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FOR FARMER AND MECHANIC;
locootcb to politico, Mims, fiterature, Pottrp, agriculture, tije Miffuoion of Ilocful linformation, ebencrat3ntelliqcnceritmusement,Matucts, szr.
VOLUME VIII.
THE LEHIGH REGISTER
is published in the Borough of Allentown, Lehigh
County, Pa., every Viedneeday, by
A. L. R I UBE,
4 A t Si 52 per annum, payable in advance, and
$2 On if not paid until Ole end of the year. Nu
paper discontinued, until all arrearages ire paid
except at the option of the proprietor.
Or Office in Ramilton Street, one door East of
itylierman Reformed Church, nearly opposite
lhe "Triedensbote" Office.
New Family
, Grocery Store
N
.L EX-TO lIPX.
Tut: subscriber takes this method to in
form the citizens of Allentown, and the pub
lic in general, that he has opened
. -...- .
A Family Grotery Store.
nt the stand formerly occupied by Dillinger
& Craig, No. 27, North 7th street, near•the
Market Square, where he offers for sale for
Cash or in exchange for Country Produce,
a large variety of Family Groceries, such as
,—. F . r .,,... Coffee,•Sugar,Mo-
I, ; - lasses., Chocolate,.; . l AW'r.'
C ' !Ye',
L.l•. ' Tea, red and black 1 ,4 1. ; ; ,lii :',l :i l
; t 4
---;--, • ' Pepper. Allspice, ------L'-"' - ' - 'r
Ginger, Salaratus, baking and washing So
da, Salt, Allum, Madder, No's. 1, 2 and 3,
'Mackerel, pickled Salmon, pickled and
smoked Herring, Codfish, dried Beef, Elam.
Shoulder, Flitch, Lard, Candles, Vinegar
Soap, Brooms, &c.
Ai.so, all kinds of fruit, such as Lemons
Oranges, Prunes first quality in jars, and in
kegs for pies, Figs, Raisins, pealed and un-
pealed , dried Peaches, Apples and Pears,
Tomato' Catchup, Mustard, Pickels in bot
tles, Cherries, &c.
In connection with the above business, he
slso continues the manufacturing of Segars,
of every price and quality, which he will
sell or exchange to country merchants for all
kinds of produce. _
He also continues the Candle manufactur
ing business, and wilt sell by the box any
quantity desired,or exchange them for coun
try produce, such as Butter, Eggs, Lard,
• Ham, Shoulder, Flitch, Soap, Chet ries, dri
cd fruit, Wax, &.c., and allow therefor the
highest market price.
He trusts that'by keeping the best kind
of Groceries, &r.., and by manufacturing the
_hest kind of Segars and Candles. he will be
•Ible to merit a liberal share of public patron
page, for which be will ever be thankful.
rleThe undersigned is also the appoint
.4-13,Agent for the sale of Iloyt's celebrated
ifine .cut, chewing and smoking tobacco,
snuflo&c., all of which he will sell as low as
it,can be purchased either in Philadelphia
on 'New York. _ CHARLES 11. RIME.
Allentown, April 19, 1854. ¶-6m
•Joseplt
Watchmaker in Allentown,
Takes this method to inform his friends
and the public in general, that he atilt con
tinues the
Watcbstualling Business,
in all its various branches, at his •old stand."
No. I I, West Hamilton street, nearly oppo
site the "Odd Fellow's Hall," in the Borough
of 'Allentown, where he has just received an
entire new, and constantly keeps on hand a
splendid stock of
Parlor and Office
Clocks, Gold and Silver ,
Watches of various des
criptions, a large assort
ment of Ear and Finger
I,6l.lAnapipm,,, rings, Silver and other
table and tea-spoons, a large assortment of
Gold Spectacles, .03etegt.
also Silver and other Spectaclesquitable for
persons of all ages. together With a large
variety of other Jewelryl.oll such other ar
ticles usually kept in'establishments of this
kind- , .ALSO :
•A Large losortment.ol
ViolirißoWs and Winds of the best quality,
and'all other articles used on Violins.
, Piano Fortes.
just received d splendid assort
ment of Rianos of the most celebrated man
, ufacturies. Afelodians of the most celebra
ted makers in the United States. The
Whole of these articles will be sold at the
Most reduced prices, and ho will warrant
that every articles sold liy him will be ac
.
• tording to contract.
larßran instruments will be furnished
fo order, at the Shortest notice and at prices
ar below what they can be purchased else.
where.; •
Repairing.—• This branch of business will
Ta attended to as usual, with the strictest
tunetuality.'
Helurther returns his• sincere thanks for
the patronage so liberally bestowed upon
film for a number of years past, and trusts
That, by strict attention to business, punctu
ality and liberal prices of his goods , he will
lie further thought worthy of the publics
Outrage,* . which he will always feel
diankfiii. • JOSEPH WEISS.
January 18, 14351: 11-onr
A FAMILY NEWSPAPER.
I dream ; my gentle wife is near,
A girlish figure, small and slight,
Say, shall I sketch her picture, ere
She passss out of sight I
Here is , no beautY strange and rare.
Fashioned by rapturous poet's rule—
All hearts might deem her very fair,
And not one beautiful.
Not beautiful to painters eyes,
Because her nublest beauty lies
Not in her features' faultless grace,
But the sweet warning of hcf face.
•
A look of patient gentleness
On lip and brow serenely lies,
And oh, a world of tenderness
Shines softly In her sunny eyes !
Her lips—to me no nrose.buds wet"
One half so beautiful could be—
I love them that they never yet
Spoke one unloving word to me !
There is a sweet and nameless grace
Floating around her form and face—
The beauty of a lofty soul
'dames and beautifies the whole.
And when the tiresome day is gone.
And the sweet evening time comes on,
And wearied out with toil and care'
I sink into my stadytahair,
Closing my eyes to curtain out
The vexing shades of fear a n d doubt—
A tiny foot, with noiseless glide,
Comes stealing softly to my side—
Bright curls adown my shoulder twine,
And little fingers hide in mine—
And gentle tones salute 'my ear
With words of sympathy and cheer,
Oh! I could meet, with dauntless heart,
The sternest, darkest ills of life,
With such a guardian as thuu art,
My own beloved wife!
My child! my darling bright.haired boy!
A happy laughter.loving sprite,
Whose heart is mirth, whose life is joy,
Undimmed by shade or blight,
lie has his mother's curls of gold,
His laugh has just her ringing tone,
And in his features I behold
The soften likeness of my own.
And gazing, oft I wander back
Along my boyhood's flowery' track,
I roam again beside the stream,
I see again the waters gleam,
And stopping, see, or seem to see, •
My face reflected back to me !
GIZA
A poor boy about ten years ago, entered
the ware-house of a rich merchant, Saniuel
Richter, in Dantzic; and asked the book
keeper lor alms.
"You will get nothing here," grumbled
the man, without raising his head from the
book—"be off:"
Weeping bitterly, the boy glided towards
the door, at the moment that Herr Richter
entered.
'What is the matter here?' he asked turn
ing to the book-keeper.
"A worthless beggar boy," was the man's
answer, and he scarcely looked up frotu his
work.
In the meanwhile; Herr Richter glanced
toward the boy, and remarked that, when
close to the door, ho picked up something
from the ground.
, •Ha, my little lad, what is that you pick
ed up?" he cried.
The weeping boy turned and showed him
a needle.
"And what will you do with it?" asked
the other. •
"Myacket has holed tq it," was.the an
swer, "I will se* up the big ones."
Herr Richter *as pleased with the reply
and stillmore with the boy's innocent, hand
some face'.
"But are you not ashamed?" he :Aid in a
kind though serious tone,"you arose young
and hearty—to beg. Can you not work.
'Ah my dear sir, replied the boy, 'I do not
know; and I am too little yet to'thresh or fell
wood. My fathei died three limas ago,
and my mother and little brothers have eat
.en nothing these two days. Then 1 ran out
.rr:
Poctic6l Elepatiment.
My Wife end Child•
My wife and dila! my all on earth !
Oh ! what were life, bereft of them 1
Beside their love, how little worth
Seems glory's brightest diadem!
My wife my child! these are the charms
Which make me cling to earth ;—I rise
To circle them in love's fond arms, -
And in the act—Unclose my eyes.
Where,where am 11—and where are they 1
Alas IMe dream has passed away—
Isit here in my darkening room,
Alone amid the dusky gloom—
Ay, all alone—no wife—no child— .
A daydream bath my bean beguiled.
Alas ! that airy fancy'n sway
Should play such roguish tricks with me!
My wife and child,—l sigh to say,
Are yet—alas !—are yet to be!
,iiiioullancous Selections.
The Honest Beggar Boy.
ALLENTOWN, LEHIGH COUNTY, PA., MAY 31, 1854.
in anguish and begged for bread. But alas
a single peasant only gave me yesterday a
piece of bread ; since then I have not eaten a
morsel of any kind of food."
It is quite customary for beggars by trade
to contrive tales like this; and this hardens
many a heart against the claims of genuine
want. But this time the merchant trusted
the honest boy's face. Ile thurst his hand
into his pocket, drew forth a piece of money
and said;
*There is a halls dollar; go to the baker's
and with half the money buy bread for your
self your mother and your brothers but bring
back the other half to me."
The boy took the Money and ran joyfully
away.
"Well," said the surly book-keeper, "he
will laugh in his sleeve and never come back
again." •
"Who knows?" replied Herr Richter, and
as he spoke beheld the boy returning quick
ly, with a large loaf of black bread in one
hand, and some money in the other.
*There, good sir.' he cried, almost breath
less ; "there is the rest of the money."
Then, bein g very hungry, he begged at
once for a knif to cut offa piece of the bread.
The book-keeper reached him in silence his
pocket knife.
The lad cut off a slice in great haste, and
was about to take a bite of,it. But suddenly
he bethought himself, laid the bread aside
and folding his arms, rehearsed a silent pray
er : then he fell to his meal with a hearty
appetite.
The merchant was moved by the boy's
unaffi.cted piety. He inquired after his'
family and home, and learned from his sim-
pte narrative that his father had lived in a
village about four miles distant from Dant
zic, where he owned a small house and farm
but his house had been burnt to the ground,
and much sickness in his family had cam
pelled
him to sell his farm. He then
hired himself out to a rich neighbor; but be
fore three weeks were at an end, he died
broken down by grief and excessive toil.—
And now his mother, whom sorrow had'
thrown upon a bed of sickness, was with
her four children suffering, the bitterest pov
erty. He, the eldest, had resolved to seek
for assistance, end had gone from village,
to village, then had stru ck into the highway,
and at last, having begged everywhere in
vain, had come to Dantzic.
The merchant's heart was touched. He
had but one child. and the boy appeared to
him as a draft at sight, which Providence
had drawn upon him as a test of gratitude.
"Listen my son," he began, "have you
really a wish to learn?" , .
"Oh yes ; I have indeed,"' cried -the boy,
"I have read the catechiSm already, and I
should know a good deal more, but at home
I had always my little brothers to carry, for
my mother was sick in bed." •
Herr Richter immediately formed his res
olution.
"Well then," he said "if you are good
and honest and industrious, I will take card'
of you. You shall learn, shave meat,, and
drink, and clothing; and in time earn some
thing besides. Then you can support your
mother and brothers also."
The boys eyes flashed with joy. Binin n
moment he cast them to the ground again,
and sadly said, "My mother all the while
has nothing to eat."
At this instant, as if sent by Providence,
On inhabitant of the boy's nativavillage en
tered Herr Richter's house; The man con
firmed the lad's story, and willingly consen
ted to carry the mether tidings -of her son
Gottlieb, and food, and a small sum of mon
ey from the merchant. At the same time,
Herr Richter- directed his book-keeper to
write a letter to ihe pastor of the °village,
commending the Widow to his care, with an
additional aim enclosed to the poor family,
and promising further assistance.
As soon as this was done, Herr Richter
furnished the boy with decent clothes, and
at noon led him to his wife, whom he accu- I
rawly informed of little Gottlieb's story,and
of the plans which he had formed for him.—
The good woman readily promised, her best I
assistance in the latter, and she aithfully
I
ke t her word.
wring thenext four years Gottlieb anon. I
de( thet schools Of t u be great commercial city
then his faithful foster-father took him into
his office to educate him for business.
Hero as well as there, at the waiting-desk
as well Ifs orr the sChool-bench, the ripen
ing youth displayed himself, not only by
the faithful industry with which he exer
cised it. • With alt this, his heart retained
its native innocence. Of his Weekly allow
ance, he sent.the half regularly to his moth
er, until she died. She had passed the last
years of her life, not in wealth it is true,
but by the aid of noble Richter and* of
her faithful son in a condition above want.
After the death of his dearly beloved moth
er, there was no dear friend left to Gottlieb
in the mild except his benefactor. •Out of
love to him,lo became an active, and zeal
out merchant. '-
He' began by applying the superfluity of
his allowance, which he could now dispose
of at his pleasure, to a trade in - Harnburgh
quills. When by care and . ,prudence he
had gained a hundred and twenty dollars.
it happened that he found in his native vil-
Ingo a considerable'quantity of hemp and
flax which was very good and still to be had
at a reasonable price. He asked his foster•
father to advance him two hundred dol
lars, Which he did with readiness ; and the
business prospered so well that in the third
year of his clerkship, Gottlieb had already
acquired the sum of five hundred dollars.—
Without giving up his trade in.flax, he now
trafficked in linen goods ; and the two com
bined made him in a couple of years about a
thousand dollars richer.
This happened during the customary five
years of clerkship,; at the end of that peri
od, Gottlieb continued to serve his benefac
tor five years more, with industry, skill, and
fidelity ; then he took the place of the book
keeper, who died about this time. Three
years after he was taken as a partner by .
his benefactor, with a third part of the profits.
Soon an insiduous disease cast Herr Rich
ter on a bed of sickness, and kept him for
two years confined to his couch. Gottlieb,
redoubling his exertions, became the soul of
the whole business. Herr Richter closed
his eyes.in death in the sixty-sixth year of
his
age.
.n the year 1828, ten years after, the
house of Gottlieb Bern, owned three large
ships, and the care of Providence seemed
especially to watch over the interests of
their owner. Ile married the daughter of
his benefactor.
It is but a few years since this child of
poverty, of honest industry, and of misfor
tune, passed away in peace from this world.
'Mark, e perfect man, and behold the
upright ; for the end of that man is peace.'
------------
Lillie Charley, the Child- ngel.
I am one of that persecuted- c ass, denom
inated "old maids.", By going q • , t 1 about
the world, taking care not to jostle my nei,,
bors, or hit against any of their rough an
gles, I manage to be cheerful, contended
and happy. In my multitudinous migra
tions, I have had some opportunity to study
human nature. Lately I have become a
temporary inmate of a crowdtd boarding
house. My little room has already begun
to look homelike. The cheerful sun has ex
panded the fragant flowers I love so well to
nurture ; my canary trills his satisfaction in
a grayer song than ever ; and my pictures,
books, and guitar, drive, "dull care away,"
and beguile many a pleasant hour. And
now my heart has found a new object of in
terest. I've noticed on the staircase, and in
the hall and lobby, a lovely child, who seem
ed wandering about at his own sweet will,
sometimes sitting wearily on the stairs, al.
most asleep then loitering at the kitchen
door; watching the operations of the cook ;
then peeping into the half-open doors of the
different apartments. As, by a rule of the
house, "no children were permitted at the
table," it was some time before 1 could as
certain who claimed this little stray waif.
One morning, attracted by the carol of my
canary, ho ventured to put his little curly
head inside my door. He needed little mg
ingsto enter, for he read with a child's quick
inssinct, his welcome in my face. An ani
mated conversation soon ensued about birds,
?towers and pictures—his large blue eyes
growing bright, and his cheeks flushing
with pleasure, as story fcillowing story while
he sat upon my knee.
At length I said to him, ' , Charley, won't
mamma be anxious about'you, if you stay so
long ?"
"Oh, no," said he, "Lizzie don't care."
"Who is Lizzie ?"
'Why, my mamma ! She don't care, if I
am only out of the way. Lizzie made and
this pretty dress,' said he, holding up his
richly-embroidered frock ; 'but Lizzie don't
know any stories, and she says I'm a bore.
What is a bore?' said the sweet child, as
he looked trustingly in my face.
'Never mind now,' said I, tearfully ;'you
may stay with me whenever you like and
we will be very good friends.'
The dinner-bell sounding, a gaily dressed
young thing vociferated, in a voice anything'
but musical, 'Charlie,
.Charlie r When I
apologized for keeping him', she said, care
lessly, as she re-arranged her bratelets, 'O,
it don't signify, if you can have. patience
witti• him, he's so tiresome with his ques-
Coifs. Pve tought him heaps of toys, but
he never wants to play, and is forever ask
ing me such old-fashioned questions.—Keep
him and welcome, when you like; but take
my Word for it,' you'll repent your bargain !'
and she tripped gaily down to dinner.
Poor little Charlie ! Time in plenty to ad
just all those silken' ringlets; time to ern•
braider all those little gay dresses f . time to
linger` till midnight over the last new novel;
but for the . soul thatlooked forth from those
deep blue eyes, no time to sow the iood
seed—no time to. Watch lest the enemy
should 'sow tares.
From that time Charlie and I were
separable. The thoughtless mother well
content to pass her time_ desrouring all sorts
of trashy literature, or in idle • gossip with
her drawing room companions. The young
father, weary with his business troubles,
contending himself with a quiet'good night,'
and closing the day by a visit to the theatre
or concert-room. Poor Charlie, meanwhile
put to bed for safe keeping. would.lie hours
tossing restlessly from, side to side; 'with
nothing in his head,' as he innocently said
to me. What a joy to sit by his side, and
beguile his lonely hours! There I learned
to understand the meaning of our Saviour's
tvords, "For of such is the kingdom of
heaven."
In his clear, silvery tones he would re
peat after me the meaning of every petition ;
then ho would say, •Why don't you tell
Lizzie ? Lizzie don't know any prayers !'
One night I sang him these lines :
"Skeet fields beyond the swelling flood,
Stand _pressed in living green ;"
he raised himself in bed, while the tears
trembled on his long lashes, and said,
sine that again—it seems as ill saw a beau
tiful picture !"rhen, taking my guitar, I
would sit by his bedside, and watch the blue
eyes droop and grow heavy with slumber,
as I sang to him. And she, whose duty;
and joy, and pride it should have been to
lead those little feet to Him who •biddeth
'little children come' was indolently and con
tentedly bound in flowery fetters of her own
weaving, unmindful that an angel's destiny
was entrusted to her careless keeping.
•
Little Charlie lay tossing in his little bed,
with a high fever. It is needless to tell of
the hold he had upon my heart and services.
His childish mother, either' unable or un
willing to see his danger, had left me in
charge of him—drawri from his side by the
attractions of a great military ball. I chang
ed his heated pillows, gave him the cooling
draught, bathed his feverish temples, and
finally at his request, rocked him gently to
quiet his restlessness. Ile placed his little
arms caressingly about my neck, and said,
feebly, Sing to me of heaven.' When I
finished, he looked languidly up, saying;
Vhere'sLizzie ? I must kiss Lizzie !' and,
as the words died upon his lips, his eyes
drooped, his heart fluttered like a prisoned
bird, and little Charlie was counted one in
the heavenly fold. As I closed his eyes,
and crossed the dimpled hands peacefully
upon his little breast, his last words rang
fearfully in my ears, .Where's Lizzie ?'
Match for Two !ndians.
David Morgan erelation of the celebra
ted Gen. Daniel Morgan, had settled upon
the Monongahela river, in Virginia, during
the earlier period of the revolutionary war;
and at this time had ventured to occupy a
cabin at the distance of several miles from
any settlement. One morning in May,l7Sl,
having sent his youngest children out to a
field at a considerable distance from the
house, he became very uneasy about them,
and repaired to the spot where they were
working, armed as usual with a rifle. While
sitting upon the fence, and giving" some
directions as to their work, he observed two
Indians upon the other side of the field,
gazing earnestly upon the party. He in
stantly called to the children to make their
escape, while he should attempt to cover
their retreat. The odds were greatly against
him, as in addition to other circumstances
he was nearly seventy years of age and of
course una.ble to contend with his enemies
in running. The house was more than a
mile distant, but the children, having two
hundred yards the start, and being effectu
ally covered by their father, were soon so
far in front that the Indians turned their at
tention to the old man. He ran for several
, hundred yards with an activity Which aston
ished himself, but perceiving that he would
be overtaken, he fairly turned at bay and
prepared for a strenuous resistance., The
woods through which they were running
were very thin, and consisted' entirely of
small trees, behind which it was difficult to
obtain proper shelter. When Morgan adop
ted the aboye-Mentioned resolution,' he, had
just passed a large Walnut, which stood like
a patriarch among the saplings which sun:
rounded it. and it became necessary to run
back about ten steps in order to regain
The Indian became started at the sudden
advance of the fugitive, and were compelled
to halt among a cluster of saplings, whete
they anxiously strove to shelter themselves.
This, howeier, was impossible, and,Morgari
who was an excellent marksman, saw enough
of one of them to justify him in risking a
shot. . His enemy instantly fell, mortally
Alluded: The other Indian, taking advan
tilge of 'Morgan's empty rifle, sprung from
his shelter and advanced rapidly. The man
having no time to reload his rifle, was forc
ed to fly a second time. The Indian gained
rapidly upon him, and when within 20 steps
fired, but with so unsteady an aim, that Mor
gan struck with the butt of his gun, and the
Indian wirled his tomahawk at one and the
same moment. Both blowatookefrect:—:and
both were at once wounded and disarmed.—
• Thelbreeoh of the rifle Was broken against
the Indian's, skull, and the edge of the tom
ahavtik. was shattered against the 'berret of
the rifle, having cut off two of the fingers of
Morgan's left hand. The Indian then at
tempting to draw his knife, Morgan grap
pled him and bore him to the ground. A
-furious struggle ensued, in which the old
man's strength failed and the Indian suc
ceeded in turning him. Planting his knee
in the breast of his enemy, and yelling loud
• ly, as is usual with them upon any turn of
, fortune, he again felt for his knife in' order
NUMBER 44:00'
, na .
to terminate the struggle at, once.; out , vi
ing lately stolen a woman's apron, and tied,
it round , his waist, his knife wail so much
confined, that he had gretit difficulty in fin
ding the handle. Morgan, in the mean,
time, being a regular pugilist, according to,
the custom of Virginia and perfectly at home
in a ground struggle, took advantage of the
awkwardness of the Indian, and got one .of
tho fingers of his right hand between his
teeth. The Indian tugged and roared involA
struggling to extricate it. Morgan held him
fast, and began to assist him in hunting for
the knife. Each seized it at the same ma.;
ment, the Indian by the blade, and Morgan,
by the handle, bin. with slight hold. Thii
Indian having the firmest hold, began to
draw the knife further out of the sheath;
%Oen Morgan suddenly giving his finger.a:
furious bite, twiched the knife dexterously
throilgh his hand, cutting it severely. Both
now sprang to their feet, Morgan brandish-:
ing his adversary's knife, and still holding.
his finger between his teeth. In vain the
poor Indian struggledlo get riway-4earing
plunging, and bolting like an unbroken colt.,
The teeth of the white man were like a vice
and he at length succeeded in giving him a
stab in the side. The Indian received it'
without falling, the knife having struck his
ribs, but a second blow, aimed at the breast
proved more effectual, and the savage fell.
Morgan thrust the knife, handle and all, in.:
to the cavity of tho body, directed down
wards, and, starting to his feet, made the
best of his way home. The neighbourhood.
was quickly alarmed, and hurrying to the,
spot where the struggle had taken place,
they found the first Indian lying where he
`had fallen, but the second had disappeared..
A broad trail of blood, however, conduct
ed to a fallen tree top, within a hundred
yards of the spot, into which the poor fellow
had dragged himself, and where he now lay.
bleeding, but still alive. Pe had plucked .
the knife from his wound, and was endea
voring to dress it with the apron which' had - .
cost him his life when his enemiega'pptoacli
, ed. The.love'of life appeared still strong
within him, however. He greeted them:
with what was intended for an insinuating
smile, held out his•hand, and said in &eked
English, 'How de do, broder ! how de do
glad to see you I' But, poor fellow, the love
was all on one side. Their brotherhood exi
tended only to tomahawking scalping and
skinning,him, of which operations were per-.
funned within a few minutes after the meet'
ing—to such an extent had mutual injury
inflamed both parties:
Louis Napoleon and (lie Sultan:
The past history of the family of Louis
Napoleon and the Sultan of Turkey, is full.
of interesting and marvellous ineidents, some,
of which are, probably, not generally known
to our readers.
These two monarchs, no* so cordially .
united in the struggle to maintain the in
tegrity of, the Ottoman empire, are both
grandsons of American ladies. These la
dies were born and raised in the same neigh-•
boyhood, at the island of Martinquie, one of
the West Indies. They were of French
origin, and companions and intimate friends
in childhood and youth. They were Jose
phine do Tascher and a Miss S—..
Tho history of Josephine is generally .
known. Sho went to France, and, was mar
ried to M. do Beauliarnais, by whom she
had ono son, Eugene, and d'aughter;Hor:
tense. Some time after the death of Beau
harnais, Josephine was married to Napoleon'
Bonaparte, and become Empress of France.
Her daughter, Hortense, was married to
Joseph Bonaparte; then King. of Rolland;
and the present Emperor of France is her
son by that marriage.
Miss S. quitted the Island of Martinque_
sometime before her friend. But the ves
sel that was carrying her to France was
attacked and taken by the Alg,erine corsairs;
and the crow and passengers wo . E . .k made
pi 'toners. But .this corsair ship Vita as turn'
attacked and pillaged by Tunis piihtes,and
Miss S. was carried by them to Constantino-.
ple;and offered fei sale as a slave. Her ex
traordinary, beauty, and accomplishments.
found her a purchaser in the Sultan him
self ; and she soon became the chief lady of
Seraglio and - Staleness of Turkey. Mah- .
moutl 11, was her son, andlhe present Sul
tan, Abdul Med jid, is the son of Ma mond
Thus the two sovereigns who now Occu
py so large a space in the world's eye are
grandson , * two American Creole girls who
wore play-mateti in their Youth, mid were
as remarkable for their beauty and excellent •
dispositioits, as for their varied and' singular
fortunes. of "
Both those women, in the height of their,
power remembered all the friends of their
youth; and irovided munificently for their
welfare. , Many of the relatives of this 5u1....
taness lett the island of Martinque, and set
tled at:Conotantinople, where their descend
ants still ieside;tind enjoy th'o favor of the
Sultan; . 1 .
Tho Sultaners died in 1811, the Empress
Josephine in,1814, and their grandsops now
rule over two wide and powerful empires,
and are entering; as friends a'nd allies, upon
one of the most momentous and stingninary .
struggles-in which' Europe was eVer volv
.ed.--.Pittaburs•