4 i . . . . r - . - - - - - 'WE OO WHERE DEMOCRATIC PRINCIPLES POINT THE WAY ; WHEN THEY CEASE TO LEAD, WE CEASE TO FOLLOW." BY JOHN G. GIVEN. EBENSBURG, THURSDAY, MARCH 28, 1850. dWT -; '"A ;rl ...... U II III I ' ri Ins TS lvi T ns i t I I .. .... v KXSOEL1 ANEOUS 1 . ' The Two Empresses. It was the middle of the year 1812, that .yar the latter months of which witnessed the annihilation of the French army on the plains of Russia. Such a catastrophe -was far from th ' thoughts of the single inhabitant of Paris, when one morning in .the month of June, the celebrated artist, "Redoute was on his way to Malmaison to present to the Empress Josephine some paintings of lilies. He was a great favor ite with her, from his having devoted his pencil to flowers, of which she was pas isonately fond. In full enjoyment of the 'lovely morning, he was gaily crossing the garden of the Tuileries to get to'the Place de la Concorde, where hjjintendeu t iking a coach, when he saw a crowd eagerly hur rying iii the direction of the walk by the .waterside. The general cry "the King of Rome! the Empress!" soon told him the object of attraction; and the artist quicken ed his steps, glad of the opportunity, thus by chance afforded him, of seeing the son of the Emperor, the yet cradled, child of fifteen months, whom so proud a destiny seemed to await.. It was indeed the King of Rome, in a little carriage drawn by four snow-white coats, and the Empress Maria Louisa walking by its side. She was wrapped' in a blue shawl of a peculiar shade, known to be her favorite color. I he crowd hail gathered outside the grating, around which they pressedclosely; and as Redoute slop ped to'gaze with the rest, he siw standing near him a young woman with a child in .her arms. , The garb of both bespoke ex treme poverty; but the child's face was clowinz with health, while the cheeks of the -mother were pale and emaciated,' , r t I. IV. 11 nn n ! ' anu irom ner suuiveii ecs- ich imis, 1 which she cared not either to wipe away or conceal. 'My poor little one! my darling!" she .whispered as she pressed the child still closer to her bosom, "you have no car riage, my angel; no playthings no toys of any kind. For him abundance, pleas .ure, every joy of his age; for thee, desola tion, suffering, poverty, hunger! What is he that he should be happier than you, dar ; ling? Both of you born the same day the . same hour! las young as his mother, . and loving you as fondly as she loves him. But you have now no father my poor babe; you have no father!" The artist overheard these words of woe and stood with his eyes fixed, upon' the poor young mother, in utter forgetfulness of the King of Rome "Madame," said he, after a moment's . hesitation, ' and in a low voice, "why do you not make known your situation to the empress!" . "To what purpose, sir?" cried the young woman, somewhat bitterly. "Small compassion have the great ones of this . world." , -., .. "J3ut why not make the attempt?" "I have done so, sir, already. I wrote to the empress and told her that my son , was born the same day, the same hour with the King of Rome. I told her, alas! that he has no father,, that my strength is failing,, that we are utterly destitute. But the empress has not deigned' to an swer." . "You will have an answer rest assured. Perhaps the memorial has not been yet . placed before her majesty. Give meyour . adress I beg of you." And after taking a memorandum of it, and slipping into her . hand all the money he had about him, Redoute was soon rapidly making his way to the Place de la Concorde, where, just as he was stepping into a carriage, he dis covered that his purse was empty. "It is of no consequence." he-said; "I have only to walk a little fast.", . Josephine, meanwhile, had been eager ly expecting the promised visit of the, Usu ally punctual artistj and was beginning to feel uneasy lest some accident had occurr ed o occasion; the prolonged. dely, when' he was announced. ; "I ought to scold you," she said, as she ; received f. with her . wonted gentle grace the , artist's . offering, "for delaying ' the pleasure I feel in' seeing this admirable . drawing." :.-,. ' ' . V .' " ' "I must thro w myself upon your majes ty? goodness' to excuse me," answrred , .Redoute rather inconsiderately. "I had never seen the King of Rome, and "to-day I have been fortunate enough to catch a glimpse of him.". Josephine started and Rodoute," instantly aware of the awkward . ness of mentioning the' meeting stopped suddenly in confusion. " ' - "I am' very glad' said Josephine," ma rking a" strong effbrj. to repress her emo tion, "that'you have'seeh the son of the Emperor. ; Pray tell, me where you saw him, and who was. with , him." ' Rodoute hesitated. ,., ' V .' : , - "Pray, go on," said she, gently but earn estly. He obeyed; and told her every particular he had observed, as well as what had delayed his arrival by obliging him to walk to Malmaiscn. -; "I see the great artist as always hap pens, has a feeling heart," said Josephine, her sympathy aroused lor the poor woman. "If Napoleon did but know the destitution of this child, born the same day, the same hour with his son! Be with me to-morrow morning at nine o'clock; wewill to gether visit this poor creature." And the next morning at nine o'clcok Redoute was at Malmaison. and an hour after,' Joseph ine, undeterred by the dark narrow, mud dy passage, and the equally dark, damp stairs, increasing in steepness every step, had entered the wretched apartment, ut terly bare of furniture, in the fifth story, inhabited by the widow of Charles Blan ger. "Madame," said Redoute, to whom Jo sephine had made sign3 to introduce her and the object of their visit, "you may rest assured that if the Emperor knew your situation, he would give you relief; but there is now no necessity to trouble him. y This lady, whom I have the honor to accompany, is good enough to say she will take you under her protection, and her protection is all sufficient." "What a lovely boy!" cried Josephine, as the little orphan sat up in his cradle, and smilingly stretched out-his arms to his mother "Redoute," she said, as she took the child and kissed it, "did yor not tell me that he was born the same; day with the King of Rome?" 1 "The same day and hour, madame," answered the young mother. "Was it mentioned to the Emperor at the time?" s ' -. "No, .madame; we weie happy then, and my poor Charles had too independent a spirit to ask any thing from any one while he could work, lie was an engi neer; and though employment fluctuated, yet still we were' never reducad to want. At his leisure time he used to' construct model-machines, from one of which novel' and ingenious in the invention ne expected both fame and pecuniary advantages; but he has been suddenly taken from me,' and I am left alone to strogjle with misery and wretchedness. I am sinking ; lower and lower, and gradually every resource has been "exhausted. Alas, I need not tell you!'' and she glanced sorrowfully around the miserable little apartment. "To-morrow you shall quit this wretch ed unwholesome abode," said the empress as she gave the child to his mother, after fondly caressing him,' and putting her purse into his little- hand. "I will; send you my own physician; his skill, and the comforts with which I hope to surround you, will restore yourfheaith. I rely on you my good friend," added she, turning to the artist, "to arrange all this for me." She was rising to qui the room, amid the tears and blessings of the widow, whose heart she had "made to sing for joy," when the door opened, and a young lady entered, at the sight of whom Re doute stood motionless with astonishment. It was Maria Louisa, accompanied by a newly-appointed chamberlain. As Maria Louisa was never known to visit the poor man in his abode of poverty, Redoute had some excuse for the uncharitable judg ment he formed on the instant that' this unusual proceeding on her part was inten ded either as an attempt to rival Josephine in the popularity gained by her active and unwearied benevolence, or to please the Emperor, a9 proving the lively interest she took in a child bom the sarne-lay and hour with the King of Rome. But what ever might have been her motive, certain it is that she was now standing in the widow's humble abode without deigning'a salutation to any one in it. ; Josephine was sweetness and gentleness itself; but there was something in this want of common courtesy that grated upon the pride of caste which, as a Creole of an il lustrious race, the wife-the greatest capt ain of the age, and as one still feeling her self the empress, she retained amid deser tion and the disgrace of her reputation. It may be,' too, that she recognised Maria Louisa, though she had only seen the por traits of her who now filled her place; and she therefore resumed her seat, as if fear ful that her standing might have been con strued into homage. Maria Louisa, on her part, was far from suspecting that the female so simply dressed, so quietly seat ed in the miserable garret, was 'her still envied rival. . . . ' As the artist glanced from Maria Louisa to the beautiful face of Josephine for it was still beautiful, though bearing the im press of grief even more than of ''years -he observed that an unwonted expression of haughty disdain now clouded that brow usually so radiant with benevolent kind ness,' and he half dreaded the result of this unexpected encounter. And now Maria Louisa, without one' caress to the child or noticing it in any way, explained in a few words the object of her visit.. i ' 1 "Your intention is most laudable, doubt less, madme," said Josephine, still keep- ping her seat, "but you are rather late; the young mother and the child are un der my protection." Maria Louisa, with a haughty glance at her whoi thus -presumed to address the empress,, said .col dly, "I have some reason to believe that my patronage will be a little more ad van tageous." Here the chamberlain quickly interposed, "It is quite cettain that, you, madame, have the power of elevating the boy to any position you. may chcose for him, however high." With a momen tary bitterness of feeling, excited oy the involuntary retrospect of what' she once had been,. Josephine's : disdainful eye seemed to measure the speaker from head to foot, as she said, "And pray, sir, what leads you to conclude that I am notable to raise whom I will still higher?" . "The lady doubtless intends," said Maria Louisa, in; a tone of irony., "to place her protege on the steps of the throne." "Higher stili, madame, if such were my pleasure," warmly retorted'Josehine, now rising to withdraw; "for aught you. can tell, 1 may have given kings to the world.". . . . , . . . , "Beware, madame," hastily .whisperd Redoute; your majesty will . betray your self, and the Emperor will be displeased." Josephine was silent; and the artist, who was upon thorns,' hastily added, "1 do not see why either, of these ladies need give up her share in the happiness of doing good. 1 shall feel honored in accepting lor my happy proteges whatever kindness it may please either to bestow upon them." Josephine made no answer, but with head erect left the room; and Redoute, respect fully bowing to Maria Louisa, was fol lowing, glad to have prevented, an" out break which might have had serious con. sequences, when a -hand laid upon his arm; made him turn round; it was the chamberlain. . , , "Sir," said he in a low whisper, "da you know that the lady whom I have had the honor of attending lime is' her majes ty, the impress Maria Louisa?" ."Sir," answered Kedoute in an equally low voice, "the lady that 1 have had the honor of attending here is the Empress Josephine." In less than two years after this' meet, ing Josephine had sunk under the never healed wound that Napoleon's desertion had inflicted, and died at Malmaison; and Maria Louisa had, it may be joyfully, quit ted a co untryjvhich she had never loved, and in which she never succeeded in making herself beloved. During these two years the widow had lived upon the daily bounty of her royal patronesses, and was consequently now as destitute as when they first entered her abode of pov. ertv. In vain had Redoute often placed before Josephine his views of what pat lonage, to be really useful, ought to be the helping others to help themselves In vain had he urged her to establish the widow in some way of earning her inde pendence. "Time enough for this when the boy is grown up." But death, came and reverse of fortune, and no friend now remained to the widow and the orphan but the artist, ' and noughi remained to him from the wast wreck but his talent his reputation. Circumstances might in deed render the productions of his pencil less a source of emolument, but these cir cumstances were but temporary; the ar tist would again rise to fame and fortune, while Napoleon and Maria Louisa had fallen irretrievably. " , : Redoute acted on the principle he would have had the widow's royal patronesses to act; he procured employment , for the widow; and, thanks to his "influence, she was enabled to earn sufficient to place her above want, while he took upon him self the education of her child, . But the mother's health was failing; a.id when Redoute, previous to a short absence from Paris, went to take leave of her, she ex pressed her Lelief that he would not find her alive at. his return, and with tears she soiemnly commended her boy to his care. Though he had not attachd much weight lb her presentiments, yet it' was with a somewhat uneasy feeling tlia'tj immedi ately on his return, he went to the house. The door was: open, and, as he ran up stairs, a sound reached him which struck upon his heart; they were fastening down the coffin of the widow, and in a corner of room was the little Charles weeping bitterly. . Some distant relations stood by the coffin in cold and audible debate as to what was to be done with the child. , ' "I see nothing for him' but the orphan asylum, said one.'4 " v.r - "Olv, no, ho!' pray do 'riot : send me there," cried the child. 'My own dear mamma worked for her, bread, and so cart I; . , You do not knowjiow much I can do if you; will, but " try me.!' At this instant he caught V glimpse of Redoute, nand throwing himself into his arms; he ' ex claimed, "You are come back,deari good friend, end vou will not send mc to the asylum!" The artist pressed the .poor boy to his bosom. ... - 'Have you no hearts?' r he said, indig nantly turning to the relations. "This boy shall be my care." -And' what the most powerful among the powerful had not donej he did he, . the coVnparativey obscure and humole artist. lie secured to his protege present 'comfort and future respectability, by teaching him, as 'soon as possible, to help himself. Charles Clanger became not only his .; best, pupil; but a celebrated painter, making the same use as'his noble-minded master of that knowledge whTcH" is power, and of that talent which is one of those possessions described by Aristides in his . celebrated maxim, "Heap up no'treasures save those which, should shipwereckcome, will float with the owner." TOWN QUARTERS.) From the ftcrmaii. When young men have been for a long time confined to ihq dull monotony, .of barrack life, with its never ending labor of cleaning spotless trappings and accoutre ments, its daily drills, and the mingling with men ;whose tastes and habits are not congenial to .their own, it is a relief to tliem if, on march, they are 1 allowed to spend a short time at a town where a di vision of quarters abstracts them from the surveillance of petty officers, and allows them a little larger liberty. Thus we were happy to reach a provincial town early on an afternoon, where we were to remain until next morning; and it cannot be called a heinous wrong if we went to excesses of merriment, . which otherwise would have been avoided. . '; . No sooner were the horses stabled at our respective quarters, and our persons cleaned from the dust of the road, than a party of choice spirits met for an after noon's -sport. First, . we measured the town iii ; nil its dimensions, playing off many an innocent joke on unsuspecting peasants on the way, and in the evening we adjourned to my 'room,"where the time was spent in merry-making. About nine o'clock we issued forth, in the merriest humor in the world, to take an evening walk. Unluckily, one of the party suggested to us the acting of a joke, which we car ried into execution with considerable ef fect. As the front doors ot the houses in town were mostly open, we .would enter and walk up into the topmost story. Here we would begin to make a noise, and, when any one came to see what was the matter, one of the party would ask mcek- "I beg your pardon, but is this the resi dence of a Mr. Miller?" , The answer, of course, was always, No; and then we would descend, dragging our sabres after us, and clinkiug with our spurs on the stairs as noisy as possible. Emboldened by our success, we paid a visitation to some dozen of houses or more, and entered now a splendid man sion in the heari of the town. Some of us, and I for one, hesitated on the thresh old; but then, as Col. Von Thalberg, with his staff, had taken quarters near the out suirls of the town, our fears were allayed and we entered. - As we reached the top landing, a ser vant met us and inquired, somewhat rude ly, what we wanted. It being my turn to be spokesman for the party, I put the usual query, and was answered briefly in the negative. 'Beg your pardon" said I; "face about, boys! forward, march!" And away went the party, making a noise in their descent like bedlam ; let loose. Doors opened in every direction as we passed, and ladies, gentlemen, and servants, looked out too see what was the matter. I did not feel quite comfortable, and lagged behind the rest, so that they were a full stairs' length ahead of me. Sudden ly, as I was entering on the second stairs, I heard a voice below "Zehntausend Donncrwetter! what is that? - Why, you young scapegallows, I'll have "you shot: like a parcel, of dogs! What a noise is this ;to make in a gentle man's house!" It was the voice of our colonel! ; Here was a predicament. I knew that the violent temper of-the old man would subject us to a. severe punishment, and as I had not been seen by him, the. thought struck me .ofescapiug if. I could. There, was a door, by. my side; the temptation was too great; I opened it and entered.! ' This was, apparently, . j urn ping ' from the frying pan into' the fire,' for in the room were two young girls just in the act of undressing for the "night. As I eutered, they; botlr jumped behind a '-screen that stood at the other end of the room,'which hid their figures from view; although their pretty little heads were still visible, The one seemed speechless with af fright, while the other appeared on the point of screaming for assistance, when, by an imploring gesture and some further pantomimes, in which I endeavored to ex plain my. situation to them and invoke their silence, I somewhat allayed their fears. , . I felt embarrassed beyond description. Young, inexperienced. ?nd possessed of exaggerating fears. I knew not what to do. Two lovely girls, on whose privacyI had inadvertently broken in an indelicate man ner, on the one hand, and a very hot headed superior officer down stairs on the other! Was ever mortal so perplexed? While I was standing at the door, un decided how to act, (and the young girls, no doubt, were in the same predicament,) I heard the colonerswear terrifically down stairs, his first having been that of sending for a sergeant: and ten men to arrest the delinquents. 'The servant who answered my question up stairs, declared that there had only been five.' The colonel, how ever, knew too , well ..what a young sol dier's assertion was - worth in a matter of this kind, and he ordered a search to be made of every room in the house. ; This was done, and I heard one door after an other open and shut, and, last of all; steps approaching the door of the young ladies' , chamber. It was not of course suspected j that I would be in there; but the servant ; had been, as an extra precaution, sent to ask the ladies if they had seen anything of . a man secreting himself about the, house. This was a critical moment . for me, and my heart beat violently as the servant ap proached the door. . ' I had now been so long in the room that my first flustration had. passed over, and, knowing that the very act of intru ding upon the ladies sanctum would in-j crease my punishment." it made me bolder i ia imploring the assistance of the ladies. ' -When the servant put them the ques tion at the door, they looked at each other dubiously. "What shall we say, Bertha?" said the bolder of the two, a lovelv blondine with curly hair and the sweetest countenance that had ever set the heart of a young trooper in a flutter. ; "Do as you like. Emily," . replied the other. 1 looked at the blondine imploringly," and she said ' - ! "It is a most perplexing thing; but after all it was only a joke of theirs, and hard ly deserves to be so severely punished." The other consented to this with a nod. I cast a look of gratitude on the lovely Emily, and she smiled slightly, even through her perplexity. The sergeant, having arrived with his escort, my unfortunate companions were brought to the watch-house; the colonel, who had been spending the evening here, returned to his 'own quarters, aud the house was quiet. ' Meanwhile I still occupied my position at the door, and became more embarrassed than ever. The front door was locked and bolted, and how should I escape? "What is to be done?" said Emily, af ter a while to her companion. "Vou must dress, and lead him out the back way," replied the other. , "How can I?" whispered the other; and she cast a furtive glance at some cloth ing which reposed on a chair that was standing near me. I understood, the diffi culty, and said, in as delicate a manner as possible "Ladies, if there is anything here that you desire, allow me to hand it to you." They blushed, but did not reply; and, taking their silence for an affirmative, I, with my face half averted, transported the chair to the side of the screen, and return ed to my place at the further end of the room, where 1 turned my back upon them. A cough by my side, after a while, caused me to turn, and the lovely Emily was standing by my side, simply dressed, but lovely in the extreme. "If you follow me," said she, "I will lead you out; but for Heaven's sake make no noise, for everv room we pass is occu pied." J , She look the light and' led me down stairs. I held up ray sabre, and followed noiselessly. In the garden we' stopped. "Co straight on," said she; "then turn to the rijrht, where you will fine a gate; it is merely kept shut with a latch, and will admit you into the back street." . . , Sllow shall I,thank you?" exclaimed I, pressing her hand in mine, and detaining her a moment. . ' ... 1 7 "For Heaven's sake be nrudeht." said she, "and be more careful in future." " : She tore away from my grasp, and, ere I had time to reooverj from the;, stupor in which I found myself, had vanished from my. sight. . 1 stood forborne, moments rooted to'the spot, aud then, with a deep fetched sigh, followed her ' directions Dear Emily! she isimme" riow; and as yc sit in the chimney corner together; with our sleeping infant by our side, we often speak of our fir3t meeting., As to ray companions, - they were all pardoned by the kind hearted colonel, through the intercession of Emily's uncle, the owner of the house in which' they were taken. The colonel always suspect ed me of having r been one of the party, but he did no: find out the truth till after we had both left the service. , ; " Lawyer Balltrworth's AdTcsJsrr. 1 . W. R. Butterworth, Esq., is one of those 633 young attorneys who do a flour ishing business in the Philadelphia 'courts of pie poudre. Mr. B. boards in a fami ly, which for delicate considerations ws shall call .Mitchell, the real name being something quite differeut. In this family, there are two daughters,- Sarah and Mary neither of theni very young nor very handsome, but oue of them considerably younger arid handsomer than the other. Mary, the yonngcr, uses a great quantity of Cologne, and Sarah, the elder,'uses an equal quantity of .snuff, Lawyer Butt&r worth is partial to Cologne, but" abomi nates snu(T he is engaged in a flirtation wifli Mary, and has reason to felicitate himself on .the progress he has made in her favor. Coming home rather late on Sunday night, he- was let in by som. body whom he took for Maiy, (the entry being quite dark,) and his gallantry prompter, him to give the lovely portresa a kiss. Perceiving that the salute was flavored with snufl", and riot with Cologne, as he-expected, het discovered his .mis take. Bless my soul!' cried he, it is Miss Sarah! Ibcg a thousand "pardonst I really, thought it was Mary,', The apology, made in thc.'simplicitj' of Mr. Butterworth's heart, -was infinitely more offensive than the kiss itself." -- Miss Saran took the : kiss .very! submissively, but when the excuse was offered,, she, showed temper, and signified her intention to hava redress. The next day, Lawyer But terworth was notified that his services were required ' at the office of a certain Alderman. He went, expecting 16 find a client, but ascertained that lie. was de fendant in a suit for an assault committed on Miss 2Sarah, . complaint hating, been made by that young lady's brother, Sam uel Mitchell, who was then 'in attendince. Mr. Samuel seemed to think he had per formed a very cunning trick, by deluding the lawyer with the hopes of a profession al job. Mr. Butterworth, however, took the whole matter quite cooly, " 'In this case, said he to the Alderman, I am the party accused. I am also retained as counsel for the plaintiff. My double po sition is" somewhat embarrassing, but, I will endeavor to do justice to all parties concerned. .As defendant in the case, I plead guilty of an assault on ihU young lady; (pointing to Miss Sarah,' who was present as a witness,) but I say, in miti gation, that I assualted, or kissed her by mistake. Had I known what I was about the event never could have taken place. This is my defence, Now, as counsel for the plaintiff, I admit the circumstan ces of mitigation, and in consideration thereof, claim only one dollar damages for my client. 'Here is the. money,' said Butterworth, planking the dollar, 'and here are the legal costs, sixty-eight cents. Matters being arranged thus far, Mr. Mitchell, the plaintiff was about to leave the office, when Butterworth hanaed him a bill for $3 professional fees. Mitchell saw that be was 'in for it;' he had sent for Butterworth as a lawyer, and was le gaily bound to satisfy the demand. : With an agonized 'expression of countenance, he produced the V and took B's receipt. Butterworth, on posting the account, found that he had gained three dollars and thirty two cents by the transaction, and had a kiss thrown in for a bonus. Fenn'n. 5 Horse" s Opinion of a Plank lioad. The North Carolinian tells the following anecdote of an old farmer of that region, who had tried the plank road: 'He was at first much opposed to the plank road, and thought it would be a waste of money to build it: But he came to Fayetieville with his wagon and produce, and drove on it some miles. When he got back to Chatham, our merchant friend asked him if he had seen the plank road? Yes,1 he said, 'he had seen it.' 'Well, did you drive on it?' Yes.' Well, don't you think vou can carry four times as much weight on it, ith -your four horse team, as on a common road?' Oh, yes, says he,- 'it is ' first-rate; and it. is a fact, that when the, wagon . got to the end of the planks and; struck the heavy dirt road, every Horse stopped rind looked ' round.' -rMrs. Grummy, in looking oyer the ad vertisements the other day, saw one head ed V Radical Cures." ' W'el!,'; Vafd she, "I'm nlad'if they have got'a way to cure thetu' Radicals, for they've' been turning the world up fide down er-'r since I w
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