side where all his friends should have been welcomed, became the host, at a public house, of the husband, who was driven out of his own home. Bushnell was in no humor that night to resist temptation. He went home intoxicated, and all the town, the next day, exclaimed against the cruelty with which he treated his amiable wife. The public, who never hear the half of a story, is always a packed jury in favor of a pretty woman. The reader, who has heard both sides of this particular case, will mentally reverse that public's decision. In successions of such events passed the following four or five years of Bushnell's life. The limits of a newspaper story do not permit us to go into a longer history; nor would it be tolerable—for the relation would be found too monotonous. The cheerful grounds about the house became desolate ; the wife degenerated into a repining slut (we don't like the word, but there is no better) nothing in the family store increased but children, and every new comer created topics for new disputes and unhappiness. The patrimony of Bushnell was dissipated, his business fell off entirely, his wife and children became pensioners upon the grudging charity of her father, and to put the climax to their misfortunes, Bushnell, one night, in drunken carelessness, burned down their house over their heads, the family escaping with bare life. CHAPTER III. CATHERINE MARKET. The Washingtonians, as the now and thorough going school of temperance men denominate themselves, have made Catherine Market particularly famous in the present ; and if the memory of men disenthralled, and the gratitude of the children of fathers raised from moral death can consecrate it, they have made it famous in the future. Many a man can date from Catherine Market his rise from bestial degradation ; many a happy wife may remember it as the somewhat unpoetical spot, from which her prodigal husband, sick of the mire in which men, worse than swine wallow, arose to return to his wife and to his children. Our city readers are aware that the self-appointed and efficient missionaries of Temperance have long made this particular vicinage the scene of their labors ; and the fruit of these, and other exertions in all parts of the country is apparent in the statistical fact that the manufacture of whiskey, in this city and vicinity, is now ten thousand gallons a day less, than it was only four months ago. Among the auditory of a dock preacher of temperance on a fine Sunday in November last, might have been seen a man of sixty years or thereabouts, whose gentlemanly bearing even in his rags, denoted "a man who had seen better days." All the rudeness of squalid poverty, all the debasements of strong drink, all the example and contagion of his filthy associates, had not been sufficient to quench entirely the lustre of his eye, or totally to remove the native nobility of his mien. But these indications, to the experienced observer, were anything but favorable to his reform. They showed, that, having recovered the first degradation of submission to his descent, he had discovered his superiority over his fellow-outcasts, and, ejected from the circle of respectability and comfort in which once he moved, he had become content, no longer able to serve in Heaven, to reign in Hell. He skilfully diverted the remarks of the speaker from their impression, by witty and artfully worded jokes. He stood forth the champion of the demon drink, which had ruined him ; and while, despite of his sarcasms, man after man went forward and signed the pledge, and while others hesitated, or moved away, he alone, of all that crowd, remained apparently unmoved and obstinate in his degradation. The audience separated. Bushnell—it was no other—walked away alone. Twenty years had passed since we took leave of him at the close of chapter third. For fifteen years he had been separated from his family—for ten he had been in no communication with them. His sottish habits had in his own ruin, involved that of his wife's connections, and destroyed the asylum which might otherwise have protected his family, and afforded a beggar's subsistence to himself—the cold food thrown to a dog. But in their adversity they could no longer tolerate the presence of the man whom they blamed as the sole cause of it, and, in his native village a marked man. he felt the signet of Cain up on his brow, and fled. New York, like all great cities, the receptacle of the unfortunate and the outcast, ended his journey, and here for several years he had earned a precarious subsistence, scorning the comforts, and contenting himself with less than the bare necessaries of life, while he paid blind devotion still, to the thing which had ruined him. Bushnell was forced, to himself, to acknowledge the truth of the speaker's reasonings. Having now none whom he loved, or for whom he cared, to meet him with taunts, he indefinitely resolved to practice upon them; though his intended reformation was a secret of which he was so much ashamed that he trusted it to no living being. That night, the first for many years, he went to his den to sleep, perfectly sober ; and in that state he was surprised that he ever could have endured or tolerated such a place of rest. It made him sick at heart—ashamed of his existence. Sleep, which had been used to be woed to his couch by the stupidity of intoxication, fled from his eyelids ; and through the long, long watches of the night he struggled between his resolutions to reform, and the suggestions of the tempter. One glass he knew would settle his trembling nerves—but that one glass he did not take, and though he rose at morn more fatigued in body than when he laid down ; though his hands shook like the aspen, and his limbs almost refused to support him, he rose prouder in heart than the conquerer of a hundred fields. He had gained a victory over himself—he had kept the secret to himself, and alone as he stood in the uncharitable world, he was exposed to none of that cruel unkindness, the exhibition of which some people seem to think is both the privilege and the proof of affection. "Halloa, old Tom!" shouted a crony, "Had your bitters?" "Yes." He knew that as the hearer understood this, it was a lie; but he had not presence of mind enough to tell the truth—and beside thought he, God knows I have had bitters enough! Steadily he passed his pothouse haunts, and seated himself at the democratic table of refreshments, provided in every market for those, the limits of whose purses, or the simpleness of whose desires, forbid more expensive entertainment than market coffee, and pastry. "Isn't this rather insiped?" he asked of the very comely damsel who served him. "He-ah! He-ah! He-ah!" giggled the ebony wench who officiates in the high capacity of market sweeper. "Dah is what I calls a good one. Why, goramighty, Mr. Tim—nuffin would taste in your froat, 'dout it was melted brimstone, or scalding nigger gin! He-ah! Well dat-are is a good one!" The day before, Bushnell would have joked with Dinah as an equal. Now his cheek burned with shame that he was thus addressed. He looked round, and was surprised to see that nobody else was astonished. One man only waited, as if he expected amusement from his reply. He made none. "Come dare you, Tim," the woman resumed—"I sees what it is. [*BROTHER JONATHAN. 117*] [*BUSHNELL AT BREAKFAST IN CATHARINE MARKET.*] You isn't had your bitters dis morning. Come—I gib it to you. Dis nigger isn't too proud to drink with a white man, if he do sleep in de fish market." Bushnell bowed his head and groaned almost aloud. But who was to notice old Tim Bushnell, the inveterate dock loafer? The girl at whose table he sat, at length begged him to make room for others. He started at the sound of her voice, for it gave life and reality to the feverish dream which had been harrassing him. He was back, in imagination, in his home—and that voice! He regarded her so fixedly, that she turned her head from him, and beckoned for assistance. A watch hung near her hand—he reacked forward, gazed at, and clutched it—and in the next moment was seized as a thief, and passed to insensibility in the hands of his captors. We pass the intervening events, to introduce the reader to the Bushnell family now. In a neat tenement in ___th Street, Timothy Bushnell resides with his wife and daughter—the girl who furnished his coffee on that Monday morning, sits at his side, while the wife of his youth and of his age, presides over their tidy breakfast. The watch, an heir loom in his family, no longer goes to market, but ticks above the mantel piece—more than a mere monitor of time, from its history and associations. His other children are settled in the world ; this daughter shared her mother's varied fortunes, and is present now, a witness to the peace of the declining days of her parents. We have not space to paint the vicissitudes of fortune which befel the widow, as she deemed herself during her long separation from her husband. All are now content in temperate poverty, and never recal the past, except to regret that they could not learn their duties to each other without so long and so severe a lesson. The daughter, who presides no longer over the market cake table, since the "scene" which took place there, will make a capital wife for some honest tee-totaller, and declares she will marry no other. Times are already on the mending hand with the whole family ; for in strict temperance as a capital, investments always yield a thousand fold; and the well-directed exertions of a father will keep want from any door when Bacchus is refused admission. FOR THE BROTHER JONATHAN. THE ADVENTURES OF TOM STAPLETON. EDITED BY JOHN M. MOORE. CHAPTER XV Matters of a pecuniary nature brought me to Troy. It was my intention to remain a week, but finding it impossible to exist so long in a town without a theatre, I returned to New York on the fourth day. On entering my room I found a letter which had been shoved under the door. It was from my comrade, par excellence, and ran thus : "DEAR TOM,- "I am up here carrying on the war in fine style, but am out of ammunition, and must make a raise, or raise the siege. Can you do any thing? Twenty-five dollars might do; but a fifty would be equal to a pack of artillery. "As you may suppose, Flora's the very devil to make love to. She has a regular Kentucky pallat; so that the man that can dive deepest, stop under water longest, and come out dryest, is the man for her money. - She has poor David out of the blankets, and over the hills and far away, with her every morning before cock crow ; and then, when she don't chance to be climbing, she is sure to be shooting, riding, boating, or skating, and so forth, with cousin Dave in her wake, grumbling as he goes, for want of thought ; and between you and I, if it wasn't for the dowry, and the way the old folks set him on, he'd cut the connection, for he complains of the hardships she imposes on him all the time, and usually looks about as happy and comfortable on the strength of them as a fellow on his road to the gallows. In fact, it would be a mercy to him to take the girl off his hands. "You ask me how I manage my cards, but I haven't time to go into detail at present. Suffice it to say, that I am always on the alert, and, hence, frequently manage to throw myself in the way of the happy couple when there's any thing striking to be done; such, for instance, as leaping up and down precipices, following game breast-deep in the water, etcetera-(Flora, you see, mostly shoots without dogs, for the purpose of giving the unfortunate Dave a chance for displaying his agility,) so that I have scarcely had a dry stitch on my back since I came here, and have on sundry occasions barely escaped breaking my neck. Of course, Flora understands what I'm up to well enough ; but Davie's stupidity renders him proof to suspicion ; and accordingly, I have the game in my own hands, and may-nay, by all the gods, must win it-if I can maintain my present position long enough. "If you can do the needful don't be slow about it, for I am running my face already; if not, I must beat a retreat until I can advance under somewhat more favorable circumstances. "This is a royal place for "Quilting Parties" and Bundling Matches ; but the Dutch girls who abound in the neighborhood, almost kiss any handsome fellow like me to death. Its well I'm virtuous, and in love, or faith worse might come of it, for it's no trifle, Tom, to have a bouncing rosy-cheeked spinster of eighteen, plump herself down in one's lap, lay her head in one's bosom, ; and yet such is the rule with them in these parts, and I, of course, have been brought up in too good a school not to do in Rome as Rome does." Still, the ladies maintain that they are as chaste as moonbeams, which may be as true as holy writ for aught I know to the contrary ; but if so, it is to be confessed they have rather an odd way of showing it ; and were your humble servant only half as tender of heart, and open to general impressions as he used to be, he would as lief trust himself amid the temptations of a "Check Apron Ball," as at a village quilting party, or a Dutch Bundling Match. "I am longing to see you, and have an intellectual debauch, for here my libations are confined to apple jack, new cider, and buttermilk. "Yours, &e., &e.. "PHILIP O'HARA." "P. S. Either you, or Smith, or both of you have stolen two of my shirts, which is something of an inconvenience, as I have but three left, and scarcely think it orthodox to speculate among the hedges in peacetimes. P. O." My excursion to Troy having replenished my exhausted exchequer, I was enabled to send my comrade the heaviest of the two amounts mentioned, as well as to retain about an equal sum for myself ; and having deposited my letter in the post, I returned to my quarters, and was dozing over a dull novel, when some one knocked at the door. "Come in." And Count Delauney, elegantly attired, and redolent of eu de cologne, made his appearance. "Ha, Monsieur Stapletong, so I'ave found you at last. By gar, I am ver well pleased." "Step in and be seated, Count. You have been here before, then- eh?" "Oui Monsieur, evare so much time. Mon Dieu, I shall vunder you grow no tire of live so ver dam high up stairs. "It's good for the inspiration, Count. "Ha, I see-it makes you ver poetique?--Von pauvre poet in his garret, eh!-Ha! ha! ha!" "Hang it, Count, it's a remove from the garret, any way; and moreover, it's not so long since you were one of us, yourself!" "Diable! I only try him for de fun; but by gar, I soon grow tire of such fun. He is too fine-too dam poetique only for him as shall live on ver light stomach, and vash his own shirt!" "Even so, Count. And if rumor don't belie you, one of your advantages over the majority of us in those respects consisted in the fact that you had no shirt to wash." "Ha! vot you say!" exclaimed Delauney, starting to his feet. "By gar, I am insult, and shall ave de revenge!" For a moment I presumed my visitor was jesting, but a glance at him convinced me that it was far otherwise, for his eye was fixed on me, with an expression of deep dislike and resentment. "Heigh! ho!" said I, "what the devil's the meaning of all this?" "It means, sare," returned Delauney, stamping on the ground, "dat you are von dam villane." "My good fellow," I returned, "I fear you have again got yourself into the wrong box, and" "Damn de box, and you too," interrupted the Count, in a fury-" An' now I have insult you. I shall give you some satisfaction ven you shall choose." "What, Count, do you want to be challenged!" "Yes, sare, I vish him ver mooch, and ven you me no shall not challenge, den, by gar, I shall brand you for one grand poltroon." "You have your choice, Count," said I, "either to say you are jesting, beg my pardon, jump out of the window, or be kicked down stairs." "And ave I call you coward, and vill you not meet me vith de weapon, for life or death?" said the Count. "Yes," I answered, "for if you don't adopt one of the three first alternatives instanter, I'll meet you in mortal combat with the toe of my boot." "Listen," returned Delauney with a calm emphasis-indeed, remarkably so for a Frenchman-"I hate you, and I ave de cause to hate you, for you ave see my disgrace-you ave insult me-an' you ave injure me vorse den all in von odare ting as I shall keep to myself. Vell den, I call you villane, and coward, and yet, Mon Dieu, you ave not seek de satisfaction-But, diable! if you are not von of the canaille, you shall seek him now!" And on the word Delauney threw a card on the floor-gave me a smart slap on the left cheek, and darted for the door; but ere he reached it I was upon him and had him by the throat. "Now, you scoundrel," I exclaimed, "your life is not worth a bullrush." "Ah! pardonnez moi," returned the little Frenchman, as he stood quite passive in my grasp: "pardonnez moi, monsiuer, for I was mad- Mon Dieu, I am ver often von lunatique." "Perhaps it is so," thought I, but a survey of my captive's features proved it to be otherwise, for the expression of humiliation that now over-shadowed them was evidently affected, and might not conceal from a searching eye the feelings of dislike and vengence that were rankling at this heart. "Mad or tame," then said I, "you must either humbly beg my pardon to polliate the kicking I mean to give you down stairs, or I shall most assuredly break some of your bones." "I will do as you desire, Monsieur," he returned; whereon I let him go, when he suddenly retired two paces, drew forth a little finger long pistol, and calmly cocked it in my face. "Now," said he sneeringly, "Monsieur shall 'ave de pleasure to kick me down stairs ven ever he has de mind." "Lower your pistol," said I, seeing he had me in his power, "and I will fight you on your own terms." "Are you sure?" asked the Frenchman. "Sure!" said I. "And you shall consider me de challenged party and fight me vith some small swords?" returned the Gaul. "As you say," I replied. "I shall not trust you," said Delauney, "till I 'ave insult you more yet; so if you do not dance von dam Scotch jig, I shall shoot you, by Gar!" "I'm Doctor Young'd to a nicety," thought I, if the scoundrel's in earnest. And he was in earnest, for his eye had a scowling devil in it." "Come, jump, Monsieur Tom Stapletong," he continued, "von, two, tree, (an' ven I shall count ten, if you are not begin, by gar I shall make von leetle hole in your head!) four, five, six, seven!" "Hold," said I, "and be damned to you-here goes." And with that I threw myself in motion with a ferocity that might have been quite alarming to weak nerves, but had a contrary effect on my audience, who, instead of exhibiting any degree of agitation, began very coolly to whistle for me. Brief, however, was the duration of his raptures, for making the first whirl in the dance a starting point for a spring, I dashed on him, and felled him to the ground. As the same instant a bullet "whizzed through my hair, and shivered a looking glass behind me; but ere the lapse of the next, the pistol was in my hands, and one of the Count's jaw bones nearly broken. Not observing this, and bursting with rage as I then was, I shook poor little Delauney with the ferocity of a tiger, and might have made splinters of some more of this bones, but that some of my fellow-lodgers, attracted by the report of the pistol and the subsequent scuffle, rushed into the room and separated us. I say separated us, because, notwithstanding the injury he had received, the Count stuck to me like a man and fought like grim death. Nor was the wounded face the worst of inflictions- for, alas! I had made fragments of his splendid laced coat, and otherwise sadly interfered with the superlative arrangement of his natty little person. Delauney having been removed from the scene of action, I was endeavoring to think what the devil the fellow could mean, or how I had given him offence, (for it was evident he had come with the intention of seeking a quarrel) when, glancing on the ground, I perceived among sundry silk frogs, bits of lace, and other spoils of victory from the frock coat, a tiny epistle addressed to myself. "He came provided," thought I, at the same time opening the note, not doubting it was a challenge, with probably an explanation of the cause of it; but I was mistaken, for the billet hailed from a different party and ran thus: "If Mr. Thomas Stapleton will call on me at his earliest leisure, he may learn something of advantage to himself, and confer a favor on Cicily Manners, No. - street." "The mystery thickens!-I look for the spear of Mars and I find, probably, the shaft of Cupid!-a letter from Lady Cicily Manners-tete-a-tete with this mysterious Queen of Beauty! All good angels watch over you, Tom Stapleton, or you are lost, for in that woman's presence you will have no more power over yourself than a bird in the gaze of a basilisk. O, Lucy! Lucy! your poor Tom's in danger! O! that my heart were a paving stone! or that I might lock it up in my portmanteau until the interview is over, for as it is I fear me it will be riddled through and through like a rifle company's target!" 120 BROTHER JONATHAN Not earing to abide in a state of suspense as to the import of the note, I lost but little time in waiting on its singular author. 122 BROTHER JONATHAN. my horse received another shot, which caused him to give a convulsive motion, (life not being as yet entirely extinct.) This gave me an opportunity of extricating myself. I immediately conceived the idea of plunging, if possible, into the adjoining morass. I had observed that some of our men had already attempted it, but were cut down by the enemy. The firing had in the meantime ceased, and the darkness therefore affored me an opportunity of concealment in the swamp.— It was not more than twenty paces off: still there was the probability of my sinking therein. I sprang however over men and horses; ran down several Turks, who grasped and cut at me; and, thanks to my agility and good fortune, reached the morass. I at first sunk up to my knees, yet I managed to work my way on, a hundred paces, until I reached the high reeds, when I stopped, worn down with fatigue. I heard a Turkish voice exclaim that a Gisour had taken refuge there, and that one must follow him; others replied that no one had passed that way. This is all that I remember. A lengthened swoon of some hours from loss of blood, must have immediately followed—for when I recovered my senses, the sun had already been some time risen. The 20th of August was one of my first thoughts when I awoke and found myself sunk up to my middle; and the visions of the preceding night, with my hairbreadth escape, flitted before my eyes, I now counted my wounds: they were eight in number; but none of any consequence, being mere gashes from side-arms. The nights in this region being cold in summer, had caused me to wear a thick fur; and this circumstance greatly protected me. I still felt very much exhausted from loss of blood; I listened attentively; the Turks had left some time; the groans of the horribly mutilated horses were occasionally heard from the battle-field; the men were long since silenced. I now endeavored to extricate myself from my situation. After hours spent in vain attempts, I at last succeeded. The track by which I entered was still visible: I followed it. However unfeeling a Turkish war tends to make one, still the sight that presented itself to me when I had waded half way through the swamp, was truly horrible. I at last got out, and stood transfixed on beholding the dreadful scene that presented itself to my eyes: but how shall I describe my despair, when I felt myself suddenly seized by the arm! There stood an Arnaut, a frightful looking fellow, six feet and upwards in height. O how delusive are hopes in this world! I addressed him in Turkish. Take my watch, my money, my uniform; do not—do not kill me! He replied, that is already mine—your head also—at the same time loosening the ribbon, (which Hussars wear under the chin to fasten their caps,) and then my neckcloth. Resistance was useless, as I had no weapons. He immediately drew forth his broad knife, and would certainly have plunged it into my body at the least attempt at defence. I clung imploringly around him whilst he loosened my neckcloth: I conjured him to have compassion on me, telling him I was of wealthy parentage; and to make me a prisoner. You will receive a handsome ransom, I added. That is too distant, he replied. Now stand still, that I may cut—and he was already removing the pin from my shirt collar. Whilst thus embracing him, I again appealed to him to show me some mercy; 'twas unavailing. As he was removing the pin, I felt something hard attached to his girdle; it was a steel hammer. He once more exclaimed, get ready —now stand still;—and these would have been the last words I should ever have heard, if the fear of death had not instigated me to snatch the hammer from his girdle. He did not suspect this, as he held my head in one hand, and clenched his knife with the other. By a powerful effort, I got loose from his grasp —I immediately availed myself of the opportunity to strike him in the face with the hammer, exerting therewith my utmost remaining strength. The hammer was heavy: I did not miss my aim, and the Arnaut staggered back. Time was valuable, and I lost not a moment in repeating my blow:—the fellow sunk under it, and the knife fell from his hand. It is useless to add that I instantly siezed it, and buried it several times in his body. I immediately fled to our advanced posts, whose arms I saw glittering in the sun, and got into camp. I was afterwards seized with a severe fever, and carried to the hospital. At the expiration of six weeks the physician had cured my wounds, and I had recovered my health, when duty recalled me to the army. On my arrival, the gypsy brought me the promised Tokay: and I learnt from others that during the period that had elapsed, some wonderful prophecies of her's had been fulfilled, and that she had thereby become possessed of valuable property. In the meantime, two deserters (Christian serfs) had come over to our army: they had been employed to watch the baggage of the Turks, and had fled from fear of punishment for neglect of duty. They said as soon as they beheld the Egyptian prophetess, that she often came to the Turkish camp to carry tidings concerning us. This assertion did not a little surprise us, as this woman had often performed the same service for us, and we were only astonished at the dexterity with wich she had often accomplished the most dangerous duties. They convinced us that they were present when she had described the positions of our outposts, apprised the Turks of our movements, advised them to increase their numbers, and excited them, in reality, to the attacks that followed. She had, they said, a Turkish cipher, which served for the purpose of a pass. This was found on her, and she was immediately condemned to be hung for acting the spy. Before her execution, I inquired of her concerning her prophecies with regard to myself. She confessed that, through the two-fold information which she had procured, for the purpose of the double gain arising therefrom, she had learnt a great deal concerning what was to happen; and the more easily, as those who had availed themselves of her astrology had confided a great deal to her, and she had turned it to much advantage. Through me she had aspired to considerable celebrity, as she had long before, at random, predicted to me a critical death. On the approach of the 20th of August, the enemy had been instigated by her to make an attack on our outposts on the night of that day. From her intercourse with the officers she had learnt that two stood in the list above me, and she therefore sold spurious wine to the first which caused his illness—and the second, as he rode off, she had pressingly invited to purchase something of her, and had then introduced unobserved a piece of lighted fungus up his horse's nostril, which caused the accident already mentioned. From Craikshank's Omnibus for January. WHAT DO YOU DO THAT FOR? BY JOHN COPUS. In this age of "why and because," wherein even Master Thomas is considered to be devoid of his proper share of intellects unless he demand a full and clear statement of the grounds on which papa considers it expedient that he should learn his letters—in this age of essays, treatises, and commissions, wherein a plethoric pig cannot quietly stuff itself to death without some Diabolus Gander investigating the probable causes which eventually led to that result—it has come into the head of one deeply and many times pondering, to call the attention of a discerning and inquiring public to various little customs and[?] practices prevalent in the world; and this with a view of eliciting at some future time satisfactory explanations of their probable origin and rationale from abler pens and keener intellects than my own, rather than with the intention of supplying them myself. Mr. Brown has seated himself in his cosey arm-chair by the fire, in his little parlor at Camberwell, having just bid adieu to the "buss" which daily conveys him to and from the City, and, with handkerchief spread over his broad countenance, is settling himself to sleep, surrounded by a wife and various olive branches; when "Oh, my gracious evins!" exclaims his amiable spouse, a comely dame, of warm feelings, and peculiarity in expressing them, "here's Johnny been and cut hisself in such a manner you never see! Lawky-daisey me! Mr. Brown! Mr. Brown! Johnny's a'most cut his finger orf!" "Tsut, tsut, tsut, tsut!—deary me!—poor fellow!—tsut, tsut, tsut!" responds that individual, starting up. Now, what on earth do you do that for, Brown? Come, roundly, your reason, sir? Do pray tell me why you produced the series of peculiar sounds represented by "tsut, tsut," &c. You are a stout man, and a sober man—why, in the name of all that's unaccountable, did you utter them? But the fact is, you are not alone, Brown, in your inability to solve this difficult question. For I never yet encountered the man who could satisfactorily explain to me how or why those sounds have come to be admitted into general society, as heralds or harbingers of a condoling and sympathising speech, or indicative, without further remark, of inward and heartfelt commiseration for suffering humanity in the breast of him who utters them. Philosophers, just explain this! "Let us go and hear Miffler preach this morning," said a friend to me the other morning, in the country: "his congregation is composed entirely of the poorest, and, I should think, the most ignorant portion of our agricultural population. But they say that he manages to preach so plainly, that every one can understand and follow him." So off we set and a pleasant walk across the fields brought us to Elmsleigh church—one of those exceedingly picturesque old places, with a funny wooden steeple, or spire, if it can be called so, rising from the still more ancient square tower. We found Mr. Miffler in the reading-desk already, and, by his scarlet hood, knew him an Oxonian (we subsequently found he had been a first-class man.) After reading the prayers exceedingly well, he ascended to the pulpit, and commenced his sermon. Now, supposing his congregation to have consisted of men of my friend's mental calibre, it was an exceedingly good and intelligible sermon: but to the majority of those present it was about as intelligible as High Dutch would have been, or Hebrew without the points. I could not help glancing at a countryman in his smockfrock and leggins, whose countenance forcibly recalled to my mind one of those grotesque satyrs occasionally seen carved on old chimney-pieces; and wondering as I gazed at him what train of thought the words which Miffler had just uttered— "the noxious dogmas exhibited in certain paticatic commentators, subsequent to the Nicene council"—had conjured up in his mind! Then again Miffler gravely informed his hearers that ambition was a deadly sin, warning them against it. Ambition!—to a clodhopper whose only aspiration after greatness is to get Farmer Jeffreys to keep him on at work through the winter! Miffler, what do you do that for? But you, again, do not stand alone. Are there not many, many Mifflers guilty of the same absurdity, and equally unable with your reverend self to give any satisfactory reason for so doing, except that their predecessors have done it before them? Oh, ye hebdomadal boards, caputs, and convocations, explain all this! BROTHER JONATHAN. 123 "Yes, I assure you, Johnson, you never saw or heard of such a perfect fool in your life. He literally thinks I am going to support him in idleness, and he doing nothing." "No!" "Yes! And, would you believe it, he called on poor Thompson, and tried to persuade him that I had behaved so shabbily to him that he really shall be obliged to cut me!" "No!" "Yes! and he told Brown, I owed him ever so much money." "No!" Johnson! what do you do that for? Why in the name of common sense do you say No! no! no! when you thoroughly believe all that poor Dickson has been telling you! This is a peculiar custom. Philosophers, all of you, attend to it. It needs explanation. "Here's an invitation again from that odious Mrs. Peewitt!" says the fair but excitable Mrs. Framp, as she opens a scented envelop, and extracts therefrom an elegant note. "Yes! here it is:-- " 'Mrs. Jane George Peewitt requests the pleasure of Mr. an Mrs. Framp's company to an evening party on Wednesday, the —, at half-past eight.—Plover Lodge, Tuesday morning. An early answer will oblige.' " "Now, my dear Framp," continues his lady wife, "I literally hate and detest that abominable Mrs. Peewitt!" "Well, Laura, she is no favorite of mine, I promise you," retorts the male Framp: "and as to that Peewitt, he's a vulgar little brute. So you'd better answer it at once, Laura, declining it, you know--eh?" In the course of the same afternoon Mrs. J. G. Peewitt is gratified by the reception of this-- "Mrs. Framp feels exceedingly grieved that she and Mr. Framp are unable to accept Mrs. J. G. Peewitt's kind invitation for Wednesday, — inst. --Grumpion Parade, Tuesday afternoon." Now Mrs. Framp, what did you do that for? Between you and me, and to speak in plain English--you are a story-teller, Mrs. Framp. A story-teller! And you, old gentleman—the man Framp I address— are equaly guilty of the fib, as an accessary before the fact. Again, this is a yrevalent custom. Philosophers, summon moralists to your aid, and descent on this subject. "I am sure you sing, Mr. Frederick," says a pasty-faced individual of the 'female sect', to a young gentleman in white satin waistcoat and red whiskers, who has been pottering about the piano for some time. "No, indeed, Miss Gromm!" he replies. "I assure you that I scarcely sing at all." "Oh! I am quite sure, now, you do sing. Pray do sing. Will you look over this music-book? there are a great many songs in it. I am sure you will find something that will suit you." "Oh! upon my word, Miss Gromm, I scarcely ever sing." Fred! you know you've brought all your music with you to-night, and have practised it carefully over with your pretty sister Bessy, purposely to sing at the Gromm's. Thus adjured, Mr. Frederick begins to turn over the leaves of the music-book, his eyes resting occasionally on such songs as 'The Rover's Bride,' 'The British Oak,' 'Wanted a Governess,' and other songs which Fred abominates. At last he turns to a very pretty girl sitting near him, and says faintly, "Bessy! did you bring any of your music?" His sister, who has been watching his proceedings, in mute surprise answers innocently enough, "Oh! yes, Fred, I brought all your songs, you know!" Fred looks blue; but by the time the neat case containing them has been presented to him by a servant, he has recovered himself. Now, reader, what song do you suppose this young gentleman, who scarce sings at all, will select? You are a judge of music, and you pronounce his selection admirable—for it falls on 'Adelaide,' a song of which I (but this quite entre nous) would sooner be the composer of any song that ever was sung: but you fear lest Fred would not do justice to it, as he sings so seldom. You are wrong. A finer tenor, better taste, and more correct ear, one rarely meets with in private than are possessed by Fred. Every one exclaims that it is a treat to hear him sing. And so it is. Now, my excellent good Fred, what the deuce did you do that for? I mean, why did you lessen the pleasure which otherwise we should have all experienced, by giving us so unfavorable a view of your character at the outset—by fibbing, my friend—downright fibbing?—There are not a few Freddys, though of various degrees of excellence. This therefore is a practice which, as in the last case, calls for the investigation of moralists—aided by the Royal Academy of Music, perhaps. This is an endless subject. I have, as it were, but just touched upon it. Let others, their bosoms expanding at the thought of conferring endless benefits on the human race by so doing, rush eagerly and at once on the grand task of following it up. Let them explore all societies. Let an emissary be despatched into the crowded saloons of my Lady Hippington. Let an accredited and competent reporter be sent to the dinner-table of Mr. Titmouse, as well as into the doubtful regions of lower life. And let their desire be, to afford as strong, as cogent, and as rational explanations of the varied customs and practices with which they may become acquainted, as my friend Tam Ridley gave when asked for his reasons for using a peculiar form of speech. "Hoy, Jem!" said that individual, a jolly Yorkshire lad, as he pulled up his waggon opposite to a hostelrie in the North Riding,—"Hoy, Jem! what has't getten to sup te' 'morn?" "What has I getten to sup t' 'morn, Tam?" responded mine host, making his appearance in the doorway. "Ay, lad! what hast getten to sup, I say? "Why a, I'se getten yal-—dos't like yal, Tam?" "Ay! I does." Why a then, wil't have a sup?" "Ay! I will." "Wil't have it otted, Tam?" "Ay! I will." "Why a, now, what makes thee say Ay sae aften? "Why a, then, I'll mebbe say YES, when t' days is longer and t' weather's warmer!" EXTRAORDINARY ATTACHMENT BETWEEN BIRDS.—A few days ago, a lad, who was employed by a farmer at Peckham to shoot birds in his corn field, shot a wood-pigeon. On reaching the spot where the bird fell, he was surprised at finding another, hovering close to the wounded one; he took up the dead bird, and carried it in his hand some distance, closely attended by the other bird, sometimes following him and sometimes going before, and (to use the lad's own expression) "making quite a fuss about him." On reaching the field-gote, the lad stopped to reload his gun, placing the dead bird on the gate post, when the other pigeon flew to the side of his lifeless companion, and, without the slightest attempt to escape, quietly suffered itself to be secured by the boy. The bird was brought home, and put into a small room, where shortly after it was found dead. It is now stuffed, and in the possession of the writer.—Standard. From Cruikshank's Omnibus. LINES BY A Y-G L-Y OF F-SH-N, WHO "NEVER TOLD HER LOVE, BUT LET CONCEALMENT," ETC. "She speaks, yet she says n–th–g!"–R–o and J–t. Go, bid the st–rs forget to shine, the o–n-tides to ebb and flow, Bid fl–rs forget to blush and pine But bid not me to b-n-sh w–e! Thou canst not guess my s-rr-w's source, My pass-n's spring thou canst not see; Thou knowest not its depth and force,— Thou dreamest not 'tis I-ve for th–! Fiercer than fires in Æ—a's breast My s-cr-t burns in this lone h—t; D-y brings no light, sl–p yields no rest, And h–vn no air, but where th– art. I listen to the w-nds at night, They speak of th– in whispers fine; In D–n's or Au–ra's light, I see no beauty, none but th–! All l-ve save mine's an idle tale Of Hy–n's torch and C—d's bow; I envy Cl–p–ra's wail, Or S–pho leaping, wild, below. For V-ry's pâlè holds for me— Or G-nt:r's soup—no poison rare; And leaping from a b-lc–y, Were quite absurd—in Belg–ve Square. My s-st-r raves of H-w-ll, Ja–s, And thinks with dr-ss to ease my thrall; She deems not of d-vour–g flames Beneath one's f-fty-g–nea sh-wl! M-ma to M-rt–r and St-rr Drags me with sweet maternal haste; My p–rls of s–l they can't restore, Nor l-fe's bright d–m–ds, turn'd to paste! P-pa and br-th-r N-d would win My spirit forth to ball and rout; They think of course to t-ke me in--- Alas! they only t-ke me out! In vain R-b-ni's sweetness now, In vain Lab–che's boldest air; In vain M-cr–dy plays,—if th–, Th–, the Ad–r'd one, art not there! Whilst thou, unbless'd with st-ck or l-nd, Hast not one cr-wn per annum clear, Thou knowest not that—"here's my h-nd, With f-ft–n th–s–d p–ds a year." And were it known, this pass–n wild, Then d–th would at my h–rt-st–gs tug! No, none shall know thet th–art styled, The H-n-r-ble Fr-nk F-tz M-gg! L. B. 124 BROTHER JONATHAN. From Cruikshank's Omnibus for January. THE FROLICS OF TIME. A STRIKING ADVENTURE. BY LAMAN BLANCHARD. How I came to find myself, at midnight and in the dark, stretched on a sofa in a strange house, is of no consequence to my story; yet for the prevention of all uncharitable surmises it may be as well to mention, that the young friend whom I had deemed it prudent to see safe home from Greenwich to Lewisham, had participated more freely than I had in the revelries that sometimes succeed to whitebait; and that, tired and sleepy, I had not irrationally preferred the scanty accommodation of a sofa, proffered by the old servant, the family being in bed, to a return to town on a wet and dreary night. "This will do very well," said I, drowsily glancing at the length of a sofa in a large room on the ground-floor; and released from my boots only, I declined the offer of bedclothes, and declared that I should sleep without rocking. "No, no, pray don't leave the light," cried I, as the vunerable domestic set down in the fireplace a huge old-fashioned candle-shade, through the numerous round holes of which a rushlight gloomily flickered.--"I hate that abominable invention; it's the only thing that could keep me awake for two minutes. That'll do - shut the door - good night." "Got away sober after all!" I whispered approvingly to myself when thus left alone, "And what's better, I've got this wild, racketty young scapegrace safe home too; - early moreover, though he thinks it's so late; I should never have dragged him away if I hadn't vowed by the beard of old Time that the church-clock had struck twelve three hours ago - but it's hardly twelve yet, I think - pledged my honor it was past two! Ah, well! Yaw-on! -ah!" And here my thoughts were silently settling upon another subject, previously to the last seal of sleep being fixed upon my lids, when my drowsy senses were disturbed by a dull, dead sound in the aire - at no great distance from the house - it was the church-clock striking twelve. I counted the strokes. Midnight, sure enough! And somehow at the moment it occurred to my mind that I had taken Time's name in vain rather too roundly, and had vowed by his sacred beard rather irreverently to say the least, when I protested three times over, that no soul living would hear the clock strike twelve again that night! No matter - it was a fib told to serve a good purpose - a little bit of evil done quite innocently - the end sacrifices the means! And in the space of three seconds I was again more than half asleep, when another clock struck - another, nearer and clearer than the last. It was a large full-toned house-clock, fixed probably on the staircase or the hall, though I had not observed it on entering. Its sounds were prolonged and solemn. Again I counted the strokes - twelve; which I had no sooner done, than a third clock struck - nearer to me still, for it was evidently in the room, at the further end; and so sharp and quick in succession were the strokes, that to count them would have been difficult, even had I been less startled by them than I was. What a very curious clock! thought I; and during the second that was occupied by its striking, I raised my head and looked in the direction of the sound; the apartment might be miles or feet long, for aught that I could see. The curtains and shutters were closed - no scrap of the window was to be seen - no glimpse even of the dull damp night without was to be had. All was Darkness -- But not Silence; for before I could again shut my eyes, a clock began to strike, slowly, softly, in tones "most musical, most melancholy," right over my head, as though it were fixed to the wall only a few feet above me. Every sound was like the moan of a dying bird. I counted them - twelve as before. Yes, it was a clock that struck; it must be a clock; and it was right almost to a minute, by the church. What was there wonderful in that! Nothing -- only -- Hark! the chimes too at midnight! On a table almost within my reach, some merry Sprite seemed, to the ear of my imagination, performing a serenade to the lingering hour of Twelve. He struck up the chimes with such a lively grace, and echoed them with such a ringing laugh, that the twelve sounds which announced the hour when he ceased, lost all the usual monotony of tone, and said, not merely in melody, but almost as distinctly as words could have said it, "Twelve o'clock" - four times over. I jumped up - and sat for an instant, my drowsiness all gone and my eyes unusually wide open, looking around me. I knew that there was a table close by, but neither table nor clock was visible in that utter gloom; not a trace of any form or figure could my straining sight discover. To grope my way six feet forward, and feel upon the surface of the table whether, among the ornaments which there, as in other parts of the room, I had carelessly noted when first shown in, a clock was to be numbered, seemed easy enough; but scarcely had I stretched out, in fear and gentleness, one trembling hand upon that venturous errand, when I dropped back again upon the sofa, startled half out of my wits by the sudden striking of two more clocks, two at once - one loud, one low - apparently at opposite sides of the room; and before they had finished twelve strokes each, another, as though from a station in the centre of the chimney-piece, struck up "Meet me by moonlight," in notes the sweetest and silveriest imaginable, and the dozen strokes that followed were like the long plaintive tunes of an Eolian harp. Before they were quite over, a peal of tiny bells began tinkling. Fairies tripping with bells at their feet, could hardly have made lighter or quicker music. I began to think that a troop of that fabulous fraternity were actually in the apartment - that a host of little elves were capering about, not only with bells to their feet, but clocks to their stockings! "Can these be clocks!" I asked myself! "Whatever the others may be, this surely is no clock!" - But the unpleasant suspicion had no sooner crossed my brain, than the bell-ringing ceased, and on, two, three - yes, twelve fine-toned strokes of a clock were distinctly audible. "It is a clock," I whispered - but this conviction scarcely lessened the mystery, which, though amusing, was ill-timed. I would have preferred any glimmer of a rushlight to darkness, and sleep to any musical entertainment. The wish had hardly time to form itself before another clock struck close by me, and between every stroke of the twelve came a sort of chirrup, which at a more suitable hour I should have thought the prettiest note in the world, but which was now considerably more provoking than agreeable. I looked, but still saw nothing. I put my hand out and felt about--it touched something smooth--glass, evidently glass--and the fear of doing damange would have been sufficient to deter me from prosecuting my researches in that direction, even if my attention had not been at that instant summoned away by a sudden volley of sounds that made my very heart leap, and transfixed me to the couch breathless with wonder and alarm. This was the simultaneous striking of at least half-a-dozen more clocks in various parts of the room. Some might be large, and some tiny enough, some open, and some inclosed in cases; for the tones were manifold, and of different degrees of strength; but no two clocks--if clocks they were, which I doubted, were constructed on the same principle, for each seemed to strike upon a plan of its own--and yet all went on striking together as though doomsday had arrived, and each was afraid of being behind time, and too late to proclaim the fact! One of these, a very slow coach, kept striking long after the others had ceased; and before this had finished, off went a clock in the corner that was furthest from me, sending such a short, sharp, rapid sound into the apartment, that I strained my eyes et a little wider than ever, half in expectation of being able to see it. On it went, striking--"six"--"nine, ten"--"twelve, thirteen!" What! "nineteen, twenty!" There was no mistake in the reckoning--"twenty-four!" What, twice twelve! Yes, three times and four times twelve! Still it went on striking--strike, strike, strike! How I wished, in that darkness, that it would strike a light! Still the same sound; one monotonous metallic twang reverberating through the room, and repeating itself as though it were impossible to have too much of a good thing. That clock seemed to be set going for ever--to be wound up for eternity instead of time. It appeared to be laboring under the idea that doomsday had indeed arrived--that it was no longer necessary to note and number the hours accurately--that the family of the Clocks were free--that the old laws which governed them were abolished--and that every member of the body was at liberty to strike as long as it liked, and have a jolly lark in its own way! Strike, strike--still it persevered in its monotony, till, just as I had made up my mind that it would never stop, it stopped at about a hundred and forty-four, having struck the hour twelve times over. But two or three more competitors, whether from the walls of the room, from the chimney-piece, or the tables, had set out practising with wonderful versatility before the lengthened performance just alluded to had quite concluded; nor was it until nearly half-an-hour had elapsed since the church clock, the leader of the strike, had struck twelve--the hour which I had declared by the beard of old Father Time to be passed and gone--that an interval of silence occurred, and peace again prevailed through the intense darkness of the apartment. Yet, can I call it peace? It was only peace comparatively; for my ear now sensitively awake to catch even the faintest whisper of a sound, and all my senses nervously alive in expectation of another convulsion amongst the clockwork, I became conscious of noises going on around me, to which, on first lying down, free from suspicion of the near neighborhood of mystery, my ear was utterly insensible. I detected the presence of a vast multitude of small sounds distributed through the room, and reporting themselves regularly with singular distinctness as I listened. My pulse beat quicker, my eyes rolled anxiously and then closed; but those minute noises, clear and regular, went on in endless repetition, neither faster nor slower. Were they indeed the tickings of a hundred clocks--the find low inward breathings of Time's children! The speculation, little favorable to sleep, was suddenly cut short by another crash of sound, breaking in upon the repose; it was half past twelve, and of the scores of clocks that had announced the midnight hour, one half now announced the march of thirty minutes more--some by a simple ding-dong, some by a single loud tick, others by chimes, and one or two by a popular air, or a sort of jug-jug like a nightingale. Again I started up and listened--again I cringed to grope my way about the room, to find out by the test of touch, whether the place was indeed filled with time-pieces and chronometers, Dutch repeaters and eight-day clocks. But so completely had the noises bewildered me, that I knew not which way to turn, and had I dared to wander, at the hazard of overturning some fancy table or curious cabinet, I should never have found my way back to my couch again. Down upon it, therefore, I once more threw myself, and conscious still of the multitudinous tickings that seemed to people the apartment with spirits, not a span long, dancing in fetters, invoked kind nature's restorer, balmy sleep, and at length, nearly exhausted, dropped into a doze. This was but short-lived; for my ears remained apprehensively opened, although my eyes were sealed, and the pealing sound of the church-clock striking one awoke me again to a disagreeable anticipation of another general strike. Once more I sought to penetrate with anxious gaze the profound darkness before me. "Was it all a delusion?" I exclaimed. "Have I been dreaming? Is the room actually filled with clocks, or am I the victim of enchantment?" The answer came from the outside of the room--from the huge family dispenser of useful knowledge--the clock on the staircase, whose lengthened uhr-r-r-r-rh, preparatory to the stroke of one, was a warning worthy of the sonorous announcement. I felt it strike upon my heart--it convinced me that I had not dreamt--it foretold all--and I knew that the Spirits of the Clock would immediately be at work again. And to work they went fast enough--chimes and chirrups, merry-bells and moanings of birds--sometimes the cuckoo's note, sometimes the owl's hoot--the trickling of water-drops imitated now, and now the rattling of silver fetters--here a scrap of melody, and there a shrill whistling cry;--all followed, in a tone thin or fill, loud or weak, according to the construction of the unseen instrument--by the single stroke, proclaiming the hour of one! I sank back, with my eyes close shut, and my hands covering up my ears. What a long night had I passed in a single hour!--how many hours were yet to be counted before light, piercing the gloom, would reveal the mystery of the clocks, and point the way to deliverance--that is, to the door. At last there was quite again, the tickings only excepted, which continued low and regular as before. Sleep crept over me, interrupted only by the chimes, and other musical intimations at the quarters and the half-hour. And then came two o'clock, awaking me once more to a conviction that the hundred clocks--if clocks--were wound up for he night; or that the spirits who were playing off their pranks--possibly in revenge for my "innocent imposition" touching the flight of Time, and my irreverence towards the beard of that antiquarian--were resolved to show no mercy. Off the went, clock after clock--silver, copper, and brass all spoke out, separately and in concert--wheels within wheels went round, chain after chain performed its appointed functions--hammers smote, and bells rang--and then, at last, fidgetted out of my senses and "fooled to the top of my bent," sleep as before came to my aid; broken at intervals; and at intervals bringing visions of Time chained to the wall, and unable to stir a foot--of Time shaving off his reverend beard, and starting away at the beginning of a new year, a gay, smart, glowing juvenile! * * * I found out in the morning that my young friend's father was that oddest of oddities, a collector of clocks--that he had a passion for them, seeking out a choice clock as a connoisseur seeks out a choice picture--that he was continually multiplying his superfluities--that he boasted clocks of every form and principle, down to the latest inventions--clocks that played the genteelest of tunes, and clocks that struck the hour a dozen times over as many different ways--and that there were eighty-five, more or less calculated to struck, in the apartment wherin I had--slept; in the Clockery! THE FOOLS' PENCE In the year 183--, in a handsomely furnished parlor which opened out of that noted London gin-shop called "The Punch-bowl," sat its mistress, the gaudily dressed Mrs. Crowder, conversing with an obsequious neighbor. "Why, Mrs. Crowder, I really must say you have things in the first style! What elegant papering! what noble chairs! what a pair of fire-screens! all so bright and fresh! Then the elegant stone-copings to your windows, and those beautiful French window frames! And you have been sending your daughters to the genteelest boarding-school; your shop is the best furnished, and your cellars are the best filled, in all this part of Lunnun. Where can you find the needful for all these grand things? Dear Mrs. Crowder, how do you manage?" Mrs. Crowder simpered, and case a look of smiling contempt through the half open door, into the shop, filled with droughty customers. "The fools' pence!--'tis THE FOOLS' PENCE that does it for us," she said. And her voice rose, more shrill and loud than usual, with the triumph she felt. Her words reached the ears of one customer--George Manly, the carpenter, who stood near the counter. Turning his eyes upon those around him, he saw pale, sunken cheeks, inflamed eyes, and ragged garments. He then turned them upon the stately apartment: he looked through the door into the parlor, and saw looking-glasses, and pictures, and gilding, and fine furniture, and a rich carpet, and Miss Lucy in a silk gown, at her piano: and he thought to himself, how strange it is! how curious, that all this wretchedness on my left hand should be made to turn into all this rich finery on my right! "Well, sir--and what's for you?" said the shrill voice which had made the FOOLS' PENCE ring in his ears. "A glass of gin, ma'am, is what I was waiting for; but I think I've paid the last fools' pence that I shall put down on this counter for many a long day." Manly hastened home. His wife and his two little girls were seated at work. They were thin and pale, really for want of food. The room looked very cheerless, and their fire was so small as hardly to be felt : yet the dullest observer would have been struck by the neatness that reigned. It was a joyful surprise to them, his returning so early that night, and returning sober, and in good humor. "Your eyes are weak to-night, wife," said George, "or else you have been crying. I'm afraid you work too much, by candle light." His wife smiled and said, "working does not hurt my eyes," and she beckoned to her little boy, who was standing apart, in a corner--evidently as a culprit. "Why, John, what's this I see!" said his father. "Come and tell me what you have been doing." John was a plain spoken boy, and had a straight-forward way. He came up to his father, and looked full in his face, and said, "The baker came for his money to-night, and would not leave the loaves without it; but though he was cross and rough, he said mother was not to blame, that he was sure you had been drinking away all the money; and when he was gone, mother cried over her work, but she did not say any thing. I did not know she was crying, till I saw her tears dropping on her hands; and then I said bad words; and mother send me to stand in the corner." "Tell me what your bad words were, John," said his father; "not swearing, I hope?" "No," said John, coioring: "I said, you were a bad man! I said, bad father!" "And they were bad words, I am sure," said his mother; " but you are forgiven; so now bring me some coal from the box." George looked at this face of his wife; and as he met the tender gaze of her milk eyes now turned to him, he felt the tears rise in his own.--He rose up; and putting money into her hands, he said, "There are my week's wages. Come, come hold out both hands, for you have not got all yet. Lay it out for the best, as you always do. I hope this will be a beginning of better doings on my part, and happier days on yours." George told his wife, after the children were gone to bed, that when he saw what the pence of the poor could do towards keeping up a fine house, and dressing out the landlord's wife and daughters, and when he thought of his own hard-working, uncomplaining Susan, and his children in want, and almost in rags, while he was sitting drinking, night after night, destroying his health and strength; he was so struck with sorrow and shame, that he seemed to come to himself at last. He determined, from that hour, never again to put the intoxicating glass to his lips. More than a year afterwards, on Sunday afternoon, as Mrs Crowder, of the Punch-bowl, was walking with her daughters to the tea-gardens, then were overtaken by a violent shower of rain; and had become at least half drenched, when they entered a comfortable house, distinguished by its comforts and tidiness from all others near it. Its good-natured mistress and her two girls did all they could to dry and wipe away the rain-drops and mud-splashes from the ladies' fine silk gowns, all dragged and soiled, and to repair, as far as possible, every mischief done to their dresses and persons. When all had been done that could be done, and, as Miss Lucy said, they "began to look themselves again," Mrs. Crowder, who was lolling in a large arm-chair, and amusing herself by a stare at every one and every thing in the room, suddenly started forwards, and addressing herself to the master of the house, whose Bible and whose face had just caught her eye,--"Why, my good man, we are old friends; I know your face, I'm certain; still there is some change in you, though I can't exactly say what it is." "I used to be in ragged clothes and out of health," said George Manly, smiling: "now, thank God, I am comfortably clad, and in excellent health." "But how is it," said Mrs. Crowder, "that we never catch a sight of you now?" "Madam," said he, "I'm sure I wish you well; nay, I have reason to thank you; for words of yours first opened by eyes to my own foolish and wicked course. My wife and children were half-naked and half-starved, only this time last year. Look at them, if you please, now--for sweet, contented looks, and decent clothes, I'll match them with any man's wife and children. And now, madam, I tell you, as you told a friend of yours one day last year,--'tis FOOLS' PENCE that have done all this for us. The Fools' pence!--I ought rather to say, the pence earned by honest industry; and spend so that we can ask the blessing of God upon the pence." Mrs. Crowder never recovered the customer she had lost. TRUTH TRUMPANT.--Whatever may be urged by sophists and politicians, it is certain that the great eternal laws of truth and justice cannot be violated with impunity. The violation may answer some sordid and temporary purpose; but in the end, it must be injurious, if not fatal. Truth, like the sun in the heavens, is one. The clouds indeed are variegated; but then they are insubstantial, and of momentary existence. So is falsehood. It can assume any color, but time causes the hues to fade; and truth bursts forth with new effulgence. We see despotism gradually withdrawing from the finest countries in Europe. It must depart, at last, from all, for it is opposed by reason and nature.--They who endeavor to render it permanent, labor in vain; but at the same time, they may detain it a while, and cause, in the interval, misery and carnage.--Knoz. 126 BROTHER JONATHAN. OUR WEEKLY GOSSIP. We have been exposed this week to the too usual difficulty which at- tends the reception of Magazines, &c., via Boston from Europe. They have a bad habit of delay, by getting into the custom house in the sister city, and that event, this time, has so far delayed their receipt, that so good use of them as could be wished has not been made in our columns. The reader will, however, find the sheet as full as it can hold of other matters, and may count on a treat in reserve for another week, from the foreign magazines. Colt's trial, which every body wishes to see, occupies largely our news department this week, to the exclusion of some news items which merit notice. Among these is the fact that the government at Washing- ton have already moved in the behalf of the American prisoners among the members of the Santa Fe expedition. The Secretary of State has despatched instructions to Mr. Ellis, Minister at Mexico, and authorised the Collector at New Orleans to give the messenger despatch from that port, and to appoint other agents to proceed on the same mission, if he should deem it necessary. Mr. Ellis is authorised to represent to the Mexican government, not only the interest which this Government takes in its own citizens, but the consequences which may follow maltreatment of the Texans, from the sympathy of their friends. The evidence in the case of Colt will undoubtedly be given to the Jury this week; but the verdict can hardly be rendered in season even for our latest edition. An exceeding interest continues to be felt by the whole city in the progress of the trial. A more horrid murder has never occurred in this city, let the legal technical definition of it be what it may. Our Washington news gives no very favorable view of the progress of matters in the political metropolis of the country. Profitless debate, wordy warfare, and disorderly personalities seem to be the daily order.– The national cockpit for political warriors is truly an expensive estab- lishment. We cannot, of course, close our page, without notice of the arrival to this country of Charles Dickens. The opinion of him as an author, which this paper has uniformly verbally and practically expressed, does not need to be repeated here. It is but the echo of the popular voice; not the expression of one class, but of all classes. We doubt whether there be in the whole country a human being who reads, and has not read and felt the writings of "Boz." He is, perhaps, more a literary idol than any other man ever was in this country; and we hazard little in saying that "Boz," in the abstract of a literary acquaintance, is more beloved here than at home. His personal character is said to be faithfully index- ed in his works; and Americans who have met him abroad, almost for- get those works in the man. Enthusiastic, as a people, we are confessedly. Fervent in literary hate, as we are in love, we have shown ourselves. Let us hope that the end of this visit will not be disgust, both to guest and hosts; for if such be the fruit of the lionizing,–and if lionizing be carried too ridiculous- ly far, it will be–Mr. Dickens had much better staid at home, than to have come over to spoil our ideal of him, and lower his estimation of us. Rev. Mr. Pise's Lecture is published also in the Folio edition of the paper, and in the Dollar Magazine. As, according to our rules, it could be put in the quarto, we have placed it on the cover, omitting a paragraph or two of the least essential parts, to make it "come in." POSTAGE OF THE QUARTO JONATHAN. Some of the country postmasters having taxed Magazine postage upon the Quarto Jonathan, and taxed it at two and even more sheets, the publishers have applied for information at head quarters; and the follow- ing reply is published for the information of all concerned. Subscribers who are overcharged will show the postmaster who misconstrues the law the following letter: POST OFFICE DEPARTMENT, APPOINTMENT OFFICE, January 19, 1842. GENTELEMEN:---Your letter of the 11th instant is recieved. In reply to your inquiry, I am authorised to inform you that the Library Edition of the Brother Jonathan in Quatro form, is chargeable with newspaper postage. Very respectfully, &c., PH. C. FULLER, 2d Assistant P. M. General. Messrs. Wilson & Company, New York city. LATE FOREIGN NEWS. Since our last, the Britannia has arrived at Boston, bringing English dates down to the 4th instant. The leading items of importance are the somewhat relieved condition of English trade, and finance, and the pros- pects of amelioration in the condition of the poorer classes, which such indication promised; and the appointment of a special envoy to this country, to treat for the adjustment of existing disputes between the two nations. In whatever this mission may result, and we think it cannot result unfavorably, the English Ministry have shown a disposition to make decisive friendly steps take the place of mere professions, which cannot be too readily met upon our part. Both nations, as well as both governments, are averse to a war, and it would be a disgrace to the nine- teenth century, if countries should fall to wasting each other, upon mere technicalities. Lord Ashburton, the special minister appointed, has been in Parlia- ment and in the government for the last thirty years, and is alike distin- guished for his ability, good sense, moderation and amiable disposition and manners. his great experience, high character, and influence abroad, will, with a right spirit and proper measures on this side, do much to revive American credit. His Lordship is about 63 years of age,–married Miss Bingham, of Philadelphia,–was many years the head of the house of Barings, from which he retired about ten years since. He is himself a man of immense wealth, and all the branches of his family are wealthy. He is one of the largest landed proprietors in Pennsylvania, and is well versed in the history and value of State Bonds, and in the character of American institutions. This appointment appears to be looked upon with a great deal of favor by all classes and parties in England; particularly among the commer- cial circles, where the news gave a tone of confidence to the holders of State Stocks. It is understood that the measure was submitted to the American Minister, Mr. Everett, and received his concurrence. But one opinion that we have seen, has been expressed in this country. The appointment is a gratifying and unexpected mark of respect to the Go- vernment of the United States, which the nation will not be slow to re- ciprocate; and in such a spirit of mutual concession and courtesy, an opening is offered for the adjustment of all pending disagreements, which we are confident will not pass unimproved. Among the other passengers by the Britannia were Mr. Charles Dick- ens and lady, and Earl Mulgrave. The ship had a goodly number, nearly or quite her complement, and we notice that the commander was complimented by the passengers with a present of plate, and approba- tory resolutions. The rumors of "repudiation" appear to have excited much less com- ment in England than here. The Message of President Tyler is widely published, and appears to have been read with much satisfaction, for its pacific tone. The attentions paid to Lord Morpeth in this country, are spoken of in the English Journals in a tone, and with a frequency, which shows an in- creasing knowledge and appreciation of this country, among our transat- lantic friends. His Lordship is spoken of as a candidate for Parlia- ment in Dublin, vice the conservative member, Mr. West, just deceased. A frightful accident occurred on the Great Western Railway, on the 24th of December. The train came in contact with a mass of the em- bankment which had fallen on the track. Fifteen or twenty passengers were dangerously, and some of them mortally wounded, and eight were killed outright. The Queen Dowager was said to be convalescent, but some of the pa- pers intimated that the announcement was made to prevent any gloom being thrown on the approaching festivities at Windsor, at the christen- ing and investiture of the Prince of Wales. Albert, it was said, was to be proclaimed King Consort, as otherwise his son would take precedence of him. The losses of the Company which owned the President and British Queen amount to fifty or sixty pounds on each share of the capital stock. The whole of the persons accused of having taken part in the attempt to assassinate the sons of the French King, as well as those charged with being concerned in the complot in which the attempt is said to have origi- nated, have been found guilty, with the exception of five. Three, inclu- ding Quenisset, are sentenced to death, one to perpetual banishment, the rest to various terms of imprisonment. BROTHER JONATHAN. 127 The King opened the Chambers by a speech on the 27th. It announ- ces the quadruple alliance, but excited little attention in Paris. In Spain nothing bad occurred to disturb the quiet of the kingdom, but, on the other hand, the careful policy of Espartero was bringing forward conciliatory and wise measures. The Circassians are stated to have gained another victory over the Rus- sian forces, the most decisive, it is said, since the war commenced. The aspect of French Africa was more quiet. The Turkish Court continued jealous of the Greeks. The mediation of the three powers to whom the Sultan had addressed complaints, had been declined by the king of Greece, and hostile movements by the Turks upon Greece were apprehended. ——————————— DOINGS IN WASHINGTON. The only act of finished business which we have to record as done in the National Legislature since our last, is the passage of the Treasury Note Bill in the Senate, 21 to 20, with the amendment noticed by us last week, striking out the provision that the money thus raised shall be counted a part of the loan authorised by the law of the extra session.— On Monday, Mr. Clay spoke in support of his resolutions offered some time since, relative to the veto, &c. Mr. Preston answered him; and the subject was then postponed till Monday next. In the mean time, it is supposed the Bankrupt Bill will be disposed of. The House has been noisily and profitlessly engaged through the pe- culiar capacity of Mr. Adams, for making Legislative disturbance. The whole matter rose from a petition from Habersham, Geo., praying that Mr. Adams might be removed from the place of chairman of the Com- mittee on Foreign Affairs. Mr. A. desired its reference to that Commit- tee, and insisted on being heard. After a great deal of noise and con- fusion, the whole subject was laid on the table, on motion of Mr. Wise; but on the next morning, (Saturday) Mr. Adams got it up again, on the question of privilege, and the whole day was consumed in a profitless debate. On Monday, Mr. Adams attempted to proceed in his discus- sive remarks on slavery, under the permission given him to defend him- self from the charge of monomania on the subject of slavery, alleged against him in the petition referred to. The house refused leave to pro- ceed, yeas 97, noes 76. Mr. Wise then tried to be heard as a question of privilege, but the whole subject was laid on the table, yeas 101— noes 78. Mr. Adams still further tried to force himself to be heard, but the petition was laid over. Mr. Adams then offered sundry other petitions, one of which from one person in Haverhill prayed a dissolution of the Union. Mr. Hopkins asked if it was in order to move to burn the peti- tion before the House. The question of reception was raised, and laid on the table, thus rejecting the petition. Mr. Gilmer offered a resolu- tion, declaring that, in presenting the last-named petition, Mr. Adams had justly incurred the censure of the House. Some conversation arose as to whether this resolution was in order, Mr. Gilmer insisting that it was as a priviliged question, in accordance with which the Speaker decided. Pending the conversation the House adjourned. All that Mr. Adams has gained in the three days, is a reference to the Committee on Foreign Re- lations of a petition that diplomatic relations may be opened with Hayti. LEGISLATURE.—There is little to note in the doings at Albany. Gov. Seward has signed the bill to repeal the Act relative to the appointment of Bank Receivers, and give that appointment back to the Chancellor. He asserts his belief still, in the propriety of the bill which has been re- pealed, but says that refusing his assent from a mere difference of opi- nion would be assuming, on his part, an undue share of legislative re- sponsibility. THE SELF INSTRUCTOR IN WRITING, BOOK I. BY JOS. PERKINS, A. M. NEW YORK: Collins, Keese & Co, 254 Pearl street. We have before spoken generally of this series, as forthcoming. The author has been long and widely known, latterly, as one of the very best engravers of writing in the world. He was once known as one of the best instructors in penmanship; an occupation which he left for his pre- sent business. The experience of the Teacher, and the skill of the En- graver, are united to produce in this publication, one of the best and most practical works of the kind which has ever been issued; and its convenience and economy of price will insure a sale commensurate with its merits. UNITED STATES MAGAZINE AND DEMOCRATIC REVIEW. February, 1841. New York: Langleys. No magazine in this country has ever presented a prouder array of ta- lent than this. Without subscribing to its political tenets, or dissenting from them, for, on that point, just here we choose to be non-committal, we think that every impartial reader must acknowledge that the politi- cal papers in the Democratic Review, are among those which will not die as mere ephemera, but be referred to, by and by, as part of the political history of our times. And not only are they well and ably written, but they possess usually more impartiality than we al- ways find in partizan writings. On great national questions, and sub- jects vitally concerning our character and prospects as a people, we find the writers in the Review, frequently soaring above partizan policy and partizan interests, with a magnanimity which does them ho- nor. We regret deeply that the other party do not establish and sup- port a Magazine of similar character on their side of the house. Two such works would do every thing toward mending the tone of the parti- san newspapers, and developing the political knowledge, tact and expe- rience of our country. Of the character of the literary portion of this work, we have given opinion frequently, both by notices and liberal extracts. We intended this preface as an introduction to a more particular notice of the pre- sent number, but are circumscribed in our space. The embellishment is a portrait of George M. Dallas. The gem of the number is a tale by Mrs. Sedgwick. –––––––––––––––––––––––— NEW WORK BY BULWER.—In Mr. Langley's Literary Advertiser we find an announcement of some interest to the literary world. The Ad- vertiser says: We have pleasure in being able to contradict a statement made sometime since in several of the public prints, to the effect that Sir E. L. Bulwer had retired from novel-writing in consequence of a de- cline in the popularity of his recent works. We have it on the authority of a letter from his publishers in London, that such is not the fact, but that he has a new work in press differing from anything he has yet writ- ten, and from what may be judged from a cursory glance at some portions of the work, it is likely to awaken more than ordinary interest. It is said to be a Romance, the scene of which is laid abroad, and the title is "Za- noni, or the Secret Order." It is expected to be ready for publication in London during the ensuing month. LITTELL'S MUSEUM for February. New York: Carvill & Co., and Curry & Co. A very well filled and valuable number of this work is that for Feb- ruary. Among the works and authors extracted from, we find the Quar- terly and Edinburgh Reviews, Tait's, Blackwood's, and the Dublin Uni- versity Magazines; Chambers' Journal; the Britannia, Spectator and Examiner; a splendid paper on Walpole's Letters, by Macauley, the conclusions of Barnaby Rudge and Charles O'Malley, and a great va- riety of extracts, scientific, miscellaneous, critical, historical, and amu- sing. We believe in Littell,unreservedly; and cannot more heartily speak in its praise than we have often done before. ———————————————— THE AMERICAN JOURNAL OF THE MEDICAL SCIENCES. Edited by Isaac Hays, M. D. Philadelphia: Lea & Blanchard. New York. Carey & Co. Not being medical, we can say little of the scientific merits of this work, except that it has an excellent and well established reputation. We can however speak of its mechanical execution, as that comes more immediately within our line. In this respect it is got up, in typography and embellishments, in a manner which does honor to the American Press. POLAND: Historical, Literary, Monumental, and Picturesque. New- York: Sobolewski & Wyszynkoki, No. 2, Pine street. A worthy attempt by two exiles, to make their country better known in this country of their adoption. It is to be published in monthly numbers, in large quatro form, with very good drawings on stone, of which spe- cimens are presented in the first number. We wish the publishers good speed, for the work deserves it. GODEY'S LADYS' BOOK, richly and elegantly embellished, has been sent us by Post. We have room only to notice its receipt, and refer the reader to our previously expressed opinions of this elegant perio- dical. 128 BROTHER JONATHAN. THE UNFORGOTTEN DEAD RECOLLECTIONS OF THE LATE GRENVILLE MELLEN BY A FRIEND—SECOND NOTICE I am urged by many considerations to finish what I have begun. There appears to be serious and wholesome curiosity abroad, to know more of the man himself, more of his individual history, and more of his thoughts and doings than I had supposed. Be it so. No body knew him better —few as well as I have. Our intimacy continued for twenty-two years. On laying my hand upon the bundle of letters before me—letters from me to him, be it remembered, not from him to me,—or I should not be so willing to refer to them, even for the object I now have in view—I find the earliest dated Oct. ——, 1819. I had just written and published, without the consent, and almost without the knowledge of my best friends, a volume of poetry which found its way into the hands of Mellen, a youth of twenty at the time, and a student of Old Harvard, with a heart brimful of extravagant hope, music and poetry. I had known him before—but only as a clever boy at the Academy, or at college, when I was either running about barefooted, or tending store. Add to the difference in our circumstances, the difference is our ages—and it will be understood at once, why we never knew each other till 1819, when I was in my twenty-seventh year. On reading my poem, he wrote me a page or two of warm-hearted commendation ; dwelt with emphasis upon the parts and passages that pleased him, and spoke honestly of the faults. My answer I give precisely as it was written at the time. And I do this, that I may be able, hereafter, in tracing the history of our acquaintance, to refer to it again. It were easy enough to work over these ancient memorials, and make them more creditable to the author ; but as I hold that their value depends alltogether upon their faithfulness—upon the scrupulous honesty of the Biographer---I choose to give them, not only without alteration, but without omission ; to give not only the truth, but the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. It may be a warning to others who may be disposed to over estimate themselves aloud, when they feel the glowing and seething of poetry in their brains. "Thank ye my dear fellow, thank ye! This opinion of yours---'speaking after the manner of me,' who cannot feel as we do, however they may express themselves, I am proud of--literally proud of. Is that enough? It sounds cold---unmeaning---and indifferent, I know; but you will understand it---from me and to you, it must and shall speak pages. "I subscribe to your censures. They are entirely just. I have too many trumpets, and wind and water instruments---and levity, and repetition, and extravagance---I know it all---and you are right. Remember me ---I shall deserve it. And I will remember you and---yours. ** "No room room to date the other page. So here goes!---on this October what? I'll leave the blank and you may fill it. Portland, October ..,1819. Farewell. Thus much to show the honesty, and perhaps I may add, the courage of Mellen, while yet in his boyhood. In the estimation of others, I was a poet. I had acquired a sort of notoriety---if not of reputation, where others who had something to lose, which I had not, were afraid to enter the lists. In my own estimation, of course, as may be seen by the letter itself, I stood very high---notwithstanding the show of modesty in that paragraph, where I subscribe to the soundness of his notions respecting my faults---or the faults of my book rather. One passage were enough to prove this, and really I cannot help smiling now, when I call to mind the opinions we children had of ourselves---and of others---only twenty-two years ago. We forsooth could feel, where others could not, however they might express themselves! "It sounds cold, unmeaning, and inefficient skum; but you will understand it---from me, and to you it must and shall speak pages." There's for you! A man ought to have dead, at least a hundred years, after expressing such an opinion of himself or of another, to hope for pardon. So the many would say ---and the many are not always wrong. Was there no courage, there- fore, in venturing to remind a young author, who had just written and published a poem---which if not successful, had at least been heartily abused by the North American Review, that he was mortal? I had not spared----- "The foppery of silly Taste, That grieves to see wild Nature so unchaste; That, in her modesty, would barely hint, That such, or such a shade, or such a tint, Might mingle better, if a little care— A little grouping here—and contrast there— Were just to—but no matter—they all know Better than Nature, how her flowers should blow, How her sweet birds should sing, and fountains flow; And where her trees should stand—her cliffs up rise In scattered pointings to the glorious skies. Leave such cold bosoms, Nature to their fate! And be then grand—luxuriant—desolate, As it best pleaseth thee! These wretched fools Would have Creation work by lines and rules: Their's is the destiny—be their's the curse, In their improvements still, to mount from bad to worse." I was living at the South, and on a visit to Portland, my native town, after a long absence, when the note above referred to was written by Mellen to me. On referring to the next in order, I find a reference to the beautiful girl, he afterwards married. I had seen her, and became pretty well acquainted with her during my visit; and even at this early period of our friendship, had urged Mellen, who appeared to be very much taken with her, though exceedingly sensitive and self-distrustful, to keep his eye upon her as the probable, and if both were wise, and alike faithful, to themselves and to each other, as the certain load-star of his earthly destiny. She was a lovely creature—very fond of admiration, with large blue eyes clear as the summer sky, abundant brown hair, a tempting mouth, a sweet cheerful voice, and a sort of ringing laugh, to which he alludes, I see, in one of the very last and best poems he ever wrote. Perhaps I had better give the passage. The whole poem will be found in the Ladies' Companion for Jan., '42. ———"As I slept, A creature of that beauty which awakes Our prayers and tears—that beauty which of old Made our heart thankful as we hallowed it, And worshipped as the idol of our life, Came palpably before me. She was one That I had loved in my hearty morning---one, O'er whom the music of young passion fell When first stretched its wire. One I had loved, When woman was an angel from the sky, With whom I should tread upward to that home! Her beauty was still wonderful—her eye Beamed with that blue intensity, that made Its lustre and its loneliness in life: * * * * * * Her golden hair hung like a cloud about her---shadowing The form it could not hide. * * * * * * * Oh what a spirit had she, as she rose Into the light of years!—how her laugh rang! How spang she on her path, where flowers and bloom Swayed to her footsteps—while the joy of song Was ever on her tongue—the melody Of a fine heart, that knew not blight nor tears. And such she stood before me in that dream--- I saw the glittering eye---I heard the laugh Ring from the grave, as I have heard it once, When troops of friends were round her---and her voice Fell like a tone of magic on the ear. In the following letter, which was written it appears at Boston, the same month, while on my way back to the genial South, after having wintered in the North, during a portion of what is there called the Indian Summer, will be found the reference above mentioned. It brings her before me like a Spirit. I see her, as I knew her first---a lovely romp---I see her change---I see her pass through all the transportation of her swift and eventful life. I see her as Mary Southgate. I see her as a girl just flowering into womanhood—as the beloved of many--- the flattered of all---the chosen of my dead friend---in the first gush of youthful affection---I see her as the betrothed one---as the bride---the wife ---the mother; and last of all, as the blighted, the buried, and the forgotten ---I see her in her bridal robe---I see her in her winding sheet. But as the forgotten of whom?---of her husband? No---had he lived a thousand years, he would never have forgotten her. All his life long he was thinking of her, and of the sweet child she bore him---only to perish like a blossom touched with untimely frost. By her friends? No- "For they do love her yet; And they who love do not forget." RBROTHE JONATHAN. 129 By whom then? By the many that saw her appear and disappear, like a beautiful star along the verge of the horizon, without caring to know whence it came nor whither it went; by the unthinking multitude who saw her, and flattered her, and followed her, without feeling her worth, or understanding her character. But yesterday in her bridal dress—and to-day in her grave clothes! The bride and the bridegroom—father, mother and child, all gone! and all within the recollection of a middle aged man, who has outlived almost every other person mentioned in the letters now before him! Of a truth, humanity has many a sorrowful, many a dreary lesson to learn, by rummaging into the past—even though it be only the past of a comparative yesterday. "Where's the sin of writing you my dear Grenville—where! why no where, unless it be that I may neglect my devotions; a thing which you, who know me, would not very readily suspect. "In the stuff then that dreams are not made of, allow me to say, first, that I thank you verily for your note; and next, to tell you that I am in a confounded hurry. And why? It is Sunday evening. I have just left the dinner-table, and refused tea, for the sake of being at home one evening—have returned—and am now in Mr. P's study—all the family abroad. There is a catastrophe for you! The consequence is that you will get your answer while I am waiting tea—no, not so bad as that, neither!—while I am waiting tea, I write you this, and you will get it when you can. Forgive me for writing such trash—but you know me I cannot refuse to answer your note, my dear fellow, merely because I haven't time. That would never do. Some better and wiser reason must be offered to satisfy you and myself. "I suppose Miss Julia D——has returned." Here was another lovely young creature, one of the most charming girls I ever knew, with eyes that haunted me for years after her death——who preceded all the rest mentioned in these letters—and whose apparition is before me now, just as I saw her last. "At any rate, the moment I have done with this and another of like magnitude to R.---that moment I am off, and shall make it a point to say the kindest things for you. "Now for your note. Thank you for the account of the wedding. It is characteristic—eminently so—full of thrash and sunshine (not trash,) extravagance and trick. And you were pleased. 'Be it so.' She---you know who---is an enchantress. But mark me. Never fall in love with her, nor with any body else, til you can afford it! The truth is, I think Mary Southgate a girl of, not only brilliant and showy, but of solid material. Either you or I could make anything of her! But---heigh-ho! some other miserable devil must have the moulding of her into insignificance and nothingness, I fear. It is so with most women. They may sometimes, as in this case, be made any thing and every thing of; and sooth to say, are apt enough to be any thing without our help---or 'everything by turns, and nothing long.' Present my affectionate respects to her. Tell her I shall remember her, and she may me---if she can. I look to see her the wife of some noble- hearted fellow yet, and when she is, she will find that I was most her friend when she thought me least so." This refers to a long conversa- tion I had with her, after she and Mellen and I had been taking a stroll n the burying-ground. She had forgotten herself and flirted with him, even there, and I talked so plainly with her, after we returned to the house, that she cried bitterly—then scolded—and then forgave me. Afterwards we were the best friends in the world. "Tell her I saw P—— in Portsmouth, and told him what comforted him exceedingly, viz—that she did not believe him to be the author of certain foolish stories abroad. He was grateful, and I hope she may be so too. "I am waiting to know whether a tragedy of mine is to be performed here, or not. At any rate, it shall be printed, and when it is, you are to have a copy. I leave here one week from next Tuesday (this being Sunday) and shall spend a week in Litchfield. Tell Miss B. so— and say to her, hurry on, if you dare to see him! Present my best respects to your father and mother," (all these are since dead) "my kindest to Miss A—— and C—— and S——." (Three sisters—the youngest of whom is now a widow, the eldest a mother of four large boys, and the third unmarried.) "There are others of whom I would speak; but it has become my duty to turn away from all temptation, and to look for a long while, if not forever, upon the uninviting and repulsive. Farewell." AN EPITOME OF THE HISTORY OF PHILOSOPHY. Translated from the French with Additions, and a Continuation of the History, from the time of Reid to the present day. By C. S. Henry, D. D., Professor of Philosophy and History, in the University of the City of New York. Family Library, 143 and 144. New York: Harper & Brothers. The basis of this work is one published a few years since by the Academy of Jully, and subsequently adopted by the University of France. The original ends with the account of Reid, and in an appendix Professor Henry has brought the history down to the present day. This appendix appears to us quite the most valuable portion of the work; and with the interpolations of the translator, and the comprehensive yet clearly conveyed information in the original we discover nothing which could be omitted, without injury to the general plan. Nothing of a similar character to this treatise has ever fallen under our notice; no work certainly, in which the History of Philosophy is presented in a concise form, impartial, interesting, and understandable, was extant in the English language, before this publication. After such praise—and we have read the book with some care, it is hardly necessary to say that it forms an indispensable part of the Family Library. Scholars who have mastered ponderous tomes, and whose impressions in the active employments of life have been in a measure obliterated or confused, will find this work an excellent refresher. Students will embrace it as a valuable assistant; and the general reader whose limited leisure does not permit him to devote much time to a single subject, will take up this "abstract and brief chronicle," as the very thing he had long desired. HINTS TO MOTHERS, &c. By Thomas Bull, M. D. With additions by an American Physician. New York: Wiley & Putnam. This little work is one intended to be practically useful at the most critical periods of woman's life. It has received the sanction of those qualified to judge; but a farther notice than this would be more appropriate to a medical than to a literary journal. MR. POST'S SERIALS.---The miscellaneous works of Sir Walter Scott, to be completed in twenty-five numbers, will include also his life and correspondence by Lockhart. The whole of his works, the Novels having already been published in the same shape, may thus be obtained for ten dollars---the same matter, by the way, that in the Edinburgh Edition filled ninety-three volumes, and sold for one hundred and forty dollars. There is a difference enough in the prices of the two editions to buy a good farm in the far West. For one hundred and forty dollars, there- fore, a man may have a farm, and no contemptible library in his log cabin. The publication of Thiers has reached the 34th number. VALENTINES.—Elton has got up some very pretty note sheets for such love-lorn young youths as intend to remember St. Valentine's Day, next month. If any body be in that mood, she or he must look at Elton's note-paper. It bears Cupid's stamp, and is the only kind in the market which will be taken into Cupid's post, this year. There is every thing in appearances, young man. Buy, therefore, half a ream, if you have a large acquaintance. If not, a quire will do. CURRY & CO.'S SERIALS.—Cooper's Sea Tales, The Works of Charles Dickens, The Encyclopedia Americana, now published in weekly numbers by the Messrs. Curry & Co., have each reached their third numbers, and present claims both upon mere readers for amusement, and the person who is laying a foundation for a perma- nent library. The Encyclopedia is one of the best works for its price in the world; indeed the only one, so comprehensive, which comes within the means of a man with moderate income. We recommend every body, forthwith to subscribe for it at the Messrs. Curry's. It is no new affair, but has been several years before the public, and has received the approval of the best critics. By the way, speaking of guns, we complained of something last week in reference to the Messrs. Curry, which proves to have been an accident. Continuations of some of their works failed to reach us; and the circumstances is since explained as a mistake or miscarriage on the part of the carrier—such a mistake as happens very seldom, and can always at any time that it does occur, be rectified as soon as it is announced to the gentlemen. 130 BROTHER JONATHAN. Arcturus for February. New York: Curry & Co. A very beautiful, and, we hope, a good likeness of "Box," ornaments this number of the Arcturus. The contents embrace matter of more variety than usual in this Magazine, including a paper by Nathaniel Hawthorne, of Salem, one of the sweetest writers in the country- a sketch by Charles Lanman, and contributions by the editors, characterized by their usual strong sense and directness. The "Welcome to Charles Dickens" which opens the number, we shoul like, if we had room, to transfer to our columns. From Howitt's Student Life in Germany. RURAL AND SUMMER AMUSEMENTS OF THE STUDENTS The natural beauties of Heidelberg are well known abroad. Who is he who has looked upon its picturesque environs with a healthful mind, and has not been captured by them ? Therefore, the son of the Muses, who is here passing his student years, eagerly hastens out in the lovely days of summer into the free regions of nature that lie around. The walks in the immediate vic[ini]ty of the city are all diligently trodden by him. Above all, the castle enjoys the frequent visits of the student youth in thronging numbers. The student is to be met here every hour of the day, but he still more loves to survey here the beauties of a moonlit night. Leaning over the terrace, he looks down upon the city as it lies in its solem silence stretched along the bank of the Neckar, Its inhabitants, with all their troubles and pleasures,- his companions, with all the pursuits and pas-ions of restless youth, are hushed into deep slumber. He only wakes, but the hours which he steals from sleep are not lost. He glances wide over the plain of the Pfalz, which, illumined by the moon's uncertain light, offers to the eye no longer its boundary of hills. Opposite to him, the castle rears its gigantic pile, and varying its outlines with every change of the moonlight, challenges the imagination to equal its bold features in its highest flights. the moon now advances from behind some envious cloud, and the windows of the palace of Otto Heinrich appear magically lit up, and it seems again to stand in all the splendor of past ages. But the solitary watcher has unconsciously wandered forward till he finds himself standing close to the spot where Mattheison sung his elegy. Suddenly all falls back into shade, and before him stands a sublime image of the wrath and passions of man- the rifted tower- one part blown up and hurled, in one mighty mass, into the moat. In the vaulted chambers of the yet standing portion, the mysterious forms of heroes long gone down to the dust, seem to erect themselves, and to cry woe over the desolating fury of the French. The wanderer feels a momentary shiver pass through him- but he glances up to heaven, which expands above him in its glorious clearness- an image of divine peace and rest; the owl, with its dismal shout of joy, brings him back from his dreams, and in silence he descends to the silent city. How sweet't is in the air! No hateful tyrant there Scathes Nature's fair reign. No base adulator, No slanderous traitor, Empoisous the plain. Salie. The cool shades of the Wolfsbrunnen afford the student a delicious retreat in the heat of a summer's day; and many another spot of the vicinity are sought by him with equal delight, which have been already often sketched and described. The more distant places the student seeks by means of a horse or carriage. The riding horses for hire are truly, for the most part, wretched jades. Even the means which the Renommist of Zachariae used would prove unavailing here ; and what he thus describes, on such Rosina[?]tes as these could not come to pass. A spur-stroke and a curse gave wings unto his horse. The crack of ponderous whips and rib-thumps safe remorse, Seat him all foaming on, till almost in a minute, The country lay behind him, the next he was not in it. A peculiar class of equipages are let out in the university cities, and are hired by the student partly on account of their cheapness, but more especially, because he can charioteer himself. He styles these little chaises with one horse, a one-span, or one-engine. With one of these he undertakes journeys which, especially on Sundays, stretch themselves as far as Mannheim, to the Hardt mountains, to the Melbocus, or even to Karlsruthe and Baden-Baden. The persecuted horse who drives these vehicles, knows the way from Mannheim and other places, much better than his temporary master ; and when in dark nights a one-engine goes wrong or comes to any accident, it is for the most part because his driver will not let him have his own way. Many a time the poor beasts are so weary that th student can no longer urge them forward with the whip, and is obliged to have recourse to stones that he picks from the road. Water excursions are seldom undertaken, because the ill-constructed pleasure-boats do not allow him to guide himself. The neighborhood of so many beautiful countries incites the student to more extensive excursions, and he travels, during the vacations, into Switzerland, the Rhine country, and other places, chiefly in company of a few friends. We may suppose it to be on some incident connected with one of these excursions that Uhland has founded his beautiful ballad of THE WIRTHIN'S DAUGHTER. Three students cross'd o-ver the Rhiue- stream one day, 'Twas to a Frau Wirthin's the wended their way, 'Twas to a Frau Wirthin's the wended their way, "Frau Wirthin, hast thou good beer and wine, And where is that lovely daugher of thine?" "My beer and wine are fresh and clear; My dear daughter lies upon the death-beir!" And as they stepped to the innermost room, There was she lying robed for the tomb. The first he withdrew then the veiling screen And gazed at her with sorrowful mein: " Ah, wert thou living, fair flower of earth, How should I love thee from this day forth!" The second he covered the pale, dead face, And turn'd him round and wept apace : " Ah, there thou art lying on thy death-bier, And how have I loved thee for many a year!" The third he lifted once more the veil, And kissed her upon the lips so pale : "Thee I loved ever ! yet love thee to-day ! And still shall I love the for aye and for aye !" BROTHER JONATHAN. 131 From Beatley for January. RAISING THE DEVIL. BY THOMAS INGOLDERT, ESQ. "And bast thou nerve enough!" he said, That grey Old Man, above whose head Unnumbered years had roll'd- "And hast thou nerve to view," he cried, "The incarnate fiend that heaven defied? Art thou indeed so bold? "Say, cans't thou, with unshrinking gaze, Sustain, rash youth, the withering blaze Of that unearthly eye, That blasts where'er it light- the breath That like the Simoon, scatters death On all that yet can die? "Darest thou confront that fearful form, That rides the whirlwind and the storm In wild unholy revel? The terrors of that blasted brow, Archangel's once, though ruined now- Ay- dar'st thou face THE DEVIL! "I dare!" the desperate Youth replied, And placed him by the Old Man's side, In fierce and frantic glee, Unblenched his cheek and firm his limb; - "No paltry juggling fiend, but HIM! THE DEVIL!- I fain would see! "In all his Gorgon terrors clad, His worst, his fellest shape!" the Lad Rejoiced in reckless tone- "Have then thy wish!" Albertus said, And sigh'd and shook his hoary head, With many a bitter groan. He drew the mystic circle's bound, With skull and cross-bones fenc'd around; He traced full many a sigil there; He mutter'd many a backward pray'r, That sounded like a curse- "He comes!" he cried with wild grimace, "The fellest of Apollyon's race!" Then in his startled pupil's face He dash'd- on Empty Purse!! From the Loudon and Patis Ladies' Magazine of Fashion. FASHIONS FOR JANUARY. Velvets, satins, watered silks, and poults de soie, are the materials generally at use in the moment. In velvets and all thick materials, the make is usually with the corsage point and berthe of rich embroidery, sleeves tight, with the two seams. In lighter materials, the skirts are ornamented with four or five tucks edged with lace, the corsage drape from the shoulders; tight sleeves, ornamented the whole length with the bias edged with lace: a long ceinture of sarcenet ribbon. Satin dresses are frequently trimmed with velvet of the color, either en tablier or revers, and fur is much used on velvets. Crape dresses are made with double skirts, the front breadth of the other os open en tablier, which, as well as the back part of the skirt, is trimmed round with lace, the underskirt having only a hem. Tight sleeves without any ornament, are denominated a la quaker. Orange is the fashionable color in Paris for flowers and dresses; but particularly for cashmere shawls. Some little change is observable in forms of bonnets; the crown is higher, and the front less deep at the ears, showing more of the cheeks; and in consequence of raising the crown, the bavolets are not so deep; the straight forms are not quite so much in favor as they were; the ornaments most fashionable are long feathers, marabouts, bunches and wreathes of roses, jacinths, myosotis, &e. There is much variety both in collars and fichus at present; small collars are fashionable, and the round pelerine is universally approved; very rich ones are made of inlets divided by narrow lace put on full; these latter are termed pelerines cardinals, they reach below the waist, and are madr in velvet, embroidered and trimmed with fringe or lace. Caps are also made rather higher, and cover the head a little more; those a la Marie Louise, a Lavalier, with coiffures a l'Espagnole, Pompadour, perets, toques, Richard Caeur de Lion, &e., are all now in fashion. The hair is decidedly dressed higher behind, and ornamented combs are fashionable in Paris, in gold, or with cameos or precious stones; flowers are worn as wreaths. RUSSIAN TROOPS AND DISCIPLINE.—The corps of guards and grenadiers go under canvass every summer. When at St. Petersburg, I went over to the camp at Sarsko Selo to see them; and as rain had fallen for several days consecutively, the troops appeared to be in a most forlorn state. The interior of their tents was full of mud mixed up with straw; upon this the men were lying, in dirty cotton drawers and shirts, without either coats, trousers, or shoes. I was not a little surprised, however, to find that many of the officers, though apparently living in tents, were inhabiting small wooden houses under them; they were about six feet square, and as easily packed up and re-elected as the tents: the floor was boarded, and we dined four in one of them very comfortably. The emperor when in camp lives under canvass. I saw a picked man from each company battalion of the Preobrajensky Regiment. They were remarkably tall; but being very much padded out at the breast, and drawn in very tight at the waist, they had in their greatcoats, a very lanky appearance: many of the regiments of the line that I saw at Moscow and in the south would have worked them off their legs in a campaign of any duration. The hospitals were filling fast; and I was told that a great many casualties take place on their return to their splendid quarters at St. Petersburg, after their summer manoeuvres. Here the are worried by the numerous tracasseries connected with their dress and appointments, that they avoid leaving their barracks as much as possible. The emperor, not long ago, observing that but few soldiers were to be seen in the streets, asked the military governor the reason. He was either afraid, or too good a courtier to give the right one; but to prevent a recurrence of the remark, issued an order that some of the men of each company should be told off every day as the "walking section," to ornament the most public parts of the capital. Discipline is kept up by extreme measures, and the cane is used at pleasure; but a man who has received the ribbon of St. George is by the regulations of the service, exempt from this species of punishment. The officers not unfrequently give way to violence of temper. I oncesaw a captain inspecting his guard, near the quarantine at Odessa, strike one of his men a blow on the face with his fist, and, seizing him by both his ears, shake him until he pulled him outr of the ranks: the man's cap then fell off, and the officer, ordering a corporal to pick it up jammed it down on his head with another blow. The whole system is carried on in the same tyrannical and overbearing manner. The Russian soldier meets with very little kindness or consideration to soften the misery of being imperatively driven into the service.—Travels in Russia. THE WOLF AND THE LAMB.---The Journal de Flandres relates the following tale:---The postman of a commune in our neighborhood waas lately trudging along in execution of his duty, accompanied by his daughter, a rosy-cheeked, flaxen-haired young peasant. Wishing to relieve her parent from the load of correspondence with which he was entrusted, she strapped the post-bag or portfolio on her own shoulders. While the dutiful girl was thus engaged, a gentleman in a tilbury drove up to them, and, getting his horse into a walk, began a conversation with them. "Really, my good fellow, your employment must be a harrassing one. You come to town every day on foot, to deliver your letters. To do this duty for so many communes must be very fatiguing. I am uneasy when I think of it. How unlucky that I cannot offer you each a seat in my carriage; otherwise I should be most happy to do so." "Sir, you are extremely kind, but I think nothing of it, I am so accustomed to bear this daily fatigue! but my Catherine is quite unused to any thing of the sort. It is the first time, in fact, she ever attempted the day's work; and my poor child is ready to drop down, I'm sure." "Well, well, then." said the fair-spoken gentleman, "come and take a seat in the tilbury, child; there is room for one, certainly; while you, my honest friend, will perhaps continue to walk." The unsuspecting girl, whose timidity was not so great as her fatigue, willingly accepted the kind offer of the benevolent gentleman. When she was fairly seated in the vehicle, the gentleman commenced whipping his horse, and darted off with such rapidity, that he and the maiden were out of sight in a minute or two, leaving the stultified father behind, who, since that time, has heard nothing of his daughter; neither have the letters and newspapers of which she was the bearer, reached their destination. KEEN SATIRE.—A facetious Abbbe having a box at the Opera-house in Paris, was turned out of his posession by a Mareschal——, as remarkable for ungentlemanlike conduct, as for his cowardice and meanness. The Abbe, for this unjustifiable breach of good manners, brought his action in a court of honour, and solicited permission to be his own advocate, which was granted. He then pleaded to the following effect:—"'Tis not of Monsieur Souffein, who acted so nobly in the East Indies, that I complain; it is not of the Duc deCrebillion, who took Minorca, that I complain; it is not of the Compte who so bravely fought Lord Rodney, that I complain; —but it is of Mareschal——, who took my box at the Opera-house, and never took anything else." This piece of satire so sensibly convinced the Court that the complainant had already inflicted punishment sufficient, they refused to grant him a verdict. 132 BROTHER JONATHAN. FOR THE BROTHER JONATHAN. STRAY BALLADS, AND NEWLY DISCOVERED LYRICS - Edited by Simon Craddock. - No. I. XIMENA GOMEZ- A BALLAD OF THE CID. The circumstances upon which this ballad is founded are very frequently related in the those chronicles of the Cid which abound throughout all Spain; and indeed they are such as are very commonly reported and believed of the Spanish champion, and the lady Ximena. But although these circumstances are generally well known, this particular ballad hath never before been put to paper, or preserved in print. Like the greater part of popular poetry in that country, it has long been embalmed in tradition, and now sees the light by accident, and through a stranger's intervention. An old woman was mumbling part of it to herself as she rocked her grandchild to sleep. The cottage, if one may give so pretty a name to a ruinous little place containing no more than two rooms, lay near the remains of the Alhambra, towards which I was walking. I had intended to enjoy in the Court of Lions my usual evening cigar, and fit of contemplation, but was arrested by her singing. When she stopped, I conned over the tablets with which I had been busy, and waited patiently for her to resume the ditty. The child, however, was by this time asleep, and the old lady, fearful of waking him, ceased her chaunting. I entered the place therefor, and after a little conversation, and a little trifling present, easily persuaded the good woman to repeat to me all that she remembered of it. Much of it was inverted and inaccurate, and so disguised by provincialisms as to be scarcely comprehensible, but upon the whole, it was more accurately preserved than could be expected from so illiterate a keeper. At any rate, it struck my fancy so much, that I concluded to give it the first place amongst the "stray ballads" I was so lucky as to collect together. - PART FIRST I. "What ho!" cried king Fernando unto his foot-page good, The bright eyed little henchman who still beside him stood, And, for that he was witty, and made his master sport Had license and permission to jest with all his court; Which had been indeed no marvel if through long indulgence won, But 'twas scarce a month since Carlos had his page's life begun, And that he in time so scanty, should have come to be so free To the gray haired courtiers round him was a wond'rous mystery. II. "What ho!" cried he, "Come hither, and closely bend thine ear; "I'll whisper thee a question which thou alone must hear." Then proud was Master Carlos that he a secret thing, To knight nor noble trusted, should hear from the king. Thou quoth good king Fernando, "Is't not a deadly shame "That he, that mighty chieftain, that knight of noble fame, "Rodrigo De Bivar, boy, unto our royal Court, "Here is our town of Burgos, doth never make resort? III. "Doth he despise the pleasure in sparkling cups that lies; "Scorns he to tread a measure, or don a courtly guise? "Come now, Sir page, resolve me, why doth Rodrigo stay "From banquet, and from revel so sullenly away!" "Ho! Sire I can resolve thee with little pains, I wot, "Why worries the Cid Rodrigo like hermit in his grot "It is no twisted riddle, but soothly I'll explain "Why in his castle sleepeth the paragon of Spain." IV. "Now," qouth the king, "if thou boy, dost read it me aright, "With mine own hand I'll make thee one day a belted knight; "And 'neath Rodrigo's banner I swear that thou shalt go "To win thy spurs in battle against the Paynim foe. "Ha! wherefore from thy cheek, Sir, thou doth the color fade? "Is there a Spanish stripling who dares to be afraid; "Lives there in Spain a coward so mean he would not go "To bear the red-cross banner against his savior's foe? V. "By heaven! Sir Page, I tell thee I do mistrust me sore, "To thine outside so comely, there's but a rotten core. "Speak, sir! I charge thee answer. What is there in my vow "To stop thy quick blood's current, and blanche they sunny brow!" Then proudly answer Carlos-"And if my cheek grew white, "I wot 'twas not for fear, Sire, to meet the Moor in fight. "Beneath Rodrigo's banner right joyfully I'll ride, "For Spain and Santiago, against Cordova's pride. VI. "And if my lip was bloodless, and if my brow was pale, "'Twas but o'ermastering pleasure that bade their color fail; "For Sire, I thought how proudly I'd spur my charger on, "And still be by Ruy Diaz when the field was lost and won. "Since I were greatly honored, and should be nobly sped, "Though on the field of battle I found a gory bed; "For sure his soul who bravely dies for his God, and Spain, "To Abra'ms bosom passeth from the red battle plain." VII. "Good sooth! I do believe thee," cried King Fernando then, "And thou wilt be, I doubt not, a leader amongst men. "But so, forgive it, Carlos, and answer me, I pray, "What from our court of Burgos doth keep the Cid away?" "I promised," answered Carlos, "to make this mystery plain, "Yet one thing thou must grant me e're I can it explain." "Speak," cried the king, "I grant ye whatever boom you crave, "So 'tis what I should give thee, or such as thou may'st have." VIII. "'Tis but," cried Carlos gaily, "that I this day may ride "To where the Cid Rodrigo all in his hold doth bide, "And bid him from it's shadows forth to the light again, "And bring him here to Burgos without a slackened rein." "And can'st thou do this wonder," the king admiring cried, "Can'st thou to courts and dalliance tame down Rodrigo's pride?" "I can" cried Carlos boldly. "Thou," quoth the king, "Away, "And do the deed thou vauntest." Quoth he- "I shall not stay." IX. Then quickly mounted Carlos, and marshalled straight his train, And when the sun was hottest, pricked forth across the plain. The sun rose up, the sun went down three times along the sky. They drew no rein upon the plain, nor paused at the hills so high; but with rowel red away they sped, both weary, horse and man, And still before, as on they bore, young Carlos led the van. When rose the third day's morning, behold! before their eyes Rodrigo's stately castle 'midst waving woods arise. Right soon its gates they entered, and having feasted fair, Young Carlos with the Warder did to the Cid repair. I wot the page was sore beset, I wot he trembled sore, But his guide was old, and his senses were cold, Besides he went before! - PART SECOND I. Ill fared it with Ruy Diaz, a solemn man was he, With aching heart, he sat apart, as sad as sad might be. Sitting in his gloomiest tower, he told his beads in prayer, And kept alone, unceasing, his lonely vigil there, His mace, that wont the paynim so mightily appal, By glove, and helm, and pennon, hung idly on the wall. The battle brand which now his hand drew not in the mele', Harmless as housewife's needle by cuisa and hauberk lay. II. "Ho! rouse thee, Cid Rodrigo, and mount thy courser fleet, "All-in the town of Burgos thy sovereign lord to meet. "Ho! rouse thee, Cid Rodrigo; lay by this craven gear, "And like a Spanish noble, and Christian knight appear." "What fool," exclaimed Rodrigo, " dares thus intru'e him here? "By Santiago's spirit but it shall cost him dear." BROTHER JONATHAN 133 "Now softly , sir," qouth Carlos, "though but a boy I be, "And thou a warrior mighty, yet little fear I thee. III. "Behold! I come from Burgos, where king Fernando lies "To bid thee seek his presence e'er thrice the sun shall rise." "Away! I love my sovereign, but here must I remain, "And ill he fares who cometh unbidden here again." "Behold! I come from Burgos, where flash the brightest eyes, "Where love and joyance revel, and sparkling honor lies" "Fool! dost thou tempt mine anger? begone, or bide the blow." "Behold! I bring this token!"-"Lead on, Sir Page-I'll go." IV. A thousand crests are waving, a thousand eyes are bright; A thousand hearts beat quickly upon St. Stephen's night. Here, in the court of Burgos, are met both ladies fair and warriors proud and gallant, and men with silver hair. Ten thousand tapers gleaming, in golden sconces shine; Ten thousand royal goblet are drunk with Xeres wine; And through the palace ringing, till every tower replies, Bursts of exulting music re-echo to the skies. V. The air which steals upon them is heavy too, I wis, With incense rare and precious, with musk and ambergris. And as the purple hangings wave to the night-winds free, The scent amid them seemeth their velvet breath to be. The dancers, swiftly changing, who catch the taper's blaze, From jewelled star and necklace flash back the rainbow's rays-- And stately forms are mingling, and gentle words are said; And gallants' lips are honeyed, and maidens' cheeks are red. VI. Upon the lordly dais sits king Fernando there, And o'er that merry meeting all vacantly does stare. He looks as one expecting some sudden change to be, Or message deep and wond'rous, from lands beyond the sea. What waiteth king Fernando?-- "make way there for the Cid!" Need none in all that presence a second time be bid. Back, back, they fell together, when through the hall he trod, As parted Egypt's ocean beneath the prophet's rod. VII. "I come" quoth then Rodrigo, "as by my monarch bid. "I love not courts. Why sent ye this message for the Cid?" "Now sit" -- cried king Fernando --"here closely by our side; "And that I bade thee rightly thyself shall soon decide. "In sooth, most noble champion, the lands of the Bivar "For Spain should ever furnish a leader bold in war. "Lo! here a maiden beauteous, Gonzalez' lovely air "Ye two in blessed marriage would make a goodly pair. VIII. "Take her, I charge thee take her. Our patron saint forfend "The line of Cid Rodrigo should in Rodrigo end. "Take her; and be they children the counterparts of thee,-- "Each one a warrior mighty, and star of chivalry." Then, ere the Cid made answer, stepped forth that foot-page good, And right before the maiden, and all the nobles stood. He recked nor frown nor whisper; but calmly on his breast Across his arms he folded, and thus the maid addressed. IX. "List! daughter of Gonzalez, list ye to what I say, "And mark ye well and profit, or then shalt rue the day. "Take not this man Rodrigo to be thy wedded lord; "A stain is on this 'scutcheon, dishonor on his sword. "I had once a sister, lady, a sister fair to see, "And Rodrigo swore he loved her passing fervently. "Ask him for the maid who trusted; ask him whose blood was shed; "Ask him for the broken-hearted; ask Rodrigo for the dead! X. "Lo! this cross, this holy relic, this the token of his love, "This, of peace the blessed emblem, failed his stubborn soul to move. "Faith forsworn, and slighted honor; cruel blow, and desperate hate, "This, the sign of gentlest pity, could not soften, nor abate. "Take the gift, he gave it lady, and she prized it more than life, "When she thought Ximena one day might become Rodrigo's wife. "See! this blood which rusts upon it, thus it marked it, hapless maid! "As it dropped upon her bosom from Rodrigo's vengeful blade XI. "'Spare my father, oh Rodrigo! oh behold his silver hair; "'Spare him as you love Ximena; as you hope for mercy spare!'" "So she cried, but did he heed her? Sire, he struck him where he stood; "And he left Ximena senseless, weltering in her father's blood." Then the page turned to the Monarch, and with hands outstretched he cried: "Justice! King Fernando, Justice! Justice on the homicide! "Boy, as here I stand before ye, I defy him a l'outrance, "And my words will prove upon him, armed at point, with sword and lance." XII. Dark as night Rodrigo's visage, fierce as fire his flashing eye, When before the Court of Burgos him a stripling did defy. With the handle of his weapon his convulsive fingers played, And the changing of his color all the inward strife betrayed. Strife terrific, inward tempest! for whilst burned his haughty cheek, Tears of anguish coursing o'er it did Ximena's triumph speak. He the Cid, the Cid Ruy Diaz, victor in a thousand fields; He, the conqueror, iron-hearted, to his love and sorrow yields. XIII. "Boy!" he cried, "In vain thou railest, thou canst not my bosom move, "Slight all wrong which thou canst do me, to my wronged Ximena's love. "Earth for me is bare of honor; life is but a base retreat; "Death the sole and only champion I will in this quarrel meet. "Go! vex not my soul with sorrow, for Ximena haunts me yet, "And though ages span my anguish -- her I never can forget. "Go! if thou hast lost a father, if a sister thou hast lost, "I bereft, and broken-hearted; I her murderer suffer most." XIV. "Help the page, ho! Look he fainteth!" forth an ancient noble sprang, And the vaulted roof re-echoing to the name of Gomez rang. Page no longer, Ximena, in Rodrigo's arms she lies; All the boldness of the brother vanished in the sisters sighs. Long it were to tell the story how that Gomez's wound had healed, 'Twixt Ruy Diaz and Ximena how the marriage bond was sealed. Sooth to say they did not tarry; in sooth he had not died. Now Santiago for Castile! God keep us all from pride! A Scene on Board The Turkish Flag-Ship at Acre -- A colonel of the Turkish troops on board shortly found his way to the divan, which I had again occupied. He was accompanied by a little negro boy, carrying his pipe. The latter lit the chibouk with due form, and presented it to his master, when I had an opportunity of witnessing what I think may be termed a proof of innate politeness in the Turk. It is a compliment which a Turk always pays to an equal to offer him his pipe, after has himself taken a few whiffs; but at a moment like this, when one was not sure of the head on his shoulders from one minute to the other, it was hardly to be expected if any body lit a pipe he should go to such lengths as to think of doing so for another. On the contrary, my friend offered it me as he would have done at any other time; and, I doubt not, would have been alike offended had I refused him the compliment of accepting it. The little negro boy was still more cool and unconcerned than his master. The colonel having been called away to attend upon Selim Pasha, who was on the poop, young Sambo at once scrambled on the divan, as far as possible out of the window, impressed apparently with a great desire to see what all the noise was about outside. A stream of shot, during the action, continued to pass, ploughing up the water a few yards astern of the ship. The shot striking in the water and rebounding upwards again seemed to arouse the little negro vastly, and I could not but envy his ignorant equanimity, when, as frequently happened, one would come nearer than usual to where we were sitting, and the little fellow would rub his hands and show his teeth from ear to ear with delight. After an hour's firing, a gun in the fortress of very large dimensions, was observed to be solely directed at our ship, and a shot, which had severely wounded the mainmast, was thought to have been fired from it. Captain Laue and Mr. Walton pointed against it several of the main deck guns, which shortly had the effect of silencing its fire -- United Service Journal. 134 BROTHER JONATHAN. From Cruiksbank's Omnibus. A TALE OF AN INN. "Uncommon high the wind be to-night, surel y," remarked the occu- pier of the seat of honor on the left side of the fire place in the Jolly Drummer, on the night of a boisterous 31st of March--" uncommon:" and as he spoke he uncrossed his legs, and resting his left hand which held his long pipe upon his knee, stretched out his right to a little trian- gular table that stoop before the fire, stirred a more than half-finished tumbler of warm rum-and-water which was standing on one of the cor- ners, shook the drops off the spoon, and having placed it on the table, raised the tumbler to his mouth, and in another minute set it down again empty, save the thin slice of lemon which had been floating about in the liquor. Having done this, he threw himself back in his seat, tucked his feet under it, and there crossed them, riggled his right hand into his breeches' pocket, and resting his left elbow on the arm of the high-back- ed form or "settle" on which he was seated, puffed away in quiet enjoyment of his pipe. Per--per--per.- "It do blow above a bit, and that's all about it," returned a little man who was seated in an old Windsor chair opposite, as, having filled his pipe, he commenced lighting it with a piece of half-burnt paper that he had taken from the hob, and spoke between the strong puffs of smoke which curled upwards from his mouth during the operation. "I never---per---per---remember---per---sich a night---per- --per---as this here---per---leastways for the time o'year---per---per---per- --but once, per---and that was," said he, having now got his pipe well lighted , and letting himself gradually sink back in his chair, "and that was in the year ---'37, when, as you remember, Master Tyler," looking at his friend opposite, "the mails was all snow'd up; but that was a trifle earlier in the year too, that was---let me see---oh ay, werry little tho'; why it was on the--yes, it was, on the 24th of this very month, and so it was." "Ay, ay," replied Tyler. "I remember it, be sure I do; and, bless you, I thought ve vas all a-going to be fruz up in our beds, as sure as I'm a-sitting here. But now, vhat I vas a-thinking of, vas, that this here night never comes round but what I thinks of what happened to me vun blowing 31st of March. It makes me shake almost, too, a-thinking on it," continned he, looking up at a large tadpole-looking clock, which, with its octangular face, assured all the company that it wanted but a quarter of an hour of midnight. "What was that?" exclaimed all the circle; "give us that tale, Master Tyler, a-fore we parts." "Vell, then," said Tyler, touching his empty glass, "let's prepare for it." Upon this hint, one of the party, the host of the Jolly Drummer himself, rapped the table with his broad fist and shouted "Hollo there," which process brought upon the scene "Mary, the Maid of the Inn," whom Master Tyler requested to fill his glass, and "do the same for that gem'man opposite." She accordingly retired with the empty glasses, and as she is now out of the room, which we know to be the case from the whir-r-r-r bang ! of the weighted door, we will take the opportunity before she comes back of describing the house and company. The Jolly Drummer was a small public-house at the extreme end of a little scattered village; its situation on the verge of an extensive heath, and detached from the other cottages, would have given it a lonely appearance but for its back-ground of a few trees, and two or three old stunted oaks before the door, between two of which was the horse-trough, and from the branches of the third swang the old and weather-beaten sign, creaking to and fro in the wind; the hay scattered about the trough, or whirled in the air by the wind, and the wicker crate which stood at the door by the side of the mounting steps, together with a pail and mop, gave indications of a pretty-well frequented house. If anything more was wanting to establish the fact, on this night, besides two or three light carts, a heavy stage-waggon might be seen rearing its giant bulk against the dark sky with its shafts erect, and the unlit stable-lantern still skewered in the front. The interior presented a more lively and comfortable appearance, at least in the room with which we are principally concerned. Here, a fire of a few coals overlaid with large logs, crackled and spluttered in the grate round which the party were assembled, two of whom we have already introduced. Upon the same high-backed form or settle, on which Master Tyler sat, were seated three other men, two of whom belonged to the waggon without, and the third was a small short man, who said little, but seemed to imbibe all Master Tyler uttered with great reverence. On the opposite side of the fire, besides the little man in the Windsor chair, were two others, the one the blacksmith, and the other the cobbler of the village. Sitting opposite to the fire, and so as to complete the circle round it, sat the stout landlord himself, looking round at his guests and attending to their wants (as we have seen) with the consciousness of being "well-to-do" in the world. On the little triangular table stood a quart mug "imperial measure;" a brass candlestick, bent through age, holding a thin tallow candle; a large pair of snuffers, lying by their side bottom upwards, was scored with the marks of a bit of chalk, half-crushed among the tobacco ashes, and a dirty pack of cards, gave the observer every proof that the two waggoners had but lately been engaged in the favorite game of all-fours." The room in which this company had met was low and square, boasting as furniture a few Windsor chairs, a square deal table edged with iron, and supported by trussel-like legs, in addition to the before-mentioned little triangular one, another of which latter description was seen in a distant corner, a dresser standing against the wall opposite the fire, and a tall cupboard by its side; the window on the left side of the room was shaded by a checked curtain, which waved mournfully under the influence of the gusts of wind that managed to find their way through the closed lattice. A few such pictures as "the lovely florist," and the "happy fruiterer," with rounded limbs and flowing drapery, painted with bright colors on glass, decorated the walls, and the mantel-shelf was decked with the usual ornaments of peacocks' feathers, brass candlesticks, tin stands for pipe-lighters, flour and pepper-boxes, a coffee pot, and two lines painted on the wall recording, with the day and date, how "Thomas Swipes, Jacob Swillby, and James Piper, drank at one sitting in this room twelve quarts of ale." Such was the room and its contents on the 31st March, 18--, and a blowing night it was. The whir-r-bang again of the door announces Mary to have returned with the replenished glasses, and as she is retiring she is arrested by the voice of Master Tyler, who calls out to her-- "Vait a bit Mary, I knows you're fond of a tale; you may as vell sit down and listen, for I dare say you never heered a better, tho' I says it, and that's a fact--that's to say, if the company has no objections," added Tyler. They all seemed to agree with Master Tyler in admitting Mary into the circle, and accordingly made room for her next to her master, the host. All these preliminaries being arranged, Master Tyler having just tasted his new glass of grog, thus began;-- "Let me see, it vas about the year 1817, ven I first vent to be ostler at the Vite Swan, Stevenage, for I vos a ostler vonce, gem'men, that I vas; you remember the time, Juggles?" continued he, addressing the little man opposite (who answered with an "ay," and a nod of the head). "Old Dick Styles used to vork the old Highflier thro' Stevenage at that time, and he was as good a coachman as here and there vun; but howsumever, that ain't got nothink to do with my story. I vas a saying it was my fust night in the yard, and in course I had to pay my 'footin.' Vell, old Tom Martin was the boots; he as come arterwards to place, you know, Juggles?" ("Ay," answered the little man again, as he looked meditatingly at the fire;) and me and him," continued Tyler, "sat up in the tap a-drinking and smoking and that, and a precious jolly night of it ve had, I can tell you! There vas Peter Scraggs, and as good a chap he vos as ever stepped, and un or two more good jolly coves as you'd vish to see; vell, ve got a chaffin, and that like, ven Tom says to me, says he, 'Tyler,' ses he, 'you arn't been here long,' ses he, 'but maybe you've a heerd o'that old chap up yonder,'-- 'Vot old chap?' ses I. 'Vhy him on his beam-ends,' ses he, a-laughing, and all the t'others laughed too, for I heered arterwards that that vas his joke. 'Vell,' ses I, 'as I vas never here afore, t'aint werry likely as I have heered of 'un; but who is he?' 'Vhy,' ses he, 'he vas an old grocer as lived in this hers town o' Stevenage,' ses he, 'years and years ago,' ses he; 'and left in his vill' vhen he died,' ses he, 'that he vouldn't be buried, not he, but he box'd up in his coffin and highsted up a-top o' the beams of his "hovel," as he called it; but a barn it is, that's sartain,' ses he. 'Nonsense,' ses I; 'you aint' a-going to come over me in that there style with your gammon,' ses I. 'Gammon or no,' ses Tom, 'if you've a mind you may see him yourself,' ses he; 'leastvays you may see his oak coffin,' says he. 'Seein's believin',' ses I, 'all over the world,' ses I, 'so here goes;' and up I gets, and Tom, he gets up too, and vun or two others, and ve goes out; and Tom, he catches holdt of a stable lantern, and pick up vun o' them poles with a fork at the end---them things vot the vashervomen hangs their lines upon ven they dries the clothes--and ve valks into a stable-like place as had been a barn, and Tom he hooks the lantern on to the pole, and holds it up, and there sure enough vos the coffin, a stuck up in the roof a top o' two beams. "It's as true as I'm a-sitting here," continued Tyler, as he observed symptoms of incredulity in some of his auditors; "it's as true as I'm a sitting here; and vot's more, you may see it there yourselves in that werry place to this werry day if you like to go as far. Vel, as I vos a saying, I looks up, and ses I, 'I'm blessed if it ain't a coffin,' ses I.--- 'Ay,' says Tom and the others, 'now you'll believe it, von't you?' 'Sartainly I vill,' ses I, 'now I sees it; but I'm blow'd if I didn't think you had been a.going on with some game or another,' ses I. "Vell, ve come back agen to the tap, and ve sat there a-talking over that there old man and his rum fancy of being cocked up there, and vot not, till ve'd had enough, and thought it time to be off; it was then about half-past eleven. So Tom says, ses he, 'I'll show you vhere you are to hang out, Tyler,' ses he; so he takes me out in the yard and shows me my nest over the stable, and I'm blessed if it warn't the wery next to the vun with the old man. 'Pretty close company,' ses I to myself, 'anyhow;' but howsumdever I never said nothing, not I, in case he should think that I was afeered arter vot he'd a ben saying and that; so up I goes vith the lantern, up the ladder, but I couldn't for the life of me help a-thinking of old Harry Taigg, (that vos the old feller's name, him in the coffin.) Vel, however, I turns in at last, and I hadn't been in bed more nor ten minutes at most, ven I heered a kind of a ——" "Mercy! what's that!" exclaimed Mary, as the sign-board outside seemed to take part in the tale, and groan uneasily in the wind. "Don't be foolish, Mary," said my host, scarcely less frighted; "what should it *This will was proved in the archdeaconry of Huntingdon, Sept. 18, 1794. BROTHER JONATHAN. 135 be but the old sign? Don't interrupt Master Tyler again, there's a good lass." "Vell, I heerd a kind of a creak," resumed the speaker, with a scarcely perceptible smile, "and I listened, and presently I thought I heerd a groad. Vell, I didn't much like it, I can tell you; however, I thought as it vos all imaginary like, and vos jist a turning round in my bed to get a more comfortabler position---" "Snuff the candle," suggested Juggles to the blacksmith in a low tone, who did it mechanically, scarcely taking his eyes off the speaker the while. "Vhen I heard a woice," (here there was a breathless silence among the auditors,) "I heerd a woice, I gets a bit more plucky like; 'for, thinks I, 'arter all it may be some vun in difficulties.' So I ses, ses I, 'Vot's the row, sir?' 'Tyler,' ses the woice, a' calling me by name, 'Tyler' ses he, 'I vish I hadn't done it.' 'Done vot?' ses I; for since he called me by my name I vos a little quieter. 'Vy,' ses the woice, 'a' got myself cocked up here,' ses he. Ses I, 'Vhy don't you get down then!' ses I. 'Cause I can't,' ses he. 'Vhy not?' ses I. 'Cause I'm screwed down in my coffin,' ses he." Here a scream, half-suppressed, broke from Mary. "'My eye!' ses I to myself, and I shook all over -- 'it's the old man hisself,' and I pops my head under the bed-clothes precious quick, I can tell you: for I vos in a bit of a stew, as you may guess. Vell, presently I heerd the old man a calling out again; but I never answered a vord, not I. Vell, arter that I hears a kind of rustling and scratching on the t'other side o' the planks close to vhere I vos a-laying. 'That's him,' thinks I; 'but he can't come here, that's clear.' "Can't I tho'!" says the werry same woice close to my feet, this time. Oh crickey, how I did shake sure-ly at that there. 'Tyler!' ses he, calling out loud. 'Tyler,' ses he, 'look up;' but bless you, I never spoke nor moved. 'Tyler,' ses he agen, a-hollering for all the vorld as loud as thunder, 'John Tyler look up! or it'll be the vurse for you. So at that I puts the werry top o' my eyes over the bed-clothes, and there I saw ----" "What?" exclaimed the blacksmith and cobbler, under their breath at the same instant. The narrator looked around; Juggles was leaning forward in his chair, his open hand scarce holding his pipe, which, in the eagerness of his curiosity he had let out; the blacksmith and cobbler were, with eyes and mouth wide open, intently watching the speaker's face; mine host, with both fists on the table, was not a whit less anxious; Mary was leaning on the shoulder of one of the waggoners, with outstretched neck towards Tyler, drinking in every word he uttered; and the two waggoners, perfectly wrapped up in the tale, stared vacantly at the opposite wall. "What?" repeated the anxious hearers. Master Tyler took his pipe from his mouth, and puffing out a long wreath of smoke, at the same time pointing with his pipe to the clock, which was just on the quarter past twelve, said --"NOTHING! AND YOU'RE ALL APRIL FOOLS!" REMARKABLE INSTANCE OF CANINE FIDELITY. In the autumn, when the seige of Fort Stanvi, in America, was raised, the following occurrence took place at the fort: "Captain Greg, one of the officers left in the garrison, went out one afternoon with a corporal, belonging to the same corps, to shoot pigeons. When the day was far advancing, Greg knowing that the savages were sometimes prowling round the fort, determined to return. At that moment a small flock of pigeons alighted upon a tree in the vicinity. The corporal proposed to try a shot at them; and, having approached sufficiently near, was in the act of elevating his piece towards the pigeons, when the report of two muskets, discharged by unknown hands, at a small distance was heard; the same instant Greg saw his companion fall, and felt himself badly wounded in the side. He tried to stand, but speedily fell; and in a moment perceived a huge Indian taking long strides towards him, with a tomahawk in his hand. The savage struck him several blows on the head, drew his knife, cut a circle through the skin, from his forehead to the crown, and then drew off the scalp. At the approach of the savage, Greg had counterfeited the appearance of being dead, with as much address as he could use, and succeeded so far as to persuade his butcher that he was really dead; otherwise, measures still more effectual would have been employed to despatch him. It is hardly necessary to observe that the pain produced by these wounds was intense and dreadful. Those on the head were, however, far the most excruciating, although that in his side was believed by him to be mortal. The savages, having finished their bloody business, withdrew. As soon as they were fairly gone, Greg, who had seen his companion fall, determined, if possible, to make his way to the spot where he lay, from a persuasion that if he could place his head upon the corporal's body, it would in some degree relieve his excessive anguish. Accordingly he made an effort to rise, and having with great difficulty succeeded, immediately fell. He was not only weak and distressed, but had been deprived of the power of self- command by the blows of the tomahawk. Strongly prompted, however, by this little hope of mitigating his sufferings, he made a second attempt, and again fell. After several unsuccessful efforts, he finally regained possession of his feet, and, staggering slowly through the forest, he at length reached the spot where the corporal lay. The Indian who marked him for his prey took a surer aim than his fellow and killed him outright. Greg found him lifeless and scalped. With some difficulty he laid his own head upon the body of his companion, and, as he had hoped, found material relief from this position. While he was enjoying this little comfort, he met with trouble from a new quarter. A small dog, which belonged to him, and had accompanied him in his hunting, but to which he had been hitherto wholly inattentive, now came up to him in an apparent agony, and, leaping around him in a variety of involuntary motions, yelped, whined, and cried, in an unusual manner, to the no small molestation of his master. Greg was not in a situation to bear the disturbance even of affection. He tried in every way he could think of to force the dog from him, but he tried in vain. At length, wearied by his cries and agitations, and not knowing how to put an end to them, he addressed the animal as if he had been a rational being - 'If you wish to help me, go and call some one to my relief.' At these words the creature instantly left him, and ran through the forest at full speed, to the great comfort of his master, who now hoped to die quietly. The dog made his way directly to three men belonging to the garrison, who were fishing, at the distances of a mile from the scene of this tragedy. As soon as he came up to them, he began to cry in the same afflicting manner, and, advancing near them, turned, and went slowly back towards the point where his master lay, keeping his eye continually on the men. All this he repeated several times. At length one of the men observed to his companions, that there was something very extraordinary in the action of the dog, and that, in his opinion, they ought to find out the cause. His companions were of the same mind, and they set out with an intention to follow the animal whither he should lead them. After they had pursued him some distance, and found nothing, they became discouraged. The sun was set, and the forest was dangerous; they therefore determined to return. The moment the dog saw them wheel about he began to cry with increased violence, and, coming up to the men he took hold of the skirts of their coats with his teeth, and attempted to pull them towards the point to which he had directed their course. When they stopped again, he leaned his back against the back part of their legs as if endeavoring to push them onward to his master. Astonished at this conduct of the dog, they agreed, after a little deliberation, to follow him until he should stop. The animal conducted them directly to his master. They found him still living, and after burying the corporal as well as they could, they carried Greg to the fort. Here his wounds were dressed with the utmost care, and such assistance was rendered to him as proved the means of restoring him to perfect health. This story I received from Captain Edward Bulkley, a respectable officer of General Parson's brigade. Greg himself, a few days before, communicated all the particulars to Captain Bulkely. I will only add what I never think of without pain, and what I am sure every one of my readers will regret, that, not long after, a brutal fellow wantonly shot this meritorious and faithful dog." - Dwight's Travels. MENTAL DERANGEMENT FROM INTOXICATION. - The drunkard injures and enfeebles his own nervous system, and entails mental disease upon his family. His daughters are nervous and hysterical; his sons are weak, wayward, eccentric, and sink insane under the pressure of excitement, of some unforeseen exigency, or of the ordinary calls of duty. This heritage may be the result of a ruined and diseased constitution, but is much more likely to proceed from that long- continued nervous excitement, in which pleasure was sought in the alternate exaltation of sentiment and oblivion, which exhausted and wore out the mental powers, and ultimately produced imbecility and paralysis, both attributable to disease of the substance of the brain. How far the monomania of inebriety is itself a disease, and may be more the development, the consummation, than the commencement of a hereditary tendency to derangement, this is not the place to point out; but there is every reason to believe that it not only acts upon, and renders more deleterious, whatever latent taint may exist, but vitiates or impairs the sources of health for several generations. That the effects of drunkenness are highly inimical to a permanent healthy state of the brain, is often proved at a great distance of time from the course of intemperance, and long after the adoption of regular habits. Some time since, I was called upon to treat a remarkably fine boy about sixteen years old, among whose relations no case of derangement could be pointed out, and for whose sudden malady no cause could be assigned except a single glass of spirits. His father, however, had been a confirmed drunkard, was subject to the delirium and depression following inebriety, and died of delirium tremens. The boy recovered. His case presented many points of interest. His head increased rapidly, and the two hemispheres were of unequal size. The disease was intermittent, the patient passing a week in furious incoherent madness, and the succeeding week imperfect tranquility and consciousness . These states were separated or connected by a short and profound sleep or lethargy, differing altogether from the patient's ordinary sleep, and recognised by him as the culminating point of his disorder. At present I have two patients who appear to inherit a tendency to unhealthy action of the brain from mothers addicted to drinking; and another, an idiot, whose father was a drunkard. -- Dr. Brown on Insanity. 136 BROTHER JONATHAN. TRIAL OF COLT. The trial of John C. Colt, indicted for the wilful murder of Mr. Adams, was set down for Monday, but as it appeared that there were not enough jurors in the panel, the case was adjourned to Wednesday morning, and the Sheriff, in the mean time, issued summons to three hundred persons to attend as jurors. The immense throng of people, as early as eight o'clock in the morning, blocked all the avenues to the Court Room, and during the whole day a crowd remained in the Park, staring at the City Hall, in which the Court of Oyer and Terminer holds its sessions, as if there were in that occupation, amusement and the gratification of curiosity. The excitement upon the subject is unparralleled: the horrid circumstances attending the murder of Mr. Adams having arrested the attention of every body who can read, speak, or think, in the metropolis-- nay, even in the country. On the passage of Colt from the carriage to the court on Monday, there were shouts among the people of "Hang him! Hang him!" but on Wednesday he escaped the public expression of contumely. The prisoner was brought into Court before nine o'clock, and looked calm and collected. He sat reading the papers till ten o'clock, when the proceedings commenced. The counsel for prisoner moved a delay until Friday, alleging their right to make enquiry respecting the panel of three hundred jurors, to guide them in exercising the right of challenge. The court, however, decided that the trial must proceed. The calling of jurors was then commenced, and with the exception of the recess taken for dinner, the court was in session till eleven o'clock at night. The entire panel of three hundred talesmen was exhausted, and also the original panel of thirty-six. Out of these three hundred and thirty-six, eleven jurors were sworn to try the cause. The following are the names of the jury: Joseph Bishop, Hosea F. Clark, Nathan R. Husted, Elias Hatfield, Epenetus Howe, Charles H. Delavan, James R. Hobby, Francis Dodsworth, Hiram M. Forrester, Alfred H. Dunscomb, John H. Williams, John Roshore. The prisoner's counsel exhausted sixteen peremptory challenges out of his twenty, having only four left, and challenged two for the favor. The case was resumed on Thursday morning, the twelfth juror was sworn, and the counsel for prosecution opened the case. The trial takes place before Judge Kent, recently appointed to the Bench of this Court, and Messrs. Purdy and Lee, who take their seats, as Aldermen, ex-officio. Mr. Whiting, the District Attorney, is assisted by James M. Smith Esq., in conducting the prosecution. The defence is conducted by Dudley Selden, Robert Emmett, and John A. Morrell, Esqrs., as excellent combination of legal talent as could be provided in the city. James M. Smith, Esq., opened the case for the prosecution, and displayed the facts which are expected to be proved, in a very clear and succinct manner; after which, the prosecution proceeded to call their witnesses. Asa H. Wheeler, sworn---I am a teacher of book-keeping and writing on the corner of Chamber street and Broadway in the granite building, and have been there one year last May. I know the prisoner and have known him since 1838 I think. On the 2d of last August he called on me to hire a room from me. I rented it to him for six weeks from that day. The room adjoined my own with folding doors between, (the witness here described the position of the rooms, the doors, &c., a diagram of the building being produced and exhibited to him.) Previous to the 2d of August I occupied both rooms, but let one of them to Mr. Colt during the vacation. The folding doors were locked after he came there, and not opened again, until he left. I never had the key of those doors during the time Colt was there. He got the key from Mr. Riley I presume, who occupied the room before Mr. Colt for about three months. The door could not be opened into my room. I saw in Mr. Colt's room after he entered it, a table, a few chairs, a box and a trunk. There was no other furniture as I saw. The box was of pine, perhaps three feet in length by about 18 inches in height and width. It stood in the corner to the left of the door as you entered. The table stood in the west corner of the room. (The diagram was again exhibited to enable the witness to describe the situation of the room and the articles in it as he saw them.) During the time he occupied the room, I saw him frequently, any was occasionally in his room. (The witness here described his own room---the various articles in it, and their position in the room.) Up to the time Mr. Adams was missing, I had no difficulty with Mr. Colt except once some words passed, when I asked him for some rent due. He gave me some books as security, and after that we were as good friends as before. The next evening after this, Colt was in my room, and we had a friendly conversation. This was about the 2d or 3d of September. From that time down to the seventeenth, we were on good terms as before. When his six weeks had expired, he asked to stay another week and I partly assented. On the seventeenth, I reached my room at half-past 2, P.M. (on Friday.) I was seated at my desk in the East corner of my room writing, and after being alone some time, a pupil of mine about 15 years old entered, and he went to work at his book-keeping. About quarter past 3, I heard a noise in the next room. It sounded first like the rattling of foils. This was momentary; it was followed by a heavy fall on the floor. My pupil observed, "What is that?" I said I don't know. I then left my seat, went into the hall and listened at Colt's door, and all was still. I looked at the key-hole, and found that the drop inside was down, except that a small ray of light passed through. I had my pen in my hand and tried to push the drop aside, and did so. I saw in the centre of the room close by the West wall, a person bending down over something, and a jerking motion of the shoulders was visible, as though he was shaking something- The person was in his shirt-sleeves. I think I could not see the person's head. On the table beyond, I saw two black hats. This person remained in this position I suppose 10 minutes; after that he went to the table, took something which I did not see, and returned to the same position. I then called my pupil to watch the door, while I went upstairs for help. I expected to find Mr. Adams, the owner of the building, but he was out. I then called Mr. Lockwood, the keeper of the house, and he came down to the door, and looking in the keyhole, found that the drop was down again. Mr. Lockwood seemed to think my suspicions incorrect, but was much agitated, and left me alone in the hall. I kept my eye on the door until another scholar came in, and I related the facts to him. I rapped at Colt's door, but got no answer, all was still. I then went softly down stairs and returned with a heavy tread, thinking that Colt might suppose it was a friend and opened the door. I then rapped again, but had no answer. Several of my scholars came in about then, and I related the facts to them. I then sent a person after an officer, and he said the officer was engaged then, but would be there in the course of half an hour. We waited till candlelight, when two of my scholars went for another officer. The answer was, that the officers could not open the door if they came, but we had better keep watch. I remained with my scholars till 9 o'clock, and then went home, leaving the room with Mr. Delnoce, who was to keep watch. During the evening, there was no noise in the room [Colt's] at all. No person went in or out. From the time I heard the noise first in Colt's room down to 9 P.M., I heard no sound of voices, or wrangling, or any thing of the kind. Previous to that all had been quiet. The noise came on us very suddenly. The noise as of the clashing of foils, lasted only a moment. There was a very slight noise, as of feet scraping on the floor--this was, however, very slight indeed. There was nothing like opening and shutting of doors---all was silent and still. On Saturday, I reached the room about half past 9, and with a false key opened Colt's door and found him absent. I opened the door about half---took one step in and looked around. I saw that the box which had stood there was missing, and that the floor had apparently been thoroughly scrubbed. The spot over which the person had been stooping on Friday, had been much more thoroughly scrubbed than the rest, presenting quite a contrast to other parts of the floor. There was also oil and ink in different parts of the room. There was water around the base. I stood in the door perhaps one minute; after that I locked the door and went into my own room. In about half an hour Colt came to my door and rapped. He enquired if my key would fit his door, saying he had left his at his house and he wished to enter his room. I told him I did not know if it would, but he might try. He did so, and it did not, and he gave it back to me. He then commenced talking, and asked me if I had seen his brother. I said no. I asked him what was the noise in his room yesterday afternoon. He said I must be mistaken; there was no noise there, as he was out all the afternoon. After a few words more, he left. I stated to him there was a noise, but he said I must be mistaken. On Monday I reached my room about 11 o'clock, and soon after Mr. Colt entered his room and commenced singing. I went in his room and found him smoking a segar. He said he had a bad habit; that he smoked to prevent his spitting blood, or else that smoking made him spit blood. I cannot say exactly which it was he said. On the part of the floor which had been most scrubbed, there were thirty or forty spittles. I again referred to the noise of Friday, and he said, in truth, Mr. Wheeler, I upset my table and spilled my ink, and made a great mess, but I hope it did not disturb you. On Saturday I called on Mr. Adams, owner of the building, to ask his advice, and he thought it was better to keep quiet and see if any thing came out in the papers---it was a delicate subject , and I ought to be very cautious. For that reason, I said nothing further until Monday. After this conversation with Colt on Monday nothing further passed that day. I looked around the room at that time, but it was in the same appearance as on Saturday. I thought it had been scrubbed again. On Tuesday I saw a notice about Mr. Adams in the papers, and I went to Mr. Lane, in Catherine street. I came back to my room and Mr. Lane came to my room with Mr. Lownds. Mr. Lane produced Mr. Adams' books and we examined them. From what we saw there we went to the Mayor's office. On Friday morning, while talking in the Chambers street door with a friend, Mr. Colt passed down stairs--invited me to come and sit in his room and have a talk about book-keeping, teaching, &c. Cross-examined by Mr. Selden.---I went to Colt's door but once before BROTHER JONATHAN. 137 I went upstairs for assistance. I made no effort to enter Colt's room when I first went there. I did not turn the handle of the door, or knock, until after I had been down stairs as I said before. [This witness was cross-examined at great length, but nothing was elicited contradictory to the statements in his direct examination up to 3 o'clock, when the Court took a recess. ] AFTERNOON SESSION. Wheeler's cross-examination continued.---I found Mr. Rockwell in his room, and he came down and went directly to Colt's door. I found that the slide was over the key-hole. I waited for some time before I knocked. We spoke of it at the door. Previous to going down I rapped at the door. Some of my scholars also came out to try if they could discover any noise. I did not strive to get in the second time at all. The noise I heard sounded something like shuffling of feet. I think that Mr. Delnoce came there before Seignette left. I think he was absent in going for the officer about 30 minutes. I think that Colt had a pail in his room. I got the key to open the door from my scholar, Mr. Wood. (To a Juror)---There was no door communicating between the room occupied by Johnson and Colt. Direct resumed---Colt's room had a curtain suspended in front of room, and I think when I looked through the key hole the curtain was drawn across the window. Thinks the man that rose from the floor was a tall man, and that his vest was white, and pantaloons black. Could not say whether he had boots or shoes on him. The hats were lying on the table, on their crowns as persons would ordinarily place them on a table. I did not discover the piece of glass at the door until Friday. I hardly know how to describe the noise. It was more like a single clash of foils than a continued clashing of them. I very seldom heard the noise of persons speaking loudly in Colt's room. When there was loud laughing I could hear it, but think I could not hear an unexcited conversation in his room unless Broadway was very still. Arzac Seignette, a pupil of Mr. Wheeler's, testified to the noise; which, he said he judged to be like a person taking hold of a man, and throwing him down, without much trouble or any struggle. He heard no noise in the room like men moving on the floor, except the rush and the foil. The noise was like foils crossing each other, but I don't think it was foils, but I can't compare it to any thing else. The noise and fall followed too closely to be like persons fighting with foils. The foil was like the instantaneous fall of a body. John Delnoce examined, aged 26, book-keeper, 129 Broadway.--At the time of this occurrence I resided at Staten Island, and was in town almost every day. I had partly agreed with Mr. Wheeler about occupying a room of Mr. Wheeler's and slept in it four or five times. About four o'clock on the day in question, I came to Mr. Wheeler's. He related what had occurred which I scarcely believed, until he went to Colt's door. I then got up on the desk at the folding door, and listened at the key-hole of it which was stopped. I heard no noise, whatever. I don't know what then transpired until Wheeler asked me to go for an officer and I went to the Justice in Centre street, and asked to see Mr. Boyer, who soon after came in, and I told him what occurred. I came back to Wheeler's and told him that an officer would be here in half an hour. I then stayed a little while at Wheeler's office and went to tea. It must have then been a little after six o'clock. After tea I came back to Wheeler's and remained there until he left at 9 o'clock. I then locked the door and remained still sitting in a chair for half an hour, when I heard some person indside Colt's door put a key into it and unlocked it, and came out, locked the door, and went away.-- The person returned in 4 or 5 minutes and unlocked the door, went in and locked it. In about five minutes, I heard some person in Colt's room tear something like cotton cloth in the sound of its tearing. I next heard the rattling of water. After that I heard some person scrubbing the floor in front of the folding doors in Colt's room, continually dipping the cloth in the water and taking it out again The next noise I heard was about six o'clock the next morning, as if some person was nailing up a box, and as if the box was full. I slept during the night. I can't say I was awake before I heard the noise, or that it was the noise awoke me. I also heard the noise of a person sawing a board. I heard the nailing first, and the sawing a few minutes after. After that, I went to breakfast, being about 7 o'clock. I am certain no person opened Colt's door from the time I awoke until I went out. There was no one in Wheeler's room when I left it to go to breakfast. I returned in about an hour. On coming up stairs I saw a box marked to some person at St. Louis, by way of New Orleans. The box was about a foot or 6 inches inside of the stairs, between the druggist's door and stair railing. The mark on the box was in large writing, on the box itself. The boards of the box had been planed. The letters looked to have been written in ink. I did not notice whether it was dry. The box was about three feet long, three and a half feet wide, and about the same in depth; the box was not there when I went to breakfast; I passed up to Wheeler's room, and don't recollect seeing any person while I was going up. I saw Colt twice or thrice before. I discovered in the course of the day, perhaps after dinner, that the box had been removed; but I can't say when it was removed. I did not see Colt until the Friday in the following week, when he came into Wheeler's room and asked me for a match to light a cigar, and entered into a conversation about book-keeping and other matters, and I never saw him since. Cross-examined---I arrived at Wheeler's on the day of the occurrence, about four o'clock, and remained about an hour before I went to the police office. I was away full three quarters of an hour. When I first went there at four o'clock, I saw Mr. Wheeler. Mr. Seignette and Mr. Reill were there. I have no recollection of seeing any one else there. I was not absent from it after I went there, except while I was at the police office and at tea. I was about three quarters of an hour at tea. When I came back to Wheeler's the lamps were lighted in his room. I found Mr. Wheeler alone when I returned from tea. When I returned from the police office I found Mr. Wheeler and Mr. Seignette there. I dont recollect if there was any other person there; my impression is there was not, but couldn't say positively. After I returned from tea, Mr. Wheeler went and knocked at Colt's door, and waited long enough to get an answer. Direct examination.--On returning from tea I observed that Mr. Colt's room was dark. After Mr. Wheeler left me, I sat perfectly still until I heard Colt's door unlocked and heard the person going out of his room, I distinctly heard the person going out of the room and locking and returning and going into it. I think the person to whom the box was directed at New Orleans, was Grey. The Court then adjourned. On Friday, Jan. 21, after some remarks of prisoner's counsel, who moved an order relative to the Herald and the Tattler, for publishing cuts representing supposed scenes in the murder, (not granted) the examination of witnesses commenced with LEWIS OCTON, a colored man who resides in the building, where the murder was committed, and has charge of it, sweeping, &c. This testimony was chiefly important, as on the morning of Aug. 18 he saw a box, which he described, standing at the head of the head of the stairs on the second story. It was between the hours of six and seven, when he was sweeping down. He saw Colt get this box down stairs, letting it slide and going before it--lighting it up by putting his shoulder to it, when its progress was stopped by any obstruction. A great many questions were asked this witness, about the building, which it is not necessary here to repeat. Many were asked also, relative to the box, which witness had not seen since that morning. RICHARD BARSTOW, a carman, deposed to taking the box from Chambers-street to the packet-ship Kalamazoo, at the foot of Maiden- lane. He identified the prisoner as the man who employed him, and described the box. He assisted in getting the box from the vessel, saw it opened, and saw that it contained the dead body of a man. THOMAS RUSSELL, another carman, deposed to assisting Barstow to put the box on his cart, by the direction of Colt. This witness hunted up Barstow at the Mayor's request, on the 25th, and went with him to the Kalamazoo. Assisted in getting out the box, and did not look into it on account of the stench. MR. GODFREY, Superintendent of carts, testified to his agency, by direction of the Mayor, in finding the carmen who moved the box, and tracing it to the vessel, where he assisted in getting it out. He described the appearance of the body when the box was opened. On his cross-examination he denied having made any bet in relation to the trial, Bets were proposed to him, but he did not take them up. Had repeated offers to bet, whether by persons sent to him or not, witness does not know. JOHN P. ELWELL, agent for the Kalamazoo, testified to seeing the box come on board on the 18th of October, between nine and ten, and saw it taken out. Saw a body in it, but did not remain long. WILLIAM S. COFFIN's deposition was read, He is mate of the Kalamazoo, now at sea. Testified to the receipt of the box, and its relanding. Saw Colt at the dead house, and thinks he saw him at the ship. ABNER MILLIKEN, Deputy Coroner, testified to going on board the Kalamazoo, on the 26th September, and seeing the box hoisted out.-- Witness described the contents of the box, body, matting, &c., the dress of the prisoner and position of the body The box, and the articles it contained, were still preserved at the tombs, being locked in a cell. ROBERT H. MORRIS, Mayor of the city, was first applied to on Thursday, the 23d of September, in relation to this matter. On Friday, having conversed with the colored man and his wife who have charge of the building, and received other information, he issued warrants, and proceeded with Justice Taylor and two officers to arrest Colt. The arrest was made as he was about to enter his room. The box was traced on Saturday to the Kalamazoo, and found on Sunday morning. JUSTICE TAYLOR, testified to the mode of arrest, and to the finding of a trunk of clothing, containing a watch among its other articles, and also a carpet bag, which were taken possession of. In the bag was a shirt marked J. Calvin Colt, with both wristbands torn off. On Monday morning, the examination commenced with the testimony of ROBERT H. MORRIS, relative to the articles taken from Colt's room. Among the articles were a towel, with part of the end cut off, letters, papers, &c. One paper was marked "hair of Sarah Colt, Mother of Margaret and Mary Colt, deceased," and upon being opened in Court, was found to contain hair. The prisoner was much affected, and through the whole of this examination, wept profusely. A hatchet was also found in the room, and given, with a piece of the floor, to Dr. Chilton. DR. CHILTON called at Colt's room, Sept. 24th. Examined it particularly. Removed spots from the wall, which proved to be blood when chemical tests were applied. Blood was also detected on the hatchet, and on a piece of newspaper found in the carpet bag. DR. GILLMAN called.---I am a practising physician; was not at the dead house when the dead body was brought there; I was called on 138 BROTHER JONATHAN Sunday by the Coroner; I went down with Dr. Kissam to the dead- house; found on the table the body of a man very much decayed. Beside the table was the box. The body was tied up by a rope; the rope passed from one knee to the other, and then round the sack so as to bring the thighs tightly upon the belly, and the head was bent forward. The body was excessively offensive, and covered with vermin. We had the rope cut and the body extended, and then proceeded to make an examination of injuries about the head. The skull was fractured in several places; on the right side of the forehead the socket of the eye and part of the cheek bone were beaten in. On the left side the fracture was higher up; the brow had escaped, but above it there was an extensive fracture not so large as the other. The features were decayed. These two fractures communicated in the upper part of the forehead. The whole forehead at the upper part was beaten in. Besides this there was a fracture on the right side of the head, behind or above the ear; the bone was not beaten in, though it was depressed. Between this and the other fracture, was a couple of inches. On the left side of the head was also a fracture posterior to and a little above the ear; this was a small, round, clean hole, through which you might thrust your largest finger; there were no cracks extending from it. Beside this, there was on the back of the head in the occiput a fracture of peculiar character. Two pieces of the bone, as large as the head of a nail, were chipped off. I found them and fitted them in. They were such as might be scaled off by an edge blow of a sharp instrument. I remember no other wounds about the head. The scalp could be detached from the bone with the finger ; it was so much decayed. We examined the cavity of the skull. I could not tell whether the instrument passed through the hole directly or obliquely. The cavity of the skull was filled with decayed brain, from which we took pieces of bone of various sizes; we found nothing else; some were as large as half a dollar. There was nothing very particular about the rest of the body; there was a dark mark on one of the legs, the left, I think; but I was uncertain whether it was an injury, or caused by the process of decay.––Something was said about a sore, but no satisfactory opinion could be formed about it. The mark I saw was below the knee and above the instep. There was a gold ring on the finger, which was taken off; I cannot remember on which hand. We measured the body: it measured 5 feet 9 1-2 inches. It was the body of a slightly made man–not fat–of medium size, with long black hair. I can't say whether there was a bald spot on the head or not; there were slight, dark whiskers. The spot on the leg was dry, hard, and perfectly black. [It was stated in his deposition that the spot was about four inches long and two wide, on the ancle of the left leg.] All the wounds about the head might have been inflicted by the hatchet, except the round hole; it is scarcely conceivable how it could produce such a hole; though it is possible it might. I have seen the hole in the skulls of men who have been shot; they were like this. I have heard air-guns fired; I think the noise was slight; I can compare it to nothing. I have never been in a room when fencing was going on in another room. I think the sound of an air-pistol is not like that produced by the clashing of foils; at least it is not to my mind. Not less than five blows could have produced the wounds on the head; and more might have been inflicted; other persons might have examined the cavity of the skull before me; the ball might have been there, if the person was shot, and I not discover it, though I think it unlikely; if the person was shot and the wound that I saw was the wound, he could have made no noise; it would have produced death very soon. Mr. Selden objected to these questions by the District Attorney, because not warranted by the indictment; but they were allowed. Examination resumed.––Supposing this hatchet to have caused the person's death, it is difficult to say whether the death could have been caused by a single blow, without noise, or not. I think from the wounds that is is uncertain–it might have happened–it is to the last degree improbable that a man struck with a hatchet so as to fracture the skull should have power to cry out. If the skull was driven in as we found it by the first blow, speaking would be out of the question. If he received but one blow, and that so violent as to prevent his crying out, he would bleed but little; but more than if a pistol ball had caused his death. These were of course sufficient to cause his death. I did not examine the viscera of the body. Cross-examined by Mr. Selden.––The skull was of ordinary thickness, I think. The skull will generally diminish slightly in thickness after death; the difference, however, is very slight. The fracture on the right side of the head and face I am sure must have been made by more than one blow, unless inflicted with the head of a very large axe; I believe it was made by more than one blow. The fracture was probably caused by a blunt instrument.–– That on the left side was likewise made by a blunt instrument. On the right side the head of the temporal bone was not detached. The blow on the posterior part of the skull may have been given either by a sharp or a blunt instrument; the others were caused by a blunt instrument; the cheek bone was driven directly backwards. [Dr. G. described the directions and position of the wounds by a plaster cast of a head.] There was little more than a handful of the brain; the anterior part of the skull was empty. The brain diminishes in bulk as it decays. How the round hole was caused I cannot say.–– Whatever was the blow I think its direction was perpendicular to the head; with a nail or ball it might have been a little oblique. A blow on the skull of a living man would produce less noise than one on a dead skull. The occiputal bone of this head was scarcely as projecting as they usually are. A scar would decay. I think more rapidly than any part of the body. I did not identify the bones found in the brain. DR. KISSAM was called, but his evidence differed in no essential point from that of Dr. Gilman. DR. ARCHER, the coroner, testified in relation to the finding of the body, and its posture, appearance, &c. MRS. EMELINE R. ADAMS called––My husband's name was Samuel Adams; his age would have been thirty on the 7th of October––he was a printer––his place of business was corner of Gold and Ann streets––he had a foreman in his employment named Manahan––he was last at home on the 17th––left at noon––that was the dinner hour ––he took dinner at home––he left home before 1 P.M.––I do not know where he intended to go––he did not return on that day, nor the next––the first advertisement was put in the paper on Tuesday evening, appearing on Wednesday––when he left home he had on a black coat, a buff vest of corded stuff of cotton, and mixed pantaloons of gambroon––the shirt was of cotton––on his neck was a black stock ––he had a ring on his little finger of the right hand––his name was not on the shirt––I did not see the body at the dead-house––a ring was shown me at the coroner's inquest. [The ring was here handed to the witness.] I think this is the ring which he wore––I recognised the stock and the coat––both were his––the shirt was not shown to me––I think it doubtful whether I should recognise it. [The stock and coat were shown to her, the Jury and the Court.] I made the stock myself and know it was his––the body was afterwards buried from my father's house––he had a watch with him when he went from home––attached to it were a gold chain, key and a seal. [The watch was handed to her.] These are the watch and key––I had worn the key two years myself––I know the key by dints upon it––I made them myself–– am positive he had the watch and key the day I saw him last––I was in the country when he got the watch, and I don't know how long he had it––I returned in September, and he had not the watch when I went away––the night before he went away, on Wednesday, he took the chain off from my chair, took the pincers and tried to get the dents out––we were out visiting at Mrs. Concklins at 90 Chatham street the day before he was missing––I was up stairs with Mrs. C. and he was at the store with Mr. C. MR. SELDEN waived the right to cross-examine Mrs. Adams. MR. MONAHAN, Mr. Adams' foreman, testified to his going away from the office at 3 P.M., on Friday, the 17th. He never returned. Did not say where he was going. Witness described the dress of deceased, and thinks the watch found in Colt's premises was Mr. Adams's. Saw Colt on the day after the advertisement appeared relative to Mr. Adams's disappearance; he came in rather suddenly and asked if Mr. Adams was in; witness answered "no;" he said he had seen the notice in the newspaper that he was missing; witness told him "he had been missing since the previous Friday at 3 o'clock;" witness thinks he made no reply; witness said that "if he had known where his (Colt's) office was, he should have called to ask when he had seen Mr. Adams last;" he then said, "Mr. Adams had done his printing for three years, and he had always found him very kind and accommodating to him;" about this time, a gentleman came in to see about some work; Mr. Colt introduced himself to him; the rest of the conversation witness cannot repeat; does not know the ring he wore; it was a plain gold ring; witness asked Mr. Colt if he did not owe Mr. Adams about two hundred dollars; he replied that he owed him about fifty dollars. He then left. The clothes, box, &c., were then brought in, and the deputy coroner was called. The examination was short, and the court necessarily adjourned early, on account of the intolerable effluvia. On Sunday the jurors attended church in a body. On Monday, the examination commenced with witnesses in reference to the watch found in Colt's possession. Quite a long examination was had, at the close of which Mr. Selden did not doubt that the watch, proved to have been Mr. Adams's, was the same one then in court. In the course of this testimony also, the following evidence was given by Mr. C. H. Post, in relation to the acceptance, by Mr. Adams, of the watch, as payment of a debt, from Mr. Ransom, the District Attorney objecting. When Mr. Adams demanded payment of the note, Mr. A. and Mr. R. had quite a "confab," and Mr. A. told Mr. E that he believed he meant to swindle him out of his debt. He seemed to be angry. I believe there was no one present except Mr. Adams, Mr. Ransom and myself. I had know Mr. A. for two years. I had seen Mr. Adams out of temper before at my office; it was in relation to this. Mr. DOWNES was intimate with Mr. Adams––his general temper was good; had the greatest respect for him, and believed him of a quiet and reserved disposition. MR. CHARLES WELLS, had been acquainted with deceased for five or six years. Never saw any thing about him that evinced a bad temper. On the morning of the 17th, was hurried by Colt, to send copies of his book, which deceased had printed, and witness had bound, to Philadelphia. Was engaged till about 2, and thinking it necessary to see Mr. Adams before sending them off, sent for him; when he came, wit BROTHER JONATHAN. 139 ness asked him where the books were to go, and told him Mr. Colt had said they were to be sent to Philadelphia; witness asked him if I should do so; he said 'Yes, I believe it is all right; I am to receive the proceeds.' Witness said that from what Mr. Colt had remarked in the morning there was a misunderstanding between them. He turned round and said, 'I'll go and see.' Can't say that I thought him in a vexed temper. He turned round and stopped to consider; all that I saw in his countenance was surprise. I think I have conversed with others on this; don't recollect saying that he left in a vexed mood. I suffered so much from thinking that I had been the means of sending him to Colt's room that I should not have been willing to trust my judgment for some few days. Mr. Colt was at my room the day before his arrest. As he came in he said, I think, "This is very strange about Mr. Adams; what can have become of him?" I was writing, and did not look till he laid his hand on my desk. I looked up and said "I don't know; the last I saw of him he said he was going to see you: did you see him?" I think he made not much answer; he stepped back to a table and made an expression something like the first one he had used:–"It's very strange." This was, I think, between 10 and 12. We conversed then about the shipment of the books. After I had said 'I don't know,' he changed countenance, and I felt sorry that I had made the remark; for I thought it a pointed one, and one which, under similar circumstances, would have hurt my own feelings–had no suspicion that he had met his death at Colt's room. He went back four or five feet and leaned on a table, I thought he evaded my question. I believe he made no direct reply. Much of the time of the court has been occupied by attempts to show that the deceased might have been killed with a pistol, without powder, the simple force of the percussion of the cap being sufficient. Actual experiments were tried, and the thing demonstrated to be exceedingly improbable if not absolutely impossible. We therefore omit all this, and the arguments relative to the admission of such evidence. Thomas Smith, A. G. Peckham, R. B. Grinnell, James Flora, Robert Carter, Charles D. Bailey, A. V. Blake, Stephen Smith, Mr. Monahan, J. C. Sparks and Mr. Lane, all of whom had business and acquaintance with Mr. Adams, testified to Mr. Adams's inoffensive character; some of them said that he had not spirit to resent an insult. CHARLES J. WALKER called–I work at statuary; I worked at Mr. Ridner's in the granite building in September; on Thursday I inquired of Mr. R. for his saw; he said it was locked up; I went to Mrs. Octon's room, and she sent me to Colt's room; I went to Mr. Colt's door, rapped three or four times; the door was locked and bolted inside; Mr. Colt came and opened the door and told me to "go to hell." By that I went away; after I knocked first, I heard some one at work in the room; I just saw him as he came to the door; I asked him for the saw and he made that reply; I couldn't see far into the room, perhaps half way across. I had no other conversation with Colt at his room, to my knowledge; I saw two carmen putting a box on the cart the next morning between 9 and 10 o' clock; it was on Thursday that I went down at about 3 in the afternoon; I got the saw between 4 and 5; I think I first told Mr. Page of this after the transaction. Such is a summary of the testimony for the prosecution; omitting some evidence in referring to points sufficiently proved; and omitting, as we before said, the "pistol" portion, and the witnesses called for the defence was: Dr. ROGERS called. It is impossible to say whether the wound on the right side of the head by a single blow, would have left any sensibility: I have known many cases in which parts of the brain have been cut away, and still the person retained his sensibility. I removed a portion of the skull which had been driven in upon the brain by a block falling from the mainmast, covering the entire top of the head; and yet he retained his sensibility. James Short showed me the position in which the body of Adams lay in the box. He lay a little diagonally: the face was down and the back part of the head in the corner. A nail projected an inch into the box, would have struck the head in just about the spot where this wound was found. If the body lay in the box when the nail was driven in, the nail would probably enter the head if it came against it: and if the body had any movement, it must be around the nail. The wound on the right side might have been caused by a single blow with the flat side of this hatchet. A deposition of Lyman W. Ransom was read, in which deponent said he considered deceased rather irritable in their dealings. Two witnesses, who were in the building 3 Murray street, with Colt in May, testified that at that time, he bought a hatchet, as a convenient thing in an office. CYRUS W. FIELD had dealings with Colt and with deceased. Never saw Colt excited–thought him more diffident than most people. As far as he knew Mr. Adams his temper was good. Never heard him spoken of as having a bad temper. The scull of deceased has been exhumed, and after some discussion was finally ordered to be exhibited, and the Coroner brought it forward. Dr. Rogers showed that the edge of the hatchet fitted the wound perfectly. The hammer of the hatchet exactly fitted the depression of the right side of the head. Both these wounds appear to have been given in front. DR. ARCHER, the Coroner, testified that the skull was taken from the coffin having upon it a plate the name of Samuel Adams, who died Sept. 17, aged 29; he said he had no doubt it was the skull of Adams.–– He could hardly conceive that the edge of the hatchet should produce the wound; and he was sure it could not have been done by the hammer. He thought that if caused in any way by mannal force, there would have been fractures about it. [The jaw-bone was also exhibited, broken into two] I cannot conceive it possible that the front wound should have been given by one blow. During this whole exhibition the prisoner covered his eyes with his hand, and seemed greatly affected. He did not look upon the skull at all. Valentine Mott, called––I think the small wound might have been inflicted by the hatchet; if it was caused by a ball, it is very different from any I have seen before; if caused by the hatchet, the blow was given from the front; the fracture with depression was caused probably by a blow from either direction; I do not believe it possible that one blow should cause the front wound; I have seen persons walk and have their senses when one quarter of the skull had been taken away; it is impossible to tell how many blows were given to inflict the front wound; I could cause such a wound as the circular one by a blow standing directly in front; either of these blows would knock any man down, no matter who he is. On Wednesday, Caroline Henshaw was the principal witness who came to the stand. She has lived with Colt, without marriage, and is the mother of his child. The most important part of her testimony is the statement that he came home very late on the night of the 17th, and went away very early the next morning. She perceived a black mark upon his neck, as if it had been pressed violently, and noticed that parts of his shirt had been washed. His treatment of her was always kind and his deportment mild. She perceived something unusual in his conduct, about the time of the disappearance of Adams and previous to the arrest. ROYAL WAYS OF THE BOURBONS. We happen to have full accounts of the way of living of the royal family in the days of their prosperity, as well as of their adventures when adversity overtook them. Up to the time when the Duke of Normandy was four years old, life in the palace was as follows:–– The oldest members of the royal family were the king's aunt's, the great aunts of the Duke of Normandy. There were four sisters, all unmarried. One of them had gone into a convent, and found herself very happy there. After the dulness of her life at home, she quite enjoyed taking her turn with the other nuns in helping to cook in the kitchen, and in looking after the linen in the wash- house. Her three sisters led dreadfully dull lives. They had each spacious apartments, with ladies and gentleman ushers to wait on them, a reader to read aloud so many hours in a day, and money to buy whatever they liked. But they had nothing to do, and nobody to love very dearly. They were without husbands and children, and even intimate friends; for all about them of their own age and way of thinking, were of a rank too far below their own to be made intimate friends of. These ladies duly attended divine service in the royal chapel; and they did a great deal of embroidery and tapestry work. When the proper hour came for paying their respects to their neice the queen, they tied on their large hooped petticoats, and other articles of court-dress, had their trains borne by their pages, and went to the queen's apartment to make their courtesies, and sit down for a little while, chiefly to show that they had a right to sit down unasked in the royal presence. In a few minutes, they went back to their apartments, slipped off their hooped petticoats and long trains, and sat down to work again. They would have liked to take walks about Paris, and into the country, as they saw from their windows that other ladies did; but it was not to be thought of, it would be too undignified: so they were obliged to be contented with a formal, slow, daily drive, each in her own carriage, each attended by her lady in waiting, and with her footman behind. They were fond of plants, and longed above everything to be allowed to rear flowers with their own hands in a garden. But this, too, was thought out of the question; and they were obliged to be content, with such flowers would grow in boxes on their window sills in the palace. Madame Louise, the one who became a nun, employed a young lady to read to her, while she yet lived in the palace. Sometimes the poor girl read aloud for five hours together; and when her failing voice shewed that she was quite exhausted, Madame Louise prepared a glass of eau sucree (sugared water), and placed it beside her, saying she was sorry to cause so much fatigue, but that she was anxious to finish a course of reading which she had laid out. It does not seem to have occurred to Madame Louise to take the book herself, or ask some one else to relieve her tired reader.––Miss Martineau–– The Peasant and the Prince. 140 BROTHER JONATHAN. THE TYRANT CHARLES I. AND HIS VICTIM ELIOT. The following account of the imprisonment and death of the celebrated Eliot, who died, as all will remember, a martyr to his patriotic conduct in the house of commons, is from Vaughan's "History of the house of Stuart," published by the society for the Diffusion of Knowledge: "The sentence which his conduct brought upon him, he regarded, from the first, as one of perpetual imprisonment, unless the power of the crown should be soon checked by the power of another parliament; and of this there was but little prospect. He made that provision accordingly, for this, his third lodgment, in the Tower, which showed that he was far from expecting a speedy release. When he addressed himself to the service of his country by opposing the malpractices of the powerful, he saw, very clearly, the evils to which his generous efforts would expose him; and the whole of his property had, in consequence, been settled on his sons; so that when the royal officers would have exacted from him the heavy fine imposed by the judges, they were obliged to report that the means of payment did not exist. Eliot, on hearing that the sheriff of Cornwall, and five other commissioners, all his capital enemies, were employed in an inquiry concerning his lands and goods, with a smile said, 'He had two coats, two suits, two pair of boots and galoshes; and that, if they could pick £2,000 out of that, much good night it do them.' In the 'dark and smoky room,' to which he was confined, he was allowed, at his earnest request, the use of books, and of writing materials; and his many weary hours were employed in reading, in meditation, in committing his thoughts in writing, or in correspondence with his sons, his friends, and particularly the patriot John Hampden, to whose superintendence he had assigned the education of his children. His papers being liable to be searched, it was only with the greatest secrecy that his correspondence could be carried on; but, fortunately, some of the letters included in it have been preserved, and these present to us traits of character of the most interesting nature. They serve to place both Eliot and Hampden before us, not only in the light of pure moralists, and honorable-minded statesmen, but as men whose spirits were wrought to the temper of a pure and elevated Christianity No one acquainted with the letters can read the speeches of these great men in the cause of what they venerated as social or pure religion, without the strongest confidence in their sincerity. Many petitions were presented to the king, praying for Eliot's release, one signed, it is said, by all the gentry of Cornwall; but Charles, indulging just now amid the pastimes of a court and the sweets of power, forgot the victim of the dungeon––or, rather, did worse than forget him. Time passed, and the mind of the sufferer was found to be proof against all the means employed to break it down. But the body was less equal to the conflict. Sickness invaded it, consumptive symptoms became manifest, and the prisoner's medical attendants reported that his recovery depended entirely on his being admitted to a more healthy air. They even petitioned the judges thus far in his favor; but they were told by Chief Justice Richardson, 'that although Sir John was brought low in body, yet was he as high and lofty in mind as ever; for he would neither submit to the king, nor to the justice of that court.' As his malady advanced, Eliot was at length persuaded to petition the king, which he did in the following terms:––'Sir, your judges have committed me to prison here in your Tower of London, where, by the quality of the air, I am fallen into a dangerous disease. I humbly beseech your majesty you will command your judges to set me at liberty.' The only answer obtained to this petition was, 'It is not humble enough.' Prevailed on by his children, Eliot prepared a second petition, which he sent by the hands of his eldest son; it was as follows:––'Sir, I am heartily sorry I have displeased your majesty, and, having so said, do humbly beseech you once again to command your judges to set me at liberty, that when I have recovered my health I may return back to my prison, there to undergo such punishment as God hath allotted to me.' Thus did the dying man pray, and pray without answer, and without effect! The lieutenant of the tower admonished him, that his last petition had not been presented in proper form, as it pertained to him to be the medium of all communication between his prisoners and the government; and his advice to him was to prepare a third appeal, which, if so framed as to acknowledge his fault, and crave pardon, would, he doubted not, obtain for him his liberty.–– The drooping man replied, 'I thank you, sir, for your friendly advice; but my spirits are grown feeble and faint, which when it shall please God to restore unto their former vigor, I will take it further into my consideration. But Eliot's few remaining days were spent in converse with those beautiful visions of a future world which, as appears from his letters, were familiar to his now hallowed imagination, and in looking to the compassion of that better Sovereign whose tender mercies are over all his works. On the 15th November, 1632, his attorney described him as so far spent, that it was not probable he would live a week; in less than that time Sir John Eliot breathed his last, being not more than forty years of age. His children petitioned the king for his body, that it might be taken to Cornwall, and interred in the family sepulchre; and Charles returned for answer, 'Let Sir John Eliot's body be buried in the church of that parish where he died!'–– Not two months before his death, Eliot wrote to Hampden, stating that he was then subject to new restraints, by warrant from the king, his own son with difficulty gaining admission to see him; and that, to add to his confinement, he had been removed to new lodgings, 'where candle-light was suffered, but scarce fire!' This was in the depth of winter! So plain it is that malevolence, like its opposite, may grow by what it feeds on, and that even the grave may not suffice to set bounds to it." From Cruikshank's Omnibus. THE PAUPERS' CHAUNT.* AIR:––"Oh the Roast Beef of Old England!" O we're very well fed, So we must not repine, Though turkey we've cut, And likewise the chine: But, oh! once a-year We should just like to dine On the roast beef of Old England, OH the old English roast-beef! O, the gruel's delicious, The taters divine–– And our very small beer Is uncommonly fine; But with us we think You would not like to dine, Without the roast-beef of Old England, OH the old English roast-beef! Our soup 's very good, We really must own, But of what it is made Arn't very well known; So, without any soup We would much rather dine On the roast-beef of Old England, OH the old English roast-beef! Mince-pies they are nice, And plum-pudding is fine, But we'd give up them both For "ribs" or "Sir Line," If for once in the year We could but just dine On the roast-beef of Old England, OH the old English roast-beef! "Roast-beef and plum-pudding" Is true Christmas fare, But they think that our morals Such dainties won't bear. Oh! oh! it is plain Ne'er more shall we share In the roast-beef of Old England, OH the old English roast-beef! Still long life to the Queen Is the toast we'd be at; With a health to the Prince, May he live and grow fat! And may all under him Have abundance of that–– What?––Why the roast-beef of England, OH the old English roast-beef! *Suggested by the refusal of the Poor-law Commissioners to allow any charitable person to send in supplies of roast beef and plum-pudding upon Christmas day to the inmates of the Union workhouses. QUESTIONS FOR A WIFE.––Do you recollect what your feelings were immediately after you had spoken the first unkind word to your husband? Did you not feel both ashamed and grieved, and yet too proud to admit it? That pride, madam, was, is, and ever will be, your evil genius. It is the tempter which labors incessantly to destroy your pecce, which cheats yov with a vile delusion that your husband deserved your anger when he most deserved your love. It is the cancer which feeds upon those glad and unspeakable emotions you felt on the first pressure of his hand and lip, and will not leave them till their ashes corrode your affections, blight your moral vision, and blunt your sense of right and wrong. Never forget that yours is a lofty calling: never forget the manner in which the duties of that calling can alone be properly fulfilled. If your husband is hasty, your example of patience will chide as well as teach him: your recriminations will drive him from you; your violence may alienate his heart, and your neglect impel him to desperation. Your soothing will redeem him; your softness subdue him; and the merry twinkle of those eyes now filling beautiflly with priceless tears will make him all your own." - Chambers' London Journal. Brother Jonathan VOL. I. NEW YORK, JANUARY 29, 1842. NO. 5. WRITTEN FOR THE BROTHER JONATHAN. AMBITION. BY WALTER WHITMAN One day, an obscure youth, a wanderer, Known but to few, lay musing with himself About the chances of his future life. In that youth's heart, there dwelt the coal Ambition, Burning and glowing; and he asked himself, "Shall I, in time to come, be great and famed?" Now soon an answer wild and mystical Seemed to sound forth from out the depths of air; And to the gazer's eye appeared a shape Like one as of a cloud---and thus it spoke; "O, many a panting, noble hear Cherishes in its deep recess The hope to win renown o'er earth From Glory's prized caress. "And some will win that envied goal, And have their deeds known far and wide; And some––by far the most––will sink Down in oblivion's tide. "But thou, who visions bright dost cull From the imagination's store, With dreams, such as the youthful dream Of grandeur, love, and power, "Fanciest that thou shalt build a name And come to have the nations know What conscious might dwells in the brain That throbs beneath that brow? "And see thick countless ranks of men Fix upon thee their reverent gaze--- And listen to the plaudits loud To thee that thousands raise? "Weak, childish soul! the very place That pride has made for folly's rest; What thoughts, with vanity all rife, Fill up thy heaving breast! "At night, go view the solemn stars Those wheeling worlds though time the same--- How puny seem the widest power, The proudest mortal name! "Thiuk too, that all, lowly and rich, Dull idiot mind and teeming sense, Alike must sleep the endless sleep, A hundred seasons hence. "So, frail one, never more repine, Though thou livest on obscure, unknown ; Though after death unsought may be Thy markless resting stone." And as these accents dropped in the youth's ears, He felt him sick at heart; for many a month His fancy had amused and charmed itself With lofty aspirations, visions fair Of what he might be. And it pierced him sore To have his airy castles thus dashed down. WRITTEN FOR THE BROTHER JONATHAN. TIMOTHY BUSHNELL, ESQ.; OR, A DAY'S MARKETING. BY H. HASTINGS WELD. "Our fathers have eaten sour grapes, and the children's teeth are set on edge." CHAPTER I.---WEDDINGS. A wedding in 1810 was a different affair from the weddings of the present day. In some particulars we must confess that innovation has not improved the fashion. A wife should not be taken as one buys a horse, without form, ceremony, or impressive circumstance. The occasion is not an every day affair, to be consummated in an odd leisure moment, or hurried over like the acknowledgement of a deed, or an oath at the custom house. Such, however, seems to be the tendency of the present period. Men marry as if they "had as soon do it as not," to use a vernacular expression, and women promise to love, honor, and obey, without apparently thinking of the import of the promise, and with such an indifferent air that it is not to be wondered that they forget all about it in less than a month. There is none of the good old fashion of appointing the day, the very day, and bespeaking the parson, a year in advance. There is no counting the intervening months, then the weeks, days, hours, between the present and the day and hour ; no palpitation of heart, and blushing, and hesitating, and looking happy and foolish at the same instant---no advice from grave widows, graver old maids, gravest married matrons---no, not a bit of it. We expect, at the present rate of proceeding, a couple of young ladies may soon meet in the street, and thus discourse: "Why, Celia, how d'ye do? you're looking rosy this morning? you must'nt be engaged to-night positively, for Tom Delancey and Joseph Rivington are desperately smitten with you, and I've promised them both ––separately, of course, you know, as the confidant of each, that they shall meet you at our house this evening. Hubby's to be at home at ten, and all are to drop in in an accidental way. It will be delightful to see the two swains deny trumps, miss their suits, and throw away their hands while Hub and I pin them to the whist table, and you sit like Patience on the music stool, with that pretty left arm and wrist of yours on the keys of the piano! Do put your arm up on the black keys, sis, for the sake of the contrast, and load your fingers well with all the trumpery rings you can find. There's nothing like competition, and they'll think you have been in demand by such tokens. You will come over now, won't you, sis?" "Really, Angelica, I am engaged this evening." "Put it off." "I can't very well, Angelica. The fact is I was married last evening." "Well, I declare you ought to be ashamed! you didn't say a word to me about it when we were shopping yesterday morning! But who have you married?" "I didn't think of doing such a thing yesterday morning, my dear, and if I had, might have forgotten to mention it, those shawls we looked at were so heavenly. You know I couldn't buy yesterday, but I made my little man give me the money this morning before I would have any appetite for breakfast." "That was clever! But what is his name? We must understand our friends' names, you know, or we should seem awkward. 114 BROTHER JONATHAN "Let me see-oh here's Hubby's card, that'll tell you about it. Now for the shawl, and won't it make my hat look so bad that he must furnish for a new one?" I "To be sure it will--and I suspect my gentleman will have to match both for me, or he'll hear of difficulty. But what kind of a person is this Mr. --Mr.-- I declare I can't read his flourishes!" "Excellent, I'm sure--for I've known him a whole week." {Exeunt ladies---from the street into Stewart's.} Now, reader, that was not the way they managed matters, when grandmother's cup was new. It was nothing like the manner in which Timothy Bushnell married his Mary---and, by the way, that puts us in mind that we have commenced a story. The matter had been talked over for the period of twelve calendar months, jokingly, by all the town--- then for twelve more almost seriously, as something which might possibly happen one day or other---and then for the same period confidently, as a match made, and waiting only the proper season to be consummated. Our mothers postponed putting on the bridal wreath, as long as they deferred putting off the widow's weeds, feeling bound in both cases to think at least a year upon the subject. And when they wed, all the friend's of both families were invited, and all the friends' friends, and nobody declined such an invitation. All sat demure, though a roguish look would be apparent in young eyes, if you looked into them close enough; and among the elders there seemed to be a universal expression, indicative of the fact they knew more about matrimony than the young couple who were about to tempt its trials---more than they chose to tell. Filled with high sanctity and responsibility of his calling, the Reverend gentleman has steadily eyed the fire, at the side of which he has the honored seat, for ten minutes by the clock. Sitting in a charmed circle, no one dares to approach him, or to offer conversation on any ordinary topic, at such a time; until at length the groom's-man places a packet in the parson's hand. He steals one glance at it, satisfied that all was right before, and places it away in the ample pocket of his coat. Now, then the parties who have been sitting an uncomfortable half hour, the observed of all observers, rise as he approaches them--the husband, that is to be red as a poppy--the wife pale as a lily. The bride's-maids and groom's-men wonder how soon they shall stand on the same line, but at the centre of it; and as they steal a glance across at each other, their tell-tale looks betray their simultaneous thoughts, and they blush too. -- Almost a titter runs through the whole company-- for eye language at such a time is quick as thought. But the Parson has opened his lips, and all is still but his voice--still as death. It is over. There is a moment of hesitation - then a rush at the victims. She who first kissed the bride, in olden time was sure of being first married. No wonder then that the girls at weddings overcame their habitual reluctance to kissing each other - a fruitless employment, except on such occasions, and with such assurances. Now for the cake and wine. The parson barely sips his - temperate old gentleman. Surely he cannot be going home! He elbows his way through the crowd, with a word for this lady - a smile for that, a nod of the head for one gentleman - a grasp of the hand for another. Steadily he pushes his way to the next room, and as the crowd give way for him, the ladies flit to the other apartment, and their places are filled by gentlemen. Oh, ho! Now we see the attraction. It is that side-board, with bottles and decanters upon it, rivaling, in the hues of their contents, the brilliance of a country apothecary's window. The parson sees nothing there precisely as he wants it. A look at the servant is understood, and in a few moments is answered with a smoking pitcher. - The man of God holds in his hand a reeking glass, and waits only till young and old, married and single men, have followed his contagious example. But where is the bridegroom? Loud calls are raised for the happy man. "Come, come," the parson cries, for it is his privilege to utter the first stereotype joke; "you will have enough of Mrs. Bushnell's company when we are all gone!" Ha! ha! - breaks out the same old laugh, at the same old joke, which has been repeated at every wedding during the previous thirty years. Then, the Deacon ventures his witticism, a little broader than the parson's. And then the oldest married man present says, his say - and then the rest - but we can't think of repeating what folks would say in ear shot of the women, but just out of their presence, while the steam of the cup ascended to their nostrils. The bridegroom answers the call, for he has been at weddings before. The Deacon gives his invariable toast, and the Parson, with a few of the elders, takes his leaves, that "the young people may enjoy themselves." Jokes grow frequent, and laughing makes the throat dry. The remedy is convenient, and the ladies begin to find mere wine (we don't blame them--Sicily Madeira and poor Malaga, and shocking at that) very insipid. Attentive beaux are running from room to room, tripping over the carpet, and spilling the artfully compounded mixtures which they have concocted at the half request of their lady loves. - "Christmas comes but once a year," and a marriage not much oftener. Nothing said to-night is to be remembered to-morrow, nothing done is to be remembered otherwise than as an allowable joke at such a convocation. The husband has hard work to resist the artful endeavors of all present to upset what little brains drinking and the natural flurry of the occasion have left him. The wife is at length carried off by the not entirely sober women - and the husband is obliged to compromise for quiet, with rudely familiar male friends, by accepting the assistance of ten or a dozen awkward amateur valets de chambre; and at length the house is still. Such was one of the occasions on which our fathers consecrated drunkenness, and the above presents but a feeble picture of an old-fashioned country wedding. Verily our fathers ate sour grapes - or drank the juice, which is worse - and the children's teeth are set on edge. ------- CHAPTER II. A House Warming - The House Too Hot. Having married our hero, it may be well to say something respecting him; and in so doing, we shall but anticipate the usual questions at such a juncture; for the ladies are always curious to know the character of a man who has dared to risk matrimony. Perhaps this disposition for enquiring into the merits and demerits of a bridegroom is something akin to the curiosity of a man who has not drawn a prize in a lottery, to know who has, and to ascertain how near his own numbers came to the lucky ones. Perhaps too, the ladies may occasionally like to know that the man they have not caught is no very great loss after all. Detraction, however, could do nothing to injure Timothy Bushnell, up to the date of his marriage. He was not a wonderful person, to be sure, but a very good man as the world goes. The commander of a company of uniform militia, he was still no Bonaparte. The graduate of one of the oldest colleges in the country, he was no phenomenon of erudition; and though regularly admitted to the bar he could not rival Cicero in forensic eloquence. Good looking enough, he was no Adonis; and conscious of the advantages which the inheritance of a moderate fortune gave him, he was still not purse proud, nor was he vain of any thing except his wife. That, by the way, is a harmless vanity, of which it is a pity there is not more in the world. As the man vain of his person takes good care of his owner dear proper self, so the man vain of his wife takes kind care of that other self, which should be ever dearest in a true husband's eyes. The world lay all smooth and pleasant before Bushnell ; and but for evil fashions, now happily gone or going out of date, it might have realized in the fulfilment all that it promised in anticipation. There is no objection whatever to the social virtues and amenities of life ; none whatever to innocent mirth, though it may be boisterous. Nor are we of so straight a sect as to regard convivial follies, in moderation, as criminal ; but inasmuch as these follies sometimes open the door to want, and all its train of vice and misery, it is the part of wisdom to be foolish as seldom as possible, and the perfection of wisdom to avoid entirely the folly of seeking false and manufactured mirth, when innate cheerfulness from conscious and continued temperance is so much cheaper. Bushnell took his young wife home to his new house - and a splendid house it was, as the fashion was in those days. The owner, just married, the first occupant of his own new house, and the Captain of the Cedarville Rifle rangers, could do no less than warm the building, though it happened to be entered at a season when my house is usually deemed warm enough. A rare frolic was this house warming. The popular and worthy host moved among his guests sure of their friendship and kindness - and was challenged so often to drink to its continuance, that he found oblivion, for the moment, of any circumstance to mar his future prospects. To make a long story short, our host was coaxed away by his young wife, or kidnapped and put in bed long before his friends had done admiring his premises through that flattering medium BROTHER JONATHAN 115 which gives the coleur de rose to every thing to which it is applied-- It was three months since his marriage, and, since the wedding night, he had so often received visits and congratulations, and had so uniformly responded to them in a spirited manner, that his little wife really began to fear he was entirely too good a fellow. And the event of this night, the first occasion on which he had ever been entirely "overcome," filled her with alarm, and, we must add, led her to show altogether more disgust than was prudent, or polite. On the next morning Mrs. Bushnell awoke with quite strong suspicions of a very bad headache; and with an indistinct impression that he was in a strange room. He found that he had been the sole tenant of the bed; and still, unaware precisely by what circumstances this change had happened, dressed hurriedly, and proceeded to his usual sleeping apartment. Every thing there was in such order that it was evident the chamber maid had performed her daily duties; and now he bethought him that the sun looked unusually high in the heavens for a very early hour in the morning. Descending to the breakfast room, he found that deserted, and on a side table that most uncomfortable and repulsive of all offerings even to the healthy appetite, a deferred breakfast. Mrs. Bushnell was no where visible--he helped himself to a stale cup of coffee, and pushed into the street--trembling, tottering in his gait, pale haggard, dispirited one moment, and the next breathing hard in a tempest of passion. "Hulloa, Bushnell! What the devil ails you? You look like an escaped maniac this morning." It was one of his friends--the Lieutenant of the Cedarville Rifle Corps. "You want a straightener this morning --come, I'm just going to take my eleven o'clock." Bushnell was led unresistingly into a bar-room. One glass stiffened his nerves, and steadied his hand, which had before shaken like a palsied limb. One glass restored his spirits, and he laughed with half glee, half shame, as Lieut. Carter told him of his mad frieks the night before, and how "all the company" said he was a "d--d good fellow," and how devilish funny it was, to see him bothering his wife, as she was coaxing him out of the room, and how he threw one of his own cut glass decanters at a splendid mirror--and how his wife's black eyes snapped--and how she must be a splendid woman--and all the rest. Devilish funny it all proved to Bushnell, in the end. One and another came in, and again and again the glass went round. The bar-keepers flew about in ecstacy at the rush of business, and the wooden toddy stick of those days played the devil's tattoo in half a dozen tumblers at once. The whole of the previous evening's proceedings were talked over and over, till the dinner hour arrived, and then Bushnell finding himself alone in the bar-room--staggered home at noonday. His wife might have prevented all this. At home he was just able to perceive that he did not perceive his wife. The table was placed for one, and he inquired, as he clung to a chair where "Mr-r-rs. B. kept herself?" The frightened maid told him his wife had gone out for the day. There he swayed, his eyes closing and half opening--his chin now sinking on his breast--now jerking up with an apparently involuntary motion. The astonished servant girl fled to the kitchen. He seized the decanter, which after the fashion of those days stood upon the board, and under the momentary strength of another glass, staggered to a sofa--extended himself upon it, and became insensible. It was past midnight when he woke. It seemed as if all the fires of hell were burning in his brain, and that their heart made the atmosphere too close to breathe. The room was deadly still, and the pale light of the stars threw a shadowy gloom over those objects which were apparent by their feeble aid. He groaned and moved heavily, his elbow striking the arm of the couch, with a force which awoke him to pain--but still left him in mental obscurity. He muttered a curse, and was still again. A stifled sob caught his ear. He almost suspended breathing. The sobs became more frequent, and at length the utterer lost all government over her emotions, burst into a passion of tears, and came and kneeling at his side, bowed her face down in his bosom, breathed his pestilential breath, unheeding it, and bathed his face with her flowing hair--all wet with her tears. He placed his hand upon her brow and started with horror. It was cold, clammy cold, and he fairly shrieked in alarm, as what seemed to him death dews moistened his palm. She sprang to her feet, affrighted in her turn, and was on the point of alarming the house, when his husky voice recalled her, "For God's sake, Mary, strike a light and give me a drop of water!" Fervently did he clasp the refreshing cup to his parched lips; and then his self abasement and shame came to him with full consciousness. He feared to ask a single question, and his wife was too much heart-broken to reproach or to taunt him--but silence where he had a perfect right to expect an earnest expostulation, to say the least, was even more irksome than reproaches would have been. And on the next morning the same silence was continued. He had almost a good mind to be angry with her for it. He would have been glad to have made some explanation--to have uttered something in apology--to have offered promises for the future; but how could he introduce the subject! So passed breakfast. As he walked abroad he felt as if the very dogs which passed him gave him a leer of ridicule; and every indistinct sound of conversation which reached his ear was tortured by his imagination into a comment upon his recent conduct. Sick in body and mind, he would fain have resorted again to stimuli, but the thought or the midnight scene of the previous night made him shudder. He preserved his self command, and returned to dinner at his wonted hour sober in more senses than one. An air of pensive welcome awaited him on the part of his wife. The ordinary topics of conversation were introduced, but still he seemed constrained and abashed. His wife pushed the decanter toward him. He declined--blushed--stammered--caught the moment when there were no witnesses--poured out a full confession of his folly without attempting a word of extenuation or apology, and then he was at home again. The victory was still in his wife's hands--but that wife was not wise enough to keep her advantage. Few women are. The husband had made ample concessions, and was entitled to something of the same manifestation of a conciliatory disposition on the part of his wife. She kindly but coldly received his apologies and professions, and not a word of admission fell from her that she was in any measure accountable for his folly. He felt that she was so accountable, and was grieved that she humiliated him by preserving the cold aspect of a pure judge, when she should have met his advances in kindred spirit. All this might have passed. Bushnell might have forgotten one instance in which his wife claimed superiority, and assumed the dictator. He might have forgotten that his warmth of heart had betrayed him once into a humiliating position, which Mary had not the magnanimity of soul to relieve. But she did not stop there. As the effects of the debauch wore off, and he would have gladly forgotten it, she ungenerously recalled it to his memory, indelicately and heartlessly alluding even before her friends and his own to circumstances which, had they been unmentioned, might have exerted no after influence. She ceased not to attack his companions, and thus drove him into the defence and society of men whom he would have gladly relinquished, at the dictates of his own good sense, if she had not forced him into such a position, that any change in his choice of acquaintances would not only have seemed to others the obedience of a hen-pecked husband, but would have been treated by the wife herself as so many new submissions, of which she could daily remind him. Ladies! Ladies! you have a vast deal to learn yet, in the management of your husbands! A daughter was born to Bushnell. Such an event should be, and always is, in well regulated families, attended with a practical declaration of amnesty for all previous offences, and of suspension and oblivion to all pending disagreements. The heart of the husband is melted in kindness to the suffering partner of his bosom; the soul of the wife is lifted in gratitude to Heaven for the blessing vouchsafed; and both unite their hands and hearts over the little stranger with a renewal of the sentiments, in which they first pledged themselves to each other. But Mary, taught in too straight a school of matrimonial ethics--reared under the advice of a father who had not soul enough to sin, aided by the rigid virtue of an ancient sister, who rejoiced in stern, single-blessedness, and seconded by the sententious monosyllables of a cold-hearted mother, whose life was as chill and monotonous as a lake in a morass--educated under such auspices, Mary Bushnell could not understand her husband, or her duties toward him. We have said that a wedding was an event in a country town a few years ago. So was a birth--and above all, a christening. So are they still, in distant quarters, where fashion has not interposed her dictates against the better feelings of our nature. Congratulations met the 116 BROTHER JONATHAN. happy father on all hands. No member of the Cedarville Rifle Corps passed him without a warm greeting; and his heart opened in kindness to all creation. Still, he forebore to touch the bowl--or only complied with what was then the mode, so far as ceremony imposed the necessity of tasting upon him. Weeks passed--the happiest weeks that Bushnell had known since his marriage. The couple had presented their infant at the baptismal font, and a congregation had witnessed the imposing ceremony--the ladies not forgetting to scrutinize the dress and general appearance of the young mother, and the gentlemen not concealing or suppressing their admiration at her surpassing beauty--the matronly ripeness and dignity of womanhood, which had succeeded to the delicate and girlish elegance that all admired upon the wedding day. "My dear," said Bushnell, as he bowed over the precious burthen which rested upon his wife's bosom--"Lieut. Carter--" "I do wish you wouldn't mention that odious man to me again." It was the first unkind word she had spoken for weeks. Timothy sighed--passed his hand through his hair, as if he could comb the effect of her unkindness out of his head with his fingers--walked to the window-- waited in vain for her to resume the conversation, on any topic she chose, provided the tone was kind--and then, despairing of any such kindness on her part, took up his hat. "Mr. Bushnell," said his wife, "I thought you intended to spend the evening at home, but I presume that, as usual, you can find pleasanter associates abroad, than a feeble wife and a troublesome child!" The man uttered not a word in reply. He had not been from her side during a single evening for a month. He put on his hat, and as he sallied forth, at the door he met Carter. To ask him in was impossible. A feeble excuse, the illness of his child, was invented. The man who had proposed to be Bushnell's guest that evening, at the hearth-side where all his friends should have been welcomed, became the host, at a public house, of the husband, who was driven out of his own home. Bushnell was in no humor that night to resist temptation. He went home intoxicated, and all the town, the next day, exclaimed against the cruelty with which he treated his amiable wife. The public, who never hear the half of a story, is always a packed jury in favor of a pretty woman. The reader, who has heard both sides of the particular case, will mentally reverse the public's decision. In successions of such events passed the following four or five years of Bushnell's life. The limits of a newspaper story do not permit us to go into a longer history; nor would it be tolerable--for the relation would be found too monotonous. The cheerful grounds about the house became desolate; the wife degenerated into a repining slut (we don't like the word, but there is no better) nothing in the family store increased but children, and every new comer created topics for new disputes and unhappiness. The patrimony of Bushnell was dissipated, his business fell off entirely, his wife and children became pensioners upon the grudging charity of her father, and to put the climax to their misfortunes, Bushnell, one night, in drunken carelessness, burned down their house over their heads, the family escaping with bare life. CHAPTER III CATHERINE MARKET. The Washingtonians, as the new and thorough going school of temperance men denominate themselves, have made Catherine Market particularly famous in the present; and if the memory of men disenthralled, and the gratitude of the children of fathers raised from moral death can consecrate it, they have made it famous in the future. Many a man can date from Catherine Market his rise from bestial degradation; many a happy wife may remember it as the somewhat unpoetical spot, from which her prodigal husband, sick of the mire in which men, worse than swine wallow, arose to return to his wife and to his children. Our city readers are aware that the self-appointed and efficient missionaries of Temperance have long made this particular vicinage the scene of their labors; and the fruit of these, and other exertions in all parts of the country is apparent in the statistical fact that the manufacturer of whiskey, in this city and vicinity, is now ten thousand gallons a day less, than it was only four months ago. Among the auditory of a dock preacher of temperance on a fine Sunday in November last, might have been a man of sixty years or thereabouts, whose gentlemanly bearing even in his rugs, denoted "a man who had seen better days." All the rudeness of squalid poverty, all the debasements of strong drink, all the example and contagion of his filthy associates, had not been sufficient to quench entirely the lustre of his eye, or totally to remove the native nobility of his mien. But these indications, to the experienced observer, were anything but favorable to this reform. They showed, that, having recovered the first degradation of submission to his descent, he had discovered his superiority over his fellow-outcasts, and, ejected from the circle of respectability and comfort in which once he moved, he had become content, no longer able to serve in Heaven, to reign in Hell. He skillfully diverted the remarks of the speaker from their impression, by witty and artfully worded jokes. He stood forth the champion of the demon drink, which had ruined him; and while, despite of his sarcasms, man after man went forward and signed the pledge, and while others hesitated, or moved away, he alone, of all that crowd, remained apparently unmoved and obstinate in his degradation. The audience separate. Bushnell---it was no other---walked away alone. Twenty years had passed since we took leave of him at the close of chapter third. For fifteen years he had been separated from his family--for ten he had been in no communication with them. His sottish habits had in his own ruin, involved that of his wife's connections, and destroyed the asylum which might otherwise have protected his family, and afforded a beggar's subsistence to himself--the cold food thrown to a dog. But in their adversity they could no longer tolerate the presence of the man whom they blamed as the sole cause of it, and, in his native village a marked man, he felt the signet of Cain up on his brow, and fled. New York, like all great cities, the receptacle of the unfortunate and the outcast, ended his journey, and here for several years he had earned a precarious subsistence, scorning the comforts, and contenting himself with less than the bare necessaries of life, while he paid blind devotion still, to the thing which had ruined him. Bushnell was forced, to himself, to acknowledge the truth of the speaker's reasonings. Having now none whom he loved, or for whom he cared, to meet him with taunts, he indefinitely resolved to practice upon them; though his intended reformation was a secret of which he was so much ashamed that he trusted it to no living being. That night, the first for many years, he went to his den to sleep, perfectly sober; and in that state he was surprised that he ever could have endured or tolerated such a place of rest. It made him sick at heart--ashamed of his existence. Sleep, which had been used to be woed to his couch by the stupidity of intoxication, fled from his eyelids; and through the long, long watches of the night he struggled between his resolutions to reform, and the suggestions of the tempter. One glass he knew would settle his trembling nerves--but that one glass he did not take, and though he rose at morn more fatigued in body than when he laid down; though his hands shook like the aspen, and his limbs almost refused to support him, he rose prouder in heart than the conqueror of a hundred fields. He had gained a victory over himself--he had kept the secret to himself, and alone as he stood in the uncharitable world, he was exposed to none of that cruel unkindness, the exhibition of which some people seem to think is both the privilege and the proof of affection. "Halloa, old Tom!" shouted a crony, "Had your bitters?" "Yes." He knew that as the hearer understood this, it was lie; but he had not presence of mind enough to tell the truth--and beside thought he, God knows I have had bitters enough! Steadily he passed his pothouse haunts, and seated himself at the democratic table of refreshments, provided in every market for those, the limits of whose purses, or the simpleness of whose desired, forbid more expensive entertainment than market coffee, and pastry. "Isn't this rather insiped?" he asked of the very comely damsel who served him. "He-ah! He-ah! He-ah!" giggled the ebony wench who officiates in the high capacity of market sweeper. "Dah is what I calls a good one. Why goramighty, Mr. Tim--nuffin would taste in your froat, 'dout it was melted brimstone, or scalding nigger gin! He-ah! Well dat-are is a good one!" The day before, Bushnell would have joked with Dinah as an equal. Now his cheek burned with the shame that he was thus addressed. He looked round, and was surprised to see that nobody else was astonished. One man only waited, as if he expected amusement from his reply. He made none. "Come dare you, Tim," the woman resumed--"I sees what it is. BROTHER JONATHAN. 117 BUSHNELL AT BREAKFAST IN CATHARINE MARKET You isn't had your bitters dis morning. Come--I gib it to you. Dis nigger isn't too proud to drink with a white man, if he do sleep in de fish market." Bushnell bowed his head and groaned almost aloud. But who was to notice old Tim Bushnell, the inveterate dock loafer? The girl at whose table he sat, at length begged him to make room for others. He started at the sound of her voice, for it gave life reality to the feverish dream which had been harassing him. He was back, in imagination, in his home--and that voice! He regarded her so fixedly, that she turned her head from him, and beckoned for assistance. A watch hung hear her hand--he reached forward, gazed at, and clutched it--and in the next moment was seized as a thief, and passed to insensibility in the hands of his captors. We pass the intervening events, to introduce the reader to the Bushnell family now. In a neat tenement in -----th Street, Timothy Bushnell resides with his wife and daughter--the girl who furnished his coffee on that Monday morning, sits at his side, while the wife of his youth and of his age, presides over their tidy breakfast. The watch, an heirloom in his family, no longer goes to market, but ticks above the mantelpiece-- more than a mere monitor of time, from its history and associations. His other children are settled in the world: this daughter shared her mother's varied fortunes, and is present now, a witness to the peace of the declining days of her parents. We have not space to paint the vicissitudes of fortune which befel the widow, as she deemed herself during her long separation from her husband. All are now content in temperate poverty, and never recal the 118 BROTHER JONATHAN. past, exept to regret that they could not learn their duties to each other without so long and so severe a lesson. The daughter, who presides no longer over the market cake table, since the "scene" which took place there, will make a capital wife for some honest tee-totaller, and declares she will marry no other. Times are already on the mending hand with the whole family; for in strict temperance as a capital, investments always yield a thousand fold; and the well-directed exertions of a father will keep want from any door when Bacchus is refused admission. FOR THE BROTHER JONATHAN. THE ADVENTURES OF TOM STAPLETON. EDITED BY JOHN M. MOORE. CHAPTER XV Matters of a pecuniary nature brought me to Troy. It was my intention to remain a week, but finding it impossible to exist so long in a town without a theatre, I returned to New York on the fourth day. On entering my room I found a letter which had been shoved under the door. It was from my comrade, par excellence, and ran thus: "Dear Tom,—" "I am up here carrying on the war in fine style, but am out of ammunition, and must make a raise, or raise the siege. Can you do any thing? Twenty-five dollars might do; but a fifty would be equal to a park of artillery. "As you may suppose, Flora's the very devil to make love to. She has a regular Kentucky pallat; so that the man that can dive deepest, stop under water longest, and come out dryest, is the man for her money.— She has poor David out of the blankets, and over the hills and far away, with her every morning before cock crow; and then, when she don't chance to be climbing, she is sure to be shooting, riding, boating, or skating, and so forth, with cousin Dave in her wake, grumbling as he goes, for want of thought; and between you and I, if it wasn't for the dowry, and the way the old folks set him on, he'd cut the connection, for he complains of the hardships she imposes on him all the time, and usually looks about as happy and comfortable on the strength of them as a fellow on his road to the gallows. In fact, it would be a mercy to him to take the girl off his hands. "You ask me how I manage my cards, but I haven't time to go into detail at present. Suffice it to say, that I am always on the alert, and, hence, frequently manage to throw myself in the way of the happy couple when there's any thing striking to be done; such, for instance, as leaping up and down precipices, following game breast-deep in the water, etcetera—(Flora, you see, mostly shoots without dogs, for the purpose of giving the unfortunate Dave a chance for displaying his agility,) so that I have scarcely had a dry stitch on my back since I came here, and have on sundry occasions barely escaped breaking my neck. Of course, Flora understands what I'm up to well enough; but Davie's stupidity renders him proof to suspicion; and accordingly, I have the game in my own hands, and may—nay, by all the gods, must win it—if I can maintain my present position long enough. "If you can do the needful don't be slow about it, for I am running my face already; if not, I must beat a retreat until I can advance under somewhat more favorable circumstances. "This is a royal place for "Quilting Parties" and Bundling Matches; but the Dutch girls who abound in the neighborhood, almost kiss any handsome fellow like me to death. Its well I'm virtuous, and in love, or faith worse might come of it, for it's no trifle, Tom, to have a bounceing rosy-cheeked spinster of eighteen, plump herself down in one's lap, lay her head in one's bosom,; and yet such is the rule with them in these parts, and I, of course, have been brought up in too good a school not to do in Rome as Rome does." Still, the ladies maintain that they are as chaste as moonbeams, which may be as true as holy writ for aught I know to the contrary; but if so, it is to be confessed they have rather an odd way of showing it: and were your humble servant only half as tender of heart, and open to general impressions as he used to be, he would as lief trust himself amid the temptations of a "Check Apron Ball," as at a village quilting party, or a Dutch Bundling Match. "I am longing to see you, and have an intellectual debauch, for here my libations are confined to apple jack, new cider, and buttermilk. "Yours, &c, &c.. "PHILIP O'HARA." "P. S. Either you, or Smith, or both of you have stolen two of my shirts, which is something of an inconvenience, as I have but three left, and scarcely think it orthodox to speculate among the hedges in peacetimes. P. O." My excursion to Troy having replenished my exhausted exchequer, I was enabled to send my comrade the heaviest of the two amounts mentioned, as well as to retain about an equal sum for myself; and having deposited my letter in the post, I returned to my quarters, and was dozing over a dull novel, when some one knocked at the door. "Come in." And Count Delauney, elegantly attired, and redolent of eu de cologne, made his appearance. "Ha, Monsieur Stapletong, so I 'ave found you at last. By gar, I am ver well pleased." "Step in and be seated, Count. You have been here before, then— eh?" "Oui Monsieur, evare so much time. Mon Dieu, I shall vunder you grow no tire of live so ver dam high up stairs. "It's good for the inspiration, Count." "Ha, I see—it makes you ver poetique!—Von pauvre poet in his garret, eh!—Ha! ha! ha!" "Hang it, Count, it's a remove from the garret, any way; and moreover, it's not so long since you were one of us, yourself!" "Diable! I only try him for de fun; but by gar, I soon grow tire of such fun. He is too fine—too dam poetique only for him as shall live on ver light stomach, and vash his own shirt!" "Even so, Count. And if rumor don't belie you, one of your advantages over the majority of us in those respects consisted in the fact that you had no shirt to wash." "Ha! vot you say!" exclaimed Delauney, starting to his feet. "By gar, I am insult, and shall ave de revenge!" "For a moment I presumed my visitor was jesting, but a glance at him convinced me that it was far otherwise, for his eye was fixed on me, with an expression of deep dislike and resentment. "Heigh! ho!" said I, "what the devil's the meaning of all this?" "It means, sare," returned Delauney, stamping on the ground, "dat you are von dam villane." "My good fellow," I returned, "I fear you have again got yourself into the wrong box, and" "Damn de box, and you too," interrupted the Count, in a fury—"An' now I have insult you. I shall give you some satisfaction ven you shall choose." "What, Count, do you want to be challenged?" "Yes, sare, I vish him ver mooch, and ven you me no shall not challenge, den, by gar, I shall brand you for one grand poltroon." "You have your choice, Count," said I, "either to say you are jesting, beg my pardon, jump out of the window, or be kicked down stairs." "And ave I call you coward, and vill you not meet me vith de weapon, for life or death?" said the Count. "Yes," I answered, "for if you don't adopt one of the three first alternatives instanter, I'll meet you in mortal combat with the toe of my boot." "Listen," returned Delauney with a calm emphasis—indeed, remarkably so for a Frenchman—"I hate you, and I ave de cause to hate you, for you ave see my disgrace—you ave insult me—an' you ave injure me vorse den all in von odare ting as I shall keep to myself. Vell den, I call you villane, and coward, and yet, Mon Dieu, you ave not seek de satisfaction—But, diable! if you are not von of the canaille, you shall seek him now!" And on the word Delauney threw a card on the floor—gave me a smart slap on the left cheek, and darted for the door: but ere he reached it I was upon him and had him by the throat. "Now, you scoundrel," I exclaimed, "your life is not worth a bullrush." "Ah! pardonnez moi," returned the little Frenchman, as he stood BROTHER JONATHAN. 119 quite passive in my grasp; "pardonnez moi, monsieur, for I vas mad— Mon Dieu, I am ver often von Iunatique." "Perhaps it is so," thought I, but a survey of my captive's features proved it to be otherwise, for the expression of humiliation that now over-shadowed them was evidently affected, and might not conceal from a searching eye the feelings of dislike and vengeance that were rankling at his heart. "Mad or tame,"then said I, "you must either humbly beg my pardon to palliate the kicking I mean to give you down stairs, or I shall most assuredly break some of your bones." "I vill do as you desire, Monsieur," he returned; whereon I let him go, when he suddenly retired two paces, drew forth a little finger long pistol, and calmly cocked it in my face. "Now," said he sneeringly, "Monsieur shall 'ave de pleasure to kick me down stairs ven ever he has de mind." "Lower your pistol," said I, seeing he had me in his power, "and I will fight you on your own terms." "Are you sure?" asked the Frenchman. "Sure!" said I. "And you shall consider me de challenged party and fight me vith some small swords!" returned the Gaul. "As you say," I replied. "I shall not trust you," said Delauney, "till I 'ave insult you more yet; so if you do not dance von dam Scotch jig, I shall shoot you, by Gar!" "I'm Doctor Young'd to a nicety," thought I, if the scoundrel's in earnest. And he was in earnest, for his eye had a scowling devil in it." "Come, jump, Monsieur Tom Stapletong," he continued, "von, two, tree, (an' ven I shall count ten, if you are not begin, by gar I shall make von leetle hole in your head!) four, five, six, seven!" "Hold," said I, "and be damned to you—here goes." And with that I threw myself in motion with a ferocity that might have been quite alarming to weak nerves, but had a contrary effect on my audience, who, instead of exhibiting any degree of agitation, began very coolly to whistle for me. Brief, however, was the duration of his raptures, for making the first whirl in the dance a starting point for a spring, I dashed on him, and felled him to the ground. At the same instant a bullet whizzed through my hair, and shivered a looking glass behind me; but ere the lapse of the next, the pistol was in my hands, and one of the Count's jaw bones nearly broken. Not observing this, and bursting with rage as I then was, I shook poor little Delauney with the ferocity of a tiger, and might have made splinters of some more of his bones, but that some of my fellow-lodgers, attracted by the report of the pistol and the subsequent scuffle, rushed into the room and separated us. I say separated us, because, notwithstanding the injury he had received, the Count stuck to me like a man and fought like grim death. Nor was the wounded face the worst of inflictions—for, alas! I had made fragments of his splendid laced coat, and otherwise sadly interfered with the superlative arrangement of his natty little person. Delauney having been removed from the scene of action, I was endeavoring to think what the devil the fellow could mean, or how I had given him offence, (for it was evident he had come with the intention of seeking a quarrel) when, glancing on the ground, I perceived among sundry silk frogs, bits of lace, and other spoils of victory from the frock coat, a tiny epistle addressed to myself. "He came provided," thought I, at the same time opening the note, not doubting it was a challenge, with probably an explanation of the cause of it; but I was mistaken, for the billet hailed from a different party and ran thus: "If Mr. Thomas Stapleton will call on me at his earliest leisure, he may learn something of advantage to himself, and confer a favor on CICILY MANNERS, No. — street." "The mystery thickens!—I look for the spear of Mars and I find, probably, the shaft of Cupid!—a letter from Lady Cicily Manners—tete-a-tete with this mysterious Queen of Beauty! All good angels watch over you, Tom Stapleton, or you are lost, for in that woman's presence you will have no more power over yourself than a bird in the gaze of a basilisk. O, Lucy: Lucy! your poor Tom's in danger! O! that my heart were a paving stone! or that I might lock it up in my portmanteau until the interview is over, for as it is I fear me it will be riddled through and through like a rifle company's target!" 120 BROTHER JONATHAN Not caring to abide in a state of suspense as to the import of the note, I lost but little time in waiting on its singular author. I found her in a magnificent apartment reclining on a voluptuous divan; nor did she rise immediately as I entered, but spoke to me for at least a minute without changing her position, which was so exquisitely graceful in its recumbency, that it gave an almost maddening effect to her radiant charms. I made an attempt to describe this glorious looking woman before, and I would fain do so again, for whenever I think of her amazing beauties they are present to my mind's eye, and I yearn to transfer the vivid image of my brain to my pen. But it is useless. Her's were charms that mocked description and rose superior to the art of poet or limner. She seemed, as it were, the native of some higher order of planet; for it was difficult to suppose that this cold dull earth could be moulded into any thing so wonderfully beautiful. Reader, I am not drawing on my fancy for a portrait; neither am I lavish of my encomiums, for the person I am writing of is no creation of the mind, but a living character; and her beauty was such that no language, no conception of perfection, can overate it. As the lady continued to recline, it struck me she did it for effect; but the thought was no sooner conceived than it vanished, for never was cristal freer from blemish than her features from the expression of affectation or maiden coyness. Beautiful as they were, they were no less haughty; or perhaps stern might be the better term; yet seemed it not like an assumed dignity or sternness, but the natural effect of a calm-- even cold--and decided spirit. "You received my note, Mr. Stapleton." "I did, your ladyship, and!-- "Hush; sir--no mockery! While alone with you I am Mary Anson!" "But," said I, "how would you be addressed in the presence of a third party?" "As your promise would dictate," she replied, "but I absolve you from it while we are alone. You know Delauney--my noble cousin that is!" "I do, Madam, and I presume from circumstance, it was he that brought me your letter." "you presume," returned Mary, assuming a sitting posture. "Why did he not give it into your own hands?" "Not exactly, but I found it on the floor immediately after he left my oom," "There is some mystery in the affair that I can't resolve," said the lady." "So it seemed to me, Madam," I answered, "for Count Delauney's conduct was most singular." "Indeed!--Pray in what manner?" "Why, lady, with but little or no provocation, he insulted, struck, and fired at me!" "And you, of course, retaliated," returned Mary, while a slight shade of indignation passed rapidly over her brow." "I did, Madam; and the Count, I fear, is hurt; for it is to be presumed he acted under some mental delusion," "He acted under the delusion of an idiot," replied the lady--a jealous hollow-headed idiot; not jealous of me perhaps," she added, with a faint smile, "but of his place! However, I hope you have not killed him; not that I would regard his death as a loss either to myself, him, or the world he lived or lives in, but that it might involve you in trouble." I gave an involuntary start, and endeavored to fortify my heart with the recollection of Lucy's image; but it could only render itself very dimly apparent in such a sublimed atmosphere. "Be not alarmed," said Mary Anson, who had noticed my surprise, "Be not alarmed--I am not making love to you! And I may well say be not alarmed, for those to whom I do make love--so to speak--have to suffer dearly for the humiliation they are the occasion of." I could do nothing but look and listen! I was all idolatry, bewilderment, and curiosity. "There is no use of deception with you," she continued, "you know to a certain extent, what I was; and consequently if I don't tell you exactly what I am, you will suspect me to be something worse." Never," said I, with enthusiasm. "A word from your lips would outweigh a world of proof to the contrary!" "That is because my lips are red and ripe, and beautiful!" returned the lady, without any change of countenance,--"because poets might say that ten thousand cupids hovered in their smiles"--(and as she spake she smiled so divinely that had a poet said so I would have almost believed him) "and that the sweets they exhale were a banquet for a god. Yes, Mr. Stapleton," she continued "it is as I say, for were I as foul and repulsive, as I am fair and attractive, you would not believe me--(believe me you would not)--though the assumption then might seem, fifty times more probable than it does now!" "Madam," I exclaimed, feeling my gallantry to be somewhat called in question--"Madam, I trust that when a lady pledges me her honor on--" "Hush, Mr. Stapleton, hush!" interrupted Mary, "for heaven's sake no sentiment; for in my professional capacity, I have to abide it till it surfeits! When a woman pledges her honor, you said--'Permit me to add that she's a simpleton if she ever redeems it!" "Then, madam, you would not have a woman to be honorable at all!" "I would not--I'd have her to be wise!" "True wisdom," I returned, a little indignantly, "consists of virtue and honor." "Then it is composed of empty shadows," replied Mary; "for to be virtuous and honorable, according to the received notions of such attributes, were to be unnatural; and I can believe nothing that is opposed to nature! But to establish my point, I maintain, when I assert, in contradiction to your apparently well-founded suspicions, that I am not the thing you take me for, and when you affect to receive my word for granted, that you cheat and flatter me, as also that you violate your own better nature, by making a sacrifice of truth to beauty! Look you at the proof. Now that I am rich, and fair to look at, whatever I aver seems to carry conviction along with it. No one appears to doubt it. Nay, among the fawners, whose wealth I batten on--(in the main, a heartless crew, who would cheat me, were it not that I cheat them)--there is perhaps not one who would not offer himself as a candidate to cut the other's throat, were I to charge it against him that he suspected me of uttering a falsehood!--ha! ha! ha!--at the same time that I exist on falsehoods--that they are in fact my bread--my life--my triumph!-- But when I was poor and hideous--when rags and famine were my portion-- when the door step or the gateway was my only place of repose-- when my heart was all but dead within me--when the worm of hunger had gnawed every trace of bloom and beauty from my cheek--then, then, no one would believe me--my tears--my entreaties could not produce me credit even for the wretched crust I was dying for! And yet I was a truer and a nobler woman then than I am now. Ay, as much superior to my present self as honesty is to fraud--light to darkness-- because at that time no word of falsehood could find passage through my lips, and I would have gladly perished by the faggot or the stake--or worse than either, by the tooth of famine, that fed ceaselessly upon my vitals, rather than have been a participator in the frauds which are now my living--nay, my very consolation and glory. Hence, Mr. Stapleton, I believe no man's professions. My beauty, and not your conviction, is the card by which you speak; and thus, while with your lips you pay homage to my virtue, in your heart you believe me to be a scarlet concubine!" "Miss Anson," said I, "I will be plain with you. Circumstances have produced suspicions in my breast to your disadvantage--but I judged not harshly, for, with ten thousand sins on my back, I have, thank heaven, the virtue seriously to feel the beam in my own eye, and therefore never make war against the moats in the eyes of others. In one thing, however, you do me wrong." "And that is?" "When you tell me I do not believe you! I know not the mystery that may be involved in your wish to see me--I know not the means by which you were so suddenly exalted from squalid poverty to apparent affluence--I hear you accuse yourself of falsehood and fraud--and yet I swear to you lady, that I would stake my life on your truthfulness--for I, who study mankind for my bread--who am chiefly thrown on my wits for my existence, cannot be mistaken in the eye, however the lips might endeavor to deceive me." "Ha, flattery again!" BROTHER JONATHAN 121 "By heavens lady, no!--I wave the claims and fascinations of your wondrous beauty,--I will admit that I suspect you to be the thing I dare not name--but I see beaming in your eye a soul whose chief essence is nobleness--truth--virtue!" "I will undeceive you anon," interrupted Mary. "Miss Anson, you cannot," I continued. "True, you may have fallen; --true some great wrong--as confidence betrayed, or love's altar desecrated--may have warped--even half changed your spirit and caused you to see in human nature a boundless vice, and in every man a villain; --true, you may have abandoned your heart to recklessness, and that the study of your life may be the triumph of retaliation and revenge for deep injuries sustained;--but still (whatever may be your present position,) my life upon it that the grand error of your nature has been too wild and enthusiastic a devotion to the truth and virtue, which you now affect to despise." While I yet spoke, I saw a tear swelling in Miss Anson's eye; but she turned away to hide it; and when she renewed the conversation, it was in a lighter strain. "And so, Mr. Stapleton," she said, "the Count declared war on you." "To the knife, madam." "Poor fellow, he's more of a man than I took him for;--I must increase his wages! But tell me, are you not somewhat tired of your mode of life?--Does not your heart occasionally rebel against the inconveniences of a needy purse and a lofty ambition?" "In faith, madam," I answered, "I fear it does;--they are formidable foes to contentment." "How, then, if you found an easy means of bettering your condition?" "Were it an honorable one, lady, I would doubtlessly endeavor to profit by it." The blood rushed to Miss Anson's cheek as she replied, "I am not so sure that I comprehend the full extent of your qualification. However, if it be honorable in kings to roll in pomp and luxury on the taxes wrung from the pittances of their groaning subjects--if it be honorable in merchants to forestall the markets to the end of lining their coffers at the cost of the public--if it be honorable in needy men to lay traps to ensnare wealthy heiresses--then the means I speak of are truly honorable, for they simply involve a system of retaliation;--that is, the victimizing of others who would fain victimize you! But hush! she continued-- "I hear a familiar knock at the door--(that of one of my lovers.)-- Now, Mr. Stapleton, you will oblige me--for you surely cannot disoblige so fair a lady--by taking your station in the ante-room until our interview is over. Books you will find in abundance, and you are at liberty to look and listen all you can, but not to give any evidence of your proximity." And before poor Tom Stapleton had any time for reflection in the premises, he found himself under lock and key in the ante-room, where he also found a number of books, and a table spread out with many of the luxuries of the season, not excepting sundry decanters of choice wines. [CHAPTER XVI. NEXT WEEK.] From Cruikshank's Omnibus for January A STILL-LIFE SKETCH. "Still, still I love thee,--love thee, love thee, still."-- Sa Somnambula. He stood among the mossy rocks, Beside a Highland waterfall, And wrung his hands and tore his locks, And cursed the guagers one and all. Behind him was a ruined hut, Its walls were levell'd with the ground, And broken rafters black with soot, And staves of tubs, were scatter'd round. With streaming eyes adown the glen He fix'd his gaze--I look'd, and lo! Along the road a band of men, With horse and cart, were moving slow. Upon my life, it made me shiver, To hear him shriek with frantic yell, "Fare-thee well,--and if for ever, Still, for ever fare-thee-well!" From the Southern Literary Messenger. THE GYPSY. From the German. By Professor G. F. Struve. In the Spring of the year 1788, I marched with recruits from Micklosfare, in Siebenburg, to join my regiment, then stationed in the county of Orsowa. There resided in a small village in the neighborhood of the army, a gypsy, whose chief support was in supplying the troops with various articles of marketing. My recruits, who were superstitious fellows, had their luck in war predicted by this fortune-teller. I laughed at the fun; and, out of sport, gave her my hand also to examine. "On the 20th of August," she exclaimed significantly,--nothing more. I desired some further information, but she only repeated the foregoing words; and as I was retiring, she again called after me in an ominous manner, the 20th of August. It will therefore not appear surprising, that I bore this day in mind. We reached the army, and shared its hardships and dangers. I shall not now dwell on them, but will only state that at that time, the Turks granted quarter to none of their prisoners, but on the contrary set a price of a ducat on the head of every one. The Janissaries availed themselves therefore of every opportunity that offered, to obtain the promised reward. The Austrian outposts in particular, suffered severely from this, as almost every night an overwhelming number of the enemy proceeded so secretly and expeditiously to work, that they seldom failed in their attacks, and the camp at break of day was in part guarded but by dead bodies. This instigated Prince Koburg to station, every night, pickets of cavalry behind the ranges of the videttes, for the purpose of supporting them. The pickets consisted of from 100 to 200 men each. The Turkish commander, enraged at seeing this retail business of his men thus interrupted, personally attacked these pickets with a far superior force, as thereby a considerable advantage was to be attained. Hence, this duty became such that those engaged therein (previous to entering upon it) generally arranged their little worldly affairs. Thus things stood in the month of August; a few skirmishes not having had any material effect on the relative positions of the armies. Eight days previous to the 20th, the gypsy (whom I had often seen carrying about provisions) appeared at my tent, and made the following request; That in the event I should perish on the above-mentioned day, I should bequeath to her a legacy; should I however (contrary to her warning) escape with my life, she engaged to present me with a basket of Tokay wine. This was very difficult to procure; and such conduct in the woman appeared rather ridiculous; still, however probable, under present circumstances, a speedy death might be, I certainly did not expect it on that day. I however acceeded to the contract. The old creature was to receive two horses and fifty ducats, if I fell; otherwise she was to furnish me with the Tokay. A bystander, laughing at the proposition, took note of the contract. The 20th of August came. There was no appearance of an action. The turn of our regiment to provide the night picket for the right wing of the army arrived. I, for my part, however, felt quite secure, as two officers stood on the commander's list before me. Towards evening, I saw the Hussars preparing themselves accordingly, when the surgeon of the regiment rode up to the commander and informed him that the appointed officer had been suddenly taken ill; consequently the next on the list, whose name stood above mine, was appointed to fill his place. He equipped himself immediately with the view of joining his men; but his hitherto tractable charger reared and plunged and became perfectly unmanageable--the rider was thrown, and his leg broken. Now came my turn. I must confess that my feelings on the occasion were none of the most composed. I dashed off with 80 men--a captain of cavalry, with 120 more, joined us from another regiment; so that our picket numbered 200 men. We were posted about a thousand paces from the lines of the right wing, in the direction of a marsh, overgrown with high reeds. No sentinels being placed in advance, the men did not quit their saddles.-- Swords in scabbards, and carbines in readiness, were the orders given. Every thing was quiet till within a quarter of midnight, when we heard a slight noise; shortly followed a loud Allah! and in a minute afterwards, all the horses of the front rank (from the shock and rush of from 6 to 800 Turks) were overthrown. By means of our carbines, as also from the effect of the sudden check, an equal number of the Turks were thrown to the ground. The enemy were acquainted with the locality; they surrounded and overpowered us; we cut, thrust, and shot at random over each other. I received eight sabre cuts from friend and foe; my horse was mortally wounded; he fell over my right leg, and rolled me in the sand. The quick flashes of the pistols shed light on the horrid hatchery. I looked up from the ground on which I lay. Our men, in a state of desperation, defended themselves bravely; but the Turks, intoxicated with opium, overpowered and cut them to pieces. The imperial troops soon ceased to exist. The conquerors then possessed themselves of such horses as were still serviceable, plundered the dead and wounded, and then cut off their heads--for the bearing away of which they had provided themselves with bags. No one will envy me my situation. We, on the confines of Turkey, are for the most part acquainted with the language. I therefore understood the caution given to hurry before our troops should come to the rescue. Whilst they were treading me under foot, and balls, lances and limbs were flying around me, 122 BROTHER JONATHAN my horse received another shot, which caused him to give a convulsive motion, (life not being as yet entirely extinct.) This gave me an opportunity of extricating myself. I immediately conceived the idea of plunging, if possible, into the adjoining morass. I had observed that some of our men had already attempted it, but, were cut down by the enemy. The firing had in the meantime ceased, and the darkness therefore affored me an opportunity of concealment in the swamp.-- It was not more than twenty paces off; still there was the probability of my sinking therein. I sprang however over men and horses; ran down several Turks, who grasped and cut at me; and, thanks to my agility and good fortune, reached the morass. I at first sank up to my knees, yet I managed to work my way on, a hundred paces, until I reached the high reeds, when I stopped, worn down with fatigue. I heard a Turkish voice exclaim that a Giaour had taken refuge there, and that one must follow him; others replied that no one had passed that way. This is all that I remember. A lengthened swoon of some hours from loss of blood, must have immediately followed--for when I recovered my senses, the sun had already been some time risen. The 20th of August was one of my first thoughts when I awoke and found myself sunk up to my middle; and the visions of the preceding night, with my hairbreadth escape, flitted before my eyes. I now counted my wounds; they were eight in number; and none of any consequence, being mere gashes from side-arms. The nights in this region being cold in summer, had caused me to wear a thick fur; and this circumstance greatly protected me. I still felt very much exhausted from loss of blood; I listened attentively; the Turks had left some time; the groans of the horribly mutilated horses were occasionally heard from the battle-field; the men were long since silenced. I now endeavored to extricate myself from my situation. After hours spent in vain attempts, I at last succeeded. The track by which I entered was still visible; I followed it. However, unfeeling a Turkish war tends to make one, still the sight that presented itself to me when I had waded half my way through the swamp, was truly horrible. I at last got out, and stood transfixed on beholding the dreadful scene that presented itself to my eyes; but how shall I describe my despair, when I felt myself suddenly seized by the arm! There stood an Aranut, a frightful looking fellow, six feet and upwards in height. Oh how delusive are hopes in this world! I addressed him in Turkish. Take my watch, my money, my uniform; do not--do not kill me! He replied, that is already mine--your head also--at the same time loosening the ribbon, (which Hussars wear under the chin to fasten their caps,) and then my neckcloth. Resistance was useless, as I had no weapons. He immediately drew forth his broad knife, and would certainly have plunged it into my body at the least attempt at defence. I clung imploringly around him whilst he loosened my neckcloth; I conjured him to have compassion on me, telling him I was of wealthy parentage; and to make me a prisoner. You will receive a handsome ransom, I added. That is too distant, he replied. Now stand still, that I may cut--and he was already removing the pin from my shirt collar. Whilst thus embracing him, I again appealed to him to show me some mercy; 'twas unavailing. As he was removing the pin, I felt something hard attached to his girdle; it was a steel hammer. He once more exclaimed, get ready-- now stand still;--and these would have been the last words I should ever have heard, if the fear of death had not instigated me to snatch the hammer from his girdle. He did not suspect this, as he held my head in one hand, and clenched his knife with the other. By a powerful effort, I got loose from his grasp --I immediately availed myself of the opportunity to strike him in the face with the hammer, exerting therewith my utmost remaining strength. The hammer was heavy; I did not miss my aim, and the Aranut staggered back. Time was valuable, and I lost not a moment in repeating my blow;--the fellow sank under it, and the knife fell from his hand. It is useless to add that I instantly siezed it, and buried it several times in his body. I immediately fled to our advanced posts, whose arms I saw glittering in the sun, and got into camp. I was afterwards seized with a severe fever, and carried to the hospital. At the expiration of six weeks the physicians had cured my wounds, and I had recovered my health, when duty recalled me to the army. On my arrival, the gypsy brought me the promised Tokay; and I learnt from others that during the period that had elapsed, some wonderful prophesies of her's had been fulfilled, and that she had thereby become possessed of valuable property. In the meantime, two deserters (Christian serfs) had come over to our army; they had been employed to watch the baggage of the Turks, and had fled from fear of punishment for neglect of duty. They said as soon as they beheld the Egyptian prophetess, that she often came to the Turkish camp to carry tidings concerning us. This assertion did not a little surprise us, as this woman had often performed the same service for us, and we were only astonished at the dexterity with wich she had often accomplished the most dangerous duties. They convinced us that they were present when she had described the positions of our outposts, apprised the Turks of our movements, advised them to increase their numbers, and excited them, in reality, to the attacks that followed. She had, they said, a Turkish cipher, which served for the purpose of a pass. This was found on her, and she was immediately condemned to be hung for acting the spy. Before her execution, I inquired of her concerning her prophecies with regard to myself. She confessed, that, through the two-fold information which she had procured, for the purpose of the double gain arising therefore, she had learnt a great deal concerning what was to happen; and the more easily, as those who had availed themselves of her astrology had confided a great deal to her, and she had turned it to much advantage. Through me she had aspired to considerable celebrity, as she had long before at random, predicted to me a critical death. On the approach of the 20th of August, the enemy had been instigated by her to make an attack on our outposts on the night of that day. From her intercourse with the officers, she had learnt that two stood in the list above me, and she therefore sold spurious wine to the first which caused his illness--and the second, as he rode off, she had pressingly invited to purchase something of her, and had then introduced unobserved a piece of lighted fungus up his horse's nostril, which caused the accident already mentioned. From Cruikshank's Omnibus for January. WHAT DO YOU DO THAT FOR? by JOHN COPUS. In this age of "why and because," wherein even Master Thomas is considered to be devoid of his proper share of intellects unless he demand a full and clear statement of the grounds on which papa considers it expedient that he should learn his letters--in this age of essays, treatises, and commissions, wherein a plethoric pig cannot quietly stuff itself to death without some Diabolus Gander investigating the probable causes which eventually led to that result--it has come into the head of one deeply and many times pondering, to call the attention of a discerning and inquiring public to various little customs and practices prevalent in the world; and this with a view of eliciting at some future time satisfactory explanations of their probable origin and rationale from abler pens and keener intellects than my own, rather than with the intention of supplying them myself. Mr. Brown has seated himself in his cosey arm-chair by the fire, in his little parlor at Camberwell, having just bid adieu to the "buss," which daily conveys him to and from the City, and, with handkerchief spread over his broad countenance, is settling himself to sleep, surrounded by a wife and various olive branches; when "Oh, my gracious evins!" exclaims his amiable spouse, a comely dame, of warm feelings, and peculiarity in expressing them, "here's Johnny been and cut hisself in such a manner you never see! Lawky-daisey me! Mr. Brown! Mr. Brown! Johnny's a'most cut his finger orf!" "Tsut, tsut, tsut, tsut!--deary me!--poor fellow!--tsut, tsut, tsut!" responds that individual, starting up. Now, what on earth do you do that for, Brown! Come, roundly, your reason, sir! Do pray tell me why you produced the series of peculiar sounds represented by "tsut, tsut, &c. You are a stout man, and a sober man--why in the name of all that's unaccountable, did you utter them! But the fact is, you are not alone, Brown, in your inability to solve this difficult question. For I never yet encountered the man who could satisfactorily explain to me how or why those sounds have come to be admitted into general society, as heralds or harbingers of a condoling and sympathizing speech, or indicative, without further remark, of inward and heartfelt commiseration for suffering humanity in the breast of him who utters them. Philosophers, must explain this! "Let us go and hear Miller preach this morning," said a friend to me the other morning, in the country; "his congregation is composed entirely of the poorest, and, I should think, the most ignorant portion of our agricultural population. But they say that he manages to preach so plainly, that every one can understand and follow him" So off we set and a pleasant walk across the fields brought us to Elmsleigh church--one of those exceedingly picturesque old places, with a funny wooden steeple or spire, if it can be called so, rising from the still more ancient square tower. We found Mr. Miller in the reading- desk already, and by his scarlet hood, knew him as Oxonian (we subsequently found he had been a first-class man.) After reading the prayers exceedingly well, he ascended to the pulpit, and commenced his sermon. Now, supposing his congregation to have consisted of men of my friend's mental caliber, it was an exceedingly good and intelligible sermon; but to the majority of those present it was about as intelligible as High Dutch would have been or Hebrew without the points. I could not help glancing at a countryman in his smockfrock and leggins, whose countenance forcibly recalled to my mind one of those grotesque satyrs occasionally seen carved on old chimney-pieces; and wondering as I gazed at him what train of thought the words which Miffler had just uttered-- "the noxious dogma exhibited in certain patiestic commentators, subsequent to the Nicene council"--had conjured up in his mind! Then again Miffler gravely informed his hearers that "ambition was a deadly sin, warning them against it. Ambition!--to a clodhopper whose only aspiration after greatness is to get Farmer Jeffreys to keep him on at work through the winter! Miffler, what do you do that for? But you, again do not stand alone. Are there not many, many Millers guilty of the same absurdity, and equally unable with your revered self to give any satisfactory reason for so doing, except that their predecessors have done it before them? Oh, ye hebdomadal boards, caputs, and convocations, explain all this! BROTHER JONATHAN 123 "Yes, I assure, Johnson, you never saw or heard of such a perfect fool in your life. He literally thinks I am going to support him in idleness, and he doing nothing. "No!" "Yes! and he told Brown, I owed him ever so much money." "No!" Johnson! what do you do that for? Why in the name of common sense do you say No! no! no! when you thoroughly believe all that poor Dickson has been telling you! This is a peculiar custom. Philosophers, all of you, attend to it. It needs explanation. "Here's an invitation again from that odious Mrs. Peewitt!" says the fair but excitable Mrs. Framp, as she opens a scented envelop, and extracts therefrom an elegant note. "Yes! here it is:-- "'Mrs. Jane George Peewitt requests the pleasure of Mr. and Mrs. Framp's company to an evening party on Wednesday, ______, at half- past eight.--Plover Lodge, Tuesday morning. An early answer will oblige.'" "Now, my dear Framp," continues his lady wife, "I literally hate and detest that abominable Mrs. Peewitt!" "Well, Laura, she is no favorite of mine, I promise you," retorts the male Framp: "and so to that Peewitt, he's a vulgar little brute. So you'd better answer it at once, Laura, declining it, you know--eh!" In the course of the same afternoon Mrs. J.G. Peewitt is gratified by the reception of this-- "Mrs. Framp feels exceedingly grieved that she and Mr. Framp are unable to accept Mrs. J.G. Peewitt's kind invitation for Wednesday, --last.--Grampion Parade, Tuesday afternoon." Now Mrs. Framp,what did you do that for? Between you and me, and to speak in plain English--you are a story-teller, Mrs. Framp, A story-teller!~ And you, old gentleman--the man Framp I address-- are equaly guilty of the fib, as an accessary before the fact. Again, this is a yrevalent custom. Philosophers, summon moralists to your aid, and descant on this subject. "I am sure you sing, Mr. Frederick," says a pasty-faced individual of the 'female sect,' to a young gentleman in white satin waistcoat and red whiskers, who has been pottering about the piano for some time. "No, indeed, Miss Gromm!" he replies. "I assure you that I scarcely sing at all." "Oh! I am quite sure, now, you do sing. Pray do sing. Will you look over this music-book? there are a great many songs in it. I am sure you will find something that will suit you." "Oh! upon my word, Miss Gromm, I scarcely ever sing." Fred! you you've brought all your music with you to-night, and have practiced it carefully over with your pretty sister Bessy, purposely to sing at the Gromm's. Thus adjured, Mr. Frederick begins to turn over the leaves of the music-book, his eyes resting occasionally on such songs as 'The Rover's Bride ' 'The British Oak,' 'Wanted a Governess,' and other songs which Fred abominates. At last he turns to a very pretty girl sitting near him, and says faintly, "Bessy! did you bring any of your music?" His sister, who has been watching his proceedings, in mute surprise answers innocently enough, "Oh! yes, Fred, I brought all your songs, you know!" Fred looks blue; but by the time the neat case containing them has been presented to him by a servant, he has recovered himself. Now, reader, what song do you suppose this young gentleman, who scarce sings at all, will select? You are a judge of music, and you pronounce his selection admirable--for it falls on 'Adelaide,' a song of which I (but this quite entre nous) would sooner be the composer of any song that ever was sung: but you fear lest Fred would not do justice to it, as he sings so seldom. You are wrong. A finer tenor, better taste, and more correct ear, one rarely meets with in private than are possessed by Fred. Every one exclaims that it is a treat to hear him sing. And so it is. Now, my excellent good Fred, what the deuce did you do that for? I mean, why did you lessen the pleasure which otherwise we should have all experienced, by giving us so unfavorable a view of your character at the outset--by fibbing, my friend--downright fibbing?-- There are not a few Freddys, though of various degrees of excellence. This there- fore is a practice which , as in the last case, calls for the investigation of moralists--aided by the Royal Academy of Music, perhaps. This is an endless subject. I have, as it were, but just touched upon it. Let others, their bosoms expanding at the thought of conferring endless benefits on the human race by so doing, rush eagerly and at once on the grand task of following it up. Let them explore all societies. Let an emissary be despatched into the crowded saloons of my Lady Hippington. Let an accredited and competent reporter be sent to the dinner-table of Mr. Titmouse, as well as into the doubtful regions of lower life. And let their desire be, to afford as strong, as cogent, and as rational explanations of the varied customs and practices with which they may become acquainted, as my friend Tam Ridley gave when asked for his reasons for using a peculiar form of speech. "Hoy, Jem!" said that individual, a jolly Yorkshire lad, as he pulled up his wagon opposite to a hostelrie in the North Riding,--"Hoy, Jem! what has't gotten to sup te' 'morn?" "What has I gotten to sup t' 'morn, Tam!" responded mine host, making his appearance in the doorway. "Ay, lad! what has gotten to sup, I say? "Why a, I'se gotten ya!--dos't like yal, Tam!" "Ay! I does." Why a then, wil't have a sup?" "Ay! I will," "Wil't have it otted, Tam! "Why a, then, I'll mebbe say yes, when t' days is longer and t' weather's warmer!" EXTRAORDINARY ATTACHMENT BETWEEN BIRDS.--A few days ago, a lad, who was employed by a farmer at Peckham to shoot birds in his corn field, shot a wood-pigeon. On reaching the spot where the bird fell, he was surprised at finding another, hovering close to the wounded one; he took up the dead bird, and carried it in his hand some distance, closely attended by the other bird, sometimes following him and sometimes going before, and (to use the lad's own expression) "making quite a fuss about him." On reaching the field-gote, the lad stopped to reload his gun, placing the dead bird on the gate post, when the other pigeon flew to the side of his lifeless companion, and, without the slightest attempt to escape quietly suffered itself to be secured by the boy. The bird was brought home, and put into a small room, where shortly after it was found dead. It is now stuffed, and in the possession of the writer.--Standard. From Cruikshank's Omnibus. LINES BY A Y-G-L-Y OF F-SH-N, Who "Never Told Her Love, But Let Concealment," Etc. "She speaks, yet she says n--th--g!" --R--o and J--t Go, bid the st-rs, forget to shine The o--n tides to ebb and flow, Bid fl--rs forget to blush and pine But bid not me to b-n-sh w--e! Thou canst not guess my s-rr-w's source, My pass-n's spring thou canst not see; Thou knowest not its depth and force,-- Thou dreamest not 'tis l-ve for the--! Fiercer than fires in AN--a's breast My s-cr-t burns in this lone h--t; D-y brings no light, sl--p yields no rest, and h--vn no air, but where th-- art. I listen to the w-nds at night, They speak of th-- in whispers fine; In D--n's or Au--ra's light, I see no beauty, none but th--! All l-ve save mine's an idle tale Of Hy--n's torch and C--d's bow; I envy Cl--p--ra's wails, or S--pho leaping, wild, below. For V-r's pate holds for me-- or G-nttr's soup--no poison rare; And leaping from a b-le--y. Were quite absurd--m Belg--ve Square. My s-st-r raves of H-w-ll, Ja--, And thinks with dress to ease my thrall; She deems not of d-vour--g flames Beneath one's f-fty-g--nea sh-wl! M-ma to M-rt--r and St-rr Drags me with sweet maternal haste; My p--rls of s--l they can't restore, Nor l-fe's bright d--m--ds, turn'd to paste! P-pa and br-th-r N-d would win My spirit forth to ball and rout; They think of course to t-ke me in-- Alas! they only t-ke me out! In vain R-b-ni's sweetness now In vain Lab-che's boldest air; In vain M-er--dy plays,--if th--, Th--, the Ad--r'd one, art not there! Whilst thou, unbless'd with st-ck or l-nd, Hast not one cr-wn per annum clear, Thou knowest not that--"here's my h-nd, With f-ft--n th--s--d p--ds a year." And were it known, this pass--n wild, Then d--th would at my h--rt-st--gs tug! No, none shall know thet th--art styled, The H-n-r-ble Fr-nk F-tz M-gg! L.B. 124 BROTHER JONATHAN From Cruikshank's Omnibus for January. THE FROLICS OF TIME. A STRIKING ADVENTURE. BY LAMAN BLANCHARD. How I came to find myself at midnight and in the dark, stretched on a sofa in a strange home, is of no consequence to my story ; yet for the prevention of all uncharitable surmisen it may be as well to mention, that the young friend whom I had deemed it prudent to see safe home from Greenwich to Lewisham, had participated more freely than I had in the revelries that sometimes succeed to whitebait ; and that, tired of a sofa, proffered by the old servant, the family being in bed, to a return to town on a wet and dreary night. "This will do very well," said I, drowsily glancing at the length of a sofa in a large room on the ground-floor; and released from my boots only, I declined the offer of bedclothes, and declared that I should sleep without rocking. "No, no, pray don't leave the light," cried I, as the venerable domestic set down in the fireplace a large old-fashioned candle- shade, through the numerous round holes of which a rushlight gloomily flickered - "I hate that abominable invention; it's the only thing that could keep me awake for two minutes. That'll do - shut the door - good night." "Got away sober after all!" I whispered approvingly to myself when thus left alone. "And what's better, I've got this wild, rackety young scapegrace safe home too;--early moreover, though he thinks it's so late; I should never have dragged him away if I hadn't vowed by the beard of old Time that the church-clock had struck twelve three hours ago--but it's hardly twelve yet, I think--pledged my honor it was past two! Ah, well! Yaw-an!--ah!" And here my thoughts were silently settling upon another subject, previously to the last seal of sleep being fixed upon my lids, when my drowsy senses were disturbed by a dull, dead sound in the air-at no great distance from the house--it was the church-clock striking twelve. I counted the strokes. Midnight, sure enough! And somehow at that moment it occurred to my mind that I had taken Time's name in vain rather too roundly, and had vowed by his sacred beard rather irreverently to say the least, when I protested three times over, that no soul living would hear the clock strike twelve again that night! No matter--it was a fib told to serve a good purpose--a little bit of evil done quite innocently--the end sanctifies the means! And in the space of three seconds I was again more than half asleep, when another clock struck--another, neared and clearer than the last. It was a large full-toned house-clock, fixed probably on the staircase or the hall, though I had not observed it on entering. Its sounds were prolonged and solemn. Again I counted the strokes--twelve; which I had no sooner done, than a third clock struck--nearer to me still, for it was evidently in the room, at the further end: and so sharp and quick in succession were the strokes, that to count them would have been difficult, even had I been less startled by them than I was. What a very curious clock! thought I; and during the second that was occupied by its striking, I raised my head and looked in the direction of the sound; the apartment might be miles or feet long, for aught that I could see. The curtains and shutters were closed--no scrap of the window was to be seen--no glimpse even of the dull damp night without was to be had. All was Darkness--- But not Silence: for before I could again shut my eyes, a clock began to strike, slowly, softly, in tones "most musical, most melancholy," right over my head, as though it were fixed to the wall only a few feet above me. Every sound was like the moan of a dying bird. I counted them--twelve as before. Yes, it was a clock that struck; it must be a clock; and it was right almost to a minute, by the church. What was there wonderful in that? Nothing--only-- Hark! the chimes too at midnight! On a table almost within my reach, some merry Sprite seemed, to the ear of my imagination, performing a serenade to the lingering hour of Twelve. He struck up the chimes with such a lively grace, and echoed them with such a ringing laugh, that the twelve sounds which announced the hour when he ceased, lost all the usual monotony of time, and said, not merely in melody, but almost as distinctly as words could have said it, “Twelve o’clock” – four times over. I jumped up – and sat for an instant, my drowsiness all gone and my eyes unusually wide open, looking around me. I knew that there was a table close by, but neither table nor clock was visible in that utter gloom; not a trace of any form or figure could my straining sight discover. To grope my way six feet forward, and feel upon the surface of the table whether, among the ornaments which there, as in other parts of the room, I had carelessly noted when first shown in, a clock was to be numbered, seemed easy enough; but scarcely had I stretched out, in fear and gentleness, one trembling hand upon that venturous errand, when I dropped back again upon the sofa, startled half out of my wits by the sudden striking of two more clocks, two at once – one loud, one low – apparently at opposite sides of the room; and before they had finished twelve strokes each, another, as though from a station in the centre of the chimney-piece, struck up “Meet me by moonlight,” in notes the sweetest and silveriest imaginable, and the dozen strokes that followed were like the long plaintive tones of an Eolian harp. Before they were quite over, a peal of tiny bells began twinkling. Fairies tripping with bells at their feet, could hardly have made lighter or quicker music. I began to think that a troop of that fabulous fraternity were actually in the apartment – that a host of little elves were capering about, not only with bells to their feet, but clocks to their stockings! "Can these be clocks?" I asked myself! "Whatever the others may be, this surely is no clock!" - But the unpleasant suspicion had no sooner crossed my brain, than the bell-ringing ceased, and one, two, three - yes, twelve fine-toned strokes of a clock were distinctly audible. "It is a clock," I whispered - but this conviction scarcely lessened the mystery, which, though amusing, was ill-timed. I would have preferred any glimmer of a rushlight to darkness, and sleep to any musical entertainment. The wish had hardly time to form itself before another clock struck close by me, and between every stroke of the twelve came a sort of chirrup, which at a more suitable hour I should have thought the prettiest note in the world, but which was not considerably more provoking than agreeable. I looked, but still saw nothing. I put my hand out and felt about - it touched something smooth - glass, evidently glass - and the fear of doing damage would have been sufficient to deter me from prosecuting my researches in that direction, even if my attention had not been at that instant summoned away by a sudden volley of sounds that made my very heart leap, and transfixed me to the couch breathless with wonder and alarm. This was the simultaneous striking of at least half-a-dozen more clocks in various parts of the room. Some might be large, and some tiny enough, some open, and some inclosed in cases; for the tones were manifold, and of different degrees of strength; but no two clocks - if clocks they were, which I doubted, were constructed on the same principle, for each seemed to strike upon a plan of its own - and yet all went on striking together as though doomsday had arrived, and each was afraid of being behind time, and too late to proclaim the fact! One of these, a very slow coach, kept striking long after the others had ceased; and before this had finished, off went a clock in the corner that was furthest from me, sending such a short, sharp, rapid sound into the apartment, that I strained my eyes yet a little wider than ever, half in expectation of being able to see it. On it went striking- "six" - "nine, ten" - "twelve, thirteen!" What! "nineteen, twenty!" There was no mistake in reckoning- "twenty-four!" What, twice twelve! Yes, three times and four times twelve! Still it went on striking- strike, strike, strike! How I wished in that darkness that it would strike a light! Still the same sound; one monotonous metallic twang reverberating through the room, and repeating itself as though it were impossible to have too much of a good thing. That clock seemed to be set going for ever — to be wound up for eternity instead of time. It appeared to be laboring under the idea that doomsday had indeed arrived — that it was no longer necessary to note and number the hours accurately — that the family of the Clocks were free — that the old laws which governed them were abolished — and that every member of the body was at liberty to strike as long as it liked, and have a jolly lark in its own way ! Strike, strike — still it persevered in its monotony, till, just as I had made up my mind that it would never stop, it stopped at about a hundred and forty-four, having struck the hour twelve times over. But two or three more competitors, whether from the walls of the room, from the chimney-piece, or the tables, had set out practising with wonderful versatility before the lengthened performance just alluded to had quite concluded ; nor was it until nearly half-an-hour had elapsed since the church clock, the leader of the strike, had struck twelve — the hour which I had declared by the beard of old Father Time to be passed and gone — that an interval of silence occurred, and peace again prevailed through the intense darkness of the apartment. Yet, can I call it peace ? It was only peace comparatively ; for my ear now sensitively awake to catch even the faintest whisper of a sound, and all my senses nervously alive in expectation of another convulsion amongst the clockwork, I became conscious of noises going on around me, to which, on first lying down, free from suspicion of the near neighbor- hood of mystery, my ear was utterly insensible. I detected the presence of a vast multitude of small sounds distributed through the room, and repeating themselves regularly with singular distinctness as I listened. My pulse beat quicker, my eyes rolled anxiously and then closed ; but those minute noises, clear and regular, went on in endless repetition, neither faster nor slower. Were they indeed the tickings of a hundred clocks — the fine low inward breathings of Time's children ! The speculation, little favourable to sleep, was suddenly cut short by another crash of sound, breaking in upon the repose ; it was half-past twelve, and of the scores of clocks that had announced the midnight hour, one half now announced the march of thirty minutes more — some by a simple ding-dong, some by a single loud tick, others by chimes, and one or two by a popular air, or a sort of jug-jug like a nightingale. Again I started up and listened — again I essayed to grope my way about the room, to find out by the test of touch, whether the place was indeed filled with time-pieces and chronometers, Dutch repeaters and eight-day clocks. But so completely had the noises bewildered me, that I knew not which way to turn, and had I dared to wander, at the hazard of overturning some fancy table or curious cabinet, I should never have found my way back to my couch again. Down upon it, therefore, I once more threw myself, and conscious still of the multitudinous tickings that seemed to people the apartment with sprites, not a span long, dancing in fetters, invoked kind nature's restorer, balmy sleep, and at length, nearly exhausted, dropped into a doze. Brother Jonathan. 125 This was but short-lived ; for my ears remained apprehensively opened, although my eyes were sealed, and the pealing sound of the church- clock striking one awoke me again to a disagreeable anticipation of another general strike. Once more I sought to penetrate with anxious gaze the profound darkness before me. " Was it all a delusion ? " I exclaimed. " Have I been dreaming ? Is the room actually filled with clocks, or am I the victim of enchantment ? " The answer came from the outside of the room — from the huge family dispenser of useful knowledge — the clock on the staircase, whose lengthened uhr-r-r-r-rh, preparatory to the stroke of one, was a warning worthy of the sonorous announcement. I felt it strike upon my heart — it convinced me that I had not dreamt — it foretold all — and I knew that the Spirits of the Clock would immediately be at work again. And to work they went fast enough — chimes and chirrups, merry-bells and moanings of birds — sometimes the cuckoo's note, sometimes the owl's hoot — the trickling of water-drops imitated now, and now the rattling of silver fetters — here a scrap of a melody, and there a shrill whistling cry ; — all followed, in a tone thin or full, loud or weak, according to the construction of the unseen instrument — by the single stroke, proclaiming the hour of one ! I sank back, with my eyes close shut, and my hands covering up my ears. What a long night had I passed in a single hour ! — how many hours were yet to be counted before light, piercing the gloom, would reveal the mystery of the clocks, and point the way to deliverance — that is, to the door. At last there was quiet again, the tickings only excepted, which continued low and regular as before. Sleep crept over me, interrupted only by the chimes, and other musical intimations at the quarters and the half-hour. And then came two o'clock, awaking me once more to a conviction that the hundred clocks — if clocks — were wound up for the night ; or that the spirits who were playing off their pranks — possibly in revenge for my " innocent imposition " touching the flight of Time, and my irreverence towards the beard of that antiquarian — were resolved to show me no mercy. Off they went, clock after clock — silver, copper, and brass all spoke out, separately and in concert — wheels within wheels went round, chain after chain performed its appointed functions — hammers smote, and bells rang — and then, at last, fidgetted out of my senses, and " fooled to the top of my bent," sleep as before came to my aid ; broken at intervals; and at intervals bringing visions of Time chained to the wall, and unable to stir a foot — of Time flying along upon a railroad fifty miles an hour, leaving Happiness behind mounted on a tortoise — of Time's forelock, by which I would have fondly taken him, coming off in my hand because he wore a wig — of Time shaving off his reverend beard, and starting away at the beginning of a new year, a gay, smart, glowing juvenile ! I found out in the morning that my young friend's father was that oddest of oddities, a collector of clocks — that he had a passion for them, seeking out a choice clock as a connoisseur seeks out a choice picture — that he was continually multiplying his superfluities — that he boasted clocks of every form and principle, down to the latest inventions — clocks that played the genteelest of tunes, and clocks that struck the hour a dozen times over as many different ways — and that there were eighty- five, more or less calculated to strike, in the apartment wherein I had — slept ; in the Clockery ! THE FOOLS' PENCE In the year 183_, in a handsomely furnished parlor which opened out of that noted London gin-shop called "The Punch-bowl," sat its mistress, the gaudily dressed Mrs. Crowder, conversing with an obsequious neighbor. “Why, Mrs. Crowder, I really must say you have things in the first style! What elegant papering! what noble chairs! what a pair of fire screens! all so bright and fresh! Then, the elegant stone-copings to your windows, and those beautiful French window frames! And you have been sending your daughters to the genteelest boarding-school; your shop is the best furnished, and your cellars are the best filled, in all this part of Lunnon. Where can you find the needful for all these grand things! Dear Mrs. Crowder, how do you manage?" Mrs. Crowder simpered, and cast a look of smiling contempt through the half open door, into the shop, filled with drougthy customers. “The fools' pence! —'tis THE FOOLS PENCE that does it for us,” she said. And her voice rose, more shrill and loud than usual, with the triumph she felt. Her words reached the ears of one customer—George Manly, the carpenter, who stood near the counter. Turning his eyes upon those around him, he saw pale, sunken cheeks, inflamed eyes, and ragged garments. He then turned them upon the stately apartment; he looked through the door into the parlor, and saw looking-glasses, and pictures, and gilding, and fine furniture, and a rich carpet, and Miss Lucy in a silk gown, at her piano; and he thought to himself, how strange it is! how curious, that all this wretchedness on my left hand should be made to turn into all this rich finery on my right! “Well, sir—and what's for you?” said the shrill voice which had made the FOOLS' PENCE ring in his ears. “A glass of gin, ma'am, is what I was waiting for ; but I think I've paid the last fools' pence that I shall put down on this counter for many a long day.” Manly hastened home. His wife and his two little girls were seated at work. They were thin and pale, really for want of food. The room looked very cheerless, and their fire was so small as hardly to be felt: yet the dullest observer would have been struck by the neatness that reigned. It was a joyful surprise to them, his returning so early that night, and returning sober, and in good humor. "Your eyes are weak to-night, wife,” said George, “ or else you have been crying. I'm afraid you work too much, by candle light.” His wife smiled and said, “ working does not hurt my eyes;” and she beckoned to her little boy, who was standing apart, in a corner-evidently as a culprit. “Why, John, what's this I see?” said his father. "Come and tell me what you have been doing." John was a plain spoken boy, and had a straight-forward way. He came up to his father, and looked full in his face, and said, “The baker came for his money to-night, and would not leave the loaves without it; but though he was cross and rough, he said mother was not to blame, and that he was sure you had been drinking away all the money; and when he was gone, mother cried over her work, but she did not say any thing. I did not know she was crying, till I saw her tears dropping on her hands; and then I said bad words; and mother sent me to stand in the corner.” “Tell me what your bad words were, John,” said his father; “not swearing, I hope?" "No," said John, coloring : “I said, you were a bad man! I said, bad father!" "And they were bad words, I am sure," said his mother; "but you are forgiven; so now bring me some coal from the box." George looked at the face of his wife; and as he met the tender gaze of her mild eyes now turned to him, he felt the tears rise in his own.— He rose up ; and putting money into her hands, he said, “There are my week's wages. Come, come, hold out both hands, for you have not got all yet. Lay it out for the best, as you always do. I hope this will be a beginning of better doings on my part, and happier days on yours.” George told his wife, after the children were gone to bed, that when he saw what the pence of the poor could do towards keeping up a fine house, and dressing out the landlord's wife and daughters, and when he thought of his own hard-working, uncomplaining Susan, and his children in want, and almost in rags, while he was sitting drinking, night after night, destroying his health and strength; he was so struck with sorrow and shame, that he seemed to come to himself at last. He determined, from that hour, never again to put the intoxicating glass to his lips. More than a year afterwards, one Sunday afternoon, as Mrs. Crowder, of the Punch-bowl, was walking with her daughters to the tea-gardens, they were overtaken by a violent shower of rain; and had become at least half drenched, when they entered a comfortable house, distinguished by its comforts and tidiness from all others near it. Its good- natured mistress and her two girls did all they could to dry and wipe away the rain-drops and mud-splashes from the ladies' fine silk gowns, all draggled and soiled, and to repair, as far as possible, every mischief done to their dresses and persons. When all had been done that could be done, and, as Miss Lucy said, they “began to look themselves again,” Mrs. Crowder, who was lolling in a large arm-chair, and amusing herself by a stare at every one and every thing in the room, suddenly started forward, and addressing herself to the master of the house, whose Bible and whose face had just caught her eye, -“Why, my good man, we are old friends; I know your face, I'm certain; still there is some change in you, though I can't exactly say what it is.” “I used to be in ragged clothes and out of health,” said George Manly, smiling: "now, thank God, I am comfortably clad, and in excellent health." “But how is it,” said Mrs. Crowder, “that we never catch a sight of you now !” “Madam,” said he, “I’m sure I wish you well; nay, I have reason to thank you; for words of yours first opened my eyes to my own foolish and wicked course. My wife and children were half-naked and half-starved, only this time last year. Look at them, if you please, now —for sweet, contented looks, and decent clothes, I'll match them with any man's wife and children. And now, madam, I tell you, as you told a friend of yours one day last year---'tis FOOLS' PENCE that have done all this for us. The Fools' pence! -I ought rather to say, the pence earned by honest industry; and spent so that we can ask the blessing of God upon the pence.” Mrs. Crowder never recovered the customer she had lost. TRUTH TRIUMPHANT.—Whatever may be urged by sophists and politicians, it is certain that the great eternal laws of truth and justice cannot be violated with impunity. The violation may answer some sordid and temporary purpose; but in the end, it must be injurious, if not fatal. Truth, like the sun in the heavens, is one. The clouds indeed are variegated; but then they are insubstantial, and of momentary existence. So is falsehood. It can assume any color, but time causes the hues to fade; and truth bursts forth with new effulgence. We see despotism gradually withdrawing from the finest countries in Europe. It must depart, at last, from all, for it is opposed by reason. and nature.— They who endeavor to render it permanent, labor in vain; but at the same time, they may detain it a while, and cause, in the interval, misery and courage. -- Knoz. 126 BROTHER JONATHAN. OUR WEEKLY GOSSIP. We have been exposed this week to the too usual difficulty which attends the reception of Magazines, &c., via Boston from Europe. They have a bad habit of delay, by getting into the custom house in the sister city, and that event, this time, has so far delayed their receipt, that so good use of them as could be wished has not been made in our columns. The reader will, however, find the sheet as full as it can hold of other matters, and may count on a treat in reserve for another week, from the foreign magazines. Colt's trial, which every body wishes to see, occupies largely our news department this week, to the exclusion of some news items which merit notice. Among these is the fact that the government at Washington have already moved in the behalf of the American prisoners among the members of the Santa Fe expedition. The Secretary of state has despatched instructions to Mr. Ellis, Minister at Mexico, and authorised the Collector at New Orleans to give the messenger despatch from that port, and to appoint other agents to proceed on the same mission, if he should deem it necessary. Mr. Ellis is authorised to represent to the Mexican government, not only the interest which this Government takes in its own citizens, but the consequences which may follow maltreatment of the Texans, from the sympathy of their friends. The evidence in the case of Colt will undoubtedly be given to the Jury this week; but the verdict can hardly be rendered in season even for our latest edition. An exceeding interest continues to be felt by the whole city in the progress of the trial. A more horrid murder has never occurred in this city, let the legal technical definition of it be what it may. Our Washington news gives no very favorable view of the progress of matters in the political metropolis of the country. Profitless debate, wordy warfare, and disorderly personalities seem to be the daily order. - The national cockpit for political warriors is truly an expensive establishment. We cannot, of course, close our page, without notice of the arrival to this country of Charles Dickens. The opinion of him as an author, which this paper has uniformly verbally and practically expressed, does not need to be repeated here. It is but the echo of the popular voice; not the expression of one class, but of all classes. We doubt whether there be in the whole country a human being who reads, and has not read and felt the writings of "Boz". He is, perhaps, more a literary idol than any other man ever was in this country; and we hazard little in saying that "Boz," in the abstract of a literary acquaintance, is more beloved here than at home. His personal character is said to be faithfully indexed in his works; and Americans who have met him abroad, almost forget those works in the man. Enthusiastic, as a people, we are confessedly. Fervent in literary hate, as we are in love, we have shown ourselves. Let us hope that the end of this visit will not be disgust, both to guest and hosts; for if such be the fruit of the lionizing, - and if lionizing be carried too ridiculously far, it will be - Mr. Dickens had much better staid at home, than to have come over to spoil our ideal of him, and lower his estimation of us. Rev. Mr. Pise's Lecture is published also in the Folio edition of the paper, and in the Dollar Magazine. As, according to our rules, it could not be put in the quarto, we have placed it on the cover, omitting a paragraph or two of the least essential parts, to make it "come in." POSTAGE OF THE QUARTO JONATHAN. Some of the country postmasters having taxed Magazine postage upon the Quarto Jonathan, and taxed it at two and even more sheets, the publishers have applied for information at head quarters; and the following reply is published for the information of all concerned. Subscriber who are overcharged will show the postmaster who misconstrues the law the following letter: POST OFFICE DEPARTMENT,} APPOINTMENT OFFICE, January 19, 1842} GENTLEMAN: - Your letter of the 11th instant is received. In reply to your inquiry, I am authorised to inform you that the Library Edition of the Brother Jonathan in Quarto form, is chargeable with newspaper postage. Very respectfully, &c., PH. C. FULLER, 2d Assistant P. M. General. Messrs. Wilson & Company, New York city. LATE FOREIGN NEWS Since our last, the Britannia has arrived at Boston, bringing English dates down to the 4th instant. The leading items of importance are the somewhat relieved condition of English trade, and finance, and the prospects of amelioration in the condition of the poorer classes, which such indications promised; and the appointment of a special envoy to this country, to treat for the adjustment of existing disputes between the two nations. In whatever this mission may result, and we think it cannot result unfavorably, the English Ministry have shown a disposition to make decisive friendly steps take the place of more professions, which cannot be too readily met upon our part. Both nations, as well as both governments, are averse to a war, and it would be a disgrace to the nine- tenth century, if countries should fall to wasting each other, upon mere technicalities. Lord Ashburton, the special minister appointed, has been in Parliament and in the government for the last thirty years, and is alike distinguished for his ability, good sense, moderation and amiable disposition and manners. His great experience, high character, and influence abroad, will, with a right spirit and proper measure on this side, do much to revive American credit. His Lordship is about 63 years of age,--married Miss Bingham of Philadelphia,--was many years the head of the house of Barings, from which he retired about ten years since. He is himself a man of immense wealth, and all the branches of his family are wealthy. He is one of the largest landed proprietors in Pennsylvania, and is well versed in the history and value of State Bonds, and in the character of American institutions. This appointment appears to be looked upon with a great deal of favor by all classes and parties in England; particularly among the commercial circles, where the news gave a tone of confidence to the holders of State Stocks. It is understood that the measure was submitted to the American Minister, Mr. Everett, and received his concurrence. But one opinion that we have seen, has been expressed in this country. The appointment is a gratifying and unexpected mark of respect to the Government of the United States, which the nation will not be slow to reciprocate; and in such a spirit of mutual concession and courtesy, an opening is offered for the adjustment of all pending disagreements, which we are confident will not pass unimproved. Among the other passengers by the Britannia were Mr. Charles Dickens and lady, and Earl Mulgrave. The ship had a goodly number, nearly or quite her complement, and we notice that the commander was complimented by the passengers with a present of plate, and approbatory resolutions. The rumors of "repudiation" appear to have excited much less comment in England than here. The Message of President Tyler is widely published, and appears to have been read with much satisfaction, for its pacific tone. The attentions paid to Lord Morpeth in this country, are spoken of in the English Journals in a tone, and with a frequency, which show an increasing knowledge and appreciation of this country, among our trans- atlantic friends. His Lordship is spoken of as a candidate for Parliament in Dublin, vice the conservative member, Mr. West just deceased. A frightful accident occurred on the Great Western Railway, on the 24th December. The train came in contact with a mass of the embankment which had fallen on the track. Fifteen or twenty passengers were dangerously, and some of them mortally wounded, and eight were killed outright. The Queen Dowager was said to be convalescent, but some of the papers intimated that the announcement was made to prevent any gloom being thrown on the approaching festivities at Windsor, at the christening and investiture of the Prince of Wales. Albert, it was said, was to be proclaimed King Consort, as otherwise his son would take precedence of him. The losses of the Company which owned the President and British Queen amount to fifty or sixty pounds on each share of the capital stock. The whole of the persons accused of having taken part in the attempt to assassinate the sons of the French King, as well as those charged with being concerned in the complot in which the attempt is said to have originated, have been found guilty, with the exception of five. Three, including Quenisset, are sentenced to death, one to perpetual banishment, the rest to various terms of imprisonment. BROTHER JONATHAN 127 The King opened the Chambers by a speech on the 27th. It announces the quadruple alliance, but excited little attention in Paris. In Spain nothing had occurred to disturb the quiet of the kingdom, but, on the other hand, the careful policy of Espartero was bringing forward conciliatory and wise measures. The Circassians are stated to have gained another victory over the Russian forces, the most decisive, it is said, since the war commenced. The aspect of French Africa was more quiet. The Turkish Court continued jealous of the Greeks. The mediation of the three powers to whom the Sultan had addressed complaints, had been declined by the king of Greece, and hostile movements by the Turks upon Greece were apprehended. DOINGS IN WASHINGTON. The only act of finished business which we have to record as done in the National Legislature since our last, is the passage of the Treasury Note Bill in the Senate, 21 to 20, with the amendment noticed by us last week, striking out the provision that the money thus raised shall be counted a part of the loss authorized by the law of the extra session.-- On Monday, Mr. Clay spoke in support of his resolutions offered some time since, relative to the veto, &c. Mr. Preston answered him; and the subject was then postponed till Monday next. In the mean time, it is supposed the Bankrupt Bill will be disposed of. The House has been noisily and profitlessly engaged through the peculiar capacity of Mr. Adams, for making Legislative disturbance. The whole matter rose from a petition from Habersham, Geo., praying that Mr. Adams might be removed from the place of chairman of the Committee on Foreign Affairs. Mr. A. desired its reference to that Committee, and insisted on being heard. After a great deal of noise and confusion, the whole subject was laid on the table, on motion of Mr. Wise; but on the next morning, (Saturday) Mr. Adams got it up again, on the question of privilege, and the whole day was consumed in a profitless debate. On Monday, Mr. Adams attempted to proceed in his discussive remarks on slavery, under the permission given him to defend himself from the charge of monomania on the subject of slavery, alleged against him in the petition referred to. The house refused leave to proceed, yeas 97, noes 76. Mr. Wise then tried to be heard as a question of privilege, but the whole subject was laid on the table, yeas 101-- noes 78. Mr. Adams still further tried to force himself to be heard, but the petition was laid over. Mr. Adams then offered sundry other petitions, one of which from one person in Haverhill prayed a dissolution of the Union. Mr. Hopkins asked if it was in order to move to burn the petition before the House. The question of reception was raised, and laid on the table, then rejecting the petition. Mr. Gilmer offered a resolution declaring that, in presenting the last-named petition, Mr. Adams had justly incurred the censure of the House. Some conversation arose as to whether this resolution was in order, Mr. Gilmer insisting that it was as a privileged question, in accordance with which the Speaker decided. Pending the conversation the House adjourned. All that Mr. Adams has gained in the three days, is a reference to the Committee on Foreign Relations of a petition that diplomatic relations may be opened with Hayti. LEGISLATURE.--There is little to note in the doings at Albany. Gov. Seward has signed the bill to repeal the Act relative to the appointment of Bank Receivers, and give that appointment back to the Chancellor. He asserts his belief still, in the propriety of the bill which has been repealed, but says that refusing his assent from a mere difference of opinion would be assuming, on his part, an undue share of legislative responsibility. THE SELF INSTRUCTOR IN WRITING. Book I. by Jos. Perkins, A. M. New York: Collins, Keese & Co. 254 Pearl street We have before spoken generally of this series, as forthcoming. The author has been long and widely known, latterly, as one of the very best engravers of writing in the world. He was once known as one of the best instructors in penmanship; an occupation which he left for his present business. The experience of the Teacher, and the skill of the Engraver, are united to produce in this publication, one of the best and most practical works of the kind which has ever been issued; and its convenience and economy of price will insure a sale commensurate with its merits. UNITED STATES MAGAZINE AND DEMOCRATIC REVIEW, February, 1841. New York: Langleys. No magazine in this country has ever presented a prouder army of talent than this. Without subscribing to its political tenets, or dissenting from them, for, on that point, just here, we choose to be non-committal, we think that every impartial reader must acknowledge that the political papers in the Democratic Review, are among those which will not die as mere ephemera, but be referred to, by and by, as part of the political history of our times. And not only are they well and ably written, but they possess usually more impartiality than we always find in partisan writings. On great national questions, and subjects vitally concerning our character and prospects as a people, we find the writers in the Review frequently soaring above partisan policy and partisan interests, with a magnanimity which does them honor. We regret deeply that the other party do not establish and support a Magazine of similar character on their side of the house. Two such works would do every thing toward mending the tone of the partisan newspapers, and developing the political knowledge, tact and experience of our country. Of the character of the literary portion of this work, we have given opinion frequently, both by notices and liberal extracts. We intended this preface as an introduction to a more particular notice of the present number, but are circumscribed in our space. The embellishment is a portrait of George M. Dallas. The gem of the number is a tale by Mrs. Sedgwick. New Work by Bulwer --In Mr. Langley's Literary Advertiser we find an announcement of some interest to the literary world. The Advertiser says: We have pleasure in being able to contradict a statement made sometime since in several of the public prints, to the effect that Sir E. L. Bulwer had retired from novel-writing in consequence of a decline in the popularity of his recent works. We have it on the authority of a letter from his publishers in London, that such is not the fact, but that he has a new work in press differing from any thing he has yet written, and from what may be judged from a cursory glance at some portions of the work, it is likely to awaken more than ordinary interest. It is said to be a Romance, the scene of which is laid abroad, and the title is "Zanoni, or the Secret Order." It is expected to be ready for publication in London during the ensuing month. LITTELL'S MUSEUM, for February. New York: Carvill & Co. and Curry & Co. A very well filled and valuable number of this work is that for February. Among the works and authors extracted from, we find the Quarterly and Edinburgh Reviews, Tait's, Blackwood's and the Dublin University Magazines; Chambers' Journal; the Britannia, Spectator and Examiner; a splendid paper on Walpole's Letters, by Macauley, the conclusions of Barnaby Rudge and Charles O'Malley, and a great variety of extracts, scientific, miscellaneous, critical, historical, and amusing. We believe in Littell, unreservedly; and cannot more heartily speak in its praise than we have often done before. THE AMERICAN JOURNAL OF THE MEDICAL SCIENCES. Edited by Isaac Hays, M.D. Philadelphia: Lea & Blanchard New York. Carey & Co. Not being medical, we can say little of the scientific merits of this work, except that it has an excellent and well established reputation. We can however speak of its mechanical execution, as that comes more immediately within our line. In this respect it is got up, in typography and embellishments, in a manner which does honor to the American Press. POLAND; Historical, Literary, Monumental, and Picturesque. New- York: Sebolewski & Sszynkoki, No. 2 Pine street. A worthy attempt by two exiles, to make their country better known in this country of their adoption. It is to be published in monthly numbers, in a large quarto form, with very good drawings on stone, of which specimens are presented in the first number. We wish the publishers good speed, the work deserves it. GODEY'S LADYS' BOOK, richly and elegantly embellished, has been sent us by Post. We have room only to notice its receipt, and refer the reader to our previously expressed opinions of this elegant periodical. 128 BROTHER JONATHAN. THE UNFORGOTTEN DEAN. RECOLLECTIONS OF THE LATE GRENVILLE MELLEN. BY A FRIEND - SECOND NOTICE. I am urged by many considerations to finish what I have begun. There appears to be serious and wholesome curiosity abroad, to know more of the man himself, more of his individual history, and more of this thoughts and doings than I had supposed. Be it so. No body knew him better - few so well as I have. Our intimacy continued for twenty-two years. On laying my hand upon the bundle of letters before me - letters from me to him, be it remembered, not from him to me - or I should not be so willing to refer to them, even for the object I now have in view - I find the earliest dated Oct. ____, 1819. I had just written and published, without the consent, and almost without the knowledge of my best friends, a volume of poetry which found its way into the hands of Mellen, a youth of twenty at the time, and a student of Old Harvard, with a heart brimful of extravagant hope, music and poetry. I had known him before - but only as a clever boy at the Academy, or at college, when I was either running about barefooted, or tending store. Add to the difference in our circumstances, the difference in our ages - and it will be understood at once, why we never knew each other till 1819, when I was in my twenty-seventh year. On reading my poem, he wrote me a page or two of warm-hearted commendation; dwelt with emphasis upon the parts and passages that pleased him, and spoke honestly of the faults. My answer I give precisely as it was written at the time. And I do this, that I may be able, hereafter, in tracing the history of our acquaintance, to refer to it again. It were easy enough to work over these ancient memorials, and make them more creditable to the author; but as I hold that their value depends altogether upon their faithfulness—upon the scrupulous honesty of the Biographer-I choose to give them, not only without alteration, but without omission; to give not only the truth, but the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. It may be a warning to others who may be disposed to over estimate themselves aloud, when they feel the glowing and seething of poetry in their brains. “Thank ye my dear fellow, thank ye! This opinion of yours—“speaking after the manner of men, who cannot feel as we do, however they may express themselves, I am proud of—literally proud of. Is that enough? It sounds cold--unmeaning—-and indifferent, I know ; but you will understand it---from me and to you, it must and shall speak pages. “I subscribe to your censures. They are entirely just. I have too many trumpets, and wind and water instruments--and levity, and repetition, and extravagance-I know it all-and you are right. Remember me---I shall deserve it. And I will remember you and—-yours. , * * “No room room to date the other page. So here goes!---on this October what? I'll leave the blank and you may fill it. Portland, October__, 1819. Farewell. Thus much to show the honesty, and perhaps I may add, the courage of Mellen, while yet in his boyhood. In the estimation of others, I was a poet. I had acquired a sort of notoriety—if not of reputation, where others who had something to lose, which I had not, were afraid to enter the lists. In my own estimation, of course, as may be seen by the letter itself, I stood very high-notwithstanding the show of modesty in that paragraph, where I subscribe to the soundness of his notions respecting my faults-or the faults of my book rather. One passage were enough to prove this, and really I cannot help smiling now, when I call to mind the opinion we children had of ourselves—and of others—only twenty-two years ago. We forsooth could feel, where others could not, however they might express themselves! “It sounds cold, unmeaning, and inefficient: skum ; but you will understand it—from me, and to you it must and shall speak pages.” There's for you! A man ought to have been dead, at least a hundred years, after expressing such an opinion of himself or of another, to hope for pardon. So the many would say --and the many are not always wrong. Was there no courage, therefore, in venturing to remind a young author, who had just written and published a poem—which iſ not successful, had at least been heartily abused by the North American Review, that he was mortal? I had not spared— “The foppery of silly Taste, That grieves to see wild Nature so unchaste; That, in her modesty, would barely hint, That such, or such a shade, or such a tint, Might mingle better, if a little care– A little grouping here—and contrast there— Were just to—but no matter—they all know Better than Nature, how her flowers should blow, . How her sweet birds should sing, and fountains flow ; And where her trees should stand—her cliffs up rise In scattered pointings to the glorious skies. Leave such cold bosoms, Nature, to their fate! And be then grand—luxuriant—desolate, As it best pleaseth thee! These wretched fools Would have Creation work by lines and rules: Their's is the destiny—be their's the curse, In their improvements still, to mount from bad to worse." I was living at the South, and on a visit to Portland, my native town, after a long absence, when the note above referred to was written by Mellen to me. On referring to the next in order, I find a reference to the beautiful girl, he afterwards married. I had seen her, and became pretty well acquainted with her during my visit; and even at this early period of our friendship, had urged Mellen, who appeared to be very much taken with her, though exceedingly sensitive and self-distrustful, to keep his eye upon her as the probable, and if both were wise, and alike faithful, to themselves, and to each other, as the certain load-star of his earthly destiny. She was a lovely creature—very fond of admiration, with large blue eyes clear as the summer sky, abundant brown hair, a tempting mouth, a sweet cheerful voice, and a sort of ringing laugh, to which he alludes, I see, in one of the very last and best poems he ever wrote. Perhaps I had better give the passage. The whole poem will be found in the Ladies' Companion for Jan., '42. --------- “As I slept, A creature of that beauty which awakes Our prayers and tears—that beauty which of old Made our heart thankful as we hallowed it, And worshipped as the idol of our life, Came palpably before me. She was one That I had loved in my hearty morning-one, O'er whom the music of young passion fell When first stretched its wire. One I had loved, When woman was an angel from the sky, With whom I should tread upward to that home ! Her beauty was still wonderful- her eye Beamed with that blue intensity, that made Its lustre and its loneliness in life : * * * * * * Her golden hair hung like a cloud about her—shadowing The form it could not hide. - - - - + - + - Oh what a spirit had she, as she rose Into the light of years!—how her laugh rang ! How sprang she on her path, where flowers and bloom Swayed to her footsteps—while the joy of song Was ever on her tongue—the melody Of a fine heart, that knew not blight nor tears. And such she stood before me in that dream— I saw the glittering eye--I heard the laugh Ring from the grave, as I have heard it once, When troops of friends were round her—and her voice Fell like a tone of magic on the ear. In the following letter, which was written it appears at Boston, the same month, while on my way back to the genial South, after having wintered in the North, during a portion of what is there called the Indian Summer, will be found the reference above mentioned. It brings her before me like a Spirit. I see her, as I knew her first—a lovely romp-I see her change—I see her pass through all the transportation of her swift and eventful life. I see her as Mary Southgate. I see her as a girl just flowering into womanhood—as the beloved of many-- the flattered of all-–the chosen of my dead friend—in the first gush of youthful affection-I see her as the betrothod one—as the bride—the wife —the mother; and last of all, as the blighted, the buried, and the forgotten --I see her in her bridal robe—I see her in her winding sheet. But as the forgotten of whom? –of her husband? No—had he lived a thousand years, he would never have forgotten her. All his life long he was thinking of her, and of the sweet child she bore him—only to perish like a blossom touched with untimely frost. By her friends? No-- “For they do love her yet; And they who love do not forget.” RBROTHE JONATHAN 129 By whom then? By the many that saw her appear and disappear, like a beautiful star along the verge of the horizon, without caring to know whence it came nor whither it went; by the unthinking multitude who saw her, and flattered her, and followed her, without feeling her worth, or understanding her character. But yesterday in her bridal dress—and to-day in her grave clothes! The bride and the bridegroom—father, mother and child, all gone! and all within the recollection of a middle aged man, who has outlived almost every other person mentioned in the letters now before him Of a truth, humanity has many a sorrowful, many a dreary lesson to learn, by rummaging into the past—even though it be only the past of a comparative yesterday. “Where's the sin of writing you my dear Grenville—where! why no where, unless it be that I may neglect my devotions; a thing which you, who know me, would not very readily suspect. “In the stuff then that dreams are not made of, allow me to say, first, that I thank you verily for your note; and next, to tell you that I am in a confounded hurry. And why? It is Sunday evening. I have just left the dinner-table, and refused tea, for the sake of being at home one evening —have returned—and am now in Mr. P's study—all the family abroad. There is a catastrophe for you ! The consequence is that you will get your answer while I am waiting tea—no, not so bad as that, neither!—while I am waiting tea, I write you this, and you will get it when you can. Forgive me for writing such trash—but you know me. I cannot refuse to answer your note, my dear fellow, merely because I haven't time. That would never do. Some better and wiser reason must be offered to satisfy you and myself. “I suppose Miss Julia D--- has returned.” Here was another lovely young creature, one of the most charming girls I ever knew, with eyes that haunted me for years after her death--- who preceded all the rest mentioned in these letters—and whose apparition is before me now, just as I saw her last. “At any rate, the moment I have done with this and another of like magnitude to R.--that moment I am off, and shall make make it a point to say the kindest things for you. “Now for your note. Thank you for the account of the wedding. It is characteristic—eminently so—full of thrash and sunshine (not trash,) extravagance and trick. And you were pleased. ‘Be it so She-you know who---is an enchantress. But mark me. Never fall in love with her, nor with any body else, till you can afford it ! The truth is, I think Mary Southgate a girl of, not only brilliant and showy, but of solid material. Either you or I could make anything of her ! But-heigh-ho ! some other miserable devil must have the moulding of her into insignificance and nothingness, I fear. It is so with most women. They may sometimes, as in this case, be made any thing and every thing of; and sooth to say, are apt enough to be any thing without our help-or “everything by turns, and nothing long.' Present my affectionate respects to her. Tell her I shall remember her, and she may me--if she can. I look to see her the wife of some noble- hearted fellow yet, and when she is, she will find that I was most her friend when she thought me least so." This refers to a long conversation I had with her, after she and Mellen and I had been taking a stroll in the burying-ground. She had forgotten herself and flirted with him, even there, and I talked so plainly with her, after we returned to the house, that she cried bitterly- then scolded- and then forgave me. Afterwards we were the best friends in the world. "Tell her I saw P---- in Portsmouth, and told him what comforted him exceedingly, viz -- that she did not believe him to be the author of certain foolish stories abroad. He was grateful, and I hope she may be so too. "I am waiting to know whether a tragedy of mine is to be performed here, or not. At any rate, it shall be printed, and when it is, you are to have a copy. I leave here one week from next Tuesday (this being Sunday) and shall spend a week in Litchfield. Tell Miss B. so— and say to her to hurry on, if you dare to see him! Present my best respects to your father and mother," (all these are since dead) “my kindest to Miss A ---- and C ---- and S----." (Three sisters—the youngest of whom is now a widow, the eldest a mother of four large boys, and the third unmarried.) “There are others of whom I would speak; but it has become my duty to turn away from all temptation, and to look for a long while, if not forever, upon the uninviting and repulsive. Farewell." An EPITOME OF THE History of Philosophy. Translated from the French, with Additions, and a Continuation of the History, from the time of Reid to the present day. By C. S. Henry, D. D., Professor of Philosophy and History, in the University of the City of New York. Family Library, 143 and 144. New York: Harper & Brothers. The basis of this work is one published a few years since by the Academy of Jully, and subsequently adopted by the University of France. The original ends with the account of Reid, and in an appendix Professor Henry has brought the history down to the present day. This appendix appears to us quite the most valuable portion of the work; and with the interpolations.of the translator, and the comprehensive yet clearly conveyed information in the original we discover nothing which could be omitted, without injury to the general plan. Nothing of a similar character to this treatise has ever fallen under our notice; no work certainly, in which the History of Philosophy is presented in a concise form, impartial, interesting, and understandable, was extant in the English language, before this publication. After such praise—and we have read the book with some care, it is hardly necessary to say that it forms an indispensable part of the Family Library. Scholars who have mastered ponderous tomes, and whose impressions in the active employments of life have been in a measure obliterated or confused, will find this work an excellent refresher. Students will embrace it as a valuable assistant; and the general reader whose limited leisure does not permit him to devote much time to a single subject, will take up this “abstract and brief chronicle,” as the very thing he has long desired. Hints to Mothers, &c. By Thomas Bull, M. D. With additions by an American Physician. New York: Wiley & Putnam. This little work is one intended to be practically useful, at the most critical periods of woman's life. It has received the sanction of those qualified to judge; but a further notice than this would be more appropriate to a medical than to a literary journal. MR. Post's SERIALs.--The miscellaneous works of Sir Walter Scott, to be completed in twenty-five numbers, will include also his life and correspondence by Lockhart. The whole of his works, the Novels having already been published in the same shape, may thus be obtained for ten dollars—the same matter, by the way, that in the Edinburgh Edition filled ninety-three volumes, and sold for one hundred and forty dollars. There is difference enough in the prices of the two editions to buy a good farm in the far West. For one hundred and forty dollars, therefore, a man may have a farm, and no contemptible library in his log cabin. - - The publication of Thiers has reached the 34th number. VALENTINES—Elton has got up some very pretty note sheets for such love-lorn young youths as intend to remember St. Valentine's Day, next month. If any body be in that mood, she or he must look at Elton's note-paper. It bears Cupid's stamp, and is the only kind in the market which will be taken into Cupid's post, this year. There is every thing in appearances, young man. Buy, therefore, half a ream, if you have a large acquaintance. If not, a quire will do. –-- Curry & Co.'s SERIALs.-Cooper's Sea Tales, The Works of Charles Dickens, The Encyclopedia Americana, now published in weekly numbers by the the Messrs. Curry & Co., have each reached their third numbers, and present claims both upon mere readers for a per- manent library. The Encyclopedia is one of the best works for its price in the world; indeed the only one, so comprehensive, which comes within the means of a man with moderate income. We recommend every body, forthwith to subscribe for it at the Messrs. Curry's. It is no new affair, but has been several years before the public, and has received the approval of the best critics. By the way, speaking of guns, we complained of something last week in reference to the Messrs. Curry, which proves to have been an accident. Continuations of some of their works failed to reach us; and the circumstance is since explained as a mistake or miscarriage on the part of the carrier—such a mistake as happens very seldom, and can always at any time that it does occur, be rectified as soon as it is announced to the gentlemen. 130 BROTHER JONATHAN. Arcuturus for February. New York: Curry & Co. A very beautiful, and, we hope, a good likeness of "Boz," ornaments this number of the Arcuturus. The contents embrace matter of more variety than usual in this Magazine, including a paper by Nathaniel Hawthorne, of Salem, one of the sweetest writers in the country - a sketch by Charles Lanman, and contributions by the editors, characterized by their usual strong sense and directness. The "Welcome to Charles Dickens" which opens the number, we should like, if we had room, to transfer to our columns. From Howitt's Student Life in Germany. RURAL AND SUMMER AMUSEMENTS OF THE STUDENTS The natural beauties of the Heidelberg are known abroad. Who is he who has looked upon its picturesque environs with a healthful mind, and has not been enraptured with them? Therefore, the Son of the Muses, who is here passing his student years, eagerly hastens out in the lovely days of summer into the free regions of nature that lie around. The walks in the immediate vicinity of the city are diligently trodden by him. Above all, the castle enjoys the frequent visits of the student youth in thronging numbers. The student is to be met here every hour of the day but he still more loves to survey here the beauties of a moonlight night. Leaning over the terrace, he looks down upon the city as it lies in its solemn silence stretched along the bank of the Neekar. Its inhabitants, with all their troubles and pleasures, - his companions, with all the pursuits and passions of restless youth, are hushed into deep slumber. He only wakes, but the hours which he steals from sleep are not lost. He glances wide over the plains of the Pfaiz, which, illuminated by the moon's uncertain light, offers to the eye no longer its boundary of hills. Opposite to him, he castle rears its gigantic pile, and varying its outlines with every change of the moonlight, challenges the imagination to equal its bold features in its highest flights. The moon now advances from behind some envious cloud, and the windows of the palace of Otto Heinrich appear magically lit up, and it seems again to stand in all splendor of past ages. But the solitary watcher has unconsciously wandered forward till he finds himself standing close to the spot where Matthieson sung his elegy. Suddenly all falls back into shade, and before him stands a sublime image of the wrath and passions of man - the rifted tower - one part blown up and hurled, in one mighty mass, into the moat. In the vaulted chambers of the yet standing portion, the mysterious forms of heroes long gone down to dust, seem to erect themselves, and cry woe over the desolating fury of the French. The wanderer feels a momentary shiver pass through him - but he glances up to the heaven, which expands above him in its glorious clearness - an image of divine peace and rest; the owl, with its dismal shout of joy, brings him back from his dreams, and in silence he descends into the silent city. How sweet 't is in the air No hateful tyrant there Seatlies nature's fair reign. No base adulator No slanderous traitor, Empoisons the plain. Salie The cool shadow of the Wolfsbrunnen afford the student a delicious retreat in the heat of a summer's day; and may another spot of the vicinity are sought by him with equal delight, which he thus describes, on such Rosinastes as these could not come to pass. A spur-stroke and a curse gave wings into his horse. The crack of ponderous whip, and rib-thumps sans remorse, Sent him all foaming on, till almost in a minute, The country lay behind him, the next he was not in it. A peculiar class of equipages are let out in the university cities, and are hired by the student partly on account of their cheapness, but more especially, because he can charioteer himself. He styles these little chaises with one horse, a one span, or one-engine. With one of these he undertakes journeys which, especially on Sundays, stretch themselves as far as Mannheim, to the Hardt mountains, to the Melibocus, or even to Karlaruhe and Baden Baden. The persecuted horse who drags these vehicles, knows the way from Mannheim and other places, much better than his temporary master; and when in dark nights a one-engine goes wrong or comes to any accident, it is for the most part because his driver will not let him have his own way. Many a time the poor beasts are so weary that the student can no longer urge them forward with the whip, and is obliged to have recourse to stones that he picks from the road. Water excursions are seldom undertaken, because the ill-constructed pleasure-boats do not allow him to guide them himself. The neighborhood of so many beautiful countries incites the student to more extensive excursions, and he travels, during the vacations, into Switzerland, the Rhine country, and other places, chiefly in company of a few friends. We may suppose it to be on some incident connected with one of these excursions that Uhland has founded his beautiful ballad of THE WIRTHIN"S DAUGHTER. Three students cross'd o-ver the Rhine-stream one day, 'Twas to n Fran Wirthin's they wended their way, 'Twas to n Frau Wirthin's they wend-ed their way, "Frau Wirthin, hast thou good beer and wine, And where is that lovely daughter of thine?" "My beer and wine are fresh and clear; My dear daughter lies upon the death-bier!" And as they stepped to the innermost room, There was she lying robed for the tomb. The first he withdrew then the veiling screen, And gazed upon her with sorrowful mein: "Ah, wert thou living, fair flower of earth, How should I love thee from this day forth!" The second he covered the pale, dead face, And turn'd him round and wept space: "Ah, there thou art lying on thy death-bier, And how have I loved thee for many a year!" The third he lifted once more the veil, And kissed her upon lips so pale: "Thee I loved ever! yet love thee today! And still shall I love thee for aye and for aye!" BROTHER JONATHAN 131 From Bentley for January. RAISING THE DEVIL. BY THOMAS INGOLDSBY, KSQ. "And hast thou nerve enough!" he said, That grey Old Man, above whose head Unnumbered years had roll'd- "And hast thou nerve to view," he cried, "The incarnate fiend that heaven defied? Art thou indeed so bold? "Say, cans't thou, with unshrinking gaze, Sustain, rash youth, the withering blaze Of that unearthly eye, That blasts where'er it lights-the breath That like the Simoon, scatters death On all that yet eau die! "Darest thou confront that fearful ferm, That rides the whirlwind and the storm In wild unhold revel? The terrors of that blasted brow, Archangel's once, though ruined now- Ay-dar'st thou face THE DEVIL?" "I dare!" the desperate Youth replied, And placed him by that Old Man's side, In fierce and frantic glee, Unblenched his cheek and firm his limb; -"No paltry juggling fiend, but HIM! THE DEVIL!-I fain would see! "In all his Gorgon terrors clad, His worst, his fillest shape!" The Lad Rejoined in reckless tone.- "Have then thy wish!" Albertus said, And sigh'd and shook his hoary head, With many a bitter groan. He drew the mystic circle's bound, With skull and cross-bones fene'd around: He traced full many a sigil there: He mutter'd many a backward pray'r, That sounded like a curse- "He comes!" he cried with wild grimace, "The fellest of Apollyon's race!" The in his startled pupil's face He dash'd-an Empty Purse!! From the London and Paris Ladies' Magazine of Fashion FASHIONS FOR JANUARY. Velvets, satine, watered silk, and poults de soie, are the materials generally in use at this moment. In velvets and all thick materials, the make is usually with the corsage a point and berthe of rich embroidery, sleeves tight, with the two seams. In lighter materials, the skirts and ornamented with four or five tucks edged with lace, the corsage drape from the shoulders; tight sleeves, ornamented the whole length with biais edged with lace; a long ceinture of sarcenet ribbon. Satin dresses are frequently trimmed with velvet of the color, either en tablier or revers, and fur is much used on velvets. Crape dresses are made with double skirts, the front breadth of the other is sometimes open en tablier, which, as well as the back part of the skirt, is trimmed round with lace, the under skirt having only a hem. Tight sleeves without any ornament are denominated a la quaker. Orange is the fashionable color in Paris for flowers and dresses; but particularly for cashmere shawls. Some little change is observable in the forms of bonnets; the crown is higher, and the front less deep at the ears, showing more of the cheeks; and in consequence of raising the crown, the bavolets are not so deep; the straight forms are not quite so much in favor as they were; the ornaments more fashionable are long feathers, marabouts, bunches and wreaths of roses, jacinths, myosotis, &c. There is much variety both in collars unc fiehus at present; small collars are fashionable, and the round pelerine is universally approved; very rich ones are made of inlets divided by narrow lace put on full; these latter are termed pelerinca cardinals, they reach below the waist, and are made in velvet, embroidered and trimmed with fringe or lace. Caps are also made rather higher, and cover the head a little more; those a la Marie Louise, a Lavalier, with coiffures a l'Espagnole, Pompadour, perots, toques, Richard Coeur de Lion, &e, are all now in fashion. The hair is decidedly dressed higher behind, and ornamented combs are fashionable in Paris, in gold, or with cameos or precious stones; flowers are principally worn as wreaths. Russian Troops and Discipline-The corps of guards and grenadiers go under canvass every summer. When at St. Petersburg, I went over to the camp at Sarako Selo to see them; and as rain had fallen for several days consecutively, the troops appeared to be in a most forlorn state. The interior of their tents was full of mud mixed up with straw; upon this the men were lying, in dirty cotton drawers and shirts, without either coats, trousers, or shoes. I was not a little surprised, however, to find that many of the officers, though apparently living in tents, were inhabiting small wooden houses under them; they were about six feet square, and as easily packed up and re-erected as the tents: the floor was boarded, and we dined four in one of them very comfortably. The emperor when in camp lives under canvass. I saw a picked man from each company of a battalion of the Preobrajensky Regiment. They were remarkably tall; but being very much padded out at the breast, and drawn in very tight at the waist, they had in their greatcoats, a very lanky appearance: many of the regiments of the line that I saw at Mescow and in the south would have worked them off their legs in a campaign of any duration. The hospitals were filling fast; and I was told that a great many casualties take place on their return to their splendid quarters at St. Petersburg, after their summer maneuvers. Here they are worried by the numerous tracasseries connected with their dress and appointments, that they avoid leaving their barracks as much as possible. The emperor, not long ago, observing that but few soldiers were to be seen in the streets, asked the military governor the reason. He was either afraid, or too good a courtier to give the right one: but to prevent a recurrence of the remark, issued an order that some of the men of each company should be told off every day as the "walking section," to ornament the most public parts of the capital. Discipline is kept up by extreme measures, and the cane is used at pleasure; but a man who has received the ribbon of St. George is by the regulations of the service, exempt from this species of punishment. The officers not unfrequently give way to violence of temper. I oncesaw a captain inspecting his guard, near the quarantine at Odessa, strike one of his men's blow on the face with his fist, and, seizing him by both his ears, shake him until he pulled him out of the ranks: the man's cap then fell off, and the officer, ordering a corporal to pick it up jammed it down on his head with another blow. The whole system is carried on in the same tyrannical and overbearing manner. The Russian soldier meets with very little kindness or consideration to soften the misery of being imperatively driven into the service.- Travels In Russia. The Wolf and the Lamb- The Journal de Flandres relates the following tale:-The postman of a commune in our neighborhood was lately trudging along in execution of his duty, accompanied by his daughter, a rosy-cheeked, flaxen-haired young peasant. Wishing to relieve her parent from the load of correspondence with which he was entrusted, the strapped the post-bag or portfolio on her own shoulders. While the dutiful girl was thus engaged, a gentleman in a tilbury drove up to them, and, getting his horse into a walk, began a conversation with them. "Really, my good fellow, your employment must be a harassing one. You come to town every day on foot, to deliver your letters. To do this duty for so many communes must be very fatiguing. I am uneasy when I think of it. How unlucky that I cannot offer you each a seat in my carriage; otherwise I should be most happy to do so. "Sir, you are extremely kind, but I think nothing of it, I am so accustomed to bear this daily fatigue! but my Catherine is quite unused to any thing of the sort. It is the first time, in fact, she ever attempted the day's work; and my poor child is ready to drop down, I'm sure." "Well, well, then." said the fair-spoken gentleman, "come and take a seat in the tilbury, child: there is room for one, certainly; while you, my honest friend, will perhaps continue to walk." The unsuspecting girl, whose timidity was not so great as her fatigue, willingly accepted the kind offer of the benevolent gentleman. When she was fairly seated in the vehicle, the gentleman commenced whipping his horse, and darted off with such rapidity, that he and the maiden were out of sight in a minute or two, leaving the stultified father behind, who, since that time, has heard nothing of his daughter; neither have the letters and newspapers of which she was the bearer, reached their destination. Keen Satire-A facetious Abbbe having a box at the Operahouse in Paris, was turned out of his posession by a Marechal- as remarkable for ungentlemanlike conduct, as for his cowardice and meanness. The Abbe, for this unjustifiable breach of good manners, brought his action in a court of honour, and solicited permission to be his own advocate, which was granted. He then pleaded to the following effect:-"'Tis not of Monsieur Souffein, who acted so nobly in the East Indies, that I complain; it is not of the Duc of Crebilion, who took Minorca, that I complain; it is not of the Compte who so bravely fought Lord Rodney, that I complain;- but it is of Mareschal-, who took my box at the Opera-house, and never took anything else"! This piece of satire so sensibly convinced the Court that the complainant had already inflicted punishment sufficient, they refused to grant him a verdict. [*132 BROTHER JONATHAN.*] FOR THE BROTHER JONATHAN. STRAY BALLADS, AND NEWLY DISCOVERED LYRICS. EDITED BY SIMON CRADDOCK. No.1. XIMENA GOMEZ---A BALLAD OF THE CID. The circumstances upon which this ballad is founded are very frequently related in those chronicles of the Cid which abound throughout all Spain; and indeed they are such as are very commonly reported and believed of the Spanish champion, and the lady Ximena. But although these circumstances are generally well known, this particular ballad hath never before been put to paper, or preserved in print. Like the greater part of popular poetry in that country, it has long been embalmed in tradition, and now sees the light by accident, and through a stranger's intervention. An old woman was mumbling part of it to herself as she rocked her grandchild to sleep. The cottage, if one may give so pretty a name to a ruinous little place containing no more than two rooms, lay near the remains of the Alhambra, towards which I was walking. I had intended to enjoy in the Court of Lions my usual evening cigar, and fit of contemplation, but was arrested by her singing. When she stopped, I conned over the tablets with which I had been busy, and waited patiently for her to resume the ditty. The child, however, was by this time asleep, and the old lady, fearful of waking him, ceased her chanting. I entered the place therefor, and after a little conversation, and a little trifling present, easily persuaded the good woman to repeat to me all the she remembered of it. Much of it was inverted and inaccurate, and so disguised by provincialisms as to be scarcely comprehensible, but upon the whole, it was more accurately preserved than could be expected from so illiterate a keeper. At any rate, it struck my fancy so much, that I concluded to give it the first place amongst the "stray ballads" I was so lucky as to collect together. PART FIRST. I. "What ho!" cried king Fernando unto his foot-page good, The bright eyed little benchman who still beside him stood, And, for that he was witty, and made his master sport Had license and permission to jest with all his court; Which had been indeed mo marvel if through long indulgence won, But 'twas source a month since Carlos had his page's life begun, And that he in time so scanty, should have come to be so free To the gray haired courtiers round him was a wond'rous mystery. II. "What ho!" cried he, "Come hither, and closely bend thine ear; "I'll whisper thee a question which thou alone must hear." Then proud was Master Carlos that he a secret thing, To knight nor noble trusted, should hear of from the king. Thus quoth good king Fernando, "Is't not a deadly shame "That he, that mighty chieftain, that knight of noble fame, "Rodrigo De Bivar, boy, unto our royal Court, "Here in our town of Burgos, doth never make resort? III. "Doth he despise the pleasure in sparkling cups that lies; "Scorns he to trend in measure, or don a courtly guise? "Come now, Sir page, resolve me, why doth Rodrigo stay "From banquet, and from revel so sullenly away?" "Ho! Sire I can resolve thee with little pains, I wot, "why worries the Cid Rodrigo like hermit in his grot, "It is no twisted riddle, but soothly I'll explain "Why in his castle sleepeth the paragon of Spain." IV. "Now," quoth the king, "if thou boy, dost read it me aright, "With mine own hand I'll make thee one day a belted knight; "And 'neath Rodrigo's banner I swear that thou shalt go "To win thy spurs in battle against the Paynim foe. "Ha! wherefore from thy cheek, Sir, thus doth the color fade? 'Is there a Spanish stripling who dares to be afraid: "Lives there in Spain a coward so mean he would not go "To bear the red-cross banner against his savior's foe? V. "By heaven! Sir Page, I tell thee I do mistrust me sore, "To thine outside so comely, there's but a rotten core. "Speak sir! I charge thee answer. What is there in my vow "To stop thy quick blood's current, and blanch thy sunny brow?" Then proudly answered Carlos--"And if my cheek grew white, "I wot 'twas not for fear, Sire, to meet the Moor in fight. "Beneath Rodrigo's banner right joyfully I'll ride, "For Spain and Santiago, against Cordova's pride. VI. "And if my lip was bloodless, and if my brow was pale, "'Twas, but o'ermastering pleasure that bade their color fail; "For, Sire, I thought how proudly I'd spur my charger on, "And still be by Ruy Diaz when the field was lost and won. "Since I were greatly honored, and should be nobly sped, "Though on the field of battle I found a gory bed; "For sure his soul who bravely dies for his God, and Spain, "To Abra'ms bosom passeth from the red battle plain." VII. "Good sooth! I do believe thee," cried King Fernando then, "And thou wilt be, I doubt not a leader amongst men. "But so, forgive it, Carlos, and answer me, I pray, "What frogs our court of Burgos doth keep the Cid away?" "I promised," answered Carlos, "to make this mystery plain, "Yet one thing thou must grant me e're I can it explain." "Speak," cried the king, "I grant ye whatever boon you crave, "So 'tis what I should give thee, or such as thou may'st have." VIII. "'Tis but," cried Carlos guily, "that I this day may ride "To where the Cid Rodrigo all in his hold doth bide, "And bid him from its shadows forth to the light again, "And bring him here to Burgos without a slackened rein." "And can'st thou do this wonder," the king admiring cried, "Can'st thou to courts and dalliance tame down Rodrigo's pride?" "I can," cried Carlos boldly. "Thou," quoth the king, "Away, "And do the deed thou vauntest." Quoth he--"I shall not stay." IX. Then quickly mounted Carlos, and marshalled straight his train, And when the sun was hottest, pricked forth across the plain. The sun rose up, the sun went down three times along the sky. They drew no rein upon the plain, nor paused at the hills so high; But with rowel red away they, both weary, horse and man, And still before, as on they bore, young Carlos led the van. When rose the third day's morning, behold! before their eyes Rodrigo's stately castle 'midst waving woods arise, Right soon its gates they entered, and having feasted fair, Young Carlos with the Warder did to the Cid repair. I wot the page was sore beset, I wot he trembled sore, But his guide was old, and his senses were cold, Besides he went before! PART SECOND. I. Ill fared it with Ruy Diaz, a solemn man was he, With aching heart, he sat apart, as sad as sad might be. Sitting in his gloomiest tower, he told his beads in prayer, And kept alone, unceasing, his lonely vigil there. His mace, that wont the paymin so mightily appal, By glove, and helm, and pennon, hung idly on the wall. The battle brand which now his hand drew not in the mele, Harmless as housewife's needle by cuiss and hauberk lay. II. "Ho! rouse thee, Cid Rodrigo, and mount thy courser fleet, "All in the town of Burgos thy sovereign lord to meet. "Ho! rouse thee, Cid Rodrigo; lay by this craven gear, "And like a Spanish noble, and Christian knight appear." "What fool," exclaimed Rodrigo, "dares thus intrude him here? "By Santiago's spirit but it shall cost him dear." [*BROTHER JONATHAN. 113*] "now softly, sir" quoth Carlos, "though but a boy I be, "And thou a warrior mighty, yet little fear I thee. III. "Behold! I come from Burgos, where king Fernando lies "To bid thee seek his presence e'er thrice the sun shall rise." "Away! I love my sovereign, but here must I remain, "And ill be fares who cometh unbidden here again." "Behold! I come from Burgos, where flash the brightest eyes, "Where love and joyance revel, and, sparkling honor lies." "Fool! dost thou tempt mine anger? begone, or bide the blow." "Behold! I bring this token!"--"Lead on, Sir Page--I'll go." IV. A thousand crests are waving, a thousand eyes are bright; A thousand hearts beat quickly upon St. Stephen's night. Here, in the court of Bergos, are met both ladies fair And warriors proud and gallant, and men with silver hair. Ten thousand tapers gleaming, in golden sconces shine; Ten thousand royal goblets are drunk with Xeres wine; And through the palace ringing, till every tower replies, Burats of exalting music re-echo to the skies. V. The air which steals upon them is heavy, too, I wis, With income rare and precious, with musk and ambergris. Ad as the purple hangings wave to the night-winds free, The scent amid them seemeth their velvet breath to be. The dancers, swiftly changing, who catch the taper's blaze, From jewelled star and necklace flash back the rainbow's rays-- And stately forms are mingling, and gentle words are said; And gallants' lips are honeyed, and maidens' cheeks are red. VI. Upon the lordly dais sits king Fernando there, And o'er that merry meeting all vacantly does stare. He looks as one expecting some sudden change to be, Or message deep and wond'rous, from lands beyond the sea. What waiteth king Fernando?-- "make way there for the Cid?" Need none in all that presence a second time be bid. Back, back, they fell together, when through the hall he trod, As parted Egypt's ocean beneath the prophet's rod. VII. "I come" quoth then Rodrigo, "as by my monarch bid. "I love not courts. Why sent ye this message for the Cid?" "Now sit"--cried king Fernando-- "here closely by our side; "And that I bade thee rightly thyself shall soon decide. "In sooth, most noble champion, the hands of the Bivar "For Spain should ever furnish a leader bold in war. "Lo! here a maiden beauteous, Gonzalez lovely air, "Ye two in blessed marriage would make a goodly pair. VIII. "Take her, I charge thee take her. Our patron saint forfend "the line of Cid Rodrigo should in Rodrigo end. "Take her; and be thy childie the counterparts of thee,-- "Each one a warrior mighty, and star of chivalry." Then ere the Cid made answer, stepped forth that foot-page good, And right before the maiden, and all the nobles stood. He rocked nor frown nor whisper; but calmly on his breast Across his arms he folded, and thus the maid addressed. IX. "List! daughter of Gonzalez, list ye to what I say, "And mark ye well and profit, or thou shalt rue the day. "Take not this man Rodrigo to be thy wedded lord; "A stain is on his 'acuteheon, dishonor on his sword. "I had once a sister, lady, a sister fair to see, "And Rodrigo swore he loved her passing fervently. "Ask him for the maid who trusted; ask him whose blood was shed; "Ask him for the broken-hearted; ask Rodrigo for the dead! X. "Lo! this cross, this holy relic, this the token of his love, "This, of peace the blessed emblem, failed his stubborn soul to move. "Faith forsworn, and slighted honor; cruel blow, and desperate hate, "This the sign of gentlest pity, could not soften, nor abate. "Take the gift, he gave it lady, and she prized it more than life, "When she thought Ximena one day might become Rodrigo's wife. "See! this blood which rusts upon it, thus it marked it, hapless maid! "As it dropped upon her bosom from Rodrigo's vengeful blade. XI. " 'Spare my father, oh Rodrigo! oh behold his silver hair: " 'Spare him as you love Ximena; as you hope for mercy spare!'" "So she cried, but did he heed her? Sire, he struck him where he stood; "And he left Ximena senseless, weltering in her father's blood." Then the page turned to the Monarch, ad with hands outstretched he cried: "Justice! King Fernando, Justice! Justice on the homicide! "Boy, as here I stand before ye, I defy him a l'outrance, "And my words will prove upon him, armed at point with sword and lance." XII. Dark as night Rodrigo's visage, fierce as fire his flashing eye, When before the Court of Burgos him a stripling did defy. With the handle of his weapo his convulsive fingers played, And the changing of his color all the inward strife betrayed. Strife terrific, inward tempest! for whilst burned his haughty cheek, Tears of anguish coursing o'er it did Ximena's triumph speak. He the Cid, the Cid Ruy Diaz, victor in a thousand fields; He the conqueror, iron-hearted, to his love and sorrow yields. XII. "Boy!" he cried, "In vain thou railest, thou canst not my bosom move, "Slight all wrong which thou canst do me, to my wronged Ximena's love. "Earth for me is bare of honor; life is but a base retreat; "Death the sole and only champion I will in this quarrel meet. "Go! vex not my soul with sorrow, for Ximena haunts me yet, "And though ages span my anguish--her I never can forget. "Go! if thou hast lost a father, if a sister thou hast lost, I bereft, and broken-hearted; I her murderer suffer most." XIV. "Help the page, ho! Look he fainteth!" forth an ancient noble sprang. And the vaulted roof re-echoing to the name of Gomez rang. Page no longer, but Ximena, in Rodrigo's arms she lies; All the boldness of the brother vanished in the sisters sighs. Long it were to tell the story how that Gomez's wound had healed, 'Twixt Ruy Diaz, and Ximena how the marriage bond was sealed. Sooth to say they did not tarry; in sooth he had not died. Now Santiago for Castile! God keep us all from pride! A SCENE ON BOARD THE TURKISH FLAG-SHIP AT ACRE.-- A colonel of the Turkish troops on board shortly found his way to the divan, which I had again occupied. He was accompanied by a little negro boy, carrying his pipe. The latter lit the chibouk with due form, and presented it to his master, when I had an opportunity of witnessing what I think may be termed a proof of innate politeness in the Turk. It is a compliment which a Turk always pays to an equal to offer him his pipe, after he has himself taken a few whiffs; but at a moment like this, when one was not sure of the head on his shoulders from one minute to the other, it was hardly to be expected if any body lit a pipe he should go to such lengths as to think of doing so for another. On the contrary, my friend offered it me as he would have done at any other time; and, I doubt not, would have been alike offended had I refused him the compliment of accepting it. The little negro boy was still more cool and unconcerned than his master. The colonel having been called away to attend upon Selim Pasha, who was on the poop, young Sambo at once scrambled on the divan, as far as possible out of the window, impressed apparently wish a great desire to see what all the noise was about outside. A stream of shot, during the action, continued to pass, ploughing up the water a few yards astern of the ship. The shot striking in the water and rebounding upwards again seemed to arouse the little negro vastly, and I could not but envy his ignorant equanimity, when, as frequently happened, one would come nearer than usual to where we were sitting, and the little fellow would rub his hands and shew his teeth from ear to ear with delight. After an hour's firing, a gun in the fortress, of very large dimensions, was observe to be solely directed at our ship, and a shot, which had severely wounded the mainmast, was thought to have been fired from it. Captain Lane and Mr. Walton pointed against it several of the main deck guns, which shortly had the effect of silencing its fire.--United Service Journal. [*134 BROTHER JONATHAN.*] From Cruikshank's Omnibus. A TALE OF AN INN. "Uncommon high the wind be to-night, surely," remarked the occupier of the seat of honor on the left side of the fire place in the Jolly Drummer, on the night of a boisterous 31st of March--"uncommon:" and as he spoke he uncrossed his legs and resting his left hand which held his long pipe upon his knee, stretched out his right to a little triangular table that stoop before the fire, stirred a more than half-finished tumbler of warm rum-and-water which was standing on one of the corners, shook the drops off the spoon, and having placed it on the table, raised the tumbler to his mouth, and in another minute set it down again empty, save the thin slice of lemon which had been floating about in the liquor. Having done this, he threw himself back in his seat, tucked his feet under it, and there crossed them, riggled his right hand into his breeches' pocket, and resting his left elbow on the arm of the high-backed form or "settle" on which he was seated, puffed away in quiet enjoyment of his pipe. Per-per-per. "It do blow above a bit, and that's all about it," returned a little man who was seated in an old Windsor chair opposite, as, having filled his pipe, he commenced lighting it with a piece of half-burnt paper that he had taken from the hub, and spoke between the strong puffs of smoke which curled upwards from his mouth during the operation. "I never--per--per--remember--per--such a night--per-- per--as this here--per--leastways for the time o'year--per--per--per-- but oce, per--and that was," said he, having now got his pipe well lighted, and letting himself gradually sink back in his chair, "and that was in the year--'37, when, as you remember, Master Tyler," looking at his friend opposite, "the mails was all snow'd up; but that was a trific earlier in the year too, that was--let me see--chay, werry, little tho'; why it was on the--yes, it was,, on the 24th of this very month, and so it was." "Ay, ny," replied Tyler, "I remember it, be sure I do; and bless you, I thought ve vas all a-going to be fruz up in our beds, as sure as I'm a-sitting here. But now, vhat I vas a-thinking of, vas, that this here night never comes round but what I thinks of what happened to me vun blowing 31st of March. It makes me shake almost, too, a-thinking on it," continued he, looking up at a large tadpole-looking clock, which, with its octangular face, assured all the company that it wanted but a quarter of an hour of midnight. "What was that?" exclaimed all the circle; "give us that tale, Master Tyler, a-fore we parts." "Vell, then," said Tyler, touching his empty glass, "let's prepare for it." Upon this hint, one of the party, the host of the Jolly Drummer himself, rapped the table with his bread fist and shouted "Hollo there," which process brought upon the scene "Mary, the Maid of the Tan," whom Master Tyler requested to fill his glass, and "do the same for the gen'man opposite." She accordingly retired with the empty glasses, and as she is now out of the room, which we know to be the case from the whir-r-r-r bang! of the weighted door, we will take the opportunity before she comes back of describing the house and company. The Jolly Drummer was a small public-house at the extreme end of a little scattered village; its situation on the verge of an extensive heath, and detached from the other cottages, would have given it a lonely appearance but for it's back-ground of a few trees, and two or three old stunted oaks before the door, between two of which was the horse-trough, and from the branches of the third swang the old and weather-beaten sign, creaking to and fro in the wind; the hay scattered about the trough, or whirled in air by the wind, and the wicker crate which stood at the door by the side of the mounting steps, together with a pail and mop, gave indications of a pretty-well frequented house. If anything more was waiting to establish the fact, on this night, besides two or three light carts, a heavy stage-waggon might be seen rearing its giant bulk against the dark sky with its shafts erect, and the unlit stable-lantern still skewered in the front. The interior presented a more lively and comfortable appearance, at least in the room with which we are principally concerned. Here, a fire of a few coals overlaid with large logs, crackled and spluttered in the grate round which the party was assembled, two of whom we have already introduced. Upon the same light-backed form or settle, on which Master Tyler sat, were seated three other men, two of whom belonged to the waggon without, and the third was a small short man, who said little, but seemed to imbibe all Master Tyler uttered with great reverence. On the opposite side of the fire, besides the little man in the Windsor chair, were two others, the one the blacksmith, and the other the cobbler of the village. Sitting opposite to the fire, and so as to complete the circle round it, sat the stout landlord himself, looking round at his guests and attending to their wants (as we have seen) with the consciousness of being "well-to-do" in the world. On the little triangular table stood a quart mug "imperial measure;" a brass candlestick, bet through age, holding a thin tallow candle; a large pair of snuffers, lying by their side bottom upwards, was scored with the marks of a bit of chalk, half-crushed among the tobacco ashes, and a dirty pack of cards, gave the observer every proof that the two waggoners had but lately been engaged in the favorite game of all-fours." The room in which this company had met was a low and square, boasting as furniture a few Windsor chairs, a square deal table edged with iron, and supported by trussel-like-legs, in addition to the before-mentioned little triangular one, another of which latter description was seen in a distant corner, a dresser standing against the wall opposite the fire, and a tall cupboard by its side; the window on the left side of the room was shaded by a checked curtain, which waved mournfully under the influence of the gusts of wind that managed to find their through the closed lattice. A few such pictures as "the lovely florist," and the "happy fruiterer," with rounded limbs and flowing drapery, printed with bright colors on glass, decorated the walls, and the mantelshelf was decked with the usual ornaments of peacocks' feathers, brass candlesticks, tin stands for pipe-lighters, flour and pepper-boxes, a coffee pot, and two lines painted on the wall recording, with the day and date, how "Thomas Swipes, Jacob Swiliby, and James Piper, drank at one sitting in this room receive quarts of ale." Such was the room and its contents on the 31st March, 18--, and a blowing night it was. The whir-r-bang again of the door announces Mary to have returned with the replenished glasses, and as she is retiring she is arrested by the voice of Master Tyler, who calls out to her-- "Vait a bit, Mary, I know you're fond of a tale; you may as vell sit down and listen, for I dare say you never heered a better, tho' I says it, and that's a fact--that's to say, if the company has no objections," added Tyler. They all seemed to agree with Master Tyler in admitting Mary into the circle, and accordingly made room for her next to her master, the host. All these preliminaries being arranged, Master Tyler having just tasted his new glass of grog, thus began;-- “Let me see, it was about the year 1817, ven I fust vent to be ostle; at the Vite Swan, Stevenage, for I cos a ostler vonce, gem"men, that I vas; you remember the time, Juggles? " continued he, addressing the little man opposite (who answered with an “ay,” and a nod of the head). “Old Dick Styles used to work the old Highflier thro’ Stever age at that time, and he was as good a coachman as here and there Sun; but howsumever, that ain't got nothink to do with my story. I was a saying it was my fust night in the yard, and in course I had to pay my footin.” Vell. old Tom Martin was the boots; he as come arterwards to place, you know, Juggles 1” (“Ay,” answered the little man again, as he looked meditatingly at the fire;) and me and him,” continued Tyler, “sat up in the tap a-drinking and smoking and that, and a precious jok ly night of it we had, I can tell you! There was Peter Scraggs, and as good a chap he vos as ever stepped, and un or two more good joil; coves as you'd vish to see; vell, ve got a chaffin, and that like, ven Tom says to me, says he, “Tyler, ses he, “you arn’t been here long, ses he, “but maybe you've a heerd o' that old chap up yonder ‘Vot old chap 7" ses I. ‘Why him on his beam-ends,’ ses he, a-langhing, and all the t'others laughed too, for I beered arter wards that that was his joke. ‘Well,' ses I, ‘as I was never here afore, t'aint verry likely as I have heerd of 'un; but who is he?' “Why," ses be, “he was an old grocer as lived in this hers town o' Steven age,’ ses he, years and years ago,' ses he and left in his will” when he died, ses he, that he wouldn't be buried, not he, but he box'd up in his coffin and highsted up a-top o' the beams of his “hovel,” as he called it; but a barn it is, that's sartain,’ ses he. “Nonsense,’ ses I; ‘you ain't a-going to come over me in that there style with your gammon,' ses I. ‘Gammon or no,' ses Tom, “if you've a mind you may see him yourself, ses he: ' leastways you may see his oak coffin,’ says he. Seein's be: lievin'," ses I, all over the world, sez I, ‘so here goes;' and up I gets, and Tom, he gets up too, and vun or two others, and ve goes out; and Tom, he catches holdt of a stable lantern, and pick up vun o' them poles with a fork at the end---them things vot the vashervomen hangs their lines upon ven they dries the clothes---and ve valks into a stable like place as had been a barn, and Tom he hooks the lantern on to the pole, and holds it up, and there sure enough cos the coffin, a stuck up in the roof a top o' two beams. “It's as true as I'm a-sitting here,” continued Tyler, as he observed symptoms of incredulity in some of his auditors; “it’s as true as I'm a sitting here; and vot's more, you may see it there yourselves in that werry place to this werry day if you like to go as far. Wel, as I was a saying, I looks up, and ses I, ‘I’m blessed if it ain't a coffin,’ ses 1.--- ‘Ay,’ says Tom and the others, now you'll believe it, von't you?' ‘Sar tainly I will,’ ses I, now I sees it: but I'm blow'd if I didn't think you had been a..going on with some game or another,’ ses I. “Well, ve come back agen to the tap, and we sat there a-talking over that there old man and his rum fancy of being cocked up there, and vot not, till ve’d had enough, and thought it time to be off; it was then about half-past eleven. So Tom says, scs he, “I’ll show you where you are to hang out, Tyler, ses he: so he takes me out in the yard and shows me my nest over the stable, and I'm blessed if it warn: the wery next to the vun with the old man. “Pretty close company, ses I to myself, ‘anyhow :' but how sumdever I never said nothing, not I, in case he should think that I was afeered arter vot he'd a ben saying and that; so np I goes with the lantern, up the ladder, but I couldn't for the life of me help a-thinking of old Harry Taigg, (that vos the old feller's name, him in the coffin.) Vel, however, I turns in at last, and l haven't been in bed more nor ten minutes at most, ven I heered a kind of a---" “Mercy! what's that " exclaimed Mary, as the sign-board outside seemed to take part in the tale, and groan uneasily in the wind. “Don’t be foolish, Mary,” said my host, scarcely less frighted; “what should it This will was proved in the archdeaconry of Huntingdon, Sypt. 18, 1724. BROTHER JONATHAN 135 be but the old sign? Don't interrupt Master Tyler again, there's a good lass" “Vell, I heerd a kind of a creak,” resumed the speaker, with a scarcely perceptible smile, “and I listened, and presently I thought I heerd a groan. Well, I didn't much like it, I can tell you; however, I thought as it ves all imaginary like, and vos jist a turning round in my bed to get a more comfortabler position---" “Snuff the candle,” suggested Juggles to the blacksmith in a low tone, who did it mechanically, scarcely taking his eyes off the speaker the while. “Vhen I heerd a woice,” (here there was a breathless silence among the auditors,) “I heerd a woice, I gets a bit more plucky like: ‘for,” thinks I, arter all it may he some vun in difficulties.’ So I ses, ses I, • Wot's the row, sir?’ ‘Tyler," ses the woice, a calling me by name, -Tyler,’ ses he, ‘I wish I hadn't done it.’ ‘Done vot?' ses I; for since he called me by my name I vos a little quieter. ‘Vy,' ses the woice, ‘a’ got myself cocked up here, ses he. Ses I, ‘Why don't you get down then?' ses I. ''Cause I can't,' seshc. “Why not?’ ses I. “‘Cause I’m screwed down in my coffin,’ ses he.” Here a scream, half-suppressed, broke from Mary. “My eye" ses I to myself, and I shook all over— - it's the old man his self,’ and I pops my head under the bed-clothes precious quick, I can tell you; for I vos in a bit of a stew, as you may guess. Veil, presently I heerd the old man a calling out again; but I never answered a void, not I. ling and scratching on the t'other side o' the planks close to where I vos a-laying. ‘That's him,' thinks I; but he can't come here, that's clear.’ • Can't I tho'?' says the werry same woice close to my feet, this time. Oh crickey, how I did shake sure-ly at that there. ‘Tyler" ses he, calling out loud, “Tyler,’ ses he, look up;' but bless you, I never spoke nor moved. “Tyler,’ ses he agen, a-hollering for all the vorld as loud as thunder, “John Tyler look up ! or it'll be the vurse for you. So at that I puts the werry top o' my eyes over the bed-clothes, and there I saw—" “What?” exclaimed the blacksmith and cobbler, under their breath at the same instant. The narrator looked around ; Juggles was leaning forward in his chair, his open hand scarce holding his pipe, which, in the eagerness of his curiosity he had let out; the blacksmith and cobbler were, with eyes and mouth wide open, intently watching the speaker's face; mine host, with both fists on the table, was not a whit less anxious; Mary was leaning on the shoulder of one of the waggoners, with outstretched neck to wards Tyler, drinking in every word he uttered; and the two waggoners, perfectly wrapped up in the tale, stared vacantly at the opposite wall. “What?” repeated the anxious hearers. Master Tyler took his pipe from his month, and puffing out a long wreath of smoke, at the same time pointing with his pipe to the clock, which was just on the quarter past twelve, said—“NOTHING ! AND You'RE ALL APRIL Fools" REMARKABLE INSTANCE OF CANINE FIDELITY In the autumn, when the seige of Fort Stanvi, in America, was raised, the following occurrence took place at the fort: “Captain Greg, one of the officers left in the garrison, went out one afternoon with a corporal, belonging to the same corps, to shoot pigeons. When the day was far advancing, Greg knowing that the savages were sometimes prowling round the fort, determined to return. At that moment a small flock of pigeons alighted upon a tree in the vicinity. The corporal proposed to try a shot at them; and, having approached sufficiently near, was in the act of elevating his piece towards the pigeons, when the report of two muskets, discharged by unknown hands, at a small distance was heard; the same instant Greg saw his companion fall, and felt himself badly wounded in the side. He tried to stand, but speedily fell ; and in a moment perceived a huge Indian taking long strides towards him, with a tomahawk in his hand. The savage struck him several blows on the head, drew his knife, cut a circle through the skin, from his fore head to the crown, and then drew off the scalp. At the approach of the savage, Greg had counterfeited the appearance of being dead, with as much address as he could use, and succeeded so far as to persuade his butcher that he was really dead; otherwise, measures still more effectual would have been employed to despatch him. It is hardly necessary to observe that the pain produced by these.wounds was intense and dreadful. Those on the head were, however, far the most excruciating, although that in his side was believed by him to be mortal. The savages, having finished their bloody business, withdrew. As soon as they were fairly gone, Greg, who had seen his companion fall, determined, if possible, to make his way to the spot where he lay, from a persuasion that if he could place his head upon the corporal's body, it would in some degree relieve his excessive anguish. Accordingly he made an effort to rise, and having with great difficulty succeeded, immediately fell. He was not only weak and distressed, but had been deprived of the power of self. command by the blows of the tomahawk. Strongly prompted, how ever, by this little hope of mitigating his sufferings, he made a second attempt, and again fell. After several unsuccessful efforts, he finally regained possession of his feet, and, staggering slowly through the forest, he at length reached the spot where the corporal lay. The Indian who marked him for his prey took a surer aim than his fellow, and killed him outright. Greg found him lifeless and scalped. With some difficulty he laid his own head upon the body of his companion, and, as he had hoped, found material relief from this position. While he was enjoying this little comfort, he met with trouble from a new quarter. A small dog, which belonged to him, and had accompanied him in his hunting, but to which he had been hitherto wholly inattentive, now came up to him in an apparent agony, and, leaping around him in a variety of involuntary motions, yelped, whined, and cried, in an unusual manner, to the no small molestation of his master. Greg was not in a situation to bear the disturbance even of affection. He tried in every way he could think of to force the dog from him, but he tried in vain. At length, wearied by his cries and agitations, and not knowing how to put an end to them, he addressed the animal as if he had been a rational being— “If you wish to help me, go and call some one to my relief." At these words the creature instantly left him, and ran though the forest at full speed, to the great comfort of his master, who now hoped to die quietly. The dog made his way directly to three men belong ing to the garrison, who were fishing, at the distance of a mile from the scene of this tragedy. As soon as he came up to them, he be. gan to cry in the same afflicting manner, and, advancing near them, turned, and went slowly back towards the point where his master lay, keeping his eye continually on the men. All this he repeated several times. At length one of the men observed to his companions, that there was something very extraordinary in the action of the dog, and that, in his opinion, they ought to find out the cause. His companions were of the same mind, and they set out with an intention to follow the animal whither he should lead them. After they had pursued him some distance, and found nothing, they became discouraged. The sun was set, and the forest was dangerous: they therefore determined to return. The moment the dog saw them wheel about he began to cry with increased violence, and, coming up to the men he took hold of the skirts of their coats with his teeth, and attempted to pull them towards the point to which he had directed their course. When they stopped again, he leaned his back against the back part of their legs as if endeavouring to push them onward to his master. Astonished at this conduct of the dog, they agreed, after a little deliberation, to follow him until he should stop. The animal conducted them directly to his master. They found him still living, and after burying the corporal as well as they could, they: carried Greg to the fort. Here his wounds were dressed with the utmost care, and such assistance was rendered to him as proved the means of restoring him to perfect health. This story I received from Captain Edward Bulkley, a respectable officer of General Par: son's brigade. Greg himself, a few days before, communicated all the particulars to Captain Bulkely. I will only add, what I never think of without pain, and what I am sure every one of my readers will regret, that, not long after, a brutal fellow wantonly shot this meritorious and faithful dog.”—Dwight's Travels. MENTAL DERANGEMENT FROM INTOXICATION —The drunkard injures and enfeebles his own nervous system, and entails mental disease upon his family. His daughters are nervous and hysterical ; his sons are weak, wayward, eccentric, and sink insane under the pressure of excitement, of some unforeseen exigency, or of the ordinary calls of duty. This heritage may be the result of a ruined and diseased constitution, but is much more likely to proceed from that long-continued nervous excitement, in which pleasure was sought in the alternate exaltation of sentiment and oblivion, which exhausted and wore out the mental powers, and ultimately produced imbecility and paralysis, both attributable to disease of the substance of the brain. How far the monomania of inebriety is itself a disease, and may be more the development, the consummation, than the commencement of a heriditary tendency to derangement, this is not the place to point out; but there is every reason to believe that it not only acts upon, and renders more deleterious, whatever latent taint may exist, but vitiates or impairs the sources of health for several generations. That the effects of drunkenness are highly inimical to a permanent healthy state of the brain, is often proved at a great distance of time from the course of intemperance, and long after the adoption of regular habits. Some time since, I was called to treat a remarkably fine boy about sixteen years old, among whose relations no case of derange ment could be pointed out, and for whose sudden malady no cause could be assigned except a single glass of spirits. His father, how: ever, had been a confirmed drunkard, was subject to the delirium and depression following inebriety, and died of delirium tremens. The boy recovered. His case presented many points of interest. His head increased rapidly, and the two hemispheres were of unequal size. The disease was intermittent, the patient passing a week in furiOus incoherent madness, and the succeeding week imperfect tranquillity and consciousness. These states were separated or connected by a short and profound sleep or lethargy, differing altogether from the patient's ordinary sleep, and recognised by him as the culminating point of his disorder. At present I have two patients who appear to inherit a tendency to unhealthy action of the brain from mothers addicted to drinking; and another, an idiot, whose father was a drunkard.—Dr. Brown on Insanity. 136 ROTHER JONATHAN. Trial of Colt. The trial of John C. Colt, indicted for the wilful murder of Mr. Adams, was set down for Monday, but as it appeared that there were not enough jurors in the panel, the case was adjourned to Wednesday morning, and the Sheriff, in the mean time, issued summons to three hundred persons to attend as jurors. The immense throng of people, as early as eight o'clock in the morning, blocked all the avenues to the Court Room, and during the whole day a crowd remained in the Park, staring at the City Hall, in which the Court of Oyer and Terminer holds it sessions, as if there were in that occupation, amusement and gratification of curiosity. The excitement upon the subject is unparralleled; the horrid circumstances attending the murder of Mr. Adams having arrested the attention of every body who can read, speak, or think, in the metropolis— nay, even in the country. On the passage of Colt from the carriage to the court on Monday, there were shouts among the people of "Hang him! Hang him!" but on Wednesday he escaped the public expression of c?ntumely. The prisoner was brought into Court before nine o'clock, and looked calm and collected. He sat reading the papers till ten o'clock, when the proceedings commenced. The counsel for prisoner moved a delay until Friday, alleging their right to make enquiry respecting the panel of three hundred jurors, to guide them in exercising the right of challenge. The court, however, decided that the trial must proceed. The calling of jurors was then commenced, and with the exception of the recess taken for dinner, the court was in session till eleven o'clock at night. The entire panel of three hundred talesmen was exhausted, and also the original panel of thirty-six. Out of these three hundred and thirty-six, eleven jurors were sworn to try the cause. The following are the names of the jury: Joseph Bishop, Hosea F. Clark, Nathan R. Husted, Elias Hatfield, Epenetus Howe, Charles H. Delavan, James R. Hobby, Francis Dodsworth, Hiram M. Forrester, Alfred H. Dunscomb, John H. Williams, John Roshore. The prisoner's counsel exhausted sixteen peremptory challenges out of his twenty, having only four left, and challenged two for the favor. The case was resumed on Thursday morning, the twelfth juror was sworn, and the counsel for prosecution opened the case. The trial takes place before Judge Kent, recently appointed to the Bench of this Court, and Messrs. Purdy and Lee, who take their seats as Aldermen, [ex-officie]. Mr. Whiting, the District Attorney, is assisted by James M. Smith, Esq., in conducting the prosecution. The defence is conducted by Dudley Selden, Robert Emmett, and John A. Morrell, Esqrs., an excellent combination of legal talent as could be provided in the city. James M. Smith, Esq., opened the case for the prosecution, and displayed the facts which are expected to be proved, in a very clear and succinct manner; after which, the prosecution proceeded to call their witnesses. Asa. H. Wheeler, sworn--I am a teacher of book-keeping and writing n the corner of Chamber street and Broadway in the granite building, and have been there one year last May. I know the prisoner and have known him since 1838 I think. On the 2d of last August he called on me to hire a room from me. I rented it to him for six weeks from that day. The room adjoined my own with folding doors between, (the witness here described the position of the rooms, the doors, &c., a diagram of the building being produced and exhibited to him.) Previous to the 2d of August I occupied both rooms, but let one of them to Mr. Colt during the vacation. The folding doors were locked after he came there, and not opened again, until he left. I never had the key of those doors during the time Colt was there. He got the key from Mr. Riley I presume, who occupied the room before Mr. Colt for about three months. The door could not be opened into my room. I saw in Mr. Colt's room after he entered it, a table, a few chains, a box and a trunk. There was no other furniture as I saw. The box was of pine, perhaps three feet in length by about 18 inches in height and width. It stood in the corner to the left of the door as you entered. The table stood in the west corner of the room. (The diagram was again exhibited to enable the witness to describe the situation of the room and the articles in it as he saw them.) During the time he occupied the room, I saw him frequently, any was occasionally in his room. (The witness here described his own room--the various articles in it, and their position in the room.) Up to the time Mr. Adams was missing, I had no difficulty with Mr. Colt except once some words passed, when I asked him for some rent due. He game me some books as security, and after that we were as good friends as before. The next evening after this, Colt was in my room, and we had a friendly conversation. This was about the 2d or 3d of September. From that time down to the seventeenth, we were on good terms as before. When his six weeks had expired, he asked to stay another week and I partly assented. On the seventeenth, I reached my room at half-past 2, P. M. (on Friday.) I was seated at my desk in the East corner of my room writing, and after being alone some time, a pupil of mine about 15 years old entered, and he went to work at his book-keeping. About quarter past 3, I heard a noise in the next room. It sounded first like the rattling of foils. This was momentary; it was followed by a heavy fall on the floor. My pupil observed, "What is that!" I said I don't know. I then left my seat, went into the hall and listened at Colt's door, and all was still. I looked at the key-hole, and found that the drop inside was down, except that a small ray of light passed through. I had my pen in my hand and tried to push the drop aside, and did so. I saw in the centre of the room close by the West wall, a person bending down over something, and a jerking motion of the shoulders was visible, as though he was shaking something. This person was in his shirt-sleeves. I think I could not see the person's head. On the table beyond, I saw two black hats. This person remained in this position I suppose 10 minutes; after that he went to the table, took something which I did not see, and returned to the same position. I then called my pupil to watch the door, while I went up stairs for help. I expected to find Mr. Adams, the owner of the building, but he was out. I then called Mr. Lockwood, the keeper of the house, and he came down to the door, and looking in the keyhole, found the drop was down again. Mr. Lockwood seemed to think my suspicions incorrect, but was much agitated, and left me alone in the hall. I kept my eye on the door until another scholar came in, and I related the facts to him. I rapped at Colt's door, but got no answer, all was still. I then went softly down stairs and returned with a heavy tread, thinking that Colt might suppose it was a friend and opened the door. I then rapped again, but had no answer. Several of my scholars came in about then, and I related the facts to them. I then sent a person after an officer, and he said the officer was engaged then, but would be there in the course of half an hour. We waited till candlelight, when two of my scholars went for another officer. The answer was, that the officers could not open the door if they came, but we had better keep watch. I remained with my scholars till 9 o'clock, and then went home, leaving the room with Mr. Delnoce, who was to keep watch. During the evening, there was no noise in the room [Colt's] at all. No person went in or out. From the time I heard the noise first in Colt's room down to 9 P. M., I heard no sound of voices, or wrangling, or any thing of the kind. Previous to that all had been quiet. The noise came on us very suddenly. The noise as of the clashing of foils, lasted only a moment. There was a very slight noise, as of feet scraping on the floor--this was, however, very slight indeed. There was nothing like opening and shutting of doors--all was silent and still. On Saturday I reached the room about half past 9, and with a false key opened Colt's door and found him absent. I opened the door about half--took one step in and looked around. I saw that the box which had stood there was missing, and that the floor had apparently been thoroughly scrubbed. The spot over which the person had been stooping on Friday, had been much more thoroughly scrubbed than the rest, presenting quite a contrast to other parts of the floor. There was also oil and ink in different parts of the room. There was water around the base. I stood in the door perhaps one minute; after that I locked the door and went into my own room. In about half an hour Colt came to my door and rapped. He enquired if my key would fit his door, saying he had left his at his house and he wished to enter his room. I told him I did not know if it would, but he might try. He did so, and it did not, and he gave it back to me. He then commenced talking, and asked me if I had seen his brother. I said no. I asked him what was the noise in his room yesterday afternoon. He said I must be mistaken; there was no noise there, as he was out all the afternoon. After a few words more, he left. I stated to him there was a noise, but he said I must be mistaken. On Monday I reached my room about 11 o'clock, and soon after Mr. Colt entered his room and commenced singing. I went in his room, and found him smoking a segar. He said he had a bad habit; that he smoked to prevent his spitting blood, or else that smoking made him spit blood, I cannot say exactly which it was he said. On the part of the floor which had been most scrubbed, there were thirty or forty spittles. I again referred to the noise of Friday, and he said, in truth, Mr. Wheeler, I upset my table and spilled my ink, and made a great muss, but I hope it did not disturb you. On Saturday I called on Mr. Adams, owner of the building, to ask his advice, and he thought it was better to keep quiet and see if any thing came out in the papers--it was a delicate subject, and I ought to be very cautious. For that reason I said nothing further until Monday. After this conversation with Colt on Monday nothing further passed that day. I looked around the room at that time, but it was in the same appearance as on Saturday. I thought it had been scrubbed again. On Tuesday I saw a notice about Mr. Adams in the papers, and I went to Mr. Lane, in Catherine street. I came back to my room and Mr. Lane came to my room with Mr. Lowads. Mr. Land produced Mr. Adams' books and we examined them. From what we saw there we went to the Mayor's office. On Friday morning, while talking in the Chamber street door with a friend, Mr. Colt passed down stairs—invited me to come and sit in his room and have a talk about book-keeping, teaching, &c. Cross-examined by Mr. Selden.--I went to Colt's door but once before BROTHER JONATHAN. 137 I went up stairs for assistance. I made no effort to enter Colt's room when I first went there. I did not turn the handle of the door, or knock, until after I had been down stairs as I said before. [This witness was cross-examined at great length, but nothing was elicited contradictory to the statements in his direct examination up to 3 o'clock, when the Court took a recess.] AFTERNOON SESSION. Wheeler's cross examination continued.—I found Mr. Rockwell in his room, and he came down and went directly to Colt's door. i found that the slide was over the key-hole. I waited for some time before I knocked. We spoke of it at the door. Previous to going down I rapped at the door. Some of my scholars also came out to try if they could discover any noise. I did not strive to get in the second time at all. The noise I heard sounded something like shuffling of feet. I think that Mr. Delnoce came there before Seignette left. I think he was absent in going for the officer about 30 minutes. I think that Colt had a pail in his room. I got the key to open the door from my scholar, Mr. Wood. (To a Juror)—There was no door communicating between the room occupied by Johnson and Colt. Direct resumed—Colt's room had a curtain suspended in front of room, and I think when I looked through the key hole the curtain was drawn across the window. Thinks the man that rose from the floor was a tall man, and that his vest was white, and pantaloons black. Could not say whether he had boots or shoes on him. The hats were lying on the table, on their crowns as persons would ordinarily place them on the table. I did not discover the piece of glass at the door until Friday. I hardly know how to describe the noise. It was more like a single clash of foils than a continued clashing of them. I very seldom heard the noise of persons speaking loudly in Colt's room. When there was loud laughing I could hear it, but think I could not hear an unexcited conversation in his room unless Broadway was very still. Arzac Seignette, a pupil of Mr. Wheeler's, testified to the noise; which, he said he judged to be like a person taking hold of a man, and throwing him down, without much trouble or any struggle. he heard no noise in the room like men moving on the floor, except the rush and the foil. The noise was like foils crossing each other, but I don't think it was foils, but I can't compare it to any thing else. The noise and fall followed too closely to be like persons fighting with foils. The fall was like the instantaneous fall of a body. John Denoce examined, aged 26, book-keeper, 129 Broadway.—At the time of this occurrence I resided at Staten Island, and was in town almost every day. I had partly agreed with Mr. Wheeler about occupying a room of Mr. Wheeler's and slept in it four or five times. About four o'clock on the day in question, I came to Mr. Wheeler's. he related what had occurred which I scarcely believed, until he went to Colt's door. I thin got up on the desk at the folding door, and listened at the key-hole of it which was stopped. I heard no noise, whatever. I don't know what then transpired until Wheeler asked me to go for an officer and I went to the Justice in Centre street, and asked to see Mr. Boyer, who soon after came in, and I old him what occurred. I came back to Wheeler's and told him that an officer would be here in half an hour. I then stayed a little while at Wheeler's office and went to ten. It must have then been a little after six o'clock. After tea I came back to Wheeler's and remained there until he left at 9 o'clock I then locked the door and remained still sitting in a chair for half an hour, when I heard some person inside Colt's door put a key into it and unlocked it, and came out, locked the door, and went away.— The person returned in 4 or 5 minutes and unlocked the door, went in and locked it. In about five minutes, I heard some person in Colt's room tear something like cotton cloth in the sound of its tearing. I next heard the rattling of water. After that I heard some person scrubbing the floor in front of the folding doors in Colt's room, continually dipping the cloth in the water and taking it out again. The next noise I heard was about six o'clock the next morning, as if some person was nailing up a box, and as if the box was full. I slept during the night. I can't say I was awake before I heard the noise, or that it was the noise awoke me. I also heard the noise of a person sawing a board. I heard the nailing first, and the sawing a few minutes after. After that, I went to breakfast, being about 7 o'clock. I am certain no person opened Colt's door from the time I awoke until I went out. There was no one in Wheeler's room when I left it to go to breakfast. I returned in about an hour. On coming up stairs I saw a box marked to some person at St. Louis, by way of New Orleans. The box was about a foot or 6 inches inside of the stairs, between the druggist's door and the stair railing. The mark on the box was in large writing, on the box itself. The boards of the box had been planed. The letters looked to have been written in ink. I did not notice whether it was dry. The box was about three feet long, three and a half feet wide, and about the same in depth; the box was not there when I went to breakfast; I passed up to Wheeler's room, and don't recollect seeing any person while I was going up. I saw Colt twice or thrice before. I discovered in the course of the day, perhaps after dinner, that the box had been removed; but I can't say when it was removed. I did not see Colt until the Friday in the following wee, when he came into Wheeler's room and asked me for a match to light a cigar, and entered into a conversation about book-keeping and other matters, and I never saw him since. Cross-examined—I arrived at Wheeler's on the day of the occurrence, about four o'clock, and remained about an hour before I went to the police office. I was away full three quarters of an hour. When I first went there at four o'clock, I saw Mr. Wheeler. Mr. Seignette and Mr. Reill were there. I have no recollection of seeing any one else there. I was not absent from it after I went there, except while I was at the police office and at tea. I was about three quarters of an hour at tea. When I came back to Wheeler's the lamps were lighted in his room. I found Mr. Wheeler alone when I returned from tea. When I returned from the police office I found Mr. Wheeler and Mr. Seignette there. I dont recollect if there was any other person there; my impression is there was not, but couldn't say positively. After I returned from team, Mr. Wheeler went and knocked at Colt's door, and waited long enough to get an answer. Direct examination.—On returning from tea I observed that Mr. Colt's room was dark. After Mr. Wheeler left me, I sat perfectly still until I heard Colt's door unlocked and heard the person going out of his room, I distinctly heard the person going out of the room and locking and returning and going into it. I think the person to whom the box was directed at New Orleans, was Grey. The Court then adjourned. On Friday, Jan. 21, after some remarks of prisoner's counsel, who moved an order relative to the Herald and the Tattler, for publishing cuts representing supposed scenes in the murder, (not granted) the examination of witnesses commenced with LEWIS OCTON, a colored man who resides in the building, where the murder was committed, and has charge of it, sweeping, &c. This testimony was chiefly important, as on the morning of Aug. 18 he saw a box, which he described, standing at the head of the head of the stairs on the second story. It was between the hours of six and seven, when he was sweeping down. He saw Colt get this box down stairs, letting it slide and going before it—lighting it up by putting his shoulder to it, when its progress was stopped by any obstruction. A great many questions were asked this witness, about the building, which it is not necessary here to repeat. Many were asked also, relative to the box, which witness had not seen since that morning. RICHARD BARSTOW, a carman, deposed to taking the box from Chambers-street to the packet-ship Kalamazoo, at the foot of Maiden-lane. He identified the prisoner as the man who employed him, and described the box. He assisted in getting the box from the vessel, saw it opened, and saw that it contained the dead boy of a man. THOMAS RUSSELL, another carman, deposed to assisting Barstow to put the box on his cart, by the direction of Colt. This witness hunted up Barstow at the Mayor's request, on the 25th, and went with him to the Kalamazoo. Assisted in getting out of the box, and did not look into it on account of the stench. MR. GODFREY, Superintendant of carts, testified to has agency, by direction of the Mayor, in finding the carmen who moved the box, and tracing it to the vessel, where he assisted in getting it out. He described the appearance of the body when the box was opened. On his cross-examination he denied having made any bet in relation to the trial. Bets were proposed to him, but he did not take them up. he repeated offers to bet, whether by persons sent to him or not, witness does not know. JOHN P. ELWELL, agent for the Kalamazoo, testified to seeing the box come on board on the 18th of October, between nine and ten, and saw it taken out. Saw a body in it, but did not remain long. WILLIAM S. COFFIN'S deposition was read. he is mate of the Kalamazoo, now at sea. Testified to the receipt of the box, and its relanding. Saw Colt at the dead house, and thinks he saw him at the ship. ABNER MILLIKEN, Deputy Coroner, testified to going on board the Kalamazoo, on the 26th September, and seeing the box hoisted out— Witness described the contents of the box, body, matting, &c., the dress of the prisoner and position of the body. The box, and the articles it contained, were still preserved at the tombs, being locked in a cell. ROBERT H. MORRIS, Mayor of the city, was first applied to on Thursday, the 23d of September, in relation to this matter. On Friday, having conversed with the colored man and his wife who have charge of the building, and received other information, he issued warrants, and proceeded with Justice Taylor and two officers to arrest Colt. The arrest was made as he was about to enter his room. The box was traced on Saturday to the Kalamazoo, and found on Sunday morning. JUSTICE TAYLOR, testified to the mode of arrest, and to the finding of a trunk of clothing, containing a watch among its other articles and also a carpet bag, which were taken possession of. In the bag was a shirt marked J. Calving Colt, with both wristbands torn off. On Monday morning, the examination commenced with the testimony of ROBERT H. MORRIS, relative to the articles taken from Colt's room. Among the articles were a towel, with part of the end cut off, letters, papers, &c. One paper was marked "hair of Sara Colt, Mother of Margaret and Mary Colt, deceased," and upon being opened in Court, was found to contain hair. The prisoner was much affected, and through the whole of this examination wept profusely. A hatchet was also found in the room, and given, with a piece of the floor, to Dr. Chilton. DR. CHILTON called at Colt's room, Sept. 24th. Examined it particularly. Removed spots from the wall, which proved to be blood when chemical tests were applied. Blood was also detected on the hatchet, and on a piece of newspaper found in the carpet bag. DR. GILLMAN, called.—I am a practising physician; was not at the dead house when the dead body was brought there; I was called on 138 Brother Jonathan. Sunday by the Coroner; I went down with Dr. Kissam to the dead- house; found on the table the body of a man very much decayed. Beside the table was the box. The body was tied up by a rope; the rope passed from one knee to the other, and then round the back so as to bring the thighs tightly upon the belly, and the head was bent forward. The body was excessively offensive, and covered with vermin. We had the rope cut and the body extended, and then proceeded to make an examination of injuries about the head. The skull was fractured in several places; on the right side of the forehead the socket of the eye and part of the cheek bone were beaten in. On the left side the fracture was higher up; the brow had escaped, but above it there was an extensive fracture not so large as the other. The features were decayed. These two fractures communicated in the upper part of the forehead. The whole forehead at the upper part was beaten in. Besides this there was a fracture on the right side of the head, behind or above the ear; the bone was not beaten in, though it was depressed. Between this and the other fracture, was a couple of inches. On the left side of the head was also a fracture posterior to and a little above the ear; this was a small, round, clean hole, through which you might thrust your largest finger; there were no cracks extending from it. Besides this, there was on the back of the head in the occipat a fracture of peculiar character. Two pieces of the bone, as large as the head of a nail, were chipped off. I found them and fitted them in. They were such as might be scaled off by an edge blow of a sharp instrument. I remember no other wounds about the head. The scalp could be detached from the bone with the finger; it was so much decayed. We examined the cavity of the skull. I could not tell whether the instrument passed through the hole directly or obliquely. The cavity of the skull was filled with decayed brain, from which we took pieces of bone of various sizes; we found nothing else; some were as large as half a dollar. There was nothing very particular about the rest of the body; there was a dark mark on one of the legs, the left, I think; but I was uncertain whether it was an injury, or caused by the process of decay.- Something was said about a sore, but no satisfactory opinion could be formed about it. The mark I saw was below the knee and above the instep. There was a gold ring on the finger, which was taken off; I cannot remember on which hand. We measure the body: it measured 5 feet 9 1-2 inches. It was the body of a slightly made man-not fat- of medium size, with long black hair. I can't say whether there was a bald spot on the head or not; there were slight, dark whiskers. The spot on the leg was dry, hard, and perfectly black. [It was stated in his deposition that the spot was about four inches long and two wide, on the ancle of the left leg.] All the wounds about the head might have been inflicted by the hatchet, except the round hole; it is scarcely conceivable how it could produce such a hole; though it is possible it might. I have seen the hole in the skulls of men who have been shot; they were like this. I have heard air-guns fired; I think the noise was slight; I can compare it to nothing. I have never been in a room where fencing was going on in another room. I think the sound of an air-pistol is not like that produced by the clashing of foils; at least it is not to my mind. Not less than five blows could have produced the wounds on the head; and more might have been inflicted; other persons might have examined the cavity of the skull before me; the ball might have been there, if the person was shot and I not discover it, though I think it unlikely; if the person was shot and the wound that I saw was the wound, he could have made no noise; it would have produced death very soon. Mr. Selden objected to these questions by the District Attorney, because not warranted by the indictment; but they were allowed. Examination resumed.- Supposing this hatchet to have caused the person's death, it is difficult to say whether the death could have been caused by a single blow, without noise, or not. I think from the wounds that it is uncertain- it might have happened -it is to the last degree improbable that a man struck with a hatchet so as to fracture the skull should have power to cry out. If the skull was driven in as we found it by the first blow, speaking would be out of the question. If he received but one blow, and that so violent as to prevent his crying out, he would bleed but little; but more than if a pistol ball had caused his death. These were of course sufficient to cause his death. I did not examine the viscera of the body. Cross-examined by Mr. Selden.-The skull was ordinary thickness, I think. The skull will generally diminish slightly in thickness after death; the difference, however, is very slight. The fracture on the right side of the head and face I am sure must have been made by more than one blow, unless inflicted with the head of a very large axe; I believe it was made by more than one blow. The fracture was probably caused by a blunt instrument-- That on the left side was likewise made by a blunt instrument. On the right side the head of the temporal bone was not detached. The blow on the posterior part of the skull may have been given either by a sharp or a blunt instrument; the others were caused by a blunt instrument; the cheek bone was driven directly backwards. [Dr. G. described the directions and position of the wounds by a plaster cast of a head.] There was little more than a handful of the brain; the anterior part of the skull was empty. The brain diminishes in bulk as it decays. How the round hole was caused I cannot say.- Whatever was the blow I think its direction was perpendicular to the hand; with a nail or ball it might have been a little oblique. A blow on the skull of a living man would produce less noise than one on a dead skull. The occiputal bone of this head was scarcely as projecting as they usually are. A scar would decay. I think more rapidly than any part of the body. I did not identify the bones found in the brain. Dr. Kissam was called, but his evidence differed in no essential point from that of Dr. Gilman. Dr. Archer, the coroner, testified in relation to the finding of the body, and its posture, appearance, &c. Mrs. Emeline R. Adams called-My husband's name was Samuel Adams; his age would have been thirty on the 7th of October-he was a printer-his place of business was corner of Gold and Ann streets-he had a foreman in his employment named Manahan- he was last home on the 17th-left at noon-that was the dinner hour -he took dinner at home-he left home before 1 P.M.- I do not know where he intended to go-he did not return on that day, nor the next-the first advertisement was put in the paper on Tuesday evening, appearing on Wednesday-when he left home he had on a black coat, a buff vest of corded stuff of cotton, and mixed pantaloons of gambroon- the shirt was of cotton-on his neck was a black stock -he had a ring on his little finger of the right hand-his name was not on the shirt-I did not see the body at the dead house- a ring was shown me at the coroner's inquest. [The ring was here handed to the witness.] I think this is the ring which he wore-I recognised the stock and the coat-both were his- the shirt was not shown to me-I think it doubtful whether I should recognise it. [The stock and coat were shown to her, the Jury and the Court.] I made the stock myself and know it was his-the body was afterwards buried from my father's house- he had a watch with him when he went from home- attached to it were a gold chain, key and a seal. [The watch was handed to her.] These are the watch and key-I had worn the key two years myself-I know the key by dints upon it.- I made them myself- am positive he had the watch and key the day I saw him last- I was in the country when he got the watch, and I don't know how long he had it-I returned in September, and he had not the watch when I went away- the night before he went away, on Wednesday, he took the chain off from my chair, took the pincers and tried to get the dents out- we were out visiting at Mrs. Concklins at 90 Chatham street the day before we was missing- I was up stairs with Mrs. C and he was at the store with Mr. C. Mr. Selden waived the right to cross-examine Mrs. Adams. Mr. Monahan, Mr. Adams' foreman, testified to his going away from the office at 3 P.M., on Friday, the 17th. He never returned. Did not say where he was going. Witness described the dress of deceased, and thinks the watch found in Colt's premises was Mr. Adams's. Saw Colt on the day after the advertisement appeared relative to Mr. Adams's disappearance; he came in rather suddenly and asked if Mr. Adams was in; witness answered, "no;" he said he had seen the notice in the newspaper that he was missing; witness told him "he had been missing since the previous Friday at 3 o'clock;" witness thinks he made no reply; witness said that "if he had known where his (Colt's) office was, he should have called to ask when he had seen Mr. Adams last; " he then said, "Mr. Adams had done his printing for three years, and he had always found him very kind and accommodating to him; "about this time, a gentleman came in to see about some work; Mr. Colt introduced himself to him; the rest of the conversation witness cannot repeat; does not know the ring he wore; it was a plain gold ring; witness asked Mr. Colt if he did not owe Mr. Adams about two hundred dollars; he replied that he owed him about fifty dollars. He then left. The clothes, box, &c., were then brought in, and the deputy coroner was called. The examination was short, and the court necessarily adjourned early, on account of the intolerable effluvia. On Sunday the jurors attended church in a body. On Monday, the examination commenced with witnesses in reference to the watch found in Colt's possession. Quite a long examination was had, at the close of which Mr. Selden did not doubt that the watch, proved to have been Mr. Adams's, was the same one then in court. In the course of this testimony also, the following evidence was given by Mr. C. H. Post, in relation to the acceptance, by Mr. Adams, of the watch, as payment of a debt, from Mr. Ransom, the District Attorney objecting. When Mr. Adams demanded payment of the note, Mr. A and Mr. R had quite a "confab," and Mr. A. told Mr. E. that he believed he meant to swindle him out of his debt. He seemed to be angry. I believe there was no one present except Mr. Adams, Mr. Ransom and myself. I had known Mr. A. for two years. I had seen Mr. Adams out of temper before at my office; it was in relation to this. Mr. Downes was intimate with Mr. Adams - his general temper was good; had the greatest respect for him, and believed him of a quiet and reserved disposition. Mr. Charles Wells, had been acquainted with deceased for five or six years. Never saw any thing about him that evinced a bad temper. On the morning of the 17th, was hurried by Colt, to send copies of his book, which deceased had printed, and witness had bound, to Philadelphia. Was engaged till about 2, and thinking it necessary to see Mr. Adams before sending them off, sent for him; when he came, wit BROTHER JONATHAN. 139 ness asked him where the books were to go, and told him Mr. Colt had said they were to be sent to Philadelphia; witness asked him if I should do so; he said 'Yes, I believe it is all right; I am to receive the proceeds.' Witness said that from what Mr. Colt had remarked in the morning there was a misunderstanding between them. He turned round and said, 'I'll go and see.' Can't say that I thought him in a vexed temper. He turned round and stopped to consider; all that I saw in his countenance was surprise. I think I have conversed with others on this; don't recollect saying that he left in a vexed mood. I suffered so much from thinking that I had been the means of sending him to Colt's room that I should not have been willing to trust my judgment for some few days. Mr. Colt was at my room the day before his arrest. As he came in he said, I think, "This is very strange about Mr. Adams; what can have become of him?" I was writing, and did not look till he laid his hand on my desk. I looked up and said "I don't know; the last I saw of him he said he was going to see you: did you see him?" I think he made not much answer; he stepped back to a table and made an expression something like the first one he had used:--"It's very strange." This was, I think, between 10 and 12. We conversed then about the shipment of the books. After I had said 'I don't know,' he changed countenance, and I felt sorry that I had made the remark; for I thought it a pointed one, and one which, under similar circumstances, would have hurt my own feelings--had no suspicion that he had met his death at Colt's room. He went back four or five feet and leaned on a table, I thought he evaded my question. I believe he made no direct reply. Much of the time of the court has been occupied by attempts to show that the deceased might have been killed with a pistol, without powder, the simple force of the percussion of the cap being sufficient. Actual experiments were tried, and the thing demonstrated to be exceedingly improbable if not absolutely impossible. We therefore omit all this, and the arguments relative to the admission of such evidence. Thomas Smith, A. G. Peckham, R. B. Grinnell, James Flora, Robert Carter, Charles D. Bailey, A. V. Blake, Stephen Smith, Mr. Monahan, J. C. Sparks and Mr. Lane, all of whom had business and acquaintance with Mr. Adams, testified to Mr. Adams's inoffensive character; some of them said that he had not spirit to resent an insult. Charles J. Walker called--I work at statuary; I worked at Mr. Ridner's in the granite building in September; on Thursday I inquired of Mr. R. for his saw; he said it was locked up; I went to Mrs. Octon's room, and she sent me to Colt's room; I went to Mr. Colt's door, rapped three or four times; the door was locked and bolted inside; Mr. Colt came and opened the door and told me to "go to hell." By that I went away; after I knocked first, I heard some one at work in the room; I just saw him as he came to the door; I asked him for the saw and he made that reply; I couldn't see far into the room, perhaps half way across. I had no other conversation with Colt at his room, to my knowledge; I saw two carmen putting a box on the cart the next morning between 9 and 10 o'clock; it was on Thursday that I went down at about 3 in the afternoon; I got the saw between 4 and 5; I think I first told Mr. Page of this after the transaction. Such is a summary of the testimony for the prosecution; omitting some evidence in referring to points sufficiently proved; and omitting, as we before said, the "pistol" portion, and the witnesses called for the defence was: Dr. Rogers called. It is impossible to say whether the wound on the right side of the head by a single blow, would have left any sensibility: I have known many cases in which parts of the brain have been cut away, and still the person retained his sensibility. I removed a portion of the skull which had been driven in upon the brain by a block falling from the mainmast, covering the entire top of the head; and yet he retained his sensibility. James Short showed me the position in which the body of Adams lay in the box. He lay a little diagonally; the face was down and the back part of the head in the corner. A nail projected an inch into the box, would have struck the head in just about the spot where this wound was found. If the body lay in the box when the nail was driven in, the nail would probably enter the head if it came against it; and if the body had any movement, it must be around the nail. The wound on the right side might have been caused by a single blow with the flat side of this hatchet. A deposition of Lyman W. Ransom was read, in which deponent said he considered deceased rather irritable in their dealings. Two witnesses, who were in the building 3 Murray street, with Colt in May, testified that at that time, he bought a hatchet, as a convenient thing in an office. Cyrus W. Field had dealings with Colt and with deceased. Never saw Colt excited--thought him more diffident than most people. As far as he knew Mr. Adams his temper was good. Never heard him spoken of as having a bad temper. The scull of deceased has been exhumed, and after some discussion was finally ordered to be exhibited, and the Coroner brought it forward. Dr. Rogers showed that the edge of the hatchet fitted the wound perfectly. The hammer of the hatchet exactly fitted the depression of the right side of the head. Both these wounds appear to have been given in front. Dr. Archer, the Coroner, testified that the skull was taken from the coffin having upon it a plate the name of Samuel Adams, who died Sept. 17, aged 29; he said he had no doubt it was the skull of Adams.-- He could hardly conceive that the edge of the hatchet should produce the wound; and he was sure it could not have been done by the hammer. He thought that if caused in any way by manual force, there would have been fractures about it. [The jaw-bone was also exhibited, broken into two] I cannot conceive it possible that the front wound should have been given by one blow. During this whole exhibition the prisoner covered his eyes with his hand, and seemed greatly affected. He did not look upon the skull at all. Valentine Mott, called -- I think the small wound might have been inflicted by the hatchet; if it was caused by a ball, it is very different from any I have seen before; if caused by the hatchet, the blow was given from the front; the fracture with depression was caused probably by a blow from either direction; I do not believe it possible that one blow should cause the front wound; I have seen persons walk and have their senses when one quarter of the skull had been taken away; it is impossible to tell how many blows were given to inflict the front wound; I could cause such a wound as the circular one by a blow standing directly in front; either of these blows would knock any man down, no matter who he is. On Wednesday, Caroline Henshaw was the principal witness who came to the stand. She has lived with Colt, without marriage, and is the mother of his child. The most important part of her testimony is the statement that he came home very late on the night of the 17th, and went away very early the next morning. She perceived a black mark upon his neck, as if it had been pressed violently, and noticed that parts of his shirt had been washed. His treatment of her was always kind and his deportment mild. She perceived something unusual in his conduct, about the time of the disappearance of Adams and previous to the arrest. ROYAL WAYS OF THE BOURBONS We happen to have full accounts of the way of living of the royal family in the days of their prosperity, as well as of their adventures when adversity overtook them. Up to the time when the Duke of Normandy was four years old, life in the palace was as follows: --The oldest members of the royal family were the king's aunt's, the great aunts of the Duke of Normandy. There were four sisters, all unmarried. One of them had gone into a convent, and found herself very happy there. After the dulness of her life at home, she quite enjoyed taking her turn with the other nuns in helping to cook in the kitchen, and in looking after the linen in the washhouse. Her three sisters led dreadfully dull lives. They had each spacious apartments, with ladies and gentleman ushers to wait on them, a reader to read aloud so many hours in a day, and money to buy whatever they liked. But they had nothing to do, and nobody to love very dearly. They were without husbands and children, and even intimate friends; for all about them of their own age and way of thinking, were of a rank too far below their own to be made intimate friends of. These ladies duly attended divine service in the royal chapel; and they did a great deal of embroidery and tapestry work. When the proper hour came for paying their respects to their niece the queen, they tied on their large hooped petticoats, and other articles of court-dress, had their trains borne by their pages, and went to the queen's apartment to make their courtesies, and sit down for a little while, chiefly to show that they had a right to sit down unasked in the royal presence. In a few minutes, they went back to their apartments, slipped off their hooped petticoats and long trains, and sat down to work again. They would have liked to take walks about Paris, and into the country, as they saw from their windows that other ladies did; but it was not to be thought of, it would be too undignified: so they were obliged to be contented with a formal, slow, daily drive, each in her own carriage, each attended by her lady in waiting, and with her footman behind. They were fond of plants, and longed above everything to be allowed to rear flowers with their own hands in a garden. But this, too, was thought out of the question; and they were obliged to be content, with such flowers as would grow in boxes on their window sills in the palace. Madame Louise, the one who became a nun, employed a young lady to read to her, while she yet lived in the palace. Some- times the poor girl read aloud for five hours together; and when her failing voice showed that she was quite exhausted, Madame Louise prepared a glass of eau sucree (sugared water), and placed it beside her , saying she was sorry to cause so much fatigue, but that she was anxious to finish a course of reading which she had laid out. It does not seem to have occurred to Madame Louise to take the book herself, or ask some one else to relieve her tired reader. --Miss Martineau--The Peasant and the Prince. 240 BROTHER JONATHAN THE TYRANT CHARLES I. AND HIS VICTIM ELIOT The following account of the imprisonment and death of the cele- brated Eliot, who died, as all will remember, a martyr to his patriotic conduct in the house of commons, is from Vaughan's "History of the House of Stuart," published by the society for the Diffusion of Knowledge: "The sentence which his conduct brought upon him, he regarded, from the first, as one of perpetual imprisonment, unless the power of the crown should be soon checked by the power of another parliament ; and of this there was but little prospect. He made that provision accordingly, for this, his third lodgment, in the Tower, he addressed himself to the service of his country by opposing the malpractices of the powerful, he saw, very clearly, the evils to which his generous efforts would expose him; and the whole of his property had, in consequence, been settled on his sons; so that when the royal officers would have exacted from him the heavy fine imposed by the judges, they were obliged to report that the means of payment did not exist. Eliot, on hearing that the sheriff of Cornwall, and five other commissioners, all his capital enemies, were employed in an inquiry concerning his lands and goods, with a smile said, 'He had two coats, two suits, two pair of boots and galoshes; and that, if they could pick 2,000 pounds out of that, much good might it do them.' In the 'dark and smoky room,' to which he was confined, he was allowed at his earnest request, the use of books, and of writing materials; and his many weary hours were employed in reading, in meditation, in committing his thoughts in writing, or in correspondence with his sons, his friends, and particularly the patriot John Hampden, to whose superintendence he had assigned the education of his children. His papers being liable to be searched, it was only with the greatest secrecy that his correspondence could be carried on; but fortunately, some of the letters included in it have been preserved, and these present to us traits of character of the most interesting nature. They serve to place both Eliot and Hampden before us, not only in the light of pure moralists, and honorable-minded statesmen, but as men whose spirits were wrought to the temper of a pure and elevated Christianity. No one acquainted with the letters can read the speeches of these great men in the cause of what they venerated as social or pure religion, without the strongest confidence in their sincerity. Many petitions were presented to the king, praying for Eliot's release, one signed, it is said, by all the gentry of Cornwall; but Charles, indulging just now amid the pastimes of a court and the sweets of power, forgot the victim of the dungeon--or, rather, did worse than forget him. Time passed, and the mind of the sufferer was found to be proof against all the means employed to break it down. But the body was less equal to the conflict. Sickness invaded it, consumptive symptoms became manifest, and the prisoner's medical attendants reported that his recovery depended entirely on his being admitted to a more healthy air. They even petitioned the judges thus far in his favor; but they were told by Chief Justice Richardson, "that although Sir John was brought low in body, yet was he as high and lofty in mind as ever; for he would neither submit to the king, nor to the justice of that court." As his malady advanced, Eliot was at length persuaded to petition the king, which he did in the following terms:--'Sir, your judges have committed me to prison here in your Tower of London, where, by the quality of the air, I am fallen into a dangerous disease. I humbly beseech your majesty you will command your judges to set me at liberty.' The only answer obtained to this petition was, 'It is not humble enough.' Prevailed on by his children, Eliot prepared a second petition, which he sent by the hands of his eldest son; it was as follows:--'Sir, I am heartily sorry I have displeased your majesty, and, having so said, do humbly beseech you once again to command your judges to set me at liberty, that when I have recovered my health I may return back to my prison, there to undergo such punishment as God hath allotted to me.' Thus did the dying man pray, and pray without answer, and without effect! The lieutenant of the tower admonished him, that his last petition had not been presented in proper form, as it pertained to him to be the medium of all communication between his prisoners and the government; and his advice to him was to prepare a third appeal, which, is so framed as to acknowledge his fault, and crave pardon, would, he doubted not, obtain for him his liberty.-- The drooping man replied, 'I thank you, sir, for your friendly advice; but my spirits are grown feeble and faint, which when it shall please God to restore unto their former vigor, I will take it further into my consideration. But Eliot's few remaining days were spent in converse with those beautiful visions of a future world which, as appears from his letters, were familiar to his now hallowed imagination, and in looking to the compassion of that better Sovereign whose tender mercies are over all his works. On the 15th November, 1632, his attorney described him as so far spent, that it was not probable he would live a week; in less than that time Sir John Eliot breathed his last, being not more than forty years of age. His children petitioned the king for his body, that it might be taken to Cornwall, and interred in the family sepulchre; and Charles returned for answer, 'Let Sir John Eliot's body be buried in the church of that parish where he died!-- Not two months before his death, Eliot wrote to Hampden, stating that he was then subject to new restraints, by warrant from the king, his own son with difficulty gaining admission to see him; and that, to add to his confinement, he had been removed to new lodgings, 'where candle-light was suffered, but scarce fire!' This was in the depth of winter! So plain it is that malevolence, like its opposite, may grow by what it feeds on, and that even the grave may be suffice to set bounds to it." From Cruikshank's Omnibus. THE PAUPERS' CHAUNT.* Air:--"Oh the Roast Beef of Old England!" O we're very well fed, So we must not repine, Though turkey we've cut, And likewise the chine; But, oh! once a-year We should just like to dine On the roast-beef of Old England, On the old English roast-beef! O, the gruel's delicious, The taters divine-- And our very small beer Is uncommonly fine; But with us we think You would not like to dine, Without the roast-beef of Old England, On the old English roast-beef! Our soup's very good, We really must own, But of what it is made Arn't very well known; So, without any soup We would much rather dine On the roast-beef of Old England, On the old English roast-beef! Mince-pies they are nice, And plum-pudding is fine, But we'd give up them both For "ribs" or "Sir Line," If for once in the year We could but just dine On the roast beef of Old England, On the English roast-beef! "Roast-beef and plum-pudding" Is true Christmas fare, But they think that our morals Such dainties won't bear. Oh! oh! it is plain Ne'er more shall we share In the roast beef of Old England, On the old English roast-beef! Still long life to the Queen Is the toast we'd be at; With a health to the Prince, May he live and grow fat! And may all under him Have abundance of that-- What?--Why the roast-beef of England, Ou the old English roast-beef! *Suggested by the refusal of the Poor-law Commissioners to allow any charitable person to send in supplies of roast beef and plum pudding upon Christmas day to the inmates of the Union workhouses. Questions For a Wife.--Do you recollect what your feelings were immediately after you had spoken the first unkind word to your husband? Did you not feel both ashamed and grieved, and yet too proud to admit it? That pride, madam, was, is, and ever will be, your evil genius. It is the temper which labors incessantly to destroy your pecce, anger when he most deserved your love. It is the cancer which feeds upon those glad and unspeakable emotions you felt on the first pressure of his hand and lip, and will not leave them till their ashes corrode your affections, blight your maral vision, and blunt your sense of right and wrong. Never forget that yours is a lofty calling; never forget the manner in which the duties of that calling can alone be properly fulfilled. If your husband is hasty, your example of patience will chide as well as teach him; your recriminations will drive him from you; your violence may alienate his heart, and your neglect impel him to desperation. Your soothing will redeem him; your softness subdue him; and the marry twinkle of those eyes now filling beautifily with priceless tears will make him all your own"--Chambers' London Journal. BROTHER JONATHAN'S ADVERTISING COVER. xix {PISE'S LECTURE--Continued from page xviii. Cover.} tear which drops over the miseries, the afflictions, the sorrows of a neighbor. It is the sigh which the heart heaves when mourning over the domestic scene, and lays down by the hearth-stone, in the silence of the dead, the loved one who once deepened its gladness by his blended smiles and animated speech. When the poor man tells his tale of want, she pities, and relieves. When the orphan's craving glance fixes itself upon her, and cries for his absent mother, she presses him to her bosom, and warms him with her love. She palliates the errors of humanity, and rejoices in its virtues. She melts not only at real woes, but likewise, at the ills of fancy--not, indeed with morbid sentimentalism, but with a feeling which is inseparable from virtue, and the characteristic attribute of an upright heart; an attribute, which prompts not only to relieve, but if possible to prevent, the evils too incident to human life. And from these actions, from this tender sympathy of soul, a thousand spiritual luxuries emanate, which are a perennial fountain of pleasure and cordial enjoyment. With no less reason than originality, did the immortal author of the "Deserted Village" express himself when he sang of the luxury of doing good. The cold philosophy of the egoist does not admit this theory. Nay, it has dared assert, as one of its principal tenets, that sensibility, far from creating enjoyment, generates pain. It confounds, moreover, sensibility with mawkish sensibilism, or sentimentalism, and pronounces it unbecoming a manly heart. But, upon this ground, even virtue itself may be discarded. For virtue, as we will see in its proper place, is all gentleness, feeling, and love, while at the same time, as its very name imparts, it is all courage, fortitude, and valor. The sensible heart, I know, often bleeds, because of its own exquisite sensibility, for the sorrows and miseries of others. But, then, there is a nameless pleasure even in that pain: there is a spiritual bleeding of satisfaction and noble complacency with the anguish of sympathy, which, as it were by a mystic alchemy, converts the bitterness into sweetness-- and imparts a sensation infinitely more to be coveted than the frigid imperturbability of the stoic's soul. Sensibility transforms into joys those very pains which it occasions--and the bounty and charity which accompany it, cause the heart to forget its own sorrows in the good which is done to another. It is, then, beyond all doubt, that the sensible heart enjoys more than any other the purer pleasures of existence; and the interest it experiences for other, diffuses itself over a greater number of objects. It possesses within itself the spark of virtue, which requires only to be excited in order to warm and enlighten its aspirations and actions. Reflection may render a man honest, but sensibility alone can make him sympathetic. Rigid honesty dispenses to all their rights, with philosphic severity, but heeds not the gentler offices of compassion and love. But sensibility seeks after them--and her best delight is to mingle her spiritual aids with their necessities. She is the mother of humanity and generosity. She will be found in the abodes of distress, near the couch of sickness, in the dungeons of guilt itself: and her only study is how to confer upon all, whom she can reach, the blessings of her influence. When not in a situation to follow the kind suggestions of beneficence, sensibility will not be satisfied with her own internal desires, but will have recourse to every means in order to give external evidences of them. She is always industrious in devising plans, always fruitful in producing resources, by which to bestow relief and consolation; and if every exertion fail, she soothes her disappointment with the reflection that to sympathize with our fellow beings is to impart to them a share of comfort--and, if other aids are wanting, she can, nevertheless, extend her salutary counsel. And, among the various means of showing sympathy and sincere regard, I know of none less equivocal than that of sincere and heart-felt advice given when solicited either directly or by the appeal of circumstances. True friendship can never be more firmly tested; especially when he for whom such advice is intended, occupies a station of influence and authority. One of the most difficult things, in my estimation, is for an inferior to say no, or even beware, when a superior says yes, and fear not the consequences. But, where the heart is warmed by genuine beneficence, the intense desire of making others happy will be the only motive of its action--and candor will speak what sensibility feels. And in this blessed effort to do good, and avoid evil, there is contained a sweet satisfaction, which claims no lowly place among the cordial enjoyments, or pleasures of the heart. Sensibility is incompatible with ingratitude; a vice, of which the very name is held in horror. And not only this; --not only the sensible heart cannot be ungrateful, itself, but moreover, it is slow to accuse others of that vice. Men frequently complain of the ingratitude of others merely to cover their own avarice, or justify their want of charity. They will not assist or hardly pity, a neighbor in distress because of the ingratitude with which many good actions are often requited. But this is a fallacious pretext. This is a cold and speculative theory of stoicism which ill comports with the susceptibilities of the human heart, or the sublime character of the Christian code. Gratitude is indeed, an essential duty on the part of him who receives a kindness; but, in bestowing that kindness, the sensible heart is not actuated by the desire of being gratefully requited. No, such an idea does not enter into its holy views; otherwise the beneficent deeds of charity would be but a kind of cordial speculation by which one heart should be made; and thus would the gentle charities of the soul be bettered, as it were, as in a commercial speculation, where money is lent only to be returned with usury. Supposing ingratitude to be more common even than is really the case, should the fountains of benevolence be, therefore, sealed up? This, indeed, would be to destroy humanity, to trample to the earth all the feelings of sensibility. There would then exist no such virtue as disinterestedness, which naturally inclines and leads to doing good, without any other recompense than the mere pleasure of having performed an excellent deed, which pleasure is of a cordial nature--an exquisite enjoyment of the heart. Beneficence, growing out of sensibility, is a virtue of all others most pregnant with delight, the most useful, and the most active. It sheds its celestial balm into all the evils which afflict humanity, and knows no limit save the impotency of doing more good. By this was prompted every philosophic act recorded on the historic page, every heroic privation made by generous and devoted men, and every chivalrous and noble feat which distinguished and immortalized the patriot, the missionary, and the martyr. The only rock which such beneficence has to fear, is that of pride; of exacting services and reciprocities--which corrupts all the good that has been effected. An act, no matter how sublime it may seem, if performed with such an intention, loses all its greatness; and far from satisfying him for whom it is intended, becomes insupportable and odious to him. It has the character of a favor--and no man of independent feelings would be willing to be regarded as under an obligation to another, who has merely acted for the purpose of extorting that obligation. For if vanity govern the one, in the exercise of benevolent office, pride will sway the emotions of the other, and cause him to disdain what, under another influence, would have proved a source of pleasing gratitude. Beneficence, fostered into action by the spirit of ostentation, proceeds not from the well-spring of sensibility or virtue; but beneficence, warmed by the ardor of charity, and acting under her gentle inspiration, takes its birth in heaven, and brings down upon the heart which is opened to receive its blessings, the most lasting and precious delights; which delights like the pleasure of charity, are exquisite alike to him who gives, and him who receives. Among the pleasures of the heart, the sweetest of all, by far, as well as the purest and most enduring, is that of friendship. Friendship! at this sacred name, the soul exults with delight; for in it is contained whatever most endures and consecrates our nature. All tender yearnings, all fond dependencies, all social intercourse, are its blessed offspring. Deep sentiment alone can define it, whilst, in fact, it owes its origin to sentiment. He who feels the hallowed spirit of friendship in his soul, has felt there first the glow of virtuous sentiment. Well has Young exclaimed-- Celestial happiness, whene'er she stoops To visit earth, one shrine the goddess finds, And one alone--the bosom of a friend. Where heart meets heart, reciprocally soft, Each other's pillow to repose divine, Beware the counterfeit; in passion's flame Hearts melt, but melt like ice, soon harder froze; True love strikes root in Reason--passion's foe, Virtue alone [estenders?] us for life; I wrong her much--[estenders?] us forever! And Cotton, in his Sixth "Vision:" Friendship! thou soft propitious power, Sweet regent of the social hour! Sublime thy joys; --nor understood But by the virtuous and the good Friendship may be regarded as an illimited contract between two sensible and virtuous hearts. They are bound by reciprocal affection which flows from the fountains of sensibility and virtue. Fountains unpolluted by any selfish admixture of passion, pure from the dregs of sordid interest, limpid in the serene sunshine of candor and peace. Esteem and attachment form the elements of friendship. Without them it cannot flourish. But where hearts are blended together by them, their existence is rendered delightful--every instant is gilded with happiness, and every pain is alleviated or destroyed. And what makes these pleasures more invaluable is, that they are pure as they are sweet, and estranged from repentance or remorse. Nay, further, they augment with years, and are remembered with a sentiment of transport. Friendship affords to every age and condition an inexhaustible source of contentment and felicity. It is this noble sentiment which causes men in society to look upon one another as brethren! which mingles together their various interests, and enlarges the boundaries of their sociabilites. This sentiment is co-natural to man--it is innate--requires not the agency of external circumstances, waits not for the interposition of contingent opportunities. In effect, there is no expression which can sufficiently denote the affections of the heart, much less give utterance to them-- which friendship inspire; affections by which it produces an admirable and sweet transfusion of soul into soul. True friendship is of rare occurrence. The name is common, but much abused, and little apprehended. In the composition of friendship so many extraordinary attributes must enter, that when we consider them together, it would almost seem they are nowhere to be found. Have xx BROTHER JONATHAN ADVERTISING COVER. you ever examined the bases on which it is established? They are as follow : First, VIRTUE---which, with her holy blandishments, attracts and unites together hearts and souls, and then breathes into them her celestial spirit -which is nothing less than the breath of God:---and by this breath is friendship animated. Secondly, ESTEEM---which is obtained only by the conscious knowledge that the object we love is free from vice. This can be found nowhere except in the paths of virtue ; and can be preserved only by reiterated trials, and constant fidelity. Thirdly, CONFIDENCE---which generates a certainty that our interests will not be endangered or betrayed. Fourthly, PRUDENCE---which foresees, at a distance, every motive of a change of friendship, and kindly and cautiously removes it in time. Fifthly, SENSIBILITY---which divides with ourselves the misfortunes of our friends, and urges us not merely to afford them succour, and comfort in them, but, likewise, even, if possible, to prevent them. Sixthly, GOODNESS and INDULGENCE---which render amiable the "commerce and intercourse of life, and spread the mantle of charity and forgiveness over the errors of human weakness. Seventhly, FIRMNESS and CONSTANCY---which exclude all levity from the solid and lasting sentiment of friendship. Without these qualities, there is no such thing as genuine attachment. It would be impossible to harmonize the different and conflicting dispositions of humor, character, and condition. Viewing the subject in this its proper light, we will not be surprised to find that friendship is so rare among mankind ; as rare as real virtue, and as valuable as wisdom itself. For, it is made up of both---and will own no companionship, admit no kindred feeling, but with the virtuous and the wise. In a corrupt and lowly soul, it will not deign to make its habitation. The powerful man may have his slaves--- the wealthy man his adulators---the man of genius his admirers ; but the wise man alone will have his friends. It is not difficult now to perceive the infinite difference between true and solid friendship, and the passing and fiery passion which often tortures the rash hearts of youth. There is no happiness in such delusion. For a time, the hope of enjoyment may beckon onward the unwary victim of vice, but that hope, like the ignis fatuns---beckons onward to ruin. Far be it from me to depreciate the union of soul and body effected by virtuous love, and consummated by the matrimonial bond ; no, the Church, our holy mother, has sanctified this ; and has ranked the nuptial ceremony among her sacraments. But where the noble object of such union is not had in view, love is a guilty passion, disordinate in its characters---the abuse of sentiment---the profanation of sensibility---the offspring of caprice. It is light and inconstant---it is destroyed by time. It fires the hot and giddy excesses of youth. It is always accompanied by fears, uneasiness, remorse. Friendship is solid and enduring. It adorns and enobles every age. It is guided by confidence, truth, and virtue. Its pleasures are unutterable. They are enjoyed in the present, the past, and the future ; and if there be felicity on earth, it is in such friendship that it is to be found ; not in that precarious attachment which is disordinate and capricious as the passions, empty as vanity, and selfish as interest. If there were anything further to be added on this subject, I would merely state, that Religion alone is the foundation of genuine Friendship. Possessing this, His hand the good man fastens on the skies, And bids earth roll, nor feels her idle whirl. III. From these intellectual and spiritual pleasures, we now pass to those of virtue. And this is the part of my subject most worthy of the attention of all, but especially of the young gentlemen who constitute the members of this Society. Virtue is so fair, so attractive, when seen in her native and original form, that the heart that would not yearn after her---would not open, at once, to her holy influence---must be sealed against the tenderest appeals, and closed against the charms of loveliness. Virtue is a seraph bright and immortal, descended from the spheres of glory to walk among the sons of earth, and to make them good and perfect and happy. She is the angel-guardian of youth---she is the angel-solace of old age of every condition and class of life ; she is the most unerring and prolific source of happiness in the present world, as well as the future, beyond the tomb. And behold here the infinite advantage which Virtue bestows. In the language of Montesquieu---intended to render us happy hereafter, Virtue, likewise perfects our happiness here. "It was not without profound wisdom," remarks the Count de Maistre, "that the Romans expressed by one and the same world Virtue and Force---VIRTUS. For there is no Virtue, properly speaking, that does not imply a victory over ourselves. And what costs nothing, is worth nothing. If sometimes Virtue appear to have less talent than Vice to obtain riches, offices, &e., so much the better even in a temporal point of view. Let us never envy crime, but leave it to its prosperity. Virtue has its fortune ; it has all that it is lawful to desire ; and even had it less, nothing would be wanting to the just man---for there would remain peace---peace of heart. Inestimable treasure! health of the soul! charm of life! which supplies the place of everything else, and for which nothing else could be a substitute." Virtue elevates the soul above itself by inspiring it with super-human sentiments. It repudiates and condemns every low and craven feeling. Virtus timoria nescia is a beautiful and just expression of the Roman Lyriat. What has the upright and religious man to dread? With infinite truth may he exclaim : Integer vite scelrisque puras Non rget Mouri jocula ne??? arcus, etc. The virtuous man from vice sfree, Rocks not the Moorish lance or bow, Nor poisoned arrow from the heavy quiver. His path is straight-forward, and his conduct before the world, courting its scrutiny, and fearless of its censure. For, his whole being is animated, as it were, by her spirit ; his affections are governed b y it, and his soul imbibes a delicious enjoyment which the treasures of the earth could not purchase. One hour in such delights is better than a thousand years in the tents of iniquity. Virtue imparts courage to support all real evils, and renders us inaccessible by imaginary ones. For, to the least observant it must be known, that men are sometimes more harrassed, more broken down, by the latter than even by the former. Virtue regulates the imagination. She admits within its sanctuary nothing of a profane, nothing of a distracting character ; and, instead of those hauntings which too often infest the minds of the guilty, she introduces into them pleasant ideas, calm thoughts, and holy imaginings. She spreads over the whole a sweet calm, lulling into quiet all the elements of the soul, and thus inducing a state, which is an anticipation of that to which we aspire in heaven. Who, therefore, can doubt, after entering the least into the consideration of the subject, that virtue affords the principal source of the pleasures which flow into the heart. The tie that exists between virtue and happiness is so strict and intimate, that they are quite inseparable. With elegant propriety has the muse of Pope sung : "Virtue alone is happiness below." And unhappiness cannot be considered otherwise than an effect inevitable from an indifference to virtue. All the miseries entailed on the human family were in consequence of that indifference, or rather were the lamentable offspring of the vices ; all the blessings lavished on them, the inestimable results of the love of virtue. These propositions have been developed by some of the greatest christian philosophers, and, save by the blinded sceptic, cannot be called in question. Moreover, the virtues are sisters, and one cannot be violated, but at the expense of our happiness. For example, probity commands us not to act towards our neighbor in a manner which we ourselves would be unwilling should be the guide of others in our regard. That is to say, it forbids us to injure another. But beneficence goes farther, and not only prohibits the doing evil to a neighbor, but requires that we should afford him assistance in his misfortunes. If we comply with the former, but neglect the latter, the pleasure which would redound from the one would be destroyed by the remorse which will attend and follow the neglect of the other. But when all are cultivated, it is impossible to tell how perfect the human character becomes, or what pleasures the human heart enjoys. We all know---alas! perhaps experience has taught us all---to what numberless difficulties and dangers virtue is ever exposed. Whithersoever the eye directs its gaze, the scene is fraught with perils. Young men, you need but walk abroad amid the dissipating scenes which crowd your streets, to feel how careful should be our path. Listen not to the song of the worldly Syren, heard from some enchanted spot, and echoed back by luxurious hills and vales, where every pleasure seems to bloom, but where certain destruction awaits the unwary victim. Bind yourselves to the mast, as your bark glides by, and remember that with virtue at the helm, you will pass safely on, escape the shoals more dangerous even than those of Scylla and Charybdis : and be wafted on to the haven where happiness dwells. Remember again that to preserve virtue, you must distrust your natural strength, and elicit all your moral energies to struggle against every obstacle. I have thus performed the task assigned to me, of addressing the members of this most excellent society. A pleasing task indeed, to me, and may I trust it has been the same to all those whose attention has been occupied by it? To leave, awhile, the duller avocations of life---to withdraw, as it were, into some christian Academus or literary Porch, there to devote an hour stolen from the business of the world, to the contemplation of the pleasures of mind, is a beautiful and instructive practice. And what are these Lectures, but such contemplations. In them, are contained the results of serious study, the wisdom of great abilities, and the experience of mature observation, calculated to enlighten, please, and instruct the hearts of young men. How much better such nights--- these noctes canaque Deum, as they have been so eloquently styled by the Poet, than those spent in dissipation, idleness, or crime. I love to see the ardor with which these lectures are conducted ; and, while I praise the gifted men who have consented to share their wisdom with the young and gentle mind, I applaud the youthful circle of ingenious hearers, who seem desirous to improve their auspicious opportunities; and prefer these evening reunions to the vain pageant of the theatre, or the hectic excitement of ball or rout. If my humble abilities have brought anything to the occasion either instructive or pleasing, my pains will be amply rewarded, and my hopes are desires accomplished. In conclusion, young gentlemen, let me again exhort you to seek after wisdom ; for, in the sweet language of Miss Carter: Beneath her clear, discerning eye, The visionary shadows fly Of folly's painted show : She sees through every fair disguise That all, but Virtue's solid Joys, Is vanity and wo. LIBRARY EDITION THIRTY-TWO PAGES. For the Week ending Saturday, January 29, 1842. ENGRAVINGS FROM ORIGINAL DESIGNS: The Washingtonian in Catharine Market...............117 The Affray---illustration of a Chapter of Tom Stapleton...119 ORIGINAL PAPERS:--- Timothy Busnell, Esq., or A Day's Marketing,.........113 Tom Stapleton---Chapters X V...................................118 The Unforgotten Dead---Grenville Mellen, by John Neal..128 Stray Ballads, by Simon Craddock............................132 Ambition---A Poem, by Walter Whitman...............113 Letter from Assist. Postmaster General respecting the Postage chargeable on the Library Edition of the Jonathan....126 Spiritual Pleasures---A Lecture---by Rev. C. C. Pise, cover xviii. EDITORIAL ARTICLES---126, 127, 128, 129, 130, 131. TRIAL OF JOHN C. COLT for the Murder of Adams.....136 MUSIC---Rural Amusements of German Students,.....131 GEMS FROM THE JANUARY AND FEBRUARY MAGAZINES: The Gypsey---by Professor Strine......................................121 The Frolicks of Time, by Laman Blanchard.....................124 The Fool's Pence........................................................................125 The Tyrant Charles I, and his victim Eliot..........................140 Poems from Cruikshank for January...................................134 Tale of an Inn---from Cruikshank---for January.............184 What do you that for?---by Copus--- do do...................132 Raising the Devil---a Poem.....................................................139 New York---Wilson and Company, Publishers, 162 Nassau Street. Price $3 xviii BROTHER JONATHAN ADVERTISING COVER. SPIRITUAL PLEASURES. ______ A LECTURE. DELIVERED BEFORE THE YOUNG CATHOLIC FRIENDS' SOCIETY, IN THE MASONIC TEMPLE, BOSTON, BY THE REV. CHARLES CONSTANTINE PISE, D. D. _____ The pleasures of the senses are not of a more keen or general character, than those of the spirit. They are, indeed, more quickly appreciated -for they are more directly referable to the physical construction of our being, and are, more or less, common to the irrational animal. such are the pleasures of hearing, tasting, smelling, seeing, and so forth. Indeed, there is no human creature whose soul does not yield with delight to the influence of sound—the sweet singing of birds, the gentle accents of speech, the enchanting harmony of music, vocal or instrumental.— And how does the spirit of man glow with rapture, when, through the organ of his eye, objects so varied and wondrous present themselves before him!—the face and features of a bosom friend, a parent, a relative— the scene of his native spot which he revisits after years of absence —the heaven's bright azure—the vale's deep verdure—the flower's beauteous colors, more fair and lovely than Solomon in all his glory—and so many other equally interesting objects. Ah! he whose destiny it is, to be deprived of hearing or seeing, stands among his fellows a mutilated being—his ears sealed up in to the delights of sound, or his eye-balls rolling in perpetual darkness. yet, upon these pleasures it is not my intention to dwell to-night. But I solicit your attention to the consideration of those which the spirit enjoys; and which depend for existence, not on the senses of man, but on his soul. The subject may be divided into these three following heads: I. INTELLECTUAL PLEASURES—or the pleasures of the intellect. II. CORDIAL PLEASURES—or pleasures of the heart. III. VIRTUOUS PLEASURES—or the pleasures of virtue. These three divisions will cover the whole extent—as far, at least, as may be necessary just now—of one of the most agreeable topics, in my opinion, that could be offered to the consideration of the young minds which form this excellent society. I. Intellectual pleasures are those which spring from the mind, as from a natural fountain, and diffuse a certain delightful influence over the knowledge acquired by industrious study. They are the offspring of that excellence of genius which makes itself known and admired by the elegant expression of one's own thoughts, and the just appreciation of all that is most interesting and useful in those of others. Nor let it be imagined that these pleasures are abstract merely: they are, indeed, abstract pleasures, but not, therefore, the less real and fascinating. For the mind so acts upon the physical organs of the human system, that when they are delighted, the entire being participates in the mental delectation. And so essential is it that the mind should be in a condition of happiness, in order that the man should be really so likewise, that unless this be the case, no pleasure worth the name, can possibly exist.— Hence the truth of that poetic, and, at the same time, philosophic adage: mens sana in corpore sano. The spirit, concealed in its mysterious hiding-place, never ceases to think: and its sweetest pleasures are derived from thought. Spirits hold communion with one another. Mine communicates its ideas to yours—and yours to mine. This is done by speech, oral or written. The more beauteous, high, and elegant those thoughts, the more pleasure is thence derived. This theory cannot be called in question, at least by the intellectual reader, whose best delight it is to hold converse with those master-writers whose works are famed for lofty and virtuous thoughts. The spirit is a celestial spark, struck—I think some poet has it— from the throne of God. The breath divine has inflamed it, and it burns with splendid ardor. It is the fire which animates and vivifies the intellect: and nothiug but the foul clouds of passion can enshroud it in gloom. Nay, oftentimes, even through that gloom—dense and darksome as it is—the light of the spirit, unquenchable and fierce, will struggle though with a glimmering ray. Spirit must not be confounded with genius, taste, judgment, talent.— From these it is distinct, although it partakes of all—for they are its offspring: and the pleasures derived from them—and these are infinite— must necessarily be referred to it. I say these pleasures are infinite.— Need I attempt to explain? It would require a hundred tongues, nay a hundred volumes, to enter into all the delights which are produced by taste, judgement, and talent. And these are intellectual pleasures. The spirit, through the medium of genius, can give beauty to the commonest ideas: this is done by finesse, if I may use the term, and delicacy. By finesse, is meant the art of giving to understand a sentiment which is not openly and clearly exprest. This touches the langage more than it does the thought: but delicacy refers to the sentiment— and is well elucidated in the sentence of him who said:— quand omnia perdidi, omnia obtinui. By losing all things, I have gained all. Similes, comparisons, allegories and metaphors, are so many aids to give relief, as it were, to the spirit, and to develope thought. And the pleasure derived from the right use of figurative speech, expressed by such aids, is of a rare and exquisite character. These intellectual pleasures emanate from the different qualities I have indicated, and interest the soul under many respects. Novelty is delightful to it—sentimental ideas touch it—cheerful objects attract it—pleasant thoughts cheer it— racy expressions charm it—lively images expand all its sensibility— grand and sublime conceptions excite all its admiration. In this way, such intellectual pleasures, which may be multiplied to infinity, concur for our enjoyment and felicity; causing us to derive delight, not merely from our own genius, but likewise, that of others. The energies of spirit should not be exerted, except at a proper time, and in a becoming manner. To this end, it will be well, nay necessary, to familiarize one's self with the master-works of genius, which time has consecrated, and the opinions of all men rendered venerable. Here is an inexhaustible fountain of intellectual delight. To live the past over again, as it were, by blending our living thoughts with beings great and illustrious, whose spirits, ages ago, have ceased to act in this world by their present influences, but which have bequeathed their mental treasures—the richest boon of antiquity—to countless succeeding generations. They are stars shining on through the night of years, and studding the firmament of letters with gems and pearls of mind. They are beacons among the ruins of other spirits which, if they gave a ray of light at all, it lasted only for a brief space, and was quenched in eternal darkness. Moreover, the spirit does not display itself, in all its worth, or produce its full effect, unless sustained by reason; otherwise, it will make but a pompous exhibition of a vain and fallacious splendor. I said that spirit, properly defined, differs from genius and taste. Genius is a more elevated attribute, inasmuch as it is animated by a creative sentiment which approaches to perfection. The pleasures of genius are more rare, and consequently more lively; for they are transported at times even as far as enthusiasm, and constitute the consummation of intellectual enjoyments. Genius is, moreover, a pure gift of nature, which produced master-works far beyond the ability of those who are not so sublimely gifted. Hence, a man of genius is immediately recognised: for he possesses a peculiar train of ideas, and presents them to others in language which marks him, forthwith, as a favored child of nature. But, as the lapse from the highest pinnacle is, not unfrequently, into the profundest depths, so when a great genius errs or falls, his error, his fall, are like that of the defeated Archangel, into the lowest depths—"a lower deep still opening to devour him." Voltaire might be mentioned as a striking exemplification of this truth. But, genius well regulated and steady in its bearing, begets wisdom—and the fruits of wisdom, like the palm-tree in Cades, never decay: and those fruits afford a perennial store of intellectual pleasure. Taste is the handmaid of genius. She gathers up the flowers as they bud forth under her genial influence, and weaves them into fragrant wreaths to crown her. Taste governs talent. The luxurious growth of figures she prunes; and realises the maxims of the Roman critic: "'Tis not enough your verse should beauteous be; Let it be sweet in language." Taste gives the polishing stroke to every work of genius; infuses into it exquisite sentiment, which, at a glance of the eye, can be perceived, and which cannot fail to inspire with intellectual delight every man of good sense and refined appreciation. By the operation of Taste, beauty is discerned from mediocrity, good from bad, in every work whose object and aim are to be useful or pleasing. And it is only the mau of taste who can distinguish with wisdom, that which is calculated to touch, to delight, to instruct; and the impressions he receives thereby produce the most delicious intellectual enjoyment. Of Taste, it may be said in the language of the above cited Poet; "This is its virtue: some things now to say And others to the future to defer— This to adopt, and that to lay aside." From what I have said, the pleasures of the spirit may be generally understood. Those of Taste and Genius combining, form a delightful association which impart to the soul more congenial enjoyment than any extrinsic or sensible objects can bestow; and to renounce these, would be to check the fountains of mind—to destroy the sources, so pure and abundant, of intellectual happiness. Let us now pass to the second head, viz.: CORDIAL PLEASURES, or the pleasures of the heart. II. On the threshold of this enrapturing subject, my hand almost refuses its labor, and my pen seems ready to fall from my grasp, so absorbed is my mind in the prospect before me. Sweet friendships, hallowed loves, tender affections, and gentle sympathies crowd upon my imagination. Gratitude, charity, commiseration, heroism, coming forth from the mysterious depths of the heart, present their spiritual tributes to the sum of intellectual enjoyments. Cordial pleasures are composed of those blissful emotions, that delightful interest, which the soul experiences in receiving tokens of tenderness, attachment, and beneficence. Spirit yearns after spirit. There is a mystic relation binding them together—a chain made in heaven, whose every link is a soul depending one on the other—sympathising with, and, in great measure, essential to, one another. Companionship is our natural condition. Isolation is a negative; spirit is positive; and thus, when one shews kindness to the other, there is an electric delight, which thrills the heart, and gives rise to those exquisite sensations which constitute its pleasures. The springs of these pleasures are sensibility and beneficence. In the word sensibility, who can tell you what sympathies and relations are contained? It is a tender affection of the soul—a touching virtue, which feels a lively interest in every thing that concerns humanity. It is the [Contiuued on page xix. of Cover.] Transcribed and reviewed by contributors participating in the By The People project at crowd.loc.gov.