Huntingdon journal. (Huntingdon, Pa.) 1843-1859, October 19, 1853, Image 1

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    VOL. 18.
The "HUNTINGDON JOUNNAL” is published at
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The Day is Gone,
The day N gone; and the darkness
Falls from the wings of night.
As a feather is wafted downward
From an eagle in his flight.
I see the lights of the village
Gleam through the ruin and mist,
And a feeling of sadness comes o'er me
That my soul cannot resist.
A feeling ofsadness and longing,
That is not akin to pain,
And resembles sorrow only
As the mist resembles the rain.
Come rend to me some poem—
Some simple and heartfelt
That shall soothe this restless feeling,
And banish the thought of day.
Not from the grand old masters,
Not from the bards sublime,
Whose distant footsteps echo
Through the corridors of time.
For like the strains of martial music,
Their mighty thoughts suggest
Life's endless toil and endeavor,
And tonight I long for met.
Bead from some humbler poet,
Whose songs gushed from his heart,
As showers from the clouds of summer,
Or tears from the eyelids start.
Who, through long days of labor,
And nights devoid o f ease,
Still heard in his soul the music
Of wondrous melodies.
Such songs have power to (mist
The restless pulse of care,
And comes like the benediction
That follows after prayer.
Then read the treasur'd volume,
The poem of my choice,
And lend to the rhyme of the poet
The beauty of thy voice.
And the night shall be filled with music,
And the cares that infest the day,
Shall fold their tents, like Arabs,
And as silently pass away.
On n Young Lady Wearing a Cross.
She wears it proudly, for it shines
With costly gems, a radiant thing!—
A worthier emblem of the times
To Fashion's court she could not bring,
Made fast with chains of precious gold,
She dons it with her gala.dress:—
It shines amidst the silken fold—
Sin clasps it with a bold caress.
She clasps it in her vainest mood,
(That awful symbol lightly worn,)
Forgetful that 'tis stained with blood,
And has the Prince of glory borne!
Oh I strange forgetfulness! She sees
No circling Crown of Thorns hung there
Droops never beneath it to her knees I
Is never driven by it to prayer!
It lies no weight upon her breast—
It speaks no warning to her heart--
It lends no guiding light—at best
Is but a gaud iu folly's mart.
Go I hide the glittering thing from sight!
Go! bear the cross in worthier guise I
The soul—worn crucifix sheds light
That in no paltry bauble lies.
i' - u]a2II:ANECY. I ).3.
From Arthur's Home Gazette.
The Sister's Reward.
DT vtaoilas E. TOWNSEND.
"Frank, sweet brother, I wish I had some
charm potent enough to dispel those shadows
on your brow ;" and the young lady bent over
the chair, and laid her hand carelessly on the
dark hair that shaded the pale, intellectual
forehead of the young'man.
"And your words have done so, already,
Xate," was the reply, while the brother drew
his arm around his sister, and looked up fond
ly in her face. It was a picture of exceeding
loveliness, and the summer sunshine floated,
softly in through the vine-girdled window, and
set it in a frame-work of gold. The scholar.
like contour of the thin and eranest face of the
one, contrasted finely with the soft girlish fea
tures of the other, while the bright, brown curls
floated over her black dress, in that summer
sun-set, like a tide of wavy gold.
"But Frank, something is troubling you—
something which I may not share. You can
not deceive me. I know there is a heavy
weight lies upon your heart, which our father's
death and our recent misfortunes have not lain
there. Have I not been a good sister, and
true to you. from the time we lisped our pray
er at our mother's knee in childhood! By the
trees beneath whose shadow we played in sweet,
by-gone time, by nil the memories that cluster
around the bright hours which sleep in the shad
ow of the past, and oh, by that grave over which
the long grass of this summer's
.day is sighing,
tell me what thus troubles you?"
The pleading, pathetic voice of the girl spea
ker ceased, but the glow which had kindled,
and the light which had fleshed in her brown
ales went not out, and the boy-student drew
his head down closer to that loving sister's
heart, and answered her—
"l meant to have struggled manfully against
U, I.fttP, owl la,' buried all my sorrow be sly
Lit ' 1 [ Until gbon ' 7 urnalt.
own heart, but your watchful eyes have defeat
ed my intentions. You shall know all. I must
leave college and enter a store as an under
clerk. There is no possible way of defraying
the expenses of the next three years' tuition
andso all the bright dreams of my boyhood all
the ambitions of my youth are vanished!" and
the boy rose up, and continued pacing the floor
with agitated steps. I cannot be brave, Kate,
when I think of this, for I shudder when my
eyes look down the long dreary perspective of
the fortune, with its years of weary and uncon
genial work; and sometimes, Kate, when these
thoughts crowd thick and fast upon me, I have
gone down to the grave yard, and stood under
the willow tree, and the faint pallid fingers of
the broken sunlight have floated soothingly
over the mound there, and I have said (God
forgive me, for I was half maddened,)"would
too, were slumbering hemp,
"Oh,. hush, hush, 'Prank! Did you not think
of me and manta when you said that?" and
Kate Clifton's sad voice sounded half reproach
fully, as she lifted her excited brother, and
laid her hand on his lips. Then she drew to
a chair, and seated herself by his side; and
spoke fond, soothing, words to him—words of
sweet hope and trust in the father of the fath
erless. The pink and blue robes of the sunset
listed oat of the crimson, and the stars crept
into the "sky-meadows," and when Kate Clif
ton pressed her lips to the brow of her brother,
and left him, !.e was calm and hopeful once
What is to be done 7" With folded hands
and anxious forehead, Kate Clifton paced her
room at midnight, and naked her this question.
Before another week had taken its passage,
they were to leave the home of their childhood,
and the furniture which it contained was all
the rapacious creditors bad left their widowed
mother. Fair was the Southern home which
had been so cordially offered Kate Clifton, by a
distant relative of her father's, and the same
friend had secured for her brother a situation,
and with interest and amidity in his new em
ployment would eventually make a remunera
tive one, a large mercantile firm.
''.But 'shall I he happy in that fair. far off
home, among whose green savannahs I passed
the happiest winter of my life, and knowing
that he, with his poetic temperament, and sea•
sitive scholar-organization. will be daily, hour
ly called upon to encounter so much which is
distasteful to hie mind and heart? Oh, Fran
cis, Francis, can I do nothing to aid you ?"
murmured the loving sister in her perplexity
and helplessness. And Kate Clifton sat down
in the pleasant little chamber which was hers
no longer and buried her fair face in her hands,
ar,d thought until her brain ached ; and at last
a plan suggested itself. She could teach school,
and thereby defray the college expenses of her
Now comes the ordeal, Kate; and alone in
that midnight chamber you must meet it. Be.
fore the grey light of another morning lays its
peneilings on that eastern sky, whose meek
seraph stars glanced in softly at your casement,
your spirit will have come out of the furnace
fire a noble, heroic woman; or a weak, yielding
mortal, incapable forever afterwards of high
moral achievement, or sublime selrabnegation.
Great is the sacrifice, and grand will be the
victory. Girl, with the light of eighteen sum
mers on yoUr brow,and their rose-hues on your
cheek, your young heart still unused to the
world, how will you meet the trial 1"
The lamp shed a Not light over the carpet.
and the bright gilding of the paper, and
the low, quick foot-falls of Kate Clifton echoed
through the room, as with clasped hands and
contracted brow site paced back and forth.
On one hand a gorgeous panorama floated
before the young, girl, reared in the lap of lux
ury. A stately mansion beneath southern
skies, with its long vista of gorgeous parlors,
and graceful firms, and, dear well-known fives
gliding through them, rose in misty, plumtas.
magoria to her mental vision. By those plea
sant shores she saw her life-barque sleeping
peacefully, and then the dark eyes and tall
graceful form of the Southerner, whose memo
ry lay so sleep in her heart, and who had told
her father's friend ..he should pass the summer
in P—, if Kate Clifton was to brighten it
with her presence," rose up distinct and for
most, and the young girl buried her face in her
hands, and the tears gushed through her fin
gers. And then came the other picture—dark
and dreay enough, the three brightest years of
her life sacrificed in such a manner. The sm.
congenial school room;
the dull patience
rying children and sad heart-sick teacher, all
unused to the burdens imposed on her, rose up
on the other side, rendering by the contrast
still darker and more dismal.
"Oh, I cannot, I cannot do it," said the
young girl, and her heart grew faint.
And then came before her the pale face of
her poet-brother hardly a year her junior, and
it seemed as if his dark eyes looked pleading
and reproachfully upon her. She thought of
his agony that afternoon, of his wasted future,
and back to her heart came the heroic resole•
tion to sacrifice all things for him.
"I will do it, the God - of my fathers helping
me," said Kate Clifton.
Softly through the embroidered curtains
streamed the morning sunlight. Softly its pale
wired fingers, gilded over the white forehead of
the sleeping girlbut a smile born of lofty re
solves and dnuntiess purpose parted the rosy
lips. Kate Clifton had been tried and not
found waniing.
"Kate, do you think I will hear of such a
sacrifice on your part? The bare suggestion
of such a thing from other lips than yours had
been an insult ;" and the young man's eyes
flashed and his lips curled scornfully at his sis
ter's offer. And the pale-faced woman, upon
whose forehead lay the shadow of recent be.
reavement and suffering lifted her eyes and
shook her head sadly as she said.
. you must not think of it."
And Kate drew her mother from the little
breakfast table to the easy chair in the bay
window, and Frank, and she sat down by it,
and the young girl talked long and earnestly to
both her auditors. She told them that her
days would not be bright, nor her pillow peace.
ful in that far-away home, haunted as she
would surely be by the thoughts of her broth
er's sufferings, and she drew a pleasant picture
of a little shady school room, and a happy
teacher with a smiling cottage home, under
whose vine-draped portico her mother and her.
self would sit in slimmer evenings, Illid when
dear Frank should come in the vacation ; and
and at last won by her earnestness and elo
quence, her auditors assented to her proposi
tion, and Frank drew his arm silently around
her waist and a tear dropped from the proud
boy's eyes on her finger. and her mother plac
ed her thin hand in the shining curls, and mur
mured in tremulous tones, "May God bless
you, my child!"
The next week the furniture of the Cliftons
was disposed of. Through the influences of
some friends, Kate procured a school in
flourishing country village, some twenty miles
from the city. Frank bade them farewell for
Yale, and Kate repaired with her mother to
the scene of her new duties. _ _
Two years rolled into the past. Much of
trial and little of pleasure, save that which the
persevering fulfillment of every duty always
confers, had they brought Kate Clifton. No
bly had her promise been redeemed; heroically
lad ;he gone thmigh her 'elf:imposed task
with no wavering of heart and purpose; and
all this was incentive to her brother. Very
pleasant to his sister's heart was the story of
her brother's distancitm all his classmates in
their college race ; and always after receiving
information of the prizes which had been ewer
(led him, her work seemed lighter and the bur-
den easier to be borne.
It was a summer sunset. The broad golden
folds of the twilight lay bright and massive in
the west, like greet force flags hung out by an
gels in the horizon. The summer wind sigh
ed row and melodious through the long grass
on the narrow lawn, and stirred up the beret
of the honeysuckle, which draped the portico
of the cottage where Mrs. Clifton and her
danghter had made their home. It was a
plain one, and yet it looked very pleasant, very
like a nest perched in a dense mass of shrub
.Btrs. Clifton sat by the window of the little
parlor, and her hand rested acressingly on the
bright curls of the face which had grown a
shade paler since we last looked on it, for Kate
has drawn a stool to her mother's feet, and her
large brown eyes are lifted anxiously to her
"Do yon not see, mamma, there will be no
other possible method of defraying the expense
of Frank's last term, except by disposing, of
the piano? The money which the sale of our
furniture procured is nearly exhausted. In
deed, I cannot imagine how we have managed
to exist upon it so long. Frank, poor fellow,
would sadly miss it during his visit, so I shall
not send it away until his vacation is over, and
you, dear mamma, will love my songs almost as
well without any music. But I must go down
this very evening to the office, and request Mr.
Bernard to look out for a purchaser," and the
young girl arose.
There hail been an unusual amount of ex•
citement and gossipping at the hotels through
out the village of A. A large company
of visitors, among whom were several distin
guished Southern families, sojourned in A-,
attracted thither by the beauty of the scenery,
had created this tumult in the usually quiet, so
cial atmosphere. But a faint rumor of this
had reached the cottage of Mrs. Clifton, as she
and her daughter mingled very little in the so
ciety of the village.
"Your flowers are very beautiful my child,"
said a handsome young Southerner, who had
excited the ambition of all the village maidens,
and he paused and looked admiringly on the
chime hoquet which the fair blue eyed child
was bidding. "For whom did you gather
them?" he rontinned.
"For Mi.s Clifton, my teacher," answered
the little OA,
"Mks Clifton l" repeated the stranger, "where
does she live r
"In the eottnne by the brook; you can't see
it hero sir," replied the child,
At that moment several other children at.
tracted by the Southerner, joined the little girl
and unwilling to make further inquiries con
cernintz a stranger, he. slipped some silver in
the child's hand and departed.
"Can it be that I have at last found her ?"
mused Edward de Forest as he retraced his
steps. "She, the fair Northern lily, who shed
her fragrance around nutx_rtailwattlitra little
while, to leave it so cold and cheerless ever af
ter. That bright girlish face—how it beams
on me at this moment ! I always had a sus
picion that misfortune came upon her family,
for her Southern friends either could not or
would not tell me of her whereabouts. Well,
lam resolved to walk down to the cottage of
which the child snake, at nightfall;—perchance
I can catch a glimpse of the teacher. and one
glance will satisfy me whether she and Kate
Clifton are identical.
"Miss Clifton I"
Kate had closed the little wicket, and was
taking the road to Mr. Bernard's for the put ,
pose of making some arrangements with that
gentleman, for the disposition of her piano,
when her name spoken in that deep, well re- '
membered voice, broke upon her ear. She
turned hastily, and the graceful form and dark
eyes of the stranger met her gaze. For a mo
ment her heart stood still, and a mist gathered
before her eyes; butt with a stong effort, she re
covered from her agitation, and gave her hand
to the gentleman.
The young Southerner accepted Kate's in
vitation to walk in. She thought of the spa.
chum halls where last they met, and it seemed
to her that their little parlor had never looked
so shabby as she ushered the stranger in and
presented hint to her mother.
The evening was wearing very late when
Edward de Forest close, the wicket gate of Mrs.
Clifton's cottage, and yet the young man star
ted, as be drew out his watch, and wondered
where those three hours had gone to.
Kate Clifton wondered what had come over
the school room, that it looked so bright and
cheery next morning. Site asked herself the
question, but she did not answer it.
Arent wan the surprise,and loud and frequent
the exclamations of disappointment with which
Edward de Forest's intention of remaining
several weeks in A—, was received by the
party with whom lie was traveling: Ho lis
tened with that imperturable demeanor which
so effectually baffles curiosity, to all their hints
and innendoes respecting some bright-eyed,
rasp checked "village lassie," whose spells
chained his heart and his thoughts in A—;
and with much regret that they had lost the
most accomplished and agreeable gentleman
in their company, the party left the village.
Another week rolled away, during which
the widow's cottage was several times bright
ened by the presence of the "handsome South
erner," ns the villagers called him, and then
Kate Clifton was folded to the heart of her
brother once more.
The young teacher always appointed her va.
cations so that they should be concurrent with
her brother's and very happily rolled away
those fair August days, with their sweet sun.
shine flitting around the cottage parlor, where
Kate nestled close to the side of her brother,
and looked up fondly and prouldly in the pale,
handsome face of the student, and the mother
sat in her easy chair, and blessed them through
her tears.
In the evening, Edward de Forest loin ,d the
little company, anti Knte sang to the gentle
men, or listened to their conversation. She
had grown strangely averse to talking, her
mother said.
It was an August afternoon, still and very
sultry. Mr. de Forest and Frank hail gone in
to the woods for a ramble,and Mrs. Clifton and
her daughter sat by the window, where the
faint breath of the breeze hardly stirred the
leaves of the jessamine which draped it.
"Here's a letter for you, ma'ma," and the
post boy stood in the door and held out his soil
ed hand to Kate's
The seal was hastily broken, and a roll of
bank bills fell to the floor, while, with a shriek
of mingled joy and surprise, Kate's eager eyes
read the brief epistle, requesting her to appro•
priate, in what manner soccer it should please
her, the enclosed two hundred dollars.
"Who can have sent it, mamma 1" mid the
astonished girl.
"I cannot imagine, unless it he some for
mer debtor of your father's" was the reply,
"And now, mamma. I coo keep my piano—
do you not rejoice? I hove thought it would
almost brealc my heart to part with it, for ii
,'erred the only coulecting Buis between the
present and the past. Two hundred dollars I
—it was just the price for which I agreed to
dispose of it to Mr. Bernard. How very sin
gular;" and with a soh born of a heart over
flowing with gladness, Kate Clifton hurried her
face in her mother's lap. Perhaps neither of
the ladies would have thought it so very sin
gular, had they known that Mr. Bernard
as agent for its disposal, had solicited Mr. do
Forest to hecothe ite purchaser.
“But why (pardon the question which your
story has just given' , me the privilege of ask.
ing) did mot Miss Clifton accept the frequent
invitation of her Southern friends to make her
home with them ?” asked Edward de Forest of
Francis Clifton, as the two gentlemen wound
through the deep head of the woods, after the
latter had related to him the story of their
broken fortunes—for a.singularly warm friend-
ship had sprung up between the student and
the Southerner.
"Why, indeed I" answered Frank; he paused
a mothent, and then ho spoke in a lower tone,
but very full of feeling. In his own poet lan
guage, pouring into every sentence the fervor
of his deep, grateful heart, the young man told
his companion of his sister's heroic resolve, of
its long, patient fulfilment. "And for me," he
said. "she is wasting the best, brightest years
of her life; for me, she is growing on in the
faithful performance of a duty which is paling
the roses on her cheeks, nod ditmning, the
light of her brown eyes; for me.she has descen
ded from that social position which (forgive a
brother's fondness) her mind and heart so pre
eminently fit her to adorn, and hurried herself
in yonder—" the , speaker paused, overcome by
his words, team were filling his eyes, and he
looked up. half apologetieally, to his compan
ion. but the dark eyes that met his were hu.
mid also.
His hand was warmly grasped. "Among
women there is none like unto her," said Ed
ward de Forest. •
"Miss Clifton, will you walk out this evening?
it in a peculiarly fine one;" and the young man
closed the leaves of the book, for Kate had been
singing some of his favorite song.s. It was the
first time he bad made such a request, and she
was somewhat surprised, although she immedi
ately assented.
A bright still night had succeeded the sultry
day. The star host looked out from the blue
battlements of the night skies, and the pallid
streamers of the moon floated down through the
fragrant air, and thin veils of silver gray lay on
the dark August foliage. For awhile the gen
tleman and his companion walked on in silence,
for the strange beauty of the evening laid a
hush upon their hearts, and it was long before
the gentleman broke p. • But at last he drew
the hand that rested lightly 'upon his arm, with
in his own, and spoke words to Kate Clifton
which sent the blood to her brow And the quiv
er to her lips. But she recovered frtim the ag
itation which his words had induced, and an
swered him :
"Edward do Forest, the stranger, sits by the
hearthstone of my father's home; and his widow,
and his orphan children, hnve not a house of
their own under whose roof they can lie down
nt night, and she whose hand you solicit, can
bring you neither lands or gold for her dowry.
In your Southern honte.T have stood upon the
lands of your father, and they stretched farther
than my eye could reach. What will they say
if the bride be portionless you bring to those
fair halls?"
And Edward do Forest answered her thus:
"Little will I care for the speech of others.—
Kate 1 wonld not barter the knowledge of being
beloved ofyou for the hand of any other woman.
though her dowry were the wealth of the world."
That night when they entered the cottage,
Kate Clifton was the betrothed of Edward de
Forest. Just before Frank's vacation closed
there was a wedding at the cottage. It was a
very simple one; but few of the villagers were
present, and yet one of the wealthiest of Amer
ica's sons led forth his bride from that little
cottage parlor.
Another year numbered with the past. In
that fairest of New England's cities, which sits
as a Queen by the blue waters of her sound,
and beneath one of tissue sanctuaries which rise
almost beneath the shadows of "the spires of
Yale," a large audience was assembled to wit
ness the closing exercises of one of its most
promising classes. A hush gathered along the
lofty galleries and over the long cloister-like
aisles, as a young and pale classical featured
man arose on the temporary rostrum erected
for the speakers. Tt was evident that much of
expectation had been awakened in the minds
of most of the audience; and when the deep pa
thetic voice of the young poet rose and filled
the spacious building with its melody, they list
ened with breathless attention. Bright eyes
grew dim at the magic beauty and thrilling pa
thos of that poem, and old men closed their
eyes and listened as thou As some echo freni
the past floated through the long silent cloisters
of their spirits. When the young poet conchs
ded, a shower of summer roses fell at his feet.
A little later Francis Clifton was descried
making his way to portion of the building
where seats had been reserved for the Recant.
modation of relatives of the speakers.
A gentleman and two ladies—the pounder
of whom had attracted mane glances of admi
ration even in that assemblate of youth and
loveliness, occupied the pew which the young
man entered.
"Mother, Edward, Kate, what is your ver
dict?" asked the son and brother, as he looked
into the eyes beaming with love upon him.
"My boy. I nm proud of you," said the moth.
er, with a quivering lip.
"Frank, you have surpassed yourself," was
spoken in the deep voice of Edward de Forest.
The young lady did not speak, but she
grasped her brother's hand and gazed upon
him with her tear-blind eyes, for the memory
of n midnight struggle and heroic triumph was
busy at her heart.
"And I owe all this happiness to you," said
the poet, as he grasped the small unloved
hand, and his dark, dreamy eyes looked with
more than a brother's fondness into the beauti
ful upturned face. "Kate, my sister, how shall
I ever repay you ?"
have had my reward meted out to me.
good measure, pressed down and overflowing."
answered the low, earnest voice of Kate de
Extra Toll,
The strict honesty of Bob Simpglass deserves
to be recorded as nn example to his brethren of
the Happy Good Fellow Society. The other
night, having walked over Cambridge Bridge
in a zig-zag course, curious and wonderful, he
he hove up against the toll-house, and giving
the toll-gatherer two cents, exclaimed:
"Here, ids, my contribution to the support
of the bridge."
"Yes, and is one cent orer," said the
"One cent is the regular toll—hic—ain't it?"
"Yes, sir."
"Well, then. I owe you two, any way; for if I
have not walked every plank in this bridge
twice over, then—hic—l'm a barber's pole. So
keen the change, old feller. . . . . .
....,. ~,
Ho reeled away, and the admiring toll-gather
er lost sight of him in the darkness.
- - -
&VP Let a woman be decked with all the
embellishmrnts of art and nature—yet if bold•
ness is to he read its her fa,..e, it blots oat all
the liner of beauty.
The European Contest,
There can no longer be a doubt, we think, of
what the Russian Autocrat means in his pros.
ant assault on Turkey. Ho has now blankly
rejected the only terms of settlement to which
the Turkish Government and people could
possibly be brought to agree, and that in a
manner which would seem to preclude further
negotiation. Had this rejection been accom•
panied by any statement of reasons, or new
proposals, an opportunity for additional media
tion would have been opened to the pacifying
powers. They might then have argued the
case, or suggested new terms and new forms
of language more agreeable to both Muscovite
and Moslem. But this it seems he has not
done; his rejection is haughty, unconditional,
uncompromising, shutting every decent avenue
against the attempt to peaceably end tho con
troversy. On the other hand, the reports are
unanimous in representing the exasperation of
the Turks as almost uncontrollable; something
of the fanatic ardor of their ancestors burns
again in the nation; a long score of insults is
to be wiped out. a long epoch of weakness and
degeneracy obliterated—the crescent, long
humbled, must again drive the cross before it
in defeat; while their fatalistic reliance on what
they call the will of Heaven, renders them in
different to all odds and circumstances that
would make a more civilized people long hesi
tate before plunging into war. Such is the
general state of feeling among them; but it is
in the religious and tine fighting classes—the
inspiring soul and the executive hand of Turk
ish policy—that tine enthusiasm fur attacking
tine Russians is most powerful. The priest
hood and the soldiery vie with each other in
their warlike desires. The former carried
through the Divan the modification of tine Vi
enna propositions, and tho army of Omer
Pasha on the north, whose outposts are within
cannon-shot of those of Prince Gorchalcoff, is
reported by that able general to be almost be
yond restraint. And if it is with difficulty that
pence has been maintained until now, what is
likely to be the result of the present news from
Russia? Evidently, it cannot he anything else
than war; and if the Ottoman Porte does not
declare it at once. the Ottoman people will.
It is deeply and sadly ii,tructive to recall
the varying4thases of this business, and to re
flect how each turn of diplomacy has served
only to aid the policy of Russia. So sure, so
steady has been the advance of that power
frowthe first demonstration of Prince Mench . -
koff at Constantinople down to the presentliour, '
that we are astounded as at the march of resist
less destiny. Every attempt at negotiation, ev
ery hour's delay, every protocol, every accep
tance and every refusal has turned nut for her
exclusive benefit as certainly fts if all were con
trolled by some supreme and unvarying ne
cessity of things. And what is most remarka
ble of all is, that the Porte is now going, to war
not merely alone, but under the warm displea
sure of its allies, for doing even less than they
urged it to do at the outset, with the pledge of
their entire support. The modifications made
in the Vienna propositions—whose rejection by
the Czar can, as we have shown, hardly fail to
be followed by war—approach considerably
nearer to a concession to the Russian demands,
than any reply which• tine Porto . had made-to
Menchicoff or Nesselrode, when it acted in per.
feet harmony with the advice of France and
England. If the independent sovereignty of
the Sultan is to be preserved at nil, nothing
more could be granted than was admitted by
these modifications. And yet, for not giving
up everything. and consenting to become sub.
stantially a Russain province, Turkey in to be
left in the lurch by these yak - irons allies, who a
few months since were loud in their blustering
promises of assistance, and who not only anal
ored their fleets in Besika Bay, but by way of
corollary bravado held pompons reviews and
warlike raree-shows on land and sea.
This is one of the lucky hits made by the
Russian Cabinet in the course of this affair.—
Though Russian armies long since occupied
Turkish provinces, yet the responsibility of ac
tually making war is thrown upon the Porte.
And though England and France did their
best to get the Sultan into this position, they
are now not only alienated from bins, but there
is oven talk in their journals of joining tocom
pel him to accept the very terms they once so
zealously encouraged bins to resist. So say all,
in a word, and without any exaggeration, these
two powers have practically gone over to the
side of the Czar, and aro apparently ready to
stand by and see the perennial dream of this.
sian ambition become a reality. This seems al
most impossible, but such is the fact as indica
ted by the governmental acts and the public
newspapers of the two countries, and we say
again it is is sadly instructive fact.
The efforts of the mediating PC7erninents to
preserve peace have procezded from their na
tural desire to maintain the present distribu
tion of territory and power in Europe, and
from the fear that revolutionary disturbances
would follow a declaration of war. In the first
place, for Russia to annex Turkey would not
only give her a vast preponderance in Europe,
but would endanger the very existence of Aus
tria, and cut oft' the only Oriental market to
which German manufacturers have access, at
the same time that it would deprive England
of a large and profitable trade and interpose a
new menace against the security of her Indian
possessions. In the second place, a great war
would revive the hopes and concentrate the en
ergies of the pnrty represented by Kossuth and
Mazzini, while by preventing foreign aid to the
monarchs and flinging the public mind every
where into a state of anxiety and fermentation,
it would invite and favor an outbreak of the
powerful conspiracy whose threads are in the
hands of these men. But these very reasons
which induced opposition to the Czar when he
was the party menacing war, must make the
same Governments equally unfriendly to the
Sultan should he begin hostilities; and thus we
are very likely to see them ns in 1828, looking
on as neutrals, while an insidious and fistril
blow is struck at the out works of their own in
dependence and prosperity. More than this
cannot be imagined, it is impossible that any
of them should really aid the Russians in such
a quarrel.l'l sonotion on which the gentlemen, who
deal in stocks, bonds, and other commodities
of that variable nature, are disposed to retreat
in this crisis is delusive. After having cornier
ted their souls with the assurance flint all was
settled, they now adopt the faith that the war
cannot become a general one, but must be con
fined to Russia and Turkey alone. That can
not he. It will not do to overlook the potency
and vivacity of the revolutionary elements to
which we have alluded; but oven leaving these
out of the account, and supposing that France,
Austria and Germany can succeed in main
taining internal tranquillity while such a war
is going on, they cannot with cool indifference
behold the complete conquest of Turkey. At
first the natural timidity and short-sightedness
of the financial and trading influence may pro
duce a policy of stupor, on the part of the Gov
ernments, but it will be of brief duration.—
Those very classes, having gone through the
losses attending the beginning of hostilities,
will presently understand that even for them
there is no safety but in naive resistance, and
will join with all others for the defence of na
tional independence, and common commercial
advantages. Turkey may begin the war, but
Austria, Germany, France end kneand must
take their parts in the drama and play them to
the end.
Since this question was broached, a power.
ful element of disturbance has made its ap.
pearance on the continent of Europe, filling
every western cabinet with anxiety and appre
hensions. It is certain that there is a scarcity
of food, and that Austria, Germany, Italy,
France and England must all, to some extent,
enter the grain market of the world as buyers.
This is a great fact, and flings before it a shadow
premonitory revolution. The consequence of
death is a financial crisis, and the conse
quence of such a crisis, under present circum
stances, is revolt and overthrow of Govern.
manta. Prosperity produces content, even un
der despotic rale, but general distress breeds
rebellion. Then men believe they would he
better oft if they were free, and this belief lends
energy to the resentment of poverty and the de
spair of hunger, and a weak, irresolnte people
can rise to the strength and the courage of he
roes. It is hard to think that the Government
of Naples, Rome, France,
Baden or Prussia
could stand a three months' scarcity of bread.
In the riots which have already occurred in va
rious places, we have indications of the great
rising likely to result from a long, continued
pressure of` the kind. Whether in such an
event the men into whose hands the leading of
the Western nations will fall, will act more
wisely or successfully than in 1848, is a (Ines.
tiou with regard to which there may easily be
more of ardent hope than positive confidence.
The bearing of the dearth on the quarrel be
tween Turkey and Russia may prove more fa
vorable than would at first sight appear. Hos.
stility to Russia is a popular and an earnest
sentiment in Western Europe. Let the pee.
plc come into power again, and their unani
mous, impulse will be to aid the Sultan with
all their might. His cause and that of Demo
cracy are identical, and the tiiumph of the lat
ter, may possibly prove the salvation of Turk
ish independence as against Rusiia,and the be
ginning of a new era for the Christian subjects
of the Porto. War must he regarded as little
short of inevitable; revolution in Western Eu
rope also once more appears within the range
of immediate possibility; but thank God that
the complete success of Russia still appears
only as a remote and uncertain contingency!
A Romantic Life.
Obituary notices have nearly monopolized
our pen of late. There are few eras in our his.
tory which have been marked by so many
deaths of prominent individuals, as the last
three months.
In our obituary columns, to-day, will he found
another addition to the list of remarkable de
ceased, in the death of Madam Gardette, the
mother of Dr. Gardette, of this city, and of Mrs.
Maria Clark Gaines. She died in this city, at
the residence of her son, Dr. Gardette, at the
advanced age of 78 years.
This lady was the heroine of that intensely
interesting romance in real life, which was de
veloped in the celebrated lawsuit of Mrs.
Her maiden name was &lime Carrier,—
She was born in the old French Colony of Bil
oxi. Her parents were emigrants from the
land of poetry and romance—the favorite borne
of the Troubadours—Provence. The blood of
the Gipsy race, which, in the early days of Lou
isiana, settled along our sea coast, and whose
lovely daughters were the special obiects of the
admiration and love of the gallant French car
at IN, who established the first colonies, mingled
with that of the poetic Provencal. From such
a stock, it is not remarkable that Zulitne Car
riere should have derived extraordinary per
sonal beauty. The charms of herself and her
throe sisters, were universal themes in the
Colony of Louisiana. The warm and genial
climate, and luxurious atmosphere of the sca
shore, ripened these charms into full maturity
at a very early age.
Zulime had hardly emerged into her teens,
before her hand was sought by numerous suit
ors. The successful aspirant gained Isis point,
as Claude Melnotte, in Bulwer's play did, be
holding nn imaginary coronet, or other insignia
of nobility, before the eyes of a beautiful but
unsuspecting girl of thirteen. She was caught
by the glittering bait. The French nobleman
noon swindled Into a confectioner, and, what
was worse, a married man, who had never been
divorced. He was arrested and tried by an
ecclesiastical court in this city, for bigamy, was
convicted and sentenced to be punished, but
afterward escaped, and was no more heard of.
Thus ended Zulime's relation with Jerome De
. .
Pending this proceeding, and after the dis
covery of De Grange's previous marriage, there
grow up an intimacy between Zulime and Dan
tt,,.n o wading. man in this colq:::;-%
a dashing whole-souled Irishman, reported to
he very wealthy—of veer popular character and
agreeable manners. Clarke was just the gal
lant, chivalrous man to espouse the cause of an
unprotected woman. _ _
It is said—hut as from this point starts the
protracted litigation which has recently enga
ged so much of the time and attention of our
courts—we must be understood as giving the
version related by the deceased lady herself
and her friends, that Clarke having met Zulime
in Philadelphia. end satisfied himself as to the
existence of De Grange's bigamy, and the con
sequent nullity of his marriage with Miss Car
ricre, promptly offered her his hand and heart,
but suggested the prudence of keeping their
marriage a secret, until they could complete
the proof of De Grange's crime. They were
then married. Of this marriage, but one wit
ness was living when the snit was brought by
Mrs. Gaines, and that was the sister of Zulime.
But there were corroborating circumstances,
upon which the proof of the reality of such a
connection was rested. After her marriage to
Clarke, in 1802, Zulime returned to New Or
leans, to take further lending proceedings to
invalidate, or rather authenticate, the illegality
of the marriage with Degrange. A suit was
brought for this purpose in the civil courts of
the Territory, and judgment was obtained
against De Grange. In the meantime, Clarke
had advanced in years and honors. The gal
lant youth of 1802 had become the ambitious
politician and millionaire. As the popular man
of a powerful party. he was sent as a dslegate
of the territory to Congress. Here he soon for
got the poor Creole girl, and began to meditate
a more brilliant marriage connection. The
object of this aspiration was the lovely Miss
Caton, of Maryland, in grand daughter of Charles
Carroll, of Carrollton, who afterwards became
the Marchioness of Wellesly. She was a great
belle, and Clarke's fine manners, distinguished
position, and great wealth, no doubt rendered
him quite a desirable match for so brilliant and
accomplished a beauty. They were engaged;
but some stories of his enemies caused a Bud
den termination of their relations. _
On hearing of his courtship of Miss Caton,
the unfortunate Zulime again went to Philadel
phia to procure proofs of her marriage with
Clarke. But alas! Clarke, it was alleged, un
der the influence of a reckless ambition, had
made way with those proofs, and poor Zulime
again found herself the victim of man's treach
ery. Ina feeling of desertion and helplessness
alone among strangers, whose language and
habits were foreign to her, she accepted the
hand of Dr. Gardette, who, generously and
magnanimously relying on her troth and sin
errity, united bie !Oa sal fo-:•;ne
NO. 43.
From that period her life flowed smoothly on
in the discharge of her duties as a wife, end
Shortly after her marriage with Gardette,
Clarke had suffered his severe rebuff from the
lovely Miss Caton. In a spirt of true pant.
tence, he hurried to Philadelphia, saw Zulime,
and declared his intention to proclaim their
marriage. But it was too late. She informed
him that she was Mrs. Gardetta. Clarke was
deeply distressed at this, and exhibited a aim
core penitence. He sought to atone for his
desertion of the mother by kindness to the
daughter, who was born in 1806, of this secret
marriage. This was M7ra Clarke. She was
placed in charge of an intimate friend of Clarke,
Col. Davis who raised and educated her fie
own daughter. It was not until she had reedit.
ed maturity that Myra discovered the secret of
her history.
Since then, as Mrs. Whitney and li r ,
Gaines, she has prosecuted her claim to the
property of Daniel Clarke, as his lawful heir,
with a zeal, earnestness and energy which have
rarely been equalled in the annals of litigation.
The difficulty has been to establish the mar.
rings between Zalime and Daniel Clarke.—
Certainly, a mystery has long hung over this
case, which only the dead could rise from their
graves and satisfactorily determine.
The once lovely &Time, pased through so
many reverses and misfortunes, returned in
her old age, to New Orleans—her old home,—
and passed a peaceful life, in the family of her
son, respected and beloved for her many vir
tues. She died at the age of 78 the youngest
of her family—two of her sisters having attain
ed their 90th year, a longevity common to the
oldest inhabitants of Lotusana, and particular.
ly of those born on our sea coast.—New On
Delta, Sept. 20.
Getting Ahead of a Monarch.
A friend of ours from across the waters, re•
lated to us the following anecdote as an act,
al occurrence in oriental climes. •"It possesses
a thought and freshness of wit too good to be
A priest, learned in the lore of ancient and
modern literature, had opened rooms for pub.
lie instruction, and styled himself upon his
door, "Professor of
. Universal Knowledge,"
The King, in passing one day, observed the
notice, and walking in, inquired what was
meant by Universal Knowledge. The Priest
answered, of course, it was the knowledge of
all things possible. This answer, not exactly
suiting the King, he resolved to test the caps.
bilities of the'Professor.
"If," says he, "you profess Universal Knowlt
edge, then you will be able to answer three
questions, which I shall propose to you. They
are as follows, and you must answer them by
tomorrow at this time, or your head shall be
struck from your sh oulders. First, tell me
now many baskets of earth there are on yonder
mountain. Secondly. inform me how mneh
the King is worth. Thirdly, tell me, exactly,
of what the King is thinking at the time.,'
This was a different turn to affairs from what
the Proresler expected, and he was sorely per.
plexed. He went at once to his study, resole.
e t to do his utmost to comply with such an
unheard of, and to him unreasonable request.
Books were, snatched from his shelves; menu
scripts were carefully examined; calculations
made, and his available means put in requisi.
Lion to solve these questions, on which depen
ded his life. So few hours to accomplish so
much—death the price of failure, together with
a desire to establish his reputation, all wrought
upon his mental and physical frame to such a
degree that he soon was in a fever of excite
ment. He had almost buried himself in his
books—scraps ofpaper with figures and signs
covered his table, .d lay scattered on the
floor--yet' the result was unattained. Still
more intense grew the excitement as he thought,
figured and read, while the perspiration stood
in large drops upon his forehead, and rolled
Gown his face. He was verging towards de.
spair—his whole system trembling with ner
vous agitation, when his servant entering the
room, and, alarmed at the wild and excited.
look of his master, eagerly inquired the cause.
Hurriedly he related what had happened—the
strange questions, the fearful penalty. Instead,
however, of partaking of his master's emotion,
the servant very cooly replied
"Is that all the trouble? Leave the matter
to me—l'll answer for you."
After some conversation, it was proposed by
the servant to adopt his master's habit, aria
meet the King at the appointed hour. This
offer was readily acceded to by the Priest, whr..._
to speak the truth thought more of is own
head than his servant's, ;list at that moment.
!.. s :sguisecl as the Professor, the servant met the
sting, and told him he was ready to answer his
"Tell me then," said the sing, "how many
baskets of earth are in yonder mountain,"
"That depends your Majesty, upon dream•
"What circumstances ?"
"The size of the baskets. If one is no large
as the mountain, one will contain it. If half as
large two; if one-fourth, four, &e."
The King was so much amused at the reply;
that he expressed himself satisfied, and procbe•
ded to the second question.
"Tell me how much the King is worth ?"
"Well, your Majesty, Jesus el;isi - 4s mold
for thirty pieces of silver, and ho was the King
of Heaven and Earth; so I conclude the King
is worth about one piece." _ _ . _
To this answer the King could not object,
and ho was nevertheless so pleased with the
wit displayed, that he said:
"Very well, sir, but can you answer my last
question, and toll me of what I am now think.
In7 ‘Most certainly, your Majesty. You are now
thinking that you are talking with the Priest
Professor, whereas it is only his servant."
It is not unnecessary to add that both beads
were safely upon their shoulders and both re.
ceivod rich tokens of kingly favor.
FRANCE vs. RUSSIA.—It is said that a RIM.
peen letter, received in Washington, from reli.
able authority, states that France is treating
with Sweden and Denmark for alliance. ofthm
sive and defensive, against Russia in tho event
of France becoming involved in a war on the
Turkish question. Russia is also endeavoring
to form an alliance with the same powers,—
The people of Sweden and Denmark, it is al.
leged, are in favor of the alliance with France,
hot the Governments will endeavor to maintain
strict neutrality. If forced to take position, they
will side with 'France and Turkey.
PANAMA FEVER.—Four hundred and fifty
laborers have died on the Panama Railroad
during the effort to build it. Nearly every
white person going there to work is attacked
with the fever, generally within a few weelcs
after arrival. In cosequence of the sickness
and mortality, the contractors have been oblig
ed to give up the contracts in an unfinished
condition. and the company have resumed the
work, and are carrying it on by means of their
own agents.
tir My dear fellow;' said Beau Blnehmatt
to a waiter at a hotel, "I have a retired for Hien
indeed, I may say, I am fond of flies; but I
like to have them and my milk in separate
glasses; you mix co much better when rst
bare control of bntb ingredients,'