VOLUME 14 CAMDEN, SOUTH-CAROLINA, TUESDAY MORNING APRIL 5,1853. NUMBER 14. j
PUBLISHED WEEKLY BY
THOMAS J. WARREN.
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H Sfifrteii Coir.
THE FELON'S DAUGHTER.
BY PERCY B. ST. JOHN.
In the woods forming what remains of the
forest of Ardennes, about a mile from a small
village ealled SoIeothaL, a narrow path leads
from a highroad to a spot once occupied by
charcoal burners, but now abandoned. It was
a gloomy place. The ground for about an
acre was black, where charcoal had been burned
and stored, while a small fringe of green
grass had perched itself forward from the forest,
and commenced regaining the lost ground.
In the centre was a deep hole, to bo entered
only on the side by a path of narrow dimensions.
In this was a small hut, of wretched
aspect, one of millions in France where glitter
and glory hides misery worse than that of Ireland
in her worst days, where sound and show
conceal from us sixteen millions of paupers.
This hut had no window. It was curved
in shape, and closely resembled a wigwam of
the poorest class. It consisted of three poles
stuck in the ground, meeting at the top, these
tied together, and then, of course, thatch and
mud. A hole was left in the top for the smoke
to pass through. The floor was of mud. In
one corner was a pile of straw, which, with
two chairs and a table, formed the whole of
the furniture. It was occupied by two women
and a large dog. At the moment when
our narrative commences, one only was at
home. She was about iitty, poorly dui neany
clad. She was clean, neat, and tidy, and she
plied her needle with unceasing energy. She
was sewing for a livelihood.
A short distance off, on the edge of the
wood another woman, or rather a young girl,
dressed in the same manner, was picking up
wood and laying it In an outspread cloth on
the ground. She, too, plied her work industriously,
for until sufficient fuel had been collected,
she could not cook their humble dinner.
Presently she seemed satisfied with what she
had done and was about to proceed when two
horsemen issued from the wood, and came
along, walking their horses slowly by them.
One was a young man, about five and twenty,
rosy-cheeked, handsome, and full of Ijealth;
the other was ten years older, and evidently
an habitue of the Boulevards and the Cafe de
Paris. His pale face, made paler by a thin
black moustache and jet black hair, his hollow
sunken eyes, spoke of the man of late hours
and pleasure. His face was co.'d and repulsive,
while that of the other was open and frank.
"Whata wretched occupation for so pretty
a girl," said the young man, riding quickly on,
so as to speak first, "surely, via chere, you
might put your taper fingers to a better use.?
Here's what will buy you fire rood and food
for months." j
And he cast a double Napoleon at her feet.
The girl raised her angelic facetohis. sadly,
and reproachfully. She was about eighteen.
Her white skin, her blue eyes, her curly gold
en hair, her simple, child like manner, was
something he had never seen before. Her expression
was timid and yet proud, and looking
into her eyes, the young man was not surprised
at the reply he received.
"Monsieur, 1 have done nothing to give you
a right to insult me. What you have done
may have been meant kindly, but I ask alms
of no one."
"Pardon, mademoiselle," exclaimed the other
confused and stammering, "I meant no in,
suit. Pardon me madcmoseille. I pray you, I
thought you poor, and my impulse was to aid
you."
"Thank you, monsieur, for the first kind
word I have heard these fifteen years, except
from my own mother," said the young girl.
"But go your way, or else the whole country
will shun you too."
" About a year ago he fell ill, and the doctor
at once intimated to him that he would not
recover. Apart from the disease, it was a
general break of nature.
" When he found there was no hope, he sent
for me.
" Versain," said he, " listen to a dying man,
and interrupt me not. You see on this bed an
assassin, a thief, a murderer. Fifteen years
??r/> ei?tin<T in an hotel. I saw two men dining,
"o"> " &
one of whom had just received sixteen or seventeen
thousand francs. A dreadful thought
came into my head. I was not poor, but I
was wicked, I followed these two men. They
walked on their way to the Solenthal together.
I dared not attack both, and once or twice 1
thought of giving up my fearful design. But
at the house of one De Pierrepont they parted,
and my victim Dubois advanced alone."
" I was monster enough to think that Heaven
gave him up to me. I bounded after him,
I gave myself no time for thought; I stabbed
him in the neck ; killed him ; took his money,
and fled. I spare you my thoughts, and my
fifteen years suffering. 1 fled my country;*!
became a merchant?rich,?respected ; but 1
have never had one happy moment. Not only
had I murdered him, but Pierrepont was suspected,
and sentenced for my crime, only not
to death, because the jury hesitated. I thus
ruined an honest man, and sent his family to
beg their bread."
"He paused. I spoko not; too absorbed in
my imiui.
" De Versain, listen to mo, my friend. Do
not turn against me. I have left you my sole
heir."
"Never will I."
" Ifark ! you must and you will. Take my
property, and think whon you enjoy it with
#
pity on its guilty present owner, and I wil
make a public confession, pay the heirs of Du
bois their 10,000 francs, and by proving m;
own guilt, obtain the pardon of the innocen
De Pierrepont. Refuse and I will die impeni
tent, for my only friend will have deserted me.'
" I accepted."
" And may Heaven bless you!" said th<
weeping and sobbing mother, while Madelim
hid her head hi her mother's lap.
i " An hour later, in presence of the Frencl
and English counsels?four Englishmen ant
four Frenchmen, two priests and the alcade?
Gaillard, or rather Mesnard, made his solcmt
confession, which was signed by all present
sealed, and one or two copies given to me
That copy is now in the hand of the ministei
of justice, and here," drawing forth a letter
" is a copy of your father's free pardon."
A w ild shriek from both women was his re
ply.
" And now, Madeline," said he taking tin
I girl's hand, " before I have the chance of ri
vals, may I renew my request for your hand
and heart ?"
"Monsieur, no man on earth can ever dofoi
,nA f mvn kaTr% on Knur T
IIIC VT llai J V/U ua? v uvuw* m an i?vu? *
lived years of joy; that joy 1 owe to you
Give me my father, and the Jove of .my whoh
life, if you value it, shall be your poor reward.'
Tins sudden resolution of the young girl, sc
natural under the circumstances, was approver
of heartily by the mother.
Next morning there sat hi a small inn in So
lenthai, waiting for breakfast, a man, not old
but bowed by years of woe, grey-haired anc
pale. On each side of him sat a woman, ont
his wife, the other his daughter. They hac
been talking for hours, and were not wearier
yet.? A young man satopposite, his face beam
ing with delight. Several times the waiter hat
announced breakfast; but the young man hat
always bade him be quiet and wait a while.
At length a hurried step was heard and th<
young Edward Dubois entered, lie started ai
if hit by a snake, and would have left the room
" Stoj)!" said Arthur sternly, as he caugh
him by the wrist. " Rather kneel and ask to:
pardon than fly. Read this man," and In
put in his hand the primed bill proclaiming tin
injustice of Pierrepont's sentence, his free par
don, and containing the certified confession o
Mesnard.
Edward Dubois read it in silenco. VVhei
he had finished, he turned and grasped the tx
convict's hand.
" No apology can make up for my conduct.'
he said, 44 but what I can do, I will. This bil
will satisfy the whole country."
44 Monsieur," replied De P.errepont, in hus
ky tones, 44 you did but as the world did. Ap
pearances were against me, and all condemnet
me."
44 Edward, my friend," said Arthur, " yoi
see the danger of judging from appearances
Had De Pierre pout been truly guilty, bis \vif<
and child should have been pitied, not scorned
As it is, a vile injustice has made these tw?
worrw??>, -fiiT
Edward made no reply, as the hreukfas
came in. He, like all the countrv round, was
horrified, now they found how unjust they hat
been ; and never was a wedding mine tumul
tuously hailed and feted than that of Arthu
de Versaiu and Madeline de Pierrepont. Stil
I have not heard that one man, woman, o
child, in the forests if Ardennes, has been curei
of the evil habit of judging always from up
nearances. and visiting on the innocent the sin
vf the guilty.
"Beguiie wretch!" exclaimed the other, rid
I ing up ami raisins his whip menacingly; "be
gone, and dare not speak to an honest man.'
The young man listened in amazement.
"I did not speak to monsieur?monsieu
spoke to me," said the girl, gently, with, how
ever, a smile of pity and contempt.
"Raise your accursed lips to me again," criei
the other, furiously, "and I will scourge yoi
with my whip."
"Monsieur is perhaps a coward," said tlx
gentle girl, stung to anger for once, turtiinga
the same time to face his insults.
"What! you dare answer me," and lx
raised his hand again.
< "Nay, Edward, you would not strike a wo
man."
"A woman ! Do you call Madeline dc Pier
repont, the child of the assassin of my uneh
Dubois, a woman; say rather a fiend," scream
ed the usually calm dandy.
"\f:idplinp dfl Piprrprm.it roulioil flip nthpr
_ ~ I V-,...
staggering so that his friend had to turn his at
tention to him. "Madeline de Pierrepont
And this is Madeline de Pierrepont! Truly,'
he muttered as he remounted his horse "she ii
not a woman."
The other imitated him, and they rode ofl
leaving the young girl to weep alone. In ;
few minutes, how( ver, she wiped her eyes, am
then, fearful she might be suspected of appro,
priating the gold piece, she took it up, wrap
ped in a piece of paper, with the intention o
returning it to its owner. She then lifted ii|
her bundle and walked slowly towards the hut
"Tell me the story of this girl," said tin
young man gravely.
The other told it:?"Fifteen years before
the father of Madaline do Pierrepont and i
Monsieur Dubois, a rich proprietor, had beci
intimate friends De Pierrepont was comfort
ably ofl', from the fact of his having several oc
cupations. He was collector of the rents of ;
rich member of his noble family; he was ta:
gatherer, and adjoint to the maire. The mair
M Dnhois a rich man hut enmctulmt nf
miser. It appeared that one afternoon Duboi
asked Pierrepont to walk over to a small towt
at some distance to receive with him a larg.
remittance, with which he had to pay a bodj
of workmen employed on public \voik>, am
other expenses incurred in the building of i
church and schoolroom. Dubois felt safe
with a companion. It was afterwards provee
that they received tho money, dined togethe
at the Soleil d'Or, drank rather more thai
they were used to, and then, despite every re
presentation, set out to walk home, thougl
De Pierrepont wished to hire a gig. Nex
morning the body of Dubois was found abou
a hundred yards beyond the house of De Pier
inclined to try the experiment again. II
looked with alarm at the prospect of my sel
tling in life, and did all he could to preserve
unto himself one bachelor friend.
I repont, which was at the foot of a hill that led
i- up to the village. All his money was gone,
y as well as his watch and rings. i
t "A search took place instantly; and De
- Picrrepont, as his companion, was visited by
' the police agent. De Picrrepont deposed that J
Dubois on his reaching his house bade him go j
3 in, for that he could go up the hill safely alone;
3 but still he requested him to keep a hag of
1,000 francs in silver; because it was so heavy
i until the morning. This 1,000 francs he gave
1 up to the police. Of 16,000 francs in notes,
- he solemnly declared he knew nothing. On
l this he was arrested as the assassin, tried,
, found guilty, and sent to the pulleys for life.?
. His wife solemnly declared that she heard Dur
bois wish her husband good night, and say
, laughingly, Til send a cart for the silver iivthe
morninrr.' But instead of benefiting him in the
O w
- eyes of the world she became his accomplice.
To avoid being hooted at in the streets, she
i left the village, and every penny being spent
- ere her husband's trial was over, she obtained
I reluctant permission to dwell in the charcoal
burner's deserted hut. But all shunned her
r und her child as they would lepers, and to live
i she was obliged to walk miles in search of work
. of the coarsest description. Leave the coun)
try she would not, because she was born there
' and she felt convinced that her husband would
) | be ultimately pardoned."
1 His companion listened attentively and then
exclaimed:
"And you join, Edward, in the infamous
, persecution. Supposing the father guilty
1 j (which to me is not clearly proven?and you
. I t o n whv? should this ncor
;l ?"?" * ""J - ? J
1 ' child suffer for the sins of her father? Why
1 | the savages of North America, where I have
just come from, are more civilized than you.?
1 I see in this heroic couple, subject of wonder
I and admiration, but not of hate. Poor creature!
Fifteen years of misery havo not sati
isfied you all, but you must still treat them as
s outcasts."
"My dear Arthur, you have just come from
t America, where it appears to ine you pick up
r very singular notious. For my part, the wile
i and daughter of an assassin, and the assassin
i; of my uncle, are detest able wretches whom I
- J must hate," said the other, in his usual cool
f j w..y. His fit of anger was past.
|. "injustice, infamous injustice! Poor girl! I
i | think 1 see her meek face now, looking at me
; so proudly and yet so sweetly. I never saw
I any thing so lovely in my life."
' j "Why, the man's in love!" exclaimed EdII
ward Dubois, the heir of the murdered man's
property.
- j "Half; and what is more, Edward, do you
-1 know I'd marry that girl to-morrow, if she'd
1 ; have nie; but 1 know she wouldn't."
j "By my faith," said Edward, "you amaze
i me; and 1 am not easily amazed. Of course
. you are jo! i ig."
i i "Time will show. Bufc now, my dear fel.
! low, adieu ; you follow that path in search of
> pleasure, I this on business."
' *- a dcmainJ' _. . v. v. *' t
t : "Yes. You breakfast with me ai the little
i inrr, you know."
1 "Agreed, my philosopher. Adieu!"
And Edward Dubois galloped down a narr
row path leading to the chateau of a certain
? * .1~ I ?- ^ .. 1." flirt* /luf oovo u trruiifl
I V^OUIll UC JCS6UI1, v\ nu 111.11. \jaj
r' dinner and evening party. As soon as Ari
t bur-saw that lie was out ofsight, he turned his
horse's stcp> and galloped hard towards the
s charcoal burner's hut.
When Madeleine returned to the hut and be
gan making a lire, she t>>ld her mother what
- had passed, and showed her the gold piece.?
1 : They were used to this kind of treatment, and
I the mother did not feel it much now. The
r scorn of fifteen years had made her despise
- j the world. But Madeleine seemed hurt.
I "1 do not care," she exclaimed aloud at last,
I ' "for what young Monsieur Dubois said ; but 1
i j am vexed that the good looking stranger
I should have said thai I was not a woman!"
3! "You are not a woman, but an angel!" ext
1 claimed Arthur solemnly; he had approached
J on foot and hud heard a portion of their con.
j i versation.
j The mother arid daugUcr stood still in
I dumb amazement,
j "You seem surprised madam," said the
- young man, addressing the mother; "you will
3! be still more so when 1 add that I have return--;
ed with the deliberate intention of imploring
j you to give me your daughter's hand iu marj
riago; nut now?instantl}, but when you
- ! know me better."
!; "Monsieur," exclaimed the mother indig''
nantly, "this is too much. Go. Tho felon's
s daughter is still too good for insult."
"Madam," replied Arthur res|?ectfully, "per'
haps your astonishment will cease when I add
t ; that your husband is innocent, and that 1 have
1 come sixteen thousand miles to prove it."
I "You :ir<>?iif>Qiikin>r?seriouslv."fra9D6d~the
I C ^ ' *_? >
- poor old woman.
f ; "On my soul and conscience," said Arthur
> ! solemnly.
,.! "Oh joy ! Oh joy!" shrieked the girf, claspb
ing the stranger round the neck; ""the saviour
has come at last."
, "lie calm, my dear young lady, and I will
i tell you my story in a few words. You will
i ; then understand my motives in coming here.
- ! I scarcely expected to find you at Solenthal;
- i but at last determined to try, I came ycsteri
1 day night, and I soon heard of your heroic ret
1 signation and courage. Be seated, dear girl,
e; uud listen to tidings that will he joyful indeed
i j to your filial heart."
s Madeleine blushing, her color going and
l coining, obeyed, and seated herself on a log
e near the young stranger.
v "1 am a young Frenchman, and about seven
J years ago 1 emigrated to Peru in search of fora
i tune. I started as a lawyer, and found busir
ness plentiful enough. I knew many French1
men in the pluce, but a merchant of the name
r of (iaillard was iny most intimate friend. He
ii was twice my age, grave, even sullen and sa
turnine; but he had quaint ways, was very
l | charitable, and I liked him. Besides, the oth
t j ors were married, had families, and he was
t , alone. We used to meet of an evening at a
- \ rn/e, play piquet, drink sherbet, and then walk
e home together. Ho was rich, and lived in
great style, but not in any way up to his iue
come. People wondered ho nevei1 married;
but ho said ho had been married, and was not
illiscfllonfons.
From the Charleston Mercury.
Modern Spiritualism?A Popular IK
In* ton.
"Ram avis in terrig, nigroque
Simillima cygno."?Ovid.
"A rare bird on the earth, and very
Like a black swan."
CONCLUDED.
The seeking of the dead, then, is nothir
new ; and we are disposed to think that if
can be done, it is no more lawful and rigl
now, than it was in the days of King Sau
We have heard and read many statements i
farts, made by witnesses, competent and crcd
ble, who had often taken part in, or been pn
sent at these strange revelations, but with a
* - - .. . . i .
tne imormation xvmcii we nave neen ame 1
collect upon this subject, we are forced to coi
elude the communications given by the so calk
spiritual lappings, can establish no facts I
prove any truth. The modern seekers of tl
de.vi amongst us, are known honestly and fre
ly to admit, that the revelations thus given, ai
often false in part?and sometimes in tl
whole ; and in fact, that the same spirit, in tl
course of a short interview about the we
known affairs of this world, will contradict ii
own declarations.
Does not this, to every candid, sound an
reflecting mind, bring a kind and degree <
confusion much worse than that which gre
out of the most ambiguous responses made b
the ancient Heathen oracles ? And where ai
those boasted oracles, and the suporstitioi
faith which rested upon them ? They arc gor
from the world, and the places which kne
them, shall, we trust, know them no more fo
O .. K.T..iU,
ever* dial i/U return iu uur uwu iwimci
Lights, the fleeting corruscations from tl
spirit world. It is attempted to explain erroi
of falsehood and contradiction, partly upon tl
ground that the media, (who are representc
generally as ladies of frail and apparently fe
hie constitution) the necessary media, withoi
whose agency, without the presence of who*
familiar spirits the souls of the dead will ni
confer with the living, are not all perfect ac
equal, but differ in degrees of intensity or pov
er, (we presume like the common eye glassesthrough
a medium of the right kind one se<
more clearly, and another produces confusio
or blindness,) hence, it is said uncertainty an
falsehood sometimes arise. The question pu
although the most simple, is not always pc
fectly understood. But this does not cover a
the facts of the case before us. These intell
gent beings answer questions which are oni
mentally propounded, that is such as ai
thought, without being spoken or written ;
a word,-they profess to know our ideas as soc
as they are conceived, and before they can 1
telegraphed by the uiind into the world whe
material bodies live. Yet, the questions
which they make false responses are very oft<
so plain as to admit of no doubt or ambigui
?fW example, whether the person thought
at this moment is a victorious general or i
absent lady love ? Does not this explanati<
increase our uncertainty ? It calls in questit
the soundness of the unseen oracle, and leav
man to speculate and to judge the degree
its power?and iu such a case let each pers<
decide which is superior, the spirit or the mat
Does the oracle know (and if it does,) can
reveal to man, one-third ,lwo thirds or the who
truth? When one set fact conflicts wi
another which is to be received?or shall m
ttier { Hence, eacti new revelation may i?e i
I voiced in accumulating doubt and fail to e
! tablish any reasonable faith. It may be juet
i argued, therefore, that these are blind leade
of the blind, and are not able to speak wit
' authority upon any subjects, but especial
upon those which concern themselves and tl
unknown spirit world ; and, surely, then the
aro not sale und proper witnesses to prove tl
real nature of their own tbnn and characte
nor their own agency with its object, dutii
and powers. And henco, we conclude, the
own declaration, that it is a spiritual or a ca
nal body, an angel of light, or an evil demc
who speaks, or raps, proves nothing. Tl
voice of God has proclaimed divine truth, an
with us nothing less than the same authoril
shall subvert it. Should an angel from heavi
teach anything against it we would not beiiov
And yet these unknown intelligences, calk
spirits, come to revisit their native earth, in
by the command of Jehovah, but at the ca
of man, to give liitn fruit from the tree <
knowledge unrevealed, to present new ideas <
the nature of Deity, and of the future statu <
being. This whole system seems to us to co:
flict in many ways with the. only revelatic
which we receive as attested fully to be tri
and divine by miracle and prophecy. If tl
holy Jlible is received as true, we know n<
how to avoid the belief that in any way, or f<
any purpose, to seek the dead, is either to fa
into a mad delusion, or an actual sin. It
with pity and wonder, therefore, that the wi
ter of this article, very recently hoard of
minister, in America, so far renouncing h
reasonable, religious, anu noiy laitn, as w r
i sign his sacred oflice, and sacritico himse
upon this altar of superstition. In conclusio
we must state, that us to the competency i
the so-called spirits to act the part of witnes
es for the inhabitants of earth, there is nothii:
which we know to prove it, and, with the fac
before us, we gravely doubt and boldly cha
lenge their credibility. The false statemen
which they often make result from ignoranc
or from a wilful design to deceive, and in e
ther case they are not credible witnesse
Their sell-contradicting testimony cannot 1
received as evidence, it proves nothing bi
their own falsehood.
,;0 blindness to the future! kindly given,
That oach may 1511 the circle marked by heaven ;
*******
TIopo humbly then; with trembling pinions soar;
Wait tho great teacher, Death; and God adoro.
Wli.it future bliss he gives not thee to know,
But gives that hope to bo thy blessing now.
Hope springs eternal in the human breast:
Man never is but always to be bless'd.
The soul, uneasy and conlincd from home
Bests and expatiates in a lifo to come."?Essay on Ma
CI VIS iMllNDI.
Gaming, liko a quicksand, swallows up
man in a moment.
Recollections of Mr. Calhonii.
The following article is from the pen of i
- young lady of Alabama, whose reminiscenci
will be read with all the move pleasure for thi
> scarcity of personal anecdotes of tbj grea
southerner:
It is a pleasant yet mournful occupation t<
recall the hours spent in the society of thi:
great and pure statesman, and to dwell upoi
the impression made by his conversation am
appearance. More particularly do I prize thes<
memories since he is no longer among us, am
I know the privilege of listening to him is nev
1 er again to be enjoyed. Taught from child
| hood to admire, I might almost say worship
' his charactev as a statesman, the first time
beheld him is indelibly impressed upon m;
"* mind. The fame of an eloquent minister o
the Gospel had drawn together the inhabitant
of the little village of P. and the surrounding
0 country. Glancing carelessly over the church
v I was attracted bv the striking annearanco o
J - -- - """ "a! -y t O t i
a gentleman just then entering a pew near tin
0 one I occupied. His hair silvered by age, form
le erect, the penetrating glance of his grey eye
_e' together with the thoughtful expression of hi
^ face, "marked him as no ordinary man." As
Ie certaining who he was,I could scarcely repres
'.? an exclamation of delight and surprise. Th<
man I admired more than any living one wa
ts now before me. The remainder ot the servi
ces were lost on me ; my attention was occu
pied in watching him. lie joined in the ser
vices of the church with great devotion of man
w ncr, and paid undivided attention to the sermon
y In a short time my desire of approaching hin
was gratified. I rode to Fort Hill with a friem
18 to return a call. Mrs. Calhoun, with old fash
'? ioned hospitality insisted that w e should spen<
w the day. To approach Mr. C. in a crowd, t<
r* speak to him then, I had anticipated ; but t<
n know him for th^ first time in his own home
ie to see him alone with his family, was a pleas
rs ore as unexpected as it was agreeable. Nc
'? young person draws near to a great man fo
d the first time without a feeling of awe. I long
e" ed for, yet dreaded Mr. C.'s appearance in thi
drawing room. When he entered, and I wa
* presented to him, the simplicity of his manner
and pleasing, quiet conversation, soon assure*
me, and I felt perfectly at my ease. He wa
v' very agreeable to young people, entering int<
their amusements and occupations as if he fel
JS and enjoyed them. With his sons his inter
course and influence were very happy. If
ld treated their opinions with respect, at the sami
time correcting them when erroneous. On
'"j instance I remember. One of his sons, j
;? thoughtless lad, who had already learned t<
l" pride himself upon belonging to the aristocracy
v of the State, where aristocracy of birth is prize*
,re more than in any other State in the Union
in spoke of the impertinent curiosity and inquisi
m tiveuess of the lower class. "My son," re
^ marked Mr. C., "you mu9t not commence lif
re with such wrong impressions. If you can giv
to information to those who have not your ad
m vantages, give it gladly, and learn from ther
in return. Some of the best lessons of my lif
I have learned from those beneath me. If the
in have less education, they observe more closely
>n than we do. I never meet a "laboring ma
)n who seems disposed for conversation, but I lis
ten to his remarks and ask him questions."?'
Turning over a portfolio of engravings for ou
amusement, Mr. C. held up to our gaze th
. most miserable daub in the way of a portrai
11 I ever beheld. It was the head of a man, wit
'e fiery red hair, standing up as if each hair wa
^ electrified; eyes without expression,and moutl
5I* and nose unproportionate. "Do vqu think thi
n" a correct likeness?' he askod with a peculia
smile.
'-v | "I received this a few days since, with ai
13 accompanying letter requesting a lock o! nv
hair, from a young lady who admires my cha
v racter, and has had so many descriptions of mi
,e that she thinks she can paint a correct likenes
of me. This is the result of her experiment/
le "Why did you not return it and inform he
r' that it was unlike ?" I asked.
*8 "If this is her idea of beauty, and she attri
ir butes it to me, I prize it as such," he replied
r" "I wrote, thanking her and sent the hair."
,n In the afternoon Mr.C. conducted us througl
16 his garden and orchard. He took much inter
I est in agriculture, and had the most productiyi
'y orchard and best regulated farm in the country
fU ; The day soon drew to u close. I shall eve
c* | regard it as one of the most agreeable days o
1 my life. I saw Mr. C. often afterwards, fre
qncutly in his own house, hut never alone witl
i his family. My admiration of him grew w ill
my acquaintance. Never was man more be
loved by those among whom he lived than hi
was. I visited thorn a short time after hi:
a' death; a gloom pervaded every household, fo
m all felt they had lost a friend.?/V. Y. Times.
le
10 Discipline in Childhood.?Young peopl
3t who have been habitually gratified in all thei
: desires, will not only more indulge in capriciou
. ! desires, but will infalliably Lake it more amis
when the feelings or happiness of others requin
' that they should be thwarted, than those win
.a have been practically trained to the habit o
IS subduing and restraining them, and conse
quently will in general sacrifice the happines
of others to their own selfish indulgence. T<
what else is the selfishness of Princes and oth
?.- i? -?i J1...4.J i T,
er great, peopie iu uc uuriuuivu : van
s" to think of cultivating principles of generosit;
and beneficence by mere exhortation and rea
soiling. Nothing but the practical habit o
^ overcoming our own selfishness, and of fanii
liarly encountering privations and disconifor
?' on account of others, will ever enable us to di
1 it when required. And therefore I am firmlj
s' persuaded that indulgence infalibly produce
selfishness and hardness of heart, and tha
nothing but a pretty severe discipline and coc
tiol can lay the foundation of a magnanitnou
Character."?Lord Jefferson.
Residences of Distinguished Officers.?Th
National Intelligencer states that the Secretarie
of State, of War, and the Postmaster Geuerii
either have already made, or certainly intenmaking
their residence in Georgetown. Th
Hon. R. Toombs has leased the large and beat:
n tiful mansion and grounds on the" heights, th
residence ot the late uoi. uartcr. for health
ness and picturesque beauty, the heights <
a Georgetown have few equals any where and si
perior nowhere.
- i . --
Robert mills, the Architect.
1 South Carolina may justly be proud of 4ier
2 Architects, who have reached, and 'are reaching i J
j distinction at home and abroad. Robert Mills r 'J
t was the first of them, and we are glad to see /' J
that his name, so identified with the public" -g
) j works of his native State, has become known H
s | throughout the Union. The following notice J
l of his career is from the Pottsville Emporium#*^"
l| Public Buildings in Washington.?As ygen2:
eral thing, the appearance of the pubjic build- .3
1 : ings in Washington city is calculate to pro
duce in the mind of the stranger visiting them
- a most favorable impression, while to an Amer- - 1
1, ican, at least, there are unpleasant tfnd morti-. 4
I fying exceptions. The Smithsonian Institute^
building, a queer and incongruous combination"
f of various orders of architecture, was so badly '
5 constructed that a portion of it fell, and otber V
; parts were considered unsafe, even before the
, completion of the building. In addition to this,
f tho extension of the Capitol, now in course of
3 construction, is deemed by many scientific and
1 experienced gentlemen as very defective, par- 1
, ticularly as regards the quality of the iriateriala
s used, w hich certainly ought not to be in a&ed\r
ifice built for this great nation, and for the uwf
s of future ages far dow n in the lapse of time.
? Tbprp nrc nt her hnildines. however, of a ve-t
s ry different character, among which are thosf ^ >
- chaste, elegant, and truly substantial edifices,^
- the Treasury building, the Patent Office butid- i
- ing, and that in which the General Post Office,' J
- with its numerous extensive departments, is so 7
. admirably accommodated. These were plan. ^ ;
i ned and erected by Robert Mills, esq., of that 1 ;
i city, whose estimable character as a man, and
widely acknowledged skill as an architect, in1
duced President Jackson to confer npon hkn
3 the appointment of architect for the general
3 government. That he was not continued iti
i, that important position has been a misfortune
- to the country, as is shown by the defectivd^>
buildings since erected. ij
r Up to the time he entered the amice of the
government, the practice. prevailed of con- <
e 6trncting the public bbilding* irrespective of
s security from fire, and to him is the country in ,
debtcd for the recommendation and introduci
lion of the* fire-proof system, which has ever )
s since been acted upon as most important to
? the security of the public archives and the
t buildings generally.
Our admiration for, and entire confidenco fn
e Mr. Mills, (whom we have known for a fall j
e quarter cf a century,) as a man of sound judge
ment and extraordinary skill in his profession,
a has been recently confirmed by a brief sketch
3 of his professional career, furnished by an estiy
mable friend, from which we learn that the ev
1 * -il __ ? L:i l 2- t
2 iaence 01 nis worm as an urciuieci uj uv
i, means confined to Washington city.
He had cliargc of the construction of custom
! houses in Middle town and New London, in
e Connecticut, New Bedford and Newburyport, J
e Massachusetts, all arched and made fire-proof;
I- marine hospitals in Charleston, South Carolina,
n and in New Orleans, besides other buildings,
e Previous to his connection with the general
y government, he had erected many public and
y private buildings in Pennsylvania, (including
n our chaste and handsome capitol at Harrisburg,
i- of which Pennsylvanians are so justly proud,)
- Maryland, and South Carolina. In Philadelr
pliia, when a student in the office of the celee
brated architect, B. H. Lntrobo, esq., he waa
t charged with the erection of the Bank of Pennh
sylvania, a very intricate design of a bold cons
struction and fire-proof character. He also
h erected the fire-proof wings to the old State
s House, Independent Hall; and a church of imr
mense dimensions?the admiration of all who
saw it?tor that celebrated and eccentric dia
viue, Dr. Stoughton, being a circular room
y covered by a dome, capable of accommodating
four thousand persons.
e To Mr. Mills was Philadelphia indebted for
s the plan of that wonderful structure, the single
" arched bridge of 340 feet, which spanned the
r Schuylkill river, built by Lewis Wernwag, the
renowned bridge builder. In Baltimore he de
signed and erected the monument to WashingL
ton, a marble pillar the largest in the world.?
He erected the Baptist Church, a circular
1 structure ot eighty feet diameter, crowned by
- a dome, and had charge of the water works,
. 4 I ?
: incic.
Mr. Mills designed and erected the Menur
mental Church in Richmond, Virginia, the sad
f memento of an awful visitation in that city; of
the Washington monument now being erected
i by Virginia he was appointed the architect?
i while he designed and erected the splendid ad
ditions recently made to the University of Vire
ginia.
s lu South Carolina, his native State, ho was
r appointed in 1820 engineer and architect of the
State, where among other works ofinterestflre
designed and erected many of the public builde
iugs in that State, all of the fire-proof characr
ter. lie enjoys the honor, too of giving to his
s nutive State the credit of being the first to ins
troduce the railroad system in the construction
p of the Charleston and Hamburg railroad?the
0 first of any extent erected anywhere, even bef
fore the construction of the experimental railroad
iu England, the Manchester and Liverpool.
3 While in South-Carolina he executed a grsat
j work in the publication of an atlas of the State,
on a grand scale, conipanied by a statistical his,
tory of the State.
y Mr. Mills was the first American who studied
architecture in this country, and his views
f are altogether American, having never travelled
beyond the limits of his native country. His
j first studies were at Washington, during the
5 first year of its being made the seat of the govv
eminent, lie possessed the friendship of Mr.
s Jefferson, at that time the President, and subf
seauenilv of President Jackson, bv w hom, as
V A * m ' d '
t. we have before said, he was appointed archilict
s of the public buildings.
Without going further into the minutiae of
the honorable career by which Mr. Mills's life
e has been marked, we will say in conclusion that
s ho designed and is now engaged, with all the
il vigor and energy of youth, in executing that
d greatest and proudest work modern times, the
e National Washington Monument.
c Goon Advice.?A western editor, in answer
- to a complaint of a patron, that he did not give
f news enough, advised him when news was
- scarce, to read his Bible, which be had no ,
doubt would be new to him !
]
d