The mountain sentinel. (Ebensburg, Pa.) 1844-1853, August 11, 1853, Image 1

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VOLUME IX; 4,;: EBBlBlpM ; l-s '" PIBER 41,
Titali9, a noble Venitiaii, one day, at a bunt
ing party, fell into a pit -which had teen dug to
catch wild animals. He passed a whole night
and day there, and I will leave you to imagine
his dread and his agony. The pit. whs dark.
Vitalis rau from one side of it to th other, in the
hope of finding om branch or root bw which Ire
might climb its sides and get out of his dungeon;
but he heard such confused and extraordinary
n.isea, growling., hissings, and plaintive cries,
that he became half dead with terror, and crouch
ed in a corner motionless, awaited death with
tae most horrid di3may, . On the morning of the
second day he haard some one passing near the
pit, and then raising bis vice, he cried out,
with the most dolorous accent, "Help, help !
draw me out of this ; I am perishing !"
A peasant crossing the forest heard his cry.
At first he was frightened ; bdt, after a moment
or two, taking courage, he approached the pit,
aad asked who bad catled ?
"A poor huutsman." answered, Vitalis, "who
has passed a long night and day here. Help me
out, for the love of Uod. Help me out, and I
wi.l recompense you handsomely."-
"I will do what I can," replied the peasant.
Then Massaccio (such was the name of the
peasant) took a bedgebill which hung at his gir
dle, and cutting a branch of a tree strong enough
to bear & man, "Listen, huntsman,1' said he, "to
what I am going to say; to you. I will let down
this branch into the pit. 1 -will fasteu it against
the sides and hold it with my band: and by pull
ing, yourself out by it, you may get tree
froin I
your prison. J
"Good," answered Vitalis;. "ask me anything j
jcu will, and it shall be granted."- j
"I ask for nothing," said the peasant, "bat I !
Ain going to be married, and may give what you j
like to my bride."
So saying, Massaccio let down the branch i
he soon felt it heavy, and the moment after a j
monkey leapt merrily oul of the pit. He had
fallen, hie vitalis, and had seized quickly on (
L. - 1 U - ..T 1- i
lua uiuuuu vi .uussaixio. --ii was ine uevu bure- j
Ij which spoke to me from the pit," said Mas
jldccio, I unning away with affright.
"Do you abandon me, then cried Vitalis,
in a lamentable accent ; "my friend, my dear
' friend, for the love of the Lord, for the love of
your mistress, draw me out of this ; I beg, I im
plore you ; I will give her wedding gifts, I will
... v. . j v . "Hug, t , B- T
. UVfc Itt IMC U1C VI .411 ItlU UJL .
rible pit."
Massaccio was touched by tlfcse prayers
retiirned to the pit let down anoth
her branch,
woods echo j
AniaJi&njump-ad. uuiV miig tbo
With a roar or ueught. -
"O certainly, certainly, it wa? the dvil I
beard," said Massaccio, and fled away figiin,
but stopping short, after a few paces, he heard
again the piercing cries of Vitalis.
'"0 God," cried he ; to die of hunger in a pit !
Vt"i no one then come to help me? Whoever
you may be, I implore you-fco return; let me cot
die when you can save me, save me. I will give
you a house and field, and cows and gld all that
yon can ask for ;"save me, save me only.
Massaccio, thus implored could not help re
turning. He let down the branch, and a ser
pent, hissing joyously, sprang out of the pit.
Massaccfo fell on his knees, half dead with fear,
ftnd repeated all the prayers be could think of
to drive away the demon. He wns only brought
to himself by hearing the cries of despair which
Vitalis uttered. , .
"Will no one help me 5" said he. "Ah, then,
must 1 die? O God, O God ?" and he wept and
cobbed in a heart-breaking manner.-
"It is certainly the voice of a man, for all
that," said Massaccio.
"Oh, if yon -are still there," sajd Vitalis, "in
the name of all that is dear to you, save mc, that
1 may die at least at home, and not in this horri
ble pit. I can say no more; mv voice is exhaus
ted. Shall I give you my palac e at Venice, my
possession, my honors I give, them all 1 and
may I die if I forget my word. Life, life only,
save only my lite."
Massaccio could not resist such prsrcrs, and
mingled with such promises. He let down the
branch again.
"Ah, here you are at last," said he, seeing
Vitalis come up.
"l'es," said he, and uttering a cry of joy, he
fainted in the arms of Massaccio. Massaccio
sustained, assisted him, and bronght him to
himself; then, giving him his arm, "Let us."
Baid he, "quit this forest;" but Vitalis could
hardly walk he was exhausted with hunger. .
"Eat this piece of bread," said Massaccio,
and he gave him some, which he took out of bis
wallet. - ,
"My benefactor, ray saviour, my good angel,"
said Vitalis, "bow can lever suCiciently recom
pense you j"
' "You have promised me a marriage portion
for my bride, and your palace at Venice tor my
self," said Massaccio. But Vitalis now -begun
to regain his strength. .
"I'es, certainly, I will give a portion t. your
wife, my dear Massaccio, and I will make you
the richest peasant of our-village. Where do vou
. "At Capalalta in the forest ; but I would will
ingly quit my village to establish niysclf in the
palace you. have promised me."
"Here we are out of the forest," eaid Vitalis,
"I know my road now; thauk you, Massaccio."
"But when shall I come for my palace and
the portion of my intended ?" rejoined the peas
ant. "When you will," said the other ; and they
Vitalis went to Venice, aud Masaaccio-to Ca
palatta, where he related his adventure to bis
lnistregs, telling her what a rich portion she ws
to have, and what a palace she was to live in.
Tho next day early he set out for Venice, and
asked for the.palace of the Signor Vitalis went
Etraight to it, and told the domestics that he
should come Bhortly with his mistress in a fine
carriage to take possession of the palace which
the Signor Vitalis had promised to give him.
Massaccio appeared to those who heard him mad,
and Vitalis was told that there was a peasant in
bis ball, who asked for a marriage portion, and
said the palace belonged to him. .
'"Let him be turned out immediately," said
Vitalis ; "I know him not."
The ralets accordingly drove him away, with
insults, and Massaccio returned to his cottage in
lccpair, without daring to see his mistress. At
cue comer of bis fire-place was seated the mou-
key, at the other the liou and the eefpent had
twisted itself in spiral circles upon the hearth.
Massac.. . was seized with fear. "The mau has
driven me from his door," thought he, "the lion
wilt devour me, the serpent will sting me, and
the monkey will laugh at me; and still this will
be my reward for saviog them from the pit."
But the monkey turned to him with the most
amicable grimace; the iion, vibrating his tail,
come and licked his hand, like a dog caressing
his master, and the serpent, nnrolling his ringy
body, moved about the room, with a contented
and grateful air, which gave courage to Massac
cio. "Poor animals!" said be, they are better than
the Signor Vitalis; he drove me like a beggar
from the door. Ah! with what pleasure I would
pitch him ag lin into the pit. And my bride I
whom I thought to marry . so magnificently I
have not a stick of wood in my wood-house, not
a morsel of meat for my meal, and uo money to
buy any. - The ungrateful jvretcu, with his por
tion aud his palace I" -" '
i'hu3 did Massaccio comulain. Meanwhile
the monkey began to make significant faces, the
lion to agitate his tail with great uneasiness, and
the serpent to roll and uuroll its circles with
great vapidity. Then the monkey, approaching
his benfactor, made him a sign to follow, aud led
him into the wood-house where was regularly
piled up a quantity of wood sufficient lor the
whole year. It was the monkey who had col
lected this wood in the forest, and brought it to
the cottage of Massapcio. Massaccio embraced
the grateful ape. Tfie lion then uttering a deli-
cate roar, led him to a corner where he saw the
enormous provision of game, two sheep, three
kids, bares. and rabbits in abundance, and a fine
wild boar, all covered wiih the branches of trees
to keep them fresh. It was the lion who Lad
hunted for his benefactor. Maccaccio patted
kindly his mane. "And you, then," he said to
tie serpent, "have you brought me nothing?
Art thou a Vitalis, or a.good and hone3tnimal
like the monkey and the lion ?" The erpent
glided rapidly under a bean of dried leaves, and
. . .. . 1 . .
re-appearea immeaiateiv. reanair itself sunei blv
on its tail, when Massaccio saw with surprise a
l i I- , ....... ....
-- , O - mJ
utauuim uiamona in its moutn. "A aiamoua.
cried Maasaccio, and stretching, forth bis hand
to stroke caressingly the serpent and take its
olfcring. . , - .. ,
Massaccio then s?t out immediately for Ve
nice to turn his diamond intu mouev. ""The iew-
tuci I Liu UiUHIVFUU, 1 L VU2 VI HAe 11 11 C b t j
"How much do you ask for if ?" s-ttd he." i
"Two hundred croons," said Massaccio think -
ing his demand to be greatf jt .yas hjardly the j
tuth part of tii.q. v.-tlSc-f the stone. -'TUiewe!!er ?
looked ut Massacoio. and SiuJITo sell it at that-1
i..price you must be Tobberad I arrest you."
"li lt not wortli so much, give less,"" said
Massaccio; "I nm not a robber, 1 am an honest j
man; it was the serpent who gave me the dia
mond." But the police now arrived, and conducted him
before tho mscistrate. There he recounted his
adventure, which appeared to be a mere fniry J
vision, let, as Signor italis -was' Implicated
in the story, the magistrate referred the affairs
to the state inquisition, and appeared before it.
"Relate to us your history," said one of the
inquisitors, "and lie not, or we will have you
thrown into the canal." .
Massaccio related his adventure.
"So,"nid the inquisitor, "you saved theSig
r.or Vitalis V
"Yes, noble Signoc"
"And he promised you a marriage portion for
! rour bride, and his palace at Venice for vour-
self?" ,
i "Ye?, noble signor."
"And be drJve you like a beggar from bis
i doer?" - ,
"Yes, noble signor." ...
" I .pt. t Sl ffnnp V i f nl : (innonl " soirl ic earn a
Vitalis appeared. , ,
Do you know this roan, Signor Vitalis?"
Vitalis replied, "I know not the man."
The inquisitors consulted together.
"This man," said they, speaking of Massac
cio, "is evidently a knave and a cheat; he must
be thrown into prison. Siguor Vitalis, you are
acquitted." Then, making a eign to an olficer
of police, "Take that man, said he, "to prison."
Massaccio fell on his kneus in the middle of
the hall. ".Noble signors, noble signors," said
he. "it is possible that the ' serpent may have
wished to deceive nie. It is possible that the
ape, the lion and the serpent may all be atlelu
sion of the demon; but it is true that 1 saved the
Signor Vitalis. Signor Vitalis," (turning to
him,) "1 ask you not for the marriage portion
for my biide, or for youT palace of marble, but
say a word for me; sutler me not to be thrown
into prison; do not abandon me; I did not aban
don you when you were in the pit."
"Xoble signors," said Vitalis, bowing to the
tribunal, "I can only repeat what I have said; I
know not the man. Has he a single witness to
produce?" . ' ;
At this moment the whole court ,was-ihrown
into fear and astonishment, for the lion,Ahe mon
key, and the scrpeut entereu the hall together.
The monkey was mounted on the back of the
liou, and the serpent was twined round the arm
of tho monkey. On entering, the lion roared,
tffe monkey spluttered, and the serpent biased.
"Ah. these are the animals of the pit,"' cried
Vitalis, in alarm ' .
"SiguorVitalhv" resumed the chief of the in
quisitors, when the dismay which this appari
tion had caused had somewhat diminished, "you
have asked wliei e were the witnesses of Massac
cio? You see that God has sent them at the
right time before the br of our tribunal. Since
then, God has testified against you, we would
be culpable before him if we did not punish
your ingratitude. Your palace and your pos
sessions are confiscated, and you shall pass the
rest of your life in a narrow prison. .And you,"
continued he, addressing hkuself to Massaccio,
who was all this time caressing' the' lion, the.
monkey aud serpent, "since a Vnitian has pro
missed you a palace of marble, and a portion
for your bride, the republic 'of VenicewiM ac
complish the promise; the palace and possesions
of Vitalis are thine". You,- said he to the secre
tary of the tribunal, "draw up an account of all
this history, that thepeople of Venice may know,
ttrotigh ail generations, that the justice of the
tribunal of the.state inquisition is not less equi
table than it is rigorous."
Massaccio and bis wife lived happily for many
years afterwards in the palace of Vitalis, with
the monkey, the lion and the serpent ; and Mas
saccio had them represented in a picture on the
wall of his pal ice, as they entered the hall of
the tribunal, the lion carrying the monkey, and
the monkey carrying the serpent.
ULESSI.YG of a good deed.
by T. 8. AHrtlCR.
I should like to do that, every day, for a year
to come," said Mr. William Everett, rubbing
his hands together quickly in irrepressible plea
sure. , . -
Mr. Everett was a stock and money broker,
and had just made an "operation." by which a
clear gain of two thousand dollars was secured.
He was alone in his officf ; or, so much alone
as not to feel restrained by the presence of an
other. . And yet, a pair of dark, sad eyes were
fixed intently upon his self satisfied countenance,
with an expression, had he observed it, that
would, at least,, have excited a "moment's won
der. The owner of this pair of eyes was a slen
der, rather poorly dressed lad, iu his thirteenth
year, wnom Mr. Everett had engaged, a short
time previously, to attend in his office and run
upon errands. lie was the son of a widowed
mother, now in greatly reduced circumstances.
His father. had been an early friend of Mr. Ev
erett, it was tuis tact which led to the boy's
introduction into the broker's olfice.
"Two thousand dollars!" The broker bad
uttered aloud his satisfaction ; but now he com
muned with himself silently. "Two thousand
dollars! A nice little' sum that for a single day's
work. I wonder what Mr. Jenkins will say to
morrow morning, when he, hears of jsuch an ad
vance in these- securities ?"
From some cause, this" mental reterence to
Mr. Jenkins did not Increase our friend's state
of exhiteration. - Most probablv. there was sme-
, thing in the transaction, bywhich he had gain
er b ujuujuiiic ueurn oi money, that, in calmer
moments, would not bear too close a serntinv
something vthat Mr. Everett would hardlyilikej
x l i i . m - . t r- "1
to uyo uiazoueu iortn to the world. Be this
as it may, a more sober mood, in time, succeed
ed, aud although the broker was richer by two
thousand dojlars than when be arose in the
morning, he was certainly no happier.
An hour afterwards, a business friend enme
t into the office of Mr. Everett and said :
"Have you heard about Cassen?"
"No ; what of him ?"
"He's said to be off for California with twen
ty thousand dollars in bi3 pockets mora than
justlv belongs to him." -
. "VhaU"- - i . -. . - ; . , -
"Too true, I believe. IKs name is in t!.o list
of passengers who left Xew York iu the steamer
- "The scoundrel!" exclaimed Mr. Everett,
who, 'by this time, was very considerably ex
cited. "He owes you, does he ?"Jsaid the friend.
"I lent him three hundred dollars only day
beforeyestCr-Jv," .
"A clear swindle."
- J'Yes it Is",
on him !
O, if I could only get my Land3 iand int0 his PockeL , 'flere a0.twe?ty dolla
' 1 Vi am a. a T;;r mother, ana civa them tn her
.Mr. Everett's countenance, as lie said
did not wear a very amiable expression.
-: Don't get excited about it," said the other.
"I think he has let you off quite reasonably.
Was that sum all he asked to borrow?"
"I know two, nt least, who are poorer by a
couple of thousands by his absence."
But Mr. Everett was excited. For half an
hour after the individual left, who had commu
nicated this unpleasant piece of news, the bro-
t ker walked the floor of his office with comprcss-
ed lips, a lowering brow, and most unhappy
feelings. Tip two thousand dollars gain in no
. way balanced in his mind the three hundreJ lost.
Tne pleasure created by the one, had not pene
trated deep enough to escape obliteration by the
Of l this, the boy with the dark sad eyes had
taken quick cognizance. And he comprehended
all. Scarcely a moment had his glance been
removed from the countenance or form of Mr.
Everett, while the latter walked with uneasy
steps, the floor of his office.
As the afternoon waned, the broker's mind
grew califler. The first excitement, produced
by the loss, passed, away ; . bnt it left a sense of
depression and disappointment that completely
shadowed his feelings.'-.. v ' -----
- Intent as bad been the lad's observation of his
employer during all this time, it is a little re
markable, that Mr. Everett had not once been
conscious of the fact that the boy's eyes were
steadily upon' him. In fact, he had been, as was
usually the case, too much absorbed in things
concerning himself, to notice what was peculiar
to another, unless the peculiarity were oue read - i
lly used to his own advantage. '. '.
"John," said Mr. Everett, turning suddenly
to the boy, and encountering his large, earnest
eyes, "take this note around to Mr. Legraud."
John sprang to do his bidding ; received the
note, and was off with unusual lieetness. But,
the door which closed upon his form, did not
shutout the expression of his sober face and
humid glance from the vision of Mr. Everett.
In fact, from some cause, tears had sprung to
the eyes of the musing boy, at the very moment
he was called upon to render a service; and
quicker than usual though his motions were, be
had failed to ponceal them.
A new train of thought now entered the bro-
i ker's mind. This child of his old friend had
been taken into his office from a kind of chnrit-
able feeliag though of very . low vitality .w He.
paid him a couple of dollars a w.eekrand thought
little more about him, or his widowed mother.
He had too many important interests of his own
at stake, to have bis mind turned aside for 4
trifling matter like this. But, now, - as the im
age of that sad face for it was unusually sad
at the moment when Mr. Everett looked sudden
ly towards the boy lingered in his mind, grow
ing every moment more distinct, and more touch
ingly beautiful, many considerations of duty and
humanity were excited. " He remembered his
old friend, and the pleasant hours thevbad spent
together, in years long since passed, ere gener
xus feelings had hardened, into ice, or given
place to an all-pervading selfishness. He re
membered, too, the beautiful girl his friend had
married, and how proudly that friend presented
her to their, little world as his bride. The lad
bad ' her - large dark, spiritual eyes only the
light cf joy hail faded therefrom, giving place to t
All jms was now. present to the mind of Mr.
Everett, end thouch he tried, oncn nr nr;.
during the boy's absence, to ooliterate these re-
coiiect.-vos: ae was unable to do so. -
"IJtneYyour raotiier John?" asked the rro-
ker k'tij. when the lad-Lad rttuynad frour bk
errand. " . ,
The question was so unexpected, that it con-
fnsed hiri.
"She's well thank you, sir.
well,- ith-er thank you, sir."
No not very
gAnd the boy's face Hushed, and his eyes suffused
"Not rery well, you say ?" Mr. Everett spoke
with kindness, and in a tone of iaterest. "Not
sick, I hvpe?"
"No, fiir; not very sick. But "
"But jfciiat, John," said Mr. Everett, encour-
"She's in trouble," half stammered the boy,
while the color deepened on his face.
"Ah, indeed? I'm sorry for that. What is
the trouble, John ?"
The tears, whieh John had been vainly stri
ving to repress, now gushed over his face, and
with a boyish shame for the weakness, he turn
ed away and struggled for a time with his over
mastering feelings.
Mr. Everett-was no little moved by so unex-
A .1 1 1 ", . - WV .. . .
peeieu ;an emiuiuon. lie waitcJ witb a new
born consideration for the boy, not unmingled
with respect, until a measure of calmness was
restored '
Johi," he then Eaid, "if 'your mother is in
trouble! it may be in my power to relieve her.
"O, slrl" exclaimed the lad, eagerly, cominjr
up to Mp. Everett, and, in the forgetfulness of
the moment, laying his smalThand upon thatof
his employer, "if you will.'you can."
Hard indeed would have been the heart that
could hsve withstood the appealing eyes lifted
by JohniLeverling to the face of Mr. Everett.
But, Mr, EveretLhad jiot a- bard heart. Love
of self aid the world had encrusted it with iu
difference towards others; but, the crust was
now broken through. - - -
"peak freely, my good lad," said he, kindly.
"Tell ma of your mother. What is her trouble?"
- "We - are very poor, sir."-Tremulous and
mournful was the boy's voice. "And mother
isn't wei. She does all she can; and my wa
ges heipj a little. . Jiut, there are three of us
children I anel l am the oldest. None of the
rest can earn any tiling. Mother couldn't help
getting behind with the rent, sir, because she
hadn't tie money to pay it with. This morning,
the man who owns the house where we live, came
for some money, and when mother told hiin that
h lnrl nonP- hf irnt rh :- n n rr- ' mil fVirrlit-
ened lis all. He said, it the rent wasn't paid by
ned lis ail. lie said, it the rent wasn t paid by
to-morrow he d -turn us all into the street. Toor
mother 1 She went to bed sick."
'How much does your mother owe thb man ?"
asked Mr. Everett.
' 'O, it's a'great deal, 6ir. I'm afraid she'll never
be able to pay it; sndl don't know what we'll do."
"How much ?"
"Fourteen dollars, sir," answered the lad.
"Is that all?" And Mr. Everett thrust his
avuu uuiuv ji - r . . 1 n -r
with my compliments."
The boy "grasped the money eagerly.'and, as
he did so, iu an irrepressible burst of gratitude,
kissed the hand from wffich he received it. He
rdid not speak for strong emotion choked all ut-
terance ; but Mr. Everett saw his heart iu his
large, wet eyes; and it was overflowing with
"Stay a moment," said the broker, as John
Levering was about passing through the door.
Perhaps I had better write a note to your
mother." -
"I wish you would, sir', answered the boyfc
as he came slowly back. .
A brief note was written, in which Mr. Ever
ett not only offered present aid, but promised,
for the sake of old recollections that now were
crowding fast upon his mind, to be the widow's
future friend.
For half an hour after the lad departed, the
broker sat musing, with his eyes upou the floor. re 01J times, a man rarely met a friend with
His thoughts were clear, and his feelings tian- xt inviting him to imbibe) and smacking his
quil. He had made, on that day, the sum of
two tuousanu aonars oy a singie transaction,
but the thought of this large accession to his
worldly iroods did not give him a tithe of thd
pleasure he derived from the b.stowal of twenty
dollars. He thought, too, of the three hundroi
dollars ho had lost by a misplaced confidenc ;
yet, even as the shadow cast from that ev;ut
began to fall upou his heart, the bright fac of
John Levering was conjured up byjancy.and
all was sunny again. " - -
-. Mr. Everett Vent home to his family on'that
evcning,a cheerful minde.1 ;maii. Why $ Not
becaucse he was richer by nearly two thousand
dollars, jrhat-eircumstauce wouldhave ossess
ed no power to lift, him above the bi.dowed,
frett ul state which the loss of three hunlred had
produced. Why ?, He - had - bestowe of his
abundance', and thus made suffering hearts glad;
and the consciousness of this was perading his
bosom with a warming sense of doiignt."
Thus it is, that true benevolence larries with
it, ever a double blessing. Thus it yis, that' in
giving, more is often gained than iu eager accu
mulation, o'r selfish withholding. Itctorial Drain
ing Room Companion? j-
Population of the Grace.
Under this nead the Jfercheuif't Lfijer has
some very curious and interesti-g calculation.
It estimates the average of American births
per second, for the last eighteen hundred and
lifty-three years, at about 815. This would
make the whole number of human bcingg who
have lived sipce the birth of Christ, about thirty-two
thousand millions.
Deducting from this number the nine hundred
and sixty milliots,' who form the present popu
lation of tho glube, and it leaves the number of
thirty-one thousand and forty millions that have
gone to the grave."
Of this number, the estimate is that nine thou
sand million have dred'by wars.
Eight thousand millionby famine and pesti
lence; "
Five hundred millions by martyrdom.
Five hundred and eighty millions by intoxica
ting drinks. "
Thirteen thousand millions naiural or other
wise. - By this estimate it will be 6ecn that war and
strong drink haus sent one-third of the human
race to a premature grave.
"Wollingtoa Saving Hapolcoa's Lifo.
The following passage from the memoirs of
the late General V. Muffiing, written by himself,
under the title of "Ana meinem Leben, will per
haps at this moiisent be read with soms interest.
Muffling was the agent of all the communications
between the hcad-quarteis of Blucer and the
Wake ot WeUiRytrnr dvjnug thelaarch of tb
uea vii x ana, aiier tne return oi iApo.eon irom
Elba: . . .
"During the march, (after the battle of Va- '
terloo,) Blucher had once a chance of taking
Napoleon prisoner, which he was very anxious
to do ; from the French commissioners who were
sent to him to propose an armistice, he demand
ed the delivery of Napoleon to him as the -' first
condition of the negotiations. I waschart-ed by
Marshal Blucher to represent to the Luke of
Wellington that the Congress of Vienna ad de
clared Napoleon outlawed, and that be es de
termined to have him shot at the mommt that
he fell into his hands. Yet he wished to know
from the duke what he though, of the matter;
for if he (tho duke) had the same inteitions, the
marshal was willing to act with him fi carrying
them into effect. The duke looked : me rather
astonished, and began to dispute thf correctness
of the marshal's interpretation of te proclama
tion of Vienna, which was not at ek intended to
authorize or incite to the murderof Napoleon ;
he believed, therefore, that no jight to ehoot
him in case he thould be made prisoner of war,
could be founded on this documtft, and he tho"t
the position both of himself andthe marshal to
wards Napoleon, since the victof had been won,
was too high to permit such ai act to be com
mitted. 1 had felt all the foce of the Duke's
arguments before I delivered be message I had
very unwillingly undertaken, and was therefore
not inclined to oppose theiu. I, therefore, con
tinued the Duke, wish my fpend and colleague
to see this mutter in the fight I do ; such an
act would give our name toiistory stained by a
crime, and posterity'wouh'say of us, they are
not worthy to be his conqertrs; the more so,
as such a deed is useless, rod cau have no ob-
j ject. - Of these expression I only used enough
to dissuade Blucher fromJis intention."
There are three despatbs given by Muffling
in the appendix to his mtnoirs, in which the ex
ecution of Napoleon is urged on the Duke of
Wellington by Blucher ;they are signed by Gne-
) isnau, and leave no dbt of the determination
to revenge the bloodshed of the war on the
cause of it, had he fdeh into the hand of the
Vrusoiau commander' Blucher's fixed idea was
that the Emperor shld be executed on the very
spot where the DucfEnghien was put to death.
The last desnatch elds an unwilling nnspnt tn
Tkl... i- it j
calls his inte
terferene "dramatic magnanimity,"
which the l'russiadiead-quarters did not at all
aware of the
Prfiably but few Frenchmen are
.a ykv-.
or that it in n istorical fact that Napoleon's
life was saved b-nis rival, whom it cost no small
exertiqa to savdt. (N. Y. Ev. ror. (
TB Old Oaken Backat. 1
This beaut'ul and popular song or balad is '
said to have nd its origin under the following
Circumstancdi which give it additional inter- j
est: J
Some yer ago, when Woodworth, the prin- 1
ter, and setral other Old New Yorkers,' were !
brother tjioa in a priniting-offiee, which was f
situated ai?the corner of Chesnut and Chambers I
streets, tlre were very lew places m tno city
of New Yjk where one could enjoy the luxury
of a rcall 'good drink.' Among the tew places
most wothv of natronape. was an establishment ,'
f - .
kept byAI dlory, on Franklin street, on or about
the sane epot where St. John's Hall recently
stood. Woodworth, in company with several
partieir friends, had dropped in' at this place
one atcrnoou, for tho purpose of taking some
'brandy and water, which Mallory was famous
for teeping.
Vie lijuor was super-excellent, and Wood
work secined inspired by it; for after taking a
arugui, ne iam nis glass upou me tauie, rc
nfmber, reader, if vou please, that in those
'jp3 declared that Mallory's eau dc vie was supe-
s.;or to anv he had ever tasted. No.' said Jl.
vou nre nuite mistaken: the! e was one thin;
'you are qui
which, iu both our estimations, far surpasses
this, in the way of drinking.' What was that ?'
asked Woodworth, dubiously. 4The draught of
pure, fresh spring water that we used to drink
from the old oaken bucket that bung in the well,
after our return from the labors of the field on
a sultry day in summer.'
The tear-drop glistened for a moment in Wood
worth's eye. 4True ! true !' he replied, and
soon .after quitted the place. He returned to
the office, grasped the pen, and in half an hour
The Old Oaken Bucket,' one of ihe most delight
ful compositions iu our language, was ready, in
manuscript, to be embalmed, in the memories of
succeeding generations.
How dear to this heart are the scenes of my
Wbeu fond recollections present them to view !
The orchard, the meadow, the deep-tangled wild
And every loved ppot which my infancy knew;
The wide-spreading pond, and the mill fiat stood
by it,
The bridge and the rock where the cataract
The cot of my father, the dairy house near it.
And e'en the rude bucket that hung in the
well! .
TVe old oaken bucket, the iron-bound bucket,'
The moss-covered bucket, that hung in tho
welll ,
The moss-covered vessel I hail as a treasure;
For often at noou. when returned from the
field, - ,
I found it the source of an exquisite pleasure,
The purest and sweetest that nature cau yield.
How ardent I seized it with hands that were
" glowing
And quick to the white pebbled bottom it fell;
Then soon with the emblem of truth overflowing,
And drippiog with coolness, it rose from the
well ;
The old oakeu bucket, the iron-bound bucket.
The moss-covercl bucket arose from tho
How sweet from the greca ra9y
ceive it.
brini to rc-
As poised on the curb it inclined to my lip ;
Not a full blushicg goblet could tempt me ta
leave it. -
Though SUe 3 with
the rcciar tLft fabled gci
And row, far removed fram the loveu situation.
J EWfcll,
T"ls.ney revoi-U ty my fatuer's plantut:uu',
? pind i'lu fr lit i.r.rwicaili24 ia tb
w ell f
The old caken bucket, the iron-bound bucket.
The mobs-covered bucket, which h&cgs in bis
Rotnaoce or Ileal I4fe.
Naprlecn's Letters lo Jc?pplun.
During and immediately after the r;reat battla
of AuEteiiitt, Napoleon addressed a scries of
letters to Josephine. They ore appended to aa
article in the last number cf Harper's New
Monthly; and they will be read with more than
ordinary interest. The great Captain evidently
cherished the deepest affection for bis first wife,
aud no portion of hia h'utory is fraught with
more romantic charm, thau that iu which he
turned aside from the cares of State, to bate'uU
heart to the idol of his early devotion. The fal
lowing are the letters alluded to :
"iiOcL.1805 10 o'clock. A. II
"I am Gtill in good health. I start for Stutt
gard where I shall be to-night. The great ma
noeuvres cctDcicnw; Tba armies of Wurtemberg
end of Baden hav united with mine. 1 am in
a good position, and 1 love you. Napols.O!c."
"12 Oct. 11 o'clock at night.
"My army has entered Munich. The energy
is beaten. Every thirig announces the most thort,
successful, and brilliant campaign I Lave yet
made. I am very well. Tho weather is, how
ever, frightful. I change my clothes- twic a
day ; it rains so inceesuntly. I lovo you, ad
embrace you. Napolicj;."
"10 Oct.
"I have been, my gcd Josephine, much fa
tigued. During all the days of an entire week,
I have been drenched with rain, and my fefcthava
beeu nearly frozen. This has made me a Jittl
ill. To-day 1 have obtained some repose. I
have fulfilled my design. I have destroyed the
Austrian army by simple marches. 1 have ta
ken C0,000 prisoners, 120 pieces of cannon, 90
flags, and more tUau SO generals. I now go iu
pursuit of the Russians. They re undone. 1
am content with my army. I have lost but 1500
men, and of these two-thirds re but fciightlv
wounded. Adieu, my Josephine. A thousand
loving words to yon."
"o Nov. 10 o'clock st rizM
am in TUll ttwrrtt - no wtrtimcr to-- j orr
The earth is covered with a foot of enow. This
1 13 a little severe. Happily our niarcn is turouga
fnnBt. . nm 'tttr v ;..-
Mv enemies ought to be mora
anxious tban 1. ldc.irc very union to hear troin
you, and to learn that yru arc free from inqui
etude. Adieu my love. I must sleep."
"15 Nov. J o'clock at night.
"I left Vienna two days ago, riy love, a litt'.s
fatigued. 1 have uot yet secu the city by day.
I parsed through it ia the night. Almost all my
troops are bevoud the Danube pursuing the Bu
sians. Adieu, my Josephine. The very moment
it is possible, I shall send for you to come to
me. A tn.usana .owng woras tor you.
"16 November
ll have written fur you to coine immediately
to Baden, and thence to Munich, by the way of
vr -'uAa
luring with you the means of ma
king presents to the ladies and to the func
tionaries who nay serve you. Be unassuming,
but receive all homage. Everything is due to
you. You owe. nothing but courtey. The Elec
tress of Wurtemberg is daughter of the King of
England. She is a lovely woman. Treat her
with kindnesd, but without affectation. 1 thall
be most happy to Mse you the ui.uior.t my affairs
will allow mc to do so. I set out immediately
for my advance pnard. The weather is fright
ful. It enows continually. As to the rest, my
affairs are prosperous. Adieu, fciy love. .
"3 Deo. 180."i.
'I send Lebrun to you from the fiyld of bat
tic. I have beaten th Russian and At!tri.ii
armies comraauitnl by the two Emperors. I nci
a little fatigued. 1 have bivoucked eight days
iu the open air, through nights severely oold. 1'
shall pass to-night iu the chateuu of l'rinco
Kauuiu, where I go to sleep for two or thrco
hours. Th Fvusaian army is not only beaten,
but destroyed. I embrace you.
'December ft
"I have concluded a truce. Tho Jlu.sians
have implored it. The .victory of Austerlitz is
the most illustrious of all which 1 hate gained
We have taken .5 flag, 1..0 pieces of cam. on,
and 20 generals. More than 0,000 are blaiu.
It is an awful upectaele. The Emperor Alexan
der is in despair. I aaw yesterd-.y, at niy " biv .
ouac, the Emperor of Germany. We conversed
for two hours, and agreed upon an immediate
peace The weather is dreadful. liepose is
again restored to the Contiuent. Ect us hope
that it will extend throughout the world. The
English will not be able to make headway tigaiuM
us. I look forward with great pleasure to the
moraeut when I thall again nee you. Adieu, my
love. I am pretty well, and um very desiroud
to embrace you,"
'10 Dec, 1603.
It is long H.nce I have hevd any news from
you. The brilliant fees of BaJeq, Stuttgard.
and Munich, cause the poor soldiers, dreuched
with rain, and covered with blood and mire, to
be forgotten. I set out immediately for Vien
na Ihe ltussians are goue. Tiwy return t
their own country thorouahly ben ten and thor
oughly humiliated. I desire intensely to return
to you. Adieu, my lov. Naioleon."
The following letter, of which we give a fac
simile, conceals beneath the ecusblance of mirth
fulness, a spirit wounded by apparent nnglect :
"I'J December.
"August Empress ! Not one letter from you
since your departure from Strasbourg. You have
entered Dal in, turgai-J, and Mutii.h without
writing us one word. That is not very amiable
nor very tender. I ain still at Brunn. The Rus
sians have gone. 1 have a truce. Condsceud,
from tho summit of your 'grandeur, to occupy
j yourself a little witb your bl.ivos.
. 1
I !
h 1