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º A Gift for the Holidays |º | | | | º -
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salutation in sincerity, and thus shall be consummated the Divine Invocation “Peace on earth, and good will to men.”
“It’s a poor heart that never rejoices.” We have thrown in our mite into the Christian Treasury, in the hope that it may swell
particularly among young hearts. We would so attune them all to joy, that any future melancholy dispensation may but cause temporary discord in the “harp of thousand
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TO THE READERS OF BROTHER JON AT HAN-SALUTA TORY. -
Health—happiness—and Peace Light Hearts—Clear Consciences, Competence! . Joy in your Paternal, (prospective or present) relations: Calm Delight in the Memory of tha -
Past or kind Oblivion of its uncomfortable passages! Reader and readers—can we wish you more than the above includes? We do not wish you less. Pass round the
strings”—temporary, and easily corrected by a habit of cheerfulness. Parents and all lovers of children assist us—for giving joy to children and youth, reflects true happiness
back upon yourselves. A special edict; and, under it, by God's blessing, be this a MERRY CHRISTMAS AND HAPPY New Yºr. º -
the amount of the wealth of cheerfulness,
º -
== - - -
CROSSING THE ALLEGHANIES.
BY MRS. LAURA. M. THURSTON,
The broad, the bright, the glorious West,
Is spread before me now!
Where the grey mists of morning rest
Beneath yon mountain's brow!
The bound is past—the goal is won-
The region of the setting sun
Is open to my view.
Land of the valiant and the free—
My own green Mountain land—to thee,
And thine, a long adieu !
5ſº
º
Eºrº
THE EMIGRANT
I hail thee, Valley of the West,
For what thou yet shalt be
I hail thee for the hopes that rest
Upon thy destiny . -
Here—from this mountain height, I see
Thy bright waves floating to the sea,
Thine emerald fields outspread,
And feel that in the book of fame,
Proudly shall thy recorded name º
In later days be read.
Yet while I gaze upon thee now,
All glorious as thou art,
PARTY,
To me—in all my youthful pride—
Thou art a land of cares untried,
Of untold hopes and fears.
Thou art—but not for thee I grieve;
But for the far-off land I leave,
I look on thee with tears.
Oh! brightly, brightly, glow thy skies,
In summer's sunny hours!
Thy green earth seems a paradise
Arrayed in summer flowers!
But oh there is a land afar
Whose skies to me are brighter far,
Along the Atlantic shore :
A cloud is resting on my brow,
A weight upon my heart.
gºes---
---
sº § {\
Nº. º
For eyes beneath their radiant shrine,
In kindlier glances answered mine-
Can these their light restore?
Upon the lofty bound Istand,
That parts the East and West;
Before me lies a fairy land;
Behind—a a home of rest! -
Here, hope her wild enchantment flings,
Portrays all bright and lovely things,
My footsteps to allure—
But there, in memory's light, I see
| My heart's young cynosure :
All that was once most dear to me-
The “Badger,” a paper published at Platteville, Wiskon-
san, gives the following sketch of the adventures of a party
ºf young men, who set out on a hunting and exploring ex-
pedition to the northern regions of that territory. An in-
teresting and amusing volume might be made of similar
truthful sketches of the personal adventures of the sturdy
backwoodsmen, by one who would take the pains to collect
them. Our engraving represents the party belºw mention-
ed, homeward bound, and dining upon the music of the fid-
die. Pito, a Jewish philosopher, asserts that Moses sub-
sisted forty days upon Mount Sinai, by listening to the
music of the spheres. Although the fiddle of our heroes
answered an excellent purpose as a substitute for Venison
and the like, for a day or so, yet we doubt whether its
sharms would remain so long potent, as the music on which
the Jewish lawgiver so long subsisted:
* On the seventeenth instant, three of our friends, two of
whom are residents of long standing in this town, set out on
a journey, on foot, to see the land of promise on the north
of the Wiskonsin. With knapsacks on their backs, two
with guns, a third with an axe, and one with a violin in ad-
dition to his equipment, to enliven their encampment, they
deemed themselves able and buoyant enough to reach the
Pacific ocean. At Prairie du Chien they were joined by an
acquaintance. At that town they found the sick to out.
ſº º/º
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WILD. SPORTS OF THE WEST-
number the well; and of the United States troops stationed
there, one hundred were on the sick list. Thence they
struck for the Kiekapoo country, which they were told was
the finest country in the world; abounding in bears, deer, of land, the only place fit for settlement.
The next morning they resumed their journey,and two hours'
walk brought them to an abandoned Indian village, delight
fully situated in a bottom, containing about a quartersection-
Having seen
rattlesnakes, and everything else that was charming. They enough of the country, they concluded to return home by
walked, in a northeast direction, from dawn till dark, finding
the country nothing but a succession of sharp ridges and in-
tervening hollows, nearly destitute of timber. At night
they camped out; but instead of a delicious slice of fat -
kept constantly at work with a pole in his hand, to guide
bear, or the sweet meat of a doe or fawn, they were fain to
make a supper on a prairie chicken, a pheasant, and two
pigeons—neither bears nor deer having been seen—the
absence of the rattlesnakes was not regretted.
On lying downto sleep, one of the company expressed his
fears of a visit from the painters; but another thought such
a visit would give them an opportunity of having their like-
messes taken—on explanation, it was understood that pan-
thers were more plentiful than painters in such places. One
of the party waking in the night, and finding himself be-
numbed with the cold, found that his friend, (who must have
had the idea of the painter still in his head), had interposed
himself between the said party and the fire: Now the idea
of putting your friend between you and the panthers, is too
much like politics; so the fire was renewed, places re-
adjusted, and equal changes of being eaten up encountered.
rºſting down the Kickapoo. They made a good raft of four
logs, ºn which they embarked. The course of the river be:
ing very serpentine, they made but little progress in a direct
line; and the river was so full of snags that one man was
the raft clear of obstructions. At night they encamped
again, making a grand supper on two pigeons—half a bird
apiece. Next morning-
“All hands unmoor’’ the voyageurs loudly cry;
* All hands unmoor!” the caverned rocks reply.
Having no food, they tried the good effects of the fiddle,
which answered pretty well, but not equal to coffee and
beefsteak. Owing to the siren strains of the violin, or some
other cause, the man with the pole allowed the raft to strke
a snag, when the whole concern foundered—guns, teapot,
tin-cups, music-book, and two pairs of boots, which two of
them had taken off, sunker floated off.
“To scramble ashore, to make a fire, to fish up the two
guns, were easily accomplished; but to supply the loss of
the boots was not so easy to the two naked feet; so one
took his knapsack and made a pair of moeºsins, and the
-
-
J.G.GORDON, Sg
-
other his fiddlecase, which was merely a bit of painted linen,
for the same purpose. Hereafter, let no persons go to ex-
plore a new country without a fiddle, seeing the many use-
ful purposes to which it may be applied. The first move.
ment now was to aseend the steep and rocky bluff, strewn
with sharp flints, which inflicted painful bruises on the un-
protected feet of two of the party. A walk of a few miles
brought them to a clearing, where they found a family,
the lady of which extended to them that sympathy, which
the absolutely fainting condition of some of them from the
want of foot rendered necessary. They then directed their
march to a ferry across the Wiskonsan, and thence took the
road for Lancaster, lodging one night at a house by the way.
Arrived at Laneaster, they were hospitably entertained,
and furnished with such shoes and socks as their crippled
condition enabled them to wear. The next night brought
them to Platteville, having been absent eight days.
“Here was a party of strong and hardy young men, one
at least of whom is a thorough backwoodsman, going hard-
ly more than a day's journey beyond the frontier settlements,
and yet by a trifling accident, were reduced to the situation
of shipwrecked mariners. Their own account of their diffi.
culties, of which this is a brief outline, has caused a deal of
-
| - -
| LEAS CAN BE EXPECTED.”
CHILDREN.
-
Low hºw he laughs and stretches out his arms,
Andºs wide his blue eyes upon thine,
To º is farther; while his little form,
Flutter, as winged with joy. [Byron.
Although the pºint be little, the whole matter
And ºpy of the father: eye, nose, lip,
ick of his frown, his forehead; may the valley,
ty dimples of his chim and cheek; his smiles,
Fey mould and frame of hand, nail, finger.
- [Shakspeare.
--
Oh, tis a parlous boy;
k, ingénious, forward, capable;
the mother's, from the top to toe.
# they creep among us, like young cats,
s and continual crosses keeping with them;
make time old to tend them, and experience
ass, they alter so; they grow, and goodly
ºwe can turn our thoughts, like drops of water
ºy fall into the main, are known no more.
[Beaumont and Fletcher.
was my prayer accepted ' Why did Heav'n
langer hear me, when I asked a son?
[Hammah Moore,
stºne family is a fine thing,
|ºvideº they don't come in after dinner;)
ºntº
ſººn up ºf nursing ſh
[Byron.
--
F. -
F =
ITITIII ºn---
Lºgº)
lſº - ->
mirth in Platteville, and none seem to º the laughmore
than themselves. . -
with her daughters or her nieces,
ike a guinea and seven shilling pieces.
[Byron.
A. º
Shines 1
Mariage from love, like vinegar from wine–
A sºd, sour, sober beverage—by time–
Is sharpened from its high celestial flavor,
| Downto a very homely, household savor.
- [Byron.
Fºmair, or NAMENTs.
BY SAMUEL woodwoºt H.
All hues become a pretty face,
For beauty needs no foreign grace;
A flower, or anything in truth,
Willornament the brow of youth,
While sparkling gems may vainly shine -
Where age and ugliness combine.
qh then, be wise, ye gentle fair,
Andall the ornaments you wear.
Frºm taste, instead of wealth, obtain,
Morlonger court yourglass in vain.
The Prize of Beauty (once degreed
Tº Paphian Venus as weread)
as not awarded to the fair
For any brilliants in her hair.
No, 'twas her native charms acquired
The prize her rivals so desired;
ºr face, her neck, her bosom, waist,
Her easy negligence and taste,
Her attitude, her hair, her eyes—
With these the goddess won the prize,
Qh then, ye fair, who seek to please,
Cherish simplicity and ease;
With modest taste, give no occasion
/ To quote Apelles' observation,”
Remember that a grace denied,
Was by a bauble ne'er supplied.
*An ignorant painter having decorated the portrait of Helen
with thinkets, Apelles observed that the picture was “rich in or-
naments, but pºor in beauty,” and that "the artist had embel-
fished her with jewels, because he had not abilities to paint her
beautift. ".
---
Shakspears. ---
ºr
º don't thin her.) -
-
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e-
w Love's MASQUERADºng
THE ANNO YER.
BY N. P. WILLIS,
Love knoweth every form of air,
And every shape of earth,
And comes unbidden everywhere
Like thought's mysterious birth.
The moonlit sea and the sunset sky
Are written with Love's words,
And you hear his voice unceasingly,
Like song in the time of birds.
He peeps into the warrior's heart
From the tip of a stooping plume,
And the serried spears and the many men
May not deny him room.
He'll come to his tent in the weary night
Aºd he husy in his dream;
A tº he’ll º his eye in the ºrning light,
Like a fay on a silver beam."
He hears the sound of the hunter's
And rides on the echo back,
And sighs in his ear like a stirring leaf,
And flits in his woodland track,
The shade of the wood, and the sheen of the river,
The cloud and the open sky— -
He will haunt them all with his subtle quiver
Like the light of your very eye.
gun,
The fisher hangs over the leaning boat,
And ponders the silver sea,
* For love is under the surface hid,
And a spell of thoughts has he.
He heaves the wave like a bosom sweet,
And speaks in the ripple low,
Till the bait is gone from the crafty lin
And the book hangs bare below.
He blurs the print of the scholar's book,
And intrudes in the maiden's prayer:
And profanes the cell of the holy man,
In the shape of a lady fair.
In the darkest night, and the brightest day,
In earth, and sea, and sky,
In every home of the human thought,
Will love be lurking nigh.
-
-
LOVE HAS LEGS.
Strolling about from bower to hall, - -
Love paid Lavinia a morning call.
An hour soon went—she chatted and sang-
He stand—till at last the dinner-bell rang.
He staid, still charmed : and rather alarmed,
Lavinia felt she must ask him to stay,
“To tell you the truth,” oried the radiant youth,
“I’m here for life, I shall ne'er go away.”
Love's fire shot through her in one wild flush,
Till her heart itself might be seen to blush ;
Love saw, and finding it faithful and kind,
Exclaimºd, “O Beauty, how long I've been blind!"
More grateful grew he, more ſervent she,
More watchful, sensitive, warm and fond;
So much like light was he to her sight,
She could not trust him a step beyond,
Still more she cherished him year by year,
Till at last each joy came tinged with fear;
She fear'd if he stroll’d where wild flowers meet
Lest thorns might pierce his delicate feet;
Or a reptile's sting beneath his wing
She fear'd, if he lay in the greenwood asleep ;
Or walked he awake by the moonlit lake-
In dread of an ague, how would she weep;
She chatted and sang to Love no more,
Lest music and chat should prove “a bore;”
But she hung on his step wherever he went,
And shut from the chamber the rose's scent.
She slept not a wink, for fear he should think
She dream'd not of Love—so her eyes grew dim;
She took me care of her beautiful hair,
For she could not spare one moment from him.
Love's bright fireside grew dark with doubt,
Yet home was a desert if Love went out;
In vain were his vows, caresses and sighs;
“O Love,” cried the lady, “I’ve given you eyes!
And ah! should some face of a livelier grace
Than mine ever meet them Ah! should you stray!”
Love, wearied at last, was in slumber lock'd fast;
“Those wings!” said the watcher, “he might fly away.”
One awful moment Oh! could she sever
Those wings from Love, he is hers for ever!
With trembling hand she gathers the wings—
She clips—they are off! and up Love springs,
“Adieu !” he cried, as he leapt from her side,
“Of folly's cup you have drunk the dregs;
My home was here; it is now with the deer;
Thank Venus, though wingless, Love has legs tº
THE HORNS OF A DILEMMA,
When the buck above º into a dilemma, he cannot, at
any rate, complain of lack of horns on which to hang; but
he may complain that no choice is left him. It is aller
none—or rather all at any rate; for they are not easy to
get rid of
And, rich in povert
Ne'er glad the bosſ
Nor melancholy sta
What happiness the rural maid attends,
In cheerful labor while each day she spends;
She gratefully receives what heaven has sent,
enjoys content.
(Such happiness, and such unblemished fame,
of the courtly dame :)
She never feels the spleen's imagined pains,
nates in her veins;
Nº º º i Hiſtº
º : ºil
Mºi Nº.
- | Nº || ||
- | º
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º - º º º
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; : DOUBLE PICTORIAL SHIEET. Nº) |
- - º - - --- º - - - - -
WILSON AND COMPANY PUBLISHERS SEASON OF PRESENTs, DECEMBER. 25—JANUARY 1, 1842.
SANTA CILAUS ON THIS IHIOILIDAY VISIT To HIs CHILDREN ease CHRISTMAS EVE: º º
es
*
º ºs- * -
- º Lovº-AT. His old Tricks.
- º Cupid, a spoiled and peevish boy,
º Is al rant V :
º º," ","...ºu.
Never denies—quadcumque genus—
Any odd thing the ure him fancies,
From Hings and queens to scullery Nancies,
- His foºling mother tº other day,
- Gave º some HEARTs where with to play;
No soone did the rascal take them,
- - Than he began to bruise and break them :
tºººº
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THE COUNTRY (GIRL,
She never loses life in
Nor on the velvet couch invites disease;
Her homespun dress in simple neatness lies,
And for no glazing equipage she sighs :
Her reputation, which is all her boºs.
In a malicious visit ne'er was lost . --
No midnight masquerade her beauty wears,
And health, not paint, the fading bloom repairs.
Gay.
thoughtless ease,
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Añd again,
With his cane.
Cut him down,
So forlorn;
In their bloom,
On the tomb,
I saw him once before
As he passed by the door,
The pavement stones resound
As he totters o'er the ground,
They say that in his prime,
Eere the pruning knife of Time
Not a better man was found,
By the crier on his round
Through the town.
But now he walks the streets
And he looks at all he meets
And he shakes his feeble head
And seems as if he said
“They are gone.”
The mossy marbles rest
On the lips that he has pressed
And the names he loved to hear
Have been carved for many a year
BYO. W. HOLMES.
My grandmamma has said
Poor old lady; she is dead
Long ago-
That he had a Roman nose
And his cheek was like a rose
In the snow.
But now his nose is thin,
And it rests upon his chin
Like a staff,
And a crook is in his back,
And a melancholy crack,
In his laugh.
I know it is a sin
For me to sit and grin.
At him here,
But the old three-coraered hat,
And the breeches—and all that
Are so queer
And ºf should live to be
The last leaf on the tree
In the Spring–
Let them smile as I do now,
At the old forsaken bough
Where I cling,







































































































































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S C E N E IN T H E N E W - Y O R K P O L I C E O F FIC E .
“It’s a lie, as pitiful as the wretch that told it !” replied Miss Anson.
THE ADVENTURES OF
TOM STAPLETON.
ED ITED BY Jo H. N. M. MooRE.
-
CHAP TER I.
* Well, here thou art, O Tom Stapleton quite a model in a small
way, of comfort and elegance, and one of the happiest rascals un-
der the sun. True, Lucy Livingston's blue eyes have somewhat
discomposed the serene of thy philosophy but as there is no hope
that way, I'm hanged if there shall be any despair; and besides, I
don’t think I'm so very much in love; for how could a man who was
a gone case, relish the simple luxuries of a peach orchard fire, a
mild Havana, and a glass of brown sherry, as I do mine ! No, dear
Tom, thou art not nuch in love but that thou hast still some alterna-
tives besides ºn strinomy or suicile. But nevertheless, here’s to the
fair Lacy, notwithstanding that she has come within a feather’s
. of upsetting the old bachelorship predilections of Mr. Sta-
pleton 1"
So, gentle reader, soiloquised your obedient servant, Tom Staple.
ton, as he sat one bleak winter’s night, several years ago, in his
ºnus little sanc win which looked out into Broadway in the goodly
city of Gotham, and which contained at the time a young gentleman
who had a tolerably high opinion of himself, and not a bad one of
all the rest of the world.
But here let me back water to observe that in the course of the
following veritable history I may occasionally sink the first personal
pronoun, and, availing myself of the police assistance of Asmodius,
discourse of natters and things which I could only have become cog-
mizant of through the medium of supernatural agency. But on the
whole, I pledge myself to keep as near the track of what I know to
be the truth as possible; and should I diverge from the strictly au-
thentic in any of these disclosures which I am necessitated to re-
ceive on the faith of another, why the public must be so good as to
hold ºne guiltless, and pour all the vials of their wrath upon the de-
voted head of my fond familiar.
“One other glass to thee, dear Lucy tº
“Dear 1–Now faith, Master Tom, that's coming it a leetle too
sweet, for how can a fellow of thy finances venture to think of the
young lady aforesaid, but in connection with the idea that she's fated
to be the making of another man’s wife No, no, boy—give over
“dearing P or you may soon imagine yourself aw pis aller, and be-
yond the consolation of cigars and brown sherry. But what the
devil is that ?”
The foregoing popular interrogative was occasioned by a shriek in
the street, and instantly on popping my head out of a window I saw
a miserable looking female struggling in the arms of a powerful
ruffian, -
“Man or devil ſº cried the woman, “if the terms are not synony.
Inous—let me go.”
“Wait till I see what you look like,” answered the ruffian—who,
notwithstanding, bore a form currently reported as a likeness of the
Deity's ;-and then, having dragged his victim under a lamp-post,
he continued, “O hang it, you are either shrivelled up with brandy
—or as ugly as sin. You may go tº
* I am dying for the want of bread, ,” said the wretched fe-
ºnale, “for mercy’s sake, give me a shilling to get a crust, or a
night’s lodging.”
* You may have both at the alms-house, for asking tº returned
the brute; who thereon began to move off, no doubt rejoicing the
while in the possession of a heart that wasn't to be softened or touch-
ed by trifles; but ere he had left the outraged woman three paces
behind him, a tremendous blow from a boot-jack, hurled with savage
fierceness from my window, knocked him sprawling in the channel.
This was more than I had counted on, for I began to fear I had
killed the fellow, and that the boot-jack with my name on it, would
be taken as sufficient circumstantial evidence to consign me over to
the polite attention of Jack Ketch; but while I was yet conjuring up
anything but comfortable visions of the result, my mind was reliev-
ed by the arrival of a couple of watchmen, who lifted the man up on
his feet, and led him away; as also the female, who had implored
them to convey her to some place of shelter. I need scarcely remark
that after their departure I regained possession of my boot-jack with
the most praiseworthy dispatch - but in defence of my gallantry, it
is but fair to state, that I was only withheld from running to the as-
sistance of the woman, by a villainous idea which suggested itself to
my mind, of the trial and conviction of one Tom Stapleton for as-
sault and battery, with intent to kill–if not, indeed, for actual man-
slaughter. Moreover, I felt persuaded that the poor wretch would
ºbe comforted in the watch-house. Alas! I had yet to learn that the
comfort which such poor wretches receive in watch-houses, is the
comfort that got cold.
But Lucy—or dear Lucy—as the case may be, remains untoast-
ed. How shall I decide 3 Dear Lucy be it then ; for at all events,
young lady, you have established your claim to the adjective, by
costing me many a bumper, and—but name it not in Gath-ſ fear I
night add, many a headache.
Lucy—for, seeing that I'm over the Rubicon, I may as well be hung
for a sheep as a lamb-here’s to the prettiest girl in Gotham, which
is no other than your own beautiful self.
save me from a bachelor’s dreams and a pretty girl in his head-
iſ fell asleep endeavoring to flatter myself into the notion that my
feelings regarding Miss Livingston were merely and purely platonie.
shortly afterwards, however, I felt a strange appetite for a sharp ra-
zor, or a cup of opium, owing to the fact that the lamp post under.
my window was suddenly converted into a devilish handsome fel-
low, who took to his heels in the direction of the Battery, with Lucy
a.
big watchman were on the point of being united in the holy banns of
matrimony; but lo! and behold, as soon as she saw me, the blush-
ing damsel changed her mind, and threw herself into my fond em-
braces, in the likness of a boot-jack. Anon: the scene was cham-
ged, and Lucy, bleeding, hungry, and almost naked, was struggling
“O save ºne, dear Staple-
“Yes, Lucy—
adored Lucy, though I were to die a hundred thousand deaths by it.”
And faith, on the word I nearly began the list, for in my hurry to
save her, the rascally thump I gave my poor unoffending caput
against the head board, almost knocked me feet foremost out of the
under his arm. Then I was in a country church, where Lucy an
“Save me,” she cried.
Dear Stapleton–O! ecstacy.
with a ruffian,
ton, or I’m lost tº
“Surely that girl loves me, or she could never reconcile it to her
conscience to give me all this trouble,” thought 1; “but whether or
no, I won't venture another dream in her favor this time, lest her
wedding should become a thing of the past, and poor Tom Staple-
ton be invited to stand god-father for hºr son and heir.” And so
with this resolution strong in my mind, I made the hastiest sort
of a toilet, and started off to the watch-house, to see what had be.
come of the poor stranger.
It was as dark as pitch, and about 4 A. M., when I found myself
among a group of loafers (every one of them, with a certain honor:
able exception, looking as if burglary might be his profession, and
picking pockets his mildest recreation), at the police office. The ex-
amination of the prisoners had just commenced ; but before going
into any of the details, let me premise that the magistracy of the
New York Lower Police Court has, thank heaven, undergone a great
Now we
deal of improvement since the period I am treating of
And so, dear Lucy may, dearest
- -
tion-and then humanity—mercy—may, even decency—and deco-
rum-adieu' for at such times they acted as if they felt themselves
“Now, really my dear girl,” said the fat lady—who was suffi.
eiently known in this city some dozen years ago as Mrs. Gallanan–
“now, really, my dear girl, you must nurse yourself for a few days
longer; your health might be impaired, you know, by any sudden ex-
posure in this weather.”
* I have stood worse and starved through it,” returned Miss An-
son, “and even found my health too good, as it reminded me the
more strongly of the keenness of my appetite.”
“Still, my love, I can’t think of lºtting you risk yourself,” said
Mrs. Gallanan.
* You are extremely tender of me,” answered the fair invalid,
with a sneer that had something of the laughing devil in it, and eon.
trasted most strangely with her serene beauty, and the voice of melo.
dy in which she expressed herself.
“Of course I am, my dear,” said the fatwoman, a little confusedly,
“for, as I have borne you from the womb of the grave, I almost loºk
upon you as my own daughter.”
“And thereby the daughter of infamy!—oh, good mother!” re.
turned Mary, bending on her companion a look intense with moekery
and scorn.
* How, girl, is this your gratitude "exclaimed Mrs. Gallahan.
“Gratitude for what?” ºneeringly enquired Miss Anson. “For
purchasing me from the grave for a penny, to sell me to the devil for
a pound !” - -
“I thought you told me that you eared nothing for the foolish
laws of society,” observed the older female. -
“I care but little,” said Mary, “and yet more than most others-
if I may judge from experience.”
“You are right, child. The laws of society are unnatural, and
therefore only made to be broken.”
“What is there then no virtue in the world º
“O yes, there is some ; but it is only to be found in those who be-
ing compelled (as all are,) to follow their inclinations, have the ho-
nesty to avow it!”
“That’s a precious excuse for infamy!”
“It’s the simple truth. The only sin I admit of is being one
thing, and pretending to be the other; and that's the way with your
strict society.”
“By that rule, Mrs. Gallaman, you are on the straight road to
heaven.”
“I hope for the best, child.”
bound to be ruffians by right of office—and as if they had a notion
that the scales of justice had grown unfit for service, and thrown all,
its responsibilities upon the sword. Many a time have those pre/
cious justices made my heart's blood boil and curdle again with Y
dignation by the mode in which they treated the poor wretches
were brought before them; wretches, God knows, whose weigh
miseries and misfortunes were sufficiently grievous to bear, wit
the addition of useless and unprovoked abuse, irony, and insult.
deed it were an act of injustice to the canine race, to have cal
these men “dogs in office,” for the veriest dog that runs will lic
the sores upon the limbs of poverty; whereas this hopeful brace of
lawgivers delighted to make poverty their laughing-stock, and seemed
to rejoice with no common joy, whenever (which, alas! was but too
often the case) they could find an opportunity of forcing the iron,
already at the quick, yet more thoroughly into some despairing soul.
The northern demon may be a fable, but seriously, being of a super-
stitious turn, it has often struck me during one of those atrocious
exhibitions ºpet º, that if the facings of the bench which
separated us from the magistrate, had been removed, I would have
seen a clºven foot under the table.
It was before the worst of these magistrates—if a degree of com.
parison may be admitted, when both were as bad as they could be-
that the woman I had come to see after was arraigned; and truly
she was a poverty-stricken and wo—begone looking creature; her
feet were slip-shod-stockings she had none—and her cloak was old
and tattered to the last degree of wretchedness. Nevertheless there
was something in her deportment suggestive of the lady, and mar-
wellously at variance with the misery of her appearance. She was
very tall; and, as far as I could judge, her age was somewhere about
twenty; but she kept her face—by the way, a pale, worn and sor:
rowful one—so carefully concealed in the background of an old
slouched bonnet, that the latter was only a rough guess.
“Hal” said the magistrate—“ you're the beauty that knocked
down the gentleman with the stone, are you? What’s your name,
ehº-and where the devil did you come from ?—for you look like a
ghost /
No answer. -
“Speak, I say!” shouted the polished chief justice, “ or I’ll find a
way to open your mouth that may injure your teeth.”
“My name is Mary Anson,” said the girl, in a voice tremulous
with emotion, and weak perhaps with want–º and I don’t belong to
this city.”
“Why the devil, then, did you come to this city ? We have enough
of the sort without you. But, I again ask you, where do you be-
long to ?” -
* Sir,” answered the
any where.”
“Siek,” returned the justice with a chuckle–4: Oh-hol-that’s
it, is it?—but, of course, it is—and why not. You’re sick after the
old fashion–eh?”
“I’m sick,” groaned the desolate female, “with suffering and
hunger.”
“O gammon!” exclaimed the magistrate, “ catch an old flag-
bearer sick with hunger–you're-
“It’s a lie, as pitiful as the wretch that told it!” returned the
woman, in a voice which startled all who heard it, and frightened
the blood from his worship’s vulgar countenance. Not that it was
loud or passionate; on the contrary it was low and sweet; but
there was a fearful earnestness in it, as peculiar and impressive,
as that which characterised Fanny Kemble’s delivery of Lady Mac-
beth’s soliloquy, when apprized of the arrival of Dunean; and to
heighten the e º as she spoke she stood erect and towering, exhi-
f
girl, “I am very sick, and I have no home
biting a figure df wouderful stateliness, and most glorious symmetry,
while a flush ºf crimson overspread and irradiated her counte-
nance–(then left more exposed by the falling back of her bonnet)–
which, for a moment–owing, perhaps, to the blush of excitement
mingling with the ghastliness of death—was absolutely painfully
beautiful. “It’s a lie, as pitiful as the wretch that told it; for, think
you, that such as I am need have the tooth of famine gnawing at my
heart, and the rags of misery hanging round my person, if I chose to
be the thing you mention ? But,” she continued with a bitter
smile, “if you did not think and speak so, you would not be a
man.”
Instantly as she ceased speaking, wretchedness, and its consequent
humility, reclaimed their victim, and she looked as desolate as be-
fore; and then, overpowered by the suddenness of the re-action, she
reeled backwards with a heart-rending sigh, and sunk, apparently
lifeless, on the floor. -
“Bundle her into one of the cells, she's drunk ſº said that pre-
cious specimen of a police justice; and thereon, referring to the
next item in the report, he began to hurl the thunders of the offended
majesty of the law upon the head of a poor and half naked little or-
pham boy, who stood charged with the high and mighty transgres-
sion—he having no other refuge withal from the fury of the pelting
and pitiless storm–of being caught asleep in an ash-box.
Happy rascal though I generally am I must confess that I felt like
a worm during the occurrence of the scene I have been endeavoring
to give a faint sketch of; for I was but too well aware that I was no
more than a man, and his worship no less; and hence it occurred to
me that the idea of our celestial natures might be all a vanity. How-
ever, a glance among my companions quickly corrected the chimera;
for, notwithstanding that they were the dregs of a superabundant po-
pulation—the very ºcankers of a calm world and a long peace,”
every countenance manifested feelings of pity and indignation in
unison with my own, and evinced a strong inclination to hurl his
have cheerfully hunted him through a field of briers with a pack of
harriers; and, if well secured from the consequences, I fear it would
have given me the utmost felicity to have been after taking the mea-
sure of his sacred person with my well-approved boot-jack.
As I was wreaking all sorts of imaginary vengeance upon the un-
conscious police magistrate, a large man, dressed in a pilot cloth pea-
jacket, and a tarpaulin hat, with a deep dinge in the crown—whom I
at once recognized as the ruffian that had insulted the woman under
my window—came out of the back office. I marked him intently,
and as he passed by he threw a sharp glance at me, but instantly
averted his head with a slight appearance of confusion; not so in-
stantly, however, but that he left an impression on my mind that
there was something in the expression of his features, rather than in
the features themselves which I had been familiar with ; and this
fact puzzled me sorely then, and for many a day after, for I could
find no memorandum on the tablets of my memory, which gave me
the most distant clue to any previous acquaintanceship with such a
formidable, sallow-faced, big-whiskered ruffian.
Meanwhile, a middle-aged, well-dressed, stout, comfortable, and
rather gross-looking female, who had been to the watch-house to
swear the peace against some juvenile rowdies, had taken upon her.
self the recovery of the desolate Mary Anson, who by slow degrees
—yet all too quick, for surely to one so wretched, death must have
been a blessing, came so far to herself as to be conscious of her
existence, and able, with assistance, to stand upright. The comfort.
able looking lady then whispered something to his worship, who an-
|justiceship hesis over head out of the window. For myself I could
“And recklessness and degradation are the stepping stones.”
*re and nature.” T
; though I doubt not you name them truly
ponsorship.”
W you change your mind?”
\rned Mary, who rose from a crimson
had been reclining, with the native mal.
ne, and paced slowly up and down the
in soliloquy, than to her companion. “Is
ºnd wavering between suicide and crime,
ºve but starvation. And yet there seems
- ºr hesitation; for surely the power that knows
all motives, if he be as just as he is great, would rather reward than
punish us for leaving this state of our existence in order to avoid the
risk of becoming a disgrace to it.”
“Why gracious, Miss Anson: surely, you can't be thinking of
suicide?” exclaimed the fat woman.
“And suppose. I was,” continued Mary, still half in soliloquy,
“might not the thought be justified? Aye, and the act too ! Where
fore wºuld I prolong a miserable existence but to wither away grain,
by grain-every grain a death, without death's rest? Were I as in
nocent as wretched, there would be some excuse for life, for then I
might regard my sufferings as a series of trials to prepare me for a
better world; and were I as guilty as wretched, there would still be
an excuse—for then it would not be such torture to seek in depravity
a defence against starvation. But thus to stand, an outcast from
virtue, yet afraid of vice—a being to whom honor is a mockery, and
infamy a torture—it is too—too bad! Oyes, death by any means
were the wisest and the noblest resolve.
y
live, the more unfit I shall be to die.”
“You should have thought of all that before you put me to such
an expense for your dresses and jewelry, young lady,” interposed
Mrs. Gallanan.
“You bought them at your own suggestion, and I have neither
seen nor worn them,” said Mary.
“True; but my experience in these matters made me easy on that
account,” returned Mrs. G., “for out of at least a hundred young
ladies whom I have had the good nature to rescue from misfortune in
my time, you are the only one who has repaid me with ingratitude!
And, by the way, if one may judge from your own lamentations,
you have gone the way of most others of the daughters of Eve before
now.” -
“Old woman, if you knew me you would not mock me with your
vulgar taunts,” said Mary sternly—‘‘I may have been a fool—a
victim-perhaps an avenger; but stand the case as it will, it must
have been a secret worth preserving that compelled a well born lady,
and in some matters not an unwise one—whom the rich and powerful
sighed, and pined—may even fought and bled for—to seek a refuge
in the channel and the felon’s den—and more than all, to eat your
bread, and suffer your companionship.” -
“Then I am to understand you are determined on killing your-
self?” said Mrs. Gallanan, at the same time smothering a rising fit
of passion-probably out of prudential motives; for there seemed
something dangerous in the expresion of her companion’s eyes.
* No. My mind has taken another turn.”
“Thank God for that!” piously ejaculated the fat lady.
* Confine your thanks to the devil, for he gives you all you get tº
added her beautiful patient. --
* Well, let who will receive them, I give them freely,” said Mrs.
Gallanan, “because now you must decide in my favor.”
“Why must I ?”
“O, that is easily told. Simply because you are too beautiful to
be honest. Why, now, look you, child—what could you do without
money in your pocket!—Stitch women’s ware in a garret 1–Wash
dishes in a kitchen – Dandle brats in a nursery 1–Open school!
Do as you may—and with such a face and form as those (unless you
anticipate hell by turning married woman) you’ll find yourself like
a stag at bay, fifty times in every twenty-four hours. No, child,
flesh and blood could not bear it. If Diana had half your beauty,
and was to live in this wicked world, with nothing but her bows and
arrows to protect her, I would not venture a single sixpence on her
safety. I tell you again and again, Miss Anson, that you are too
handsome to be honest, for the public won’t stand it.”
“Were I in a happier mood,” said Miss Anson, “I might affect to
gainsay your position on the score of modesty, but as it is, I must ad-
mit I have reason to believe that it is but too well founded. Before
I was reduced to the state of hideous misery in which you found me,
I had made many attempts to earn an humble, honest, livelihood. I
had applied for employment to the aged, but was met with indecent
inuendoes and vilejests. With the pious I fared no better, only that
they made their advances with demurer words and longer faces.--
When I undertook the drudgery of a kitchen, instant flight had to
save me from open outrage. And in short, utter wretchedness seemed
to be the only alternative that remained open to me from utter degra-
dation.
“Didn’t I say so?” exclaimed Mrs. Gallanan, in a rapture, “Hu-
man nature, child–human nature is not to be humbugged by fana-
tical fooleries, and false motions of honor. What we should do, we
must do–that's the law of all laws, Miss Anson. And for my part,
I’m truly glad of it; for if human nature was a thing to be put in
tethers by human legislation, the world would soon be worn out by
improvement, like courtezan's face or a hypochondriac physic-fan-
eier's stomach. But now I suppose I may prepare for your debut
“Yes; but remember everything must be as I suggested, iſ
to have nº intercourse with you or yours but such as can't be
ded. And please remind that jabbering Count of yours (my noble
cousin for the nonce) that if he attempts to presume on his relation.
ship by taking any impertinent liberties, I'll return his ardor by blow-
ing his brains out.”
And, as if to show that she was prepared for any such emergency,
Miss Anson produced a beautiful little poeket pistol, which she han-
dled with the air of a connoisseur. -
“No person shall interfere with your plans,” returned the fat la-
dy; who thereon suddenly withdrew frºm the room, looking the
while as if she felt at least as apprehensive for the safety of her own
brains, as regarding those of the poor Count. -
“I will oppose my destiny no more,” soliloquized Mary Anson,
when she found herself alone. “Had I not fallen I might have
struggled on ; but having thrown away the jewel, it would be an ab-
sudity to set too much value on the empty casket; and so here goes
to stand the full hazard of the die. Alas!” she continued, “how
different is the reality from the hope of life. But a truce with re-
gret. I'll look back no more—but henceforth regard every event as
fate; and every quibble of remorse or conscience as the foolish effect
of childish prejudice or education.”
And verily, the fair philosopher did appear to find some relief in
this precious moceau of utopian argument; for immediately as she
had done speaking, she relaxed her brow-threw herself in a rocking
chair—and was soon lost to all the vulgar concerns of this world in
the mystery of the “Adventures of a Lady of Quality,” which had
no doubt been furnished from the library of the worthy Mrs. Galla-
man, with the view that her fair patient might profit, and be duly ed-
swered with a still small laugh, very like the devil's, when he has
something roguish in his mind’s eye. -
* 0, yes; the complainant won't swear, so I have no o
But you must pay the costs.”
** How much º
ified by the dºned reflections and instructions of its gifted
ºblime art of virtue made easy.
*TER III.
Bad as I am now, worse -
may follow; for, with my present prospects before me, the longer I lººple
iºn
..
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2.
=(&
quack Playactors, an quack portrait painters ; the whole being
sprinkled here and thºre with a few tolerably honest fellows who
had either allowances from their friends, or else made out the cause
in a legitimate m ; and among the latter category I have the
f that I stood. A number one.
1 genius among us, however, that flung us all
amed Philip O’Hara, who wrote pamphlets
bro ht out a new patent vegetable pill, manufac.
erized potato skins, and strongly recommend-
- - gates as long as a liberty pole, for the cure of con-
sumption, sore eyes, and the king's evil; kept a land office as much
for the sale of º in the moon as any where else; invented a
navigable steamballoºn, and organized a company to put it in oper-
ation; performed, when hard up, as supernumerary at all the the
atres; lectured on phrenology; cut corns; gave private instructions
in the mysteries of the Thimble Rig–and would, I am persuaded,
have undertaken tº have produced the perpetual motion, for couple of
tumblers of whiskeypunch, and under forfeiture of his head in case
of a failure.
All living, º in separate nooks, we had but little to say or
do with each º -
into shade—a
and newspapers;
tured chiefly tº
- ºte of non-intercourse which might have been
partially owing presumed fact, that each thought the others a
a pack of humº º himself a species of martyr thrown among
them as a puº ºf is sins. Nevertheless, we were very fair
Heighbors, and enjºyed each other's company tolerably well—at a
distance. º was only one thing that troubled us in com-
mon, besides payin ent, and this was a villainous taste for music
ºn the part of a few of us, which compelled all the others to turn
LillSicians in º defence.
I will explain how º was. We numbered in our host, a bass viol.
player, a fiddler, t ºractitioners on cracked flutes, a chamber
*ists, a trombonist, a hurdy-gurdyist, six
*Vºices of all grades from the inspiring me.
to the interesting bass of an adult bull-frog–
as a full choir of these favorites of Apollo
all blast for a £ouple of hours every night, for
the parºse, apparently, of º in the following morning with
melody- r they º rely left off before twelve o'clock—we, who were
anti-perfor ºs on any legitimate instrument began to ſº that we
would be sung to death like swans—with this diſſº. however,
that it would not by our own music. As a preventº, we tried
first rate vocalists,
lody of a rusty hin
and a keg bugler;
usually went offinſ.
cotton; but it was e damming up a cataract with a Pitchfork–
an attempt to escºpe the melodious tornado by a retreat una, the
blankets, was just as ineffectual; and we were reduced to the brººk
ºf despair when the universal genius being unable to sleep, and feel.
ing inspired to do something in aid of the concord of sweet sounds,
pºurº an infernal glass-horn, that might have been heard from the
Bull's Head to the Battery, and forth with fell in with the band.
This mºturally gave all of us, who had previously no music in our
souls, the cue, and we accordingly became amateurs, on a variety of
wind and other instruments. Two or three for instance followed
suit, and Provided themselves with glass horns; others of more ori.
ginal genius became professors on the poker and fender, the candle-
sticks and bread-baske º, and other domestic substitutes for Turkish
gongs; while the majºity possessed themselves of penny trampets,
penny whistles, bird calls, corn-erackers, toy-drums, &c.; so that on
the whole, when a ſole able number of us were present, and went
hard at it, we used tº gº up quite an astonisher of a musicalentertain.
ment. It must be admitted, however, that our combined perfor-
manºe, was quite ſºciliar in its effects; because, whereas, other
music has charms fºſsdºthe the savage breast, ours was quite suffi-
gient to have frighting Belzebub out of his seven senses. Indeed
it was said that wººd frighten several homest people out of the
neighborhood; and ºf them in the very nick of time too; for he
cleared out the night Hºore quarter day, and made our midnight
sacrifices to the divine ºience an excuse for not paying the rent.
I believe our perfºrm is in general felt not a 'whitºmore edified
than our more peaceiºſisposed neighbors, by one anothers’ contri-
bºtiºns to the general stºk; but on the contrary, that each wished
all the rest in the *. F probably in a worse place, twenty times
a night; however, as wellere all men of stamina, none could think
of being the first to º ºut; and hence we continued to perform
our demoniac oratorias, a 1–1 fear Imight add in the most positive
sense of the word-tamaº night hideºus, for many a long week;
and doubtlessly we would lave gone on at the same rate for many a
long week more—unless, deed, (which is not unlikely,) we had
ºcked all our lungs, oleen indicted by the Grand jūry, in the
inºim-but for an occuince which will hereafter develope itself.
The genius, myself, and person who, as he requested me to in-
dulge him with an º illease I published “my memoirs,” I shall
call John Smith—were in We habit of meeting occasionally in each
other's apartments, for theºrpose of discussing the affairs of the
nation, and whatever ºmnºlities in the refreshment line the gods
and “mine host” for the tiº being, might have seen convenient to
provide for us. -
One night we assembled a
to Phil’s turn to do the
and whisky punch; an
the last item in such a
the old-adage, which is
at all trades can be goo
punch-making as his chº
principle which would,
found a very awkward
pledge. A part of his
of his ambrosia upº
'Hara's, and, as usual, when it came
the order of the feast was oysters
add, that my talented friend brewed
manner as to give the decided lie to
*re; and faith he performed it on a
generally understood now-a-days, be
g block in the path of the tee-total
remember, was to establish the basis
t scºpulously measured body of soft wa-
ter, redſhot—a º - ºf pºtion of the lemº, but the rind;
and then, when hº yºnd sugar were added, º, certain mys-
terious rites and tereonies a nectar was prepared which was suffi-
cient to indemnify a man for all the sin and suffering of this wicked
world, with the sole exceptiºn of the awful head-ache which too deep
a devotion to its º as almost certain to leave behind it, as
-
a remembrancer for the follºwing morning.
“Let us improve time lºw,” said Phil, when he had perfect.
ed his concoction, “and gelcomfortably over the Rubicon before
them devils begin.”
“What, the musicians?
they quicken your intellects,
nal glass horn.”
“Ay, but that time has go
but a timid glance at the ba
me, boys, I heard enough la
out of me till the day of myd
“Why, what the devil did u hear?”
“Maybe the devil himself, aid O’Hara; “but at at all events it
was something mighty strange nyway; and what troubles me most
is that nobody appears have taºn any notice of it but myself!”
“It may have been a new misical instrument, man.”
“It was new enough-devil doubt of that—but no mortal man
melancholy on the head of it, that
Ethe family banshee of the O'Hara's
onnaraile, that came to warn me of
hy, Phil, you generally hang fire until
d call forth the melody of your infer-
by,” returned O’Hara, with a sharp
of his chair: “for between you and
ight to frighten the notion of music
1.”
all the way from the Y
my latter end.”
“What's a banshee?” enquir Smith.
“A ghost—a kind ºf family f
“Pooh man, you were dreamg
“You will try to persuade in I was asleep next,” said O'Hara,
** and the whole º of us in full roar at the time, making a hur-
raballoo that might have burst thunder cloud. No, faith, I was
even too wide awake at the time for the quiet of my conscienge–
N. mºrn
Wº Jº NN
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thousand pities that some of us did not die of it. O'Hara, Smith,
and myself had given up speaking, and were marching with despe-
rate strides into the whiskey punch, when suddenly one of the most
heart-rending shrieks that ever fell on the ear of mortal man mingled
for an instant with the music, and then ceased.
“By heavens, there it is again,” exclaimed O'Hara, starting on
his feet. “Now, boys, was I right? Is not that a voice from and
ther world º - -
“I never heard anything to equalit,” said Smith, who was at
that period a rigorous free thinker, “could it have been a sudden
gust of windº
-- Hush,” Whispered O'Hara, as the mysterious sound was renew.
ed; but this time it was continued for several seconds, and died
away in a low, painful, and unearthly moan.
“Whatever it may be, there is no mockery about it,” said I; “for
no imitation of sorrow or misery could be so faithful tº
“It is a spirit, so sure as I am a manº said O'Hara; * and I
fear the mystery is that we have some murderer under this roof.”
Again the sound burst forth in a dismal howſ, which, though low
and apparently suppressed, was painfully distinct amid the babel-
jargon of the instruments; and then it graduated to a moan, and died
away, to be heard no more.
“After that,” exclaimed Smith, “our Epicurean philosophy may
be a humbug.” -
“Why,” I enquired, *.do you believe we have been listening to a
spirit?”
* Not quite-buſ faith, I must confess that these sounds are any
thing but refreshing to a man who makes it a pastime to laugh at
the idea of an immaterial world. But I'll think better of it;
The musº continuing, we were again compelled to betake our.
selves silently tº our punch and cigars, which we remained busily
engaged at until we were disturbed by another circumstance. But
having spun out this chapter to an unusuallength, I will close it by
observing, as an evidence of the fearful character of the mysterious
sounds we had heard, that they led to the conversion of my friend
Smith. From that night he abandoned atheism—conviction of the
divine truths of revelation followed—and he is at the present writ-
º * eminent and truly pious divine in the Presbyterian
urch.
CHAPTER IV.
Our landlady (for it was one of the gentle sex that presided over
the destinies of 202) was one of the oddest specimens of woman-
hood that ever existed. A vestal, was she, of middle age, and not
ºiss in form or feature; but her utter disregard for her personal
*ctions was such, that she left them nearly, or altogether in the
* ºf nature. There was something, I apprehend, hydrophobical
*** system, inasmuch as she rarely visited her hands or face with
the infliction ºf an ablution in the liquid element above eight times
* Wºnd as rarely disturbed the knotty labyrinths of her maiden
tresses, by the intrusion of comb or brush; the vanity of stockings,
unless when called abroad on state occasions, was a thing unknown
to her;-and as she seldom if ever indulged herself in the popular
weakness of a nap under the blankets and appeared on each suc-
ceeding day, the occasions of her semi-quarterly sacrifices to the
*s always excepted, precisely as she had done on the day before
-only a shade dirtier—it was the prevailing opinion that she rarely
fittered away any of her time in the absurd and laborious alterna.
tions of stripping and dressing. She occupied a little narrow three
feet by seven hole in the wall, situated at the end of the hall, and
commanding a view of it through a single pane of the dirtiest possi-
ble green glass, whereat the fair recluse used to reconnoitre the
passage whenever a ring at the door, or any unusual bustle on the
stairs, inspired her vigilance. The furniture of this contracted den
was an old hanging book-shelf, piled with musty volumes—an ill-
fashioned moth-eaten sofa, that nearly filled it, and nothing more; if
we except its drapery of cobwebs, and sundry heaps of rags and rub-
bish, promiscuously scattered about, for it was certainly a place of
allnastiness, and less desirable as a residence, we should take it, than
the tub of Diogenes, or even than the black hole of Calcutta itself.
Nevertheless, it chimed in so well with our landlady's motions of
comfort and elegance, that she seldom left it, which frequently sug-
gested the idea that she had her existence independent of atmosphe-
je air; for, while shut up in her cubby hole, she was almost as ef.
fectually excluded from the region and principle of organic life, as a
toad in a stone. It was likewise rumored of this modern Sipholax,
that she never slept; for night, noon, or morning, whenever any one
ºne in at the hall door, her dingy face became dimly visible at the
dirty pane; and it was even suspected that she lived upon suction,
as nothing indicative of gastric viands, or cooking utensils, had ever
been found lurking in or about the immediate neighborhood of her
only known place of abode. I believe, however, that this latter was
ºnly an imagined marvel, as I have been given to understand that she
indulged freely in crackers, water, and snuff; but beyond these, it
strikes me, her animal predilections were never permitted to wander :
and even the tale of the snuff was rather a deduction than a certain.
ty. All these peculiarities in Miss Dingy were to be attributed to
her propensity for acquisition; for she was a decided miser; which
was rendered the more remarkable by the fact, that in all matters
not connected with the great delight and struggle of her life, she was
a woman of strong mind, good sense, and engaging manners. She
was also a great reader; but in this, as in everything else, her taste
was most unfeminine; for the subjects of her study were gigantic
tºnes on Law, Physic, and Philosophy, over which, reclined on her
ricketty, sofa, she used to pore from morning till night, and from
ºht tillºnorains, never foºking tº in fººt, ºnies on Monday
renoons, which she devoted to the collection of her rents; and I
fear it is to be confessed, that the majority of her worthy tenants
were, on many of those occasions, sufficiently sorry that her thirst
for knowledge should be so far quenched, as to permither to sacrifice
so much of her valuable time in their favor.
Almost everything in nature works on the principle of the beam
and scale—an up produces a down—extremes in one thing beget
extremes in another—hills have corresponding hollows—storms,
corresponding calms—and hence, Miss Dingy having to do some-
thing to establish an equilibrium, balanced her affection for money,
by a most uncompromising disrelish for the whole female race, in-
cluding even herself, as it would appear from the manner in which
she treated that interesting individual. High or low, rich or poor,
ugly or handsome, she could not bear the sight of one of them; any
beggar woman who might venture into her presence was sure to
leave it again with a scratched face : and the idea of having the in-
cumbent of a petticoat living and doing well under the same roof
with her, would, I doubt not, have almost conquered her repugnance
to clean water, and induced her to make a morning excursion to
the bottom of the Hudson. Therefore, great was the surprise of our
bachelor fraternity, when we found a woman—a real genuine flesh
and blood woman—installed in the midst of us.
This new arrival was the wife—or at least, passed for such—of a
stout, morose-featured, but sinister-looking man ; and she was quite
a handsome girl-dark, clear, plump, pouting, bouncing and roguish-
eyed, with a profusion of glossy raven curls, dancing about as if
they felt their existence, and were determined on enjoying them.
selves—and a foot and ancle that were quite irresistable. The man
had been a resident at 202 for some weeks before his better half,
whom he had smuggled into the house in a cloak and foraging cap ;
and when our landlady discovered the fraud, and was essaying to re-
sent it, the male creature immediately shut up her mouth, and awed
her into a respectful distance by putting on an air of determination,
self and comrades proceeded to Harrig's apartment, where we found
“I fear, Mrs. H., we don’t understand each other; but if there's
any hing we can do for you, command us, and we're at yourser.
vice-
“Well, then, gentlemen,” she answered, without a trace of her
late nervousness visible, “make some excuse—fire–murder—earth-
quake, anything-and coax my husband out of his room for only
one minute, and I’ll pray for you till doomsday.” And so saying,
she slipped off without answer.
“Q hol” said Phil, with a long low whistle, “ that’s the way the
eat jumps, is it ! ... But come away boys, like good knights errant,
and let us rescue this distressed damsel from the dragon’s tooth.”
“The monster's horn, rather,” added Smith.
And out we rushed, crying “fire, fire, fire, fire!” in a chorus that
shook our old domicil from the chimney to the basement.
Instantly the music came to a dead period, and twenty doors leap-
ed open with a bang.
* Fire! where is it?”
“Down stairs. All communication with the street nearly cut off.
Fire, fire, fire, fire, fire.” -
And then such an uproar followed as never was seen before out of
Pandemonium Innumerable undressed, half dressed, and whole
dressed gentlemen, rushed into the lobby; and at the first dash,
sº
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But here let inemention an incident of a painful nature. As I
was rushing into O'Hara's room to smother my laughter, I heard, or
thought I heard, a short wild laugh of the most awful charaeter–
the very mockery of mirth—and then a feeble voice exclaiming,
“Thank God—thank God, my sufferings will soon cease!” These
words fell on myears like an avalanche, and naturally suppressed
every feeling of enjoyment—at least for a time; but as I heard no
more of the º spirits soon retrieved themselves, and I began
to apprehend—the more so, as my legs seemed inelined to play tru-
ant—that there might be some degree of relationship between the
mysterious words and the potency of Phil's whisky.
But I am º story. When we first gave the alarm, my-
the worthy proprietºr himself seated on a large box, with his feet
stretched out on the back of a chair, and he drinking raw rum (by
the smell of it) out of a black bottle, unaided by a glass, and puffing
deep clouds through a huge Dutch meerschaum—while his good lady
was endeavoring to appear to be in the most violent hurry ima.
ginable, to throw herself into her cloak and bonnet—or out of the
* if necessary—to the end of making her escape from the
re. -
“Fire, fire, fire!” cried Phil, popping his head in.
* Let it fire and bed—d,” returned Harrig–"it isn't as hot as
hell, where we’re all going to.”
“Yes—but it's in the room under you, Quick, quick, man, or
you're lost "
“To blazes with y u-whose afraid,” growled the ruffian.
“Do, dear Jo,” cried Mrs. Harrig, “save yourself.”
“Not a toe, Poll; for the devil might discharge me if I couldn't
stand fire.”
“The man is mad,” exclaimed Phil.
“Beware of his teeth, then,” retorted Harrig.
But here the lodgers began to return by the run—that is, such of
them as had no broken º to carry along with them—and all cur-
sing like troopers or grumbling like bears with sore heads, as if they
felt highly disappointed and mortified that they hadn't the chance of
proving their agility by a series of ground and lofty tumbling among
falling stairs, crackling floºrs and blazing rafters.
“I trust the rascals may have fire enough when they die, damn
them tº exclaimed a fellow as he rushed by with one of the skirts
of his coat among the missing.
“Ha mon dieu ! I me am evare so much killed, an de dam fire
no burn von leetle bit at alſº groaned a poor French dentist, who
was returning to his hammock, hopping on his right foot, and with
his left doubled up in his hand, as if for the purpose of making a
deposite of it in his waistcoat pocket.
“From this out I’ll stand and burn, rather than run and break my
neck,” cried a chap who had been among the foremost of those that
had performed the first sumerset down stairs.
“Oh, Jaiziz, me eye –Och, murdther, is there ony chance for
killing the baists ſº ejaculated a stout Emeralder.
“A coat of tar and feathers would be just the thing for them,”
simpered one of the cracked flutists, as he hurried past, buried alive
in a bed quilt,
“A halter without the benefit of clergy, damn them, would be
better,” added a gruff voice, which belonged to the quack doctor,
who came creeping along with his nose muffled up in his might cap.
“Dunder and teefels, disam dopad,” growled a lump of a Hol.
lander, “for mine Got, I have loshd mine preeches.”
“Watch watch thieves' murder robbery tº rang out the
screech-owl treble of our fair landſady, who began to perceive she
had been hoaxed, and to burn with a desire to revenge her much in-
jured nose. -
Those last sounds called me to my senses, and inspired me with
the notion that if the truth were discovered, O’Hara, Smith and my-
self might soon be ruralizing in the city prison—proving the disad.
vantage of gravitation out of the most convenient window—or or-
namenting three several suits of tar and feathers.
“Come, Phil, you devil,” said I," there's no time to be lost.”
“Pooh,” returned Phil, “can’t we swear as loud as any of them
that we are all kilt, and join in a reward for the alarmists.”
“And with that he began to mimic a sprained ancle. Smith put
his hip out of joint; I flourished a dislocated shoulder, and thus pro-
tected from the eye and lip of glander and sºpieion, we limped back
to O'Hara's room, well º with our adventure, but regretting
that it had been attended with such little advantage to the cause of
poor Mrs. Harrig.
CHAPTER W.
It was now rather late to go out; and what, with our fire adven.
ture, and the anticipation of a second visit from º Harrig, we
were in too high a state of excitement and wakefulness to think of
going to bed; therefore, it was resolved to stay where we were-
rouse up the fire–venture another mild assault on the punch jug-
season it with a little chit-chat—and (if subjects failed, and the spirit
moved us,) kill time with a song or two.
In about fifteen minutes, by a well organized division of labor,
every thing was in apple-pie order, and down we sat—the ruddy
glow of our peach-orchard fire—the fragrant dispensations of our
big-bellied pitcher—a clean hearth—and nur own cheerful looks,
contrasted with a devilish, dark, drizzling, and howling sort of a
night without—inspiring in us a sense of enjoyment that was very
like happiness; and probably as adjacent to the neighborhood of that
notable castle in the air as humanity in the flesh is permitted to in-
trude itself.
“Let’s see—I sung last,” said O'Hara. “Come, Tom, give us
something sentimental, with wine in it, "Fill the goblet, high,
Boy,” for instance.
“We may disturb some of our neighbors, Phil.”
“Q, devil a matter. I hope it will give them the night-mare; I
could find it in my heart to sing three-fourths of them into the mid-
dle of next week with a chorus of rusty hinges.”
“Ditto repeated,” exclaimed Smith.
“Well, here goes, but mind the chorus.”
“FILL THE GOBLET HIGH, BOY.”
AIR-Peas upon a trencher.
ºsº
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| nearly half a store of them went heels over head down the stairs
each trying tº be first, by holding the others back, and all halloºn.
and roaring like blue murder. The German prince, thinking that º
legitimate escape from the garret was cut off, made mince-meat of
his bed clothes, and let himself down from the window to the roof of
the next house, where he arrived without any baggage to recom.
mend him but his shirt, small clothes, and one boot." The landlady
in her fury to get out, rushed foul of a sans eulotte quack doctº.
who, in his zeal not to see which way he was going, was careeringin
the opposite direction, when both went down counterwise, and rolled
several paces backwards from the force of the shock. Tº...i.
botn tipsy, and each flattering himself into the notion that he wa.
garrying the other, tumbled out of one little cubbyhole, and then
down stairs, bringing up at the bottom in a huge tub of water which
some humane individuals were fetching along to extinguish the fire.
In shºrt, nearly every person in the house was running, roaring
tumbling, swearing, disjointing his bones, falling down stairs drag.
ging his front-rank man back in order to get before him and tº
tervals crying fire, fire, fire, at the high top gallant of his voice—so
that, to a person who knew how the land lay, and had a tolerably
tough conscience, the whole affair was the chºicest sport imaginable
—even better than my friend Sandy's Prince's Bay oysters.
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old man, sixty or upwards, of a very dignified appearance—which
was not to be disguised by his modest mien or thread-bare garment,
By the high polish, suavity, and unaffected elegence of his manners,
it was evident that the most exalted society had been his natural
element; he had seen much of the world, and knew it well; though
alas! without any practical advantage to himself; and he was ac-
complished and even talented. But he made no parade of all this, or
any thing else; on the contrary, he was modest and retiring to a
fault; and kept himself so much a recluse, that his excursions
abroad were confined to a quiet walk on the Battery every evening;
and his acquaintanceship in New York, I believe, to myself, Smith
and O'Hara. Indeed, he was a good and gentle creature—had a
heart overflowing with the milk of human kindness—and was in all
particulars made so perfect by the hands of nature, education—and
perhaps I might add-misfortune, that it was impossible to know
and not to respect and love him. The mystery involved in the so-
journment of Monsieur Lavar amongst the gross and tumultuous
spirits of 202 Broadway, found its solution in his decayed and thread-
bare garb-for ours was the only lodging house in the city devoted
to the wants and habits of “ young men about town,” which com-
bined cheapness with “gentility ;" and we three were indebted for
our intercourse with him, to a broken head which my friend O'Hara
had brought home from a row, and which the kind old Frenchman
had volunteered to patch up for him. From that time he had fre-
quently been a most welcome guest at our little convivial suppers,
and used to enter into the spirit of them with all the vivacity of boy-
hood, adding to them a fresh zest by his gentle manners and broken
English ; for, like all other Frenchmen, past or present, who have
made trial of the matter, he found the straight-forward, matter-of-
fact, gutteral Teutonick, a great deal more than his match-
As I, Phil, and Smith, were all tolerably good—or more properly
speaking—shockingly bad French scholars, our guest, whenever he
felt himself much puzzled, used to interlard his conversation with
a considerable sprinkling of his native tongue, which we would
translate to each other; and frequently so freely as to give it a
meaning nearly opposite to that intended, and thus produce a good
deal of amusement at our combined expense. I will not undertake,
in the dialogue that follows, to give our worthy friend's mode of ex-
pressing himself verbatim, but will merely scatter as much broken
English among his sentences as may preserve his identity.
We all arose at his entrance to welcome him, and give him the
post of honor.
“O Monsieur Lavar!” exclaimed O'Hara, advancing to receive
him with out-stretched hand, “we are so happy to see you. Sit
down and make yourself at home till cock-crow. We were afraid
you had either left or grown tired of us?”
“Ah my bon ami, den you sall have done me some injusthece. I
would not tink for go without taking my leave; and could not ave
grow tire of such bon companions. Ha, Monsieur Smith, I ave de
pleasure to be your ver humble servant. Monsieur Stapleton too!
my jolligarson-comment vous, portez vous? Jesuistres glad, mes.
steurs, to see you all so happy.
“Come, take your old seat, Monsieur Lavar. Tom, you villain,
you have turned my fourth and last tumbler into a candlestick. Run
in for one to your own hencoop.”
“Ha! not for me, my friend,” exclaimed the Frenchman, with
something of a start, and a very peculiar smile, that had a dash of
the grin in it, “not for me, my dear friend. I ave only come for
hear von leetle song, and ave von leetle chit-chat; but I will not
drink of de pounch. Mon Dieu I dare not drink of de pounch!
The singular emphasis laid on a matter comparatively unimpor-
tant, surprised us; but not into a resignation of our point.
“What, not pledge us in one glass O nonsense, monsieur.
Faith, you shall—and in two to the back of that. Quick, Tom—
in with the vessel; and don't make a mistake, and bring your sha-
ving cup.”
The glass was accordingly provided, and put on duty, and our
friend took his seat beside the fire, which he cowered over with the
eagerness of a traveller of Saint Bernard found half famished among
the snows, and just brought into the hospitable convent.
“Now boys,” said O'Hara, “renew, and let it be a bumper.
Monsieur Lavar, we have the pleasure of drinking your health.”
“Tank you, tank you, my friends. My healt-ha ha-tank you,
tank you, my friends. You aka good—variºnod tº
We all perceived that our visitor was in an unusual mood, and
thought he might be in bad health; the more especially as he look.
ed more pale and haggard than we had ever seen him before.
“Monsieur Lavar, you are not in good spirits to night—I fear you
are unwell.”
“No, no, my friends, I am ver well—too well!
amis. I am too well!—ha, ha!”
“And long may you continue so,” said O'Hara.
The Frenchman smiled faintly, and shook his head.
“My dear sir, you really don't seem happy to night, 1 remarked;
“come, cheer up. Pledge us in a buzmper, and you'll feel better!”
“Qu'est ce que cela veut dire?” he answered, with an absent dis.
tracted sort of glance at me—and all of us—and then added, as if
suddenly recollecting himself, “O ! oui, Je suis tres heureux—ver
happy! True, Iave some trouble—some ver leetle trouble here—
(laying his hands on his heart) but, Mon Dieu ! I ave de hope it will
soon be ovare.”
“But, Monsieur Lavar,” said Phil, “your glass stands untasted—
you don't drink!”
“Ah, pray Monsieur O'Hara, excuse a moi.”
“Not an inch, Monsieur-murder! anything but that.”
“Well den, my friend, so be it,” returned Monsieur Lavar—to
which he added in a whisper, meant doubtlessly to be only heard by
the being to whom it was addressed—“Ah, Mon Dieu º Mon Diewſ
renforcer mon capur.
The conversation then became general, and in a few minutes the
Frenchman recovered his spirits, and was his former self—laughing
—and joking—-and driving dull care away, as well as the best of us.
I could not help noticing, however, an unusual restlessness in his
eye, and hollowness and puckering up, about the corners of his
mouth ; as also that he frequently threw a short, sharp glance at
Phil's table a manger, whereon was located the remnants of our late
feast, and a plate full of ham sandwiches. Phil had likewise per-
ceived this; and thinking that his friend's appetite might perhaps be
Yes, my bon
O, fill the goblet high, boy,
And fearless drain it dry, boy;
For ruby wine
Makes souls divine,
And fits them for the sky, boy!
Shall mortals dare upbraid it,
And say that sins pervade it,
When holy writ,
And all admit,
That He who saved us made it!
So fill the goblet high, boy,
And fearless drain it dry, boy;
have four men on the bench as susceptible to those weaknesses of
poor human nature, known by the appellations of mercy, sympathy,
pity, and the like, as othere ery day people; but then there were
but two who were open to this charge-the other two being as im-
pervious to any thing in the likeness of a gentle or generous emotion
as the horny protuberance that adorns the nose of the rhinoceros.
Not to libel these worthies, I would be understood as only speaking
of them in their professional capacity; for as men it was rumored of
them that they had their share of soft spots about their hearts, as
well as other people. But only place them on the bench, with a
sufficient amount of wretchedness before them to stir them into ac-
slandered, and villified as the noble
bver the world are in the habit of
º, matter of fact, anti-romantic sort
and there's a proof of it.” -
Saying which, O'Hara pointel to the remains of his glass-horn,
which lay in a small help in a coher shivered into a thousandinglo-
‘s are confined to buying and sell- |rious fragments. - ſ
y some New England compiler of “O Phil, if you wer, neither sleep or dreaming, you must have
j-Atlantic mountebank and a dol. been raising spirits uply pouring spirits down.”
jublic ball rooms, by way of lite- “Well, may be so. Butlet is change the subject, for even the
the idols of dissipation and high whiskey cant make it agreeable. But say, Tom, how gets on the
a very mine of marvels, so ripe war with Miss Livington?”
irly explored, its rare gems and “O devil a chance frºme unless Idrop in for a fortune or an earl-
al sufficient fºr a goodly catalo- |dom. Sure, man, she worth fifty-thousand; and her mother, who
which convinced the beholder that he had the heart to dare, what.
ever he had the will to do, and threatening if she did not go down
stairs of her own accord, to save her the trouble by throwing her
out of the window. Joseph Harrig was this man's name, and taking
Lavater for my oracle, a more dangerous looking customer I had
seldom laid eyes on. He was a broad shouldered, thick-necked fel-
low, with a tremendous expanse of breast, and great embrowned
iron paws, that seemed sufficient to have grappled with a roaring
lion; his face, large, beetle-browed and sullen, with the exception
of a sort of petrified grin about the corners of his capacious mouth,
reflected a mind wherein all the baser passions revelled at random;
and to improve its beauty the wrong way, it contained a number of
in a better tone for solids than liquids, he himself affected to be at-
tacked with a sudden fit of ferocity, as an excuse for introducing his
viands. But no—Monsieur Lavar could not eat –“ He was,” he
said, “a little indisposed, and his complaint was of a nature that re-
quired abstemiousness.” Nevertheless he threw some intense glan-
ees at the sandwiches; and it seemed to me—for his unusual appear-
ance and manner had induced me to keep my eye on him after a fa-
shion not strictly in accordance with good breeding—that he looked
a little agitated, and mortified when they were removed. I also re-
marked that he did not drink his punch, but watched his opportuni-
ties when he thought he was unperceived, and emptied it from time
“I’ll only charge it as a case of drunkeness—five dol
Whereupon the fat lady instantly paid the money, an
of a watchman employed for the purpose, conveyed t
famine and judicial brutality from the office.
Sickened to the heart by this villainous mockery of
tice I delivered myself of a silent prayer for its total
the deepest bowels of the earth through the immedi
some charitable earthquake, and forthwith returned
able asylum of single blessedness.
omances, and extravaganzas, of to time over the fender.
º – –
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CHAPTER II.
A fertnight had elapsed since º º: º our º *...
…re gnificent Chamber 1m
females sat conversing in a mº at the apartment produced sensa-
ions akin to the realization of a bower in fairy land; a further ex;
amination might have been attended with feelings of mistrust and
the hangings and dra-
were actually gorgeous; and the arrangement of
the whole gave evidence of a taste of the very highest order; but the
costly oil paintings; and here
of them were of an exciting cha-
intended)—to inspire feelings of voluptu-
heart of sternest virtue to relax into the
wards of this city. A first glancº
pain. The furniture was extravagantly rich ;
pery of the room
walls were adorned with a number of
lay the difficulty for each and all
racter—calculated (if not
ousness, and to cause the --- -->
º, amºrosial abandon, of a Musselman in his Houri’s heaven. In
these paintings were commemorated in warm Titian colors, nearly
- Ixion em-
- ls of love.
every celebrated scene recorded in the anna
bracing the mock Juno-Mars and Venus beneath the net work
ir couch of roses, by the offended Vulcan
thrown over them and their c Juan on the 'sº beach the Rape of
Lucrece. Leda and her swan–Diana abandoning herself to the plea-
sures of the bath, unconscious of the presence of the excited hunter
–Hugo and Parisina in their bower–Dauphne flying from the em:
braces of Lysander, but beckoning him to follow—and the loves of
—the nuptials of Haidee and
Dido and Enead were especially prominent; but the centre piece,
the most striking of all, was a dazzlingly beautiful figure of Venus,
before which knelt Diana sacrificing to her
heart, while all the other
-- iter to the Cyclops, stood around, participating in
deities, from Jupiter to the Cyclop the supremacy of the goddess of
standing on a shrine, b -
newly acknowledged mistress a bleeding
the worship, and humbly admitting
ove and beauty.
- - - f
t females who were conversing in this bower,9
One of the two but notwithstanding her smiles
and forbidding, in her
was most amply provided for in the
She seemed, indeed, as much out.
to use a homely simile-a
the
sphere of the apartment, her companion was just as much above it,
fºr she looked as though she were the concentration ºf every female
without a tinge of any female weakness. Never have we
figure so symmetrical—a . so
- - - - beau-
raceful—a bearing commanding—and a face so surpassingly
Fº Indeed, the effect of her loveliness was absolutely startling.
tº she lived in by gone times, she might have been taken for We.
- and before the embraces of a god
And yet the compari:
- º, for the face ºf Venus was a mirror which
son is not a good one ; tender nature; whereas, the
I am attempting to º:
o
that the natural feelings her loveli-
bliss was a fat jolly looking person; P.
there was something very coarse, sinister,
great red round face, which
way of carbuncles and pimples.
of place in that magnificent chamber, as, bel
hog in a flower garden. But if this female was so much below
beauty,
seen in any other woman *
nus just risen from her parent sea. -
had dimmed the lustre of her virgin glories.
reflected the weaknesses of an all too
countenance of the marvellous beauty 1.
was almost awful in its expression of pride,
ch indeed was this the case ---
. inspired, were suppressed and abashed by the fears which its
ºrs ignity awakened, And to heighwn hº wondrous charms
chastity, and truth.
rº,
º {{
the shadow of a recent illness which lingered in her ripening cheek,
seemed to spiritualize the returning bloom it gently struggled with:
Indeed the feelings she engendered in those who beheld her for the
first time partook of a divine effect, for they felt as if they could
adore, rather than love her—as if they could kneel to her, but
might not presume to make her the object of a material passion-
The cause of this was that there was a cold expression, perhaps of
a selfish haughtiness, on her peerless brow, which forbade that ex-
tatic tenderness of affection which has its crowning bliss in the hope
of awakening a mutual feeling. A sense, as it were, of her own
superiority appeared to pervade her matchless charms. And yet, I
must not slander the beautiful invalid by insinuating that one might
trace anything appertaining to a vulgar self-importance about her;
on the contrary, it was the very absence of all affectation and ap-
pearance of maiden vanity from her beautiful face which princi-
pally inspired any doubt that might have existed of the tenderness
of her nature; for it was evident to any person even moderately
skilled in the mysteries of the human countenance that she permit-
ted her brow to be the true index of her brain and heart—not, per-
haps, that there was nothing within which female delicacy might
not wish to hide, but because she was too proud to care to hide it.
Perhaps her form was too tall; but were it less commanding, it.
would not have been in keeping with the majesty of her counte-
nance. Her figure was full–or at least was made to appear so by
the superb developements of her bust and hips. Her eyes were as
black as death. Her hair was of the deepest possible auburn ; al-
most—if the idea might be permitted-of a golden black ; and fell
adown her gracefulneck in a wild profusion of natural ringlets, as
iſ for the purpose of enhancing the brilliancy of her polished should-
ers, which peeped through the dark interstices of her wanton locks,
like things of turned ivory. Her dress—a loose robe de chembre-
negligently put on, partially revealed her glowing bosom, and its
globes of snów—a peep at which would have destroyed the philoso-
phy of a whole school of stoics, or brought even a Plato to his knees.
in short, in outward womanhood, at least, she was perfection’s self-
personified; but with all her excessive beauty there was, as I have
already hinted, a severity in her countenance which bespoke a heart
but little influenced by the softer emotions, and which was well cal-
culated to produce despair in a lower's soul, or to abash the gaze of
vulgar voluptuousness. -
The ºldest of these two females might have been easily recognized
as the fat lady, spoken of in the last chapter; but it would have
been a matter of some difficulty to have identified the younger one
with the starving and ragged wretch who a few days before had
implored in vain for a crust to eat, and could only obtain a temporary
security from the pitiless storm by submitting to usage which might
have aroused indignation in the heart of a dog. . .
Nevertheless the unfortunate Mary Anson and this peerless beauty,
now surrounded with princely magnificence, were one and the same
person ; but alas! she was not to be congratulated on the change;
for there was something about her companion and the apartment she
reclined in, which seemed to indicate that guilt—at least in the per-
sective—had been the medium of her escape from poverty to afflu-
£nces -
ornament.
je that the author who deals in
ºr imagination, but merely a fair ta-
aly, for once he begins, he will find
a ºn confusion any quantity of the prettiest
and most interesting little loves-murders—intrigues—sentimental
suicides—broken hearts—secret associations—forced marriages—
mysterious orphans-curious coincidences—midnight strangers
muffled up in dark cloaks, and looking suggestive of Spanish stillet.
toes—may even of duels, conspiracies and ghosts—that ever threw a
blotter of white paper into a rhapsody, or astounded and captivated
the reading public. And then for characters, singular, distinct and
numerous, we stand pyramidically pre-eminent over all the world.
Talk of London and Paris: they are not to be mentioned in the
same day with New York; for whenever any son of a woman be.
longing to either of the former places finds he has a genius above the
common, he is almost sure to he off to Gotham to speculate on it.
So is it with the karremables of Dublin, Edinburgh, Vienna, St.
Petersburgh, Madrid, Amsterdam, Stockholm, Brussels, and every
other place where young gentlemen are given to the popular accom.
plishment of making their native country too hot to hold them; and
hence dear delightful New York is the El Dorado of heroes, vision.
aries, fortune hunters, loafers, Jeremy Diddlers, disconsolate authors,
and all other interesting characters, ad infinitum, from the exqui.
site pirate who occasionally perambulates Broadway in white satin
waistcoat and occasionally makes people walk the plank on the high
seas—to the poor devils that pick up a living by playing elephant's
legs and the like for two shillings a might at our various theatres.
Does any one doubt all this, let him take a bird’s eye view of our
boarding houses, hotels, and billiard rooms, courts, prisons, &c., in
comparison with the same human reservoirs in other cities, and he
will speedily acknowledge that I have claimed no honor for New
York to which she is not strictly entitled; and lest he might think I
have carried the matter a little too far in respect of the pirate, I
would here observe that one of the most Adonis-cheeked, Beau
Brummell-looking fellows I ever saw lounging along the pave of our
most fashionable thoroughfares was sadly suspected of commanding
a long, low, herring-built schooner, which followed the trade of
seuttling and throat-cutting between here and the West India Isle
ands. -
Now, gentle reader, after the above homily, or whatever you may
choose to call it, you will be in a fair way to beintroduced to a slight
acquaintance with my fellow denizens in number 202 Broadway;
and allow me to add that it is probably an advantage to you to be
introduced to them in a book, rather than in propria personae, on
the ground that could the latter idea be realized in your favor, it is
fifty to one but that some of them would seduce you into a recom-
mendation to a tailor coax you to endorse a note; allure you a
stick a fool in the shape of your own sweet self at the end of a bil-
liard cue; borrow your loose change : or, by the gods, failing in
all gentler means to find the way to your sensibilities-pick your
pockets.
Nevertheless we were all gentlemen, every mother’s son of us;
and had even a fair sprinkling of nobility and royalty amongst us;
for on the fourth story alone we had a French baron, a French
count, and a Spanish Don, who was, by his own showing, a very
royal leisure chiefly by making night hideous with a voice like a hip-
hopotamus—and a cracked guitar+but not unfrequently by washing
his shirt.
For the plain esquires—(we permitted nothing less aristocratic at
202)—there were about thirty of us, each occupying a a separte “suit
of apartments,” which we invariably entitled our little ten by twelve
snuggeries; and truly, taking us round and square, and making, all
due allowance for young blood and the eccentricities of genius,
each of us being a genius in his own way) we were as suspicious a
fratermity of young, middle aged, and antique gentlemen about
town, as ever lived by their wits in a large city. I say lived by their
wits, because few of us had professions that were worth sixpence a
year to us ;-fewer yet had rent rolls, or legacies;-nºt a man Jack
ºf us could or would have done anything that might fall under the
denomination of hard work to have saved half creation from the fate
of Sodom and Gomorrah—and yet we all dressed like nabobs—lived
like fighting cocks—talked of our conquests and cruelties among the
hearts of rich heiresses–lounged about the City Hotel steps, and
other fashionable places of public nuisance, and drank good wine
by the demijohn.
The royalty and nobility, with the exception of the baron–I be-
lieve, (God forgive me if Islander them) were all pick-pockets or
black legs. Among the gentry we had several lawyers without
briefs; one or two poets without muses; not a few speculative mi-
nisters about to agitate new systems of religion; a gentleman for
the nonee—that is, a lady who had run away frºm her husband,
also I suspect from her lover, and substituted a military frock goat,
inexpressibles of course, (in consideration of her feminine predilec-
tions) and Wellington boots: The balance was made up of three or
four worthies whº called themselves professors—they should have
- º -
-
near relative to some half-dozen of the crowned heads,--and in a sky.
parlor above (for the which he promised to pay eight shillings a |
week) a German prince hung out his banner, who used to amuse his
is divided in her predections between rank and riches, puts her up
to the best blood, orth highest bidder.”
“Why, what the déce do Americans care about good blood?”
“More than you thik for for though it is only a new disease, it
has become nearly epiemic with the ton . The fact is, Phil, that
since the marriage of Iiss Astor to Baron Romff-three-fourths of
our fashionable ladieshve gone title mad.”
“A fica for such laies,” said Smith, “if they cared for the title
rather than the man, I'm hang'd if any of them should have me.
And so Miss Livingstn won't marry you, because you can't make
her Lady or Baroness tapleton.”
“I’m not so sure the she'd marry me under any circumstances:
Devil be in you, don't ention the thing, for if it get’s wind the poor
girl will be shipped of to a desolate island–or mewed up in that
great ogre castle of he fathers, on an allowance of bread and water,
to get her out of the fate of cheap living and a five hundred a-year
lover. However, injutice to the young lady aforesaid, I must say
that she's a true repubcan, and º at her mother's propensity
for name handles.” -
*You are not so muh in love
not give up the ship so asily.”/
“You in love!” - -
“Yes, and with tree Lucy's fortune, surrounded by twenty
times as many of whatyou would call difficulties.” -
“What's the name?
“Can't tell till she gangcs it.”
“Why, is the issues near?”
“Not exactly; but all accounts I’m just the sort of fellow the
poor girl is dying for ad that's my starting point!”
“You don't meanº say that you speak so confidently without
having broached the ºbject?” -
“I do, upon my ºscience, for I never saw the lady but once,
and then I had barºme to throw a quotation from Byron at her
—and to vow that shººked like the Queen of the Amazons.”
“O monstrous!”.'
“Downright generallip, for I knew her forte. She's nerve you
see to the back bone, d sympathises with nothing else. But the
best of it is, she's an olan in the hands of guardians, who (to the
end of marrying hero to a fledgeling of their own) keep her as ex-
clusive as a reel in a bitle, and won’t let anything in the likeness
of a handsome young flºw come within rifle shot of her.”
“How is that the be of it, Phil?”
“Why, you booby, ºause it removes all rivalry to any determined
knight-errant, but from fellow whom the girl is bound by all the
laws of romance to haſ and run away from. But here’s her health,
and if you're in the Hºnor I'll couple it with a song of my own
weaving, which will you into a trifle of the lady's private
history.” -
“That's a man, 0°
** Out with it, Phil.”
* Whereon O’Haras
a dashing Irish melod
my memory.
-
as me,” said Phil, “ or you would
a.”
g the following in a fine manly voice and to
he name of which, however, has escaped
’S TO THE MAIDEN.
aiden whom nothing can baulk,
lion—the eye of a hawk,
gle—the pace of a deer,
ye gods—is five thousand a year.
0 , here's to th
8he's the heart
The pride of an
And her portio
This maiden is
But in billing of
Youmust plead
Or she’ll combo
She sighs not, sh
Bly—this maiden is bright-
}oing she takes no delight:
3 a man to her—not like a fool-
your curls with a three-legged stool.
pines not, she studies no grace;
drives, but she never makes lace;
lake, where no bottom is found;
r good steed with a warrior’s bound.
Then here’s to
girl—(not forgetting her pelſ.)
Who wouldn’t c
hold to the devil himself;
d gentle–tho’ void of all fear-
e gods—is five thousand a year.
! Why, Phil, you couldn’t get your life
per annum, if you married such a wo:
* Bravo–bravo–bre
insured for ninety per
man as that.”
“She’s just such a .
O’Hara, “ because she
never condescend to ex
cle. But there goes th
harmony must give pla
As O'Hara was spea
March in Blue Beard;”
“Let’s Haste to the
arena, with “Here’s a
mutual agreement, an
fiddles” went off in the
made its debut in “Mc
vocalists then went at
the fenders, pokers, bre
penny whistles were p
an as a man ought to marry,” returned
5 so proud in her petticoats that she would
Inge them for another unmentionable arti-
—d hurdy-gurdy to lead off with, and now
a music.
º, the hurdy-gurdy struckup “The Grand
s brought out one of the cracked flutes in
ding;" the key-bugle next entered the
alth to all Good Lasses.” Then, as if by
*r of the crack'd flutes and one of the
arture to Massaniello; the third flute next
put the Kettle on.” The guitarists and
with a little of everything. And finally,
baskets, glass horns, drums, bird calls, and
in requisition, making altogether such a
added of ºf Humbug”—a fair ratiº of quack doctors, quaek dentists, (hºm le medley that, sº
ºnly speaking, it was God's mercy and a |
seams here and there which looked mighty like what one would
imagine to be the effect of sabre-gashes. Add to this, that he was
rather short, thus increasing the idea of his dogged strength—had a
voice like a bull dog—and you have a fair bird's eye view of Mr. Joe
Harrig.
Harig's apartment was in a rear auxiliary building, entered, how-
ever, from the front house—which had on the same floor ten or
twelve rooms in a double row, with the doors facing each other, and
a narrow passage between. Those apartments were mostly occu-
pied, and one of them by no less a person than the French Count,
who was a dapper little mortal of thirty—redolent of perfume–
glittering with gold chain-work and bosom ornaments—and most
happy in the possession of a formidable and faultless set of jet black
moustaches and whiskers, and a blue military frock coat, stiffened
with frog's lace and padding to such a degree, that if it could only
have mustered a head and legs, it might have turned little French-
man on its own account, as it required nobody to keep it in shape,
or enable it to stand upright. The noble Gaul was a warrior—a
very devil in the duella, by his own account—and had given quie-
tuses to a whole catacomb of fierce fellows in Paris before he had
been compelled to fly, owing to certain rumors touching an awkward
“affair between himself and a princess of the blood.” However this
may have been, it was at all events a fact, that Count Adolphe De
Launey contrived to make himself a welcome visiter among the best
society of New York; and one of the secrets of his success lay in
cheap lodgings, and garlick and bread diet—as thereby a slender
purse and a little safe betting, enabled him to cut quite a dash in the
fashionable world. Had he been from any other country than “la
belle France,” his five feet four of a figure (and even that built
lizard fashion,) might have operated against him; but in a French-
man this was just the thing, as it looked natural, and made his
his shrugs, capers, and manifold assassinations of the King's Eng-
lish, not only endurable, but quite a treat.
To see Mrs. Harrig-find out she was a pretty woman, andfall des-
perately in love with her, were the work of a moment with the sus-
ceptible Gaul; and to take a side long glance at her husband—shrug
himself into the likness of a note of interrogation, and vanishinto his
room, were the labors of the next. However, the arrow had gone
home up to the feather, and under such circumstances, what cares a
gallant Frenchman, with moustaches on his lip, and a laced coat on
his back, for a brute of a husband? The next day the Count had an-
other peep—and under better auspices, for the stumbling block was
away, and the lady peeped back at him, and not only at him but at
his laced coat, and pointed whiskers, &c., so that if no gentle emo-
tions had followed, it would have been a matter for speculation whe-
ther her heart was composed of a stone or a turnip. As it seemingly
turned out, the presumption was that it was of warm flesh and blood,
for she looked down and sighed—looked up and blushed—took ano-
ther rather lingering glance at the laced coat and mustaches, and
finally broke the ice, and settled the question by asking the count, in
the voice of the shake of a low D on the flageolet, accompanied by a
glance freighted with a whole quiver of arrows, if he could not tell
her what o'clock it was This produced a low bow, and a jewelled
time-piece—a lobby dialogue followed—then a kiss, and a slap in
the face; succeeded by an “Ah pardonez moi madame, I me no
mean to offend,” and a “Wellinow, did I ever—but I hope I haven’t
hurt you, sir!” And that’s the way that—fortes fortuna juvat.
From this time it was evident to many that the enamored Count laid
himself out to do the amiable by the fair stranger, for the which he
found no lack of opportunities, as her liege lord was a good deal of
an absentee; and things were thus progressing at the period which
found O'Hara, Smith and myself, operating in indignant silence
on our whiskey punch and fragrant Havanas.
We were beginning to think of a dive into Sandy Welsh’s, then in
the bud of its fame—to wind up with a few of its inimitable Princes
Bay's roasted in the shell, and also to escape the final flourish of the
musicians, which was usually horrible to gentlemen carrying about
them the germs of a next morning's headache, when a lºw knock at
the door announced a visitor, and the blooming Mrs. Harrig made
her appearance, looking, if possible, handsomer than ever, by reason
of an air of fervor or bewilderment about her that warmed all her
beauties into a blaze.
* Gentlemen, Ib-b-beg pardon.” -
“Not a word of excuse, my dearmadamº-Aside to O'Hara-
*0 Phil., you rogue—ousted the Count, eh?” For it struck me that
the lady had just dropt in to have a tete-a-tete with the proprietor of
the apartment. -
* Guiltless 'pon honor,” whispered mine host, at the same time
looking his innocence so effectually, that my heart at ºnce acquit-
ted him of having the slightest idea of the purpose of the fair visi-
tar.
* Gentlemen, I’m so ashamed that!—but—0 dear me, I don’t know
what to do tº -
“Sit down, my dearmadam, and collect yourself.” Pray is there
anything we can do for you?
*0 dear, it's too dreadful even to think of and Harrigso-so-0
dear.”
*Was it the strange voice he heard?”
*The voiceſ my God, no. Sure, gentlemen, you didn't hear that
For ruby wine
Makes souls divine,
And fits them for the sky, boy.
What, tho' it leads to shame, boy,
The wine is not to blame, boy;
Even great excess,
In holiness,
May often do the same, boy.
So bigot bores may blunder,
And hurl their wordy thunder;
Do they know more
Than He who tore
The gates of death asunder?
So fill the goblet high, boy,
And fearless drain it dry, boy;
For ruby wine
Makes souls divine,
And fits them for the sky, boy!
When round the wine victorious,
Our souls become so glorious,
They seem to hold
Communion bold,
With festive angels o'er us;
So doubt we not the story,
Of Turkish sages hoary,
That saints divine
Delight in wine,
And quaff their cups in glory !
Sa fill the goblet high, boy,
And fearless drain it dry, boy;
For ruby wine,
Makes souls divine,
And fits them for the sky, boy!
“Well done, Tom; but your song is rather out of place in these
days of abstemiousness, when they even talk of abolishing wine at
the communion table.”
“O, Phil, that's a libel.”
“ Divil a bit of it—seeing's believing; though it seems like anim-
provement that might be dispensed with: for what was pure enough
for the God, it strikes me, might go down with the worm.”
“Let us change the theme,” remarked Smith. “It’s hardly a fit
one to trifle with at a drinking board.”
“That's as true as though an angel spoke it,” said O'Hara, “for
if any thing especially vulgarizes the mind, and marks the dollard,
it is an irreverence of holy matters! For myself I can empty a
bottle, play with the petticoats, or draw on my wits for a living with
any man; but these are my limits; my Hercules pillars; and will,
I apprehend, be enough to answer for without coupling them with
an affectation of infidelity.”
“But these may be enough to damn you, Phil, without the other,”
said I.
* Never believe it !” he replied, “The gods drink wine–love
the ladies—and patronize good fun and good fellowship; but who
ever read of the devils enjoying themselves?
“That's an easy and comfortable kind of creed, Phil.”
“It’s the creed of conscience, Tom—the soul's true index; which
is often as independent of reason as the sun of the moon. I know I
am considered a rattling, rambling, devil-may-care Jeremy Diddler
sort of fellow myself; but for all that I think I may be in as fair a
road to heaven as many of those easy-going, sleek, rosy-gilled fel-
lows, who denounce laughing as one of the seven deadly sins-kis:
sing a girl as utter damnation—and step through the streets as if
they were keeping time to a psalm tune, or the Dead March in Saul.
Many things are abominable in law and society, Tom, which are not
very bad in true religion. For instance, a little amour, not exactly
after the banns,—or an extra bottle with a fight for good-fellowship
at the end of it—are set down as open rebellion in the church—while
apathy to human suffering, occasions no long faces, and excites no
man’s indignation. But, for my part, I’d rather stand accused at
the bar of Minos, of drinking Bachus under the table—making love
to Diana—and knocking down a bishop, than of refusing a penny
to a pauper. No, Tom, whatever a decent fellow can reconcile to
his conscience, trust me, won't do him a great deal of harm up
stairs. But in regard of scepticism, I would further remark, that I
have many potent reasons for being a true believer; and one of
them is, that in all my experience I never knew an infidel who had
any sentiment, or could drink his wine with an intellectual relish."
* Phil, I can perceive by the length of your wind that you are
over your fifth tumbler.”
“Why, man, I have spoken like an oracle.”
“And mixed up religion and profanity like a Musselman.
hark!” -
Here a modest tap at the door interrupted our conversation, and
we were joined by one of our fellow-lodgers from the floor above,
who was in the occasional habit of passing a pleasant half hour
with us.
This was the French Baroa. Such at least was the rank assigned
to him, and I believe not groundlessly; but he himself disclaimed
-
-
But,
he spoks?”
* title superior to that of Monsieur Lavar. He was a venerable
However, when looked at critically, there
was nothing very mysterious in all this ; indisposition was a suffi-
cient apology for not eating or drinking; and the sharp glances, et
cetera, might have been only matters of wonderment seen through
the camera obscura of my imagination.
Again Monsieur rallied and laughed, and cracked his jokes, and
seemed to enjoy himself as of old, and even favored us with a little
song; but still, if I were to die for it, I could not help thinking that
he threw an occasional hungry glance in the direction of the table a
manger.
“...Allons gai! monsieur Stapleton " he said to me, after a time,
as he saw me looking at him thoughtfully, Allons gai–time is short
—let us enjoy ourselves!—Come, my friend Monsieur O'Hara, vout
you sing us von leetle song before we part.
“Certainly, Monsieur—with pleasure.
your turn first; you are a song in our debt.”
“Ha-am I so? Well den I shall pay him now, as I might not
ave de chance again so soon as we may tink! I sall sing you von
leetle affair I ave compose myself in de French, and den traduced
into my own ver bad Engleesh. It is verdull and foolish; but I am
so myself, and cannot tink to make my song mooch of de better.”
The old gentleman then pitched his voice into a low and mournful
key, and sang the following simple words to a little French air :
YOUTH IS THE SEASON FOR LIFE,
Youth is the season for life;
Age is the season for tears;
I'd rather have youth and strife,
Than all the world and years.
But let's see–yes, its
Were all men early just,
Then all would early die;
When the mind is free from rust
It is ta'en to its home in the sky.
Whom the gods love die young;
Old age is merely given,
That sometime the heart may be wrung,
To prepare the soul for heaven.
Earth should not bear an old limb;
Were the mind such as mercy might save,
Ere the heart had grown cold, or eye dim,
They would go to their native grave.
My friends you are youthful and bold;
O! may you be happy and blest;
Yet I trust you may never grow old,
But pass from your youth to your rest.
Youth is the season for life;
Age is the season for tears;
I would rather have youth and strife,
Than all the world and years.
“Thank you, Monsieur, thank you; but your song is one of the
saddest, and broaches a strange argument.”
“Vot is dat my bon friend?”
“Why, that a man lives no longer after he is prepared to die. By
that rule, we are all left here until we have fitted ourselves for a
better world’’
Ah no, Monsieur O'Hara, my song does not say so; unless my
Engleesh—vich is ver likely—has not been true to my meaning. I
mean for say that ven men are good young, they die young, before
the warm soul is entombed in the cold heart and the creeping frame;
but ven sinful as me—half in anger but all in mercy—the period of
their probotion is extended, and they are left to the vexations and
worryings of old age, either to repent of their wickedness and be
happy, or to live out the days of their privilege, despising the for-
bearance of him who is all and all—until mercy has to give place to
jousteese. But I fear dat you sall be yet more tire of my philosophy
in prose, den in song.”
“Dear Sir, we are delighted with both,” I answered, “but we are
sorry to see you so down-hearted.”
“Ah it is best so -I ave been merry—I know Iave had de bon
ceur-hail, rain, or blow, like all of my brave compatriots. But it
is time dis was change-old jester, old fool; and I have been both die
twenty years.”
“O Monsieur,” said O'Hara, “why you are only a boy to some
men in my country, who feel themselves scarcely out of their teens.
There was Tom Bell, for instance, who put the ball in at the brace
in a hurling match, at eighty-cudgelled a brace of excisemen that
wanted to seize a keg of potteen whisky from him at eighty-five,
and danced at his own fifth wedding, at the age of ninety and two."
“Den he sallave been of de men who do not make mootch by
growing old. Old age was not of de service to him, no more as to
myself, for which he was intend.”
“Tom didn't think so himself,” replied O'Hara. “It was his no-
tion that every additional year was an increase of wealth and
strength to him. But as it's my turn I'll give you an idea as to what
sort of a fellow Tom Bell was in a song, which is merely some ex-
tracts from a note book kept by himself. His confessions, which 1
may give to the public some day, were found among other papers


























































































































































































































































-
shortly after his death;-an event, by the way, which was brought
about by a fall he had from a horse that balked at a stone fence as
he was following a fox hunt—at the age of ninety-four. So at least
say the chronicles of his native village, which wouldn't be likely to
flatter him; as prophets you know, or men of genius, never get much
credit in their own country. The air of my song is “ Tully Ma.
guire " which, by the way, has been recently stolen by Hogg, the
Ettrick Shepherd, and attached as original to his beautiful verses
commencing “Birds of the Wilderness, blythesome and cumberless.”
But in order to stop my prosing, I'll give you the song of
OLD TOM BELL, THE HIGHWAYMAN.
Here I am footing it over the mountain,
As drunk as an owl, yet as gay as a lark;
My spirits are fresh as the foam ºn the fountain–
My wits just as sharp as the teeth of a shark.
A stone is my pillow-my bed is the heather,
And so could I march from Bersheba to Dan,
For jolly old time has encased me in leather;
I wouldn't for anything be a young man:
I’m seventy years old, yet so frisky and hearty,
I jump, fight, make love, run, ride, wrestle and swig;
If he'd only stand out, I could trounce Bonaparty,
And beat any harlequin dancing a jig.
A young man has hopes, fears, contritions and passions;
He's up like a bubble, or down like a stone;
An old man has none of your whimsical fashions,
He knows when to take things, and leave them alone.
With the girls I’m the devil for playing oppossum,
Peg, Bridget and Sal, are at present enthrall’d;—
If my hair is grown white, it is only in blossom ;
In fifty years more it will scarcely be bald.
I live as I can;–sometimes cadge on the bye-way,
Play rackets for wagers—fight, fiddle, or sing:
But lately I’ve taken to rob on the highway,
And stopping the Mail is a treat for a king:
I only take booties from those who have plenty,
Which I give to the poor from the pounds to the pins;
And so I'll live on till a hundred and twenty,
And then I'll begin to repent of my sins!
Now my name is Tom Bell—but they call me the Frisky;
And if you would know how I get on so well,
Why, the half of my blood is the best of good whisky:
Don't water your malt, and you'll rival Tom Bell.”
“Bravo, Monsieur Tom Bellº exclaimed Lavar, who seemed to
have forgotten all his troubles, whatever they might be, while O'Hara
was singing. But in a few moments the restlessness returned to his
ºye, and he took his leave. “Adieu, my good—my dear friends,”
he sighed, after he had shaken each of us warmly by the hand–º I
ºve dehope ye sall yet meet in a place were even an old man may be
happy as well as merry!”
“The cheek may be lit by a warm sunny smile,
Tho' the cold heart to ruin runs darkly the while !”
exºtiºned Phil, when ourguest had departed, -
“I fear it is even so with our poor fººd, I ºdded: “But good
morning it can’t be very far from honest men's breakfast time, .
1 swear I'll have a nap before I have another adventure.”
“I was disappointed. In proceeding to my own room, I perceived
by the dim rays of the ſlickering hall lamp, which appeared to be
winking with drowsiness like myself—three men in earnest conver.
sation on the lobby leading to the rear building. Two of them were
short, stout, fellows, dressed like sailors; the third was a tall and
powerfully built man. This latter had his back towards me; but
instantly as he heard my footsteps, he turned about, when our eyes
met, and I must confess that I was somewhat startled by discovering
-º-º-º:
- -
- __ __
-
-
_
**ince? I somehow think he's an old friend of mine.”
“The devil you doº
the men exchanged sig
* Yes I do—is that a
The same man answered again,
ºnly came in, seeing the from doo
light his cigar. But, I believe he
such sort of a land sharkº
“Humph" I saw the fellow lied, and was m
ever that he and his comrade were there for no
“What are you waiting for, friends,” said I.
“O! we're old friends of yours, too, are we?”
quist.
“You are sharper, neighbor,”
the rascal's impudence, “ .
nificant glances.
º persuaded tha
goºd purpose.
e, “than good manners may warrant. But,
be plain with you, I don't like your looks, and must know why yº
are lurking about this house at such an unseasonable hour in th
mºrning; or give you in charge to the watch.”
“You be damnºd” growled the ruſhan, acco
request with a motion of his dexter.
indicative of pistol and Bowie kniv
comrade interfered, and
such was intended.
“Blast you, Bob,” he muttered, “W
ing at the gentleman in that way. Bob
small tea-party,
if the rascal meant to insinuate that I was,
to know what we’re a doing of here,
mate's baggage on board, as were off
“The mate—what's his name *
“Well, now, that is coming it a leetle too strong.
his parentage, christening, and so on
namº, and the loan of a shilling ºn
“To buy lay overs for meddlers, and crutches for lame ducks,
added his companion. -
“Damn you,” I exclaimed, flourishing my hickory, “
mºnother word of your ruffian insolence, I’ll fall foºl of
“Come on, then,”
at the same time drawing a sailor,
“Hush, Bob,” said the less fero
that various doors began to open,
“ Hush Bob, we are to blame, and not the gentleman.
is one Joe Harrig, captain, and we're on
his toggery, and puts us afloat with it.”
“Why, the devil, couldn't you tell me that at firstºº I exclaimed,
as if the explanation had thoroughly extinº my curiosity,
whereas it had excited it to a much higher pitch, bec
suaded there was some connecting link between Mrs.
terious conduct last night, and her gentle good.
with himself this morning, “But
age to you! And, thereon, I sli
ment, determined by his aid to resolve the riddle, if possible.”
Phil was still in his clothes, but sleeping like a humming top–
sound and melodious—when I entered. Hºwever I immediately re-
lieved Dan Morpheus of his charge, and possessed my friend of the
facts of my latest adventure.
“It’s plain the devil has a finger in the fire,
said O'Hara, “but what can we doº
“I trusted to your genius to tell me that.”
“Well, then, let us dog the fellows when they go, and beat the
secret out of them.” -
“That might be easier said than done,” said I.
dog them, and act according to circumstan.
We now kept watch, and in about ten minutes Mrs. Harrig made
her appearance, and beckoned the two sailors into her husband.
I00mn.
“Pooh!" said I, “as the lady herself seems a party concerned, the
mystery of the voyage may be a mere fiddle-stick after all.”
* I'm thinking so myself,” said Phil; “but hush here they come.”
As he spoke, the sailors reappeared from the room, carrying a blue
mpanying the polit
es; but, at the same moment, hi
hat do yºnean by growl
-
“but so be as you wan
by day-break.”
you.”
s rigging knife from his belt.
-
good night, boys, a pleasant Voy-
pt unperceived into O'Hara's apart-
someway or other,”
“However, we'll
deal sea chest between the
replied the fellow who had spoken before, and
mything singular." But what’s his name?”
* We know nothing of him. He
r ºpen, and the lamp burning, to
s a Custom House Officer, or sºme
ºwned my collo-
said I, growing a little tigerish at
hand towards his trousers pocket,
Prevented any belligerent demonstration, if
sno nice.jpung man for a
-- - - -- -
he continued, glancing at me with a sly wink, as
fact is we're come to help the
ill I give you
or do you merely want his
if you give
hissed the first speaker between his teeth, and
cious fellow of the two, perceiving
and might cap noddles to pop out.
Our mate
y waiting till he bundles up
ause I felt per-
Harrig's mys-
man's hurry to be off
the promise (which was duly
as I subsequently learnad, ſhºrew
fore us who remained unprovide
tent themselves with a “shakedow
indeed, was liberally crowded wi
south; and my worthy chum was
ing, that some of the heaviestheir
them.
“And now, Stapleton,”
“what is the exact state o
-- Why damn it. Inau, su
“Ditto by Jupiter. A
kettle drum tº
“The devil, O'H
confºunded scrape
thrown into an ecstasy by lea
n said Phil as we were discussing a jula
f your finances?”
re you know I’m almost penniless ſº
nother julap leaves my purse as empty as
ara and hew came you to bring us into such
O without telling me of your circumstances tº
Performed) of a cºmple of beds; though,
ºre many that had been there he-
d for in this respect, and had to Con,
n” in the dining-room. The house
th visitors, principally from the
esses in the States were amongst
rn
P.
a.
a.
º º
- - §º
u - Because, Tom, if I had told you ºf them, you're so devilish fastidi. º
* | *Sºd chicken-hearted, that I couldn't have got you into it at all!” Nº
“But what are you up to, Phil? Nothing, hope, that will get us - § Nº.
e into the States Prison º º
e States Prison º º º
“Notif it's properly managed! Though, certainly, it might make E. º º
§ some men feel a little nervous tº N º §§
t I stared at my companion in quest of an elucidation of his mys. - º s §§
ery. - ====
- * Don't be alarmed, Tom, for I’m fearful I may have no o º º - º Hºſº, º
- - - - pportu- sº - fi III iſſºl |Illuſº º -
of runni --- i. ... "..." fly - - - º!!! - º
º: Nº Yº the º º
yourself, ſº ºn. ºw, Tom, be mad, he merry, or go hang º % º º º º % % º,
*...* in view and will soon be bagged ſº º ºft * %
this moment a number of gentlemen passed into the bar-room, º/ º º º - º º: _
and we, at a suggestion from Phil, passed out. º %º % º º "/:º - º Hº
By and by that “tocsin of the soul, the dinner bell,” assembled - º % ſ º º - % º
the company in the *reat saloon, and O’Hara, who seemed unusually A º º º {{ Ž º % - -
ºted, kept his eye on a group of four or ſº persons, who seemed * @% % º º
to be a family party, and secured seats for us both in close proximity - ºr ºl - Fº
* I withº towards the head of the table. - º” -
“The little purblind rascal don’t know -- - - º Zºº – -
me,” whispered Phil. - Ž … ººº-º-º-º-º-º-º: -
“What rascalº I enquired. - P º===
Jae- - - - - -
º er mind, you'll know by and by, when I have opened his eyes . -
a bit. -
- n .. - - -
O'Hara sat on my left. On my right, was a pert, conceited, and º ry of terror sent forth by the poor a halat sight of the to the apex of the seventh heaven. Our set entertained a general
rather vulgar-lookin g little personage. Opposite to him sat a large, then in ". ". heard almost at the dista, ºf a furlong. Gods, contempt for Americans, as the word seemed to them to be associated
fat, flobby lady, with a great Paleface, and on her right hand was exertions º º the struggle for *ºnd death. The with an idea of agrarianism; but on foreigners they were as sweet
seated a tall, muscular and e rabi
middle age. This latter had the countenance o
breeding; but withal there secmed a sort of sle
and when he tried to smile, he could never get
which appeared to have mºr, in it of bitterness
sides these, there w
to the same “set.”
During the dinner, my diminutive right hand man made a great
fuss, and displayed a great deal of
moned a waiter every fifth or sixth s
ion that one might whistle a
thing on the table uneatable.
ritable Madeira,
eping ferocity in it
further than a sneer,
He declared that Anthon
- - twenty years old and five dollars a bottl
*** * *omparison with the worst he had a home in
lar. And he even ventured some general criticisms on
present.
“Here, you fellow,
have brought me, I sh
dear, (to the fat lady
y Dey’s ve.
e, Was mere
his own cell
the company
(tº a waiter) I asked for chicken, and you
ould say, the wing of a carrion crow My
- ..) you're not eating; but I don't wonder, for
there's nothing half cºoked, and everything on the table's as tough
as an ºld boot! Suppose yºu try a little fish my love! Here you,
tº a flying waiter.) attend that lady! Sir John, (to the tail fierce
looking animal,) I’ll drink with you, though I wish the wine were
more tolerable.” - -
“It might be better,” returned Sir John, but
ed of his glass with an apparent relish.
“If he wasn't a baronet,” whispered Phil to me, “I’d have set
him down for a cut-throat.” º
“Sir John,” continued th
nevertheless, he toss-
e little man, “I suppose you have no
good-looking man, between youth and
f a person of high
than of pleasure. Be-
** two or three others who apparently belonged
gnorant pomposity. He sum-
econd, somewhat after the fash-
* *...loafer dog. He pronounced every.
- Pºngs of the drowning fetch were tremen.
dous. He fairly twisted hijf from under ºf legs, and brought
me to my knee; hay, at one instant I felt foamy lip upon my.
wrist—and motwithstanding the excitement ºn
- nt : the m
heart stoºd sº." he moment, my
But the struggless
- -- gie S SQon over.
the last fearful effºrt to free himself his strengt º apace, and
in another minute his ºgonies were over, anºe lay dead Î
grasp. He died so suddenly indeed, that I tººk º in º, º
ings he had burst some important blººd vessel. -
When I extricated myself from the ditch, ".
ral persons had arrived, and that the fair
I enquired her name, and was infº.d tha
-
-
º
ºred that seve-
stra ºr was in a swoon.
titºs Lucy Livingston.
--
CHAPWER VII. -
- ow himself in our mºnal bedchamber un-
til past two o'clock in the mºrning; yet when yoke at seven, and
after about as many hours sleep, he was amon, the missing. In a
few minutes, however, he entered with a jugºimilk punch in his
hahd, and muttering half aloud,
“º's ºwful, what a man has to suffer for his is in this wicked
world ! I had to turn half highwayman in orºgº a fair loan
out of an old friend; and here, I couldº ºf a pint of pure
milk, without kissing a dutch dairy maid that’sº solº aſſiſt as shape-
º -
at the baſſ, ºil 1.
less as a tub of her own butter!”
* Why, you might have had milk
“Ha!—you awake, master Fortunatus! Yesºn, I might have
had milk at the bar, but not without a certainaº alembelishment
- hize myself, and a cow in the In
all conscience there’s water enough in the brand
My comrade did not sh
After ||
as honey; indeed, if any foreigner chanced, unfortunately for him-
self, to have the slightest aristocratic appendage to his name, he was
instantly made prisoner of war, and installed in the seat of honor,
there to be imitated and worshipped by the whole group.
Hence, Sir John was a great man with the clique, which I could
see he laughed at in his sleeve; but the principal victim was a young
spooney-looking Cockney, with pea-green eyes, and yellow mousto.
ches, who called himself the Honorable Arthur FitzRoy.
As for myself, I believe I managed my cards tolerably well amongst
my fashionable friends; but Phil soon ceased to be a favorite; which
was principally owing to the villain’s propensity for joking; for,
from the moment that he discovered that the slightest allusion to the
early avocations of the º members of the cofferie was regarded
with a species of horror, he seldom lost an ºpportunity of inflicting
them. But he was held in mºre than common aversion by the Misses
Winterbottoms—the crockery ladies for referring to them a dispu-
ted question respecting the pattern of a China tea-pot, which annoy-
ed them so much, that they discountenanced him altogether, and used
their influence to have him ousted from the set.
It was little, however, that Phil cared for this for what he lost in
the favor of the elite, he amply made u p for in the good graces of the
rest of the company, with whom he was the “white-headed boy,”
and who regarded the exclusives with feelings of jealousy and dislike,
and gloried in anything that tended to their mortification. Th:
Misses Winterbottoms, too, by reason of their great wealth, and
ridiculous assumptions, were their particular antipathies; so that
O’Hara's affair with these golden vestals regarding the tea-pot, had
exalted him to an enviable pitch in the estimation of the republican
party. Besides, he had his hands full with certain fair ladies already
=º
“Paganini, I should wather say, though public opinion is divided tº
replied the cockney at a venture,
“I thought Paganini was only a fiddler tº remarked Mrs. Living-
ston. - -
“Oh, he is equally celebwated in both bwanches, madam,” return-
ed the Honorable Mr. Fitzroy, with infinite coolness,
Now it so happened that there was one thing, and one thing alone,
about the Hotel at Rºckaway that was open to censure, and his was
the table service; which, owing doubtlessly to breakages frºm time
tº time, consisted of the remnants of a great number of sets, so that,
(I mention the ease by way of illustration of the suffering his im:
posed on us.) I might be dining off a blue plate, and my right or left
hººd neighbºr on a brown or green one. i cannot say that any loss
of appetite was the consequence; nor had I heard any censorious
remarks made on the subject, even by the aristocracy, previous to
those I am abºut to note. Perceiving that his Amºn friends
were very hard on their own country, the Honorable Arthur Fitz
Roy occasional: indulged himselfin a witty rap or two at ºur habi.
and manners, which were sure to be responded to by Smockface, the
Winterbottoms, and twº or three others. He had already, on the
present days been very pleasant on our absurdºustoms of eating eggs
out of tumblers-driving on the right side of the road, and so forth,
when he remarked with a sneer—“And here is another thing that
wouldºnt be tollewated in any him or otel in the hiles of ºw.
Bwitain; this here placing of plates and things of diffewent pattew-
ens on the same table tº
‘‘I must say it is very ungenteel and extraordinary,” said Miss
Winterbottom. - -
*Positively shameful!” simpered Henrietta.
“I have frequently said so,” added smockface.
“It would be considered outwageously widiculous and in bºwed in
ºy countwy,” continued FitzRoy. “But then to he sure our no-
bility and gentwy never wun any wisks, as they always make it a
point to bºwing their own china and silver along with them, when
they go a wuralising tº
It was remarked that Miss Winterbottom gave a sudden start when
she heard this announcement, and that she retired almost immediate.
ly afterwards; though it was her usual custom to sit and learn, so
long as the Honorable Mr. FitzRoy seemed willing to teach. Soon
afterwards it was rumored that the scion of nobility was going to
New York for a couple of days on private business, and that he would
be the bearer of an epistle, from the Misses Winterbottom to their
establishment in the city, directing that certain articles of silver and
china ware should be sent to them at Rockaway forthwith. This
was of course for display; and to the end of making all the rest of
. * not even forgetting the clique, hide their diminished
eads:
Well, that day wore away without any other incident to distin-
guish it, further than that I noticed something very mysterious, and
of a business character in my comrade's department. I also heard
him in high conference with a countryman of his own, one Barney
Murphy, agentleman that has to flourish largely in the following
pages; and who, at this stage of my autobiography, was a sort of
off-and-on servant of the Livingstons; less, however, for any domes-
tic purposes than as a political telegraph, and pioneer to old Anthony.
Whatever Phil and his compatriot were about the arrangement was
concluded when I entered the room, and I only heard the fag end of
their conversation; which ran as follows: -
“Oh, bad luck to you, Misther O'Hara, you're the divil,” said Bar-
mey, “but it’s the way wid allow your name ſº
“Mind you don't bungle it, Barney.”
“Oh, botherashin!—sure, Bloodinages: if it was makin an Ald-
herman I wouldn't bungle it, laivin alone takin the shine out oy an
owld maid.” -
“What about old maids tº said tº as entered the room.
“The divil a much good any way, wherever they are tº answered
º-
--- -
º -º-º-º-º:
Barney, and off he went, leaving Phil in a kink of laughter at the
idea ºf some mischief a-head, the nature of which all my ingenuity
could not workout of him; and, (as he never entered into an explai
nation,) if it does not find a solution in the sequel of this chapter, I
remain ignorant as to the cause of his merriment to this day.
Atten º'clock the following morning a light wagon arrived, bear.
ing a small grate directed to the Misses Winterbottom, and with the
following injunction on a large card, “Be careful, and keep this side
up.” Under the directions of the Misses W., (who were dressed up
as iſ for some peculiarly important occasion,) this crate was deposit-
ed, (for ºbvious reasons) right in front of the hotel, and at least half
a perch from the steps, so as to afford an unbroken view to the joi.
terers above. A large table and sundry baskets were then brought
out, whereon, and in, to display the glittering treasures of plate and
china. Meanwhile there was a great commotion in doors; a rumor
(seemingly without tongues) pervaded the house, that it was worth
while to go out on the balcony to see what was to be seen. No one
knew where this rumor originated or what it was about or whether
they heard or felt it!, but still they followed its suggestions, so that
in a few minutes, full three hundred anxious individuals were looking
out; and as there was no other object to attract their atten tion, their
eyes naturally rested on the little crate, the large table—baskets in-
clusive—and the two well-dressed ladies, who were in a state of great
excitement as they gave directions about drawing nails, cutting cords,
and other matters connected with their forthcoming triumph. And
greatly did the Miss Crockeries rejoice at the sunsation they were
creating, and the many eyes they would dazzle; they little knew that
out of the three hundred persons who were gazing down on them
and their’s, at least two hundred and eighty–) whether out of feel-
ings of envy, dislike, carelessness or republicanism)—would have
turned from their aristocratic display, had it not been for the myste-
rious undefinable rumor, or rather pervasion, which seemed to pro-
mise more sport to them, than glory to the opposition. -
At last the cover of the crate and a lair of straw were removed;
but no treasure was visible. Anotherlair followed; but still nothing
but straw hailed in sight. But while the third lair was in the act of
being withdrawn, a slight clatter was heard. “Hold hold: your
hand,” cried Miss Winterbottom to the servant, in a state of great
agitation, “I fear there's something broken º' tº Oh! dear, how
dreadful!” exclaimed Miss Henrietta. Whereon the servant stood
gaping, and holding an armfull of straw like a canopy over the grate,
Then there were a few moments of immense trepidation, excitement,
and suspense. Anon, as if by mutual consent, the two dexter hands
of the fair ladies went down deep, deep, into the straw, and under
gover of the canopy. Anon, again, they were observed to riseslow.
ly, but with an affectation of much grace. At that instant the ser.
vant drew back to give his mistresses fair play for a flourish; and
at the same moment the hands heaved into sight, each with an ap-
pendage clutched firmly by the handle in its fingers. But such an
appendage! 0, shade of the departed crockery merchant 0, pots
and kettles:
There was an instant's pause on the part of the three hundred Spec-
tators, when they saw the hardware; and then a very yell of laugh-
ter–fierce, wild, and fiendlike—that rose and fell—and stopped—and
began again—and then went down to a chuckle—and anon went up
to kink—and from that to a roar—and so on-up and down, until the
risible faculties of every man, woman, and child present, were
thoroughly jaded out, exploded, or otherwise rendered unfit for further
action. It is true that in the beginning the aristocracy endeavored
to look grave; but it would’nt do—the epidemic was too catching;
so away they went, as well as the worst of them; and even p00r
Smockface's attempt to gag himself with his cambric handkerchief
was a decided failure; for before the fun was half over his cachi.
chºnatºry exertions made him as red in the soul's index as a beetroot
º
º ighborhood!
m by the rope handle, and accompanied such barbarous imitation of
“And ; - … ºrna ºf 22. mentioned, each of whom he wooed after her own humor. For in-
that he and the ruffian I had knocked down with my boot-jack, and by Mrs. Harrig, nd 50 you kiss day maid.” 2.
subsequently seen in the watch-house, were one and the same person.
I say startled, principally because I did not know but that he might
have been aware of the favor he owed me, and was meditating with
the aid of his two gentle friends, some mode of redress—such, per-
haps, as cropping my ears off, or smothering me with my own bol.
ster-for all three had countenances suggestive of killing and maim-
ingº-and also by reason that now, as before, I was struck with ...,
expression in the tall scoundrel's face that I had been at some time
or other intimately familiar with ; but when, where, or how, I could
not comprehend the least idea of
“If it’s me your after, gentlemen,” thought I, “
ºn't catch a weezel asleep;
Phil and Jack, could whip a
a good cause.” -
With this comfortable reliance on me and mine, I went into my
* * *uest of a favorite hickory splinter, which, as the honest
Irishman of the Sixth Ward, from whom I had bought it, assured
ºne-while a glow of political patriotism lit up his republican face—
had the principal means of saving three hotly contested elections—
and the last by nearly killing the “tory” candidate for aldermen,
and thereby preventing him from going round to purchase up votes.
Having possessed myself of this interesting relic of Sixth Ward pa.
triotism. I was preparing to return to Phips room, but on popping my
head out of the window to see what the prospeets were for a fine
morning, I saw the tall form of my mysterious friend evolving itself
ºt, at the hall door, and making ſong and hasty tracks towards i.
Park; and, therefore, I presumed that my alarm might be ground.
less—and that my hickory splinter might be left in the corner, to be.
moan itself in a yet further advent of inglorious idleness.
Returning to the door, and finding that the two short fellows were
still on the lobby, I made up my mind to question them :
“A fine morning, neighbors,” said I.
“Well, it may be in your room ſº returned one of t
“but it’s raining like blazes in the street,” which,
a fact. -
“O, comrade, you are too hasty—I mean its a fine morning for
young ducks. But who is your tall friend he that left you a mi-
it’s no go; you
for savage as you look, I and my friends
dozen of you any night in the week in
hem gruffly,
by the way, was
º
§
§
R
N
º
N
§
s
§
-
º
i
-
º
Meanwhile the half-smothered voice kept hollowing out, “Fire! |
fire!, murdare --break open de box–0 dam, I'll dieſ—fire, fire–
murdareſ misericordiº-O dam tº &c.
“Hold your tongue all’s safe,” said I, continuing to lay my An-
drew Jackson on the sailor, who, game to the last was gnashing his
teeth and kicking at me.
“Ha-vot you say 1–murdare: Am I not in de river, all among
de fish-murdare I’m dead—I’m evare so kilt 1–0 dam
By this time several watchmen, loafers, and others, came running
up, and I thought I could see among them a fellow who looked mighty
like Mr. Joe Harrig mafiled up in a huge boat cloak. Without wait-
ing to satisfy myself on this point, however, I gave my man in
charge to a couple of the guardians of the night, and began to aid
Phil in breaking up the lid of the box, which was no sooner done,
than-lo! and behold, who should pop up his head from the con-
tracted bunk, but the valorous and exquisite Count Delauney, who,
without tarrying to thank us, established the fact of his liberty by
running away.
As a finish to this long drawn out chapter, I will add that the
sailor’s chest was carried off by the loafers for fire wood; that the
two prisoners were left in charge of the watchmen, to be taken to
the lock-up—but (the genius of bribery and corruption could perhaps
tell how) effected their escape by the way; that from that night
Harrig nor his wife were never seen at 202 and that Count Delau-
ney never returned to it, but trusted the removal of his baggage to
the care of a deputy. Touching Phil and myself, we tumbled into
our hammocks about six in the morning—and the sun was full two
hours to the west of the zenith, before we got up again.
CHAPTER VI. -
The Livingston's were an opulent and fashionable family. That
is, Old Anthony, the head of the house, had retired from the whole-
sale auction business on a fortune of a hundred and fifty thousand
dollars or so, which rumor readily augmented to half a million; and
Mrs. Livingston affected a boudoir, late dinner hours, a coat of arms,
and livery servants. She had also a penchant for feasting foreign
lions; and thus Fanny Kemble, Hamilton, Fiddler, and Company,
have frequently tested her hospitality; and subsequently sneered at
her rather awkward affectations of the haut tom. -
Lucy, their only daughter, already spoken of, was as pretty a girl
as any moderate man might care to look at; and taking her in con-
nection with her reputed dowry of fifty thousand dollars, she might
perhaps have been classed among the superlatives. To a person who
has been in the city of New York, and made use of his eyes withal, I
cannot describe her better than by saying that she was one of those
blue eyed, intellectual, airy, and graceful creatures, with purer com:
plexions than ever poets dreamt of, and the very prettiest little feet
in the world, who delight to go trippingly (for their street movements
are something between a hop and a dance,) up and down Broadway,
as if they were almost as independent of terra firma as zephyrs or
humming birds. This style of beauty, I should say, is peculiar to
New York. In the British Islands there is nothing of the character.
In Paris there may be approaches to it; as also in Philadelphia, Bos-
ton, and perhaps other places; but I maintain that it is only to be
found in a full state of perfection in New York; and when perfect,
it is my beau ideal of female loveliness. It must be confessed there
was nothing about Lucy in the way of bust and hips to wrap a mus-
selman, or an enthusiast in antique statuary up in Elysium; but
then she was so faultless a model of her class, that, had the gods
been commissioned to grace her with another personal charm, it
would have puzzled them to find out where to have placed it. Lucy's
countenance was not precisely classic–it was too joyous—too full of
heart for that ; but there was a perfect little heaven of pouting lips,
laughing eyes, and roguish glances in it, that were worth all the
classic beauty in the world! Her form was of the medium height,
but was made to appear taller by its slightness. And to finish the
portrait, her beautiful and luxuriant tresses were of a deep chestnut,
and had so much of the elements of conquest in them, that it is a
thing to be wondered at that Master Cupid did not turn hair-cutter,
and steal them for bowstrings. -
My acquaintance with the Livingston's was only of a few month's
duration at the time from which I date my autobiography; and it
commenced at one of those man traps called watering places, and
under somewhat peculiar circumstances. But of that anon.
My friend O'Hara was a marrying man; at least, he was on the
lookout for a wife with a plentiful dowry; and, to do justice tº his
talents, he might have entered the brigade of Hymen a dozen times:
to my certain knowledge, if fortunes of from ten to twenty thousand
dollars had been sufficient inducement. His lowest mark, however,
was thirty; and he even aspired to a hundred; nor was the fellow a
whit more reasonable touching matters of beauty than money; but
was determined that Mrs. O'Hara should be as unexceptionable in
point of person, as of purse. Now Phil had no means whereby to
secure such a prize, but his impudence and his fine manly stalwart
figure; the one unqualified, and the other a thing to distinguish itself
in any crowd. His face was rough hewn, but full of courage and
good humor; his character was not quite the thing to pass current in
fastidious society; and his education was nearly confined to the
knowledge of men and things which he had picked up among the
highways and byways of a wandering existence. As for money, he
had not a doit in the world, but such as he could screw out of a tight-
fisted public by the fair dint of his wits; and as he had no regular
profession, and was a decided exquisite (chiefly trusting indeed to
the cut of his coat for his success in life,) the necessity of making a
fair turn-out often put him to the pin of his collar. I can't say that
this ever reduced him to anything fearfully wrong in morals or ho-
nesty; he would have scorned to pick pockets, turn blackleg, Or
pass counterfeit money; but it must be confessed that if there was
anything to be done in the way of hoaxing, or rather of joking the
world, out of a living, by upper class Jeremy Diddlerism, my worthy
chum Phil was always ripe and ready for it. He was, º
honest; but his honesty was of a peculiar sort. Had he live º
times gone by, he would probably have emulated Robin Hood, or his
own countryman, Redmond O'Hanlon; as it was, he was compelled
to humor the genius of the age, by adopting some other method of
making out the cause; but still as near to that of those illustrious
freebooters as circumstances would permit.
fices at the altar of Honest Industry.
who appeared to be in excellent humor, and said in
a tolerably loud voice—º Leave the box carefully in the room, and
I'll be there myselfin a few minutes.”
“Aye, aye, marm,” replied the men, with a
down stairs they went.
“Is it worth following them, Philº
“Is it after that mysterious grin of the villains.
I’d follow them from this to th: Rocky Mountainst
meant. I smella rat, Tom Come.”
Phil having provided himself with a wattle like a weaver's beam,
off we started. The rain had ceased and the morning was dimly
breaking, when we reached the door, and we saw the sailors with
their burden about thirty paces ahead, apparently bound towards the
Hudson River, by way of Fulton street. In a minute we ... along
side of them.
“Hullo, messmate, what have you got in the box * cried O'Hara.
“Clothing and sea stores of course,” growled the most loquacious
ºf the two fellows, while a stream of luid fire seemed to shoot from
his vindictive eyes. -
“Now,” whispered Phil to me, « see if I
and then he added aloud, “
you, for did’nt I hear Mr.
the North River ???
“Ha-fire—fire–murdare–tieves—let me out tº shouted a half
suffocated sort of a voice somewhere.
Immediately the sailors dropped the box, and drew their knives.
“Hell swallow you, take that tº roared my especial friend, making
a plunge at me with the ferocity of a fiend. But whew !—Pat’s no.
ble hickory, grateful for the opportunity, I verily believe, went at the
fellow of its own accord; for when I was beginning to wonder as to
the size of the passage for daylight that had been made through my
body, lo! I perceived the sailor rolling in the channel, and the Sixth
ward election phenomenon walking into his affections as if it mistook
him for an alderman. Phil was equally busy; but he polished off his
job with the air of a master; for inmediately as he had his rascal
slight chuckle, and
By the powers,
o know what it
m good at a guess”—
Clothing and sea stores? You lie, damn
and Mrs. Harrig telling you to throw it in
º
But perhaps I am libel-
ling my friend; for had he been initiated into the mysteries of any
legitimate profession, it is possible, may very likely, he would have
abided by it; and, indeed, even as it was, the anecdote I am about 19 --
record will show that he was capable of making considerable sacri-
howling in the channel, he lified him up with the strength of a cy-
elops, and hung him by the waistband of his unwhisperables upon
one of the rails of St. Paul's Church.
º, WN
Sºº §
RN ºf º º-wº
NHº:
-- §§ | §
º
\ || || -- Nº
s
Philip O'Hara I had never seen a more dashing, fashionable or well.
dressed fellow, exercising his judgment in horseflesh at Tattersals,
or lounging along the fashionable side of Broadway. Judging by
these facts, as also the fact that he never seemed to do any thing for
a living, I presumed that he might be a man of small private fortune,
or, at least, the recipient of a comfortable yearly allowance from
friends in the country. An accident showed me otherwise. One
day I had dined at a political festival; it was one of those awful
drinking affairs at which Cornelius Lawrence presided, and Garry
Gilbert sung; and from which no man could retire a thimblefull less
than half seas over, without incurring the charge of want of patriot-
ism and bad fellowship. Being at that time sufficiently careful of
my character in those respects, I remained until all was blue in the
most definitive sense of the term; so that by the time I got home it
was past two in the morning, and I found the bannisters a most
agreeable auxiliary to my limbs in mounting the stairs. While I was
thus ascending, I was aware that some one above me was doing the
reverse; and on looking up I perceived a tall figure muffled up in a
great old gamlet cloak, and with the worst possible sort of a broad.
brimmed, shocking bad hat, slouched over his face, coming towards
me. Decidedly tipsey as I was, this figure interested me. "I began
to speculate on the probability that he might have bes robbing the
house; which seemed the more likely as there was the appearance
of a large bundle under the cloak. Meanwhile the man descended,
and as he passed, struck me slightly with a hard, trunk-like sub.
stance on the leg. This, and his increasing his pace without offer.
ing an apology, decided me, so I let go my ecessary hold on the
bannisters, and turned suddenly round for the purpose of grasping
at him; when my feet, being unequal to the exertion, gave Way,
and I went straight down, carrying my friend in the camlet cloak,
head foremost along with me, to the bottom of the flight. Here we
lay sprawling for about five seconds, during which time I made the
pleasant discovery that I was fairly inundated with a wet gluey
substance; and on regaining my feet I made the yet further disco.
very that the suspected burglar was no less a person than Master
O'Hara. It is only to be added that a huge bundle of “wall adver.
tisements,” had rolled about the hall in the scuffle; that the sub-
stance I had taken for a concealed trunk was a bucket of paste ;
and that the Broadway exquisite, who was the admired of all ad.
mirers by day, was, by night, an humble Bill-sticker!
Subsequently I learned from Phil, who from this night became
my companion in arms; that he was officiating on the bills for a
learned M. D., who had previously befriended himself in the same
manner. “You see, Tom,” said he, “we take it in turns tº Some
time since I invented an infallible cure for corns, (made, by the way,
out of hogslard and duckweed) and my late worthy employer who
was then a superannuated billiard marker, stuck up the bills. By
and by arrived quarter-day, a most trying season in this city, let me
tell you, for medical geniuses, and I became bankrupt—or at least,
my agent for me, for I took care to fight shy in the matter myself.”
“Well, but how did that make a doctor of your assistant tº
“O that was natural enough! Three-fourths of the most stirring
of our faculty, you must know, are graduated bill posters; so Dick
Dempsy, who took the nom de guerre of Monsieur Delaree, immedi.
ately on my prostration, brought out a miraculous remedy for con.
sumption, hydrophobia, and the King's Evil, and set up for himself!”
“And quarter day, I presume, ruined him also.”
“Not it, faith; for though Dick scarcely knew the difference be.
tween glauber salts and Prussic acid, he succeeded in curing an an-
cient widow lady of an imagined cancer in the stomach; and his fee
was the lady herself, and a whole country side of a plantation, with
a legion of negroes, in Virginia. In fact he is now one of the mag-
mates of the land! So you see, Tom, virtue is sure of its reward in
this country.”
“I suppose” said I, “that you sometimes find your wealthy friend
useful to you in your emergencies.”
“No,” returned O'Hara, “not thus far, but I hope to make him
so one day. When Dick was poor,” he continued, “he was suffi-
ciently generous; but now that his coffers are full, he is as griping
(at least to his old friends) as a sucker fish; and even refuses to pay
a hundred dollars and upwards which he owes me on our last settle.
ment. But never mind–"All's not lost that's in danger.”
It was now towards the close of the summer, and half the city
were off ruralising; but Phil and I, by reason of the state of our
finances, were compelled to remain in 202 at the tender mercies of
the mosquitoes. One day the former young gentleman burst into
my apartment in a glow of excitement. -
* Come, Tom-bustle, bustle, boy, and let's be off to Rockaway,
for I learn there's first rate bidding for handsome young bachelors
in that neighborhood.”
“Hang it, O'Hara, how you talk, when you know we’re both run
dry tº
3. Never mind—leave that to me!” -
“Well, I see by your eye that you have made a raise. But if
you're determined on an excursion, why not try the Springs?”.
“Because they're worn out for such as us, Tom, Fact is, so
many cockney pickpockets, and French valet de chambres, have
walked off fortunes from Saratoga, that its fair convalescents fight
as shy as woodcocks, and remain at the temperature of an icicle!
unless you can warm them into a glow of disinterested affection by
the production of a rent roll as long as my arm. Besides I have an-
other reason for deciding on Rockaway. But come bustle, Tom, for
the wagon will be at the door in less than no time.” - -
O'Hara was one of those characters who always lead or drive in
everything; and who also inspire a confidence in their nudertaking
they go through them so dashingly. Had the invitation come from
any one else I might have begun to argue the point; but with him. I
knew this to be useless; and accordingly I threw a razor at my
face, whipped all my lady-killers into a portmanteau, and in two
hours afterwards we were whirling along the road for Rockaway in a
handsome buggy and pair, driving tandem fashiºn, which, however,
but little surprised me, as Phil was always in good odor with the
keepers of livery stables. I may fairly add, º without reason
too, for at least a third of his income, (and on the whole Phil made
both ends meetmarvellously well,) went into their pockets.
When we got down upon the beach, and I felt the city languor dis-
sipating from my system, and my heart exulting and bounding under
the glorious influence of the sea-breeze, I rejºiced that my compa-
nion had chosen Rockaway for our advent in preference to the
Springs. The reader has probably been at Rockaway—if not, he or
she have yet to behold the most beautiful sea-beach in all this world;
Phil had been for some time domiciled at 202 Broadway, before
my induction into that celebrated institution for Jeremy Diddlers,
and I soon remarked that he appeared to have the advantage of the
great majority of his fellow lodgers, in the matter of ways and means.
He occupied one of the first classrooms; i.e. the three dollars a
week chambers of the aristocracy. There was nothing of the well
brushed threadbare—or of the second-hand, Chatham-street, Jew
cut, in his wardrobe–His air was free, bold and confident, perhaps
indeed, a little disdainful whenever he came in contact with certain
of the foreign nobles, who were voted down by common opinion as
moreover, it is the very perfection of a bathing place; for there you
have no mounds or gullies—no mouldering º hills to labor up
or fall over, but all is a beautifully inclined plane covered with peb-
bles, white as the driven snow, close to the ocean's brim, SO that, as
in most other places where people go to lunxriate in briny ablutions
—one has no vortex of muddy sand to wade through between the
bath and the bathing house; and consequently escapes that improve-
ment on the worst of the plagues of Egypt, a pedestrian pilgrim-
age in boots and stockings, half full of sea and sand, back to the
hotel on the brow of the bluff. . . -
We, of course, put up at the principal hotel; for when men have
the meanest occupants of the house—the only ones, indeed, who
were suspected of washing their own dickies. In short, than Mr.
no money to lose, economy is of no use to them; and by dint of
coaxing, flattering, and almost fighting, Phil succeeded in getting
be to see the devil!
spirit, “I have a mind to tell m
wine as this in England.”
“Oh yes, occasionally.” - º
“Dear me, I’m astonished :
I thought d Ki - Lord
Commons wouldn't allow it. g he Kings, Lords, and
- You should only taste my wine, Sir
John, buried fifty years ago in one of my Southern estates! Ah
that's the stuff fºr ..., -
The pale lady blushed and hung
gave my unfortunate self a knuckl
neighbor chattered away. - -
-- Ilike a republican government in some things, Sir John; but in
other things I can't say as I do. It aimſ the thing for men of pro.
perty, Sir John it mixes the classes so, and ruinates good society
Ireland is something of a republic isn't it, Sir John?”
“Not exactly, but it tends that way, I believe.”
“Yes, yes, I’ve heard no kings live in it; and the eommon peo:
ple, as I'm told, hang up all the upper classes. Ah, Sir John!
| wish they would tolerate titles here so as tº separate the chaff from
the corn. And so we will yet—see if we don't, Sir Johnſº
“God forbid!” said I, with an involuntary start.
“As things now are, Sir John,” continued the little gentleman,
not pretending to notice me, “one meets with such low people in
ºne's travels, that it is quite disgustful. At watering places, or pub-
lic hotels, for instance, families of fashion and disºn may have
to sit in company with young men who probably shave or dance the
tight-rope for a living!” ---
“Or mark billiards,” muttered O'Hara under his teeth.
“Shall Islap him in the face, Phil?” said I.
* Be cool, Tom, and I'll give you your revenge in a moment.”
* However, Sir John,” said the little man, “it is only in the
North one runs the risk of vulgar associations in he South—in
Virginia, for instance, where I principally reside on the largest of
my plantations—every degree keeps by itself.”
“Speaking of Virginia, sir,” said O'Hara, in a counterfeited tone
of voice, and keeping his face out of sight, “perhaps you know
something of the celebrated Dr. Delaree, who lately emigrated to
that State º -
The little man,
ton to his mouth,
while the pale
rous.
“Sir, if it is me you are addressing,” returned my friend on the
right, ‘I would say that I am acquainted with nº such ".
her head, Sir John sneered, Phil
e in the ribs, and my loquacious
who was at this moment conveying a tit-bit of mut-
fairly thrust it into his eye, and crimsoned all over;
ady who had blushed before, now became cadeye-
“That’s singular, rejoined O’Hara, “ for he made a powerful
sensation in the North; and something better than that again, by his
peculiar mode of treating cancers in the stomachi tº say nothing
touching his genius in the mysterious art of bill sticking ſº.
The fat lady barely suppressed a scream; the little man sat stock
still for a couple of minutes, as if my comrade's words had convert.
ed him into a pillar of salt; and then perceiving the people were
beginning to leave the table, he made a brief apology to his wife
and Sir John, and retired, nudging O'Hara in the back as he
passed.
Phil was soon after him, and I, by request, after Phil; until
O'Hara brought up the Doctor with a slap on the back, when I
stopped within ear shot distance.
“We’re far enough, now,” said O'Hara, “what do you want
with me?” -
‘’I don't want you at all,” returned the Doctor.
“You lie, Dick Dempsy—you want to beg of me not to expose
you! and if you don't confess it at once, I’ll return to the table and
sing your adventures in a ballad.”
“Don’t-don't, O'Hara, for heaven's sake; I was only joking.—
Hººre you, my dear fellow? Why, I'm so happy to see you º
“I know you are, Dick; just about as happy to see me, as you'd
Have you nothing else to say to me?”
“Let me think. No, Phil–not a word, that I know of "
“Let me refresh your memory what do you think of disbursin
thosº, hºnº. dºgs º º, ºval, e-wºo,
* When and how?” exclaimed O’Hara. “ Why, when you wer
sellins Dr. Delaree’s infallible specific for the cure of Liver Com ſº
“Hush hush! for mercy’s sake, and I’ll pay it once;” groaned
the little man, clapping his hand on Phil’s mouth ; and the following
nstant a well lined wallet was produced, and O’Hara deposited some
thing in his vest pocket.
“Now, my dear old friend,” recommenced O'Hara, “I’m going to
lage myself under an everlästing obligation to you.”
“Fo-fo–fo-for what, O'Hara tº returned the Doctor.
“For the loan of four hundred dollars, my dear sir, which I'm sad.
ly in want of, for a month or two !”
*Po-po-pon my honor, O'Hara, I haven’t got the half of it
with me.”
“Well, Dick, I tell you what I’ll do—I’ll take the half of what
on have in your wallet, and cry quits!”
“Mr. O’Hara!” exclaimed the little man, stamping on the ground
nº looking fierce, “I won’t be imposed on.”
“Here’s gratitude,” retorted Phil, “when if I only told what I
know among your matrimonial relations, so sure as they'd catch you
in the state of Virginia, so sure they’d ride you out again on a rail.”
“Let the loan be two, O’Hara!”
“Not a penny less than four ! And sure won’t I pay you with in-
terest in a month or two, when I’ve married an heiress that’s prepa-
ring to run off with me!”
“I swear I won’t advance another dollar.”
“Faith you will, Dick,” answered the tormenter; “ and if it were
four thousand instead of four hundred, you'd advance it rather than
that the bone of your bone should know anything about the bill
sticking.” - -
“D-m you, O’Hara, there they are, and let me have your note
t six months!” exclaimed poor Dempsey, making another disburse-
ent from his wallet; “but,” he continued, in the bitterness of his
y friend Sir John, who would know
g
-
i
p
y
3.
a.
In
s
h
ow to revenge this insult.” "
“I tell you what I’ll do,” said Phil, smiling, “add another hun-
red to make the note the lucky five, and as big and fiercelooking as
is your worthy friend Sir John, I’ll engage, or forfeit all, to pull his
nose for him before he’s five minutes older. And indeed, even as
the case stands, I have a mind to do it on my own account, for some
f º hang-gallows sneers the fellow favored me with at the dinner
table.”
At this point, O'Hara wrote a
presented it to his victim.
“Here, Dick, if I marry the heiress, I’ll pay you. If not, I'm
fraid you will have to increase the loan. And now go and con-
ratulate yourself on your efforts to cheat an old friend out of a
undred dollars!”
“One word more,” said the doctor.
least, while I’m here.”
“And henceforth and forever.”
“Will you swear it?”
“When did you every know me to break my word **
“I’m satisfied,” said the doctor, and he vanished.
“I attempted when the learned M. D. had made himself scarce to
rºmonstrate with O’Hara on his want of conscience; but, as the
phrase goes, I might as well have whistled a jig to a milestone, under
the idea that it would get up and dance to it.” -
“Cºnscience, and the rascal worth ten thousand a year!” exclaim-
ed Phil, “while I have scarcely a feather to fly with Conscience
with a fellow that metamorphized me into a bill sticker, and never
disbursed the price of the paste. By Jove I think I would have let
him off light at a cent less than five thousand. Besides, you know
he owes me everything! Had I not dubbed him doctor, he could
never have cured that cancer in the stomach, and would now, forty
to one, be digging out stone on Blackwell’s Island!” -
O'Hara was now death on the fortunes and heiresses, and it was
wonderful to see how well he got on among them. Before the close
of the first day he was all in all with a brisk young widow from
Louisiana; on the following morning he began to divide his atten-
tinn between her and a bouncing full-blooded girl from Kentucky º
anºn, a little blue-eyed sylph from the West secured a corner in his
affections; and before noon he had compelled his friend, the doetor,
d
O
promisory note with a pencil, and
“You’ll keep my secret—at
| 9ashºl by courtesy. However, onefle
which I never patró
*d it first proof out of the
“Kiss'd? By the lordſ the kissing was on
hadn’t I to promise to go bundling with her afte
fashion before she'd disburse a drop of it ! .
that I have you a moment to myself from old L.
of the mock nobility, was that affair of yester
accidental adventure or did you.”
setting the dog at the lady tº
“Why now, Phil, sure ºiſºn suspect tº
“No, Tom, in troth ſº couldn't, for you’re ºgreat
think of anything so gloriously originalſ Gºlsº -
king time it would be for º were all thºgs to take the hy-
drophobia, and proper opportunities for run # at wealthy young
heiresses.” -
“You speak of the affair, O'Hare, as if I
mal advantage from it.” -
|. Hear the fellow Why, man, she's the
way by a score to a dozen has a gold mined
is only waiting for you to whistle her out of ti
“Pooh, man she's above my mark!”
“And so she ought to be, or any girl of spº, after making such
plebian admission Above your mark! [were only in your
99ts. I'd hunt up a parson and marry her belºsun-down.”
Aºd what would the girl be doing, philº -
“Just whatever I’d like to ask her jupi, boy, how deep she's
in loyº with you! and how she did keep slºg side-long looks of
“Q, Tom, won’t you ask me to marry jou?” a hat Miss-in-her-teens
phiz of yours all the afternoon I. fact, mºthere’s nothing in the
Way ºut the old woman; for if you only tenººthony, that you're a
true Democrat, on the true Jeffersonian pºples, he'll give you
Lucy in less than no time, if it was only for the purpose of increas
ing the stock!”
For shame, Phil., to speak so of Miss ſºngston tº
“Nay, chum, I forgot your position, aſ that henceforth Lucy
Livingston is Tom Stapleton's battle cry tasi was saying, the
mother's the devil incarnate after the hº; especially if its
transatlantic; so that I had to manage my ds accordingly, or we'd
have lost the game. After a little conve ion about titles, digni-
ties, and so forth, says she to me, “The qºrºs, I believe, are an
Irish family of distinction tº Second to ºë in the kingdom, Ma-
he priming; for
1e regular Dutch
gston and there:
a real, downri
n the first place, bring it abo
ºderive any perso-
tiest girl at Rocka-
wofor a dowry; and
pinster’s Brigade.”
a.
b
--
dam,” said I. “Were you acquainted witäny of the titles, sir?”
said she ‘With at least two-thirds of the whoſe of them, Madam,”
said I, Indeed?" said she, looking hºy-combs at me. “Yes,
Madam,” said I, ‘though I must confess
second hand, as I was introduced to the
empire, with my Uncle, the Earl of
honor came to me rather
hile making a tºur of the
ºnt-Cashell? You should
was really afraid the old lady was going
to worship me!”
“O Phill Phill you are too bad.”
Too bad! Why, Tom Stapleton, wo
do anything that was suggestive of bill king, and Antony’s Cham-
pagne: scarcely a whit inferior to the nºtar of the gods; to say no-
thing of you and the heiress? But e º that was not the worst of
it, for when I had established my own haracter, the old lady asked
me about yours.”
“And you told her the truth I hop.
“I’d have seen you both hanged #
Cashel's nephew playing high fello
denizen of a hole in the wall three s
his own boots, and is sometimes St.
Not I, faith—I knew a trick worth
boy, for the excellent old proverb with i
known by his company’” -
“Well, well—but hang it, Phil, lºst
“At all events’ I haven’t as yet; bug
point ºf announcing you as my unº's s
wn on her marrow bones
on have had me say or
hd tr st !”
What! the Earl of Mont-
ell met, with the beggarly
esup!—a fellow who cleans
ºf not paying for them
it—I had more respect,
rms us that “a man is
gave me no title tº
certainly was on the
an! heir-Lord Mount-
in ºf acknowledged you
º º * *
lieved you were a scion of the mobiº
“The devil Pembroke you tº ||
“Amen] if he'll throw in the fortu of the family. But come,
here's to Lucy, not forgetting the dairy aid. And nºw, Tom, let's
brush up for breakfast.” -
And accordingly I fell too at my to t, and somehow I found it
more than usually difficult to bring it a conclusion. I tried one
waist-coat, then another, then another ind returned to the first pet-
tishly. I tortured my unfortunate hiſ into º a dozen fashions,
and concluded by letting it take the Ent ºf its own genius; and I
practised as many attitudes at the glahs if I had been preparing to
appear at old Drury as one of the Gla ators.
“I see you’re in for it, spooney,” cerved y friend.
“In for what?”
“The heart's cholic, boy—the sh:
sets one’s brains a wool gatherin
ehind it, which men call love tº
“No such thing, Phil; devil a bit
“Tut, man! don’t ee and her
-
be the blind markman that
d leaves a poisoned puncture
-
->
b
it.”
it! The corner of your eyes,
ºr already; and the way your
s is proof sufficient that your
ut like the seven tides in the
"
| Is
Tom, have caught the Verdigrass f
heart goes thumping agains; your
blood is at ſever-heat, and raging
Bay of Biscay ſº |
“Well, have it your own way.
“Just like a stuffed figure in
sacrificed as much to the graces, ye.
conquered the mastifilº
“Hang it,” said I, “I believe I dºlook too stiffº
“Not a jot,” returned Phil, “I s only joking. In fact, Tom,
tsay, Phil, how do Ishow off?”
tailor’s showcase. Had you
rday, Tºm, you’d never have
you look so much like agentleman at a casual observer might sus.
pect you had paid for your very coal. By the way, is it a Frost or
a Wheelerº - -
** A. Wheeler.”
“I might have known as much by the force of sympathy. Ah,
Tom, that Wheeler's the common father and patron of half the
young men about town; though wº sometimes serve him scurvily
enºugh. Did you ever hear how hºwas treated by our friend Pº
“No." || - -
“Why, after dunning P. by pººl -
himself with the bill, and found the d
steps, among a number of his cronies
astonished that
ray when do you mean to settle it
enquiringly at the intruder, “You are Mr. ºr " -
can remember for the life of me! Pray, sir, will you be so kind as
to favor me with your name?’ ‘My name Pºclaimed the astonish-
ed Prince of Coat Cutters, you knew it well enough once Mr. P.
My name, sir, is Wheelerſ’ ‘Wheeler –Wheelerº drawled forth
P., reflectively, and proceeding very leisurely to pick his teeth by
way of assisting his recollection, Ah, now believe I remember
You are, if I mistake not, a confectioner, or a tailor, or something
of that sortſ’ “Sir, I am Wheeler, the tailor; the unfortunate in-
dividual who made the coat you’ve got on ºur back!’ ‘For the
which,” answered P., “I have no doubt it is a this moment laughing
in its sleeve at you! But jesting apart, the fact is, my dear sir, that
whenever I am prepared to commence the labors of liquidation, I in-
tend to go through the roll alphabetically, and as Wheeler is unfor-
tunately among the W’s, it is apparent that some time must elapse
before it will come to your turn!” Such a cool affront naturally
froze up the hinges of poor Wheeler's tongue, and compelled him to
an ingloriºus retreat. But tradition says that on his return home
he laughed himself into such a good humor on the strength of his
adventure, that he sent a polite note to P., and trusted him with
another suit for the joke sake.” -
I have spared the reader any account of the abundance of the
-
thanks and tears that were showered º shed on me by the elder
P
-
-
Livingstons on the day previous; and which were this morning re-
newed in a milder form. Such scenes are, I should say, interesting
to no one; and least of all to the honored inſividual who chances to
be the unhappy victim of them. Saving a sautiful girl from the
fangs of arabid dog is, doubtlessly, a very pleºnt pastime, especially
to an unmarried man—and yet more especially if the girl be an heir-
to introduce him as a young man of high birth and expectations, to
a blooming Virginian who was reputed to have a dowry worth a
king's ransom. Thus, in less than twenty-four hours from our ar-
rival, Master Phil had provided himself with no less than four golden
strings to his bow! - º -
I am here going to record an incident which will doubtlessly be
remembered by many readers. Leaving Phil between the Virginian
and the widow, who seemed to be fighting for him, I took a stroll
before dinner back into the country. The day was bright, warm,
and glorious, but sufficiently breezy to be comfortable; and all the
boarders were abroad, the majority sauntering in groups, but many of
them solitaires like myself. Choosing a bye-road. I proceeded
briskly along, and soon distanced all my fellow-ruralists by nearly
half a furlong, with the exception of a young lady, who was still a
little a-head, and reading as she walked. Now, this young lady was
formed like a ſountain nymph, and had a remarkably handsome foot
and ancle—things than which there is nothing more attractive to a
bachelor's eye under the broad heavens. I lingered in my step to the
end of gazing my full on Nature's masterpiece, in one of the most
perfect of its specimens; but still I gained on the fair wanderer until
I was within a very few paces of her, when she ºbliqued from the
right-hand toe-path, for the purpose, apparently, of entering a green
lane which opened from the left. As I was in the centre of the road
this increased our proximity; but the lady continued her course
without appearing to notice my presence. Scarcely, however, had
she came in font of the lane than she uttered a shriek of terror, and
stood stock still, while at the same instant a huge mastiff dog, foam-
ing with hydrophobia, rushed at her with a howl of agony. Had I a
moment for reflection, or any weapon about me, the lady might have
become a victim. As it was, I had nothing for it but to rush madly
forward in the headlong career of a natural impulse, and to throw
myself astride of the monster, grasping him like grim death by the
throttle. By this time his hideous muzzle was within half a foot of
the fair stranger, and her dress was even bespattered by the foam of
his madness. But how shall I describe the exertions of the tortured
brute to free himself from his manacle. Even now my flesh creeps
with the memory of them. At one moment he felt as if he were
swelling, and about to burst under me; anon, it would seem as if he
were actually turning in his skin. The strength of his raging mad-
ness, indeed, was equal to that of a wild bull. But what may not a
weak man do in a strong necessity, My nerves had become iron-
my grasp that of a giant; and I even exulted in my position as I felt
confident of being able to maintain the advantage. Meanwhile, the
lady remained motionless for a few moments, and then tottered back:
wards, as if about to faint; but instantly, her eye brightened, and
flashed fire—the blood which had retreated to her heart rushed into
her pallid cheek, and she again advanced. -
* For God’s sake, madam,” I exclaimed, “keep back!’
* Not so, most opportune knight errant,” she returned, at the
same time withdrawing a filmy scarf from her shoulders, “for I
think I can help you.”
And thereon, and in spite of my entreaties—for I trembled for her
sake—the brave girl began to wind the scarf around the dog's neck.
This additional resistance increased his exertions and his strength,
while apprehension for the stranger's safety seemed to reduce mine.
My confidence was shaken, I glanced around to see if succor was
near, when mine eyes caught sight of a gully of salt water within
half a perch. This at once resolved me what to do; so, dragging
ess—but Heavens help the deliver, if he finis himself immediately
afterwards in the hands of her fond parents, and enduring the hugs
and tears—kisses inclusive—of half-a-score offat aunts, blubbering
nurses, and snuff-taking grandmothers. Tºdd to my torments, my
worthy chum stood laughing at me as I was pºsing through the gaunt-
let. But, nevertheless, I bore everything with the fortitude of a
martyr, and came out of the excruciating or covered with laurels.
My new made acquaintances had formed themselves with others of
the boarders into a set of exclusives, who walked together, talked
tºgether, bathed together, sat together at table, and affected to treat
alſ the other sojourners of the house with ºpiness, if not with ac-
tual contempt. Into this set Dempsy and his wife had wormed them-
selves, through the interest of the baronet, and O'Hara and myself
Were admitted as honorary members; but les, I am thinking, because
of the dog adventure, than in reference to “jºr noble relatives,” the
Mount Cashels, and Pembrokes, Apart however, from the pleasure
of being near Miss Livingston, this society had no charm for me. It
had all the assumptions of a privileged aristocracy, without any of
its ease or confidence. Its members, consciºus of the a smell of the
shop, and wishing to disguise it, were mostly mounted on stilts, from
which they rarely descended. Neither was their affectation of high
life redeemed by wit, education, or º of the world; for, in
the main, they were silly, stupid, and ignorant, whether of books or
things; albeit their conversation was liberally embellished with slip
slop allusion to the fine arts, poetry, the drama, etcetera, which, as
I subsequently learned, was to be attributed to a practice they had of
sehooling themselves in certain fashionable fºreign novels, that ridic-
ulously enough assume to be the mirrors and models of the haut tom.
In their favor be it remarked, that it was this bungling imitation of
an unnatural and tottering class which made them show forth to so
little advantage; for I found several of myelite friends, whom I had
set down as hopeless simpletons in the otérie, persons of much
shrewdness and general inſelligence when out of it, and off their
guard. I say off their guard—because thigeneral intelligence—as
it might seem to indicate commercial pursuº-was, unless by acci.
dent, sedulously kept in the back ground. have frequently heard it
charged against Americans, that they never leave the shop behind
them; but only let any of our enemies gº among a coterie of our
retired merchants and their wives and daughters, at one of our fash-
ionable watering places, and if he hears them allude to the shop, I
will give him full permission to fillip Tom Stapleton with a three
man beetle. In fact, as a general rule, they hate the shop—despise
the shop—cannot endure the least allusion to the shop; the ladder
which they mounted to fortune on is not only kicked down, but care-
fully buried from their sight; and if there is any one thing in the
world which troubles them more than another, it is the glorious fact
that in our republican country the practic man of business is to
say the least of him, as influential and honorable a member of society
as any of themselves. - -
“Our set” consisted of about twenty pºsºns; but there were diſ-
ſerent grades in it—each family occupying a station in accordance
with its reputed wealth—which left twº middle-aged virgins—not
quite as ugly as sin, but certainly as consequential as Lucifer-in
possession of the throne. These two vestals were enormºusly wealthy,
and they let every ºne know it. They were the daughters of a re-
tired and deceased crockery merchant, who in his early days had
carried his stock in trade in a hand baske; but this they let nobody
know; and would not, I am persuaded, have done so of their own
the writhing monster to the edge of the gully, Ileaped in, increasing
the deadly clutch of my fingers in the descent; but notwithstand-
tell us, Tom, now º
only have seen her, Tom, when I spoof my noble relative I |
ſºfact my friends tell metha
accºrd, if the infºrmation were tº have ºated their depºrted pro-l.
genitor from the prisºn-housementioned by the ghost in Hamlet up
stance, with the buxom Widow he was all life and manhood, taking
ºre to bring the faultless turn of his leg, and the powerful action of
his nerves and his muscles under her notice on all favorable occa.
sions. With the bouncing Kentucky girl he romped, and jumped,
and succeeded to a nicety in showing off a half horse, half aligator.
To the blue-eyed Western Sylph, who was a votaress of the muses,
he lisped quotations from the amatory poets, and discoursed of bowers
and zephyrs, and love among the roses. And thus, he suited the
tastes of each, and was an ºbject of devotion—nearly of cap-pulling
to all of them for his pains.
I may as well remark hereen passan, that O'Hara soon discovered
-Perhaps by sympathy, or, as it might now be called, animal Imag-
heism- that Mr. Dempsey's protegee, the Virginian heiress, was
herself on a matrimonial speculation, and had no fortune other than
her nerve and her beauty, assisted by the worthy physician’s well
digested insinuations. It is to be added that she made no Benedict at
Rockaway, but succeeded in so doing at a later period and another
place, the particulars of which may be given hereafter.
One afternoon, we “the exclusives” were at desert and small talk;
the former excellent, the latter just about as silly as language and a
plentiful lack of ideas, &c. could make it—notwithstanding even my
comrade's occasional shots between wind and water. But as sorrow,
loves company, I will inflict my gentle readers with a specimen, so
that they may judge for themselves.
“Oh! Henrietta!” said the elder Miss Winterbottom, in a toler-
ably loud voice so that every person in the neighborhood might be
aware of the important fact that she was conversing with an ‘Honor-
orable: “Oh! Henrietta! what do you think?—the honorable Mr.
Fitzroy informs me that he has waltzed with the queen of Englandſ”
“Dear me, how delightful; how I should like to have been there,”
returned Henrietta.
“Her majesty’s waltzin
bility in a dialect that
than Windsor Castle. -
“I have heard that she was a very pecooler woman,” replied Miss
Winterbottom, who now took it for granted that such was the aristo-
cratic method sſ pronouncing the italicised word.
“Quite so; but still a chawming person,” rejoined Fitzroy. Fitz
Woy,' said she to me after we had gone the wound of the woom
twenty times, ‘you’re a most hawyble kweeture to dwag me about in
such a hawful manner.” “You made me feel as if I was flying, your
majesty,’ said I, for you waltz with the gwace of a faiwey.’ ‘Ol
Fitzwoyº said she, ‘that’s toogood; butlet's goto the weſe vshment
woom.’ So in we went, and her majesty ate an ice kweam, and
dwank a little weak bºwandy and water.”
“Why, does the queen drink brandy and water gº
Always after waltzing. It’s wecommended by her physician ſº
“I have heard so before,” observed Henrietta.
g’s quite pecooler,” lisped the sprig of no-
savored rather of the slums of Westminster,
| And on the same evening, in the heat of the « Hop,” for we had a
dance, so called, twice or three times a week at Rockaway, both la-
dies evidenced their approbation of the royal taste, by preferring a
dash of Cogniae in a glass of the liquid element, to wine negus.
“Sir” said O'Hara, “it is popularly reported that the difference
between the ‘blood royal and all the other blood is, that the former is
of a deep purple, while the latter is red. Is that a factº
“I have never heard contwadicted—and pºwesume it's the case tº
answered Fitzroy.
ston of a starch’d up, smockedfaced exquisite on my left, who had
his eye fixed sentimentally on the ceiling, as if he were sitting for
his picture, and wished to be taken in an intellectual attitude.
“Lord Beeron, meedem,” answered Smockface, in a voice that
made one suppose he might be slightly affected with the lockjaw, and
thereby unable to give his words full measure.
*O Mr. Shipley, and he such a ferocious character tº:
* Meedem, that’s why Iglory in him. I like ferocity, and living
among hiºh inguntains, and being hated by the world and all that:
* my whole nature is decidedly Bee-
“By won was a great witér, no dº ſº... . . .
give me Pierce Egan. That’s the weimarkable man.”
* Beeron for me!” exclaimed Smockface.
“And Pierce Egan formé,” simpered Miss Winterbottom, to which
she added, “I think, Mr. Fitzroy, he writes chiefly for the annuals.”
“You are yewy coweet, madan,” returned the honorable, though
at the same time he looked as if he wasn’t very clear as to what the
annuals meant.
“O I remember the name now—he's a sweet poet,” observed
Henrietta, whose leading characteristic it was never to admit igno-
rance in any thing.
“And yewy gwand and womantic, especially in hoss waces, and
the pºwize wing,” added Fitzroy.
“He’s not the author of the House that Jack Built, as was rumor-
ed!—is he, sir!” enquired O’Hara. -
“Can’t say exactly, but have heard it attwibuted to him,” replied
the erudite scion of a noble house.
“I must continue to advocate the claims of my Beeron,” said
Smockface; “he fills one's soul with such extatic visions of gloom
and horror! Beside, his noble sentiments, and pathetic abhorrence
of mankind, keeps one so much apart from the vulgar tº
“There is certainly some advantage in that,” remarked Lucy's
mamma. “Don’t you think so, Mr. O’Hara º
* Decidedly, madam,” returned Phil, “more particularly as there
appears to be no mode of avoiding the connection. For instance, I
recently met, and made a cºmpanion of a fashionable looking young
fellow at the springs, whom Isubsequently discovered to be a common
bill poster!”
Mrs. Livingston, (in a species of scream)—“a what?”
“A bill poster, madam!—a sticker-up of placards against dead
walls and such places.”
“O ! shocking ſº
* It's awful madam-but the truth nevertheless, and my friend
Mr. Dempsy can bear witness to it.”
Poor Dempsy, however, instead of putting himself forward to bear
witness to it, thrust half an apple down his throat, as if with suici-
dal intentions, and almost took the road after his forefathers in a
mingled fit of suffocation, and mental horror.
“It’s a shame there is no law to punish such audacious scoundrel-
ism,” advanced a rather antiquated, stiff, and vulgar-looking, but ex-
tremely dandified person, who sat opposite Phil, and who in early
life had been eminent as a tailor, and made a fortune by three suc-
cessful failures. This person had rendered himself rather obnoxious
to myself, and Phil, by reason of sundry sly hints, which we under-
stood he had ventured to the effect that we were a couple of Jeremy
Diddlers; “It’s a pity there is no law to punish such audacious scoun-
drelism,” advanced this person.
“They almost deserve hanging, sir,” said Phil.
* I entirely agree with you, sir,” returned the tailor, for by “edg-
ing themselves, accidentally or otherwise, into our best society, they
make it, as it were, a sort of hetrogeneous mass.” -
* Like a many colored bunch of tailor’s leavings, in fact,” said
O’Hara.
The deadly enemy of all the Jeremys having been in no very good
humor before, this wicked allusion stirred him into wrath, and he
replied tartly, - -
“For myself, I suspect all strangers, sir, all! But more especially
those whom I meet at places of public resortſ”
“It’s well and wisely done,” retorted Phil., “as at such places one
runs the risk of being thrown into occasional colloquies with per-
sons who may have made one’s breeches, or even plundered their
creditors ſº - -
The tailor's only reply was a verdigris blush that passed rapidly
over his sallow visage; but Phil, whom he had deeply nettled by some
malignant insinuations, determined he should not escape so easily:
therefore after the lapse of a minute or so, he addressed him, -
*Sir you may pride yourself on wearing the best fitted coat in the
company. May I be so presumptious as to ask you who made it?”
“Darley, sir! Darley of Broad street!” answered the would-be
aristocrat, in a tone of much pomposity.
* I thought solº exclaimed Phil., “and the wager is mine.”
“What wager, sir, if I may in inquire?” said the retired tailor.
“Why, sirº returned O'Hara, in a tolerably loud voice, “ my
friend Stapleton and I have had a dispute about your coat I pronoun.
ced it a Darley, or a St. John; but he strong in his ignorance, was
gered me a Leary hat that it was one of your own cut ſº -
The effect on the poor tailor was prodigious; but it was brief. He
sprang from his chair, seized his plate with the full intention of hurl-
ing it at O'Hara's head, but instantly again changed his mind, laid
down his weapon, and left the table.
* That will be a match of ‘pistols and coffee for two,” thought I;
but I was mistaken; for on getting out into the open air, the worthy
tailor gave vent to his indignation by kicking his black servant. And
so begun and ended the quarrel. - -
Let no member of the craft so ungraciously dealt with above, im-
agine that myself or my friend intended to insult it. Far be the sus-
picion from us. Indeed we were both marvellously indebted to it;
and one of the greatest offences which Mr. — had committed in
our sight, was his affected contempt of an honorable fraternity, for
which we, as in duty bound, entertained feelings of sincere respect,
gratitude and admiration.
Meanwhile the general conversation progressed. - --
“Mr. Stapleton,” said Mr. Livingston, as the latter luckless indi-
vidual was stealing a three corner glance at Lucy, who, for her part,
appeared to have no eyes for anything but a plate of almonds and
raisins, which she was discussing with a great deal of apparent inter-
est. “Mr. Stapleton, the time has arrived when every man, sir, must
be a politician; must buckle an the armor of his country, sir, and
fightſor its institutions! And as I have always said and maintained,
when called upon to express my opinions on the subject, the princi-
ples of a Jefferson, sir, is the only rock wherein the stripes and stars
and the American eagle can find a safe anchorage.”
“Your argument amounts to an axiom, sir,” said I, at the same
time wondering what Jefferson’s opinions happened to be about, and
admiring Mr. L.'s original figure touching the anchorage of a “ban-
mer and a bird.” He continued:
“Sir, the great fiscal institution of our country is a many-headed
hydra, always on the watch with its thousand mouths for whom it
may devour. Its eyes, sir, are the eyes of a rattlesnake or a bazalisk,
and the people are the little birds that are facinated. Its tail, SIr, 18
the flail of destruction that is thrashing the people out of their sub-
stance, and leaving nothing but ehaff behind it. And, sir, its stom-
ach, its very bowels, is the maelstrum of the people's substance, and
will soon be the grave of the people's liberties; if, with the aid of the
principles of a Jefferson, we do not crush him under our heel.” -
Here the worthy orator closed his eyes and fell back in his chair;
apparently wondering why such an outburst of eloquence was not
greeted with three rounds of enthusiastic applause.
“Tom,” whispered O'Hara to me, “I see you’re in a purgatory;
but never mind, Lucy’s the redemption; so go it strong on the Jeffer-
son principle.” - -
“Poetry is a passion with me,” observed Smockface, “but statuary
and the fine arts are also objects of my fond idolatry.”
“And of mine,” said Henrietta. - -
“And of mine, too, and of all persons of polish,” exclaimed Miss
Winterbottom in a rhapsody, “Don’t youthink so, Mr. Fitzroyº”
“Most weligiously, madam” -
“They flourish in England of course, sir?” - - 2
“Yes, madam, in a mest wenarkable and twilimphant degwee:
*Which is your favorite sculptor, sir?” inauired O'Hara. “Can-
lava or Paganini?”
“Who is your favorite poet, Mr. Shipley* enquired Mrs. Living- -
-
But how fared the poor Misses Winterbºttºms? Alas, wofully
enough At the time they were raising their hands from the crate,
their eyes were turned upon the multitude to see the effect—for each
fondly thought she had hold of the pride of the family—the three
pottle silver teapot—in her lily white fingers, and had an idea if the
sun was’nt exactly put out of countenance by its magnificence, at
least that the eyes of all and singular those present, would wink and
blink, and glisten again on beholding it. Accordingly, they drew
their hands forth with a flourish—and then, after the brief pause to
start fair on, the roar began. The reader may well suppose that
the first thing the sisters did was to drop their burdens like—as the
phrase goes—hot potatoes, and run away. Not so Whether as-
tounded by the peals of laughter, or paralyzed by their position, or
that their blood stood still with indignation, I cannot tell; but sooth
to say, there they stood, for six mortal seconds, stiff and frigid, as if
they had been suddenly petrified, or struck with epilepsy---and sta-
ring the while at the two “appendages” as if they took them for
two ghosts. The tick of the seventh second, however, brought them
to themselves—to feeling, action, and a full appreciation of the posi-
tion they were in, and the figures they cut; instantly therefore, they
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CHAPTERS VIII & IX,
The last two chapters it may be remembered, were episodical,
chiefly introduced for the purpose of explaining the nature of my
position with the Livingstons. I now resume the “thread of my
discourse,” commencing with the day following that of my adven-
ture with the Frenchman in the box. This day was a blank page in
the history of my life. The next ditto. And so also the next.
On night the fourth, I and Washington Irving, were whirling away
the nights together; that is, myself in propriapersona, and the gen-
tlest of Knickerbockers as represented by his unrivalled Sketch
Book.
I had puffºd, and read, and sipt; and sipt, and read and puff'd
again, until it was long after midnight, and had once or twice com.
mitted a species of profanity by nodding over the delightful pages of
“Sleepy Hollow,” when I heard a hurried step on the lobby, and
immediately the door was thrown open, and O'Hara, all pale and
trembling, burst into my room.
“In heaven’s name, Phil, what's the matter?”
“I don't exactly know, Tom; but this I do know, that it has
frightened me into a palsy."
“You’ve heard that scream again ſº
“No, not the scream, but something yet more fearful.”
“What was it like, Phil?”
“Like nothing earthly, Tom. It was a voice that made my hair
stand upright with horror, and chilled the very marrow in my
bones.”
“O'Hara, I suppose you think it was a spirit 7”
“I believe I do, Tom ; for surely nothing human could have made
such a coward of me!”
“You saw nothing 7”
“No ; but I think I would rather
ever it is.”
“Let us go and listen together.”
“Give me some wine first! Now I'm with you; but I wouldn't
have gone by myself for the Astor Estates.”
Accordingly we went to O'Hara's room, where I found every
thing as comfortable as in my own, and nothing more spiritual-look-
ing than a half-finished tumbler of brandy and water.
“You’re sure it's not the brandy, O'Hara”
“I was never quite so sober in my life, comrade.”
“Well, let us sitdown awhile, and—”
“Hush there it is!” said O'Hara, speaking under his breath.
“I hear nothing,” said I. -
“Good God!” exclaimed O'Hara, “A thought that’s too dreadful
comes over me! Doesn’t Lavar occupy the room overhead?”
“He does.” .
“Tom, I had a horrid dream, which I have been unable to remem-
ber until this minute, but still I trust in heaven it was only a phan-
tasy, produced by an occurrence the other night.”
“What was it about, Philº
“It was—But hushº! heard you nothing then?”
“Nothing.”
Stand where I am and put your ear close against the wall.”
I did as O'Hara directed me, and presently heard a low continu:
ous wail, of an undefinable character—but still suggestive of deep
agrony.
gº º, sounds proceed from a human being,” said I–º most proba.
bly from poor Lavar.”
“Pray God!” ejaculated Phil, “that my dream may take the old
way of explaining itself, in contraries—but, I fear he is starving
himself to death." -
We at once proceeded to Monsieur Lavar’s door, but found it
locked. A series of knocks brought no answer. We looked through
the key-hole, but all was darkness within. We listened, but could
hear nothing. -
“What had we best do?” said I. But while I was yet speaking,
O'Hara, who usually acted and thought together, put his giant
strength against the door, which, by drawing it towards him at the
same time, he forced open without noise; and in we went.
As I intimated, all was silence and darkness within. Presently,
however, we heard a dismal whispered howl, which assured us, as we
suspected, that there was a third person in the room.
* Monsieur Lavariº
No answer.
“For God's sake speak! What ails you?” -
“Here we heard a dry husky whisper, as if a reply was intended,
but it found no word.” -
“The sound is familiar to me,” said O'Hara, “I have heard it be-
fore. It is the bloodless voice of a human being dying for the want
of food ſº
“I dread to look at him,” said I.
“I dread it more than you,” returned O'Hara, “for I've seen such
sights before, Tom. But hush!” -
As he spoke the subdued moaning was renewed, and seemed to
syllable itself into the words “water,” “water,” “water.” .
“It is ever the last thing they call for,” whispered my friend,
who thereon slipped out and brought the lamp from the lobby.
Whether or not the gloom of my heart obscured my vision, I am
unable to say; but certainly, even under the influence of a well-
trimmed lamp, the Frenchman's bed-chamber seemed to me like a
dark and dimly lighted sepulchral vault. Fire it contained none;
but though the night was chilly, a heavy, oppressive, yellow, foggy
atmosphere, appeared to pervade it, and to form a sickly halo around
the light. I glanced at the bed, and my heart stood still with inde-
finable alarm on perceiving that it was empty. The mystery, how-
ever, was soon explained; for in another corner lay the mattress
which had been withdrawn from the stead, and doubled together at
the head of it was a human figure, which a moment's examination
proved to be that of the unfortunate Monsieur Lavar. He was ly-
ing on his right side with his face tending downwards, and his knees
fairly drawn up to his chin. His arms were shrivelled up (not fold-
ed) on his breast; and his hands were clasped as if in supplication.
He was dressed as I had last seen him; but still it was evident that
he was shrunk into a mere anatomy; and when I put my hand on
his limbs I started back with an invºluntary shudder, and finding
them “rattley” and cold, and lifeless, like those of a fleshless skele.
have seen than heard it, what-
dashed the two ghosts into a thousand
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pieces against the poor ser.
Vant man’s head, which happened to be the most convenient thing
they could expend the overplus of their wrath on; and then they
shot so quickly off to their rooms, that it was imagined by some
that they had vanished, spirit like, in the blaze of their own indig-
nations.
A survey of the further contents of the crate, was the occasion
of another roar, for it was found to contain nothing but four more
of the “what you call ems” and a number of very unaristocratic
paving stones thrown in for a make-weight.
The poor Misses Winterbottoms had another, but a lesser mortifi.
eation (however it involved greater loss) to suffer. The Hoºie
Arthur FitzRoy presented their note, and introduction, at their town.
establishment, and kindly volunteered, with the aid of his servant,
to take charge of the plate on his return to Rockaway. According:
ly, a number of most imposing looking pieces, to the value of several
hundred dollars, were put in his charge, and he took his leave. But
alas!--he so effectually forgot the road by which he was to return
tº Rockaway, that neither himself or the plate have been heard from
Since-
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ton. But who shall describe the face 7 What pen or peneil can do
justice to the attenuated countenace, which had worked itself into
an expression of the grimmest misery, and so remained—stoney :
staring ! bloodless and horrible
“He must be dead, O’Hara.”
“No, no, Tom!—he sees us—his lips move – Hush!
* Water "-" water 1–murmured the wretched man in a voice
scarcely human or audible; but anon a moan escaped him, not loud,
but so peculiar, and intense with agony, that it seemed to ring in
my ears, and haunted me in my dreams for many a long day after—
And then he continued the dry, husky, whispered wail of “water tº
–** Water 1–Water ſº
Water being given him, he drank greedily—madly—for about a
second, when the stoney unspeculative glare of his eyes, gave place
to an expression of wonder, and then of anger—even ferocity; and
he raised himself on his hands and stared at us.
“Speak—dear sir—one word for the love of sweet Heaven,” ex-
claimed O’Hara.
The wretched Frenchman continued to gaze on us for some time,
as if endeavoring to recollect who we were, and replied, while a
feeble smile played upon his features.
“Ah yes, now I know-Monsieur Stapleton —Monsieur
O'Hara ! But I forgive you, my bon amis, for you done it out
of pity!”
“Now, sir, take another mouthful of water.”
“Mention it not Go! Ah, my friend, force me not to prolong
my misery!”
“For God's sake, Monsieur Lavar, tell us what ails you.”
“Do not ask me! Let this fleshless cheek—these boney hands,
explain. But when I am at rest, that paper will tell you all;"
saying which he pointed to some loose sheets of fools-cap that were
lying on a chair beside him; and then resumed the position we had
disturbed him from. -
Confirmed in our suspicions that he was dying ºf starvation, we
brought foºd and wine ; but Lavar set his lips firmly upon his teeth,
and would suffer nothing to pass them. Still it was evident that the
little water he had taken had made him comparatively easy ; and
we trusted, when the agony came over him again, that he would suf-
ferus to give him something yet more nourishing.
But the night—the long-long night wore away—and the grey,
chill, comfortless morning arose with out realising our hope. Still
and frigidlay the dying man, with his teeth clenched, his lips com-
pressed, and his eyes closed, unless at distant intervals when he
would open them for a few seconds, and display their stoney balls
hardening and dimming under the operation of a lingering death.
He moaned but little after we gave him the water, and his breath,
and pulse, and heart scarcely gave evidence that there was a living
soul within. Still he was fully conscious of his existence; for he
evidently acted as if he was on his guard of us; and occasionally
when we requested him to eat, or drink, his eye would assume an ex-
pression of reproach, and his thin lips close with a gesture of yet
more decided fixedness.
At length, said O'Hara—“Let us take him to the City Hospital,
where the physicians may understand better than us how to act with
him.”
We accordingly lifted him from his wretched pallet, (alasſ it
was not difficult, for his weight was that of a child,) and wrapping
him up in an old arm-chair, conveyed him between us, to the Hospi.
tal in Broadway; where, when we told as much of his case as we
thought necessary, he was received with great kindness, and placed
ºn a cot in one of the lower wards. All was useless, however, for
he continued to resist every effort that was made to minister to his
wants; and before the attendant physician arrived, he was a corpse.
For nearly an hour before he died he seemed easy and painless; so
much so, indeed, that we thought the suffering spirit had departed
unperceived by us, and left him to his rest. However, this was not
the case; his tranquility was the result of the utter prostration of the
animal system, and its incapacity to suffer further torture, for after
a while he opened his eyes—intense and horrible now no more, but
calm and intelligent-nay, even lit up with an expression of triumph.
Had I then been an infidel, the expression of that eye would in-
stantly have dissolved all my doubts, and convinced me of the glo-
rious truths of revelation; for, did it not prove to me while the pc-
rishing carcase was decayed, shrivelled, shrunk, bloodless, throbless.
withered into a perfect anatomy—all but dead—that the immortal
soul within was in a state of full activity and hope. Our dying
friend faintly smiled a recognition of O'Hara and myself, and his lips
trembled, as if he would have spoken; but he was beyond the power
of utterance. And thus he lay, serene and smiling—seemingly in
the very rapture of repose-for several minutes, when with a tran-
quil sigh his gentle spirit forsook its ruined tabernacle, and soared
lightly to the bosom of the God that gave it.
Died that hapless stranger unwept and unhonored? No. The
two friends who knew his worth, and witnessed his sufferings, shed
tears of regret and friendship upon his grave. Nor did they forget to
see that he was attended by those pious ceremonies that cheer the
loneliness of the latest resting place; and which, if they have no ef.
fect upon the feelings or circumstances of the departed spirit, at all
events mark the respect and love of those who are left behind it.
Immediately on our return from the hospital, we proceeded to the
room lately occupied by poor Lavar, to see if he had left any letters
behind him which it might be our duty to see forwarded; but, save
the few loose sheets already alluded to, and which were directed to
ourselves, we found nothing of the sort—not even so much as a me-
morandum from which we might infer that, besides O'Hara and my-
self, he had a single acquaintance in all the world. Neither had he
left any property behind him, but an old empty trunk; nor anything
indicative of property, if I except a number of pawnbroker’s tickets,
which recorded small amounts loaned on wearing apparel, and gen-
tlemen’s trinkets; and the freshest of these, dated a few days be-
fore, had been given with twelve shillings on a gold finger ring; and
this twelve shillings, (I feel assured it was the same.) O'Hara disco-
wered on the table, wrapped up in a scrap of paper, on which was
written: “To the landlady; for the week's rent.”
[Continued on page 7th.]





















































































































































































































-
And Mary loved her hero well She almost wished that both were hung have il - - - -º-º:
- - Have jilted for his sake. - - -- - ... … --
- FIRST LOVE . Despite the race he run, And cold within an urn. - But on º was an awful scamp, *"..." ". .." ". face, - ". "..."." so . "..." -
And here we have both beau and belie But still her mind affected most Who when he - - lace, S ace 01 Spades, or chimney back,
wasn’t flush, -: -º-º-º: - anal ºn in a .
O R, T H E TRA G E D Y O F. G. O. T H A M . A making love like fun! The rattling roving lad; And out upon a “toby tramp” Or fleece of pondie anº. | Or cºal mine in a fog.
And if he could the main thing boast,
She would have had him ere a host
Of him, who also ruled the roast,
But might have been herdad!
And as it was, that youth, had he
Not been a deuced rake, -
She would his rival instantly
Would sell his clothes for lushi
Which surely in the wedded state,
Small promise gave of bliss:
9, what young maid would choose such mate,
And wish to join her lonely fate
With such a scamp as this?
A Wºrry True and Solomchūlly Metrical Romance,
IN TEN CANTOS.
Written for the Pictorial Jonathan, by Homer Torquato Milton, Esq.
Illustrated on Boxwood, by Quiz,
Whilome in Gotham dwelt a maid In crimson, yellow, red, and white,
Most comely to behold; And pink and green array'd :
She was a milliner by trade, And 01 she was a precious sight,
And then cigars she sold; With locks so dark, and eyes so bright, - N
And if the rumors all were true And bust so full, and form so slight, N Nº. l
Which round about the nation flew - In sooth she was an angeliquite, N N \\
On steamboats, vans, or cars, At all events for trade; - Nº. º
A prettier maid might not be found, For none might then, or chew or snuff, º y Nº. \ N Nº.
Though you should search all Gotham round, - Or Principe, or Norma puff, --- §§ º \\
A selling of cigars. Or draw a meerschaumbland, º N -
Then she was kind as fair to see; Unless the weed, cigars and co., NY -
Her nature was, I'm sure, He had himself received, ſtrow, ". º º 3-º-º:
- - - - - ºº::
As mild as mildest Principe, - From Mary's fairy hand, - | 4– - -
Or fragrant Norma, pure. Here stands the maid, as then she stood, 3|| - /ºr TAKE TIM
- - Our hearts with shafts to bore *" - ºt-sº - -
derson's in Broadway height - * - - - - - - -----
At Ande - y neight, As pretty a thing of flesh and blood º Fºſſº BY E Z E Kºr Eº, ESQ.:
Shone forth this gentle maid, As every kept a store! - nºvº N -
- - s ever sture . º - ote by Ezekiel, – I dou, retend th t tº f - - -
n - - t at the follo -
Where she was stationed every night -- -> E-T- . !" half "gº". X. do º ... ..".
- * * *, *lly Arbuckle, our Fanny's sister, she de-
Well sang the poet that the course s= º that she will send Abner a Valentime º .
Of true love ne'er ran smooth : sº hatched up the picture, and I wrote the ºr A.
. . . . . - father is our sexton. You may do just is ºn file about
- His way is all up hill, perforce, * . - printing. -
Without a crutch to soothe. H== Note. By THE Epitor-We always do. -
- - º -" - == -
N ". "..." ". when we say, | - s THE *****Nºok tº anothen Jonathan
- e youth We See above, \ . º WI E}() W. J.O. ES.
N Was by his mother caught one day S. \\ - – NE *
- And whipp'd for making love! SS | Wealthy and young was the Widow Jones—
And .." for fear he º might stray sº . S S- Comely withal, and fair to see;
O º º --- >sº N | -º-S Scarce had been earthed her husband's bones,
× ur hero sad was sent away, ---- CŞ. Nº - And mourning became her amazingly. -
& Unto a distant friend; Sº N H he had - -
C With orders, so the people say, - - § Quses she had, and she had land,
Beauty like her’s you might not slight-
Deep sighed the beaux for the widow's hand,
But more for her land, if she guessed aright.
S
l
~
§§
| -º
s
-
That he should thrash him every day
Until his ways he'd mend:
Then Mary then 'twas thine to sigh;
s
$
ſ
Sºsº º - Cousin Abner h d t -
§ º - And so she piped her eye, - S - When for º . ºn.
º That folks began to fear she'd die, CANTO IX. - - I hope its not his ghost!” Didn't our Abner feel flat when he heard
º §§ Though knowing not for why; Time rolls—at least four days had rolled A while she stood, all unawares That the widow Jones was already caught !
§ - And so she pined a month or more, º - Since Mrs. Brown was thus unsouled, | Of what she ought to do; - Shrewd was the widow, as she was fair
º: N S §§ And none her tears might stop; º When Mary lonely sat, Then oped the door, and ran down stairs oº: . º widow, as she was rich_
* º N - º - Putting a ribbon, as I’m told | I t t he fl ers might lose an offer rare-
* \\ S Until she voted trade a bore, - utting - º * I meant to say, she fiew. - -- take a
º \ NS And gave up keeping shop. But then when dressed he looke º jº Aad man to give his claims more pla Upon her wedding hat. - But when she got into the yard, ... . ow declared she was “none of sich.”
ſº S$ - ut then when dres ºw'ſ * * … - For she was shortly to be wed - - idow Jones married a deacon grim—
|W - \ Ny - Yes, Mary gave up keeping shop She knew not what to do; ºn His rival was, I blush to say, - ink º - 2. / She ºnly saw a post; Soon he got tired of his .. bride:
NRSS \ §§ And wish’d to be alone; - He might h h - º d - - Which made her smile and glow, “Ah me,” said she, “aint this too hard 7– Time she had not to be tired of hi -
º §§§ \{\ But still her lovers wouldn't stop, e ºt ave rung t .." º Just fifty-two an ...” º And much she wish'd the time was sped, Its only Josey's ghost!” - For one fine day he “up . . ->
Nº. Nº. \\ \\ - º - - ºver wore a shoe. He own'd to forty-eight ! - - - - -
§º \ \\ A crowding round her throne, The devil shoe you, muse sublime, º And then he was a dandy trim, Not . "..."... "... so much : But here a sigh—a healtsent sigh- The deacon's widow was not so young
§ º § \ --- Which made her half at length agree, To make me spin so soft a rhyme, And wore false calves on either lim | She merely took him as a crutch > Upon her ear did fall, As the Widow Jones of a year befºre;
|N º \\\\ \\ Tho' still with sorrow fraught, That nothing can be worse; To make him quite the go! y - - Which caused the maiden to espy The deacon’s widow had gained in tongue,
*N N - - - - - . . . º go To lean upon for life; A tub inst th 11: But the doubly widowed had double à
º Nº. That there were fish within the sea For tho' it speaks of shoes—at least - - But, oh! with all—including here And would have had his rival pºraps tº against the wall; y ower.
- º \ As good as eer were caught. - Of one—it must be here confest, | º His money bags—I greatly fear Did she not fear some after . s p So quick upon the tub she got Cousin Abner he leaned on his spade,
- - And so she dried her eyes and took 'Tis only slip shoa, verse! He was not what the ladies dear If she-while there were youn . an. B- To see that high wall o'er; A. º hand on his heart as the corpse drew near
Amongst her swains a lingering look, Bnt we were speaking of that youth. Would fancy for a beau. Became an old ..". p When up Pºp'd Josey, like a shot, - - ". º'...'" ".".
And chose out two, to have, I trow, He was an awful dog in sºoth, - ºbut lest such ladies, on my say, - - Her ravish'd eyes before : - º w 181'.
Two stringlets to her conquering bow, A loafer out and out. M | Should leave him on the shelf; But she was sowing on a bow “O dear, its Joe, my dear old beau : Nº. º º as he threw in the clods,
For fear that one should break; When he was on a Bowery spree, Not stoop to give his charms fair play, To charm the bridegroom's heart, I'll faint-support me–oh! oh! oh!” s. º Sure ;-
- - - - - - - - - - - - S,
And these became immortal foes, And his best clothes—'twixt you andle- || 1 had his portrait taken one day, When hark, she heard * Vº below Yet ne'er a faint did she º - Before he stood at the widow’s door.
And very often went to blows, At grass, or up the spout. | And here it stands as fresh as May, Which made her life strings start. But stood and gave him kiss for kiss, Abner h d as H -
As proved by many a bloody nose, But, then, he was but twenty-four, So that each fair one, right away, That voice cried, “Mary, Mary Oh!” Taking good care º: ºne tº mº, *...*.*. ".. º'-
And all for Mary's sake. An age the ladies all adore, May judge him for herself. - And froze her bloºd, almºst And feeling that she d die with bliss, Paused he, the tone of the man to catch,
The one he was of mellow age While questing out a mate; - Cried she “I’ll swear it's little Joe— As here we plainly see : It was Deacon Light, already there:
A year ago, come Valentine
She wedded the deacon, number two
Perhaps a shade to tame or cage,
O need we say a thousand hearts Their envious glories drown?d . To give a lady joy ; - Who poured on her heart the oil and wine
For Mary's love beat high; What means this stir Ha! would you stop, The other was in years less grown, Of comfort when he came to woo.
That few escaped her Cupid’s darts Dull reader to enquire º And like her lover who had flown, Abner is not discouraged yet—
Who saw her bright black eye: Why Mary's back at her old shop, And whom at times she still would moan, He dropped her a note on her bridal day—
hese turtles came So all the town's on fire : A rattling roving boy! Which, for the next matrimonial set,
From near and far these tur º Yes, she is at her post again, Bespeaks the hand of the widow gay.
Sighing just like a ſurnace ". - And men of course pour in like rain, And when the deacon is laid on the shelf,
And round her window hung; And buy cigars and Co. a main Having entered a caveat for his right—
While, if in funds, they'd draw more near . . g words in º lºan Unless he should chance to be shelved himself,
er - - - - -
To patronize her, and to hear In º Mary did perplex, - Abner will claim the Widow Light.
The music of her tongue: And other traders stamp'd and swore, MORAL.
Still none her ruby lips might taste, While towards the window as before, Take Time by the Foretop whatever you do—
Still none lay finger on her waist, Rush'd all the beaux in town—or more, tº." if Yº..." º widow prize–
For she was e'en less fair than chaste, As though they’d break their necks. º ...” ..". | . .. º
At least so people say; for them it -
- - And well alas, for them it were,
But flesh is flesh, and so it chanced, If half their necks º broken there, - -
Her eye upon a dandy glanced, d While dashing towards th ir idol fair,
with whom her heart became entranced, Urged on by Cupid's darts.
So Mary ran away : Cause why, sir, brºken necks, you know,
CANTO II. Had saved them from the greater wa,
In the Five Points romantic shades Which they were doom'd to undergo,
So famed in watch-house lore, Of very broken hearts
Theº. dwelt amongst its many maids, In proof of this assumption true,
The lubly Rosa Gore, A fact ill mentioned here, -
Her beauties truly some might scoff, Below is one who came to woo Thus long she paused, not knowing which
As rather stale or soiled, This maid, with soul sincere. - To take or cast away.
For she was just the color of The one was young—the other rich– - -
A lobster ere it's boiled; Two charms for which the heart will itch, -
But every eye a beauty forms, Let love do as he may,
Black—white, or short or tall, And so she stood midway apart,
So Rosa had her beaux in swarms, Unknowing where to wed;
And favored one and all. k One of the lovers had her heart,
And yet one faithful love she knew The other had her head.
And wooed him night and morn; The heart of course clung to the youth,
His name—and, betwixt I and you, And at his prayers would glow ;
He often made the maid look blue— The head more wise, with equal truth,
Was bold John Barley-corn. Kept money bags in tow. - Morm dawns, and Mary, ere her hour, Beyond his vengeance stout;
Yes, all for him were oft refused ; CANTO V. º - Has sought her mother's sleeping bower, Nor leave a trail to mark your flight,
And with her love so tried O lubly, lubly Rosa Gore, Hail muse, et cetera!—if sobe, --- - º If you are equal to the task, - tº .." " " * * ** - And º º: ... º ===s=>s. - ---
She often in a channel snoozed, º, Rºse withºut ºthº - **** * * - º * Icº arm. And asks me to be his -Oh dear! But keep it dark—no word let fall -
Nor for a blanket sighed : - - - - Ine *. ... º. º ºr " - A mice young man, 0.1 let me see, - And for to make his presence here hich makes me half afraid : - Might th l - THE CONTRABANDIST.
And famous for her charms; Or i. ... .". ..". Who's just the thing to do: | Seem proper and in place, And then he has so manly º *"...". . . ..",". wall, . of ** favorite occupations of the Spanish
- º º A man for small tea-party fit - O let him be the youth so dear º - 9°-leave one and a mountaineer, is the irregular trade which is carr; d
Behold we too, her love so true As blue as blue may be: From band box . stray’d: Who made ...' ears agro or º ear And looks so very fine, To think whate'er they may : along the whole frontier, from Biscay to cºni.
er arms. Or stand behind the door at home y º y y - - - º y g º And has a fortune of his Own So glad to break that match am I general, round the whole circuit of Spain, The almost to-
- 2. Half scamp, half fool, half bore, half wit, Poor Mary's heart a case! Which shall, h *** A - - º tal want of manufactures in the country, and th -
As here below we see : And nearly half a maid! | Thanks, thanks, for here’s the dandy gay, But th. ... | ... ."." - I feel that I for joy should die, and barbarian nature of the º law, ..".
With locks well curled, and stays well lated, On whom a maid might doat; As º lov'd maid besi 4. "º. .." I defy, º'. .."...". The º have thus for
- - -- - - - ! hip ! 17- ry numer
And just a span about the waist, You're welcome, sir, to town; but pray, I must not have my darling Jo.” So th Ipſ hip . f P Hurray ! . body in Spain *... in . ...'. º º
And cane and spy-glass trim; Who suffered for your coat? -- -- - 9 thus was urged fair Mary sly only of a large portion of the national w p -
py-g You must º' Mamma replied. H bl b nly ge portiº al wealth, but of such
Oh yes, dear muse, I humbly ask, * Then h ill kill - - - yº er venerable parents by, virtues as have survived the national degeneracy. They -
en he will kill us both. Not so To love and run away : are brave, industrious, and patriotie ; and i
- y p > n the French
Returned the dame, “for you can go war formed some of the most gallant defenders of their
pountry. Their superior general intelligence, their km.
º ledge of French, their practice in the use of arms, and their
$. - habits of combination, made them singularly dangerous to
§º - the enemy; and some of the most extraordinary achiev.
Nj f the Guerillas were said to be d he rovi -
s § ments of the que to the roving but
- § vigorous spirit of the “Contrabandista.” The follºw;
s lines are set to a highly characteristic and º º:
§ - air :-
º - º -
ºğ “Yo soy Contrabandista
§ ºw _ campo por mis réspetos.”
s º >º 2- “De todos los hombres me desafio
&§ - Nºss \ § § - _º. - - º - -- -
º º S. _ º - - -
- E𠧧§ º I.
º º I'm a bold smuggler;
y º *\ I don’t care who knows
§ll Wºº Y \ \º That I’m always the slave
CANTO III. º \ = Of the ladies.
At Anderson’s no more, no more, § º - F* º º .
Alas! alas! alas ! ºffl ave bullets and blows;
- - But the service of beaut
The dandies crowded as before º My trade is. y
A-peeping through the glass. And oh! as there this swain doth stand cº, º ... Spanish roses:
For now the beaux who nightly there Like poplar with cigar in hand, . - Come buy, come buy;
Gazed on in tender glee, It seems as though he might command O ! in that nightgown and that cap, I º goods for all fancies,
A-taking colds while watching her A queen upon her throne; The mystery is read, s it.” | Some º b I
g "º", ºn 1.:... i. That Rosa, late, has had a nap - *****g, and pracelets,
Went home and took their tea! Yet Mary spurn’d his lo º alack : ... " º - -- Like woman's bright glance,
And oh! alas! 'twas no ways slow Nor felt his Cupid's fierce attack, Within a feather bed; Here are sandals so light,
The way cigarses didn't go For all his shafts rebounded back It might have been of moss, I know, - Aº themselves they might dance,
Poor Anderson cried “Oh 'oh, oh tº As though her heart were stone: Or straw, or chaft, so small: N § **, *Tis di - here’s M. intrº - *"...ºne
You’d think his heart wº. So lost to love, he took to lush, But still 'tis strange sugh Rose should blow | AN § Fiº º 1111161. "" . 2 ere . * - - º º agreed ºo, with good cause, I have ſings for º ºidºs
dandies in their depth of 2. The universal balm, - In any bed at all ! - - | \\\\ § § º º, º tº supper, and she's still delaying ! hat she a negro's soul case was, And wreaths for the ball. "
For dandies in their depth of wo, - º - - ----- wº- - |liſh.", Tis might---by all the gods of Rome! And had a week been drown'd : S ile 1
And soon forgot his clothes to brush For 'twas her way at night, I trow, - ------- - § | lº, - ee these gossamer veils!
Forgot the way to smoke! ºrg - º hen sh deri d - ***Nº, - | "| - And still the little girl's from home . When suddenly was heard the cry, Mechlin has no such laces,
º And didn't care a damn, When she was wandering to and fro, ºn sºilſ Sº l," - - - Though I own 'twe -
And oh! of these devoted elves, - - º º - º Where can that maiden straw 7 That she was no such thing or nigh g Were a pity
- - So he’d a drop in either To lie, where'er she’d fall ! 88 NASA ºr - Cº- | Y y g gh, To hide your sweet f:
Their love was so intense, * * * * *P in either eye, What th 1 maid º E. N | Morn comes the eastern ocean kissing, But Mary's corse embrown'd. At Lorett ythese bead aces.
hanged l Tho' he should in the channellie, at means the marvel maiden, say % N” *: y !-------- - *q- ſº rett0, these beads -
Just one and twenty hanged themselves Hush" she's a maid no more Nº. Nº lºº And Mary's still among the missing; A friend of Mary's—faithful, whole, Round “Our Lady” were hung
For to avoid suspenseſ Sans any bed clother but the sky, Hymen’s dread lord has swept ºw. Nor home returned all day, Who hated Blank with all his soul! See these mirrors they'd make
Ah me! it is a curious note Thus lie from night till mºnº y Th e of Rosa Gore: y Then (Blank) the rover, cursed and swore, And fear'd he'd trace her to her goal! - Your grandmothers look young.
That any human dove Ortho' his coat hung down in tags, h .." . º ". You'd think it was an ecean's roar, Found out this fact, which caused much dole— "º". ... -
Should through a noose about his throat - Or tho' his shirt was all in jags, For . as late ... . * That he her out would search ; He knew her well, he sigh'd; º jº."
Escape the noose of love! His very trousers torn to rags, So ...”. """. .." - And sacrifice her on the spot, All by-(howe'er he came to know't)– - *Twas made for the Queen.
But where kept Mary in the shade 7 And all through Mary’s scorn - CANTON VII. All wi All to appease his vengeance hot, A patch upon her petticoat II. * ...
- And so bef ix months were gone A happy husband's grown! with her charcoal beau: - - - - ----
Sly Cupid only knows, not go before six gone, B here's that happy husband now 7 Well, Mary, after much suspense, And there the loweyers had 'Cause she---(no doubt it was a plot,) Of some two inches wide : I’m a bold smuggler; -
The little rogue who lately made Alas! Alas! the dandy yon, ut. Where ºppy GW Resolved, despite of common sense - yers a boat Had left him in the lurch 'Tis true that Brown was short and squat I don't care who knows:
Such Judys of her b y º Who looks as graceful as a swan, In balmy slumber sunk T º d her roving lad: º In which they set themselves afloat - And Mary tall and t - squat, I’m a favºrite from º
The tal y first th ". . d And stately as a deer Feels he no antlers on his brow ... r . ". k h Out, out upon the stream, CAN TO X. Th º ary ". . . Bilboa to Cadiz.
e ta. * was first that S º ad ran *d by dint of 1 º O! no, for he's blind drunk . At which her mother took offence, But as they did they heard a mote - - at Brown was ae er than your hat, I’d take the Grand Turk
Away with a most charming man, Was chang'd by dint o ove sº true, But still his brow might itch to night And grew as hatter mad! Which on their very heart stri Since Mrs. Brown that night went down And Mary white as paper; Amy day by the nose;
Who loved her as his life, And whisky Punch and “ruin blue,” u Because it so . -Illg She did not think the match was slick, Just like a .. Sc rings Smote Into the wave so grim, Still was it settled on the spot, For your smuggler -
But who a small incumbrance had— And various things besides, unto - - But spurned it altogether; But then th realin. - Eight days have past, when she at last (None cared to the contrary,) A true Spanish blade is.
- - ll The loafer we have here : That Rosa, by the chaste moon-light, - ld h broke i - ick * then they took a glass of gln, R b t to the bri Come, bold Caballeros.
To wit which really reads too bad, - º Is looking out for squalls: And wou . ave broke it up as quic Which made their hearts rejoice; As i ". . O LIle .." --- All º the patch upon her coat, º Come buy, come buy;
Six children and a . H A looking out for one who soon As *..." scorch a feather; And then they didn’t care a pin s ".. e . an * y gºve; That Mrs. Brown was Mary! ": º º
Then rumor gave it out that she Only that Mary frantic grew, Ab h > ina º * * * * view - And then the friend a doctor called, must fly, I must fly.
- - - We'll see from head to crown, - - Out that raven’s voice : Until sh h’d Hobok - Come, my heroes of Spain!
Had married been in privacy, A-serenading of the moon, * raved, and stormed, and cried, And so they went across the tide wº . . ... . * . .." Who...” ºverhauled, What? º use º
To an old buck of sixty-three, And eke of Mrs. Brown : When e'er the theme she would pursue; º Singing and playing side by side; Our º did for us engrave e Wave, By st . ". ": 111 ". - But to hang round the necks
But sharp as a * He comes –O, bless that touching voice, And also that the yeuth, º blue, > Theirs was the bliss of blisses; And for the reader . º . Ing tha id e sou . ere nº". ºº º
And full of that which drives the mare,” It makes her tender heart rejoice, * he would shoot her º and thro’, And every minute, or about, - a. . en . * ºil swear was a shot. Ing-
And also that the happy pair Surely some angel sings! , unlºhe knot was tied They'd take some Holland’s “cold without,” Blank tried O . ". ". . Would you have me stand here
Had ta'en a trip—the Lord knows where, He comes . She sees the lugky elf, Likewise old money bags grew wild, But sweetened well with kisses: ank tried to see her, but in vain, - To be kill'd on the spot?
h t y When his love’s fetters thro” filed They fear'd 'twould make the man insane : Here are meerschaums f Turk
To spend the honey moon : Who seems to her Apollo’s self, * * * * * * * But as they took a long, long kiss, . º - - And from G. rom Turkey,
The swain suspected some may know, Even to his crown and wings. And swore so, that her mother mild, A kiss of youth and love, So right away the corse was ta'en, I’m . º ..". *-
In the old buck that stands below, - Grew fearful for her life, - - The waves below began to hiss, And earth’d in churchyard migh. They're for nothing a piece.
Who looks so pleased and sly, That 'twixt them both they'd kill her child, To wail the winds above 1 A. ºne. neglected yard, and º See this ring—the Mogul
As reads the priest, the words to bless, Or whether maid or wife . And storm gods flitted here and there ". º the º "..." the plot,) - º: º*
While lovely Mary answers “yes,” And so ths wedding day. drew near, And mermaids toss'd their tails is air, In a more dear, º Sacre . lie : You'll repent when im gone,
With down cast head and eye. The wedding day to maids so dear, Quite impolite to see; T Where º s . . ". . In short, such a cargo
The day of days the best. And dolphins follow'd in their track * * * * * * ad In Spain was ne'er seen;
To these who love a world of care - - Then bards immortalized the dead; *Tis high treason to sell it,
º Each with a spectre on his back, - - *T de for th
And things to make a stoic swear – Grinning most hideously; Who still was up and eating bread, was made for the Queen.
The worst to all the rest : - º I’m very proud to say! III.
- And shrieks and groans around were heard, -
- - - - - h º -
Think not Sir Hymen I despise And followed many a gloomy bird, As ſº the mother she said naught, I *. º º: -
Or would his trade destrov : But, like a clam, the more she thought, on't Care Who KnOWS :
y g
B th ext t ful : h As raven, crow or bat; And hid herself awa I can take down a bull
ºn-tº- CANTO IV. ut tru * racts ". wºul *E* And then the lady and her knight Now, lyre, be hush’d—nº an word With my lance, sir.
º Now out of Mary's loves so coy And here's * * * out disguise So lonely there, as well they might Nºyº, " . > S more, I have powder and shot
ºntº - - - Of matrimonial joy. º Which are as like to be a score, For Frenchmen and crows,
º º º Stood one it is confest, Began to smell a rat, And then I’ll set you down - And have oftled
º º º º A rattling, rowing Bowery boy, /> ºn iſ | | * Which terribly their raptures damp'd, while these events were passing here, Napoleon a dance, sir.
ſº ºut غ - She loved above the rest; | | | || | " Nº But ere they felt much wo, And fifty things I’ve skipp'd in fear What cares the Guerilla
º - - º He first became her star of stars, - | | - dº. A squall their shallop struck and swamp'd, º M y ". e ... ar, º...”
º - N | | Her pure heart’s polar guide, º * And sent them both below : W. ary . f º i. When he follows the foe.
º º * s By purchasing of more cigars º But soon again it came to pass, ". Spen . O t . O º -1100m We laugh at their columns,
| º º º 2. - Than any two..beside! -- The loveyer floated up like gas, n an adjacent town : We laugh at their lines,
|| || |}º Rºº. - - When we sharpen our knives
ºf ~ : º A rattling blade, in sooth, was he, And struggled to the shore; --> T And unsling our carbines.
º This pride of Mary's eyes; - But Mrs. Brown, alas! alas ! 2 º e- The Frenchman is coming,
Yet was he but a boy to see, Was gone for evermore! §§ Sº Hillo! hillo!,
- *... -- 1: - N - - - The true Spanish style
Of small potato size. - Yes, she was wreck'd in little skiff, º Tº sº Is ..". ºblow
Yet felt he big, * though he stood tº Ha, Pete, dat you, my lub so true? Tho? rumor soon was rife - º º * } N. --- He may plunge in our valleys–
Full six feet six in flesh and blood; Well, stay till I come down.” That men had toss'd her from a cliff, º º I We'll wait for him there,
And further, I'll engage; . en like a comet off she flew, * Tºº -ºin -- - And thus destroy’d her life; º º º | º He shall find the Guerilla
- his chim Th - - - - !!! º Nº. -- A wolf in his lair.
Though still no down was ºn º CIlli, To get her shawl and gown; - That she that night, now past and gone, #ſºft He may climb up our hills,
That he was twice as ºld in Sitº, But now she's dressed, and off to woo, - CANTO VIII. Was ta'en a frowning cliff upon § The Guerilla is migh,
As men of twice his age Alas, for Mister Brown! Music is sweet upon the deep - By rowdies two, and hurl’d, - - To make his last bed
- - I mean if kissing girls ". d thi CANTO WI. - When winds and waves are low Fre you could say Jack Robinson, º ". º . ck ... ." band º. º
- n wºu un e º
Howe'er all this may be, one night, And dashing on through thick and thin, Return we back, on Mary’s track, And moºnbeams on the waters sleep, Into another world! 1. . º 0. the sh and, And his blood shall be rain,
- *s flight At revel romp and rout. --> een - J Tho' dancing to and fro; Our artist struggles hard below nd laid upon Shore, Before he shall trample
Some two months since the lady's flig - - ly hi Who pois’d betw her Jill and Jack, - Wh 11 d that sh dead ſº P
A murmur rose around, And making tills ". * store Scarce knew which way to turn; At least so thought fair Mrs. Brown, The scene to celebrate, A. en a ". k, or . was . - ºss º - The heroes of Spain. -
- - - - - ck-0 re ºn- sº º -
And folks ran here and there like mad, (That's entre . "...". She wished the young had gold among As * the night you know Altho' the lady met, we know s "...".*er ".d "..." º ºis º - * The custom-house patrols,
And all the lamps looked very sad, His º * he was out !” His charms; she wished the old was young; She came into the Hudson down, A very different fate, |
- - a sure - -
As tho’ some light superior had, k | -
º
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WRITTEN FOR THE BROTHER JonAEHAN.
THE LAST Woºds of ByRoN,
* I MUST SLEEP NOW.”
BY H E N R Y MOR. Foſt D.
I must sleep now ! The shades
Of eve are falling o'er unſettered Greece,
And with her broken glades
I welcome darkness if it brings me peace .
I must sleep now, for life
Has been one long, long watch of weariness,
Broken with hours of stifº,
And cursed with all the hopes wood to bless.
I must sleep now—for thought,
Corroding thought—has gnawed upon my braain,
And to its garner brought,
Amid its treasured store, my spirit's bane.
I must sleep now ; for love—
Ay! ſervent love has been a feverish dream,
That only came to prove -
Earth's brightest moments are not what they seem.
I must sleep now; my heart
Has burned upon the very shrine I built,
And the atoning part
Has only left its sorrow and its guilt :
I must sleep now—I’ve stood
Amid the wreck ºf all things dear en earth;
My every household God
Strewn in its ruins on my broken hearth.
I must—I must sleep now—
Amid the temples of unfettered Greece;
Her airs upon my brow,
Her darkness welcome, if it brings me peace.
New York, Dec. 14, 1841.
WRITTEN FOR THE BROTHER JonATHAN.:
INVOCATION TO APOLLO.
-
If e^er in thy sight I found favor, Apollo,
Pe******* all the disasters which follow :
From the knaves and the fools, and the fops of the time,
From the drudges in prose, and the trifiers in rhyme,
From dumb thinking blockheads, as sober as Turks,
And petulant bards, who repeat their own works;
From all the gay things of a drawing room show,
The sight of a belle, and the swell of a beau:
From busy back-biters, and tattlers and carpers,
From scurvy acquaintance, of brokers and sharpers,
From shallow free-thinkers forever disputing,
Nor ever confuted, nor ever confuting;
From the advice of counsellors learned in the law,
And all the great rogues who keep the lesser in awe;
From trusting to hypocrites, wretches who trifle
With heaven, that on earth more secure they may rifle.
If ever thou didst, or wilt ever befriend me,
From these, and such evils, Apollo defend me.
Publicus.
wºuTTEn ºf OR THE BROTHER JONATHArt.
NOTES FROM MY LOG.
BY EDWARD F. W. E.L.D.
-
A NIGHT A T G UA YA QUIL THEAT R E.
WITH A TRAGICAL AFTERPIECE.
Confound all mules say I. Here is mine, heaving and
setting like a sloop in a head beat sea—but I stick to him
like a Murat. What next " A dead halt, by all that's
lovely . And now You have seen a horse with a razeed
tail, aiming with his teeth, at the gnat his caudal abridge-
ment cannot reach My beast mistakes my legs for galli-
nippers, and is diving at them—and—horror of horrors!—
there goes half the starboard leg of my nankeens, and a
moiety of the skin of my shank into the carniverous beast's
mouth. A pretty bird as he stands, is my dearly paid for
animal–ears buttoned back-feet rigged out for’ard, and
braced as firm as the rock of Gibraltar—and organs of mas-
tication busily engaged in discussing the sweet (to him,) and
bitter (to me,) cud of my trowsers, with a dash of my skin:
To finish the picture, behold me seated on the mule like a
statue—like im-patience on a monument—a blazing sun
pouring down upon me—in the middle of a street, beside a
dirty gutter, in which I stand no small danger of being cool-
ed oft—and, to mend matters, a regiment of black soldiers
laughing at me. The last I saw of my companion, Jack
and his “bestla,” had stood across my bow, and weathered
the corner. I’ll hail him for assistance.
* Jack tº
** Holloa tº
“My mule won't start—tack nor sheet—but is standing
hard and fast, chewing the leg of my trowsers!”
“Never mind, Ned,” answered my companion—“mine
has come to, alongside of a play-bill. We are both reading
it, but as he is not much of a scholar, and I am slow at trans-
lation, 'twill be some time before we get through tº
Misery loves company, and while I was thus put under
embargo, it was some consolation to know that Jack was in
like predicament. I made a motion toward dismounting,
but no sooner was it undertaken than the mule gave me a
look, as much as to say “them's my sentiments—and I’ll
lend you a hand.” No you don’t bestia—and I clung to
the pummel like a rigger. - -
- **ś opez: When ſextolled to my ship.
mates those large languishing eyes—the brows arched like
twin rainbows—the long silken eyelashes—the glances that
shot from beneath them; the ruby, pouting lips, “twin
cherries on one stem”—the graceful walk—elegant foot
and ankle;—when I dwelt to them on all these charms, and
professed my intention to forswear creed and country—
marry thee, and establish a Fonda Americana, or English
Grog Shop—Bah! Little did I fancy that while I was
jammed hard in a clinch on that mule's back, stewing into
soap grease, you would waddle by me—your eyes snapping
and cracking like a toad's under a harrow—your ruby lips
distended in a broad grin which showed a better capacity
for a chawry soup shell that a silvery spoon—and your mu-
sical voice wishing me “a thousand years of life on a mule's
back tº
It gave me a prejudice against black eyes. But long
life and soft water to all washwomen and clear starchers –
Mattea was no less.” Ske sent two boys, one of whom
took each of our mules by the bridle rein, and under their
guidance we were speedily carried to a “tea party,” where
our obliging nymph of the wash kettle awaited us. Ro-
guishly did sile offer her commiserations at our mishaps,
fºrwently did she aid us in anathematizing the mules—and
then came the Ma-te.
What is that—what, but tea to be sure—the South Ame.
rican substitute. No paraphermalia of cups and spoons clat-
ters discord while the donas talk scandal—for one vessel
serves all who drink. It is made in a miniature cup like
a gardener's watering pot—at the nose of which each sips,
and passes it round the circle, Jack protested that he never
saw any thing like this before—except in Lynn, where, in
the days of his apprenticeship, the shoemakers took black-
strap by word of mouth from a black bottle.
—“But, Jack! was drinking after tobaceo chewers any
thing to bear comparison with sipping this nectar from the
kiss-freighted mouth-piece of the Ma-te cup after these black-
eyed nymphs 7”
“Rather the better of the two, Ned—for the shoemakers
never eat garlic.”
While we conversed in English they chatted in Spanish-
little aware that we understood the reasoning by which they
established that we were both “bon Christianos,” Jack's
patent of Catholicism was a crucifix pricked upon his arm;
mine was a Catholic calendar, which by some chance had
got into my clothes bag. Mattea discovered it of a Palm
Sunday, and as I made a boast of my knowledge, by show-
ing her that I understood the day and its observance, no
persuasion could remove her impression of my orthodoxy-
As neither of us took the trouble to undeceive them, and as
the different tongues in which we spake barred close cate-
chism, the result was as we have stated. Jack's tattooing,
however, bade fair at first to make him the lackier dog of
the two.
At the breaking up, Mattea walked up to my shipmate,
and baring his arm endorsed the recommendation she had
given him, and reverently kissed the sacred symbol. The
rascal he had forgotten all about the garlick, for with a
sailor's devotion to pretty lips, he snatched a kiss from Mat-
- tea's as she raised herhead. Shouts of laughter followed the
º . gharacteristic trick of my shipmate, and to shame their
º - - - - - - -
- bashfulness, and test their Christianity, Senora Lopez com
pelled all the women present to kiss the sign, and Jack in
no case forgot to take the toll. Poor me ! I was a modern
Tantalus, but Mattea had an impartial eye, and relieved my
dilemma, by setting the example of kissing me on the gene-
ral issue that I was a “bon Christiano”—and proved that
* virtue is its own reward;” for the way they smacked be-
cause I played shy, was “void of affectation.” Some of
them insisted on kissing me twice, as they said I did no
give them a fair chance. “Oh you villain,” said Jack, be-
tween his teeth, “why didn't I play possum too!” After
the break up, behold us all on the way “a el Teatro.”
In prosperous times, theatrical amusements cannot be of.
fered to the citizens of Guayaquil—or at least such exhibi-
tions must be few and far between—as in such times the
consent of both priesthood and civil authorities is neces-
sary, and their sanction cannot be lightly purchased. Now,
sadness had seated itself in the faces of the populace, and
desolation in the streets. The long grass sprung up between
the stones in the pavement, and none seemed to notice it,
save the half-starved goats. The palace-built houses on.
either hand, originally white, now gray in the dampness of
the rainy season, were deserted, except where in the vicini-
ty of the tap-rooms, the soldiers had appropriated their
courts and porticos as lodging places. And it was to the offi-
cers of the troops quartered there, and their ladies, and to
the officers of two or three national ships, in port, that the
manager of the Guayaquil Theatre looked for his remune-
ration. Of themselves, these would have made, with their ||
acquaintances, a respectable audience; and the citizens,
except the third who were on patrol, for these were trou-
blous times, aided to give what in theatrical parlance, is
called a “bumper.”
The building was wooden—a dilapidated, roof-rent, barn-
like structure. It had been used as a place of amusement,
and as a hall for public meetings, and more recently as a
church. To answer the intended purpose one end was
screened off for a stage. Opposite this, where the dress-cir-
cle centre should be, a box was built for the authorities, and
the rest of the audience were deposited in the gallery above
the dignitaries, and upon the benches and camp-stools on the
floor, the outer circle being the place of honor, e centre,
representing the pit; an arrangement which the pleased faces
proved, gratified all parties. As an intº the º
formances, a dozen large boxes were brought in through
the house, and taken upon the stage, behind the curtain.-
Things to our eyes wagged a strange way; for army offi.
cers were picking their way hither and thither among the
audience, whispering to this citizen, and beckoning to that.
Men were leaving all parts of the house, and passing be-
hind the curtain, upon the stage, until I was brought to
Jack's conclusion, that “whatever the play might be, it
had a strong cast of supernumeraries.”
There was a constant passing of messengers to and from
the private box before alluded to, and which, I should have
before stated, was curtained in such a manner as to con-
ceal the inmates from the audience; and while I watched
this mysterious package of exclusive dignity, Jack sud.
denly called my attention to the stage. “Look out for
your bread basket :" cried he, “the marines are adriftp,
A file of soldiers were defiling noiselessly out from behind
the screen, and marching across the house to the principal
door. As the last soldier passed out I attempted to follow,
but my egress was barred by a musket at the level of my
breast. I attempted expostulation, when a spanish looking
officer, with fierce moustaches, laid his hand upon my shoul-
der, and addressed me in a tone which would have betray-
ed his Yankee origin, had he been in the guise of a Par.
See :- *
“You’d better go right stright back to your seat, Mis.
ter—”
“But how’s this—you let every body in and nobody
out—”
“Oh don't ask no questions and I don't tell no lies. If
a Columbian had made half the argufying about obeying
orders that you have, he'd been crow's meat before this
time. You’ve heard of Jackson and martial law in New
Orleans—that's just our fix now. Go right back now, and
no more words.” -
So I did, and just as I reached my seat the evening gun
fired. “There goes the commodore down the hatchway,”
said my shipmate, “and nothing done for Jack yet.”—
The women had evidently got hold of something—for
their cheeks were paled, their eloquent eyes spoke half-
satisfied curiosity, and their heads were together in earnest
conversation. The screen fell from the private box, before
spoken of a magistrate raised his baton—and a heavy roll
of kettle drums answered the signal. We have heard such
things in lesser volume as a prelude to a grand entree—but
this, on the brass drums, vehemently beaten, was deafening.
Slowly the curtain rose, and the scene presented to those
not in the secret, was truly one of interest surpassing
“stage effect.” The three sides of the stage were lined
with armed men, two and three deep, their muskets leveled
at the audience, their fingers upon the trigger. These were
Jack's supernumeraries, the citizens who had gone upon the
stage, and the mysterious boxes now stood explained—
empty arm chests. I turned to the private box, and before
it stood a guard of soldiers. The lounger, of a moment
before, paced as a sentry, the inmates of the box, their
cloaks thrown off, now stood in full uniform, the Gene.
ral commanding, and his staff. The General advanced to
the front of the box, and addressed the audience in a
speech, the substance of which may thus be rendered into
English :
“ Fellow citizens: Late in the aſternoon of this day I was
informed that an insurrection had been plotted and arranged
among some of the traitors in the army, quartered in Guay-
aquil. Supposing that the performances in this house would
assemble the population here, this night was pitched upon
for the rising. While some of the traitors guarded the ave-
nues to the city, others were to seize the magazine, and a
third party were to surround this house. The report of the
evening gun was to be the signal for firing the theatre. All
males who attempted to escape were to be butchered—all
females, our wives and sisters, to be saved for purposes
worse than butchery; while at the same time the ascend.
ing flames were to serve as the signal for the murderous on-
slaught in all directions; and by the butchery of our gal-
lant friends of the Navy, so many of whom are in
this house, the insurgents hoped also to secure the shipping
in the river. Columbians! The Magazine is empty. The
arms that were there are now in the hands of our citizens.
The Theatre has become our citadel. The husbands and
fathers who guard it, will surrender only in death : So let
their bravery, and the precautions which have been taken
quiet your apprehensions. Viva la Republica!”
There was no response to that cry. The few men among
the audience looked at each other in bewildered silence—
the larger portion of those who originally composed the fes-
tive company were now citizen soldiers, under arms. I had
seen South American women before in a scene of peril and
death, but it was danger of a different description. During
an earthquake which occurred a few months previous, the
weakest seemed nerved for a supernatural danger, by a su-
pernatural courage, given them for the exigency of a sud-
den and unexpected crisis. Here the case was different.
They were apprised of their danger. They had heard a
moment before, the evening gun, and they knew of what it
was the signal. What must have been the feelings of a
mother, as she felt her children clinging to her, and as she
looked to their father for defence and support, to know
that the lives and honor, of herself and children, might be
dearly purchased by the death of their defender—and when
to anxiety for his safety and their own, was added fear for
the absent, with whom, in that hour no communication
could be held, and to whom the murderer's brand and the
incendiary torch might have already come ! And how did
the Columbian fathers and husbands stand this ordeal 7–
They quitted themselves like heroes; but the heaving of their
chests beneath their military trappings proved, that while
they could act like men, they must feel like men also.
There was a stir among the **** Sanae woman
had fainted under the weight of her emotions. A single
wild shriek went up from another corner—and that was
answered by a hysteric laugh-now all was still again, and
save the breaking of an occasional sob, no sound was heard
but the deep breathing of the armed men in their critical
suspense. They stood like statues. Among the audience
in every part of the house women dropped in the attitude
of prayer—God knows in that imminent peril, how sincere !
With hands clasped and eyes fixed and uplifted—bodies
rocking to and fro-and lips quivering and emitting whis.
pers inaudible to all except the God to whom they were ad-
dressed, they were totally unconscious of the presence of
others, in the intensity of their feelings, and the depth of
their devotion.
The silence was in another moment broken by the tap of
a drum, and the heavy step of men outside. The soldiers, on
the stage, now no longer statues, relaxed their fixed gaze
upon the audience, and marked time to the tread of the ap-
proaching force outside. We heard the challenge of the
sentinels at the door “Quien Vive * and the answer,
“Amigo!” There was another pause while the watch-
word was whispered, and the file of soldiers before mention-
ed as leaving the house, marched in, to a cheerful roll, brin-
ging with them as prisoners, fifteen of the incendiaries,
whose torches, applied to the building, were to have given
the signal to sack the city in all quarters. They were
caught almost in the act, with the evidence of their guilt
upon them. Poor devils' How their gloomy countenances
contrasted with the relieved aspects of those about them 1–
The imminence of the danger to the public had passed—the
plans of the insurgents were frustrated, cheerful smiles of re-
cognition with their friends shone through the Sendras’
tears, while the hearts of all bounded with gratitude to Hea-
ven—all save the prisoners—for their hour had come.
A few words passed among the officers—commands were
issued from the private box, in which the commandant had
remained as the post of critical danger; the music played a
spirit stirring march, and the troops upon the stage filed
out to patrole the city. The house was left in charge of
the soldiers who had captured the insurgents, and of the
sentinels. In the hour during which we were still kept in
duress, messengers were continually arriving from all direc-
tions, to report the city safe. The audience were dismis-
sed; each being examined at the door, and entrusted with
the watchword of the particular district only, in which he
resided. My Yankee friend of the Columbian staff paid us
a profusion of compliments, and his comrades endorsed us
as “ Americanos—muy bravos.” It was then that I un-
derstood for the first time that my chivalrous friend Jack
had kindly volunteered his services and mine should occa-
sion call for them.
“Well, shipmates,” said the Yankee, as we passed,
tº don't this take the rag off of one of Jones's best plays,
down to the National Theatre, in Boston tº
* Good or bad, you don't catch me here to witness a se-
cond representation.”
“Americano” is a password to the politeness of the
South Americans—“muy bravos,” as we were in the mouths
of all the ladies, after Jack's courageous overture, the
hospitalities of all the women in the eity, as it seemed to
us, made it small hours before we got on board. On board
we did go, however, despite the glancing of black eyes, and
the gratitude of cherry lips.
On the morrow, Guayaquil wore its usual sleepy aspect.
We could not forbear a look at the city, to see if it still stood,
after the dream, as it seemed to us, of the night before. It
was there, in its scarce breathing slothfulness, and nothing
relieved the monotony of the scene save the boats con-
tinually pulling off and on between the shore and the ves-
sels. All remained in this state of perfect tranquility till
four in the afternoon, when a drum head court-martial was
assembled, and its sentence was speedily announced by tap
of drum at all the corners. Our custom-house officer could
not restrain his impatience, but left the ship and pulled
ashore for the news, with which he soon returned, to wit:-
The fifteen soldiers arrested near the theatre were to be shot
on the morrow. All citizens of Guayaquil were to attend
under arms, to awe the soldiery; and all stores to be closed,
and business to be suspended until the sentence was carried
into execution.
The next day woke with an unusual bustle in Guayaquil.
Gaily dressed ladies were running to and fro, chatting and
laughing in honor of the holiday! Crowds pressed to:
ward the place of execution, as blithe as if they were
going to a frolic. Among the rest—but not among the
blithe, were Jack and I. We had seen the first perform-
ance, and our Skipper said we were entitled to see
THE AFTERPIECE.
The place selected for the Execution was a large square
in front of a church. Drawn up in this square were the
Cholo Soldiery, from whose ranks the incendiaries had
been captured, and among whom the frustrated plot had
been arranged. From an adjacent flag staff hung the Co-
lumbian colors, as if ashamed to wave over such merce.
mary wretches. Within the square, upon the grass, laid the
muskets, which were to be used in the execution—one
half, ball loaded; the other, blank; that it might be a matter
of chance into whose hands should fall the messengers of
death. I looked round upon the soldiers, and there did
met seem to be one open honest countenance among them–
º der must not mistake Mattes for a dabber in soap
-- º”. the head of a family of black servants, she wash-
efºur dickies, without touching ºuds herself
all wore the same indescribably dark and dogged look–
They were standing at ease-still there was nothing like
an attempt at conversation among them. Here and there
one looked about, apparently unconcerned, but the many
with their down-cast eyes, or looks fixed on vacancy,
seemed like condemned men themselves.
The church bell commenced tolling. The echo of the
first peal had nºt died away in the silence, before the
stillness was broken by the rattle of the muskets, and the
tramp of feet, as the soldiers “fell in,” and stood to their
arms. Upon a drum head in the centre of the square
was placed a pile of bits of folded paper. At a word of
command the sergeant of each section advanced a few
paces in front. At another they were at the drumhead—
each took his bit of paper, handed it to one of the officers
and resumed his post. The file forming the head of the
square divided in the centre, wheeled to the rear, and form.
ed in line with the rest on two sides of the square. The
detachment to whom the lot of executions fell were marched
a short distance off, where they stacked their muskets,
and then they were drawn up in two files, inside of the
lines.
and the music of that dead march struck a chill over all
hearts, and seemed almost to the senses to din the light of
the sun, and make the day dark. Slowly the funeral escort
approached, the prisoners bound, two and two, and each at-
tended by his confessor, with whom each was in earnest con.
Versation. Their escort was made up of citizen soldiers,
armed like the regular troops, but each wearing in the muzzle
of his piece, as a badge of difference, a rose. The street was
long, and so slow was the advance of the condemned to the
funeral march, that for fifteen minutes the preparations for
their execution must have been before their eyes. Yet they
quailed not, but trod as firmly as if their duty was but to
bear a partin some unmeaning but pompous parade.
They halt near the foot of the lines. A file of the citizen
soldiers withdraw with eight of the prisoners; the otherse-
ven kneel upon the ground, their ghastly confessors still be-
side them, and their backs turned to their executioners. The
citizen soldiers are drawn up in two files outside the merce-
naries. The priests have retired. “Eyes Right tº is the
order to the soldiers on one side of the square—and the re-
verse to those on the other, that every eye among them may
witness the fate of their late companions—perhaps their
confederates. The half of the detachment to whom the
condemned. The first section drop on one knee, the second
stande upright. Their muskets are brought to the shoulder
a word—a look—will end the earthly sufferings of the mi-
serables—But how is this An officer pacing between the
condemned and their executioners? Searchingly he turns
his glance from eye to eye, as if he would read their souls.
Not a man among the executioners wavers, or shows signs
of life. The men machines wait mechanically the word of
command. The officer withdraws. -
* FIRE 12?
A deafening report follows as if from one gun. Slowly
the smoke rolls away, and the deathlike silence of the mo.
ment is broken by the scream of the kite, as he floats above
the spot where man has made carrion of his fellows.
The eight adjudged guiltiest are now brought forward,
and kneel on the earth, with the still quivering bodies of
their friends before them. Another discharge, and all is
Over. -
As if man would stun the horror of the scene by lively
strains, the bands of all the regiments unite in stirring mu-
sic. The toll of the bell has ceased, and the troops wheel ||
and turn, file and defile, march and countermarch, in obe- ||
dience to the loud commands of their officers, falling into
their places as parts of a gay parade. The eye unconscious. |
ly follows them, as they leave the square:—sure this must
be a gala day, and the work of death we have just witness.
ed has been but a dream :
No As the last strain of music dies away upon the ear ||
in the distance, another sound succeeds. It is that of the
mattock and the spade. The place of their execution is to
be that of their interment. In one pit, without other cere.
mony than denuding them of their clothing, are their bodies
cast. The sod is placed over them, and a rude wooden
cross marks the place of their death and burial. i
Evening came, and brought with it the glitter and hum
of festivity. From all the few occupied houses came the
music of the guitar—the notes of the song—the noise of
busy feet as they tripped in the dance—the echo of the mer.
ry laugh. To me that night brought dreams which out.
horrored all the extravagance of Der Freischutz; and even
now the memory of these scenes, is anything but a sooth.
ing train of thought, in the still hours of the watch below.
WRITTEN FOR THE BROTHER JonATHAN.
A C H R IS T M A. S. H. Y. M. N.
[ADAPTED To THE ABovº Music.]
I.
On Judah’s hills the night was still–
The holy breath of Heav'n
Came down before the messengers
To whom a God had giv'n,
In that calm hour when Love and Power
Breathed Peace o'er all the earth,
To break the Heavenly silence, with-
A Psalm of Heavenly Biath.
II.
Oh, blest were then, those simple men,
Judea's shepherd host,
Whose labor His doth typify—
To seek and save the lost—
Oh blest were then, those simple men,
AYºßs
The first to hear the word.
III.
And not alone, from Heav'ns throne
To Israel came the song,
For to all men, in every land,
The chorus doth belong ;
While to our hearts the theme imparts
Glad tidings of great joy,
From earth to Heav'n to send it up
Be ours the glad employ.
IV.
Then on this day, His NATAL DAY,
With song and loud acclaim,
Let Christian tongue to Christian speak
The glories of His Name –
Till heathen lands shall join our hands
And own the Prince of Peace—
Till, East and West, by all confest,
His praises never cease!
W.
Till warlike moats, where sullen floats,
The banner fell, of strife
The banner of the Savior wear—
Its staff the Tree of Life :
Till on the field where Christians wield
The fierce and bloody sword,
The lamb and lion sleep beneath—
The shelter of the Lord.
VI.
Then raise the song, the notes prolong,
Let echo, echo take
And hill to hill his praises speak
Who suffered for our sake—
From earth to heaven to send it up,
Be ours the blest employ,
While to our hearts the theme imparts
“Glad tidings of great joy!”
Stage Dressing Rooms.
Fanny Elssler when in Paris possessed a dressing-room of
very large dimensions, the door of which was #. by
two tall lacqueys in livery. The floor, instead of being car-
eted, was covered with—chalk. Pieces of chalk were seen
scattered here and there on the tables, on the chairs, and
even on the toilette; for chalk is an indispensible accessory
of every danseuse, and the constant use of it in rubbing the
soles of the shoes is the only safeguard against those acci-
dental glissades which would not only be ungraceful but
dangerous. One evening a popular dramatic writer, having
made a visit to the dressing-room of the fair Fanny, found
her in sad distress. Running to meet him she exclaimed,
* Oh! mon cher Monsieur, you have come most opportune.
ly to my aid. I am in a most terrible dilemma —somebody
has stolen all my chalk. What shall I do? I have sent
round to every one of the troupe, and nºne of them will
lend me the least bit of chalk. I am lost if I do not procure
some very speedily, There is no time to löse. I must ap-
pear on the stage in a quarter of an hour at the utmost.
Go, my dear Sir, Ibeseech you, and procureme some. Pay
any price for it, and bring it me in all haste. In a quarter
ºf an hour the curtain will draw up.” M. hurried
away resolved to fulfil at any sacrifice the commission
with which he was entrusted. It was eleven o'clock, and
every shop in which there was the shghtest possibility of
purchasing chalk was closed. Nevertheless, M. ran
about from street to street, and before the expiration of a
quarter of an hour, he returned laden with twenty pieces of
chalk. “Oh!” exclaimed Fanny joyfully, “hºw fortunate :
—twenty pieces! Where did you get them? and how
much did you pay for them 7”—“They cost precisely the
price of ten glasses of eaſt sucre,” replied M.--" for I was
obliged to go into ten cafes to steal them.” -
jºia Grisi's dressing-room always contains a good supply
of eggs, of which the charming cantatrice takes several in
the course of an evening's performance. - -
Madame Persiani's toilette is always furnished with a
bottle containing an astringent liqueur, some drops of which
she takes towards the end of the opera. When suffering
from the fatigue attending her arduous performances, she
imagines that the restorative has the effect of strengthening
the muscles of her throat.
Mälle, Falcon, when that favorite singer was in the ze:
mith of her operatic glory, had a dressing-room furnished in
a luxurious style of elegance; in fact, it was in all respects
the boudoir of a Parisian petrite maitresse. -
Mälle. Rachel is more simple in her tastes. Her dres-
sing room is very plainly furnished; the most conspicuous
object in it is a sofa, on which the modern Melpomene re-
poses every time she quits the stage. Londºn Court Journ.
THE DOLLAR MAGAZINE,
A Menthly periodical of great popularity and excellence,
is also published at the same office, at the following
UNPARALLELED CHEAP TERMS.
For ONE COPY ONE YEAR, QNR DOLLAR.
is FOUR COPIES “ THREE DOLLARS
IE- POSTMAS TERS, (or others,) who will send us
Five Dollar Bill free of postage, shall receive a Sixth copy
gratis, and if the money so sent is current in New York
or Boston, a SEVENTH copy will be added—or, Four copies
for Three Dollars.
Subscribers to the First Volume must send a remittance
if they wish the Magazine continued—as we do a cash
business only.
Letters containing subscriptions should either be franked
by the Post Master, or post paid, and addressed to
WILSON AND COMPANY.,
Publishers, 162 Nassau street, New York.
MARRIED.
In this city, at the church of the Messiah, by the Rey. Mr.
Lunt, Lucian Draper to Lucy A. Dike, daughter of Robert S.
Burroughs, Esq., of Providence, R.I.
in this city, on the 1st instant, by the Rev. Mr. Quarters,
Mr. James Leonard to Miss Julia Masterson. -
At Boston, Mr. William C. Briggs to Miss Betsey Richardson,
of Roxbury. ---- - -
At Boston, Mr. William C. Sargent to Miss Mary Elizabeth
inson.
º *. Mr. Thomas W. Tuttle to Miss Catharine E.
At Dorchester, Mr. Frances Swan fo Miss º Constan-
At Woburn, Dec. 9, Mr. John D. Carleton to Miss Delphia
At Islip, L.I., by the Rev. Mr. Carmichael, William H. Lud:
lºw to Frances Louisa Nicoll,
Now came the sullen sound of the muffled drum as the
doomed and their escort approached. The peal of that bell,
work of death has fallen, advance within six paces of the
- - º -
*º
º
A BREAKDOWN.
LOSING THE MALE-AND FEMALE Too.
A R E C E I P T FOR COURT SHIP.
Two or three dears and two or three Sweets;
Two or three balls and two or three treats;
Two or three Serenades, giv'n as a lure;
Two or three oaths how much they endure;
Two or three messages sent in one day;
Two or three times led out from the play;
Two or three soft speeches made by the way;
Two or three tickets for two or three times;
Two or three love-letters writ out in rhymes;
Two or three months, keeping strict to these rules.
Can never fail making a couple of fools. [Swift.
º BY HANNAH. F. Gotſ LD.
-
Fare thee well! the ship is read
º the breese is º and ºny.
Hands are fast the anchor weighing;
High in air the streamer's playing."
Spread the sails—the waves are swelling,
Proudly round thy buoyant dwelling,
Fare thee well and when at Sea,
Think of those who sigh for thee.
When from land and home receding,
And from hearts, that ache to bleeding,
Think of those behind, who love thee,
While the sun is bright above thee!
Then, as down to ocean glancing,
With the waves his rays are dancing,
Think how long the might will be
To the eyes that weep for thee.
When the lowly night-watch keeping,
All below are still and sleeping–
As the needle points the quarter, -
9'er the wide and trackless water,
Let thy vigils ever find thee
Mindful of the friends behind thee
Let thy bosom’s magnet be
Turn’d to those who wake for thee
When, with slow and gentle motion,
Heaves the bosom of the ocean—
While in peace thy bark is riding,
And the silver moon is gliding
O'er the sky with tranquil splendor
Where the shining hosts attend her;
Let the brightest visions be
Country, home, and friends, to thee!
When the tempest hovers o'er thee,
Danger, wreck, and death before thee,
While the sword of fire is gleaming,
Wild the winds, the torrent streaming,
Then, a pious suppliant bending,
Let thy thoughts to Heaven ascending,
Reach the Mercy-Seat, to be
Met by prayers that rise for thee!
BUNKER HILL MONUMENT.
Within a couple of years, as our readers are aware that
within the past two years great progress has been made in
the erection of the monument upon Breed's, usually called
Bunker Hill; so great that the next year will see it com-
pleted according to the original plan, of which the above is
a draft.
it is erected to commemorate.
Neglect of Personal Appearance.
Among the many characteristics that give a charm to female
tion, than that of personal neatness, while none
ARE MORE EVIDENTLY
attention in dress and neatness, always forebodes a
SIMILAR NEGLECT
by indulging in apathy on the subject, become the
VICTIMS OF DISDASE,
that if early ehecked, would have saved may a torturing an
spirit. “Resist the first appearance,” is a sound maxim,
WHEN THE TICKLING COUGH,
sumption assail the Constitution, instantly seize the
ONLY EFFECTUAL REMEDY,
CANDY, and one or two well aimed blows will lay the enemy a
your feet, a capitulation will ensue, and you will rise from
THE TRENCHES OF DEATH
letters must be post paid.
It forms even now, a noble feature of the land.
scape near Boston, standing up, in its bold and stern sub-
limity---in excellent keeping with the character of the event
attractions, none possess a higher claim upon general cºnsidera-
condemned and spurned, when the least deficiency is observable -
in the exterior embellishments of the body. The form and face
may possess all the beauty of nature—but carelessuess and in:
in the more important avocations of life. So it is with the
equally important considerations of bodily health. Thousands
-
º -
painful hour. Procrastination has increased the eanger, widenedº º
the approach to death, and in the interval subdued the proudest *
the braced lungs, the ulcerated sore throat, the painful breath -
ing, and all the other melancholy train of symptoms of Con-
storm the citadel with the artillery of PEASE’s HoRE Hound.
a conqueror over all the impediments to your future glory. The
magazine is ever open at Forty-Five Division street. The am-
munition is abundant—the torch ever burning—try the remedy.
Each envelope is signed J. PEASE & SON, 45 Division
street, of whom it can be obtained, wholesale and retail. All
º
º
º
º
º £º
º
º
º º
Alſº
| º
-
|
This is one of the traces of gºld Ireland that is even yet
hot quite extinct. There never was a warm-hearted, poeti-
ºal, generous people, which was not also addicted to super-
stition; for the first mentioned characteristics always imply
ºwarm imagination...and a warm imagination implies su-
perstition as a matter of course. The cold methodical line-
and square deductions and rules of philosophy rule out all
º supernatural out of our belief---but the same rules ex-
hide, too often all the better parts for which the Irish as a
nation are celebrated.
THE IRISH SOOTHSAYER. -
illiºn
| | |
Hill||
|
| |
|
|| ||
ll.
|
º/
º' Tº
|
| - - | º º
The above engraving is full of life and character. The
air in which Barney delivers his predictions is as full of owl-
like wisdom as ever was the countenance of a priestess of
Apollo; while there is an air of more clever shrewdness
stealing from the eyes, than priestess of Apollo were posses.
sed. The attentive air of the propounder of the questions is
amusing, and so is the advantage taken of the occasion by
the younger members, of consulting either lip, than those of
the oracle, while their seasons are engaged.
º
º ºf
If the above likeness cannot per se pass itself for a very
correct portrait of Captain Tyler, the reader must aid the
matter by remembering that it was executed for that gentle:
man, and must, of course, be like.
Seriously; it is a good
N -
NN º
º §
Nº. n
§ N
N
º
N V.
PRESIDENT TY LER.
likeness, though the prominent feature be a little exaggera-
ted; and the draughtsman and the engraver have not abu-
sed the Captain half so badly as some of his best friends
have.
Hº-
^ . LL-
U
§§§ s - #sº=º
Tº º |
º
º
º
-
THE BO N
The above engraving commemorates an event which
may be accounted one of the leading springs of the revolu-
tionary war. The people of Boston were maddened by the
presence of a British Garrison; and the very boys ºf the
city treated his Majesty's soldiers with contamely and even
with direct violence. A series of street disturbances, led
at last to the event above depictured—termed then, and
since, the “Boston Massacre.” A mob assailed a party of
soldiers with snow balls, brickbats and stones during the
evening of March 16, in State street, then King street.—
The soldiers fired upon their assailants, and the result was
the immediate death of five men, and the decease of two or
three others a day or two afterward of their wounds.
As is almost invariably the case, at such times, the men
killed were persons who had had no hand in tº ſºy-
---
------------
-
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|
-- Hill!
|| ||
- |
| | - º
|| ||
º - | \
º!
U.
|
|
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|
|
|
|
-
º
|
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º
tº
POOR BARNABY,
|| || || ||\\\!, \ll 1842,
designed for the Spirit of Man
By A V E G E TABLE EATER
the character of his teeth and comparative anatomy.
Opinions of various Authors, among whom are the following
vier, Abernethy: Cheyne, Bell, S. Graham and others.
estion, and a picture of the human stomach-Mineral
oung
ir husbands.
º 45 pages and is sold by the hundred at #2.50.
aulát lim-bjäm 1pem
TENDER CHINS.
York,
Saunders, which supercedes the necessity of a home, an
der the most experienced hand.
| all 1*
Devoted to the Law which regulates the Animal originally
ABLE OF CONTENTS-Natural food of Man, deduced from
–Piato, Lycurgus, Pythagoras, Porphyry, Plutarch, Culler, Cu-
Tea and its effects—Sheep fed on flesh-Scrofula from eating
pork—Effects of stimulants on the jaws and teeth of man—also
3m animals, with plates—Milk for the young-Bloodsuckers-
Mosaic Law–Teething of infanta–Salt-Unleavened bread-
Manner of preparing and making bread-Fat and its effects-
Nourishment and its effects-Man must labor for his support-Di-
Olson3,
Emā their effects—Tooth-ache-Relation of husband and wife-
Power of assimilation-Feeding–London Swine-Sleep-Nutri-
tiºus matter in animal and yesetable substances—iniquities of
parents visited on their children—Corsets and small waists—to
men who intend to get wives and raise healthy children
* Disºbedience to parents shortens life-Marriage and long life
tº ladies who believe the Bible (or say so) and wish to rule
for saie at the Health Bookstore, 126 Fulton street, New |
NY gentleman may be instantly relieved from all pain
during the operation of shaving, by applying his razor to
the METALLIC TABLET RAZOR STROP, invented º G.
by
ºn the most unskilful can always produce as keen and
smooth an edge as the razor could by any possibility exhibit un-
it is the only effectual means which the art of man has yet de-
vised for giving to every one an opportunity, of suiting his
razor to his chim with the same certainty as he can mend a
. to suit his own hand, which any person will be shown by
ommitted for crimes in which he had no moral participa-
ºn, those attending the No Popery Riots, behold poor Bar-
by Rudge. His, however, is not an uncommon case, for
hen justice sweeps, it is too often the weaker and less
º
|
iſ
-
MASSACRE.
Some were spectators from their doors and windows;
others those who stood in the erowd without participation.
The event was seized by the press of that day, and the pub-
lications which issued upon it, in newspapers, pamphlets,
and handbills, form interesting features of our Historieal
Collections. -
Among the other publications of the day was the en-
graving of which the above is a very exact copy. It was
published from a copper-plate, engraved in Boston, as soon
after the event as it could be completed by Paul Revere, a
sturdy citizen of that day, and an active participant in the
events of the Revolution. His name is honorably remem-
bered; as the tradesman and citizen, as well as the patriot,
and graces the title of an incorporated association in Bos-
ton—“The Revere Copper Company.”
--
|º.
º
||
ſlº
| | -
|-
-
|
|
W
|
º
tº s
guilty who are taken in the net, the unaccountable and ig-
morant; while those who are really guilty and responsible,
break through and escape. Grip, faithful Grip, the raven,
keeps him company—an instance of the never failing affec-
tion of instinct, truer to friendship than man's boasted
reason.
º
ringing a dull razor and trying the º *tº º - == - -
3\\
º
The above is a portrait of a blind paper, long well known
and but recently deceased, if not, indeed, still living in the
County of Galway. He was the soul of weddings, wakes,
funerals, and all merry makings; and was as much a fea-
-
Maº Tº
º -
n º:
THE BLIND PIPER.
ture of the country as any other curiosity within its borders.
Very many of his countrymen will recognise him as an old
acquaintanee; and very few emigrants indeed are there
from County Galway who have not heard of him.
gº
| º -
Cº.
º
r young friends, during the holidays are
peak a piece,” we hope they will not make
such frights ºf themselves as the young master now on
the forum has done, To him the stool is indeed a “stool of
Rºs
§º
&lſº
§§§ {||
sº
ſ
-
N
N
|
Q
|s
\\ \-
\ll.
Lºl
|
Dick Swiveller—immortal Dick, had “pºssed the rosy,”
until the “rosy” passed him under the blankets, an invalid.
Blankets and attention he might not have found, however,
but for the gratitude and attention of the poor “Marchio-
ness,” as he had nicknamed a slipshod servant girl, whose
life of abuse and misfortune he had cheered with the occa-
sional sunshine of his face in her kitchen. She ran away,
and devoted herself to his service, as an attentive nurse; a
vocation for which women appear to have an intuitive capa-
at his
led by
in the
º ºilſ |
º
| º
-
º
|
º
º
s
\
|
Some fiery fop, with new commission vain,
Who sleeps on brambles till he kills his man;
Some frolic drunkard, reeling from a feast,
Provokes a broil, and stabs him for a jest.
[Dr. Johnson.
It is a strange quick jar upon the ear,
That cocking of a pistol, when you know
A moment more will bring the sight to bear
Upon your person, twelve yards off, or so;
A gentlemanly distance, not too near,
If you have got a former friend for foe;
But after being fired at once or twice,
The ear becomes more Irish, and less nice.
[Byron.
*Fis hard indeed, if nothing will defend
Mankind from quarrels but their fatal end;
That now and then a hero must decease
That the surviving world may live in peace,
Perhaps, at last, close scrutiny * show
-
N lºss ſis
Ny
- N
N N
N N
|NN
- Nº||
Wºº. N -
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1 º º º º - ſº
|
ºn ,
º
!
THE YOUNG ORATOR.
repentance,” but he may rest assured that he, compelled
to speak, does not feel worse about it than those who are
compelled to hear. Put a good face on the matter, young.
ster, out with it!—then you may laugh at the next victim.
- - § |
THE MARCHIONESS AT SWIVELLER'S BEDSIDE.
city. And when Dick woke from his long forgetfulness, he
was agreeably astonished at the vision which presented itself
bedside-–the Marchioness beguiling a weary hour of
watching, by playing cards with a dummy for antagonist.
The joy of the Marchioness at his recovery was only equal-
the surprise of Dick. Both are important characters
Old Curiosity Shop---a work which every body has,
will, or should read,
==
-
- lº)\\
ſº º \\
Q\slº
- §ſº
º
||||||||||| |
| ||||||||||||||||||||| -
| - º - -
|
TT
| | |\.
|
-
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s
º
º
º
º
THE END OF THE DUELLIST.
The practice dastardly, and mean and low;
That men engage in it compelled by force,
And fear, not courage, is its proper source;
The fear of tyrant custom, and the fear
Lest fops should censure us, and fools should sneer,
[Cowper.
Am I to set my life upon a throw
Because a bear is rude and surly! No
A moral, sensible, and well-bred man
Will not affront me, and no other can.
[Cowper.
Honor's a fine imaginary notion,
That draws in raw and inexperienced men
To real mischief, while they hunt a shadºw.
Addison.
If he that in the field is slam [4
Be in the bed of honor ſain, º
He that is beaten r,laype said:
To lie in honor sºle bed, [Hudibras




































































































































































































































































































































































|
*
º
NS
º
NAPOLEON.
The synonyme of energy, ability and courage—an Al-
exander without his ridiculous vanity—a conqueror who
held his possessions while he held his command—a man
for the million, inasmuch as he rose from among the mil-
lion, after the wreck of aristocratical pretensions, and the
erasure of the lines which separated castes. Napoleon's was
the aristocracy of talent—the victory of mind, aided by the
circumstances of the hour over anarchy and confusion-
Napoleon, indeed, was, as one of his puppet predecessors
vainly esteemed himself, “the State.” His single head
directed the destiny of nations; and for good and ill, for
his brief hour of supremacy, he was the Emperor. We at-
tempt no further eulogy than this—for in sincerity we can:
not write it—but in all sincerity we are forced to acknow-
ledge that in no other man's history can be presented-no
not in Cesar or in Alexander's, any thing like the follow-
ing
CHRONOLOGICAL TABLE,
1769–Born at Ajaccio, Aug. 15.
1779–Sent to the military school at Brienne.
1784–Selected to complete his education at the military
school in Paris.
1786–Commissioned as second lieutenant of artillery,
and the same year promoted to a first lieutenancy.
1792–While on a furlough in Corsica, commands a bat-
£alion against Ajaccio. -
1793–Obliged to leave Corsica, on account of his oppo-
sition to the designs of Paoli. Promoted, July, to a cap-
taincy. Commandant of artillery at the siege of Toulon.
Dec. 19, appointed brigadier-general of artillery in Italy.
1795–13 Wandemiaire, Oct. 5, defeats the attack of the
sections on the convention. Appointed commander-in-chief
of the army of the interior.
1796–Appointed commander-in-chief of the army of Ita-
ly, Feb. 23. Married, March 9. Battle of Montenotte,
April 11; of Millesimo, 14; of Mondovi, 22; of Lodi, May
8. Peace with Sardinia. Battle of Castiglione, Aug. 5; of
Roveredo, Sept.4; of Bassano, 8; of Arcola, Nov. 15–17.
1797–Battle of Rivoli, Jan. 14; of Favorita, 16. Peace
of Tolentino with the pope, Feb. 19. Victory over the arch-
duke Charles, on the Tagliamento, March 16. Capture of
Gradisca, 19; of Trieste, 21. Preliminaries of Leoben,
April 18. Occupation of Venice, May 16. Formation of
the Ligurian republic, 31. Proclamation of the Cisalpine
republic, July 8. Peace of Campio Formio, Oct. 17, with
Austria.
1798—Bonaparte sails for Egypt from Toulon May 19.
Battle of the Pyramids, July 21; of the Nile, Aug. 1.
1799–Capture of Jaffa, March 10, Siege of Acre raised
May 20. Battle of Aboukir, July 25. Bonaparte sails from
Egypt, Aug. 17. Revolution of 18th Brumaire, Nov. 9.
Bonaparte named first consul, Dec. 13. -
1800—Constitution of the year VIII, Feb. 7. Victories
of Montebello, June 9, and Mazengo, 14, gained by General
Bonaparte. Armistice with Austria. Nomination of the
commission for drawing up a new code, Aug. 12, Conspira:
cy of Arena, Oct. 9, discovered. Explosion of the infernal
machine, Dec. 24.
1801–Peace of Luneville, Feb. 9, with Austria; peace
with Spain, March 21; with Naples, 28. Concordate with
the pope, July 15. Peace with Bavaria, Aug. 24; with Por-
tugal, Sept. 29. Preliminaries of peace with England, Oct. 1.
Peace with Russia, 8; with Turkey, 9; with Algiers, Dec.
17.
1802–Bonaparte named president of the Italian repub-
lic, Jan. 26. Peace of Amiens, March 25. Proclamation
of amnesty to emigrants. The term of Bonaparte's consul-
ship prolonged ten years, May 1. Creation of the legion of
honor, 19. Bonaparte declared consul for life, Aug. 2.
1803–Creation of senatorships, Jan. 4. New organiza-
tion of the institute. Assumes the title of grand mediator
ºf awe tº exº~ sel-e tº te łº * Sº tea.
April 30, Renewal of hostilities with England, May 99;
1804. Arrest of Pichegru, Feb. 28. Death of the duke
aºnghien, March 21. The senate ºnferson Napoleon the
title ºf emperor of the French, May 18. -
1805. The emperor accepts the crown of Italy, March
18, Treaty of Presburg, between England and Russia,
ãº
*=
N -
- N=º
NApo I, EoN, as first consu L.
The portrait which accompanies this notice (taken with |news, whilst with bad, there is not a moment to lose.”
the others, from the Pictorial Napoleon.) presents Bo-
naparte at an earlier date in his career than the pictures
which we every where meet. It gives also a very correct
profile of his remarkably large head and features. At this
period in his life he still preserved the extreme simplicity,
natural to him, and increased by his residence in camps-
He beasted the greatest sobriety; but, it is stated, foresaw
that he should become a great eater, and that his meagre-
ness would give place to corpulence, as the event proved.—
His rule for sleep was seven hours; and he always desired
that he might not be awakened, unless there was bad news
stirring; “ For,” said he, “there is no hurry with good
J O SE PH IN E .
April 11. Austria joins the coalition, Aug. 9. Battle of El-
- -
chingen, Oct. 14; of Trafalgary 21; of Austerlitz, Dec. 2.
Peace of Presburg, between France and Austria. -
1806–Formation of the kingdoms of Bavaria and Wur-
temberg, Jan. 1. Joseph Bonaparte proclaimed king of the
Two Sicilies, March 30. Prussia is allowed to occupy
Hanover. Louis Bonaparte proclaimed king of Holland,
June 5, Napoleon declared protector of the confederation
of the Rhine, July 12. Rupture with Prussia, Oct. 6. Battle
of Jena, 14. Capture of Berlin, 25. Occupation of Hano.
ver, Capture of Posen, Hamburg, Bremen, Warsaw, Thorn,
&c., Oct. 28 to Dec. 6. Berlin decree declares the British
isles in a state of blockade, Nov. 21.
1807–Battle of Eylau, Feb. 8; of Friedland, June 14.
Peace of Tilsit, with Russia and Prussia, July 7. Erection
of the kingdom of Westphalia, Aug. 8. The English bom-
bard Copenhagen. Alliance between France and Den-
mark. Treaty between France and Spain, Russia breaks
off all communication with England, Oct. 31. Treaty be-
tween Holland and France. British order in council of No.
vember 11, in retaliation for the Berlin decree. Capture of
Lisbon by Junot. Prussia interdicts all intercourse with
England, Dec. 1. Jerome Bonaparte placed on the throne
of Westphalia. Milan decree, Dec. 17. -
1808.-French troops occupy Rome, Feb. 2; overrun
Spain. Creation of majorats and hereditary titles of prince,
duke, count, baron, and chevalier, March 11. Treaty of
Bayonne, May 5. Joseph Bonaparte proclaimed king of
Spain, June 6. The French troops evacuate Portugal, Aug.
30. The English enter Spain, Oct. 29. War of the penin-
sula. Napoleon arrives in Spain, Nov. 4. Capture of Mad-
rid, Dec. 4.
1809–Capture of Saragossa, Feb. 21; of Oporto, March
29. Austria renews hostilities, April 9. Napoleon leaves
Paris, 13. Battle of Eckmuhl, 22. Napoleon enters Vien-
na, May 13, Battle of Esslington, 20–22. Napoleon ex-
communicated. Battle of Wagram, July 5. Peace of Wi-
enna with Austria, Oct. 14. Battle of Talavera, July 28.
Divorce of Josephine, Dec. 16.
1810.-Sweden accedes to the º system, Jan. 6.
Marriage of Napoleon with Maria Lºuisa, March 11, Hol-
land incorporated with France. Capture ºf Cindad Rºdri-
go. Battle of Busaco. Institution ºf the revotal courts.
1811–Capture of Oporto and Olivenza, Jan. 22; and Ba-
dajoz, March 10, by the French. |Birth of the king of
Rome, March 20. Battle of Fuenº deonoro, May 4–6;
of Saguntum, Oct. 20. | -
1812–Capture of Ciudad Rodrigo, by Wellington, Jan.
19; of Badajoz, April 6. Battle of Tarragona, June 12.
Treaty between Prussia and France, Feb. 24; of alliance,
between France and Austria, March 14; between Russia
and Sweden, 24, to which England accedes, May 3. De-
claration of war against Russia, June 22. Battle of Smo-
lensk, Aug. 16; of Moskwa, Sept. 7, Capture of Mosgow,
14. Evacuation of Moscow, Oct. 23. Conspiracy of Mal-
let. The twenty-ninth bulletin announces the disasters of
the grand army, Dec. 3. Napoleon quits the army, 5,
1813–The French army arrives at Berlin, Jan. 21. Al-
liance between Russia and Prussia, March 1. Capture of
Dresden by the Russians, 21. Napoleon declares war
against Prussia; joins the army in Germany, April. Battle
of Lutzen, May 2; of Bautzen, 20; cf. Vittoria, June 21.
Austria joins the coalition against France, Aug. 12. Battle
of Dresden, 26. Treaty of Teplitz, Sept. 9. The English
pass the Bidassoa, Oct 3, Napoleon arrives at St. Cloud,
Nov. 13. Passage of the Rhine by the Prussians, Dec. 31.
1814.—Napoleon fixes his head-quarters at Chalons, Jan.
26. Battles of Brienne, 29; of Champ:Aubert, Feb. 10;
of Montmirail, 11; of Wauchamp, 14; ºf Naugin, 17; of
Montereau, 18, gained by Napoleon. Napoleon retires to
Fontainebleau, March 30. Capitulatiºn of Paris, 31. The
conservative senate declares Napoleon to have forfeited the
throne, April 2. Abdication of Napºleon, 11. His de-
parture for Elba, 20. Entrance of Louis XVIII into Paris,
May 3. - -
pºº ºf
France, 25. Battle of Waterloo, June 18, Abdication of
Napoleon, 22; embarks on board of the Bellerophon, July
15; declared by the allies to be their prisoner; arrives in
goose,” his star declined. Jupiter nodded, when Napoleon
St. Helena, Oct. 13.
1821–Death of Napoleon, May 5.
Now for the shadow. From the hour that Napoleon sac-
rificed his better feelings to his ambition—from the day that
he gave his own course of conduct the practical lie, by
seeking an alliance with royal blood at the expense of his
duty as a man—from the moment that he repudiated Jose-
phine—the mental, the noble, for Maria Louisa, his “little
descended from the aristocracy of mind to pay court to the
ridiculed claims of birth. Maria was crowned Empress–
Josephine's crown was inherent with her natural majesty.
Imperial pageantry could not elevate Louise-imperial re-
pudiation could not degrade
--
M U
Joachim Murat was born in 1771, the son of an inkeeper
at Cahors. His father intended him for the church, but he
--
rank of Lieut. Colonel. He was removed as a terrorist, and
remained without employment until he accompanied Bona-
parte to Italy, as aid, in 1796–whence he followed him to
Egypt, and returned to France General of Division.
In 1800 he married Marie Annonciade Caroline, the
youngest sister of Napoleon.
Marshal of the Empire, Grand Admiral, and Prince ºf the
French Empire. In 1806 the Grand Duchy of Berg was
conferred upon him, and in 1808 he was placed by Napoleon
on the throne of Naples, under the title of King Joachim
Napoleon. Here he made an unsuccessful attempt to con-
quer Sicily, and annex the Island to his crown. He ac-
companied Napoleon in the disastrous Russian campaign,
and was entrusted by the Emperor with the command of
the wreck of the army. Napoleon accused him of inca-
pacity in that command; and full of indignation, we find
him resenting the Emperor's charges by seeking the friend-
ship of Austria. He, however, fought with Napoleon again,
during the fatal campaign in Germany, 1813.
John Lannes, marshal of France, duke of Montebello,
born in 1769, was an apprentice to a dyer, and, in 1792, on
the invasion of the French soil, entered the army as ser-
geant major, His talents and services had raised him to the
rank of chef de brigade as early as 1795, and General Bo-
naparte created him cºlonel after the battle of Millesimo.
After distinguishing himself in Italy and Egypt, whence he
returned with Bonaparte, and serving under the first consul
in Italy, he was made marshal of the empire (1804), and
subsequently duke of Montebello. In the campaign against
Austria (1805), he rendered important services, and, at the
-
by Rochest ER.
eloped from college ; and after varied juvenile fortune en- alliance with him in 1814–England would make a
listed as a chasseur, and deserted. Afterward he served in only, on account of her alliance with Sicily. In February,
the guard of Louis XV., and then in the mounted chas. 1814, he advanced with his army as far as the River Po,
seurs, where his zealous jacobinism carried him up to the but hesitancy in attacking the French caused the distrust
In 1804 he was made Grand.
- º
L. A. N. N. E. S.
battle of Austerlitz, commanded the left wing of the mail
--
R. A. T.
After this he negociated with the allies for the preserva
tion of his kingdom. -
ºuce
of England, and he was denounced by that power as tea-
cherous. In 1815, while he was still negociating at Wien.
na, he made hostile demonstrations in favor of Napoleon,
just as the allies had determined upon recognizing tº as
King of Naples. But it was too late. Austria dee!
against him, and, deserted by his army, he fled in disg º
while his wife and family found refuge in Austria. * *
He landed at Cannes in France. Napoleon forbade
coming to Paris, and in an evil hour he listened to those ºld
recommended his return to Naples. Just after an Aust
passport and permission to reside in Austria had been plºd
in his hands, he set sail for his late dominions with 25
his friends and followers; his barks
and he was seized, tried by a court martial, condemned a
ere dispered in a stº,
d
shot at Pizzo, Oct. 13, 1815, in about seven years after he
e
e
was placed upon the throne of Naples. His son, Ac
Murat, resided for several years in Florida, but has s
returned to France.
º
army. At Jena, Eylan, Friedland (1807), at Tudela, Sar:
gossa, &c., in Spain, marshal Lannes obtained a brillian
renown. In the campaign of 1809 against Austria, he loſſ
both his legs by a cannon ball in the battle of Pºling,
Aspeºne, May 22, and died May 31, Napoleºn wº º
ly moved at the sight of the dying Lannes, who was a fºot.
ite of the emperor. His eldest son was created a peer by
the king, in 1815. He visited the U. States in 1%, and,
CHARLES II. OF ENGLAND.
EPIGRAM, written on the door of his sleeping apartment,
Here lies great Charles, our noble king,
Whose word no man relies on:
Who never said a foolish thing,
And never did a wise one. -
during the revolution of 1830, fought on the side of the peo.
ple. º
Russia and Prussia concludedº
| plan of Tº
-
- -
THE CHURCH BE LL.
-
BY MIRs. 51 Go UR NEY.
When glowing in the Eastern sky,
The Sabbath morning meets the eye,
And o'er a weary, care-worn scene,
Gleams like the ark dove's leaf of green,
How welcome o'er hill and dale,
Thy hallowed summons loads the gale,
Sweet bell Church bell
NDIDATES FOR WASHINGTONIANS.
re
res
Ina,
Ibou
---
- - -
sº Zºº
º Sºº -
--- º º
- - -
THE DONKEY RACE.
There is more fun and music in a donkey race, than when
high blooded coursers contend in straining eagerness on the key. The very geese are full of the frolic of the scene, and
Fun is ever more eloquent than serious ambi-
race course-
§º
º
R
Nº
º
§
º
§
N
w
º
º
º
-
S.
º
ſº
º
º
-
º
War is no child's play; and the prancing of gay hºrses
on the state parade is a different matter from the angry
speed with which they dash against each other, and over
THE DRAGOON ENCOUNTER.
the fallen in the Battle Field. The spirited ºut abº is
from a design illustrating “Charles b'Malley, the Irish
Dragoon.”
GOOD NEWS.
The young man in the picture is a fortunate legatee; the
open letter on the floor brought the tidings of his gºod for:
tune; and father and mother naturally feel a new burst of
affection for him. We must do the mother the justice to
INITY CHURCH, BROADWAY.
The above may be presented as fair average specimens
of ich mortals as the Washingtonian Benevolent Society
e from dock mud and moral degradation. Were they
table topers there would be little hope of their refor-
ºn; but as they have most indubitably reached the
low st depth, they may, in the elasticity of poignant shame,
º from the bottom tº the top again. The Washing-
º always seek the most desperate esses; for, para-
When earthly joys and sorrows end,
And towards our long repose we tend,
How mournfully the tone doth call
The weepers to the funeral,
And to the last abode of clay
With solemn knell mark out the way,
Sad bell! Church bell.
If to the clime where pleasures reign,
We through a Savior's love attain,
If freshly to an angel's thought,
Earth's unforgotten scenes are brought,
Will not thy voice, that warned to prayer,
Begratefully remembered there,
Blessed bell ? Church bell?
TTTTT
---
doxical as the assertion may seem, desperate cases are those
of best promise.
of inebriates of the most shocking sort, by the Washing-
tonian Temperance Society, is great enough to suggest to
moderate drinkers the propriety of their becoming sots at
once, as the surest way, by reaction, to their reformation.
Few, however, we fear, will take this advice in earnest–
though many may gradually follow it, in spite of their reso-
lutions to the contrary.
-
-
tº ſº.
ſº
- /
gº
º .|
\º. and if there be any animal, more than another, the
representative of grave and mellow comedy, it is the don-
the dog barks his approbation in most melodious octave.
º: ==
º
say, that her pleasure is not selfish.
him to ride his literary hobby. How he rode, and with what
success, is written in Mrs. Trollope’s “Charles Chester-
field, the Youth of Genius.”
THE COLORED GENTLEMAN.
The above portrait, drawn by MacDougal, and engraved
by Lossing, is the likeness of an individual who is one of
the best representatives this city affords of “the colored
gentleman.” He knows his place, and, save when he has
-
-
bye—for I don't know how many years; perhaps for ever.
| I am going abroad. I couldn't go withoutcoming to see you,
I hadn't the heart to.”
been too attentive to the “barley bree,” always keeps it.
It is but justice, however, to say that he has become a con-
sistent and steady adherent to the rules of the Washington
Total Abstinence Society—and that his meat rig-his “Sun-
day best” attest the good effects of that system upon his
The good that has been effected in the way of reformation |
scald–tº so very hot!”
- - - She rejoices that her
studious son is now in possession of means which will enable
|
J O E W II, L. E. T.
|and away, and hurrying on?”
MAJOR JOHN ANDRE-Facsimile of a Drawing
MAJOR ANDRE.
The original of the above, a pen and ink sketch, is in the
Trumbull Gallery, at Yale College, New Haven. The
reader will regard it with interest amounting to veneration,
when we state that it is a facsimile of a miniature of Maj.
Andre, executed by himself, on the morning of the day ap-
pointed for his execution. The following is an extract from
a letter, written by Mr. Ebenezer Baldwin to the President
of Yale College, and dated at New Haven, Aug. 8th, 1832:
“It affords me plea
Tomlinson of º"...". "...º.º. º: º:
ºy, to request your acceptance of the accompanying min-
iature of Major John Andre. It is his likenºs seated at a
table in his guard-room, and drawn by himself with a pen,
-
made by himselſ with a pen the day before his Execution.
on the morning of the day fixed for his execution. Mr.
Tomlinson informs me, that a respite was granted until the
next day, and that this miniature was in the mean time pre-
sented to him (then acting as officer of the guard) by Major
Andre himself. Mr. Tomlinson was present when the
sketch was made, and says it was drawn without the aid of
a glass. The sketch subsequently passed into the hands of
Mr. Beers, a fellow-officer of Mr. Tomlinson on the station,
and from thence was transferred to me. It has been in my
possession several years.” -
The engraving was executed for this paper by H. W.
Hewet, Esq., Engraver on Wood, 20 Chambers Street.—
The freedom and raggedness of the pen drawing could not be
more closely copied than the artist has done, and from this
and other specimens of his work which we shall present the
| readers of the Jonathan, they will admit with us, that he
gives promise of high excellence in his profession.
B A R N A BY R U D G E.
“Why, who can keep out Grip and me? Are youthere,
mother? How long you keep us from the fire and
light. We have been a-field, mother, leaping ditches,
scrambling through hedges, running down steep banks, up
Mºº-º-o-º-º- ºr tº G ºr
*—a young ºn of a haſe athletic figure, and a giant's
strength, whose sun-burnt face and swarthy throat, over-
grown with jet black hair, might have served a painter for a
model.” -
and very white, which is no doubt the effect of a slight
*I have come,” said Joe, “to say good-bye—to say good-
G. A. B. R. I. E. L. V. A. R. D. E. N.
“Ah! well, it’s a poor heart that never rejoices. Put
person and pockets. Good luck to honest Bill! |
“There was another guest, who sat booted and spurred,
at some distance from the fire also, and whose thoughts—to
judge from his folded arms and knitted brows, and from the
untasted liquor before him—were occupied with other mat-
ters.” -
M I SS H A R E D A L. E.
*—he leaner by a priºr tº ºv.ºneº-
Emma was seated in a window, reading; the young lady,
seeing who approached, hastily rose and laid aside her
book.”
º Sº ^\
Sº \
º
-->
M. I. S S M I G. G. S.
“I don't go to bed this night !” said Miggs, viciously,
“till you come home, my lad. I wouldn't, no not for five-
and-forty pounds!”
-
-
Lºs \ ||º,
Kº: º //
|
& A.
\º lºº
º ºs-
º
|
|
|
M. R. S. I. M. O. N.
T A P P E R TIT.
“At length a gloomy derision came upon his features,
and he smiled; uttering meanwhile with supreme contempt
the monosyllable, “Joe”
M. R. S. W. A. R. D. E. N.
* Mrs. Varden was a lady of what is commonly called an
uncertain temper: a phrase, which being interpreted, signi-
fies a temper tolerably certain to make every body more or
less uncomfortable.” -
Toby this way, my dear.” |























































































-
ADVENTURES OF TOM STAPLETON.
[Continued from third page.]
CHAPTER X.
Albeit, Mrs. Livingston went it so strong in the cause
of the aristocracy, my friend Anthony was a thorough
going republican, who loved his country, and thought
every thing in the world of the stripes and stars, and
But though, as a politician, per-
fectly honest in the main, yet he occasionally felt it
“due to his family” to sacrifice general principles to
the American Eagle.
personal profit; which, by the way, is a thing per-
fectly well understood in this, and I fear I might add,
in all other communities. Thus Anthony was aware
that the levelling and grading of a certain district in the
city, would be a severe tax and a hardshi º the shape
of heavy assessments, on the inhabitantºereaways;
and hence his better nature revolted at the idea of be-
ing the instigator or promoter of such a measure; but
then he also knew that it would put a good many thou-
sand dollars in his own coffers, (a consummation which
Mrs. L.'s aristocratic demonstrations rendered very
necessary,) and, accordingly, he was determined that,
iſ possible, the certaiu district aforesaid, should be le-
velled and graded. For several years Mr. Livingston
had been laboring to this end, but in vain: and chiefly
because each successive alderman of the ward where-
in lay the district, was opposed to the improvement;
so that at the suggestion of Barney Murphy, and as the
dernier resort, he came to the conclusion to run for
the ward himself. But, alas ! the ward was a repub-
lican one, and in spite of Anthony’s predilections that
way, he was unpopular, owing to the exclusive assump-
tions of other members of his family. Nevertheless, it
was determined among his friends that he should give
battle for a nomination; and failing in that, that, under
the guidance and generalship of Mr. Murphy, he should
“run stump.” His lady was opposed to the move-
ment in any shape, as she felt that it committed her
dignity; but then she had to give way, on the grounds
of necessity, while Lucy gave herself but little concern
on the subject, pro or con. As for myself, a happy
knack I had of throwing off patriotic squibs and para-
graphs, for the newspapers, made me invaluable to the
aspirant after city dignities. And as for Barney Mur-
phy, he was the life and soul of the whole plot, with-
out whose assistance it could not have moved a .
single muscle.
Seated in Livingston's parlor one night were Mrs. L.,
Lucy, Anthony, myself, and three or four small orators
and general office seekers (favored visitors for the
nonce) discussing this important question.
-“Sir” said Anthony, bendi his eyes sternly on a
fussy little lawyer named º -- y
; “sir, I see plainly
that reason—reason, sir, philosophically considered,
and scientifically demonstrated, has no effect on the po-
pular party of the ward; for when I delivered a speech,
which—though I say it myself—was pregnant with
argument, and solid with correct principles, and ma-
ture judgment, what do you think was the result?”
“I can’t imagine, sir,” said Mr. Starkey, “unless an
overwhelming burst of applause.”
“No such thing, sir!”
º, No, sir!”
“No, sir. The result was that the opposition shout-
ed “Gammon ſ” and I was hustled out of the house
minus my hat and a coat tail.”
“Dear me, I'm astonished; though experience re-
minds me that such things are common enough,” re-
plied the lawyer.
“Sir,” asked another of the party, “are not a majo-
rity of the voters Irishmen?”
º No; but nearly all the speakers are,” replied An-
Ony
“They are hard fellows to deal with, those Irish-
men,” remarked Starkey.
“But splendid voters, when one can get the run of
them,” observed the other speaker.
“Splendid indeed, sir!” exclaimed Anthony; “for
when they get warm at it, twelve Irishmen will cast
as many votes as twenty common people.”
“Yes,” said Starkey, “and they are not only great
in consideration of the votes they cast themselves;
but also as relates to the votes of the enemy which
they frighten away!”
“Dear me!” exclaimed Mrs. Livingston, “but is that
fair ſº
“All's fair in politics, as Major Noah said,” returned
Anthony, who at the same time took a glance at his
boots, as if he wasn’t altogether satisfied with his an-
swer:
“And can nothing be done to secure the Irish inter-
est?” enquired Starkey. -
“I fear not ſ” said Mr. Livingston, “for the present
incumbent, who expects to be returned next year, has
christened his youngest son Pat, which throws all the
Hibernian interest on his side of the house. Barney,
however, is doing what he can, and expects to make a
very important move this very evening.”
Soon after, there was a confidential knock—a fami-
liar turn of the handle—and Barney Murphy made his
appearance. Barney was a short, broad shouldered
and athletic looking customer, with a shrewd, honest
face, and not a little good natured devilment playing
about his lips and eyes. His dress was the holliday
suit of a working man; and he gave evidence by his
manners on entering, that he was on perfectly easy
terms with “the master, and the family.”
“Well, Barney, any thing to be done to night º’en-
quired Mr. Livingston.
“Faix, an’ there is, sir, as I towld you; an' if it's
only managed nait, the day's our own!”
“And what is it, Barney 2”
“Don’t ax me till I drill yees abit, for I have a part
for allow you; but more especially for the Misthress
an’ Miss Lucy.”
“For me, Barney !” exclaimed Mrs. Livingston.
“Yes, in troth, mam; an'you're wanov me strongest
positions aself!”
d “And what in the name of wonder, Barney, am I to
O. :
I'm not so sure as yet mam; but if you'll dance a jig,
with Mickey Dooley, the cooper, for instance, it ill be
the making ovus "?
“Dance a jig with Mickey Dooley the cooper: ...
--res, mºſſ; for Mick's mighty consalted ov his
erformances in that line; and whatever he says is
º wid the Clare min. An’ thin, it would be a
mighty sthroke ov janius intirely, if you wor to ob-
serve to him that your grandfather was wan ov the
O'Fogarty’s, of Nenagh, an’ could dhrink more whis-
key punch nor any two min in Ireland"
“But Murphy, my grandfather, was not one of the
O’Fogarty's, of Nenagh.”
“O, divil a matther, mam; all we want is the say
ow the thing ! But me chief dipindence is the jig,
an' the manner you'll dance up to him, as if you had
oceans ov Irish blood in your veins, whin Micky
comes the pushing step!”
Poor Mrs. Livingston didn't exactly faint; but she
looked as if she felt herself knocked halfway into the
middle of next week.
“And me, Barney—what's my part º" enquired
Lucy. -
“It isn't a part, but parts, Miss, that I'm goin' to give
you; for you must play the piany to us; an' dance wid
us; an' sing for us; an' just be the way ov not mainin'
any thing, throw a few sheeps' eyes at Dinny Mangan,
the only bachelor that 'ill be amongst us!”
“Anything else, Barney "
“Nothing, only wan thing that I'm amost afeard to
mintion, Miss.”
“It must be something marvellous, Barney, when it
makes you any way bashful.”
“You know that Irishmin is Irishmin, Miss '''
“Why, yes—I have heard so, Barney !”
“Well, Miss, being Irishmin, they’re very quair
min intirely, when they get warm on a thing.”
* Well ?”
“Well, Miss, I was just goin' to axyou, supposin'
in the hoith ov their º, wan ov the boys was to
make so bowld as to kiss you be mistake, would you
murdher him for it?”
“Not I, Barney !”
“And what would you be afther doin' to him,
Miss 2'"
“Why, I'd let him have his kiss with as good a
grace as I could, in part payment of my father's pro-
motion!”
“Beautiful! beautiful! intirely beautiful!” exclaim:
ed Barney, with a skip and a flourish, “Be the Hill
ov. Howth, Miss, you're a darlint! As for you, Sir,"
continued Murphy, addressing Mr. Livingston, “I
have given you your instructions before. Not a word
about pollytics, remember ; but welkim us, as if it
was out ov pure friendship; and if you could only
throw in a verse ov a song or so, it might be a grait
*.
ut you know, Murphy, I can only turn one or two
psalm tunes,” said Mr. Livingston. . . -
* Oh, murdther, don't mintion thim! Well, it's no
matther about the song; but just have the hot wather
an' thrimmins convaynient, an’laive the rest to mean'
the ladies.”
“But what is all this about, Barney 3 and who are
coming here 3’ enquired Mrs. Livingston.
“Well, mam, there's four ov, thim, if I can only ma-
mage to get thim into me net. There's Mickey Dooley,
and Jack Timpinny, that 'ill be the delegates to Tam-
many Hall to make the nominations for Aldhermen-º-
There's Dinny Mangan that carries the Connaught
interest. And there's a namesake ov me own, wan
Barney McCann, that hires out the Colonizers!”
“And pray who are the Colonizers?”
“Whin the daicent party ova ward expects to be bet,
man, they mostly bring in a few nait boys from distan;
parts to fight or vote for thim as may be considered
most convaynient. An' thim's what we call the Cº-
lonizers. Be the way, mam, if it comes to the worst, it's
-
- - -
(
sº
§
N
§
Arrived there, he found the four gentlemen already
treated of discussing politics over four sober glasses of
beer. “Now,” thought Barney, “I’ll not say a word
until I see a chance of slipping in a clincher, as if by
accident, and with that he called for a glass of the li-
quid which seemed most popular on the occasion; and
having drunk about the half of it, appeared to fall into
a partial doze over the other half; but still hearkening
to what he could hear with all the ears in his head.
“Alderman Stubbs is a good man, and must be re-
turned again,” observed Mangan.”
“He is, in troth, a good man, and the best of good
min,” said McCann, “for he not only ped the Coloni-
zers four dollars a head last election, but, be gorra, he
drank an’ fought as hard as any ov us.”
“I fear, though,” remarked Dooley, “that for all his
blarney, he only loves Irishmin over the left.”
“Is it,” said Mangan, “afther callin' his youngest
son Pat?” George Washington Patrick Stubbs, Es-
quire!” - - -
“Oh, faix, I believe he's true blue, meself,” said Ten-
penny.
“Well he may be,” returned Dooley, “but whether
or no, he hardly threated me fair in regard of the
Street Inspectorship.”
“He didn’t in troth, Micky, that's a fact,” said Ten-
penny, “but thin we must forget an’ forgive; an' be-
sides, if we don't nominate him, who the divil else
could we get?”
“Do you know,” remarked McCann, “I heard it
rumored that owld Livingston had an eye on the
ward.”
“Oh murdher! is it the fellow that rides in his car-
riage an’ keeps livery servants!” exclaimed Mangan.
“Be all accounts he's the very escence ov an aristo-
crat; or, at all events his wife is—that wears the
breeches.” said Tenpenny.
“I beg pardon, neighbors,” observed Barney, who
thought this a good opening for a wedge, “I beg par-
don, neighbors, but I think yees are all intirely mista-
ken in regard of the Livingstons, if its them that lives
round the corner yees main "
“Ah, Barney, is it there you are?” “How are you
avic * cried Dooley, who now, as well as his comrades,
with whom Barney was on general terms of intimacy,
recognized our friend Murphy for the first time since
his entrance.
“But what do you know about the Livingstons,
Barney?” (Murphy's connection with Anthony, by the
way, was sub rosa.
“Why, I know this ov him,” returned Barney,
“That he don’t want to be aldherman-that he’s a
sound demy.crat—an’ that he's one of the graitest Irish-
men that ever was born out ov Ireland—an’so is his
wife an' daughter" -
“You don’t main to thrapes all that on us Barney
Murphy” said Tenpenny.
“Its the truth if I was dyin', any way,” answered
Barney. “An’ sure I could have no motive for sayin'
it, if it wasn't!”
“That's thrue enough for you, Barney,” observed
McCann, “but I don’t believe it for all that.”
“Nor I, divil a taste.”
“Nor I?’
“Nor I,” added the other three.
“He’s nothing but an arishtocrat, an can’t bear the
sight ov a poor man, especially if he be an Irishman,”
continued McCann.
“Divil a lie in that any how !”
“Canoumin to the bit.”
“Blazes to the taste,” added his comrades.
“Well, gintlemin, have it your own way,” said Bar-
ney. “But answer we wan question: Amn't I a poor
man, and an Irishman?”
b ºYes faix, we believe you have the honor ov being
Oth. -
“Well, thin, I know the Livingstons love Ireland,
bekase its meself that hears thim spaiking about it as
if they wor all first cousins to Daniel O'Connell; an I
know they can bear the sight ov a poor man, bekase
its meself they asks to drink tay widthim in the grait
parlor about wanst a fortnight.”
“Oh hould me boys till I ſaint!” exclaimed McCann,
“Only think on it—Barney Murphy drink tay with
the Livingstons !”
“O bad luck to me if it isnt pure gospel,” cried
Barney.
“Then you will have bad luck, barrin you main the
divils own gospel,” said Dooley.
Afther that, Barney, it isºe triae ºld shokeyes,”
remarked Mangam. º
“Bring me the book, an I'll swair it!” cried Murphy.
“If you wor to swear the leg off an iron pot, man,
we would’nt believe you,” retorted º
“I wish it was’nt afther tay time, an be the powers
I'd prove it!” said Barney.
“How would you prove it !”
“Be goin in to show yees how they'd ax me to stay
and take pot luck wid thim.”
“Oh! Barney be aisy " -
“Yes, and even as it is, if I was to show me face at
the door Idarnt stir from it again without drinking a
glass ov wine wid the ladies.”
“Barney, you're mad.” -
“You’ve been steaming it, Barney.”
All the wine you'd get from the Livingstons, Barney,
you might shove in your eye with an awl blade.”
“Boys!” exclaimed Barney, “yees have touched me
honor, an I have a mind to wager yees a thrait for all
hands, that I’ll go there this minute, an be ax'd to sit
in the parlor like a gentleman.”
“But how would we know it was’nt in the kitchen
you wor sitting avice º'
“Bekase won ovyees might come along wid me;
. º always thrait me friends as daicintly as me-
se .”
“Well, Barney, on those terms I'll take up your wa-
ger,” said McCann.
“And I, two to one,” said Dooley.
“And I a dozen to nothing,” said Mangam,
I'm afeard they might be engaged with company, or
faix I’d stand it,” said Barney.
“Ha! haſ haſ Murphy, you're caught in your own
trap!” exclaimed Tenpenny. -
And then all the others ha, ha, haad, and began to
make fun of poor Barney.
“Hit or miss,” cried our particular friend, “I can't
stand that anyway—so there, boys, cover that dollar, it
yees dare, and I'll thry me luck!”
And accordingly the dollar was covered, and Barney,
accompanied by one friend as a witness, and the others
as a bodyguard, proceeded to try his luck.
Tripping up the marble stoop of Livingston's man-
sion (by the way a very large antiquated building, but a
little modernized in front,) as if he were º of
the house. Barney gave a full blooded double pull at
the bell. -
“Divil burn you, Barney,” whispered McCann, who
had been chosen as witness, “they'll think its the lord
mayor that's comin.”
“They'd rather see wan daicent Irishman nor two
lord mayors,” returned Barney. And as he spoke the
door was opened and he passed in, giving a familiar
nod, which was familiarly returned, to the servant. .
I need scarcely say that Barney was welcomed with
tenhusiasm, and requested to seat himself. -
“I would, ladies and gentlemen,” he answered, “but
I have a frind at the door that's waitin for me,”—for
during Barney's debut, McCann all blushing, trembling
and marveling at the unanticipated reception his com:
rade had met with, stood Fº in from the hall side
ways through the crack of the door.
“And how came you to leave your friend at the door,
Mr. Murphy 2" asked Mr. Livingston, as he advanced
and ushered poor McCann (who appeared as if he was
left minus of three or four of his seven senses by the
fair dint of bashfulness, conscience pricking, and aston-
ishment) into the splendid apartment, where he was
also received with a great show of kindness; but judi-
ciously administered, so as (to quºte from the vulgºr)
not to “let the cat out of the bag,” by overdoing the
thing.
* Why, Murphy, how comes it that you are such a
likely we'll have to billet a few ov thim, on yourself,
when maybe you'll larn a few more of their say:
crets!” y
* Have you invited them to come, Barney " asked
Mr. Livingston. -
* Tareinages; no, sir; sure it would'nt do to ax
thim fair up an’ down, lest they'd see what we wor
driving at, an' fight shy." 2.
“How shall we get them here, then? º
“Why, Sir, wid the help oy a frind, ºn a little
managemint, -
below here, in half an hour or so; an' I think I º
settle the rest ov the business be a way ov, ºne own:
ºwell, Barney we'll be ready for you,” said Mr. Liv-
ingston. - - - - - -
*Anyou won't forget the punch an the welkimºsir.
* Never fear.”
“Nor you, mam, the jig; an' your grandfather—the
Lord be merciful to him—the great Fogarty O’Fogar-
ty, of Nenagh.”
“Oh go away, Barney!"
“And you, Miss, the piany and the º -
“Not forgetting the sheep's eyes and the kiss, Bar-
new.” - -
ºwan, I see you're all perfect; but I have just wan
word more to say to you. I know every throb of an
Irishman's heart just as well as if it was baitin on my
hand before me. Now its mad; now its merry; and
fifty other ways; but its never so happy as Whiº
frettinº about poor Granu Wale. Thrait an Irishman
well, an he'll love you; but show him that you lºve *.
pity Green Erin, an' he'll fight an die for you! An
flow what I was a goin' to say is this: whin were
nearly through, Miss Lucy, darlint, just sind thim
home, breakin' their hearts wid that mournful little
song ov Misther O'Hara's, “Q Erin, where art thou,
-0 jair, love 2" and nothin' can bait us.” .
And so saying, Mr. Murphy made his exit.
Lest the reader should marvel that Barney and the
Livingstons chatted so unceremoniously in the pre:
sence of myself, Starkey, and the other parties, it may
be as well to remark that we were all working In con-
ºr tº the desired end, and had no political secrets
apart from each other. - -
I stated, in chapter first, that I might occasionally
avail myself of the assistance of Asmodeus, tº follow
such of the actors in my story as I should chooseºnto
various places where I did not happen to gº º 1.In
prºpria persona. In sooth, however, I make useº
familiar no guess-work—but write those things
which I have not my own observation for, on the au-
shority of others. º I am indebted to Barney him:
self, for his adventure at the widow Ryan's
i’ll have thim assimbled at Mrs. Ryan's, on
stranger?” enquired Mr. Livingston. “It must be
nearly a month since we saw you!” -
“No, sir, it's only three weeks since I had the plea-
sure ov drinking tay with you an' the ladies!” return-
ed Barney. --
“Well,” rejoined Mr. Livingston, who could leave
the grandiloquent style aside whenever he had a mind
to. *Well, at all events, you, and your friend Mr.
McCann (he had been formally introduced) must spend
the remainder of the evening with us–that we insist
2-
“Plaise Misther Livingston, excuse us!”
“No,” said Mr. Livingston, “by no means-cer-
tainly not-And by the way, you have just º: In
in time to pledge the ladies in a glass of whisky
punch, made, boys, out of the real potteem.”
Here Barney again excused himself and friend,
stating that he had merely called to enquire after the
health of the family, and that three other friends were
outside waiting for him to join them. This, however,
as may be expected, only obtained for him another
mild scolding, and a declaration that he could never be
forgiven on this side of the grave, unless he introduced
the outsiders instanter; and accordingly in a few ser
conds after Mickey Dooley, Jack Tenpenny, and Den-
mis Mangan, were standing in the centre of the Brus-
sels, ducking their heads here, and there, and, every
where, in a series of bows, and looking as bewildered
as if they had just dropt out of the lunar regions!'
However, a little common place small talk, season-
ed with a first rate glass of punch, brewed on *
O'Hara principle, soon restored them to their ºilº
brium, and they began to feel comfortable. Then
Anthony enquired how they liked the punch, when
they answered him that it was “Greatintirely!”
*It's from the real mountain dew, that never saw
the face of a guager,” rejoined the well drilled Antho;
my; a lucky hit which produced a loud laugh, and
made him four warm friends for the remainder of his
natural life.
Amon said Barney to Lucy, “Might I be º, bowld
as to ax you for a small taste of a song, Miss 2
*After you, Mr. Murphy, if you please, answered
Lucy, who in her woman's wit, adopted Barney's mode
of expression asbest suited to the occasiºn.
* You're fairly caught, sir,” said Mr. livingstºn.
“Faith, Barney you're naitly in for it, added Mr.
McCann. - º
tºwell, if I must, I must?” exclaimed Barney-
* An I know I’ll have to sing about Ireland, or Mrs.
Livingston will kill me; so here's a ditty from the pin
º a friend ov mine, entitled
* Robears, ſº
“THE BIRTH OF GREEN ERIN.”
AIR-It’s all botheration from bottom to top.
Wit all condiscinsion
I'd call your attintion
To what I would minton of Erin so green;
An' without hesitation
I'll show how that nation
Became of creation, the gem an' the queem :
It happened wan mornin'
Without any warnin'
That Wayneous was born in the beautiful say;
An' be the same token,
An' sure 'twas provokin',
Her pinions worsoakin', and wouldn't give play.
So Neptune, who knew her,
Begun to pursue her,
In ordher to woo her, the wicked owld Jew;
An' he very nigh caught her,
A top ow the water
Great Jupiter's daughter—who roard “pulaloo!”
But Jove, the great jayneous
Look’d down an' saw Vayneous
An' Neptune, so hayneous, pursuin’ her wild;
So he roar'd out in thunder,
He’d tair him asunder,
An' sure 'twas no wondher, for taisin his child;
So a star that was flying,
Around him espying,
He seiz'd without sighin', an' hurl’d it below;
Where it tumbled like winking,
While Neptune was sinking,
An' gave him, I'm thinking, a broth ov a blow;
An' that star sure was dryland,
Both lowland an' highland,
An' form'd a sweet Island, the land ov my birth;
Thus plain is the story,
Kase sent down from glory,
That Erin so hoary's a heaven upon earth
Then Wayneous jump’d naitly
On Erin so stately,
But fainted, "kase lately so bothered an' prest;
Which her much did bewild her
But ere it had kill’d her, -
Her father distill'd her a glass of the best;
An' that glass, so victorious,
It made her feel glorious,
A little uproarious, I fear I might prove :
Hence how can yees blame us
That Erin’s so famous
For beauty, an’ murdher, an' whisky an' love?
“It’s a nait song, but it can't be there's any truth in
it; do you think there is, Miss 3" said Mangan,
who began—the villain—to look very sweet at Lucy.
“Not if it speaks of late years, I should think,
sir,” answered Miss Livingston; “but as marvellous
things happened, I am told, when the world was in
its infancy.” -
“Ireland's a splendid country" ejaculated Lawyer
Starkey.
“Lecidedly so, sir,” observed Mr. Livingston; “and
the day will come, when the green banner will float
triumphatly over the boundless waves, and the Irish
harp be heard pealing its strains of victory throughout
the civilized globe.”
“I regret much that I wasn't born in Ireland,” said
Starkey.
“Why, sir, Ameriky's a very good country to be born
in,” returned Dooley.
“I grant it—I grant it,” said Starkey; “but them,
sir, look at your constitutions—your genius—your mus-
cles. No, sir, you mustn't tell me–Ireland's the great-
est country in the world to be born in.”
“Well, in thim respects I believe you may be right,
sir,” answered Docley, who though an exceedingly
small pattern of a man, taking him up and down, had a
great idea of his wit, and his constitution, and looked
upon his two legs as the most perfect things of the kind
in all creation.
“It's well for me I have some Irish blood in my
veins, then,” remarked Lucy. -
“And have you, Miss 2 but be gorra any wan might
know you had,” cried Mangan, “be the baim ov your
eye, an the blush ov your cheek. Ah Granu Wale!”
he continued, in a more subdued voice, as if in a whis-
per to the ceiling, “it’s yourself that's the grait place
intirely for turnin' out purty girls!”
“I wasn’t exactly born in Ireland,” replied Lucy, to
a subsequent question—“but am connected with it
through one of my mother's ancestors, Fogarty O’Fo-
gº of Nenagh.”
* - Cººs º Tºº º
-j-
Dooley, with an electric start, “be the mortial, it's
the graitest blood in Tipperary,”—(to Mrs. Livingston)
“Ma’am, it's your health I wish, an' it's meself that's
proud to become acquainted widwan oy the Nenagh
O’Fogarties!” and down went a red hot bumper to the
health of the lady of the mansion, who bowed, and
smiled, and returned a shower of thanks; but I think I
may venture to say that she was at the same time
wishing her fair daughter in the moon for throwing
her in the way of the compliment.
“The O'Fogarty's were princes ov the blood in the
goolden days ov owld Ireland,” continued Dooley.
“Masays that her grandfather was a remarkable
man,” observed Lucy, “and could drink more whiskey
punch than any two men in the country.”
“An' true it's for her, Miss,” said Barney–" and
he was equally famous for race horses an hurlin',
to say nothing ov all the Englishmin he killed off
in duels.”
“Yes, Mr. Murphy,” chimed in Lucy, the vixen,
“and ma says he hadn't a rival in the country at danc-
ing an Irish jig.”
“Irishmin are all great at that,” said Dooley, “look-
ing the while as if he felt that in such matters he him-
self could take the conceit out of the redoubted Fogar-
ty O’Fogarty.
“And Irish ladies too, sir,” said Lucy, who was in
her element, and determined her lady mother should
not escape any part of the task assigned her—“And
Irish ladies too, sir. Mathere, for instance, though
only half-bred, prides herself on her jig steps, and
never misses a dance, whenever she can find a part-
ner.”
“I was considhered grait at it meself, whin I was at
home,” simpered Dooley, with another affectionate
glance at his trotters.
“Then,” said Lucy, “ma will never forgive you if
you leave us without asking her out.”
“If I thought so, miss, an’ that it wouldn't be mak-
ing too bowld—”
“Too bold –0, she'll be so delighted and all
of us.”
And up jumped little mischief-maker to put things
in training for the dance; which being completed,
down she sat to her piano, and rattled off “Shelah's
Jig" in a manner that would have done honor to a
Munster piper. -
It boots not to enter into a description of the bows,
and scrapes, and smirks, and smiles performed by little
Mickey Dooley (then after his third tumbler,) as head-
vanced to ask the grand-daughter of the great O’Fog-
arty to dance with him. Suffice it to say that the lady
(who, throwing aside her mannerism, had really enter-
ed into the fun of the business, and, as she afterwards
confessed, enjoyed it exceedingly,) consented with a
good grace, and even immortalised herself by her sub-
sequent performance. Still she was no touch to Micky,
who soon made it apparent that he was the very prince
of jig dancers, as he snapped his fingers-jumped-
slapped the soles of his shoes together-came the
pushing step—the kissing step-the sailor's bend-the
gipsey's twirl, &c., and threw his head, legs and arms
about, as if each individual part of him was perfectly
independent of all others. This brilliant execution evi-
dently carried Mrs. Livingston along with it, for she
certainly did lay her feet at it with all her might; and
to heighten the effect of the dance, Mrs. L. was a tall,
full, large made, dowager-looking woman, who iſ ºut
into quarters would have made just about four of her
brisk little partner.
During this display such remarks as these were fly-
ing about in whispers between Murphy, Mangan, Ten-
penny and McCann. . .
* Tjivil the like ov thim ever I saw out ov Ireland.
Glory be to God that there's some oy the true breed
left yet!” . - -
“The whiskey's grait—I'll go bail its sent out to
thim from wan ov their frinds that has a still-head-an”
worm on the sly in Nenagh'.
“Barney, is Livingston an Irish name *
* Ov coorse it is! Pure. But they wordhruv away
be King Billy, bad luck to him.” . .
* Boys, honey, don't she foot it nait?” She's a
match for Mickey any day.” -
* Anº the young lady, she's a purty craythur, aint
she, Jack?” -
*Divil the like ov her I've seen in a month ov Sun-
da .” - -
ºanwhile Lucy went from fast to furious. This
was more than Mangan could patiently bear, so his
feet began to keep time to the music; McCann and
Tenpenny followed suit. This suggested a new idea
to Barney, who, immping up, seized Mangan, and away
they went into the paroxysm of the jig. McCann and
Tempenny, of course, were scarcely a second behind
them. The epidemic spread, and the lawyer and his
friends went at it. Then old Anthony and myself, not
to be idle, entered the arena, and fired away. And
thus, with the exception of the fair, but wicked musi-
cian, we were all footing it, partly for fun, and partly
because we couldn't help it; for beyond question there
is some charm about an Irish jig, played with spirit,
that sets one's legs in motion whether they will
or 10-
At length Mrs. Livingston broke dewn, and the dam-
cing ceased. Soon after a motion for adjournment,
suggested by Barney, was awkwardly put, and reluc-
tantly carried. “But stay,” said Barney, “before, we
ou know you owe me a song, an’ ifº pay it now,
if it was only a single verse by way of a dach-a-dhorus,
(stirrup-up) we'll all pray for you.” -
* Well, Mr. Murphy,” returned Lucy, “so far as a
poor voice may do it, I'll earn your benedictions at
once! But what shall I sing 2" -
* Anything, Miss–Highland Mary for instance.”
*No, no,” returned Miss Livingston, “I don't like
Scotch airs, and never practice them; but if you'll ac-
cept of a little Irish melody instead.”
* Oh, be all mains, Miss.”
tº with tin thousand thanks, Miss.”
* Heavens bless ". purty face, Miss, an’ sure it's
Irishmen an Irish melodies that may be proud
ow you.” - -
tºwell then,” continued Lucy, with a fage full of
* beams and smiles, “I’ll sing you an old melody with ſº me?”
the saddle, and running behind the house.
go I have wan grait favor to ax! Miss Lucy darlint,
new words, entitled, ‘O Erin, why art thou so fair
Love." Saying which, she sung the following verses
in a voice like a nightingale:
“OH ! ERIN, WHY ART THOU SO FAIR, LOVE"
AIR-º Colin the Scrutheen a Moe.” -
Oh! Erin, why art thou so fair, love!
Thy brow should be dark as the tomb;
For since we must leave thee for ever, love,
Thy beauties add pangs to our doom!
Oh yes, ’tis a curse to us, dearest,
As exiles we move from thy shore,
That thou all so heavenly appearest,
Since we may not stay to adore!
Oh! how we must hate the fell stranger–
- The sashmach from o'er the dark sea,
Who drives us to want and to danger,
From such a dear country as thee!
We measure our hate by thy beauty,
Hence soon it flows over the brim;
And revenge seems imposed as aduty–
Revenge on the Sashnach so grim
How monstrous the doom that hangs o'er thee!
Thy foemen are welcomed and blest;
While the children who own an ºdore thee,
So the greensod, our hearts took such pride ini,
Might bloom o'er our beautiful graves.
As Barney had predicted, I saw that the warmest
eeings of my Irish friends were stirred up from their
elest depths by this plaintive little melody. As it
profeeded, each countenance became intense; the men-
tion of the “sashnach” caused their brows to knit and
their eyes to flash; and the conclusion found them sub-
el almost to weeping. So potent are the effects of
his national music on the heart of the poor Irish
exile. -
º iscussing another glass of punch to Lucy's
eyelasting health and happiness, and well nigh sha-
in all our hands off, Messrs. Murphy and company
ºo: their leave. Barney, however, returned in a few
inutes to congratulate us on our night's perfor-
malce.
“Begorra, Miss Lucy,” he exclaimed, as he entered,
ºu're the Field Marshal of politicians, and desarve to
arry the President.”
"Why, what are the prospects, Barney?” inquired
º: Livingston.
"Prospects!” ejaculated Barney disdainfully, “don’t
be talking ov prospects whin the thing is done. Be
Must starve on thy bountil
But for this, our loved homº ºf
Tho' treated as victims of slaves;
w
Nº. "
º º - º
CHAPTER XI.
Some sixty and odd miles from the city of New
York, and adjacent to the Hudson River, stands a huge
old Dutch building, a glance at whichimmediately con-
jures up visions of Christmas hollidays, blazing hicko-
ry or green ash fires, and groups of stout, comfortable,
grave-looking “yaw mynheers,” enjoying themselves.
over their “meershaums” and home-brewed ale. It
is a fine old weather-beaten, weather-despising estab-
lishment, which, in times gone by, may have been in-
habited by a line of old governors; and which does not
look very much unlike a jolly old governor itself, with
a three-cocked hat on his head, and built on the popu-
lar Dutch principle of two breadths to a length.
On a fine breezy morning, several years ago, a merry
looking old black man was seated at the door of a lit-
tle out house which adjoins this venerable building.
He was cleaning a well-bespattered side-saddle, and
humoring his work the while with a variety of negro
melodies, from which I select the following, premising
that he sang it to the popular air of “Zip Koon,” with
embellishments and variations probably added by him:
self:-
SAMBO-ON A SUNDAY SWINGING ON A GATE.
Sambo on a Sunday swinging on a gate,
Sambo on a Sunday swinging on a gate,
Sambo on a Sunday swinging on a gate,
An' thinkin he wor President ob dese United State
O! dat de time o'day, boy, habn’t he de mack,
For lickin 'lasses candy an' drinkin' apple jack.
Bossy hab de rhino, Sambo hab de fun,
Bossy hab de rhino, Sambo hab de fun,
Bossy hab de rhino, Sambo hab de fun,
A swingin' on de gate when dere's muffin to be done!
O! dat de time a-day, boy, habn’t he de mack,
For lickin' 'lasses candy an' drinkin' apple jack.
- *N
º -
º - N º º --
º - - - -
º --~~~~ - - -
-
a man,” said Flora.
al, we have put a nailin owld Stubbs' coſtin in spite
ºw his son Pat.”
º - *-
-
N
Nº ºs.
|
| - -
º
- § § s S.
| s s § §s
| - ~ - - s
|||}|\ - s
ºs || || sy
sº -
º º| sº
º - - º - º º - º
º
%2% ºss
- sº
ºngºgº
sºn. Dave, that I trust will make your limbs
as nimble as your poetical faculties. Look around you,
to the right, and see what's to be seen.”
David, as directed, looked around him to the right,
and there saw a figure pushing up the hill with mar-
yellously rapid strides, considering the character of the
“toe path.” The figure was winding round the hill
in a place that was particularly steep and dangerous,
but he seemed to dance over the ground as lightly as if
it were a sloping meadow.
“He’s either mad or bewitched, or the devil him-
ſelf.” exclaimed David.
“He may be somewhat of a devil, but he's more of
“Just such a man as a woman
loves to look at. Oh! Heavens, David, how I wish
that you were me, and I such a fellow as that yonder!”
David opened his eyes at the fair enthusiast, but
said nothing.
Flora continued, “See, see, how he plays with the
danger. Heavens, David, do look where he leans over
the very precipice! Oh! Coz., if you were only such a
man as that!” -
David tried to get up a scornful curl of the lip, but
he was too much fatigued, and it was a failure; he
hope of seeing him perform a series of somersets in the
direction of gravitation; failing in this, and feeling the
spirit of emulation growing strong within him, he again
put his breast against the mountain with desperate
efforts, and succeeded for several minutes in keeping
side by side with the fair Flora, who now looked vi-
cious, and determined, as if she had made up her mind
that nothing born of a woman should pass her on the
road,
There was, however, no need of alarm on this score,
for the stranger soon passed round to the other side of
the hill, and was out of sight, leaving Flora to wonder
When bossy see him sweetheart, he dassent be uncibbel,
When bossy see him sweetheart, he dassent be uncibbel,
When bossy see him sweetheart, he dassent be uncibbel,
But when Sambo catch him lady lub him kiss her like de
dibbel.
O! dat de time a-day, boy, habn’t he de nack,
For lickin' 'lasses candy an' drinkin' apple jack.
While the merry old negro was thus amusing him-
self, and serving his mistress, whoever she might be, a
tall, powerful looking figure muffled up in a Spanish
cloak, approached stealthily from behind, and enscons.
ing itself in the rear of the little out-house, exclaimed
in aloud whisper, |
“Pompey!”
“Who dat dar?” returned Pompey, pausing in his
operations on the saddle.
“Come here for a moment, Pompey,” said the figure.
“Who de dibbel are you fust?
“A friend.”
“No you don't—dibbel a friend Pompey hab dat's a
feared to show hisself!
“O! dat de time a-day boy, habn’t he de mack,
For lickin' 'lasses candy, and drinkin' apple jack.”
And away went Pompey at the saddle.
* --
-
ck ºn tº a --~~~~ *-*
pause “do you know me now * --
“Destranger!” ejaculated Pompey, throwing down
…
I
know you?–Gosh! I guess I do, bossy, know you like
ebery ting '" Whereon Pompey struck up a banjo lilt,
and went off in a figure of Jim Crow. -
“How are all the family, Pompey gº
“Fust rate, bossy, all but massa David; an' h
dam bad ſº -
* Ha what ails Davidº”
“Golly! I tort ebery one know’d dat dar Wh
Miss Flora ails him—what keeps him runnin’ an
jumpin’ and ridin' here anºdar, an ebery whar, till h
habn’t a leg to stand on. Gosh dough, if Miss Flora
don’t make a dibbel ob a time when she sees you, den
say dat dis here child don’t know muffin about him '''
“Is Miss Flora at home?” asked the stranger.
“O! dibbel, no!” said Pompey, “she's nebber at
home, no time; an’she's neber no whar else in gimral,
but here, an’ dar, an' ebery whar, in particlar.”
After a little further conversation, the stranger learn-
ed, that notwithstanding the weather was at least
twenty degrees too cold for ruralizing, Miss Flora, ac-
companied by the unfortunate David, and several per-
sons hunted up expressly for the occasion, had proceed-
ed about an hour before on an excursion to a certain al-
most inaccessible mountain in the immediate neigh-
borhood of West Point, for the sage and comfortable
purpose of climbing to the top of it.
“I see,” observed the stranger, “that she continues
to make them pay for mewing her up in the country.”
“Don’t she, dough 2 Dat’s a ſac she do, bossy,” re-
turned Pompey. “An’’tween you an I, an’ de wall,
when Massa David hab marry her, she'll make him
pay him for more yet; cos, bossy, he he hel-he'll
tink he hab married de berry debbel.”
Giving Pompey a half a-dollar for his information,
which inspired him with another fit of the banjo, and
Jim Crow, the stranger put himself in an extremely
apid order of pedestrian locomotion, and was soon out
of sight.
I fºrget the name of a certain mountain which over.
hangs West Point, and is said next to Cattskill to hold
a loftier head than any other eminence in the state
of New York. It is also remarkable for its steepness,
especially near the summit, which but few mortal men
have ever attained, and by all accounts only two mortal
women—the one Fanny Kemble—the other a lady who
will be introduced to the reader by and by. On the
morning I am writing of a party of five or six persons
might be seen to labor up this hill, all of them, with the
exception of one who was in advance of the rest, look-
ing as if they were praying in their hearts that it might
fall down and cover them. This one, at a distance,
might be taken for a man—a dashing devil-may-care
swaggering blade, who had partially disguised himself
in female attire for the fun of the thing—but on coming
to close quarters, it was easy to perceive that she was a
very handsome woman. Her face was of the animº
ted, irregular, glowing, wicked kind of beauty. which
artists, as a common rule, give to the houri of Maho-
met's paradise. Her dark hazle eye fairly flashed with
animation, courage, and decision, and a thousand smiles
played constantly around her lips—a thousand roguish,
mºry, scornful smiles, that were evidently rather those
of a joyous and independent, than of a susceptible na-
ture. She was considerably sunburnt, but every freckle
dishevelled; but they were more attractive and dan:
gerous so, than any toilet machinations, could make
them. Her form was about the medium height, and a
little en bon point, but full of grace and agility. Herap
ointments consisted of the aforesaid little Gipsy hat, of
lack beaver—a close cloth walking habit—stout laced
boots, buckskin gloves, and a heavy horse whip, which
were all that was visible, as shawl, scarf, reticule, or
such like feminine gew-gaws and vanities, she had
none. This lady tripped up the hill as nimbly as if it
were a Macadamised road—cracked her whip as she
went, and apparently rejoiced at the prospect of labor
a-head. Next to her came a tall, stout, º looking,
well dressed young gentleman, of twenty-five or so,
who appeared to be very much fatigued, very much out
of humor, and not a little frightened. And then follow-
ed the remainder of the party. -
Glancing back and finding her companions so much
in the rear of her, the beautiful pioneer cried out in a
voice very sweet as to tone, but somewhat masculine
as to volume: -
“Why, Dave, what a fine fellow you are to assist a
young lady up a hill! Run, man run, and I'll show you
something worth looking at.” - -
* Run ſº returned David, who, instead of running,
stopped to speak to the fair colloquist, as otherwise
he would have been unable to speak to her at all.
* Run! How you talk, Flora, as if I was a goat or a
playactor to run up a perpendicular.”
*I'm neither a goat or a playactor, am I Dave?”
“Well, I know you're not, Flora—but—but—”
* But I'm the devil—at least for getting over a high
hill –I guess that's what you'd say, cousin Dave.” .
* I don’t know what I'd say, coz,” returned cousin
Dave, “but I know I wish we were well up this con-
founded hill and down again!”
* It will be easy to get well down, Dave,” said the
lady, “just miss your foot when you get up at the
Crow’s Nest,'—which I intend you shall rob for me-
and the way you'll go down will be a caution to hoop-
rolling.” - -
This comfortable assurance had no very soothing
effect on poor Dave, but nevertheless he renewed his
journey, and was soon beside his fair tormentor, who
had waited for him.
* Now, Flora, ain't we high enough?"
* High enough; I'm determined not to return until
we have a tete-a-tete on the tip-top. It will be roman-
tic—won't it?” inquired Flora. -
“Very romantic, but not quite so romantic as fran-
tic,” answered David. - -
* La, Dave! I declare if you hayn't said something
smart,” exclaimed the yº. “I must get you to
write it in my Album. Who'll say after that that
sublime heights don't inspire subhme ideas?”
| crow's nest,” said Flora.
** - Geº- * º
-
was a beauty spot; and her dancing brown ringlets es- ||
caping here and there from under her bewitching little, |
though “shocking bad” Gipsy hat, were somewhat ||
* Well, quiz away, Flo-but what isit you have to
what could be his object in coming up there at all;
and David to hope, whatever might have been his ob-
ject in coming up, that he had gone down again head
foremost. -
Now the party had achieved by far the greatest por-
tion of their task, but the only dangerous part, the very
inspiration of it, was still before them, and seemed to
all eyes with the exception of Flora's, as secure from
tresspass on their part, as though it lay in the moon.
Thus far they had managed the ascent, with the occa-
sional aid of their hands; anon they were nearly as
useful as their feet; and anon again they were indis-
pensible, not only in lifting them up, but in preventing
them from falling down. Consequently the senior of
the party very prudently called a halt, and proposed a
return.
“I’ll not return a step until I have been in the
“But, my dear Flora,” returned the speaker, “it is
utter madness to think of it.”
“Madness or no madness, up I go,” answered the
invincible Flora; “So come along David!”
º or David first looked down and sighed, then look-
º and shuddered; and to do him justice, his alarm
º ºrlºr sºlº º
fºcalled—above him, was almost as steep as a
il, while at the summit the mountain actually ap-
ared to hang over like an inverted cone. Still, as
ere was no backing out with honor, he resumed his
journey-proceeded about half a perch by the stout:
earted Flora, and continued to ascend until he arrived
at a point so slippery, steep, and suggestive of broken
necks to intruders, that not only did he give up the
idea of advancing further, but he seriously began to
º that he was cut off from all probability of retreat;
hd accordingly there he hung, unable to go up, yet
raid to go down, and looking about as unhappy as if
e had been sentenced to remain where he was until
sºme compassionate bird of prey might choose to make
reakfast of him, and put him out of his misery.
". so Flora; the more difficulties she encountered,
the more she seemed to enjoy herself; and thus, when:
ever her foot slipped or a shrub gave way in her hand,
º by no means unfrequent), the circumstance
ssure to be attended by a merry loud laugh, and a
ly ling at David, -
“Dave, take care of yourself! A fall now might be
ºrous!”
ºngerous! It would be certain death, Flora!"
º haſ haſ haſ There, now, I declare iſ my
didn't slip again, and I was just down on you.
* Flora, do come back! I can't and I won't go
I swear I won't.”
“Well, coz,” said the lady, “mind the alternative-
You must either climb as high as me, or wear petti-
coats Are you coming, Dave * ,
ºming the devil!”—I can neither come or go, or
do anºthing else,” muttered the half crying Dave, who
was now at the point we have spoken of, and out of all
pallenc -
ere, now, if I haven't had a slip with a ven-
said Flora, accompanying the remark with a
ry laugh as if she thought that slipping with a ven-
ance, and destruction the probable consequence, might
very amusing pastime. “There now, if I haven't
ned with a vengeance. But mind, coz, if I chance
ill, and go by the run, which seems likely, that you
tlet me roll past you!”
“Mocking's catching! Mind I tell you Flo,” an:
ited poor Dave, “and besides, it's as much as I
can do to keep from rolling myself.”
“So much the better, coz,” returned the lady, “so
tº the better, for then we can have a match of rol-
ling together, and I'll wager you one of my pointers
against a tobacco pouch that I’m first at the bottom.”
|
Dºid's indignation permitted no answer, and Flora
l
ply think of it, coz—the Lover's Roll-why it
throw the “Lover's Leap” into endless oblivion:
make us as immortal as the old mountain itself.”
the idea seamed to her so ludicrous, that she
º #d herself nearly out of breath on the strength
Of 11. -
Mºnwhile, she continued her line of march right
ds—now scrambling—now slipping-now trust-
mg ºf her weight to some tiny shrub-until she ar.
rived at the dangerous pinacle of her ambition, over
whi she flung herself with an exulting shout, and
ºared from her companions; all of whom, by
ºy, had given up the ascension as soon as they
poor David announcing his arrival at cape of for-
es
ºut heart never won fair lady, and poor David
art like a rabbit,” soliloquized Flora, when she
elf onfirm footing. “But, heaven's, what's
º was occasioned by moderately mu-
sical voices, proceeding from the other side of a little
hillock, º syllabled itself into the following verse
of a song, the whole of which appeared in one of the
earlier chapters.
She smiles not, she sighs not, she studies no grace,
She hunts and she drives, but she never makes lace;
She swims the blue lake, where no bottom is found,
And she mounts her good steed with a warrior's bound.
And when the voice ceased, the stranger, who had sur-
prised ºompey a few hours before, made his appear-
ance with a low bow. -
Miss Willoughby, your most obedient.” . . .
Another female, under the circumstances, might have
blushed, or started. Flora, however, being like few,
perhaps no other female, herself excepted, did neither,
utwelcomed the intruder with a merry laugh of re-
cognition, and extended her hand, which was imme-
diately warmly squeezed, and tenderly kissed, without
in the least appearing to disconcertits fair owner.
*And so, Master O'Hara,” she said, “it was you we
saw flying over the hill like a feathered Mercury.”
* Fly or climb, Miss Willoughby,” returned our old
friend Phil, for it was his own six feet of good fellow
ship that stood in the stranger's shoe leather. “Fly or
climb, Miss Willoughby, I am most happy to be able
to say that it was no one else.” - - -
* Then you have had some pleasant object in your
excursion!” said Flora, archly.
*The pleasantest in all this world,” returned
O'Hara,
* To woo the muses, eh?” rejoined Miss Wil-
loughby
*Towoo the only muse that ever inspired me,” an-
swered Phil, going down the while gracefully on his
dexter marrow, and doing farther lip-service on the la-
dy'slilly-white hand. - - - -
“Now, may I be hanged,” exclaimed Flora, “if the
man's nºt making love to me!”
*And would deserve,” added O'Hara, “to be cleft
in twain with the spear of Mars, instead of the bolt of
Cupid, iſ under the circumstances, he did any thing
else.”
“spirits of Mount Flummery, which I take to be the
nine muses!" exclaimed Flora, with a slighteurlof her
haughty littlelip—“how extremely poetical, and de-
voted.”
* Faith, Miss Willoughby,” returned Phil, “I believe
I may be open to suspicion, sure enough; but, never-
theless, I swear to you by the constancy of the
mountain we stand on, that I love you as truly as
ever man loved woman.”
*0 for shame, Mr. Q'Hara,” said the provoking
girl—and no fan convenient tº hide my blushes!”
* Heigh hol” exclaimed Phil., “I see that I might
then fixed his eye grimly on the stranger, in the fond ||
“Only for one thing, O'Hara,” said the maiden, with
a sly look, and an impressive shake of her fore-finger, as
though she'd say, “I know you, boy”—“Only for one
thing, O'Hara.”
“And that?” queried her companion, looking the in-
terrogative.
“Is simply,” replied Miss Willoughby, “becausea
Colonel of Cossacks might not chance to have five
housand dollars per annum in the folds of his saddle-
ags. -
“You certainly have an advantage over the Colonel
there, lady,” said O'Hara, with as much of ablushas my
* chum was capable of mounting for modesty
sake.
"A slight one, I should say,” returned Flora with a
wicked laugh, “but of course you don't care for that!—
you are as disinterested as the fox who eulogized the
crow with the piece of cheese in her mouth, and merely
make love to me for the sake of my sweet self.”
“By heavens, Flora Willoughby, your insinuation
does me wrong,” returned O'Hara, while something
like an expression of honest indignation, half felt, and
half got up for the occasion, passed rapidly over his
countenance. “But, at the same time,” he continned,
“it is to be confessed that those some thousands a year
you have been speaking of might be well worth a little
extra devotion º
“Then Mr. O'Hara is no fortune humter no mere
squanderer of Cupid's arrows, with mammon for a tar-
get,” insinuated Flora. “His coffers, no doubt, are teem-
ing already!”
“Full to the brim, Miss Willoughby, of empti-
yº. ..… - ghby, p
mess,” said Phil stoutly. But what of that, when you
have money enough for us both 2"
“Else had you never climbed into the crow's nest
to make love to me—eh, most disinterested of cava-
liers "said Flora.
“To be candid, then, I would not, thou most per-
plexing of mountain sylphs,” replied O'Hara. “Partly,
inasmuch as I have but little faith in domestic felicity,
and all that sort of thing—and the wolf on the lobby;
but more especially because considerable second-hand
experience has made me a convert to the opinion of the
old proverb, that “when poverty comes in at the door,
Love flies out at the window.”
“And so, Master Moneytrap,” observed Flora,
coloring slightly, “to quote from another ancient au-
thority–
“You're the false and the landless knight
That stopp'd at fair Elenor's bower,
Who cared not a mite for that lady bright,
But only made love to her dower.”
“There you wrong me,” said O'Hara; “I woo
with motives of a purer principle.”
“Not forgetting the interest, Sir Knight of the light
heart and . thin pair of breeches, as the song has
it,” added Miss Willoughby; who thereon went into
a kind of laughter that startled the echoes of the moun-
tain. -
º” not forgetting the interest,” returned
11.
* I think none the less of you,” resumed Miss Wil-
loughby, “that your Cupid is not one of those blind sim-
pletons of antiquity, who brought down their game at
hrp-hazard; but a modern sharp-sighted Yankeefellow
with a rich dower in his eye. Mineindeed is a bird of
the same feather.”
“But nevertheless,” interrupted O'Hara, “ you’d ra-
ther hit one true man, though his rent roll might be
º of the smallest, than a dozen rich mani-
1118.
“I don't know that,” said Flora, “I’m an advocate
for damages in the way of heavy pin money—broad
acres—dashing equipages—and such matters; and
were I so foolish as to be otherwise, such a wooet
as you would soon restore me to reason.”
“If I deserve to be everlastingly eschewed by Hy-
men, for any especial error in my nature,” said O'Hara,
placing his right hand tenderly in the region of his
"eart; “it is for my disinterestedness in love.”
“A riddle –the true man’s a riddle" cried Miss
Willoughby.
“And will instantly resolve himself with another
quotation from the ancients,” added O'Hara, who thus
continued—
“Were I a king and one maiden fair,
The poorest that ever was seen ;
By heavens, I'd give her my crown to wear,
If she'd only consent to be queen.
Were that maid wealthy as fair to view,
And sorrow and poverty mine,
I'd go to her still with my heart so true,
And offer my heart at her shrine.
But were the maid landless, and I so too,
O! rather than add to her care,
I'd leave her some wealthier swain to woo,
And bury my hope in despair.”
Now, Maid of the Mist, what do you think of my phi-
losophy?”
“Why, Knight of the Mountain, that, according to
received notions, it is rather more honest than poeti-
cal. But as it's my turn to be candid now, I must tell
you that I’m not in the market.”
“If you were,” answered O'Hara, “and commanded
a fair price, a king couldn't purchase you.” -
“And yet,” retorted Flora, “ you want such an in-
valuable creature to be knocked down to a Sir Dowry-
mad Lackland, who has scarcely by his own confession,
a dollar to bid for her.”
“But a heart worth all the mines of Pluto" ex-
claimed O'Hara, “a heart impervious to the shaft of
Cupid, until thy bright image—”
“Tut, tut, tut,” replied Miss Willoughly, putting
her hand on the enthusiast's mouth, “Don’t you know
better than to be wasting your precious ammunition on
a conquered citadel? I tell you again that I’m not
available!—that I'm out of the blind god's calendar!–
In fact that I’m signed, sealed and all but delivered.”
“Pooh!” returned the invincible Philip, “I know all
about that—you speak in reference to Van Tassel—
Cousin Dave,as you call him, -to whose anti-climbing-
up-a-mountain faculties, by the way, be all honor, glory
and gratitude.” - -
*I knew it, and my mind's at ease so far,” resumed
O'Hara, bluntly, “for you'll never marry him!”
“Never!” exclaimed Miss Willoughby; “and where-
före not, dread seer of the crow's nest?” -
“Thereasons,” answered O'Hara, “are legion. One
is, that you'd pair about as well together as a noddy
and a falcon. A second, because you don’t love him
otherwise than cousin's may love. A third, because he
don't know how to love you. A fourth, because you’ll
never swear to honor and obey, unless under circum-
stances where you may entertain some slight impres-
sion that the oath don't involve a periury; and a fifth,
which being a conclusive one, is all I shall enumerate
at present—because it is more than probable you may
marry myself!” ----- -
“I knew what was coming,” said Miss Willoughby,
“but nevertheless think it improbable that I shall ever
write myself Mrs. Philip O’Hara.” -
“It's a dashing name notwithstanding,
Phil.
“Is it?” exclaimed Flora; “let’s see–Mrs. Philip
O'Hara's coach Mrs. Philip O’Hara, the charming
hostess Eloped last week, with a Captain of Dra-
goons, the beautiful and bewitching. Mrs. Philip
O'Hara! Humph! Yes, the name might do for want
of a better, but it will never be mine !” - -
*Stranger things have come to pass,” said Phil,
* even that item in favor of the Captain of Dragoons
inclusive; and if you’ll only give me a hope as faint
as the ray of one of Jupiter's satellites, I'll be satis-
fied.”
* Hear him, for his cause is great!” ejaculated Miss
Willoughby, “and I wooed, won—and all but wed-
ded and worn.” -
* Then I'll hope against hope,” said O’Hara, “for,
as you say yourself, “faint Hert never won a fair
lady.”
ºs. be it,” returned Miss Willoughby, with a smile
which seemed like one of encouragement. At least
such was my friend O'Hara's construction of it, and his
excitement was so great in consequence, that forsaking
the tiny hand till then held gently in his own, he clasp-
ed the merry maiden to his heart with a most unquali-
fied embrace, and impressed “a long, long kiss, a
kiss of youth and love,” upon her cherry ripe lips.
“Well,” said Flora, after affecting to pout a little,
“I suppose I must forgive you, the more especially as
cousin Dave deserves no betterfor trusting such a jewel
of a prize as I am so long out of his sight. But now I
must be off, or those poor people below will think I
have taken a leap for life, or else eloped with some
gentle spirit of the mist or wizard of the mountain.
Andere the lapse of another minute, Miss Willough-
by was descending the hill to join her impatient
companions.
* *
” suggested
* * * * *
“There, Tom Stapleton, that's my story !”, exclaim-
ed my worthy chum at the conclusion of the above
long drawn out yarn, and bringing down his Thors
hammer hand the while on my back like a thunder
clap. “An' now my boy, don't you think I'm in a fair
way for the maid and her money bags” . . . -
I replied that I thought not, and rated him on his
simplicity in acknowledging the state of his finances:
“Pooh, Tom " he returned, “you know nothing
of human nature to speak so. I'll give you a few les-
sons in love-making. Catch a Lydia Languish with a
sigh and a sonnet;-a coquette with an affectation of
carelessness, and by waltzing with the prettiest girl
of her acquaintance;—a prude by shocking her mo-
desty in the warmth of your devotions, and thus giv-
ing her an opportunity of making a display of it;-a
widow with the breadth of your chest, and the sym-
metry of your pacers; a blue stocking by listening
while she talks; a lady who timidly implores you to
go away, by squeezing her hand, and talking while
she listens;–heiresses and wards in chancery in gene-
ral, with rhapsodies about the luxury of love in a cot-
tage, and by asking their permission to shoot their
guardians; a belle by flattery, an enthusiast by devo-
tion; an old maid by kissing her whether she will or
not, and so on. But when you catch a girl like Flora
Willoughby;-honesty Tom, -honestya little sublimed
and etherealized, is your only chance, if I except the
three palpable indispensables, nerve, muscle and de-
termination.”
“And so you think that the gentle Flora Daredevil
is yours, Phil?” - -
“She's thinking or dreaming about me this minute,
Tom; and as for cousin Dave, he appears to her asleep
or awake, like a species of night mare.” -
During the progress of the developements involved
in this chapter, O'Hara and myself were comfortably
seated in the Shades in Thames street, discussing a
toby or so of Evans's unrivalled ale, then in the bud
of its fame, but which has long since placed the
aforesaid Evans amongst the immortals. It was on
the night after the great political victory at Living-
ston's, and the third since I had seen my companion
in arms, whose absence was now happily accounted
for. Having listened with becoming patience to Phil's
yarn, I was about to inflict him in kind with a chapter
of my own adventures, in connection with his friend
Murphy and company, when he called my attention to
an individual who was sitting by himself at an ad-
joining table, and whose appearance and conduct had
excited his curiosity.
This was a tall young man of the shabby genteel
class, but with a countenance full of gloom, sorrow
and anxiety. It was plain to see that his heart was
breaking, and difficult to imagine why he did not seek
for repose in death, for his was one of those passionless,
hopeless, world despising faces that betray the work-
ings of a mind prone to the calm contemplation of sui-
clie. I have known four men who looked like him in
my time–one a near and a dear friend—and, three of
them have already been dashed to death by the dread
demon of self-destruction. The person I am speaking
of occasionally forgetting that he was in a public
room, would strike his clenched hand on his forehead,
and speak audibly to himself. Then he would start
as if at the sound of his own voice, and perceiving his
position, shrink back in his seat as though to escape
observation. He had been drinking brandy—the mad-
man's comforter-one, two-three-fourglasses;-but
still he was sober—much too sober––for the effect de-
as well be making love to a Colonel of Cossacks!”
|sired was recklessness or insensibility. At length he
keeps them in existence, that new modes of fraud
glanced around him furtively, and thinking, no doubt,
that he was unnoticed, rose up, and slipped out of the
TOO.º.
“He’s a small rogue, Phil,” said I, “and has left
his liquor unpaid for.” -
To which uncharitable remark my comrade, whose
heart was always in the right place when its sympa-
thies were appealed to, replied, “He’s an homester
man than I am, Tom, or he would never have let such
a trifle as dodging mine hostinterfere so palpably with
his peace of conscience.”
“I wish we had spoken to him,” said I.
“I wish my purse was in his pocket, even though
he had picked it from mine,” said O'Hara, who had
scarcely so spoken when the stranger returned, and
addressed himself to the bar.
Whatever he said, its first effect on mine host was
to make him look as black as a thunder cloud—in
fact, as if he was just on the point of calling the
º
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s
CHAPTER XII.
A familiar interview was easily effected with the
forlorn stranger, who immediately perceived by my com-
rade's blunt, yet courteous manner, that our motive for
it was kindness, rather than curiosity. Nevertheless,
he told us several incidents in his history, which was
of a common place, every day character. That is, he
had been born in oppulence—had succeeded to a large
fortune–ran through it, with all possible despatch—
found that gratitude has no existence, and poverty no
friends in this world—took to drinking, for the sake of
oblivion—was roused to energy by hunger—tried twen-
ty ways of making out the cause, each of them asle-
gitimate as circumstances would permit—and finally
turned strolling player. Misfortune, however, had
abided with him throughout; each new effort was a
new failure; and to brim up his cup of bitterness, he
had a wife and three children, whom he loved with a
very madness of adoration—so only as men thus cir-
cumstanced can lºve; for, in contradiction to a selfish
adage quoted in the foregoing chapter, the family
that is linked to a sympathetic heart by tears, want,
and all the ills which poverty produces, holds a place
in its affections, that finds no parallel in the bosoms of
prosperity and fulness. The rich and happy may love
their children well; but one has to see one’s infant ei-
ther patiently enduring the want of food, while the
worm of decay is feeding ceaselessly on its pallid
cheek—or else imploring with a wondering, half re-
proachful stare, for the crust one cannot give—before
he can feel the deep agony of love of which the hu-
ble. And alas! men are not unfre-
quently put to its test even in our own goodly city;
and alas! and alas! if from such a scene a sufferer
rushes into the street in quest of the cold world's cha-
rity, haply some pampered child of mammon, whom
he addresses, (mistaking the wild fervor of his greedy
eye, or the fever fish of his grim cheek, for the effects
of liquor), may tell him that he is “a drunken impos-
tor!” and shove him aside with scorn!
During his pilgrimage with the strolling players, our
new acquaintancé had picked up a smattering of the
art of “Sleight-of-Hand” which he hoped might one
day be of more account to him than the “legitimate
drama.” His knowledge of it, however, was so imper-
fect, that he had been refused an engagement at the
museums; and he was afraid to make a display of his
skill in the “Black Art,” as it is called, in the small
provincial towns, (where he might have passed for a
marvellously great conjurer) owing to the fact that on
three several occasions he had been put in durance by
certain pious village authorities, on a suspicion of be-
ing in league with the lower regions, and equal to the
task, should necessity require it, of raising the devil
himself. Thus he was reduced to a state of the most
grim and squalid poverty, of which, the act we had re-
cently seen him cºmmit, but which his own proud na-
ture, indignant with itself, subsequently forced him into
a confession of, was the natural result. By good for-
tune, some three weeks previous to our introduction to
him, his family had gone to reside with his wife's pa-
rents, who owned a farm in Connecticut, so that the
physical part of his current sufferings were confined to
himself alone. In the meantime, he had been without
any regular place of abode. Some nights he earned a
watch; in a moment, however, the cloud dispersed,
and all was sunshine and sympathy; for we could see
a tear swelling in the listener's eye, as also that his
handslid quietly into the till. Then there was a little
resistance on the part of the stranger, but an ultimate
acceptance of a proffered meed. And by and by the
poor fellow was back at the adjoining table, supping
heartily-greedily might be the more appropriate
* * alderman's allowance of corned beef and
ale-
“A friend in need is a friend indeed, Phil,” whis-
pered I.
“If the deviliscognizant of the circumstance, Tom,”
answered my Chumº he'll be likely to give mine Host
up as a hard bargain. But whatever his satanic ma-
jesty may do in the premises,” continued Phil, “we
must seek an opportunity of adding a few mites to the
stock of the hapless stranger, if it were only in memory
s
of poor Lavar.”
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- - -
A P A R T M. E. N. T.
collision with a villanously rough two year old paving
Stone.
I had sense enough after my fall to feel devilishly
mortified—a good deal more so than hurt—for I say:
that any further attempt at pursuit was out of the
question; and thus resigning myself to despair for
the present, I permitted my wounds and bruises tº get
the better of me, and to carry me off into a light dream-
like swoon, interrupted by sundry unaccountable
twitches at my loins.
It might have been ten minutes before I resumed
the use of my faculties. When I did so, I found myself
still lying as described; and on of ºmy left eye, I
perceived I was an object of parti. fittention to an
individual who was hovering rຠºs iſ he didn't
mean anything, like a pick-pogºtº a countryman
at a shop window. This was one ºf he oddest look-
He was of no par-
ing customers I ever laid eyes 9n-
ticular size; that is, he was neither short or tall, ſat or
lean; but in everything else he was superlative. For
instance, he had a superlatively flirty fac a superla-
t’vely old coat; and a superlatively bad pair of unwhis-
perables. One foot was adorned with a boot, through
which the five toes, unincumbered with stockings,
peeped forth into day light; and the other was graced
with a shoe, whereof the hind quarter was among the
missing, which left the owner's heel in the full enjoy-
ment of light and liberty. The superlatively bad coat
had been abridged of a skirt and a half, and no small
share of the collar; and, as it contained but one button,
and no button holes, it was fastened in front at the top
with a huge corcor pin, and at the bottom by a small
tarry rope passed round the body. To finish the por-
trait, my new acquaintance had on his head the most
shocking of all shocking bad hats, for not only had half
the rim and a third of the crown retired from service,
but the body was bent down into a series of wrinkles,
the apparent effect of supporting heavy burdens, but
which, as I subsequently observed, had been caused by
its long and º services in the capacity of a
pillow.
This gentleman walked round and round, shrugging
his shoulders, and taking an occasional oblique glance
at myself for some time, when suddenly he came to a
halt, lifted up my hat, which lay within about a foot of
my head, deposited his own miracle of a chapeau in
its place, and began to take himself off in another se.
ries of shrugs, which, by the way, seemed a part of his
mode of locomotion.
“The longer one lives the more one learns,” thought
I, gathering myself up the while on my feet, and seiz-
ing this worthy suttler to the highwayman's camp,
with no slight grasp, by the collar. -
“Now, you scoundrel,” I exclaimed, “I’ll pay you
off for all my sufferings.”
“O' my hyes, here's a rum 'un,” returned my pris-
oner, without the slightest mark of alarm or surprise
visible on his countenance. “My hyes, here's a rum
'un, ven I kalkylated as how you had walked your
chalks—an' hacted accordingly.”
“Walked my chalks?”
“Yes, bossy, cos I always kalkylatesven as how you
finds a man lying on his feet in sich a place as this
here, an’ can’t waken him with a few halfbricks, dropt
gently on the small of his back, that he's a case for the
couple of shillings as supernumerary at one or other of
and ºbed. On ºthers he could find no employment;
and consequently had to go without either. And thus
the viands furnished him so liberally by mine host of
the Shades, was the first food that had passed his lips
in thirty-six hours.
Had O'Hara and myself been easy, sleek-fed fel-
lows, nursed through life in the cradle of happiness,
or on the lap of luxury, so that the nipping blast of
misfortune had never chilled the current of our hearts'
native joyousness, we might have felt no interest in
poor George Baggatt (such was the stranger's nommé de
guerre,) further than would have satisfied itself in the
proffer of a few shillings, to enable him to keep off the
wolf for a day or two longer; as it was, we sympa-
thized with him on strong personal considerations;
the issue of which was, that we invited him home to
our distinguished quarters in Broadway—went security
for one of the cubby-holes in the attic—and otherwise
made him as comfortable as circumstances would per-
mit. Not to claim too much on the score of good na-
ture, it is to be admitted that O'Hara suggested to me
in a whisper, previous to the invitation, that he
thought he could make Baggott’s magical acquire-
ments useful to all of us. But in justice to Phil, I
would add, that I think he did this in order to soften
down my objections to the bringing of the stranger
home with us, in case I should make any on the score
of prudence, rather than in view of deriving any pe.
cuniary advantage from the connection; for notwith-
standing my worthy chum’s propensity to look out for
the main point on general occasions, his was one of
the most gentle, and generous hearts that ever beat
in a human bosom, when excited by the claims of
woe or wretchedness. He was just such a fellow as
would bring all the artillery of his wit and genius
to bear upon the citadel of some reluctant tailor, until
the bone of contention, a new coat, had indemnified
him for raising the siege; but who the next moment
would be ready to throw the reward of his toil over
the naked shoulders of the first fellow-creature he
might find that was much more in want of it than him-
self. * * 3: * 3: *
It requires a man to have all his eyes open in a
large city, for there so many people are every day
thrown upon their wits for the bare crust which
and peculation are likely to throw the most unwary
off their guard by their novelty, and apparent discon-
nection with any of the established methods of vić-
timizing. One evening in those days, I, bright youth
though I prided myself on being, was made the dupe of
a speculation, novel at that time, but now so generally
understood in Gotham, that it is rarely practised un-
less on greenhorns from the country. I was in Green-
wich street, when I observed an acquaintance coming
towards me whom I wished to avoid, and to this
end I turned in among the ruins of a number of
houses lately burned to the ground, and which offered
a devious passage into the next thoroughfare. When
I had performed about half my cross-cut, however, I
was obstructed in a narrow passage, formed by the re-
mains of a low tottering wall, and the gable end of
the next house, by three men—one a stout, muscular
black, and the other two tolerably well dressed white
men—who appeared to be highly excited and interest-
ed about something which caused them all to speak
in loud, half angry voices, and to the following effect-
the dialogue being intended, as I was afterwards aware,
for my own particular ears.
“I’ll swear it aint,” said one of the whites.
“I’ll swear it is, Bill,” said the other white.
“No, dibbel a bit ob him,” said the black.
“I’ll wager you two dollars, Joe," said the first
speaker, “and place the stakes in Bill's hands.”
“Done,” said Joe, “nebber say him twice—but
Iºse not a gwine to trust Bill with de money. He
he he gos as how Bill might be wantin to go
snacks with de winner. He, he, he "
“Honor bright,” said Bill.
“No you don’t,” returned Joe, “for honor's a dib-
bel's sight too bright, now-a-days! But gosh! if
here aint just de ting;-here's a gemman as 'ill hold
de stakes while I prove Zeke to know muffin about
him.” -
I had no disposition to render any service in the pre-
mises; but as the men asked me very civilly, and I
saw nothing to warrant suspicion of any kind, I con-
sented to be stakeholder, the more especially as I was
curious to know what the wager might be about. Ac:
cordingly, Joe deposited a $2 bill in my hand, and
an exchange of hats, is a wery aſ gºatºkine
“So fair," said I, that I am about to express my
thanks for it by taking you off to the watch house.”
“Well, I knows you is,” returned my coloquist, quite
good naturedly, “cos I always remarks ven as how I
thinks I has a first rate chance, that the dream ewano-
rates, an I finds myself a picking of oakum or sich
like, at the watch-us, right off the reel.”
“You are acquainted with the three fellows that
robbed me,” said I.
“No, I isn't: I'm blow'd if I is,” answered my priso-
ner. “But, vos you robb’d reglar up an’ down, or only
spoonied or burned 2*
Thinking he might give me some cue to the depre-
dations, in order to escape confinement; and as he
himself looked so much more like a thief than a bi-
shop, I briefly explained to him the manner in which I
lost my wallet.
“Well, I'm blowed,” he replied, when he heard me
out, “if that wasn't a first rate job of burning, as they
calls that ere new invention for a coming of it over the
spoonies. But I don't know who they vos as done it,
bossy, no how ; 'cos it ain't in my line, as I never
fights or runs.”
“Well,” said I, “you may go about your business
this time, but if you hear any thing further of these
fellows, and bring me word of it, I will amply re-
ward you ; saying which, I gave him my name and
number, and left him to his cogitations, and the reco-
very of his shocking bad hat.
* º: º: * º: - -
The next evening–Time, 10 o'clock-Tom, solus.
“C, Tom Stapleton, thou art a bright youth–an in-
continently nice young man for a small tea party; and
ought, by all means, to make a pilgrimage to some ro-
mantic peak that overhangs the sea, and throw anim-
mortal somerset into eternity. Spirit of vexation,
here's an invitation to tea at Livingston's, and my face
tatooed all over like a New Zealander's, to say nothing
of an eye fancifully mosaiaced in red, and deeply im-
bedded in a frame of ebony. And then my wallet –
forty-eight dollars 1–three receipted accounts, for the
show of the thing —a score or upwards of pawnbrok-
er's tickets!—a little museum of love-locks, clipped
from some of the fairest heads in Christendom and
sundry letters of introduction The devil take all high-
waymen and burners, say I. And yet, Master Tom,
you may be drawing down imprecations on your own
calf's head, for the way thou art endeavoring to come it
over the gentle Lucy, smacks, to say the least of it, as
strongly of either, as of truth or honesty : Demon of
empty pockets fly away with you, conscience, for
you're a devil of a pest in any needy man's bosom; espe-
cially and he chin-deep in love, and an heiress in wait-
ing!—Hem if she don’t marry me, I'll be green-eyed
for life! And, hem! if she does, I'll be getting her into
a confounded scrape, and multiplying Jeremy Diddlers,
unless the older branches come the last act of a come-
dy, and receive us into their good graces, and the run
of the kitchen I Fee fau fum, I smell the blood of a
blue devil; so here's at him with a glass of John
Duncan's sherry, which is equal to the ejectment of the
whole possee. What's this Phil says of it, to the air of
“One Bumper at Parting *
When my spirits with sorrow are sunken,
And all other methods are vain,
A glass of thy sherry, John Duncan,
Restores them to glory again;
o, here there is none of your water,
Or mixture with poison so riſe,
But the grapes reeking red from the slaughter
The very elixir of life!
O, John, you’re as canny a Scot boy
As ever came over the salt;
Your wines, they are all “touch me not,” boy,
And nothing can vie with your malt.
A genius they’d make of a ninny;
So I'll give you a toast that is just:
May you ne'er want a friend and a guinea,
Or a bottle—to sell upon trustſ
* Bravo, Tom, between Duncan's sherry and O’Ha-
ra's rhapsody, you have fairly given that blue gentle-
man his walking ticket. Hip hip ! hurra! I'm glad
I’m so much under the weather, as the manner I
whistle dull care out of my cubby seemingly proves to
me that the gloomy old rascal will never eke out a
supper by gnawing at my bones. Phil has another
measure of doggrel that's relevant to the subject,
which he occasionally, when he's about half seas over,
Zeke made a demonstration as if to do the same,
when he discovered that he hadn't less than a five in
his possession. -
“We can get it changed if the bet goes again me.”
said Zeke.
“No,” answered Joe, “I won't hab nuffin to do with
no sich after claps. Bill dar can change him in no
time.”
“Well, have it your own way,” returned Zeke pet-
tishly; and handing the bill to his white companion,
he observed: “ This here is a Chemical, so mind that
you don't take anything but city money.”
Thus admonished, Bill made a few rapid paces in
the direction of Washington street, but suddenly
turned and remarked, “Maybe the gentleman could
change it and save time.” - -
* I believe I can,” said I, carelessly producing my
wallet and opening the clasp; but scarcely had I done
so, when, quick as a lightning flash, the black fellow
snatched it out of my hand and fled one way; at the
same instant that Zeke tripped up my heels and made
tracks the other. -
Springing to my feet with all possible celerity I
threw myself in desperate chase of my friend Joe, and
would I think have caught him with but little exer-
tion as at the time I could run like a grey hound, but
alas! before I made ten, paces, I had to become in my
own proper person an illustration of the old adage,
that ºf the more the haste the less the speed;" for not
caring to pick my road, I trod on some loose bricks
which gave way under me, and threw me in a most
awkward position imaginable, for a gentleman that
should have been hot foot after a scoundrel who had
just relieved him of his pocket-book—namely, spraw:
ſing on all fours, with my head downwards, describing
an angle of about fifty degrees, and my right eye, as
thunders out to the air of the Highland Laddie. Let's
see, here's a verse:-
I'm a very merry fellow,
Take me out and out,
Ay, and fond of getting mellow,
'Tis beyond a doubt,
Dull care I can smother too.
With all my ease,
And fight, or sing-ºanything
The girls to please!
And up jumped the reader's humble servant, and
began to go through the figures of the Highland Reel.
with an energy that might have astonished a Glasgow
viper. Now, my shaving mirror, standing over a
bureau at the end of the room opposite the door,
I figured towards it, to see how I came the flourishes
under the influence of a black eye and other trifles to
match, and got into such an ecstacy at my appearance,
that I shouted again, and so continued, until some cu-
rious demonstration in the rear startled me; and faith,
if the sound startled me, the sight I experienced on
turning round, almost sent me after my head out of
the window; for there, between me and the door, was
the oddest figure in all creation, footing it away for
the bare life, at the Highland Reel:
“For the moiety of a second I thought I had raised
a spirit; but before the second was out, I perceived
that my ragged acquaintance of the preceding day was
one with the intruder.
“Ha!—why—what the devil! it's you, is it,” said I,
not a little surprised at the fellow's impudence, and
yet ready to burst with laughter at the marvellously
ludicrous figure he cut.”
“Yes, bossy, it's I; but keep it up, for it goes fust
rate–Whoop!” And away he went at the figure of
|*i; happens in such cases, in most disagreeable
-
eight.
--























































































“Now," said I, when my visitor had finished his
flourish, “let me hear what news you have brought
about those highwaymen.” - º - --- - - - -
“Maaning those erecovies vot hook'd your vallet?” || ||iº º º |||| |A|| º --- |º
returned he of the motley garment. º --------- |||| |\!\!\!\!\!ºll|| - º
“Of course,” said I, “who else?” º
“Well, then, bossy,” he answered, “fect is, if it's
themere covies you're a hazin’ for, I can't tell, being
as how I don’t know nothing about them.”
“What the devil brings you here, then º'
“My heyes yota question! Vy, the hample revard
you promised for keeping a bright look out.”
“Clear out,” said I, waxing angry, “ or I'll kick you
down stairs.
“Well, then, bossy,” returned my guest, in a perfect
tone of gºod humor, and without any trace of anger or
irony on his countenance, “kick away in velcome, for --- ºfeſſº º - |||ſiºn ºn º
as Ihaint got no browns to wake the people up, an as sis - | = º! |º || ||º-ºº:
the weather's a days’ journey below every thing, I’m s --- - - Fºllº - s |\|| -
blow'd if a fustrate kicking wouldn't be a wery walua-
ble harticle tº
“What reward did you expect from me?” said I
somewhat taken by the fellow's philosophy. y
“Three cents for a hinsider at the Hall,” he return-
ed, “an may be two for a go down, if you vos any
- ===s . º ---
S.
º -
º
ſīlū
|
- º
| º
|§-
N
s-
§§
".º t,” I inquired N | Nº.
101 win a 110111 it . - - º N NNNº. º
and a go down ºf q. , “is an insider at the hall, - N | Nº. º º
“A hinsider at the hall,” he answered, “is bed, fire, N N | º º
an' the run of the room, at Clooney's in Washington s S. º! º
º
street, at night; an' a go down is a glass of his fust
chop; cos that as he sells for a penny we calls his
belly wengeance.”
“You are speaking about the celebrated Loafers'
Hall in Washington street now,” said I.
“Well, I knows I is,” answered my visitor, “and a
fust-rate hall it is, too; beds fust-rate—fire fust-rate—
lush fust-rate—and every thing fust-rate, but the way
as they has of making fellers pay for them.”
I was suddenly smitten with a curiosity to see this
celebrated loafers' Paradise, which I had often heard
of, and it struck me I might never have a better oppor-
tunity than the present, when my black eye and bruised
countenance might be taken as a species of passport, - - Hºº H -
not to º º of the shocking bad hat, by - - - Fº - *=s -
way of body-guard and cicerone. Besides, I had an - - - -------
idea that by going I might find the fellows who robbed EXAMINATION OF SHAKSPEARE FOR POACHING, BEFORE SIR THOMAS LUCY
me, or some cue to them; and again, in consequence
of the state of nervous excitement I was in, owing to
my inability to visit the Livingstons,as per invitation—
I was unable to read or sleep, and therefore ripe and
ready for any adventure, not involving an appearance
in respectable company, which promised a fair pros-
pect of killing time pleasantly.
I suggested my views on the subject to my loafer ac-
quaintance, who strongly approved of them, and de-
clared that if “I’vent a himsider at the Hall vonce, I’d
continue to go as a hinsider at it again, every might as
long as I might be left in this vicked world, and could
raise the ready.”
Therefore, equipping myself in a regular Robert
Macaire uniform of threadbare and patches, kept apart
for “larks” in general, and finishing off with my friend
Phillips' slouched hat and old camlet cloak, spoken of
elsewhere, I placed myself under the surveillance of
my new acquaintance, and set off for Loafer's Hall.
“My name,” said my companion, on his way down,
tº is Bill Childs, but they calls me the Babe in the Wood
for shortness. Wot's yourn for the row 3"
“John Smith.” -
* Vot?”
* John Smith.”
“Well, it’s a har º as all our John Smiths—and
we has sixteen oneº- eft their reglar handles up at
the Hisland, and has been afeard to use 'em ever since.
But never mind, it's a ºstrate man's case to go to the
Hisland; and I'm lowed, if it wasn't for the stone-
breaking, if I woulſº as lieve be there as any were
alse.” -
subsequent to this dialogue, we moved on in silence,
until we arrived * what had the appearance of being a
small public house in Washington street. Behind the
bar stood a stout, ruffianly looking man, and a stout,
- suffianly looking woman, who appeared to be the most
masculine brute of the two. The Babe in the Wood
having whispered something in the female's ear, the
gentle creature threw a full searching glance at my
humble self; but feeling assured by the ornamental
state of my soul's index that all was right, her face re-
laxed into something like an expression of satisfaction,
and she held out her hand.
“Poney over, there's no tick here, chum,” said the
Babe, with a wink, addressed between me and mine
hostess. -
* Tick be d-d, and all that take it!” retorted
that gentle creature, “for we're too old in the horn to
stand any such like gum games now-a-days.”
ºvy, in coorse you is, for it's human natur,” said
the Bäbe, “an' I know of novumman as has half so
º
i.
S.
-
s:
º
MADEMOI's ELLE RACHEL. trayed into such extravagances by their admiration, as to
The above is a representation of the celebrated French afford fine field for the French caricaturists.
1. tragic actress, RACHEL, in the character of Mary, Queen Rachel is of Jewish extraction, and of very humble birth ºr-
of Scots. Not only has this actress created a great sensa. but a woman not only of mere physical beauties and ... ſº -
tion in Paris, but her reputation has procured her a London lencies, but of extraordinary intellectual powers. She is ---
- - - - - -
º engagement, during which the habitual phlegm of John more striking and majestie than elegant; and compels the IKING, JPIHILIP3 Olº, MIETA (COMIET, -
Bull was so far thrown aside, and th - mirati -
e Londoners were be admiration of her audiences. THE ABORIGINES. Alas! for them—their day is o'er,
- - - T - Their fires are out from hill and shore;
- - ExTRACTS FROM AN 0DE, - No more for them the wild deer bounds;
- - - BY c HARLEs SPRAGUE. "... The plough is on their hunting grounds;
The pale man's axe rings through their woods,
The pale man's sail skims o'er their floods,
Their pleasant springs are dry;
|
ºffl =
* = ºr
We call them savage-oh be just!
Their outraged feelings scan;
A voice comes forth, 'tis from the dust-
The savage was a man!
Think ye he loved not Who stood by,
And in his toils took part?
woman was there to bless his eye–
The savage had a heart!
Think ye prayed not When on high
He heard the thunders roll,
Who bade him look beyond the sky?
The savage had a soul!
* # # * - -
Their children—look, by power oppressed,
Beyond the mountains of the West,
Their children go—to die.
Oh doubly lost oblivions shadows close
Around their triumphs and their woes.
On other realms, whose sums have set,
d
Reflected radiance lingers yet;
There sage and bard have shed a light
That never shall go down in might;
There time-crowned columns stand on high,
To tell of them who cannot die;
Even we, who then were nothing, kneel
In homage there, and join earth's general peal.
But the doomed Indian leaves behind no trace,
To save his own, or serve another race;
With his frail breath, his power has passed away,
His deeds, his thoughts, are buried with his clay :
Nor lofty pile, nor glowing page
Shall link him to a future age,
Or give him with the past a rank;
His heraldry is but a broken bow,
His history but a tale of wrong and woe,
His very name must be a blank.
We bow to Heaven's recorded laws,
He turned to Nature for a creed ;
Beneath the pillared dome,
We seek our God in prayer;
Through boundless woods he loved to roam,
And the Great Spirit worshipped there.
But one, one fellow-throb with us he felt;
To one divinity with us he knelt;
Freedom, the self same freedom we adore,
Bade him defend his violated shore.
He saw the cloud ordained to grow,
And burst upon his hills in woe:
He saw his people withering by,
Beneath the invaders evil eye;
-
º
- SN/
NºNS
- º
- sº - -
- NSNS
Sº -
- NS ~ . º
Nº |
-
º human º º buzzom º,º ºn - Strange feet were trampling on his father's bones; Cold, with the beast he slew, he sleeps;
grim Smile was e answer, W lic grew ratner At midnight hour he woke to gaze - - - - - -
softer, as I handed out my two shilling piece, and re- SCENE AT A NEGRO HUT IN VIRGINIA. U .." cabin’s blaze gaZ - N O'er ". filial .." -
quested that two “insiders” and a couple of “go Pº PPY!" dren” º ºwns throng around, nº anthem notes ascend,
downs” should be taken out of it. In a little log house in ole Wurgimmy - | "Twas on de nineteenth ob October - Dese noisy blacks surround de dwellin - - And listen to "" .d renº dy". "..." To bless his coming and embalm his end;
- - - - - -- - - - - - **** | - - - - º tºt - - - - > -
The liq . was º º Into lºgºudly looking Sum niggas lib dat cum from Guinny, Wen de Juba dance was ober, - While de news one nigga got a tellin, THE SMOKERS He sº ºn." ". e sight, Even that he lived is for his conqueror's tongue;
tumblers, holding, I should say, as much as two wine Dere massas flog 'em berry little- Dey heard a great noise dat sound like tunder De rest obºem grin to hear old Quashy - - - Gave his bold bosom to the fight; By foes alone his death song must be sung ;
glasses, but was of so fiery a nature that it almost blis- But gib 'em plenty work and wittle; Which make de niggas stare am wonder: Menshun the name ob General Washy. | To sing the praises of that glorious weed, Hail, sole cosmopolite –Tobacco, hail : To tiger-rage his soul was driven; No chronicles but their’s shall tell
tered my lip when I tasted it: hence I slyly emptied t Ole massa Jim real cleber body, Now, Cesar says, he lay a dolla, He says dat day in York Hollor, |Dear tº mankind, whate'er his race, his creed, Shag, long-cut, short-cut, pig-tail, º º: roll Mercy was not—nor sought nor given; His mournful doom to future times :
on the floor; but the Babe holding back his head, let it Ebery day he gib dem toddy, pe debil in de corn, for he heard him holler, Massa George cotch ole Cornwaller; | Condition, color, dwelling, or degree, Dark Negro-head, or Oronoko pale; - - The pale man from his lands must fly; May th his vi dwel º
trickle down his throat, as if it were so much of the An wen de sun fall in deriber, But Cuffe say, now cum see, Anseben thousand corn off shell him, |From Zembla's snows, to parched Arabia's sand s -- In every form congenial to the soul p - "y; ºy thºse "Pºº Virtue. wº l,
Nectar of Wodin; and then licked his lips, and threw a Dey stop de work—an rest de liber. Ibliebe it morn, nottin but a possum up a gum tree. Left him notin more dan a cob for to tell him. Loved by all lips, and common to all hands ! Tobacco, hail! He would be free—or he would die. And, in his fate, forget his crimes;
mournful glance at the decanter, as though he should - Chah! chah! dat de way, Chah chah &c. Chah chah &c. - - - - --- - - --- -- -- -
say—“It’s a pity to divide us, and we agreeing so beau- De niggas spend denite an day. D - and open de winda He say den arter all dis fusion - .
i .” - en one nigga run O - - * º
º fli X: º.. º: At mite dey gadder round de fire, De moon rush in like fire on a tinda ; - | Dat was de end ob de rebolushūn; - G O D I S L O V E ! A. C H R | S T M A. S H Y M N 2
d h bb º his h * 2 ” h gl the high To take ob things wot hab perspire- De nois sound plainer, de niggas got friten, An next day all round dat quarter, - -
per * º º º º 11 is hands With glee, Was the nig De ashes on der tater toss 'em, Dey tink 'twas a mixture of tunder and litemen; Dey gwanin for to keep him as dey ort to, SOLO AND TRIO – WRITTEN BY MISS PERRY-THE AIR BY MISS LEE-ARRANGED AND HARMONIZED BY RICHARD B, TAYLOR.
road to Loafer s all- Parch de corn, an roast de possum. Some great brack mob cum gross de medder, Andat dere massas specially sayden - ºbs. E.A.L." FººDOSO sº
To be continued in future numbers of the Brother Jonathan. An arter dat de niggas splutter, Dey kind a roll demselves togedder, De nigg mouthab hollowday den- º NTEAF F2TUQSQ. - *Hºs 2- º *-
An hop an dance de chicken flutter; But soon dey journ dis exhalation, - Andey mout hab rum all day to be quaffin, 2 : E → Tº --- -- -- . - Nº. fº-g *g º | - # ºl- T
--- Dey happy den, an hab nobodder, was notin more dan de niggas from anoder plantation: All de niggas den buss right out-alaffin. –9 - Hº- -> - º - * Hºº-º-º: "ºf H -
Dey snug as rat in a stack-a-fodder. | Chah chah &c. Chah! chah &c. º º - - s º Q-7 * * TI º– Tº
_ Chah chahºº &c. - - 1. – When lost in guilt we went astrary. Nor Grace nor ºtope in us was found, Lo:
2.—"Though guilt of -fetºds his pu - rer eyes, Cons-Pas- sion quells his ho ly º, e
| 2- -- 2- gº e 3.—Bright Star of Hope: *er sin-mers rise, And º wasadºring foot steps ora, To
º: ***e s sº º * . –º º* sº e” º º
(º ** Hºº Hº Hº H. H. E. E.H. H. H.
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º *—º s—º ––– º – 8 J-Lº ſº & Lºſ LII - [º * F. -
| still and gºodſ his vengeabace stay, lºor his did lºſer – cy still a > bosºnd. Hºſear: º, hear º sound favouan *eav'n, Ann - gels ... in
º º seasis ºur rash-soºn frontº the skies, To save from ev. - er – Hast-ing death. Sºad oia, soºst his manºe a broad, º, et his praise onr
º | - ſitua gºat all - ex - cel - ſing prize, The wond’rous gift, God’s on - Hy son ºn º,.” - gains our voice we’ll raise, To Fa – ther, son, and
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º aſ - - sº-º-º-º-º: *—wº—Pi—
º -
| - - - - -
- ning The eighth wonder of the world remains yet to be seen- - - - - Busso
º º a man of Ethiop descent, who can neither sing, dance, - -- - - - _ * H s º _º_a__
º º || whistle, play upon the banjo, or draw music out of a fiddle. - - º–H - * ----
º º |||Our friend above is not that eighth wonder, for he can do - -- I º º º e |-
| eithe ºr all-and grow fat upon them, ºf º | ºTº”
§ º - - - - *s - tº - - - t
sº - | \º º | - - ºs Iºs iſ
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THE SIGNAL.
The extent to which smuggling is carried upon the Medi-
terranean coast of Spain almost defies the belief of those º | | ||
who have not visited the country. Gibraltar is the grand la –º-Hø | | || . le º i-º-e
depot for goods intended to be forced into Spain, duty free ; - * * | -- - III | | ||
is - º
and the activity of the contrabandists, their hardy endu-
rance, and fierce courage make them dangerous antagonists
for the revenue guards. The little picturesque sketch which
we here publish, represents a couple of the adventurous Nº. --- ºffl - - - - - - º 2- . .
contemmers of the revenue laws, making signals to their |||ſºil - ſº Hºº - ºffl ==== º Tº Tº º Tº –
comrades in the offing. g Sig - - º - - - => -ºº: º, #. º º T º Hºe Is - - ºf: |*|S
- () — sº, º aſ * Esº-º-º-Fº
º/ S-7 ºn Tº º º Tºsſ TS-T." -
- - = sºngs ºn - bove ; Pledge of Peace, to mara is giv'n, From on high, for God is Hove; From on high, for God is ſlowe.
wº- - vºi ees ºne ye; Huet na - thous join in sweet ac - cord, Proclaim -ing loud, that God is Love; Proclaim - in loud that º- - -
º \ N - VIEW IN BROADWAY. - Håø – ty. Hºove, And join with aim - gels still to Praise This bless - ed proof, that God is II, ove This ºnless - ..". that º i. *...
\ - - - ... . . . - - - - - --- - - * - s -d - - -
* , ºs The above view in Broadway will at once be recognized and offices over a mile above the Park, and privatº,” |*, * spoken in the tout ensemble-honest industryºnd º -º-º: T | º- - -
غ º - by all who have ever visited the city. º may deem dences are stretching up the island of Manhattan, till su. proud independence—all, would-be patrician, honest We th, º # 5 TT, ºr º º º |- Tº ºffs +s. Es is Dº SI s s º º s H s = SITT
ſ *—º the picture of one of our city scenes not a little exaggerated burban village after village has been swallowed, and, as honest poverty, honest competence, and the counterfeits of SP ºr & ). e |- T CI& sº s—a lºg s –3 ==
Ø % º but no true Knickerbocker by birth or adoption will ac- || Cruickshank said of London, New York is, “ going out of all, huddle in Broadway-Broadway, where “all men º © g| -º- 2 & e- - s -
( º j). knowledge any such thing. That the Park and streets ad- town.” The public vehicles of which we have spoken, far mºtº" - - - . - - - 2- - º-
\ --- *ſº2% jacent always look so pleasant is not pretended; but there |yor the emigration; and the rail road, which comes from | Not less remarkable is the foot pave. Mincing fashion, Tº Tº - º: N –s# - ~ * *
- º º º are times, in the bright cheerfulness and clear skies of a Harlem, down the other great avenues, the Bowery and and its second rate imitations—frank independence, anº its Gº º #. º º TºT TÉ | --> º º Tº -
- º ºse Spring or early Summer day, when the pencil of the artist Centre-street, adds its impºrtant assistanº counterfeit, “New York Assurance”-win wealth—he * †, La Hº-tº-º-Hi I tº- La º E - =1.
Sº / /2 could by no possibility exaggerate the beauties of this scene. The carriage of the old Knickerbocker, plain in its modes: modest milieu-and squalid poverty-virtue: mediºrity, - FT ºr | ºr a * . . - -
|U …?" % Broadway is the avenue of this continent, and always wealth; the guady turn-out of the Pºº. it crime, folly, vice, nothing and everything, fººt and fancy, MASTER HUMPHREY. º º
(? % % l, must be. Crowded with vehicles, all classes in society, all would seem, to plate his conveyance with the wealth which romance and reality-genuineness and pretension, ºstle º T-
-- % degrees of wealth, all professions and callings are daily re-in his own eyes and that of the world, constitutes his sole each other 111 the thronged walk. The living cosmore *T It is to be hoped that we shall one day hear more of this o 'º º e -e- Nº. - - as ºr
A presented. Hundreds of public vehicles come first in the merit; the adventurer, or other beggar who emulates the presenting a variety of curiosities, indigenous and e. pº, * Master Humphrey.” Boz's identification of him with the ºf º Tºs ºſ T | T- o |- ºss º
- %% order of frequency and usefulness. Time was and not parventſ, and borrows the symbol of the wealth he has not; foreign and domestie, is a study for whoever would read the brother of old Trent, in the Old Curiosity Shop, was not º | * º s: H- - º-Hº-Hº- e. 5. – |-
Nº long since, when this spot was deemed the upper limit of the industrious wagons of the tradesmen—the well-fed great page ºf human ºatuº with its artificial and ºlden- the heatest piece of joiner-work ever done by Mr. Dickens- ºff tº tº ºr IºII &I ºf *#º-Hºº-º-Hº- *Hé–a. Tº ----
se? the city. Now even business men have carried their stands | sleek horses of the carmen, drawing vehicles whose coat of talemendations and alterations. for there is a disparity between the characters of the twº, as ºf § 9 : - º | º Q- 3. º º º-3- º -
| | presented in their different positions, which cannot well be p º | zº- Ad lib f
a reconciled, Master Humphrey in the clock was altogether -- - -
| a more interesting character than the single gentleman who ) TT - Hºe º *
- lodged in Sampson Brass's chambers. Other personages (º: º #º º º FT I *–Eo-º º -
| | too, were there in that club of whom we should like to hear *: la H-9-e-H ! º [T *—L ºf s— |-
--- more—so cosey do they look in the engravings. IT * ſ - | | | | || sº-º-H -- º º º IT
I - -º-
-
- - - - - - -
- - -
THE GLADIATOR.
The combat.
A quivering stillness hangs
Over the thousands, who await the fray
With eyes electric as the ether fires,
Lips sealed by passion, hearts, like lava, still
In their interest raptureſ Bickering swords
Clash quickly, yet, with matchless skill, each blow
or thrust falls on the flashing steel; and long
with fixed eyes dropping not these folded lids,
And marble lips, and brows whereon the veins
burn like the stormbolts o'er ice pinnacles,
And heaving bosom, naked in their strength,
And limbs in every attitude of grace
And power—they struggle, not in hope of fame,
To win dominion, or achieve revenge;
But by their toil and agony and blood
To amuse the languid masters of the world.
- * º: - º: º: * - º
An erring glance—and o'er a prostrate form
of beauty stands the unrejoicing foe,
Sternly receiving from the merciless -
The still command to slay! and now he liſts
His serried sabre, purpled to the hilt
with that heart's blood he might have deeply loved;
one groan—a gasp-a shudder—and a soul
Hath gone. - º º: º
while over the sands they drag the dead and strew
The place of combat with uncrimsoned dust,
Mirth reigns and voices mingle every where,
Lauding the skill of the barbarians' strife,
The picturesque agony—the lºngering gasp-
And awful struggle of the dying slave.
Sumner Lincoln FAIRFIELD.
Murºper sy. Railroad.-Nobody who has read Cooper’s
best novel, the Pioneers, can have forgotten the murderous
propensities of the factotum of the village, who discharged
a swivel into the flocks of pigeons. Such a prostitution of
artillery to bird-killing seemed bad enough, but something
even more opposed to the true spirit of sport is mentioned
in the daily gazettes. People are recommended to go deer-
shooting on the Long Island Railway. The road as now
opened leads into the great forest of nearly 40 miles in ex
sent, and the deer are most abundant there. Thirteen were - --- r º
º last week, by a party of sportsmen. Two noble bucks THE - BOSTON TEA PARTY,
came on to the track a few days since, stared at the work- - - - held . ld not déteet the auth f the ischief -
- - - - - - - re held to the authorities could nº ect the authors Q. * - - - - - - - - -
men and vanished. We do not blame them for their aston . Among the events º º * º º: - º º º at the time; but when the British rule was openly ſhown BOSTON COMMON. the Bostonians call the “ Common," nor is it like the Parks the centre ºf the Common, or near the centre, is an elm of land its aged limbs are strengthened and braced with iron
ishment; but if our deer-killing sportsmen are to be carried tilities in 1775, Was the º is poston . . º t Resolutions, &c., would not have availed much; but the ex- off, they came forward, as claimants of welcome hºnor In this day's sheet we have given a view of the Park in in this city a level expanse. It is pleasantly undulating º forest grºwth, natural to the spot, and no emigrant, of which stays. Many a legend is connected with that tree, and its
- -º-º: count of the imposition 9 uties deemed by the colonists an ------ - º from their countrymen. The last survivor of the “Tea our own city. A view of Boston Common is not an unap- its surface, and tastefully laid out in walks, shaded with extraordinary care is taken by the city government. It is foot has been the “trysting place” for lovers of more th
down to the sporting ground by railroad, we fear that few nº ºf their rights, public meetings of the citizens of jertions of a large body ºf disguised citizens did. Habited
- - - - - - - - as indi - ships, and
- to he astonished, in a couple of years. ºld, it which were passed a series of non- and painted as Indians, they went on board the sº:
deer will be left to he º y º were pºsed when in December, threw all the tº intº the water. The atmost vigilance ºf
enclosed with a paling to prevent the possibility of injury one generation,
of private buildings whatever within the enclosure which Common, are the oldest, and, of course, the heaviest; but in
Party,’” Robert Twelves Hughes, died a few years ". propriate companion for that picture. There are no public trees. The trees in the “Mall” or walk which bounds the
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