0 zyg'11. 7 ,5 V'EZo
Is3IAY&RDAIB
11T,DNESDNY, SEPTEMBER 9, 1846
[From, the Pennsylvanian.]
WeltolllC Home.
We hid thee welcome—we whose horns
Has rnit•s'd thy cheering smile,
The impress o(a changeless heart—
Of truth that knows not guile—
The sunlight of whose presence gone,
Seems like a star that's quench'd and flown,
From skies above.
we look, and look for its pure light
To cheer the long and watchful night,
Like eyes we love ;
And some glad hour it comes, and then—
The world is fall of joy again.
We bid thee welcome—on thy cheek
The roses bloom once more—
Thou'st found the angel health again
Beside a strangei shore.
Thou'st come from mountain, hill and stream,
Where song birds warble like a dream
Of happy days to come
13.r.k.te the hearts that love thee well,
And to the thousand hopes that dwell
Within the sounds of home—
That Eden spot, within whose walls
Peace like the summer dew-drop falls.
We bid thee welenme—other seenes
Have pass'd beneath thy gaze—
Thou',t look'd upon the beautiful
And listen'd to their praise.
Thou'st trod the halls of stately pride,
And mingled in the onward tide,
Of Fashion's wildest throng,
Th 1t1 . 4 Serf] how others stoop and bow,
And tear the manhood from their brow,
Lured by theSyren's song
Arid ha•t thou come with heart as free--
A• l a o ur memories of thee ?
We hid thee welcome—many an hour
We've spent amid the past,
CAW bark to light the darkeome sky
Thv absence overcast—
The happy times when round the hearth
'llly cheerful voice join'd in the mirth,
At evening's dewy hour- 7
rly thy words, all, all came hack,
I. .iede.:1,.vi.1, , - , !rewn on life's dull track,
By, some good fairy's power—
I _ht «iih ti:eir brtlhancy of ray.
*1 ne br,w of many a changeful day
We hid Thee welcome—many an eve
'lStiat hid the truant tear.
W;l1 the as the flowers do
Th, 4 1,ritz-time of the year.
Am: many a hrart,Lieep in whose truth
I. e uraY. the sweetem hypes of youth,
To which the heart can 611'4
meet thee there, and round thy Coral
Bind the affections deep and warm,
As 123 Loses liliNUOMing;
To mike thy life whereer thou roam.
As bright as is the—Welcome Home
[From the London World of Fashion.]
TILE SORCERER;
OR, TILE LUCKY TALISMAN
A SKETCH FOU DFD ON FACT
[CONCLUDED]
Ixt uc nom !lass to.Desaix:
alter hat mg performed almost mira
-
e• it the Pyramids, and receiving (rum the
1'ao• themselves the title of ••the Just Sultan,"
Egypt and passed into Europo, where
imuaparte had preceded him.
I:tie man of destiny followed the course that
' 7 !Ufle had predicted; he was already first
and ambltiously dreamed of the
(h e great rattle could have given it - to him.
inarr.re lead decided that this second Pliar
' na should take place on the plains of .\lar-
1) ,, a,x had rejoined the General-in-Chief at
'Lena. Bonaparte received him with open
' ,, Tl, , enfe!ed to him a division. and com
r.n.aed him to march towards St. Giuliano.
lip.> I till of June, at five in the morning, the
I, stsaha n cannon awoke Bonaparte, and drew
0 upon the field of battle in Marengo, which
:.e was to lose, and regain in the same day.
Ihe details of this strange battle are well
; lost at three o'clock, and gained at
For four hours the French army were in re
; they retreated step by step—but yet
%ev retreated.
What Bonaparte expected, nobody knew ;
nu t on seeing him turn from time to time to
vsrds the heibta of St. Giuliano, every body
'lfazined that he expected something.
At this moment an aid-de-camp arrived at full
reed, announcing that a division appeared on
me heights of St. Giuliano.
Bonaparte breathed freely. it was Desaix and
Then Bonaparte drew from his scabbard the
'word Which had remained undrawn during
day, the same sword which at his return
f rom the campaign, he give to his brother Je
rome, to console him for not' having brought
hen With him, and stretching forth his arm he
rrared—lialt!
This eleetic word, so long ,expected, ran
the front of the line, and a general halt
place. •
Al the same moment Desaiz arrived at full
dep • at the head of his di'vision. Bonaparte
out to him the plain, covered with dead
and the entire army in retreat.
4.1 And note," said Bonaparte, " what think
or the battle !"
t hink 'its lost," salt] Desais, drawing out
ta i tt o but it is now only three o'clock,
ire have yet time to gain another."
"That is also m y opinion," replied Bona-
Plrt. Men pairing tothe front of the line, he
omed, amidst the myriads of pullets that
r.trt• ily!ns like hail around him : "Comrades,
THE - •• I ''-''A-D.FOIII::'.'REPORTER.
we have had enough of a retrogade movement,
the moment is come to march boldly forward !
Forward then, I say ; and remember that 'tis
my custom to sleep upon the field of battle."
LoudadNlong continued shouts of " Long
life to Bonaoarte," " Long live the first Con
sul," arose upon all sides, and was l only deaf
ened by the noise of the drums beating to
arms.
Desaix then extended his hand to Bonaparte,
and emphatically said, " Adieu.'
W hy adieu 7" asked the Consul.
. "Because for the two years I have been in
Egypt." said Desaix, with a melancholy smile,
'• the balls and bullets of Europe have quite
disregarded me."
This was what Desaix replied aloud, but in
a low and indistinct voice, he repeated the
words of the Little Red Man—
.... Fear the month of June. and beware of
the Cwwle of Marengo."
The orders of Napoleon were no sooner
given than followed. By a single movement
the troops throughout the line took to the offen
sive. The musketry rattled, the cannon roar
ell, and a terrible charge took place, accompa
nied by the inspiring strains of the Marseilles
hymn. The battery established by Marmon%
burst. and vomited 'forth fire : Kellerman dar
ted to the head of three thousand curassiers,
and made the earth tremble under the fire of
his horse's hoofs, Desaix became reanimated
by the noise and smoke, bounded over the
ditches, cleared the hedges, and arriving upon
an eminence, turned round to see if his division
followed.
At this moment a shot from a neighboring
thicket was heard, and Desaix. struck to the
heart, fell without pronouncing a single word.
This was the 14th of June, and the tradition
has it to this day, that the deadly blow was giv
en by the Curate of Marengo.
Thus was accomplished the second predic
tion of the Little Red Man.
Let us now folloW Zaionezek in his pro
gress.
Zaionezek had remained in Eaypt, where
he had learned the death of Croisier, at St.
Jean D'Acre. sad that of Desaix at Marengo.
This had fulfilled to the letter the prediction of
the Turkish Sorcerer. so that Zaionezek, with
out mentioning the suhject - to any one, began
to understand the real value of his talisman ;
so couch so. that he had each side of the parch
ment suspended by a black ribbon, which he
constantly wore around his neck.
After the capitulation signed with England.
for the evacuation of Eeypt. a capitulation to
which Zaionrzek was opposed. the Polish pat
riot returned to France. In 1805 he com
manded a division to ramp of Beldame. then
the Ger;gal army ; and finally in 1800, the
Poles became ;wain animated by hope. which
hail so often deceived them. of regaining their
independenee, and conevamted together from
all parts of the earth, where they had been dis
persed, in effect the treaty of Talsitt, assem
liled tamther some of the fraemenis, of old Po
land, of which they formed the Baltic- of Var
nonie. .Zaionezek then had part of the impe
rial gifts, and a demesne was assigned to him
in the palatinate of Kalisz.
But yet this Was not the high fortune that
had been promised him by the Egyptian pre
dictions; Napoleon had only done for Zaion
ezek. what he had done for a hundred others,
and a demesne was not a Vice-Royaly.
Now it most he admitted that extraordinary
rood lurk h a d attended Zaionezek from 179 k
to 1821, for he who could not before appear
without being wounded, had not received even
a scratch for thirteen years.
The result was an increased - confidence in
his talisman, which he constantly wore.
The war with Russia was declared ; they
formed three Polish divisions : the first under
the command of Poniatowski. the second
under Zaionezek, and the third under Dom
bronski.
Z tionezek assisted at the battles of Witepsk.
Smolensk i, and Moskowa. In all the same
luck accompanied him : the balls perforated
his clothes. the musketry whistled in his ears,
the bullets tore up the earth under the feet of
his horses, yet Zaionezek appeared invul
nerable.
Then came the retreat.
Zaionezek assisted in all the transactions of
that retreat ; it is true that his soldiers were
'more accustomed than ours to a Russian win
ter, which is like their own, and endured cold,
nakedness, and hunger, better than ours could.
Zaionezek gave, notwithstanding his sixty
years, for the man of Dainanhour had become
old in the midst of all these great events ; Za
ionezek, we repeat, gave the example of
strength, devotion, and courage, and passed
successively Viasma. Sinolenski, and Orcha,
braving hunger. cold, and musketry, without
appearing to suffer from the frightful vicissitudes
he underwent, which had already decimated
the army ; and on the 25'th November he ar
rived upon the borders of the Beresina, without
receiving a scratch.
Then the soldiers, for in the midst of this
terrible retreat, many had no longer soldiers,
Zaionezek still had hie ; they betook them
selves to a house in the village of Studzianka.
Zaionezek: who for three weeks had only lain
on snow, enveloped in his cloak, was now able
to rest ou a straw bed, and under the shelter of
a roof.
The night was full of anxiety ; the enemy
was encamped upon the opposite bank, an en
tire squadron commanded by General Ichaplitz.
was there defending that passage ; to carry it
by main force was almost inipossible, but since
the commencement of this unhappy campaign,
so many imposObilities had occurred that they
calculated upon nothing short of a miracle.
At five o'clock, General Eble arrived with
his pontonniers, and a wagon full of irons.—
This was the last resource — of• the army ; a
bridge must he built in the muddy bed of Ber
esina. This bridge was the only Passage that
could bring the Emperor to the Empire, and
the remainder of the army into France.
But one cannon ballreOuld break the bridge,
and then all was lost !
There was upon the opposite heights thirty
pieces of artillery in battery.
PUBLISHED EVERY WEDNESDAY, AT TOWANDA,. BRADFORD COUNTY, PA., BY E. 0. & 11. P. GOODRICH.-
“-.REOARDI.EB9 OF DENUNCIATION FROM ANY QUARTER.”
Eble and his pontonniere descended into the
river, the water rose up to their necks,
They worked by the light or the enemy's
fire, each blow of the hammer resounded even
to the quarters of General Ichaplitz.
At night Murat aroused Zaionezek. The
King of Naples and the Polish General chatted
together for ten minutes, then :Murat left at full
speed.
Napoleon remained during the day in one of
the houses that borders the river, he would not
lie down, and Murat entered and found him
still up..
'• Siie," said he, 6 , you Majesty has doubt
less well examined tiles position of the ene
my!"
I have." replied the Emperor.
• Your Majesty then knows that a passage
under the fire of a division twice as strong as
ours is.impracticable."
• " Nearly so."
• " And what has your Majesty decided up
on ?"
'• Upon passing. We have not the choice
of roads."
° Certainly not for an army, but for five hun
dred men, we have. Sire."
" What would you say." asked Napoleon.
"That I have just had a conference with Za
ionezek." said Murat.
". On - what subject?"
" Zaionezek says that if your Majesty will
confide yourself to his Poles, he knows a pee
ticable route. a road unknown even to the Rus
sians themselves; in five days they will con
duct your Majesty into %Vilna."
And the army ?" demanded Napoleon.
" They must be lost, but your Majesty will
be saved."
•• That would be a flight, Murat, and not a
retreat. I shall remain with the army, who
hare remained with me. Our destiny shall be
the same. I shall perish with them, or they
shall be saved with me. I forgive you this
proposition, Murat, and it is the utmost I can
do."
And the Emperor jorned his back upon his
brother.in-law.
Murat again approached him to make a last
attempt.
" l have said it." replied Napoleon. with
manner and accent which with him admitted
not of a reply.
Murat retired. but he forgot to go and inform
Zaionezek that Napoleon had rejected the pro
posal.
Until three o'clock in the morning, Zaion
ezek remained up; at that hour degpairing of
any news arriving from general quarters, he
threw himself upon his straw pallet,4nd slept.
At break of day an aid-de-camp aroused
him by entering hurriedly into his chamber.
Zaionezek raised himself on his elbow, be
lieving that the enemy was attacking, and ac
cording to custom placing his hand upon his
neck to assure himself that his talisman was
there; but during the night one of the strings
think held it broke.
Zaionezek called his valet de chambre, and
ordered him to stitch it. During this time the
aid-de-camp recounted the cause of his sudden
entry.
The enemy was in full retreat.
Ichaplitz had been deceived by the false de
monstration made by the Emperor towards
Oukeholdee, and retrogaded as if to leave a
passage.
This was scarcely credible
. .
Excited as Zsionezek was by the intelli
gence, he thought no more of his talisman.
but darting out of the house, mounted his
hoise for the purpose of reconnoitering the
banks of the river, whererhe was joined by the
Emperor.
What the aid-de-camp said was true.
The enemy's bivouacs were abandoned, the
fires were extinguished, and the rear of a tong
column Was discernable, speeding towards Bar
ingof. A single regiment of infantry remained,
with twelve pieces of cannon : but one after
another they quitted their position; and were
also put in retreat.
The last remaining. teeing an important
group together, fired upon them in retiring.
The bullet came with full force into the midst
of the group, and Zaionezek, and his horse roll
at the feet of the Emperor.
They darted towards hint ; the horse was
slain ; Zatonezek had his knee broken.
It was the first wound he had received for
fourteen years.
The Emperor called Larry, not wishing to
confide the life of his old companion to a less
skilful hand than his own highly esteemed
surgeon.
There, as at Rivoli, at the Pyramids. at Mar
engo, Austerlitz and Friedland, Larry always
ready, ran towards them.
Zaionezek and he were old friends. Larry
examined the wound, and decided thet imme
diate amputation was indispensable.
Larry was not a man for ingenious prepara
tions ; he went straight to the point ; the field
of battle is not a place to consider the delicate
turning of sentences ; the dying will not wait
for a well digested smile, no matter, bow bril
liant it may be.
He held and warmly pressed the hand of
Zaionezek.
" Courage, my old and valued friend," said
he, " and we shall quickly disembarrass you
of this limb, which if not quickly done, would
seriously embarrass you."
Is there no means of preserving it ?" ask
ed the wounded General.
Look yourself, and you can judge," said
the surgeon.
" It appears to be in a very bad way, in
deed."
But we are going to do the thing in a
friendly way—for others the operation would
be three minutes, but for you it shall be but
two.'•
And Larry commenced cutting open his uni
form.
" An instant, an instant," said Zaionezelt,
upon perceiving his valet de chambre running
breathlessly towards him.
Oh! my master, my poor master," said
the servant. burstimr. into tears.
" My talisman," demanded Zaionezek.
" Oh ! master why did you leave it ?"
" I am of your opinion." said Zaionezek.
" I was very wrong, restore it to me."
" Come General, are you ready," inquired
the kind and patient surgeon.
" An instant, an instant, my dear friend,"
entreated Zatonezok.
And Zaionezek immediately replaced the
talisman on his neck, and made hie valet de
chambre tie it firmly.
". Nov, said he, I am ready ; begin."
They placed a sheet over the wounded man,
for an iced and sharp snow was falling at the
time, which, whenever it touched his skin,
made him shudder in spite of himself. Four
soldiers upheld this temporary tent.
Larry kept his vow. notwithstanding the
cold, and the. difficulty of the position; the
operation scarcely lasted two minutes.
Napoleon had him conveyed on the first raft
that crossed the river. He arrived at the op
posite bank without accident.
The Polish soldiers then relieved each other
in carrying him upon a stretcher. The opera
tion was so admirably performed, that the
wounded General escaped all the accidents to
be feared under the circumstances. During
thirteen days, when so many unfortunates were
abandoned, and left to die, the soldiers of Za
ionezek braved hunger, cold. ; and musketry,
rather than abandon their beloied General.—
The thirteenth day They entered \Vilna with
him.
There-the route became such that it was im
possible to follow the army. Zaionezek then
commanded his followers to abandon him ;
they deposited him in a house where he was
found by the Russians on their arrival.
Scarcely had Alexander heard the noble
captive he had made, ere he gave orders that
the greatest possible care and respect should
be paid to the prisoner. Zaionezek remained
there until his health was completely re-estab
lished.
The treaty of Paris being signed, Alexander
gave orders for the re-organization of the Po
lish army. the command of which he confided
to the Grand Duke Constantine. Z.lionezek
was then appointed General of Infantry.
A year after, the part of Poland taken by
Russia was constituted a kingdom. Alexander
who dreamed of the liberty of his vast empire,
wished to make an effort to give a co nstitution
to Poland ; he named Zaionezek his lieutenant
General.
Eleven years afterwards, the 28th of July,
1820. Zaionezek died Viceroy, when Constan
tine, brother of the Emperor, was but General
in-Chief of the army.
This illustrious old man had in the midst of
honors and dignities attained the age of seventy
four years.
"nos was accomplished the last prediction
of the Little Red Man.
The talismanic preserver, bequeathed by
Zaionezek
,to his daughter. is carefully pre.
served in the family, with the tradition of
which it perpetuates the remembrance.
Cariosity of a Frenchman
Nothing is more characteristic of your trne
Frenchman than his irrepressible curiosity
which he will often giatiiy at the expense of
danger, and sometimes at the risk of his life.
In matters of science by the way, this pecu
liarity. of the grand nation has been of great
service to mankind. A friend relates a story
pleasantly illustrative of this insatiable national
impulse. A young Parisian lawyer, accus
tomed only to French breakfasts, arrived in the
morning at Dover on his way to London. was
surprised to find a robust John Bull seated at a
small side table, loaded with meats and their
accompaniments. He surveyed him attentive
ly for a moment or two, and then began to so
liloquise in an undress rehearsal of the sparse
English at his command :
Mon Dien !' said he. can it be posseeble
zut zat gentillhomrne is ete bees breakfasts ?
Nevare miss I shall sink I shall ask heem.
Monsieur. lan stranger. Vill av ze politess
see to tell me wezzar zat is your breakfaste or
yovr denay what you eat r
John rises with indignation, distended with
a large portion of his substantial meal, and is
about to resent what he deems an affront ; but
discretion gets the better of valor, and he sits
down again to resume his meal. The French
man paces the floor dubiously for some min
utes. until his enhanced curiosity overcomes
his temporary timidity. when ho again ac
costs the sharp-set son of • perfidious Albion :'
• Sare, if you knew the reezon wherefor I
rekquire for know wezzar zat is your break
faste or denay what you ete, you would av ze
politesse to tell me immediate, and sans of
fence.'
John was silent, as _ before, but his face ac
tually glowed with excitement and suppressed
passion. All these evidences of displeasure,
however, were lost upon the curious traveller,
who once more addressed his unwilling wit
ness, and at this time fairly brought him to the
use of his speech ; for he arose in great anger.
and accused the Frenchman of having insulted
him ; a blow followed. and a duel was the 'net
purport and upshot' of the affair. Had the
Frenchman's curigsity been satisfied.-he would
doubtless have been more steady-handed ; but
destiny had willed i otherwl%e. , Bull's bullet
pierced him, and the wound was decided to be
mortal.. Englishmen are seldom ill-tempered
upon a full stomach ; our hero relented ; he was
filled with remorse at having shot the poor fel
low on so slight^a provocation, and was anx
ious to make amends for his fault.
•• My friend,' said he to the dying man, • it
grieves me much that I should have been so
rash as In lose my temper in so trifling a mat
ter, and if there is any way in which I can
oblige you, rest assured you have only to name
it, and I will faithfully perform your last re
quest.
Vil you my fren. zen." said his
writhing in the agonies of death, " ann if you
will be so kind as to tell me wezzar zat was
your breakfaste or your denay what you ete,
shall den die, zer' most content."—Knicker
bocker.
The Damp Back and Green Spectacles.
How much of human hostility depends on
that circumstance—distance ! If the most hit
ter enemies-were to come into contact, how
much their ideas of each other would he chas
tened and corrected ! They would mutual!, am
end their erroneous impressions ; see mush to
admire, and much to imitate in each other and
half the animosity that sheds its baneful influ
ence on society, would fade away and be for
gotten.
It was one day when & was about-7 years of
age, after an onusnal bustle in the family man
sion, and my being arrayed in a black frock
much to my inconvenience, in the hot month
of August, that I was told my asthmatic old
uncle had gone off like a lamp. and that I was
heiress of ten thousand per annum. This in
formation. given with an air of infinite impor
tance, made, no very great impression upon
me at the time ; and, in spite of circumstance
being regularly dwelt on. by my French go
verness at Campden [louse, after every heni
one misdemeanor, I had thought little or noth-
ins on the subject. till , . at the age of eighteen.
I was called on to bid adieu to Levizac and
pirouttes, ate hear uncle's. will read by my
guardian.
It appears that my father and uncle, though
brothers, had• wrangled and jangled through
life and that the only subject on which they
ever agreed, was supporting the dignity of the
Vavasous family ; that, in a momentlA unpre
cedented-unison, they had determined that, as
the title fell to my cousin Edgar. and the es
tates to me, to keep both united in the family,
we should marry. And it seemed, whichever
party violated these precious conditions was
actually dependant on the other for bread and
Nutter. When I first heard of this arrangement,
1 blessed myself, and Sir Edgar cursed him
self. A passionate overhearing, dissolute young
man, thought 1, for a husband, for the husband
of an orphan—of a girl who has not a near re
lation than himself in the world, who has no
father to advise her, no mother to support her;
a professed rake, too, who will merely view
me as an incumbrance on his estate ; who will
think no love, no confidence, no respect due to
rue ; who will insult my feelings, deride my
sentiments, and wither with unkindness the
best affections of my nature. No ! I conclu
ded, as my constitutional levity returned, 1
have the greatest possible respect for guardians,
revere their office, and tremble at their authori
ty ; but make myself wretched merely to
please them—No ! no ! I positively cannot
think of it.
Well, time who is no respector of persona
went on. The gentleman was within a few
months of being twenty one ; and on the day of
its attaining age, he was to say whether it was
his pleasure to fulfill the eneacrement. My
opinion. I found was not to be asked. A titled
husband was procured for me, and I was to
take him and be thankful. I was musing on
my singular situation when a thought struck
me—can I not see him, and judge of his char.
acter, unsuspected by himself. This is the
season when he pays an annual visit4n my god.
mother ; why not persuade her to letXe visit
her iacog ! '[he idea, strange as it was, was
instantly acted on : and a week saw me at Vale
Royal, to all appearance a girl of no preten
sions or expectations, and avowedly dependent
on a distant relations.
BELI\DA
To this hour, I remember my heart beating
audibly, as I descended to the dining room.—
where 1 was to see, for the first time, the fu•
ture arbiter of my fate ; and 1 shall never for
get my surprise, when a pale, gentlemanly,and
rather reserved young man, in apparent ill
health. was introduced to me for the noisy, dis
solute. distracting and distracted baronet.—
Previously have I been hoaxed, thoneht I. es,
after a long and rather interesting conversation
with Sir Edgar. I with the other ladies, left the
room. Days rolled on in succession. Chance
continually brought us together, and prudence
began to whisper you had better return home.
Still I lingered ; till, one evening towards the
close of a long tete-a tete conversation, on my
saying that I never considered money and hap
piness as synonymous terms, and thought it
very possible to live on five hundred a year,
lie replied.
" One admission more—could you live on
it with me ? You are doubtless acquainted,"
continued he, with increasing emotion, " with
my unhappy situation, but not perhaps aware,
that revolting from a union with Miss Vara
sour, I have resolved on taking orders, and ac
cepting a living from a friend. If, foregoing
more brilliant prospects, you would conde
scend to share my retirements—" [lie man
ner, the moment, the lovely scene that surroun
ded us, all combined against me ; and [leaven
only knows what answer I might have been
hurred into, had I not got out, with a gaily
foreign to my heart—" I can say nothing to,
you till you have, in person, explained your
'sentiments to Miss Vava.our. Nothing—posi
tively nothing." ',But why ? Can seeing her
again and agatn." returned he. " ever reconcile
me to her manners, habits and sentiments, or
any estates induce me to place at 'the head of
my table, a humpback bag blue in green spec
tacles'?"
" Bump-backed ?" " Yes, from her cra
dle. But you dolor. Do you know her !"
" Intimately.she's my most particular friend."
" I sincerely beg your pardon. What an un
lucky dog I am ! I hope you're not offended !"
Offended ! offended ! sffended ! 0 no—not
offended. Hump-bark ? gond heavens Not
the least offended. Hump-hack !of all things
in the world ?" and I involuntarily gave a
glance at the glass. " I had no conceptions."
lie resumed as soon as he could recollect hint
sell, " that there was any acquaintanee."—
" The most intimate," I replied. " and I ran
assure you that von have been represented to
her as the most dissolute, awkward, ill-dispos
ed-young man breathing. See your cousin.
You will find yourself mistaken. With her
answer you shall have mine." And with a lu
dicrous attempt to smile, when I was mon
strously inclined to cry, I contrived-to make
my escape. We did not meet again : for, the
WWZMIEL Leo
next niornin,g, in no enviable frame of mind, I
returned home.
A few weeks afterwards. Sir Edgar came of
age. The bells were ringing in the breeze—.
thetenants were ettrousing on the lawn—when
he drove up to the door. My cue . was taken.
With a large pair of green spectacles on my
nose, in a darkened room. I prepared for, this
tremendous interview. After hems and dabs,
innumerable, and with confusion the most die- .
tressing, to himself, and the most amusing to
me. he gave to understand he could not ful
fill the engagement made for him. and regret
ted that it had ever been contemplated.';`••
no !" said I. in a voice 'that made him start.
taking off my green spectacles with a profound
courtesy- •No ! no ! it is preposterous to
suppose that Edgar Vavasour,would ever
connect himself with an ill-bred, awkward.
hump-backed girl."
Exclamations and exclamations, laughter and
raderies, intermixed with more serious fee
lings. followed ; but the result of all was—that
—that—that we were married.
Elijah's Interview.
On Horeb's rock the prophet stood—
, The Lord before him passed,
A hurricane, in angry mood,
Swept by him strong and fast,
The forcast fell before its force,
The rocks were shivered in its comae.
Cod was not in the blast
'Twas but the whirlwind of His breath
Announcing danger, wreck, and death.
It ceased. The air grew mute—a clew!
Came, molding up the sun;
When through the mountains. deep and loud,
An earthquake thunder'd on,
The frightened eagle sprang in air—
Thg - wolf ran howling from his lair,
God was not in the storm
'Twas but rolling °this ear—
The trampling of his steeds from far.
'Twas will again ;and nature stood
And calmed her ruffled frame;
When, swift from heaven, a fiery flood
To rarth devouring came.
Down to the depth the ocean fled—
The sickening sun looked wan and dead—
Yet God filled not the flame,
'Toms but the terror of His eye,
That lightened through the troubled sky.
At last a voice, all still and small,
Rose sweetly on the ear
Yet rose so shrill and clear,that all
In heaven and earth might hear,
It spoke of peace—it spoke of love—
It spoke as angels speak above—
And God himself was there,
But 0 ! it was a father's voice,
That bade the trembling rejoice.
LIFE OF A WESTERN HrSTER.—"
said Cheney, after he had cooked the trout to
a turn, and placed -a plump, red, juicy fellow
upon a clean cedar chip before each of us, with
an accompaniment of roast potaines, and capi
tal wheaten bread ; now isn't this better than
taking your dinner shut up in a close room ?"
" Certainly, John," said 1. " A man ought
never to go into a house except he is ill, and
wishes to use it fur a hospital." " Well now.
I don't know wheler you are in airnest in
saving that, but that's jist my way 'of thinking.
Twice I have given up hunting and taken to a
farm ; but I always get sick after living long
in houses. I don't sleep well in them ; and
sometimes when I go to see my friends, not
wishing to seem particularlike, I first let them
go quietly to bed, and then slip out of the win
dow with my blanket, and get a good nap un
der a tree in the open air. A man wants neth.
ing.but tree above him to keep off the dew,
and make him feel kind of home-like, and then
he can enjoy a real sleep." " But are you
never disturbed by any wild anirnal.when sleep
ing without fire or camp ?" one of us asked.—
• Well, I remember once being,wakened by a
creter. The dumb thing was standing right
over me, looking in my face. It was so dark,
that neither of us, I suppose, could, see what
the other was ; but lie was more frightened
than I was, for when I raised myself a little;
he run off' so fast that I could t make out what
he was; and seeing it was so dark that to fol
low him would he of no account, I laid down
again and slept till morning, without his dis
turbing, me again." " Suppose it had - been a
bear ?" " Well, a bear isn't exactly the var
mint to buckle with so offhand ; though lying,
on your back is about as good a way as any to
receive him, if your knife be long and sharp ;
but before now, I've treed a bear at nightfall.
and sitting by the root of a tree until he should
come down, have fallen asleep, from being too
tired to keep watch, and let the fellow escape
before morning." '
THE IRON TRADE.—An article on the iron
trade, which we publish to-day from the Lon
don Mining Journal. is wortliy the attentiottol
those who feel interested in Pennsylvania in
terests. The cry of ruin. more injurious to
- the immediate interests of manufacturers than
the new tariff, it will be seen has but founda
tion at present. as tar as the icon business is
concerned, with such a prosperous condition
of the market abroad. Without a disposition
to excuse the title regard or concern for Penn
sylvania which was shown by Congress in
passing the new tariff, we think that the home
market (or the productions of our iron mines
can scarcely he_affested injuriously while such
a demand for iron exists abroad. The only
fear is that the price will get so high that a
check will he given to the prosecution of the
numerous railways in Europe. Already the
quantity bespoken is equal to the total make
of England, Wales and Scotland, for the next
four years—leaving none for ordinary uses at
home, the requirements for which are steadily
increasinn, and leaving none for the supply of
foreign countries. If our manufacturers of iron
can remain' fur four years unmolested by for
eign competition they will by ghat time have
acquired sirengtlVand permanency which can
not be easily shaken.—Ledgcr.