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ED. A. DUEIILER, EDITOR AND PROPRIETOR.
‘rOL.
NEW SPRING GOODS.
D. .11IDDLECOFF
AS just received from Philadelphia a
111 large and well selected-stock of,Brit
ish, French, and American
D 1:111 Ss
of the newest styles and ric •t designs.
ALso,—anoc Es,
Hardware. Quee vare, Gloves
HOSIERY, BONNETS,
Mato. 0 ©lilt WW)ifj s 0a3C930
at unusually low prices; making his as
sortment very full and complete, find to
which he respectfully invites the attention
of his friends and the public, believing that
he will be able to offer thanfirst-rate BAR
GAINS, and which will givq. entire satis
betion.
Gettysburg-, April 23.--1 t
NEW GOODS.
. • .
EAPE T II A E E
OE E
II W Ati just received, and is no opening
as LA ROE A STOCK 0 V FRESH
GOODS as has ever been offered lo the
piddle in this place, and will he sold at the
very lowest prices—among which are
CIIEAV
CloChs,
Twee Cassiancres,
..Yontiner Cloths, owl ['est gs,
with almost every other article calculated
gcnticuu:u's wev,i
W — The Ladies' attention is
. intrticularly iltvited to a selertioh
FA , Al:qr . • p,i_oqqs4
wltteii ARE
Plaid, Striped, and Plain Silks,
•Gingham?,. Lawns, Dlus. Delains,
AND
130 NN IN GS, •
NVilll almost every :mirk! iu bis line of
Im4iness. Please rail, eNniiiine, and page
for ,pourselves.
Gettysburg, April 9.-6 t
./g • / l'E aT.lle 47 • E.
1111.als, of the latest Style,'
CAN he htid to the Ilto I.;:tittbliphlticnt.
of J. J. BALDWIN, iii -ouch Bal
timore street, a lee doors above the. Post
Office, and next door to \Vamplees Tin
ning Establishment, TEN emt CENT CHEAP
ER than at any other Hat Establishment in
town—embracinif Pine Aulria hearer,
411 fine Fur, and Old Jlen s Brood
. brims, and a good assortment o 1
Alen are! Youth's
. i
SUliiill HATS,
: , Il of which he is authorized to sell low
Mr rash or country produce, if delivered
immediately.
J. J. 13.1 1.13 \V .Igent
Gettysburg, March 19, JS I T-3111
COUNT ); Tlll.l 1:13E1.1.
N accordance with the wishes of nu
.' inerous friends. I offer myself as a can
didate for the Office or ('oll.\ — lT 7EE:I
- and respeetfully ask the nomi
nation for that ()thee at the next regular
Win , Cowles' Convention.
:1()11N F.III N EST()(!l.
Gettysburg, .11,ril 23, 18.17.-11
IN compliance ‘vith the request ola num
her of . Criends, I respectfully present
_myself as a candidate for the office of
('()UN'I'Y .1 1:4:EASE IZEIt and solicit the
nomination at' the next Whig County Con
,
vention. . GEt)l?(; E 1.11 - I'l,E.
May '7.
the 81114 p. ..slim' of a number of
friends, 1 olferinyself as a candidate
fur the office of COUNTY 771.E.'1 S
1?1:11. and respectfully ask from my broth
er Whigs a nomination for the alike at
their regular Convention.
IMBEIIT CI. HARPER
Gettysburg . , April 16, 18.17.—i1.
N COI; RAGED by - the suggestions
•
A of numerous friends, I hereby an
nounce myself a candidate for the office of
U.V 71 . TUE./MU/lEu, subject to the
decision of the Whig County Convemion.
Should my political friends deem me
worthy of their confidence, and elect me
1 0 the office, its duties will be promptly
and faithfully discharged.
TlioNlAs WARREN
Gettysburg. April 23, 1847—if
WOOD WIINTED.
1 l IOSE persons wh h" ve engage d
to furnish the Subscriber with
Tr 001). on :Ironton, are requested to de
liver it immedial ely at his Foundry, other
wise he will expect the ntoney. 'Those
interested will please attend to the above
proyptly.
THOMAS WARREN
i;vitysburg. April
TO lit. WKS:1111'1M
rrIE subserihers have O H hand a very
l a rge stock of 81' ONE COA
whieh they will dispose of low by the sin
}lnstil!, or otherwise, q't, their Coaeh ,
lintking Establit4lonent.
DA N NEI: & 7,11;(11,ER.
There is a,gloom to-day in Charleston
It - is not often that a great city feels, but
when this great heart of humanity, whose
every pulsation is a •life, can feel, the re
sult is more tetrible tban the bloodiest bat
tle. Yes, when those arteries of a city,
its streets, and lanes, and allies, thrill with
the same fiteling, when, like an electric
chain, is darts invisibly front one breast to
another, until it swells ten thosusand hearts
the result is terrible. I care not whether
that result is manifested in a riot, that fills
the streets with the blood of men, and wo
men, and little children, that fires the roof
over the head of the innocent, or sends the
church of God whirling in smoke and
flame to the midnight sky ;' or whether.
that feeling is manifested in the silence of
thous ands, the bowed head, the compress
ed lip, the stealthy footsteps, still it is a
fearful thing to see.
There is a gloom to-day, in Charleston.
Every face you see is stooped with
gloom ; men go silently by, with impish
in their hearts and eves. Women are
weeping in their ‘larkened chambers, in
yonder church old men are weeping before
the altar, praying in low, deep, muttered
tones. The very soldiers whom von meet,
clad it their Bthish uniform, wear sadness
on their faces. l'hose men, to whom noir
der is sport, are gloomy to-day. The cit
izens pass• hurriedly to and fro ; cluster in
groups ; whisper together; glide Silently
in to their homes. . .
ARNOLD
The stores arc closed to-day,‘-as though
it were Sunday. The windows of those
houses are closed as diugh, some great
man were dead ; there is silence on- the
air, as though a plaue had despoiled the
town of its hrnmv and its manhood.
The British banner—stained as it is
with the best blo«1 of the. Palmetto State
--seems to partake of the influence of the
Hour: for, floating from yonder stafr, tt
does not swell buoyantly upon the breeze,
but drops heavily to the ground.. •
The only sound von hear, save the, Itor:
riledtread of the cirizen,is the low. Solemn
notes of the dead .mareh. groaning front
mottled drums. Why all this gloom that
oppresses the heart and tills the.eyes
NV by do whig and tors-, Citizen and soldier,
share the gltiont alike ! Why this silence,
this awe, this dread
. Look yonder. and in the centre of that
Common, deserted by every human thing,
behold—risiHrnlll lonely hideousness—he
hold a UAL'./WS.
Why does that gibbet stand there, hlack
cuing in the morning sun Come with
•me into yonder mansion, whose roof ari
ses proudly over all other roofs. IT')
these carpeted stairs, into this luxurious
chamber, whose windows are darkened
by haul rinos of satin, whose walls are
covered with tapestry, whose floor is cov
ered with elegant furniture. All is silent
in this dmber.
A single glow of mornimr halm steals
through the parted curtains of yonder win
dow. Beside that window, with his back
to the light, his face in the shadow, as
though he wished to hide certain dark
thoutrlits from the light, sits a voum• man,
his handsome form arrayed in a British
unit'orm. Ile is young, hut there is the
gloom of age upon that woven brow, there
is the resolve of murder upon that curling
lip. his attitude is. significant. llis
head inclined to one side, the cheek rest
ing on the left hand, while the right grasps
a parchment, which bears his signature,
the ink not vet dried.
That parchment is a death-warrant.
If von will look closely upon that red
uniform von will see that it is stained
with the blood of Paoli, where the cry fur
"quarter" was answered by the falling
sword and the reeking bayonet. Yes, this
is none other than Gen. Grey, the butcher
of Paoli, tranformed by the accolade o' his
Kim , • in into t, , iril IN W(1011.
1V Idle he is there, by the window, grasp
ing that parchment in his hand, the door
opens, a strange groupc stand disclosed on
the threshhold. A m nman and three (dill
dren, dressed in black, stand there gazi n w
upon the English lord. • They slowly ad
vanee ; do you behold the pale face of tha
woman, lier eyes, large and dark, not wet
with tears, hut glaring with speechless
awe f 0.1 one side a little girl, with
brown ringlets, on the other her sister, the
year older, with dark hair,-relieving a pal
id face. 11
Somewhat in front, his young form ri
sing to every inch of his height, stands a
hoy of 13, with chesmit curls, clustering
alamt his fair countenance. You can see
that dark eye dash, that lower lip quiver,
as he silently confronts Lord Rawdon.
The woman-luse that word, for to me
it expresses all that is pure in passion, or
holy - in humanity, while vour word—lady
—means nothing but ribbons and milline
-Iw—the woman ad wanees, and eneireled
by those children, stands before the gloomy
lerd:
"1 have emne," she speaks in a voice
that strikes you with its music. and tender
ne:ss, "1 have come to plead for my broth- I
cr!N life !" •
She does not say, tehofd, my brother's
children, hut: there they are, and the Eng
lish lord beholds them. 'fears are cour- 1
sing down., the cheeks of those little girls,
hut the 6 , e of the woman is not dint.--. 1
The boy of thirteen looks intently in the
faee of the Briton, his under lip quivering
like' 4 leaf.
Fur .it single moment.' that proud lord
raisc.: , Ilk head and surVess the group, and
THE MARTYR OF THE SOUTH
GETTYSBURG, PA, FRIDAY. EVENING, NAY 1847.
then you hear his deep yet melodious
voice :
"Madam your brother swore allegiance
to his Majesty, and was aftemiiards taken
in arms against his King. Help guilty of
Treason, and . must endure the penalty,
and that, as you well know, is DEATH."
"But, my lord," said the brave woman,
standing erect, her beauty shining more se
renely in that moment of heroism,. "you
well know the circumstances under which
he swore allegiance. Ile, a citizen of
South Carolina, an American, was dragged
from the bedside of a dying wife, and.hur
ried to Charleston, where this language was
held I- youroflicers : 'Take the oath of
allegiance, and return to the bedside of
your dying wife : refuse and we will con
sign you to gaol !' This, my lord, not
when he was free to act, ah, no ! but when
his wife lay dying of that fearful disease,
small pox, which had already destroyed
two of his children. How could he act
otherwise than he-did ? how could he re
fuse to take your oath ? In his case,
would you, my lord, would any man re
fuse to do the same ?",
Still the silent children stood there be
fore him, while the clear voice of the true
woman pierced his soul. .
"Your brother is condemned to death !"
he coldly said, turning his.hcad away "He
dies at noon-1 can do nothing- for you."
Silently the woman, holding a little girl
in each hand, sank on her knees ; but the
boy of thirteen stood erect. 1)o you see
that group Those hands upraised, those
v_oices, the clear voice of the woman, the
infantile tones of those sweet girls, ming
ling in one cry for "mercy !" while Ore
Briton looks upon them with a face oliron,
and the boy of thirteen stands erect, no tear
in his eye, -hut a convulsive tremor on his
lip ! •
Then the tears of that wainan came at
fast—then, as the face of that stern man
Blooms belbre her,she takes the little hands
of the girls within her own, and lifts them
to his knee, and begs him to spare the fath
er's life. ' • '
INot r n «•oral from the English Lord
The boy still lirm, erect and silent—no
tear (Ihns the eye which glares- steadily' in
the face of the tyrant.
"Ah, you relent !" shrieks that sister of
the condemned man. ."You will not. de
prive these children of a father—yon will
not ent him MI in'the prime of manhood
by this hideous death ! As you h o ops, for
tn.trtw to yam. last hour, be: ilk:reit - al now.
Spa:e my brother, and not a heart in
Charleston but will bless you—spare him
for the sake of these children'!"
"Madant," was the cool reply, "yonr
brother has been condemned to die. I call
do nothing hir yon." •
lie turned his head away, and hdid the
parchment before his eyes. At last the
stern heart of the boy was melted. There
was a spasmodic motion about his chest,
his limbs shook, he stood for a moment
like a statue, and then fell on his knees.
seizing the right hand of Lord Rawdon
with his trembling lingers.
Lord Rawdon looked down upon that
young film!, sharlowittl with chesnut curls,
as the small hands clutched his wrist, and
an expression of' surprise came over his
face. •
"\ly chill," said he, "I can du nothing .
fin you!"
The boy silently rose. Ile took a sis
ter by each hand. There was a wild look
in I►is young eye—a scorn of defiance on
his file.
"Come, sisters, let us go."
Ile said this. and led those fair girls to
ward the'door, followed by the sister ofthe
couilmine:l. Not a word was said—but
ere they passed from the room, that true
woman looked back into the face of Lord
liawdon.
Up never forgot that Ion!:
Th"y wer!>gone from . the room, and lie
stood alonelwrore that window, with the
sunlight pouring over his guilty brow.
•Wes. it is necessary to make an exam
ple ! This rebellion must he crushed ;
these rehels taught submission ! The death
or this Mall will strike terror into their
hearts. They will learn at last that trea
son is no trilling game; that the rope and
the gibbet will reward each rebel for his
crime !,•
Poor Lord Rawdon!
The streets were now utterly deserted.
Not a citizen, a soldier, nor even a negro,
was seen. A sil!ukce like death rested up
on the city. Suddenly- the sound of the
dead march was heard, and yonder behold
the only -evidence of life throughout this
wide eitv:
On yonder common, around the gihbet
is gathered a strangely contrasted crowd.
There is the negro, the outcast of society,
the British officer in his uniform, the citi
zen in his plain dress. All are grouped
together in that crowd.
In the centre of the dense mass, beside
that horse and cart, one foot resting on
that coffin of pine, stands the Only man in
this crowd with an uncovered hroy. He
stands there, an image of mature nfinhood,
with a mirscular form, a clear, full eye,
hold forehead. His cheek is not pale, nor
his eye dimh He is dressed neatly in a
suit of dark velvet, made after the fashion
of his timer; one hand inserted in his vest,
rests on his heart.
Above his head dangles the rope. Near
his back stands that figure 'with the crawl
lace ; around are the British soldiers, sep
arating the condemned from 'the crowd.
Among all that .rude band forsoldiers, not
CVC but is wet With tears.
, .
"FEARLESS AND FREE."
The brave officer there, who has charge
of the murder, pulls his chapeau over his
eyes, to shield them from the sun, or—can
it be ?—to hide his tears.
All is ready. He has bidden the last
farewell to his sister, his children in yon
der goal; he . has said his last word to his
noble boy, pressed his last kiss upon the
lips of those fair girls. All is' ready for
the murder.
_At this moment a citizen advances, his
face convulsed with emotion—
"Hayne," he speaks in a choking voice,
"show them how an American can die !"
A will endeavor to do so," was the re
ply of the doomed man.
By this time the hangman advanced and
placed the cap over his brow. A cry was
hourd in the crowd, a footstep, and those
eiTdiers shrank back before a boy of thir
teen, who rushed forward.
...Father !" he shrieked, as lie beheld the
condemned with cap over his brow.
One groan arose from crowd—a
simultaneous expression of hor or.
• The father drew his cap fron his brow,
beheld the wild face, the glarit g eyes of
his son.
"G'od bless you, my bny," he spoke,
gathering dial young form to his heart.
"Now go, and leave your father to his fate.
Return when I am dead—receive my body,
and have it buried by my forefathers !"
As the boy turned and went through the
crowd, the father stepped lirinly into the
cart. There was a pause, as though every;
man in that crowd was suddenly turned to
stone., The boy looked back but..once,
Only once, and then beheld—ah, I dare not
speak it, for it chills the blood in the veins— !
he beheld that manly form suspended to
the gibbet, with the cap over his • briiw,
while the distorted face glowed horribly in
the situ.
That was his FATHER.
The boy did not shriek, nor groan, but
instantly—like a light extinguished
denly- - -the tire left his eye, the 'color his
cheek. His lips opened a silly smile.
The first word he tittered told the story—
"Nly father !" he cried, and then point
ed t ) the body, and broke into a laugh,
Oh, it was horrible—that laugh, so hol
low, shrill and wild. The 'child of the
niarter was an idiot. Still, as' the crowd
gathered round him, as kind hands bore
him away, that pale face was lurned over
his shoulder toward the gallows
•fiAlv Ftvriimt !"
end still that laugh was borne upon the
breeze, even to the gibbet's timbers, whePe,
iu hideous mockery, a blackened but not
dishonored thing, swung the body of the
nuattyr H avoc.
"This death will strike terror into the
hearts of the rebels !"
Poor Lord Rawdon !
Did that man, in his fine uniform, forget
that the voice of a martyr's blood can nev
er die !
"This death will strike terror into the
heart of the rebel !"
It roused one feeling of abhorrence thro'
the whole South. It took down a thou
sand rifles front the hooks above the fire
side hearth. It turned many a tioubftiu
heart to the cause of freedom ; nay, tortes
by hundreds came docking to the camp of
liberty. The blood 'of Ilavne took root
and grew into an army. 'There came a
day when George Washington, by the con
quest of Yorktown, had in his possession,
the Murderers who did this deed—Lord
Cornwallis, who condemned and com
manded it—Lord Rawdon, who signed the
death warrant. Here was a glorious chance
for Washington to avenge the martyr
Hayti°, who had been choked to death by,
these men. The Noting of the army—
the voice of Anterica— T nay, certain iwices
that spoke in OM British Parliament would
have justified the deed. The law of na
tions would have proclaimed it a holy act.
But how did Washington act ?
• Ile left each murderer to God and his
own conscience. lie showed to the whole
world a sublime manifestation of foregive
ness and scorn. Forgiveness for this hu
miliated Cornwallis, who, so far front
hearing Washington home to London a
prisoner in chains, was himself a prisoner
in the midst of his captive army.
But this 'Lord Rawdon, who, captured
by a French vessel, was brought into York
town, this arrested murderer, who skulked
Auto the camp, an object of universal
loathing, how did Washington treat him ?
lie scorned him too much to lay a hand
upon his head ; from the fullness of eon
hanpt he permitted him to live.
:Poor Lard Rawdon !
Who hears his name now, save as an
object Almost forgotten in the universality
of scorn ?
• But the martyr—where is the heart that
does not
,throb at the mention of his fate,
at the name of ISAAC HAIM.: ?
la'.lrwo millions of human beings, ac
cording to the Dublin Nation, are destined toyer
ish by this year's famine in Ireland.! a populatirm
sufficient for a powerful State—and - two thirds
of our own at the time of our Revolutionary strug
gle. The mind shudders at the bare contempla- ,
tion of the fact: what then must be the feelings of
the spectators of the horrible 'calaugity.
PC7" The Cheap Postage System seems
to be working admirably. The receipts at filly-five
of the principal offices iu the Union for the last
quarter, show an increase of 17 per cent. over that
for the corresponding quarter feat year.
Irfr"Anti-License" has been carried in
Lpuisville, Ky., by a majority of 407 votes; The
vote be4ng 878 for license, 1085 against license.—
But twd counties in lowa have voted in lavor of
granting iircnae.
[Translated from the the Danish by C. I3eckwith.]
AN EPISODE IN THE LIFE OF OLE BULL.
Behind the Alps is the world of adven
tures; and such a one as only happens to
genius, took place in Bologna, iu the year
1 1834.
I The poor Norman, Ole Bull, whom at
I that time no one knew, had wandered thus
far southward. In his fatherland some
persons certainly thought that there was
something in him; but the most part, as
is generally the case, predicted that there
would be nothing in Ole Bull. He him
self felt that he must go out into the world
in order to cherish the spark into a flame,
'or quench it entirely. Every thing at
first seemed as if the latter ivould be the
case. He had arrived at Bologna, but his
money was expended, and there was no
place where there was a &aspect of ma
king any—no friend—no countrymen
stretched forth a helping hand towards him
—he sat alone in a poor attic in one of
the small streets. It was already the sec
ond day that he had been here, and had
scarcely tasted food ; the water jug arid ,
the violin were • the only two things that
cherished the young and suffering artist.—
He began to doubt if he were in possession
of that gift with which God had
endowed him, anti in his despondency
breathed into the violin those tones which
now seize our hearts in so wonderful a
manner ; those tones which tell us how
deeply, he had suffered' and felt.
The same evening a great concert was
to bb given in the principal theatre. The
house was filled to overflowing; the Grand
Duke of Tuscany was in the royal box;
Madame Malihran and Mons. de Beriot
were to lend their able assistance in the
performance of several pieces. The con-.
ceit was to commence, but matters looked
inauspicious,—the manager's star was_not
in the ascendant—M. deßeriot had taken
, •
umbrage and reftised 'to play. All was
all Was trouble and confusion on the stage;
when in-this dilemma the wife of Rosini
the composer, entered. and in, the. midst of
the manager's distress :related that on the
previous evening, as she passed through
one of the narrow streets, she had sudden
ly stopped on hearing the strange tones of
an instrument, which certainly- resembled
those of a violin, but yet seemed difrerent.
She had asked the landlord of the house.
who lived in the attic whence the sound
proceeded, and he replied that it was a
• young man front the North of Europe, and
and that the instrument he played on was
certainly a lyre, but she felt assured it
could not be so; it must either be a new
sort of instrument, or an artist who knew
how to treat his instrument in an unusual
manner. At the same time she said that
they ought to send for him, and he might
perhaps supply the place 01 M. de Berio:
by playing the pieces that must otherwise
be deficient in the evening's entertainment.
The advice was acted upon, and a mes
senger was despatched to the street where
Ole Bull sat in his attic. To him it Was a
message from heaven; "now or never,"
thought he ; and though ill and exhausted,
he took his violin under his arm and ac
companied the messenger to the theatre.—
Two minutes afterwards the manager in
formed the audience that a young Norwe
gian—consequently a 'young savage,'—
would give a specimen of his,skill on the
violin, instead of M. de Beriot.
Ole Bull appeared; the • theatre was
brilliantly illuminated; he perceived the
scrutinizing looks of the ladies nearest to
him ; one of them who watched him very
closely through her opera glass, smilingly'
whkpered to her neighbor, with a mocking
mien, about the different manners-of s the
artist. lie looked at his clothes, and in
the . strong blaze of light they appeared
rather the worse for wear. The lady made
her remarks about them, and her smile
pierced his very heart. He had taken no.
notes with him which he could give the
orchestra ; he was consequently obliged
to play,without accompaniment, but 'what
should he play ?
will give them these fantasies which
at this moment cross my mind!" and he
played improvisatorial remembrances of
his own life, melodies from the niountains
of his home, his struggles with the world,
and the troubles of his mind; it was as if
''every thought, . every feeling passed
through his violin, and revealed itself to the
audience. The most astounding acclaim...,
tions resounded throughout the house.—
Ole Bull was called forth again and again ;
they still desired a new piece, a new im
provisation. 'He tgen addressed himself
to that . lady, whose mocking smile had
met hint on his appearance, and asked her
fin ethe,me, to vary. She gave him one
from "Norma." He then asked two other
'ladies, who chose one from 'Othello,' and
one from 'Moses.' 'Now," thought lie,
"if I take all three, unite them with each
other, and form one piece, I shall then flat
ter each of the ladies, And, perhaps, the
composition will produce an effect. Ile
did so. Power fully as the rod of the magi
cian his bow glided across the strings, while
cold drops of perspiration trickled down
'his forehead. There was fever in his
blood ; it was as if the mind would free
itself of the bady ; fire shot from his eyes
—he felt himself almost swooning ; yet a
few bold strokes—they were his last boadi
Flowers and wrbathepfrom the churned
multitude, fluttered anent -him, who, -
hatisted by mental conflict .and hunger i I
Was nearly fitinting. llq wont to hie home
accoinlianicd'h - y DetOre' the lionse
TERMS.--TWO . DOLl:int :Pkg.
- 1
W II 0 LE..,1.10.•;.8.94•*,-.'.:-,:.'
sounded the serenade for the heio" Of Ai,
evening; who; meanwhile, crept up t)4l,
dark and narrow staircase ; higher and, hiiho t .
er imo his garret, where 'he
the water-jug to refresh himself.'
When all was silent the landlor4 caffie`,
to hint, brought him his food and drink,and'
gave him a better room. The next day he,
was informed that the theatre - was 'at hid
service, and that a concert was to bear
ranged for him. An invitation front the'
Duke of Tuscany next followed ;:atia 3
from that moment name and fame were.
•
founded for Ole Bull.
CITY OF PUEBLA. •`.
The city is walled and fortified. 'lt is
built of stone, and the streets. ere well,pay.•
ed. Here water is abundant, but from the'
National Bridge to this place no -water can
be obtained—the natives substiutting..ptil
que as a beverage. From Jalapa to ..Pue
bla there are occasional heights neat—the)
road, which, if fortified, might annoy the
invaders. In fact, from Vera Cruz itolint ,
ebla this is the,case, the travel being alter•;
nately over broad, unobstructed roads and:
narrow passes, commanded by heights.--.'
Flie road passes through Puebla. Tlio
'Pueblanos have a peculiar character; they
are cunning and courageous, and the roost.
expert robbers and assassins throtighent
Mexico, where there is no lack of sitch..--
Yet, r. Thomison calls Puebla "th e,
Lowell of Mexico." If an, offender..ix.
brought before the alcalde, any where el se,,
and is known or ascertained to be a, Pue.
blano, his condenination is snre. Puebla
is situated at the extremity- of a large Plai ns:
on the Vera Cruz Side; its population id
estitcated at 50,000 souls; the streets are
parallel, and very wide and, well paved-- ,
'the houses, built with atone and ,covere ll
with terraces, and - two and three, 'Stories
high, are remarkably tine.. !MO . 'S:olin:
place would be admired in.althott any part'
of the world; it forma a perfect .'
isquarev
facing it st t eUds ihe 'cathedral;
other sides • are Magnificent palace's.
There...are many other edifices stn . :leer:ad , :
mired for their beauty. • . -
There are few churches in the world'
more magnificently ornamented than ->the
cathedral of this city. All the chandeliers
anti lamps, which are in great number's, are
a massive gold and silvdr ; the dome is in,
marble of t h e country, of great beauty and :
line workmanship. There ten: chapel.,
richly decorated, and closed, each of-them
with an iron gate door . olvery great- height
and of the finest finish. -. This igharch
was finished in 1808, and* is said to have
cost $6,0.00,000, There ore,akto, many,
other, fine churches. -The Almeida, of
.public walk, is very
,well kept. I t , is
composed of three alleys (of 600, to 000
feet each) of poplars and other fine trees,
and is surrounded, by a wall, at the fan.
which runs a . fine fine Wrr
ean% of oser,—.
There are a guar) many fountainsin differ ! ,
parts of the city, and a feer felt, treatt, 'or
water spouts, •
,
Few cities in Europe are fi ner,thart
cbla ; but much cannot be spidfor the.okr
ulation, which, since the lata . ex.ped,of
the European Spaniards, who, Were b* far
the most intelligent and indastrious.portion
of it, leaves a canoes. contrast betwenzt,thcs
present occupants of pnblie and private ed-,
glees, indicating . the, highest state of eivili
zation. The same may ' be said:of the en
tire population bordering on the road:fro:li
Vera Cruz to the city. Time WM . :Milo:ll4
correct this. Puebla is distant trout - the
capital about 78 m it es .
THE ROUTE: FROM PCIESLA Tc!
TAE' CAP
ITAL.—The only town of any note' be:i
tweet Puebla and, the city of •IVlerico in
Cholua s , Vie ancient Capital of a greatinde=
pendent Republic, which ebataiited, daring
the time of Cortez, according - to 1111014:n
account, 40,000
,Iniuses hati'declinett
into .a town of 6,000 inhabitants'. ` Thettct+ .
tell pyramid here is a work of . art Which; •
next to the pyramids of Egypt, upproach
es nearer to those of nature in magnittidn
and vastness. • Its base covers:upwards Or
forty-eight acres of ground, or about'fcitur
and a half times more than•the largest :
gyptian pyramid. Cholula is 70 miles
from Mexico. The capital is a walled ci
ty, but is not supposecrto be ousceptibliqif
a stubborn defence. It ia'a very wealthy
city, and contains a population of .140400;
abounditig in fine buildings,.eostlrehureh - -
es, public squares, and broad and:Wilda
streets.
et.
GEN. La VEDA sx Love.—According
Courier des Etats Unis, it would aptiear that Gem
Ln Vega, at the very time he Was fighting our
e.mutrymen in Mexico, was subdued by une of otir
equally irresistable countrywomen:. •
Says the Courier, 'speaking of , the, cap
tured Mexican Generals, "among; : diem
N as Gen. La Vega, who, doutitless
to mind his previous captivity, appeared
delighted to return to the U. States, and
eliatted 4 'quite gaily. with Gen. Scou Ilia
very evening'of the battle.
.41 a certain chronicle is to be believed,
which we think is predicated on poditi r
formation, Gen. La Yoga 4.47 5q.,150W
Orleans to, recommence. a. pl 01,Arlyett
romance which his release and return.to
Mexico had interrupted,' and
mem of which seinued.postpaned,i*tbe
conclusion'of the war 4 This:urilh*,
nation of the= resifftation:,..with.
meets his new captivity.',t
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