732.711 4 21§ V,SZEci
TOWAND A:
I.l3citcsban IllorninD, 'April 1858.
Earthly Angels.
Why come not spirits from the_ realms of glory,
To visit earth, as in the days of old I
The times of sacred writ and ancient story;
Is heaven more.distant, or is earth more cold I
bftlinve I . watch'll, when sunset clouds, receding,
Waved like rich banners of a host gone by,
To 'catch the gleam of some whose pinion, speeding
Along the confines of the glowing sky.
AO oft, when midnight stars, in distant chillness,
'Were calmly burning, listened late am:l - Jong;
But nature's pulse beat onrwith solemn stillness,
Bearing no echo of the seraph's song.
To Bethlehem's air 'was their last anthem given,
When other stars before that ONE grew dim?
Wa:S 'their last presence known in Peter's prison?
. Or'where exulting martyrs raised (tie hymn ?
.
.
And are they all within their veil departed f
There gleams no wing along the empyrean now ;
And many a tear from human c. es has started,
.Since angel touch bath calmed a mortal brow. -
Yet earth ha's anaels,though their forms arc moulded
But of such clay a, fashions:all belo,w
-Thoilzh harps arc wanted, anShrieht pitons foli d,
We know them by the love-light on their brow,
have seen angels by the sick one's pillow—
Theies was the soft tone aniithe soi r nilless tread.—
Where smitten hearts were droopinqke the Willow,
They stood between the living ant, the dead.
And my sight, by earthly ditnnrss i lh iridered,
a
Beheld no hovering cherubim in : r,
I I mbt nut, for their spirits knew, their kindred,
They smiled upun,the wingless watchers there.
There have heen.angels in the gloomy prison—
In crowded halls--by the lone wiaow . 6 hearth ;
And where they pa. , .ed, the fallen have upri‘en—
The gidly paused, the mourner'd hope had birth
hare seen one, whose elorinence commanding
. Roused the rich echoes of the human breast . :
The blandishmen-t of ease and wealth withstanding,
, That 11,ope might reach the suffering, and opprest
And by his side there moved a firm of*eanty,
Strewing sweet tlouer-s along his pal of
And, look g up with-meek and hive-lent ditty
I called her angel, and he called her wife. e
Oh, many a spirit walks the earth unheeded,
That, *hen the reil.of sadness is !aid down,
shall soar aloft, with pinions unthipeded,
And teat its glory like a starry crown.
Incidents of the Freheh Re-volutton.
'felt: LAST SCENE IN THE TUILLERIES.—It appears
that King, ever :tinee the death of Madaine Ad
,t•laale. had lost much of his'energy, and given up
ri sonic degree his early habits
- and the punctual's
t).to'business for which he hail always been Sits
tingtiehtc.l. On the morning of Thursday, he had
•.-en 7.t?i - Fewliat later than usual. Ire- said that he
Lad pastrel a restlelts night, and that he Was weary
bothin `Mind and body, With the petitioning of the
-two royal :Inltts (Nemours and Montpensier.) fur
that they knew he could not !' ,- rant. lie had been
%%riling all the preceding day in his own bed-mom,
- and a sealed letter to the Queen of, Ilelgium was
.t:nongst the papers I - And:upon his Wrlling-kle,k.--
We undeNtanil that the seal was respected, and
that thetfetter was religiously despatched to its
nuion. So little fear Was fa as to the result of
the day's debate-, that tlic royal childien were
'•ronglit its listed to the King : and it being Thurs
las :Majesty had examined, as wits him wont
on that day, all the copy books of the Count de
Paris. and expressed his satistaction of the progress
evinetttl by the royal pupil in his various studies.—
%t ten ticlOck the children were dismissed, and at
Pau hour the Arlie login by the annOuncement of
M. Emile de Giradin. t• Nay, but I received him
esterday," exclaimed the King, much irritated. to
the aad-des-camp. in waiting.. ‘• Pardon me, Sire,
he klys that his business is argent, and that the iII . MOROF , TREATMENT OF LEGITIMISTS—‘ The
:safeirof.the Empiredepe)ids- upon your Majesty's t• Legitimists - have no chance Three young men
reception of his meskage." The King now inter-'attempted on Saturday even," says the Courrier
I•nt not alarmed ; gave the order for the ' Francais, to get up a Legitimist manifestaion in
ter :0 be adMined. It appears by - M de Giradin's the Faubourg St. Germain. The Nolte, seeing
cn account, pat he was so overcome Avid, cum- , them all dre-sed in -black, with white cockades in
that-for an instant he could not sAak. and the their hats, cries out " 7'n . na ! Tires ! A fune'raf!
tibillptly, and in no measured tone of They are undertakers' men! The young men,
via 0, t• What more is now required by you :Old liOkillEZ the people in such good humor, immedi
tellows (rats- el rug - -parerls,) have we not, ately commenced " Friends," exclaimed they,
Lade enough concessions in all conscuths ! remember henry kV, and proclaim his descend
is yet another one, your Majesty. which is nuts. Long live Henry V!' The people in the
e:•iatte more necessary than all the rest,'; • Then ' same goutlltutuor, immediately cried out, "Alt,
i•antLot be granted," returned the King. peevish- how is he, the dear Prince ? Is he not dead ? So
••intleed-khave regret for that whil•li is alien- ' much the better! Make our compliments to him,
t' ) :1• 41 (;," t• And so Lave L your Majesty, for it is if you please, gentlemen. How happy he will be!
' 44 't•• )er4 .l tittugit. - •• Q•le.y/ cc a dire !: exclaimed Henry IV is dead ! tin; 1a Republique.:' Tints dill
i:::•.hing..tnterruptina him with great vehemence. the people turn Legitimacy to the right-about. if
Ti f • Integltiness of eapression, which is ultrans- we relate this fact, it is merely to add that, in des
the ahruptnes.; of the true i n w hi c h it was pair for the cause, they immediately went to in
roused the fiery temper of Girardin, and he i scribe themselves at their respective mayoralties,
i• :-.‘loretl almost coarsely, '.‘• The, one cession more as nearly all the young men of the Faubourg St a ,
iw ti is t n:01,11.d by the people is your Majes-
(4timain had already dune. Thus Legitimacy, has
aldwatitn on the instant, too, and without any ha
turned into Republicanism—the wisest thing they
icservation. - The Kim started to his feet with could do. f , Henry IV is dead. Long live the Re
:such satltictimov'emeni that he upset the inkstand Public!" .
•
which he had 111.4 been using. and the broad black,i •
•
ex
shini may yet be seen upon thecarpet. Ile rushed
HisTaracAL PARALLEL.-- following most -
to the window, whither Girardtit followed him, and traordmary coincidence cannot be passed by•the
planting to the crowd, exclaimed. „ six battalions historian without astonishment and wonder, when
of national !*bards surround tie Palace: all are of Lie'cribing the last two French Revolutions. In
15.30, no sooner had the• Dey Algiers arrived ., "
....e Mind, and those who sent me here are strong l
France as „,a prisoner :onerof Charles the Tenth, than the
their Imaniniity. Blood has been sin:don-id now
King was. dethroned and exiled'; and iii 1848, no
sooner had the Emir Abdsel s Kader reached the
shores of France Lis thopfigtitior of Louis Phillippe,
than the King of:the - Barri ades was dethroned and'
• -
'.e:e is.no retreat."
1;t t... Phillippe grew deadly pale. 'and his hand
k violently as fie took that of M. de , Girardin, ;
1..: In- voice faltered not as he answered - 1 on
-0 1 0. Pethap , , in the right. Mon.ieur. I will ;. , ..o .
, I !)) n to the Chambers. not-to plead for at) F cif, but '
pr ~ ! , e t rity It nasty."' At this moment the queen,.
a:, i,.1,1 been ualehing and hovering about the •
~ , , , nnuent in the greatest alarm, appeared upon the
... 'or-,!I. She spoke not; shy evidently did not '
."i-i, lobe observed, for she did not advance one i
':op two the room. She was attired in ,the deep-
e‘t runuming„ and her silver hair escaper\ from be- 1
1'...v.:1 -1,..tp of blaek crape—her face was pale and •
....., ~ .1. e •-:: , :.,.enied alNut to feud—lict tall thin 1 "
THE. .. BRADFORD REPORTER.
form bent not—but the agitanyn of the moment was
so great that she was seized with that palsied shak
ing of the knees to Which she has been subject ev
er since the death of the Duke of Orleans.
' She drew back as the King passed out. So great
was his own pre-occupation that he perceived her
not, and she lolklwed him thus in silence and w;tl3
noiseless step, little heeding whether he was lead
ing her so that he was not lost to sight. T . It was thus
that she found herself in the midst of the gardens
of the Tuillerios, surrounded by a countless multi
tude, exposed to all the rigors of a stormy sky,
without shawl or bonnet., or any of tha appurten
ances either of her age or rank. It was a touching
sight to behold this eager:solicitude, this tender
love, stronger than the fear of death, which actuated
the queen in this desertion pf all deside her hus
band. And it .is known_ of many who, Icround up
to fierce excitement - then, cannot, now that all is
over, think of that scene without team,.
It was not till Loui4 Phillippe halt reached the
Pont Tournant that he:- even became aware ofthe
presence of the Queen. It is said that his smile of
recognition was f irrange and ftiarfal one. He
would have turn .d. Perhaps his memory - carried
him back to another crowd mhich he had seen be
fore upon that self-same simt, and he dreaded to
advance. Just then a squadron of cavalry meet
the crowd issuing from the gate of the Tnilleries,
bore down upon the mass. A gentleman seized
the arm of the Queen to preserve her from the dan
ger. Zfdie turned in frenzy upon him, deeMing it
an attack. " Ltisqcz 71101, Monsirur," exclaimed
she. in a loud and angry voice, and, seizing the
hand of the Kittg: dragged him with undaunted
courage :towards a little one horse cituline which
stood upon the quay, and, forcing his Majesty into
it, took her seat beside him, while Marshal Gout
gatl;.who this time had pierced the dense mass
of people. and joined his M'ajesty, spoke in a low
voice to the coachman. In an instant the little ve
hicle set off at a furious g;itll abmethe quay, in
the direction of St. Cloud, the monarchy ofJuly
was no more.
This is the tide history of the flight from thp Tu
illeries of Louis Philiippe. King of the French. r It
is not true that the whole of the royal family ac
companied him in his escape. Up to this hour no
thing is known fur certain of the destination of the .
Duchess 'le Nemours. • The Duchess de Montpen
sier, the innocent cause of all the uproar, after hav
ing hen scared from the : Palace by the inroads of
the mob, wandered about the streets of Paris until
5 o'clock that day accompanied by an old Spanish
servant, who knows not a word of French. She
was met in tlfe Rue du Havre, close to the railway
stalion,ntleman who, knowing her by sight,
took upon himself to protect her and child= her to
his house. How she managed to stray unmolest
ed and'unrecogr.ized so'far frotn home, is a mis
ters to thishour. She •says•that, seeking to avoid
the crowd, she turned _down the st.eets which
seemed most 'free, without caring whither they
migh• lead.
SPARE THE KiNG. - -The flight of Louis- Phir' l
lippe ‘N as marked by an incident which did honor
.0 the feelings'of the population. At the moment
that the ex-King was escaping by the little low
,1,.0r-way nearly opposite the bridge, and going into
th voiture that waited for him, he found him
sr if surrounded by . the people. The 2d Currassieurs,.
stationed in the Place de la Concorde, rushed to his
pnaection, and this brave regiment, without, how
ever, using their arms, opened a passage. An of
ticer, seeiwz the tlan;!er, -cried out_ '• Messieurs,
spare the King." To which'i stentorian voice re-
‘: We are not assassins—let him go." " Yes,
yes ; let him r..t)---4ri'Ll purr," .became the general
PARIS AFTER THE CONTatISIGN.—The well known
Municipal Guard, Irifanni and Cavalry. have to
tally disappeared. The numerous guard houses so
familiar to the eye of the foreign visner, in all parts
of the city, inscribed with the words " Liberte.Or
nt,e piddique," haVe been almost- invariablf,burned
or pulled down. The barracks of the Miirtitipal
Guards, situated in all the arrondissements of Paris,
haVe likewi,.e been sacked and palled to pieces. -
The Sentinels at all puhlie Luilding have been
PUBLISHED EVERY WEDNESDAY, AT TOWANDA, BRADFORD COUNTY, PA., BY E. O'MEARA GOODRICH.
" REDARDLE&% OF DENUNCIATION FROAI AIT QUARTER."
placed by the National Guard ; almost every pane
of Mass in the Tuileries has been smashed.
The furniture of the private apartments. o 1 the
royal family bas been destroyed, and in general the
articles of personal property pillaged. The objects
of art, however, have generally been spared. It
has beer. observed that in this incursion of the pop
ulace upon the royal palace, the apartments of the
Duchess of Orleans and her children, have been
comparatively respected.
The vengeance of the mob halt been wreaked
principally upon the personal apartments of Louis
The mairies of the different arrondissements were
tare or less treated in the same manner, and the
magnificent apartments of the Hotel de Nile, so
gorgeously furnished by Count Ramboteau, the late
Prefect of the Seine, became the temporary dwell.
ing of the lowest rabble:
On the Boulevards, those who revisit Pat is, will
regret to see the finest trees cut down. The popu
lace spared all the younger trees. The hollow pil
lars which at short intervals were erected from one
end of the Boulevards to the other, were all pulled
down, to serve for the construction of barricades.
Before the l lapitlated matters, however, were re
moved front the place u here they fell, the revolu
tion was accomplished, and nothing remained but
to re-erect the pillars with the same materials.—
Numerous masions arc accordinaly at this moment,
eznpl3yed in effecting this. -
THE OPINION OF Louts PHILLIPPE OF THE SUC
CESS OF THE ItEPUßLic.—The Paris Prrsse dues the
following as an extract from a Havre lene :—" M.
one of my friends, was present at the em.
barkation of the ex•king in a fishing boat on Thurs
day inst. When on the point of quitting the French
soil, Louis Phillippe turned towards P.— and
said, " Join the republic frankly and sincerely, for
I carry with me the French monarchy, and I shall
descend n ith it to the tomb. I have been the last
king of France. Adieu.'
MODERATION AND CONSEDERATION OF THE Ritvo
-I.l.vioNtsys.-7The Tuilleries, at two o'clock on the
24th, were taken by the people after a few shots.
Much accidental damage was done, but not apm
was allowed to be carried away, the people in their
shirt sleeves protecting all 'the works Of art and
jewels, &r. All the damage was done to the furni
ture, and the gewgaws of dresses, 6:c., which were
torn up for flags or burnt. ' Much damage of course
was done, but the preiailing dorninent idea evident
ly was to. protect the property as far as possible—
Thus, every where in the rooms, while revelling
on the tine furniture in perfect gaiety, people were
seen with the-following inscriptions :—" This is our
property, let us protect it." "100 robbery !"
" The thieves shall be put to death." " Let us pro
tect the glory of the arts." The jewels taken to
the national treasury. The people would not al
low even a piece of looking-glass, a foot square, i o
be taken away; and all the other plate was care
fully put aside, under the guard of some men in
raves, and with a musket, who showed as great' a
re t Tard for private property as a Rothschild would
have done.
AMERWAS AT PARIS POST OFFICE.—The
correspondent of the Courier and Enquirer made
his way thro' the masses and the barricades in the
streets in the midst of the Revolution, to the gener
al Post-office, which he found guarded, and was
s oatly refused entrance, " I pleaded in vain, (he
adds) until 1 finally told them that I was an Ame
rican, and wantel to send lore the glorious tid
ings of what they had been doing. - Entree Mon:
sicair," was the quick response; and my letter was
securely mailed by the solitary functionary I fourid
on duty in the interim"
PUNCTI OS rut FRENCII RE:voitmos.—Puncli is
down upon Louis Phillippe, as a matter of course,
like thousand of brick. What a retribution for
the foolish old despot, who excluded Punch from
France, and has now been forced to seek a shelter
in England, where he wi . ll have the pleasure of see
ing himself carricatured by Punch every day.' One
of the large caricatures in Punch represents a Sans
Culotte in a Poman hamlet extinguishing Louis
Phillippe with the Phymian Liberty Cap: The
King sits on a candle stick• like a pale candle half
burned out. The following are cuts in letter press
of the last number :
Romance of Ifistory,—Who would have thought
that the "coruiug man" would have been Louis
. " Le Commencement de that is now
left of the French "Nctbilifie," is the initial syllable
" tio:' A bad beginning but a worse end.
A Cat may look at a Ki?ng.—Tlris is a very an
cient maxim; but, if kings do not take care, it will
become cbsolete, for though it may be always true
that cat may look at a King, the time may come
wheh a cat must look very shall); inflect], to find
one: We hope, nevertheless, that a cat may en
'joy the privilege of looking at a Queen, and that the
feline animal may, throughput The whole of its nine
have our own yietiiria to look upon.
77ir 80-prepofi6 - Bourboiis.—Louis Phillippe has
lost his Ozef), and never again will fin4l-4'em. The
people - of France have made an advance and left
'their King behirnPem.
Counterfeit Coin.—lt is evident that much coun
telfeit money-must•of late have been put in eireu
lation, for during many day& the people of Dover,
Southampton and other sea-side places, have been
keeping a sharp locik-ont for a bad sovereign;
If we but rightly improve our time and heti!deli,
we shall be hlppy. There are springs of the most
refined and elevated enjoyment ever open to those
who seek wisdom.
A swat is cad to have the least self-esteem of
any article of manufacture, as it is constantly run
ning itself down, and holding its hands before its
face, however good its works.
•
THE CoMmonew multi 6 full of thoughts.; sonic
worthy of the rarest.
An Esecuf lon.
In Blackwood's Magazine, is an article entitled
Le Revenant, purporting to be written by a man
who has been hanged and is now alive. The wri
ter confesses that he was guilty of the act for which
he suffered—forgery, and states.; the particulars of
his arrest, committal to Newgate - for trial, and his
conviction of the crime at-the Old Baily Sessions
for 1826. He then proceeds to describe wilt were
his sensations, after receiving the awful sentence
of death. After painting, in touching colors, the
interview he had with Elizabeth Clare, to whim
he was strongly attached, he thus proceeds with
his narrative:
" It was four o'clock in the afternoon when Eliz
beth left me: and wheat she departedf it seemed
as if my business in this world was at an end. I
could have wished; then and there to have died on
the spot; I had done my last act, and drank my
last dranght in life. But as the twilight drew in,
my cell was cold and damp, and the evening.was
dark and gloomy; and I bad no fife nor any can
dle, although it was iu the month of January, nor
much covering to warm me., and by degrees my
spirits weakened, and my heart sunk at the deso
late wretchedness of every thing around .me ; and
gradually—for what I write now shall be the truth
—the thoughts of Elizabeth and what would be her
fate, began to give way before a sense of my own
situation..
This was the first time—l cannot tell the reason
why—that my mind had ever fixed itself upon the
trial that I had, within a few hours, to go through;
and, as I reflected on it, a terror spread. over me,
almost in an instant, as though it were that my sen
tence was just pronounced, and that I had not
known, really and seriously. that I was to die be
fore : I had eaten nothing for twenty-6m hours.—
There was food, which a religious geutleman who
visited me had sent from his own table, but I . could
not taste it, and when I looked at it, strange fancies
came over me. It was dainty food, not such as
was served to the prisoners in the jail. It wasseut
to me because I was to die to-morrow, and 1 tho't
of the beasts of the field and the fowls of the air,
that were pampered for slaughter. I felt that my
own sensations were not as they might to be at
ibis time, and I believed that, for a while I was in
sane. .1 sort of dull humming noire: that I could
act get rid of, like the buzzing of bees, sounded in
my ears. And though it was dark, sparks of-light
seemed to dance before nu eyes and • I could re
collect nothing. I triett to say my Prayers, but
could only recollect a word here and there,,a'y
then it seemed to me as if these were blasphemies
that I was uttering ; I don't know what they were,
I cannot tell what I said ; and then on a sudden, I
felt as though all this terror was useless, and that I
would not stay there to die, and I jumped up, and
wrenched at the bars of my cell window with a
force that bent them, for I felt as if I had the strength
of a lion. And I felt all over the lock of my door,
and tried the door with my shoulder, though I
knew it was plated with iron, and heavier than that
of a church; and I groped about the very walls,
mid into the corners of my dungeon—though I knew
very Well, if I had my.._%enses, that it was all of
solid stone three feet thick, and that itleouldlrave
passed* through a crevice smaller than'the eye of a
needle' I had no chance of escaping., And, in the
midst of all this exertion, a faintness came over me
as if I had swallowed poi , r•on ; and I had just pow
: er to reel to the bed place, where I sank down in
a swoon but this. did not last—for my head swam
round, and the cell seemed to turn round with me,
and I dreamed—between sleeping and waking--
that it was midnight, and that they refused to ad.
mit her. And I thought it snowed heavily, and'
that the streets were all covered with it. as if with
a white sheet, and that I-saw her dead—lying in
the fallen snow, and in the darkness at the prison
SE
• When I came to myself, I was striling and
breathless. In a. minute or tuso, I heard St. Sepal-
chre's clock go ten ; and knew it was a dream that
I had had. The chaplain of the prison came with.
out my sending. Ile exhorted me solemnly "to [
think 110 more of cares or troubles in this world, but I
to bend my thoughts upon that to come, and to try
to reconcile my soul to Ileaven ; trnsting that my 1
sins, though they were heavy, under repentance,
might have hope of mercy." When he was gone,
I did find myself, for a little while, more collected ;
and I sat down agatn on the bed, and tiled serious-
ly to commune with myself, and prepare myself
for my fate. I recalled to my mind that Lhad bet
a few hours more, at all events, to live—that there
was no more hope on earth of escaping—and that
it was at least better that I should die decently like
a man. Then I tied to recollect all the tales that I
had ever heard about death by hanging--rthat it
was said .to be the sensation of-a moment—to give :
no pain—to cause the extinction of life instantane
ously—and so on, to twenty other strange ideas.
By degrees my head began to . wander and gre
unmanageable. I put my hands tightly to m
throat, as though to try the sensation of stranglin g, ,
then I felt my arms at the place where the co
would be tied. I went through the fastenings of
the rope—the..tying of the hands together 46 thing
tharl felt must averse to, was the whitecap muf
fled over my eyes and face. If I could - sivoid that;
the rest was not so horrible! in the midst of these
fancies, a numbness seemed to creep over my sent
ses. The gitllllness that I. felt gave way to a dull
stupor, which lessened the, pain that my thong's*
gave me, though I still went on thinking. The
church clock rang midnight ; '1 was • sensible
of the 'sound, but it reached me indistinctly w as
though coming through many timed doors, or Inim
li a far distance. By and by. I saw the objects be
fore my mind less and less clearly—then only par
tially—then they were gone altogether. Well
asleep.
"I slept mail the hour of execution. It was se.
yen o'clock an the next morning ; when & knocking
at the door of my cell .awokc me. I heard the
Kauai as though in my Jrcams, for some rnomehts
before I was fully awake; and my first .sensation
was only the dislike which a weary man feels at
being reused ; I was tired, and [,wished to dose on. i
In a minute after, the bolts on, the outside of my
dungeon were drawn;. a turnkey, carrying a small
lamp, and followed by the master of the jail and
the eharlain, entered; I locked up; a shudder like
the shock of electricity—like . a phinge into a bath
of ice—ran through me : one glance was sufficient.
Sleep was gone as though I had never slept—even I
as I never was to sleep again—l was conscious of
my situation ! " said the master to me,
in a subdued, but steady thiut!, " it is time for you ,
to rise."
The chaplain asked me' how I had passed the
night, and proposed that we should join in prayer:
I gathered myself up,-and remained seated on the ,
side of the bed-place. My teeth chattered, and my
knees knocked together, in despite of myself. It
was barely daylight yet ;and, as the cell door stood
open, I could see into the small paved court be
yond ; The morning was thick and gloomy, and a
slow, but settled, rain was coming down. "It is
half-past 7 o'clock, R—!" said the master.
just muttered aq entreaty to be left alor.e until the
last Moment. I had thirty minutes to live.
" I tried to make.another observation teen the
master was leaving the cell ; but this time, I could
not get 'the! words out; tongue stuck to the roof
of my mouth, and my speechteemed gone ; I made
two desperate efforts, but it would not do—l could
not utter. When they tell me, I never stirred from
my place ou the bed. I Was 'benumbed with the
cold, probably from the .4 leop, and at the unaccus
tomed exposure, an I I sat crouched to; as it
were, to keep myself warmer, with my arms fold
ed across my breast, and my. head hanging down,
shivering ; f and my body, felt as if it were such a
tvei4ht to rine, that t was; unable to move it, or stir.
The day now was -breaking, yellow and heavily,
and the light stole by degrees into my dungeon,
showing me The damp stone wells, and ilesohne,
dark paved floor; and strange as it Was, with all 'I
could do, I Collltl not keep myself from noticing
these trilling things, though perdition was upon me
the very next moment. I noticed the lamp which
the turnkey had left on the floor, and which was
homing dimly, with a long wick, being clogged
with the ehill and bad air. and I theltht to myself
—even at that moment—that it had not been trim
med since thenight before. And I looked at the
bare, naked, iron bed halite that I sat on; and the
heavy studs on the door of the dungeon ; and
at the scrawls and writing upon - the wall, that
had been drawn by former prisoners; and I put
my hand to my own pulse, and it was so low
that I eouldihardly count it. I could not feel—
though I tried to make .myself feel it; that I was
going to die. In the midst of this, I heard the
chimes of the chapel eltrzk begin to strike; and I
thought— I4rd take pity on me a wretch ! it could
not be three-quarters alter seven yet ! The dock
went over the three-quarters ; it chimed the fourth
quarter, and struck eight. They were in my cell
before I perceived them. They found me in the
same place, and in the same posture, as they had left
me.
• "What I have farther to tell will lie in g very
small eompass ; my recollections are very minute
up to this point, but not at all so close as t 6 Ithat
occurred afterwards. I scarcely recollect very clearly
how I gOt from my cell to the press-room. I think
two little withered men,.dressed in black,support
ed the. I know I tried to rise when I saw the mas•
ter and his people come into my dungeon ; but
could not.
" In the press mom were two miserable Wretch
es that were to suffer with me; they were bound
with their arms behind them, and their hands to
gether; and were lying upon a bench, hard by,
until I was ready. Ai meagre looking old man,
with thin white hair, Who was reading to one of
them, came up, - ntl said something—" That we
would embrace,"—l did not distinctly hear what
it was.
"The great difficulty. that I had was to keep from
falling. I had thought that these momenta would
have been all of fury and horror, but I frit nothing
of this: but only a weakness,- as though my heart
—and the very; floor on which I stood—'was sink
ing under ine. I could just make a motion, that
the old whits i haired man shoald leave me ; and
some one interfered and sent him away. Thepin
inning; of my hands and arms was then finished
pit I heard an officer, whisper to the chaplain that
all was ready." As we passed out, one of the
men in black held a glass of water to my lips; but
could not swallow. -
wrhis was the last moment—but one—of full
perSeption, that I bad in life. I remember our be
41lig to move forward, through the long arched
pga.figes which led from the press room to the
.sea:Ifoo11 I saw the lamps - thair‘were still burning,
.7-- •
kir the day-light never entered there; I then heard
the quick tolling of the bell, and the-deep voice
l of the chaplain, reading as he walked on before
lus :
" I am the resurrection, and the life, with the
Lord ; be that believistli in me, .though he were
dead, he shall live.; And though after my skin
worms destroy 'this body, yet in my flesh shall I see
God I
g , It was the funeral service—the order for fbe
.rave—che office for ;those that were senseless and
dead—over us, the qUick and the living.
" I felt once more—and saw ! I felt that the tran
sition from these dim, close, hot, lamp-lighted sub•
lerraneous passages, to the open platforms, and steps
at the foot of the scaffold, and today, I saw the im
mense crowd blackening the mjsole area c the
street beloow me. The vrindofb of the shops and
houses opposite, to the fort i rth story, choked with
gazers. I saw St. Sepulchre.' church, through the
yellow fog in the distance ; had heard the pealing
of its bell. I recollect the cloudy misty morning,
the wet that lay upon the, scaffold—the hege do&
mass of buildings, the orison itself, that lose beside
and seemed to cast It shadow over us—the Old,
fresh breeze that, a 5.1 emerged from it, broke upon
my face. I see it all now—the whole horrible
hindscape is befo'.e me. The .villiefd—the rain—
the faces of the Moltitude—the people clinging to
the house tops—the smoke tilat-beAt heavily down.
wards from the chimneys--thewagons filled with
women, staring at thepinn•yaid oppbsite—thebirarse
low roar that ran through the gathering erowd as
we appeared. I never saw so many cbjebts at
once, so plainly ant! distinctly in all my lite, as at
that one single glance; but it laited only for an in
stant.
. .
a Front (hat look, and froth that instant, all that
followed is a blank. Cif the prayers of the.chaplain
—of the faisterribg of 4 ....e.fatal noose—of the putting
cri cif the cep" which I had so flinch disliked—of
my nettiar E.rein/ion and death, I have not the slight
est atom of recollection. But that know such oc
currences mus have taken place, I should not have
the smallest consciousness that they ever diaLso.
I read in the daily newspapers an account of my
behavior at the scafibiti— that I conducted myself
decently, but' with . firmness ; of my death—that`l
seemed to die almost without a struggle. (II any
of these events I have trot been able, by any azet
doll, to recall the most distant remembrance. • With
the first vier of the icaffoldi all my recollections
ceases.
!The nest circumstance which— to t ray pemep
tion--seems to follow, is the having awoke, ,as if
from sleepi and found myself in a bed, in a hand-t
some, chamber. With a gentleman taw [just opened
my• eyes) .looking attentively at me. I had jay
senses perfectly, thinii h. I dice not speak at once.
I thought directly, that I had been reprievid at the
scallold, and had fainted. After I knew the truth,
I thought that I had an imperfect recollection, of
having found, or fancied, mysel- as in a dream
—in some stramte place., lying naked, and with a
mass of figures floating about before ere; but this
idea certainly net p/esented itself to me until
was informed of the fact that it had occurred.
The accident to whip I owe my existence Rill
halve bden divined ! y condition is a strange one!
Idm a living man ; mil I posses certificates both
of death and burial. l'kriow that a coffin filled With
stones, and with my own: name ttpqn ille plate, lie's
buried in the churchyard of St. Andirw's, ilidbom;
I saw front a window, the undressed hearse that
carried it ; I was witness to my own funeral. These
are strafigti things to see. My damages, bowever, -
and I trust; my crimes, are over forever. Thanks
to the bounty of the excellent individual, whose be
nevolence has recognized the sekvicr which he dia
me for a claim upon' him. I airs married to - tbil
woman, whose happiness and i safety proved my .
last thought—so long as reason remained with me
—in dying. And lam about to sail on a fair roy
age, which ia only a sorrowful one—that it toarts r
me forever from my benefactor."
EDVCASIO/C.—The multitude think that to edw
cate a child is to crowd into his mind a giveir
,amount of knowledge; to load the memory with
words. No wonder then they think every body lit
to teach. The true end of education is to unfold
and direct might our *hole nattier. ha office iii to
call forth powrens of thought, affection, Will, a d
oulward 'actions, ;tower to observe, to reason,
judge, to Contrive--power to adopt good eou
and to puisie them', to govern.ourselves audio i -
(biome others, to gain and spread happiness. The
intellect was created, not to receive passively 'a tftw
words,•dates and facts, but hi be active for the 4.
nisition of truth. Education should inspire a pm.
found love of truth, and teach the progress of inves.
tigation. A sound logic, which we mean the
science and art which instructs us in the true laws
of reasoning and evidence, is an essential pad of
a good education.
ALBLI4N—TA CFRE FOR- DTSENTERT.—Thef
fOl
lowing is n translation of a recipe for the cure gf
this ccmsplaint, which was published by the phi'.
sicians of Spain in the Gazettes of Madrid during
1840.
" lirepare e draught of Albumen, by taking the
whites of luny eggs or more, and after whipping
them well, sweeten the same, if necessary, with a
small portion of the best double refined sugar. Let
the patient drink large quantities of this repeatedly,
inasmuch te./ . .611 his stomach administering clysters
of the same a d s often as possible. - The patient must
maintain a total abstinence from diet of any kind.
In a few houfs after the pains will abate and in
twenty-fours the disease will disappear, if it do not
it will be sure to. disappear in forty-eight hours,
provided the patient repeat the draughts as usual.
" The addition of a few drops of Orange tower
water is Highly beneficial."
WANTED.—One hundred and seventy-five young
men of all shapes and sizes, from the tall ,grucelul
dandy, with hair enough upon his upper lip to stuff
a cushiOn, down to the beardless - up-start. The ob
ject is to form a Gaping Corps, to be is attendance
at the thnrch door on each Sabbath before the
commencement of divine service, to stare atthe fe
males'as they enter, and make delicate and gen
,demartly temarks on their persons and dreg. All
who wish 10 enlist in the above corps will appear
at the various church doors next Sabbath morning,
where they will be duly inspected, and their names,
personal appear a nce, &c. regisred in s book
kept for that purpose, and published in a newspa
per. To prevent a general rush, it will be well to
state that none will be enlisted who possess more
than Winery intellectual capacities.
MEMORY is like a pose if it be overt's*, that it
cannot shot, all will drop out of. it. Marshal thy
'notions into a handsome method. A man will car
ry twice more weight trussed and packed op in
bundles, than when it lies untowardly gapping and
hanging about his shouldata. •
A smooth sea never made a skilful twiner.—
Neither do uninterrupted. prosperity and mares
.quality- man for Usefulness or happiness. The
storms of adversity, like the storms of the ocean,
rouse- thet.facuttios, aud excite the kilted:Rion, pru•
deace, ail], and fortitude of the voyager.
211MMaill 446