POETRY. THE MILFORD BARD. We regret to learn from the following lines, of the Baltimore Transcript, that our old and highly esteemed riend, the "Milford Bard," has again fallen into bad abits, and became a voluntary inmate of the Baltimore ail, in order to cure himself of his intemperate habits contracted, as he says, by a complaint of the heart in ther days. No poet of this or any other age has deicted in stronger or more glowing colors the thousand vils that are to be found in the wine cup-no one, peraps, has more frequently and sensibly felt the poisonous fangs of the "worm of the still," than the "Milford Bard." The most powerful appeals to shun the dangers hat lie hidden in the bowl, that we have ever read, were rom his pen-and yet, he that has sung so sweetly, and vritten so powerfully against this most dangerous enemy o mankind; and has drunk bitters to the very dregs, is till the slave to the demon of dissipation. We pity him, rom the bottom our soul, we pity him. He is a man of he finest talent, and but for this single fault, might adorn, nd become one of the most useful members of society; et, the monster has long since so fastened his fangs upn him, that he is a burthen to himself, and source of rief and pain to his friends. Well do we remember having a few years since, visied the bard, in his "garret" at Milford. In one corner f the room was his couch, on which he was lying, with scorching fever upon him, brought on by a too free indulence in spirituous liquor. Shelves were erected around he walls, which, from the ceiling to the floor were coered with books that had been presented to him by his umerous friends, and newspapers, most of which were ur own, containing articles from his pen. A number f beautiful old paintings from his own pencil were hang'ng around; and on a chair beside his bed, were several musical instruments on which he occasionally amused himself, when not engaged in his studies. Among other things we noticed a bust of himself, prepared by his own hands, and an astronomical instrument of his own construction, composed of a great number of brass and woodon cog wheel and other machinery made with a simple enknife, and on which he had spent many a toilsome our, in endeavoring to explain the regular motions of the planets, around the earth. All of these, however, vere but partially finished; and whether or not they were ver completed, we have never learned. A number of is poetical effusions were likewise scattered about in diferent parts of the room. And here, in this lonely rereat, for it was but seldom he admitted any one into his tudy, he appeared cheerful and happy; at least as hapy as could be expected of one in his situation. He is now in a land of strangers; and although he as voluntary become an inmate of a lonesome prison, le cannot find that repose which he experienced in his onesome garret at Milford; and we trust that measures e speedily taken to procure his return to his friends and ome, where he will be more likely to find a balm to his roken spirits, than can be expected in the situation in hich he is now, we fear, unfortunately placed. The following are the lines above alluded to, which is e first intimation we have had of the Bard's unpleasant uation. WHOLESOME ADVICE. The "Milford Bard" has gone to jail, (I state the fact in metre) Because he freely quaff'd his ale, That bars are used to check him Whose fiery streams are blasting; Think of the song the poet sung, And shun thirst everlasting. The glass dash from your fevered lips, By swigging Cogniac brandy. With fortitude endure it, The world but laughs at love-sick wo,` And liquor will not cure it. A SUNSET SHOWER. Original. Delaware Gazette. It was mid-summer; and the sultry sun To wait the sun's decline. There was no sound With fear. The wildly wailing winds sent forth Nay more, their forms we seemed to see, winging That he no more would whelm the world and man Low sank the brilliant sun, But still that bow remained unchanged and bright, A radiant screen, concealing from our view ADIEU. An adieu should in utterance die Molly Pitcher. IDA At the commencement of the battle of Monmouth this intrepid woman contributed her aid by carrying water from a spring to a battery where her husband was employed as cannonier, in loading and firing a gun. At length he was shot dead in her presence, just as she was leaving the spring, whereupon she flew to the spot, where she found her husband lifeless, and at that moment heard an officer, who rode up, order off the gun, " for the want of a man sufficiently dauntless to supply his place." Indignant at this order, and stung by the remark, she promptly opposed it-demanded the post of her slain husband, to avenge his death, flew to the gun, and to the admiration and astonishment of all who saw her, assumed and ably discharged the duties of the vacated post 5 cannonier, to the end of the battle. For this sterling demonstration of genuine spirit, Washington gave her adieutenant's commission upon the spot, which Congress afterwards ratified, and granted her a sword, and an eapulette, and half pay, as a lieutenant for life! She wore the epaulette, received the pay and was called "Capt. Molly" ever afterwards. N. B. Times. THE BEST PARTIES.-At a tea party celebration of the 8th of January, at Cambridge, Ohio, a Miss Sarah P. Metcalf gave the following toast," Parties in the United States-the best of all parties are wedding parties." CAUSE AND EFFECT.—It has been said that lawyers without causes are sure to die without effects. SNUFF TAKING.-Col. Stone says he is satisfied the nose was never intended for snuff taking, else it would have been put on the other side up. THE RICHMOND COUNTY MIRROR: A WEEKLY PÅPER PRINTED ON STATEN İSLAND, DEVOTED TO SCIENCE, LITERATURE, & NEWS. THREE DOLLARS PER ANNUM. SELECT TALES. From the Binghampton Courier. THE TRIUMPH OF INNOCENCE. A NOUVELLETTE-IN FIFTEEN CHAPTERS. (Concluded from page 96.) CHAPTER X. The day of trial came. The Court was assembled, and the house thronged with auditors of the scenes yet to open. Montrose was led in by the officers. His manly step faltered not-his eye beamed still its wonted flashes—and his handsome but pale countenance spoke resignation and confidence. The tear drop glistened in many a pitying eye as it gazed upon the prisoner, while the heart recoiled from his alleged guilt. There he sat within the bar! No one sat near him (friends! they had fled as adversity came!) no one sat near him but his faithful and talented friend and counsel, Wilson Law rence. Yes there was another. Frances-his loved one-and the daughter of him for whose murder he was to answer, was there. Nothing of circumstances could shake her belief in his innocence. Had she not known | intimacy which ripened into friendship, and an engagement of marriage with the daughter? Had not the prisoner, with a daring nobleness, rescued the treasure and the deceased, testified to his springing up from his pillow The testimony for the prosecution closed-and Wilson Lawrence recalled Belinda, by whom he proved that Montrose had communicated his intention of going to New England on the morning alluded to, to Mr. Cuthbert, and that it was in consequence of letters which he had received from abroad. She further stated that there had always been the greatest friendship existing between the prisoner and the deceased-that he was a constant visitor at the house-and was engaged in marriage to Frances, the daughter of the deceased--that she had of ten heard Mr. Cuthbert speak of the prisoner in the highest terms of praise and affection-and in concluson, she related the noble and daring act of Montrose in rescuing Frances from a watery grave, and also of his shielding the deceased from the recent attempt at robbery. The letters of his mother and the Solicitor to Montrose were produced and the testimony ended. CHAPTER XI. Wilson Lawrence rose to address the jury, and sihim—and as possessing a heart good and virtuous? was lence reigned throughout the vast assembly. The adnot all hoble, brave and generous that she had seen of vocate of Montrose was a talented, profound and eloMontrose? Had he not been the preserver of her life and the friend of her father? Could he be the murder-quent young lawyer. He was not one of those who er of that parent? Thus reasoned this sensible girl-trum, and belching forth mere words; nor was his suchad won a mushroom reputation by mounting every rosand she now sat by his side amid the cold and frowning glances of those assembled. And this is woman's affection. Misfortune's ruthless bolt may strike its timeworn trunk, and bend its gentle boughs, aye, even to the dust—but yet, amid the peltings of the storm, 'twill raise its gentle head, and smile among its tears! The Jury was empanelled, and the prosecuting Attor ney moved on the trial. Montrose plead "not guilty" to the indictment, and the people's counsel proceeded to call the witnesses. The first who took the stand were the two farmers who testified to their meeting the prisoner and deceased near the gate at the end of the lawn, at about twelve o'clock on the night preceding the morning that Mr. Cuthbert was found by Belinda. The witnesses stated that they were walking arm in arm apparently in friendly conversation that there was nothing unusual in the occurrence except the lateness of the hour. Belinda was next called to the stand, and testified as to her finding the deceased, bleeding, and apparly dead, near the place described by the farmers. The sheriff produced the check of three thousand dollars, and the five hundred dollars in bills, which he had taken from the prisoner's portmanteau, which were recognized by Judge Walton and Mr. Wirt, as being the same which the deceased had obtained from them the day before the murder. He also produced the dagger, bearing the name of Montrose, and a gold watch that he had taken from the prisoner at the time of his cap cess attributable to the bull-dog propensities for which so many "sprigs of the law" are formed; nor had he won laurels or money by a connexion with any public schemes or speculations; nor had he pocketed as a fee the half of the estate of a poor luckless weight against whom the terriers of the law had been let loose. The knave, the defrauder, the gambler sought not the of fice of Wilson Lawrence-but often, very often, had they been met by him at the bar of justice, earnestly and against the life and property of the deceased? Could such an individual be a murderer? and that too, of his dearest friend, the father of his betrothed? "Murder," continued the advocate, is never committed without a motive-a motive of avarice or revenge. It cannot be the latter-it is proved they were friends and not enemies. Will it be said, then, that the motive was avarice-and that it is shown by the finding of Mr. Cuthbert's property in the possession of the prisoner? I beg you to scan and to scout such a proposition. The prisoner himself was in easy and flourishing circumstances. The deceased was exceedingly wealthy-and Frances Cuthbert, the betrothed of the deceased, was the only one to whom his vast estate would descend. All this, in process of time, would therefore have been the property of Montrose. What madness, then, to say that it was avarice that raised the fatal dagger, and by momentarily securing a few hundreds, forever deprive himself of the wealth that awaited his union with the daughter of his victim! No-these glaring truths destroy all such suppositions. Where, then, I ask, is the motive? You search for it in vain. No motive to murder the father of his future wife presents itself in this tragical divest yourself of those well-founded doubts which, if history. How, then, can you convict? How can you you find the prisoner guilty, must forever whisper remorse to your consciences and corrode your peace." He sat down-and the counsel for the prosecution summed up in behalf of the people. His, too, was a strong and earnest effort. He recapitulated the testimony which had been offered, and triumphantly asked the jury if a chain of circumstances had not been shown, involving the guilt of the prisoner, which could not fail of carrying conviction to their minds as to his agency in the successfully defending those whom these creatures would death of the deceased? "My learned friend," said the have rendered their victims. Wilson Lawrence now counsel in conclusion, "has told you that there is an stood before the Court and Jury. Pale with anxiety-absence of motive in the prisoner to commit this murhis compressed tips bespoke the feelings that were soon der. Gentlemen, you cannot look into the prisoner's breast; that power belongs only to Him "who searchIn strains which touched the hearts of all, he dwelt eth the heart, and trieth the reins of the children of to find utterance. upon the unhappy situation of his client. He spoke of the apparently strong circumstancss in the testimony which tended to fix the charge upon him—and admitted his inability to account for all those circumstances, or to explain them away. But damning as seemed those circumstances, he begged that the jury would look deeply into the case, and ask themselves if it were free from doubt-if it were not more than possible that another had been the murderer-some depraved and guilty person long hackneyed in crime. What had been the character of the unfortunate prisoner?—had he not hitherto stood high in the ranks of respectability? Could any individual point to one single base action of his, during his residence there? Previous to his arraignment was not his character as a Christian and a gentleman quoted as a bright example to others? Were not his deeds of benevolence the theme which filled the mouths of the poor and the distressed? Did it not appear that he perilled his own life in rescuing the daughter of the deceased, who was then a stranger to him, from a watery Several witnesses, who were standing by the couch of grave, which circumstance led to an acquaintance and true. Michael Peterson, a goldsmith, testified to his having sold the watch to Mr. Cuthbert a few days before his death-and that he knew the dagger to belong to Montrose, as he, at the prisoner's request, engraved his name on the handle. men." You should not stop to fathom the motive. If you are satisfied that a dreadful crime has been committed, and unexplained and unrebutted circumstances, as 'strong as proofs of holy writ,' point to the prisoner at the bar as the guilty one-you must convict." The Jury found the prisoner GUILTY! CHAPTER XII. It was midnight. Within the deep and vaulted cell of the prison, lay Montrose, on a couch spread by the hand of Belinda, at the direction of Frances Cuthbert. The ruddy glow of youth had forsook his now pallid check-sickness had seized that once ion frame, threatening dissolution of all that was mortal of William MonTo-morrow was the appointed day for his execution. Frances sat by his couch, and as she gazed on all that remained dear to her on earth, wasting away with fell disease a life soon to be ignominiously resigned on the scaffold, her tears flowed, and her despairing sobs fell upon the ear of her doomed lover. trose. "Weep not, my dearest girl," said Montrose, "for I shall never die upon the gallows-I shall yet live to live to wring the confession of my innocence from the ly paid by the purchaser, according to the agreement ing on him, he resolved merely to stand in for shore, till real murderer." he had made. "Is not to-morrow fixed for your execution? my poor, unhappy William, you will certainly die upon the scaffold for another's guilt." "No, no, I shall not die thus, my Frances-come raise my head and kiss me-my head aches with violent pain, and I would fain sleep." The prisoner pressed the hand that adjusted his pillow, and sank back upon it, not in sleep, but his eye glared wildly but fixedly upon the wall-a cold, clam my sweat was upon his brow-his teeth were firmly set, while all color fled from his face. He answered not the questions of the faithful girl, but his breathing continued. Frances hastily summoned the jailor, who called in a physician; and the latter endeavored to restore Montrose to consciousness, but all in vain. His breathing ceased, and his limbs assumed the stiffness of a corpse. "He is dead," said the physician. Frances sank within the arms of Belinda, who carried her swooning from the cell. Morning came. The hour for execution arrived.— The sheriff led the way, surrounded by troops of officers, to Montrose's cell; but, instead of finding a victim to offer up on the altar of mistaken justice, the Sheriff was startled at beholding a senseless and inanimate body before him. He went into the streets and proclaimed the death of Montrose-tidings which were heard with various emotions by the populace. Some rejoiced that death had supplanted the labors of the hangman, while others considered it as a monstrous piece of ill-nature in the prisoner, to trip out of the world in such a private manner, without gratifying them with the pleasure of seeing him grace the gibbet. CHAPTER XIV. Years rolled away. Amid the embowering shades that skirt the deep green everglades of Mexico, Montrose had reared his habitation. His beloved Frances had long since joined him, and the marriage tie had united them. Chastened by the rod of misfortune-driven from home and early, friends by the world's cold scorn, they now lived content in their obscurity. Blest in their children--blest in each other, nothing seemed to be wanting to complete their earthly bliss. But stil Montrose was unhappy. His death was believed by all, and the stain of murder rested upon his memory. He fondly cherished the belief that time and circumstances would disclose the truth and restore him again to society and friends-and this hope cheered him on amid the heart-sinkings to which his peculiar situation subjected him. His father was dead, but his mother, who survived, was now an inmate of his mansion. Here let us leave Montrose, to look at the career of Hernandez, the wretched author of the calamities recorded in the preceding chapters. On a mild autumnal evening in the year 18-, a large and well-manned boat was seen to glide into one of the small bayous that run from the Gulf of Mexico into the main land. As soon as its prow struck the sandy shore they all leapt out upon the land. "Harkee, now, my brave lads," said GILBERT JANSEN, the leader of the crew, "let us be expeditious in burying our treasure, and return to the ship-our services will be wanted there soon, for government cutters are already on our trail. It's nothing to overhaul a merchantman, and ease her of a chest or two of gold, but I have no taste at a bout with these d―d Yankee armed The sheriff returned into the jail, for the purpose of schooners. So pull away there, my lads; out with the giving directions about burying the body. boxes." "That I shall claim," said Frances-" None but myself shall perform the offices of sepulture to my dear, deceased Montrose. He was mine in life-he shall be mine in death." The sheriff consented readily to the request of Frances-and, procuring a carriage, the body was conveyed with Francis and Belinda, to the Cuthbert mansion. CHAPTER XIII. The crew fell to work. They lifted the chests out of the boat, and digging a deep pit in the sand above high water mark, they sank their treasure into it, filling it up with sand and pieces of rock. This being done, they prepared to embark again in their boat for the ship, which had been standing with furled sails, a league from the shore. As they stepped into the boat, Jansen, casting his eye toward the vessel, exclaimed 'Why look there, Fernando, she has unloosened sail, bouted, and is standing out for sea! What the devil is in the captain!"—and then raising his glass to his eye for a moment. his hand dropped suddenly, and he cried out "launch, launch, my lads, and pull for her. There is a cutter hove in sight, and HERNANDEZ will have The body of Montrose was placed in a room in the Cuthbert mansion. Frances had made arrangements for the interment on the following day. That night, Francis and Belinda sat beside the couch where the body lay. It had been placed in a coffin and arrayed in a simple shroud, and other burial clothes-a napkin was thrown over the face. Frances removed the napkin, to gaze once more on the features of her lover. Hot, scald-sharp work of it." ing tears dropped fast upon the clay-cold countenance of Montrose. Suddenly, the eyes which had been closed, re-opened a scream of joy burst from Frances-short breathing now commenced, and soon his hand was seen to stir a sound proceeded from the couch-yes, Montrose spoke he had awakened from a trance! Swift as an arrow flew the boat from the little bay and her best rowers made her for the vessel with all possible despatch. he met the boat of his returning crew, and then give battle to the schooner. But in this he was disappointed, for long before he reached the boat, the schooner was along side, and fired a broadside into the pirate vessel, which considerably damaged her rigging, but injuring none of her men. The pirate returned the fire, killing some of the schooner's men and raking her sides.— The battle now became fierce and intense. Broadside after broadside was fired by the schooner upon the pirate ship, and as many returned by Hernandez. At length, a well directed shot from the schooner, carried away both the main and the mizen-mast of the pirate, and Captain B—— prepared to board her. With a file of marines he leaped upon the pirate's deck, and the action became fierce and sanguinary. Sword rang upon musket, shouts and curses alternately rose from the combatants, until the deck was strewed with the wounded and the dying. Hernandez, however, was fast becoming overpowered by superior numbers-many of his bravest and fiercest men had fallen, and few remained to assist him in the fight. Running to the deck's side, he beheld the boat, containing Jansen and his choicest comrades, but a short distance astern. His hopes again returned, and he rallied his men again to the combat. In the midst of his hopes and his prowess, a shot from the schooner went booming over the waters. It struck the boat and sunk her. Leader and crew were in an instant floundering with the sharks, Hernandez saw the fate of his companions. He dropped his cutlass upon the deck, and surrendered to the captain of the schoonet. Putting Hernandez and the remaining pirates into irons, he manned the vessel with his own men, and in a few days brought his prize and his prisoners into New Orleans, where the latter were thrown into prison to await the time of their trial. CHAPTER XV. The pirate chieftain and his crew, twenty-one in number, were ushered into court. Their trials were somewhat lengthy, owing to the multiplicity of testimony required by the judge to be given before trusting their case to the jury who were to pass upon their guilt or innocence. The judge was a talented, virtuous man, rigid on the bench, but always had a 'leaning,' as the lawyers say, in. favor of any one accused of crime; and had always been known to charge juries as to the uncertainties and dangers of convicting upon circumstantial evidence alone. Why were such his feelings and his character? We may explain-but not now. Positive evidence was finally produced against Hernandez and his crew-and they were all convicted by the jury.They were remanded to prison, and were to be brought into the Court the next morning, to receive their sentences. Chance or business had taken Montrose to New OrThe United States schooner V, of fourteen guns, leans on the day the pirates were convicted-and on the Captain B-commandant, has been commissioned by morning they were to receive sentence, curiosity led him government to cruise about the Gulf of Mexico, as well as well as others to the court room. He entered, and for the protection of trading ships, as to capture, if pos- took his seat among the numerous spectators who had sible, the piratical vessels which had long rendered dan-assembled there. The prisoners were all led in by offigerous the trade upon the Gulf and the West India seas. cers, and seated in the box. The Court proceeded to The coffin was buried the next day upon a spot adja- Hitherto, the crafty movements of the pirates seemed to sentence them one by one, after asking them in the usucent to the grounds of the late Mr. Cuthbert. baffle every movement at discovering them, and numeral form, if they had any thing to say why sentence of ous had been the merchantmen that were fated to be death should not be passed upon them. Some of them ransacked and burnt by these robbers of the deep. Quickly, but silently, they released Montrose from the coffin—and as silently was he borne to an unfrequented room in the upper part of the mansion. By dint of care, kindness and secresy, Montrose was soon restored to his wonted health-and within a fortnight, having mounted a fleet, strong horse, was on his way to the far south-west. Captain B-- had at last hove in sight of the pirate ship commanded by Hernandez, and was fast bearing to Frances remained behind. She immediately set about ward her. Owing to the absence of so many of the the adjustment of the affairs of her deceased parent.- ship's hands, who were gone on shore with the boat, She paid all the debts-and within a few months, sold Hernandez was unable to make sail fast, and thus run the entire estate for a large sum, which was immediate-away from the schooner, and perceiving the latter gain urged their youth and education in extenuation of the crime--others maintained a dogged silence, and made no reply. The pirate chieftain was then called to stand up and to say if he knew aught why he should not receive the sentence of the law. Montrose involuntarily drew near him. "I have nought to say," replied the pirate, "but to confess the justice of my sentence-a sentence that ter- Tears of joy flowed from her eyes, and she sank up-ject, a mere speck upon the sea, leave the vessel and minates a cruel and blood-stained career. Piracy is the on her husband's breast. move towards them; and when at length it was made least heinous act of my life. My career of crime.com- Wilson Lawrence, the ever faithful friend of Mon-out to be a boat, the probable cause of such a circummenced by stealing a dagger. (Montrose started.) trose, soon resigned his Judgeship, and retired with him stance had given rise to many surmises. I told him, With it I perpetrated a most foul murder upon an inno-to the banks of the Rio Del Norte, where, among the in extenuation of what he deemed our rashness, that we cent and defenceless old man. This was done fifteen flowery groves of Mexico, and where perennial spring were a nation so essentially maratime, that every man in years ago, in a town where your honor, who sits there, lavishes her smiles upon them, are the princely mansions England was more or less a sailor. "At all events," I formerly lived and pursued the practice of law——————’ of William Montrose and Wilson Lawrence. ventured to add, "if we had encountered some little risk, "Do you know me?" eagerly inquired the judge. we had been amply repaid in seeing a man so celebrated, "I do," responded the prisoner, "and you were the and of whom we had all heard and read.” advocate of the person accused and convicted of the very crime which I committed. You are WILSON LAWRENCE!" Gentle reader, should misfortune ever visit your now happy lot—should dire and withering circumstances ever hold you in their withering meshes-should deep and relentless conspiracy ever seek to offer you up, a hapless, guiltless victim-may the angel of Mercy shield you from the stroke of mistaken Justice-and ultimate "Gracious Heeven!" ejaculated the judge. With an almost maniac bound, Montrose sprang to-ly, may yours be "THE TRIUMPH OF INNOCENCE." wards the pirate, who, turning round at the sudden act, beheld Montrose, gazing fiercely and frenziedly upon him. "Hernandez!" shouted Montrose, wildly. The Spaniard staggered back and fell into the arms of the officers. The Court was in confusion. Judge | Lawrence had descended from the bench and approached Montrose, whom, with feelings of solemn awe, he took by the hand, and looked into his face, as if trying there to find the lineaments of him whom he had long supposed dead. Hernandez, recovering from the shock he had received at beholding him, ventured to open his eyes, but seeing Montrose there still, he shrieked out in direful accents "Take him away! take him away! Fiends! why have ye brought him here from his grave to confront his murderer, and the murc erer of him for whom he suffered. William Montrose, away! away! Judge Lawrence was overcome by his emotions. He embraced Montrose, and wept like a child. It was some time before order was restored, when the judge, returning to the bench, proceeded to sentence the prisoner. But, previous to this, he required of him to state minutely the particulars relating to the murder of Mr. Cuthbert. The Spaniard made a full and entire confession of the crime, which, with all the particulars, was carefully written down by the clerk, and when finished, it was sworn to by the prisoner, and the writing attested to by the clerk, all the officers of the court, and several gentlemen who were present. The judge then passed sentence of death upon all the pirates-and they were taken from the Court. They all expiated their crimes on a gibbet a few days afterwards. SELECT MISCELLANY. Lafayette at Sea. Our comrade having been relieved by an American sailor in care of the boat, we accepted the General's offer of refreshment, proceeded to the cabin, and passed a most agreeable hour. The fast approach of evening, and appearances of a breeze coming on, induced us to take our leave. We separated from the old chief-not as the acquaintance of an hour, but with all the warmth, the grasp and pressure of hands, of old friends. We pulled cheerily back, but was it was not until long after dark that we reach the " Vibelia, and which we probably could not have done, but for their having exhibited blue lights every five minutes, to point out their position. We found our comrade in great alarm for our safety. Various had been the surmises. That we had boarded a pirate, and been sacrificed or made prisoners, was most prevalent, and a breeze was anxiously prayed for, that they might bear down, and release or revenge us. Half an hour after we returned to our ship, a light wind sprang up, which very shortly freshened into a gale, so that in the morning we had completely lost sight of the Cadmus." lowest. Laconics; Diary of an English Officer. He who writes against the abuses of the age in which he lives must depend on the generosity of the few for his bread, and the malice of the many for his fame. "In June, 1824, I embarked at Liverpool, on board Vibelia transport, with the head quarters of my regiment which was proceeding to Halifax, Nova Scotia. Our passage across the Atlantic was smooth, though long and tedious. After passing over the great bank of Newfoundland, catching large quantities of cod-fish and halibut, and encountering the usual fogs, we were one morning about the end of July completely becalmed. All who have performed a voyage, know the feeling of listlessness, to which a landsman abandons himself, during a calm. The morning was slowly passed in looking around for appearances of a breeze-whistling for a wind, and the other idle pursuits usual on such ocasions. Towards noon, a sailor from aloft pointed out to our observation a vessel at a distance, also becalmed. All eyes and glasses BY THE REV. W. COLTON, U. s. N. were immediately directed towards her, but she was too Many are philosophers in great misfortunes, who lose far off for the most experienced to determine whether she their equanimity in trifles. Their troubles resemble a was an Englisman or foreign man-of-war or merchant-stream which ripples most where the water is the shalman. After a time, it occurred to me that it was a favorable opportunity or breaking in upon the monotony of the day. My influence with the captain obtained permission for the small cutter to be lowered, but he would not allow a single seaman to leave the ship. I therefore He who maintains the rights of private conscience in became coxswain of the boat, and, accompanied by four religion, and individual judgment in politics, will be reof my brother officers as rowers, we pushed off, deter-garded as a sophist by the bigot in place, and as a radical mined to pay a visit to the strange sail. To our landmen's by the politician in power. eyes and judgment, she appeared to be about four miles Tokens of deference and respect are frequently the from us;-but we found ourselves very much out in our mere expressions of vanity. They flow from a supposed calculation—it was more than double that distance. The nearness to the objects which they thus familiarly recogrowers, however, pulled on bravely-we neared the stran-nize and honor; and remind us of the goose, that, passger, making her out to be a large American merchant-ing under an arch, however high, lowers its head. Montrose now breathed freer than he had for fifteen man; and, as we approached, we observed a number of years. His innocence was established-and it only re- persons on the deck, reconnoitering us through glasses. mained for him to publish the attestations of it in the At length we were alongside, and I passed on board, folcommunity where all his misfortunes befel him, and to lowed by three of my companions, one remaing in charge wipe out the stain that rested on his memory. Accom- of the boat. On reaching the deck, we found crowded panied by Judge Lawrence, he once more visited the vil- with men, who seemed to regard us with wondering looks. lage of L―, where he made himself known to all his I stepped forward, and was received by the captain, who former acquaintances, informing them of his almost mi- acquainted me that his vessel was the American ship raculous escape from being buried alive, and exhibiting "Cadmus," on her passage from Havre de grace to New the testimonials of his innocence of the murder of Mr. York, with the General the Marquis de LAFAYETTE and Cuthbert. Astonished as they were at first at behold-suite as passengers. A venerable, noble looking veteran ing him alive, and strong as was their belief in his guilt, they were now satisfied that he was living, and that he was a guiltless man. Some of the old women of the neighborhood, however, would give credence to neither story-and still believe him dead, and that it was his apparition that visited L fifteen years afterward. Montrose returned to his Mexican home. CONCLUSION. now advanced from the poop towards us, and offered his greetings with all the courtesy of the old French school. He was Lafayette. My explanation of who we were, and what was the motive of our visit, appeared to his surprise. That five officers of the land service, unaccompanied by a single sailor, should leave their vessel on the open ocean, and visit a strange sail at such a "Did I not say, my Frances, that I should yet live to distance, from mere curiosity, was, he declared, most exwring the confession of my innocence from the real mur-traordinary. He said they had observed our ship early derer ?" said Montrose, placing in her hands the writ- in the morning-had been occupied (like ourselves) in ten confession of the Spaniard. vain endeavors to make her out-had remarked an ob They who occupy the most eminent stations have the most at stake in preserving the public tranquility; for, in popular convulsions, as in earthquakes, the highest objects are the first to topple and fall. Some editors cast themselves so far beyond those courtesies which obtain between well-bred men, that they find in their very position an exemption from resposibility. No man who has clean apparel himself will return the mud-balls with which he may be assailed by any one who has taken up his stand in the ditch. Scurrilous epithets are like foul birds, which transiently disturb and disfigure the foliage of the trees on which they light, but whose nature is never mistaken, as they carry on their feathers the pollutions of the nest in which they were hatched. If you wish to make use of a man, ascertain the measure of his susceptibility to flattery; for all that you can raise him in self-estimation will be at your disposal.— Convince any man that you can teach him to play upon two fiddles equally well, at the same time, and he will promise that one of them shall be played mainly for your advantage. Robert on the Dome of St. Peter's. Robert, who was an enthusiastic young painter, a pupil of the French Academy, sent to Rome to study the frescoes, was one day at St. Peter's. The hour of divine service was past, and he was almost alone. The silent and religious quiet of that vast edifice was interrupted only by the footsteps of a few casual visitors.Robert cast on all sides his look of ardent enthusiasm in search of new wonders. On a sudden he saw a rope descend from an opening at the top of the grand cupola; a workman having approached, fastened to it a bucket of water, and it again ascended. The roof was out of repair, and some masons were at work upon it. This gave him the idea of ascending the cupola. I was curious," said he, "to examine as closely as possible the injury done to this collossus of modern architecture, which, shooting up toward heaven, seems to say contemptuously to the ruined monuments around it, 'I am eternal.' Its pride seemed to me much lowered. That rope, that bucket and that solitary workman struck me as contemptible. He ascended the dome. On his arrival atthe summit, he was struck with admiration and wonder at the magnificent prospect before him. It was a splendid and living panorama, lighted with sunbeams so different from those of any other country, covering Nature with a bright and glorious veil of beautiful colors, which float over the buildings, the land and trees of Italy alone. He then looked more nearly round him, and perceived a few workmen, repairing some slight damage done to the roof of the dome. To obtain water with greater ease, they had placed across the opening of the cupola two long planks tied together; over them a rope was thrown, which descended into the church.These planks might be two feet and a half in width, and as the apparatus was intended merely to support a bucket of water, no one cared whether it would support a greater weight or not. Looking on these things with the eyes of a young man of twenty, with eyes that see danger only to brave and laugh at it, Robert began to think that it must be a singular sight to see St. Peter's from top to bottom-the reverse of the manner in which every thing which has base and summit is generally seen—namely, from bottom to top. This idea took such possession of his mind that he must needs satisfy it. Never once calculating whether this plank, which was three hundred feet from the ground, was strong enough to bear his weight, he placed one foot upon it, and then the other, and behold him on this dangerous bridge, without any possibility of turning back! When for the first time he told me this story, the instant I saw him on the plank, suspended, as it were, between heaven and the hard marble tessellation upon which he might have been dashed to atoms, I was seized with a giddiness such as he himself might be expected to have felt when in this critical situation. We closely surrounded him, eager to catch every word which he uttered, and following him step by step across this dangerous bridge. He was advancing with a firm step upon that narrow families, and of domestics of both sexes—an orderly and plank, when he felt the wood crack under him! He well-behaved class; the most elevated place is one tier was then in the middle of the plank, and the weight of higher, the second gallery, the Olympic, the seat of 'the his body, so much greater than that of the water buck-gods'-here we find a heterogeneous mass of dirty little et, must necessarily break the bridge, and he be precipi- urchins, chimney sweepers, low apprentices, and young tated to the earth." pickpockets, who, after their daily 'exertions,' imagine Ah," said a lad, who heard the wood crack, "the they stand in need of a little recreation. This is the plank is rotten! The unhappy man will—” audience part of the theatre-this it was twenty-five years ago, and these arrangements I have witnessed innumerable times. He did not pronounce the word; for the head mason "Ah! my friends, said he to the workmen, with in- Before I describe the several performances, I will make an observation or two, on the decline of the Drama. During the severe war with Napoleon, the continent of Europe was closed against Great Britain; intercourse was almost suspended; and it occupied as much time to go from Paris to London as would now be expended in visiting that Capital and returning to New But instead of sharing his delight, the workmen seized York. Very little was known to the middle classes of and beat him furiously. foreign music; they were satisfied with their Braham, and their Mrs. Billington, as singers, and with Bishop and Shield as composers; nothing but native talent was tolerated at the Patent Theatres, and so great was the prejudice of John Bull against foreigners, with all of whom he considered himself at war, that John Kemble's engagement of the then celebrated Madame Catalini, to sing forty nights at Covent Garden, was one of the causes of the O. P. row, and when he made his peace with the public, his cancelling that engagement was a sine qua non. "Cursed Frenchman! rascal! scoundrel!" howled the chorus of masons, " villain, how you frightened us." not. From the N. Y. Spirit of the Times. The London Stage Twenty years ago. 'Oh! the days when I was young!'-young, in the true sense of the word; when for a well-learnt lesson, I was rewarded by being taken to the Play.' In those days it was called 'the Play,' and why not? The immortal William says 'the play's the thing,' and, 'I've At length, when the hero of Austerlitz, Lodi, Waknown guilty creatures sitting at a play,' &c. I was not gram, &c. was out-numbered at Leipsic, and finally outthen among the guilty creatures; I was as innocent as generalled at Waterloo, the road from Calais to Paris a babe; I was taken to the play by Pa and Ma,' and was constantly coaered with moving masses, comprising brought home by them; still, having read Shakespeare every grade of society, all stretching towards the gay with delight from my earliest youth, I could well under- capital. When taking the round of amusements, they stand what was perfection in the actors, and what was discovered that foreign music was not so grating to the At Brighton, where I was at boarding-school, I ear; that the compositions of Mozart were quite as good recollect having seen a histrionic assassin butcher Mac- as those of Bishop; that Shield's music did not excel beth, Hamlet, Coriolanus and Brutus-without mercy. that of Paer-and from eager listeners they became arIn London, how different; The Kembles were an In- dent admirers. Meanwhile, some of the greatest artstitution! they carried upon their shoulders Venice Pre-istes of Italy found their way to London, and in the served, Macbeth, Henry the Eighth, Isabella, Pizarro, corps operatique of the King's Theatre, or Italian Opethe Winter's Tale-King Lear. In all these pieces the ra, were soon enrolled the names of Ambrogetti, Fodor, fraternal trio glittered with unmatched brilliancy, and Camporese and Garcia, while in support of the Ballet, when announced to appear, every avenue leading to the Mercandotti and Anniolini stood foremost. When the theatre door was blocked up by a dense mass an hour English returned home from their continental tour, they before the time of opening; generally, two or three hun-were-at least many of them-full of affectation; they dred were refused admittance to the pit, and I have often watched them, standing in little groups, consulting as to whether they should double their projected expense by going to the boxes. Some went home with tears in their eyes; they could not afford the expense, or did not like to impose on uncle's or father's good nature; some went to 'the other House,' (so called then.) While all this was passing, the boxes were filling up very rapidly, and those who had at length determined to 'go the whole figure,' found that they had lost a little too much time in deliberation, and were obliged to be contented with seats in the slips. minced their words, interlarding their sentences with faulty French, and incomprehensible Italian; could not endure the bore of sitting-out an English play ; thought Shakspeare good of his kind--but not to compared with Mozart or Moliere. These ideas descended the ladder of society, and from Mrs. Goldpay, the banker's wife, of Lombard street and Russell square, where it took root, it was not very long before it tumbled down to the Fubbses, grocers and tea-dealers, in Norton Folgate.The Patent Theatres soon presented empty benches in evidence of this fact, and had it not been for the sudden and successful appearance of Edmund Kean, Drury Scarcely had I performed a third of my journey, Covent Garden Theatre, with every seat occupied, Lane Theatre would in all probability, have been used said he, "when, cager to enjoy the spectacle I sought, I presents a most noble aspect; the dress circle is so in its as barracks or a hospital; nor have they ever, to this cast my eyes below. At the same instant, a hissing most literal meaning, offering to the eye a most gorgeous day, recovered from the shock inflicted by the foreign sound whizzed through my ears, my head became cov- embodiment of beauty, fashion and magnificence of at- mania; the queen, the court, the nobility and gentry of ered with a veil of darkness, succeeded by one of fire tire. The second tier contains such ladies and gentle- England crowd the Italian Opera House night after I was seized, in short, with a most horrible vertigo.- men as have not time or inclination to make a heavy toi- night, leaving Macready to rack his brains as to the Fortunately, I had the presence of mind immediately to lette; they appear there in bonnets, cloaks, surtouts, &c. manner in which he shall show the most honor to the shut my eyes and stand still. I cannot express to you &c.! the third tier is occupied by theatrical persons, cri-immortal bard, and then they go again to the opera, to what I felt at this moment, when I heard voices close to tics, editors, and those who are on the free list, and who, my cars, uttering in whispers the most dreadful blasphe- from motives of delicacy, and certainly in very good mies. It was the workmen. I opened my eyes to con- taste, decline occupying the best seats in the house, that tinue my journey, for I felt that if I remained a minute are paid for, by visitors to the theatre; above the first cirn.ore in this situation, I should die even without falling.cle is the first gallery, the resort of mechanics and their see the same piece for the twentieth time. With this digression, I must come to the conclusion that the decline of the drama was consequent on the decline of Napoleon, and that if he had not been put on the shelf at Waterloo, Shakspeare would not have suf |