| | | | | | | & ong, bat not loud, the drooping wheel went on, Ky VOL. XVLI LITERATURE, SCENE. — THE CLOSING Within the sober realms of leafless trees, The ruaset year inhaled the balmy air ; Like some tanned reaper in his hour of ease, When all the fields are lying brown and bare The gray bares looking from their hazy bille O'er the dan waters widening in the vulea Sent down the air a greeting to the mills, On the dull diander of alternate flaiis. All sights were mellowed, and all sounds subdued, The hills seemed further, and the stream sang low, As ina dream the distant woodmau hewed His wiater log with many a muffled blow The embattled forest, erewhile armed with cold, Their banners bright with every martial hue, Now stood like some sad, beaten boast of old Withdrawn atar in Time's remotest blue. Ona sombre wings the vulture tried his flight The dove searce heard his sighing mate's com plaint ; And like « star slow drowning in the light, The villege charch vane seemed to pale and faint he seutinel cock upon the hill-side crew— Crew thrice—and all was stiller than before; Sileut, tll some replying warder blew His alpeu hern, and then was heurd no more Whereat the juy within the eim’s tall crest, Mude garrulous trouble rouud her uniedged|as if it was hushed forever. young ; Aud where the oriole hung her swaying nest, By every litle wind like a censor swung-- Where sang the noisy martins of the eaves, The basy swallows circling ever near—~ Forebodi: An early barvest and a plenteous year ; ig, as the rustic mind believes, Where every bird that waked the vernal feast, Sheok the sweet slamber from its wings at isorn To warn the All now was sunless, empty and forlorn. reaper of the rosy east; Alone. from ont the stubble, piped the quail Aud croaked the crow through all tle } xl ; Alone, the pheasant, drumming in the vale, Made eche iz the distant cctiave loom There was no bad, no bloom upon the flowers The spiders moved their thin shrouds night by | nigat, The thiatle Suiled siowly by | assed noise sost of flowers, less out of + down, the only gi ght. Anzid all this is most dreary air And where the wood —int . yine shed upon the P rch Ite crimson leaves, as if the year stood there Firing the floor with its inverted torch Amid al! this, the centre of the scene, The white-haired matron, with monotonos s'read, | Plied the ewift wheel, and with Sat like a fate, and watched the flving tread She had known sorrow. He had walked wit!) her Oft expped, and broke with her the ashen crvet, } And in the dead leaves still she beard the stir Ot his thick mantle trailing in the dust } While yet her cheek was bright with summer bloom, Her coantry eammoned, and she gave her all; And twice War bowed to her his sable plame— Re-gate the sword to rust upon the wall- Re-gave the eword, but not the hand that drew And etrack for liberty the dying blow ; Nor him, wt » to his sire and country true, Fell ‘mid the ranks of the invading foe. Like the low murmar of a hive at noon; Leng, tut not load, the memory of the gone Breathed throaga ber lips a glad and tremulous luue. At last the thread was snapped—her head was bowed ; Life dropped the distaff throngb her hands And leving neighbors smoothea her carefal \iroud ; serene; Wuile death aud winter closed the autumn sceve THE -+->_e--- WEST WIND. Beneath che forest's ekirta I rest, Whose branching pines rise dark and Ligh, And bear the breezes of the West Among the threaded foliage sigh. Sweet Zephyr! why that sound of woe ! Is not thy home among the flowers? Do not the bright Jane roses blow, To meet thy kise at moruing hours? And lo! Yon stretehing valleys green and gay Aud you free hill tops, o'er whose head thy glorious realms outspread— The loose white clouds are burne away. And there the fall broad river ruva, Aud many a fount wells fresh and sweet To cool thee when the mid-day suns liave made thee faiut beneath their h eat. Thea wind of joy, and youth, and love Spirit of the new awaken d year! The aun in his new realms above Smoothes a bright path when thou art here. In lawns the murmuring bee is heard, The wvoing-ring dove in the shade; On thy soft breath the new fledged bird Takes wing, balf happy, balf ufraid Ab! thon art like our wayward race; Wheu not a shade of pain or ill Dime the bright smile of Nature's face, Thox lovest to sigh and marmur still a a THE ARCTIC PRISON ; OR, SAILING AMONG THE ICEBERGS. _—_— BY LEOPARD ST. VINCENT. The Ship awung heavily to and fro — the long yards Creaking and shivering upon the mosts. The wind whistled with a shrill, weird sound among the shrouds; and the shrouds bent 1n- Wards as though unseen bands of heavy footed men were ascerding them. It was a dark night, yet not so dark but that we could see the lofty lecbergs by which we were surrounded looming “pward lke spectres through the gloom. We were tossing about on the waters of the Aretie Ocean, and, subjected to a heavy gale of wind, Cur position was a@ dangerous one. We bad al- ready begun te prepare raite, and to hoist our Chests on deck, expecting every moment the ship Would be etoveia by the ice. Heavy masses were continually crashing against the bows, and thun- dering under the counter, causing the vessel to thake anc quiver from stem to stern, as though every timber was about to give way. Would be thrown off their feet, and tumble on top of each other in a manner that wae far from agreeable. reary | her jovless mien, | : At times the concussion would be so violent that all hands CHARLOTTETOWN. “She is not there now; I have looked in all nothing of him. ; the rooms. Ob God! my child! my child!’ and | the mother wrung her bands in anguish, while ‘her white face grew still whiter. } “This is true Liberty, wi KEKLY JOURNAL OF POLITICS, LITERAT URE AND NEWS, —————S==— we 2en E'reeborn Men, having to advise the Public, may speak free.” --- Euripides. PRINCE EDWARD ISLAND, MONDAY, DECEMBER J, 1865. (NO. 6. By the sound of his bark we should bave judged that he stood on the summit of an iceberg we were then approaching, and which was but a few fathoms distant. Yet, not- “Wife! wife!” exclaimed the captain, half) withstanding this, no Blusco was there visible. isternly, “ Lilian was with you when I left the} What could it mean? Had some mermaid An Englishman once went to Frederick the | Great, for the purpose of giving him sume Specimens of his extraordinary memory. | Frederick sent for Voltaire, who read to hie Majesty a poem which he had just finished. |The Englishman was concealed in such a manner as to be able to hear every word that ‘cabin; surely you did not let her leave your side | charmed the dog into invisibility? Wecontinued| was said. When Voltaire had concluded, | ”” ‘at such a time as this? !* eried his wife, in accents of the | most piercing grief | lost ! “ Yes! ves “It is all my fault — she is My little Lilian is lost! and I am the | cause |” | “For God's suke, explain yourself!" gasped | the captain. “T left her down in the cabin,” faltered the agonized mother, “aud came on deck, as I jto approach. The barking became still louder, | rather large one—trembled as though under the influence of an epileptic fit. Still there was no Blusco in sight. Our boat struck the iceberg. A pair of bright fing es gleamed at us through a chink in the crystal lw all—they were the eyesof Bluseo ! The mystery was explained! The monument of ice was hol |} wan ed to speak to you. IT thought you were in low, forming a rude little chamber, in which the | the waist, so I groped my way there, and tried | dog was snugly ensconced. | te find you. Not seeing you, | started on my re- | But | when I reached the cabin again she was not there | turn, fearing tu leave Lilian so long alone | —xgone! gone! God ouly knows where!” } ; > 4 , |} “Lilian! Lilian! has any one s en Lilian?” Fore and aft, f om every lip, in startling ac- cents, that cry went tp amid the storm. hewl, | rusty rivets; the heavy icebergs crashed upon } the bows; and the timbers groaned and shook as | they had done before. The silvery accents of little Lilian’s voice came not to our ears, and felt But the wailing | bmes of the poor wother, and the despairing | shouts of the father — both of whom could not j bear to give up the child — continued long after our own Voices had ceased. hearted, childish men though we were—forgetting Then we—rough- i | | | jour own danger, gathered about the effected pair and tried to console them. I don't think we sue- ceeded very well, for our voices trembled a great | deal ; and the tears would come to our eyes, | though we kept wiping them away with the cuffs | of our heavy jackets. No one of us but had loved | little Lihan almost as well as the parents them- j selves, She was but seven years of age; yet the | earnest glance of her dark biue eyes would gu | straight to our hearts, and wake us feel kind and } goed to each other. To utter an oath when she ;was near would have seemed lke sacrilege Like a lilly she had bloomed in our midst, shedd- jing a heavenly influeuce about her, which soothed | and purified our rugged natures. | Strong—oh! strong indeed is the power of in- i nocent childhood over a single heart. lt was while we thus stood, clustering near the binnacle, offering what little conselatioa we | could to the captain and his wife, when one of the | ship's crew—an old tar by the naiwne of Bill | Butler—eame towards us holding a few little torn | shreds of cloth in his hand. | ‘I found this ere hanging ona hook on the out- | side of the bulwark,” said Bill in a low. wourufu! | vote, | “Tt is a part of Lilian’s dress!” shriecked the | captain's voice. a ery, and we looked at ooe another in sad silence. | There could no looger be any doubt advut the watter, Lilian bad tallen overboard. | The few remaining boure of the night worr jaway. The gale subsided. Miraculously, as it jseems to us, the ship had escaped being stove ; jand, as the sea had gone down with the gale, |there was now no were danger, Overwhelmed | with grief, vet feeling it his duty to try and con- The long yards still creaked upon their But the wind only answered with a deeper sole his wife, the captain descended into the cabin, | leaving the management of the ship's affairs in the hands of the mate. Presently the steward catie jou deck. nad seen Blusco that morning. This was the }name of a large Newfoundland dog which bad He wished to know if any of the hands | been a great favorite with Lilian, and she bad | taken especial delight in feeding him. The dog had grown extremely fond of his young mistress, }and would show his attachment in many Ways peculiar to his kind. Now that their dariing was lost, the captain bad ordered the steward to bring | Bluseu to them, thinking that the sight of bin might afford a melancholy consolation to his wife } Heving scarched the cabin throughout without | being able to Giud the aniwal, the steward came on deck, as we have said, to enquire it be had | bee noticed by any of the hands. We all an- swered in the negative. None of us had seen the dog since the previous night. | ship was ransacked fore and aft for the missing animal; and althongh we searched in every nook and corner, he was not to be found. Thereupon the While we were all wondering what had beeome of bum, the man at the mast head sung out that there were whales astern, The mate iustantly ordered the boats te be lowered, and before we searcely had time to divest ourselves of the idea that we were etill looking for the dog, we were paddling swiftly in the wake of a great fat bew head. The whale wade straight for a field of ice in the distance, and went down when he got in the middle of it. We followed hin almost up to the spot where be bad disappeared, and then lay motionless and silently waiting for the next rising. Large masses of ice, flashing glo- riously in the early rays of the sun, and mouided into a tnousand different shapes, surrounded our little craft on every band, floating by witb ma- jestic slowness, aud then crashing against each be rent asunder. Strange, beautiful monuments are those fashioned by the hand of nature—monu- {ments of the frezen mariners that sleep below. * There it goes again,” said old Bill Butler in a whisper, “ What?" asked the mate. “ That barking noise,” replied Bill; “ I've been hearin’ it ever since we left the ship.” The mate leaned upon his steering oar and listened. “It is a seal,” he said. “ Beg your pardon, sir,” replied Bill; “but J never beard a sval bark like that.” “Good heavens!” exclaimed a Portuguese eo loud that the mate was obliged to rap hi on the head with bia knuckles; “good heavens!” he added in a lower tone, “ me tink dat one deg.” * Good heavens! Mikeel, me tink same,” re- marked another Portuguese —a little fat fellow by the name of Pat Plunker. « Pokee (suppose ii) doge a miki, good,” said a Kanaka. “It does sound mightily like a dog,” said the mate, as the barking became more distinet ; “ perhaps it is Blusco on the ice cake.”’. Turning the boat around with his steering oar, gntil ber bows pointed in the direction of the e mate new ordered us to paddle ahead. noise, {2 Suddenly a white face, with wild, glaring eyes | We obeyed, and the beat shot forward with an 2 ) of a bewspaper. (ly Conflan’s plan, Oa the whole, it was two. are su rted from a grucer’s profits, and quivering lips appeared among us. It was easy speed. The barking sowuded nearer every repeat the Theta. epoten ts. oF Z ogee: I Polock 7 oF aftetecen balice Thiele withlite olacind atesbantiie iow. which he was his vanward eight, could get clateh of Con-| country girl might bave her pretty kirtle, or fiins. And truly, be did then strike hia other picturesque article of costume ; but she_ returned, and pretending that he had lost it, claws into him im a thunderously nervous never dreamt of flaunting before ber neigh- -manner, he and all hands, in spite of the bors after such bizarre fashion as is now i : : ti that of the captain's wife. She laid her head moment, until at last we were @ule convinced by | It is said of Mag upon her husband's arm as he stood near the bow. 7” “Lipian! Good beavens! wife, what do you, This was the question that now rose to our could; u lips. We could hear him plainly, but could see the wh? Dea, I lef. ber with you in the cabin?” other with a foree which caused sume of them to) * Oh, Heaven be praised! just look here,” ex- claimed the mate, turning to Bill, and motioning him to look through the crevice from which he had just withdrawn his own eyea. Bill did as requested, and beheld a sight which filled him with as much joy as it did with amaze- nent. Reclining in one corner of this iee-bound apartinent, her golden hair falling about her pale face, and the silken lashes veiling her beautiful eyes, he saw the unmistakable figure of little Lilian. With a few blows of our hatchet we soon sue- The little girl aud Blusee were taken out and placed in the boat. We laid back upon our oars with all the strength we possessed, while the mate, draw- ing a brandy flask from his pocket, poured a few drops of the liquor down Lilian’s throat. By the faint pulsation of her heart he knew that the cur- rent of life was not yet frozen—that she had only ceeded in effecting an opening in the ice wall sunk into that cold stupid kind of dose from which there is vo awaketing. The ship was reached at last. The mate as- cended to the deck apd took the inseusible burden that Bill passed up to him. “ Captain!” he said, as he descended the com- panion way, “IT have brought you no whale, but something that [ think will be more acceptable.’ The captain and his wife bad both caught sight of their child at one and the same moment. “My child! ther, rushing forward te clasp her in ber arms My Lilian!’ screamed the mo Chen, noticing her pale face and drooping head, she sank into a seat, overcome by her feelings, and stretching forth ber arms, faintly murmured— * Dead! dead! she is dead! little dead girl!" Give me ny poor “No—no! she is not dead!’ replied the mate. “If proper measures are taken she can be res- tored ina few minutes.” So saying he laid her on the bed, and assisted the anxious father in his efforts tu restore the cir- culation of her bleed. In a few moments they had the gatisfaction of secing Lilian open her blue eyes, and of hearing ier speak the word “ mother.” The nextinstant she was pressed to the latter’s bosom, and covered The captain buried his face in his hands with | with tears and kisses. This probably helped nearly as much as the other operations had done to res- iore the circulation of the blood, for there was a deep carnation tint upon beth cheek and lip. The excitement having in some degree subsided. explanations followed. Lilian stated that after hermother had left ber to go on deck, she thought she wi uldjust go up to get a peep over the rail at the icebergs. This idea had no aooner entered her head than she earried it intu execution. In leaning too far over the rail, | however,—the ship happened to give a lurch at ' the same time—she lost her balance and was pre cipitated into the water. On rising to the surface she felt herself seized by the neck of her dress, and the next moment dragged on to a large cake Then she perceived that her deliverer She felt terribly frighiened and clung close tothe dog. She re.nembered that they were half shut in by the three walls of ice, of ice. was noble Blasco, which partly prevented the waves from dashing in upon them. Suddeuly the cake upon which they were standing came in contact with another whieh towered up like a lofty column. When the concussion teok place this lofty mass tottered over and fell upon the three walls of ice, (by which the little girl and her dog were encompassed,) in such a curious manner as to completely close them ap, as though they were in a prison. she remained a long time, praying and hugging the dog by turns, until at last, feeling cold and In this position benumbed, she began to grow drowsy and fell into a dose. Had her rescue from this situation been delayed a few minutes longer we would never, in al) probability, bave succeeded in bring- ug her te life. Aa it was, along time elapsed ere the watural freedom of cireulation could be restored tu one of her arms. Many were the praises lavished on Blusco for his noble conduct, and although he shakes his head and turns up bis broad nose when any per- son speaks to him about it, as much as to say “pshaw, it’s nothing ’—still we believe that in his own heart he is proud of bis exploit. _ MISCELLANEOUS, ad ~ WONDERFUL MEMORLES. (From Chambers’ Edinburg Journal ) As nature has made strange fellows in her time, we are surprised that some of her fayo- rites should have been endowed with most extraordinary memories. Let us mention a tew of these: — Seneca says taat he could by the mere ef- fort of bis natural memory, repeat two thou- sand words upon hearing them. ile also mentions Cyneas, King Pyrrhus’ Ambassa- or to Rome, who, in one day, so well learned the names of the people whom he saw, that the next day he saluted them all, the Senators and all the populace assembled, each by his propername. Cyprus, according to Play, kuew every soldier in his army by name, and L, Scipio ali the suldiets in Rome Carneadess, it is eaid could repeat any vo- lume found in the libraries as readily as if he was reading. Mithridates, the king of twenty-two na- tions, held cours in as many languages, and conversed with each nation in its Own tongue. Cardinal Mezzvtanti knew so many languages that he might have acted as ipter- preter general at the Tower of Babel. Lip- sius remembered all the history of Tacitus ; Francie Suarez all Sc. Aagustine’s works, Avicennaall Aristotie’s metaphysics. Joseph Schaliger, when a young man, could repeat above one hundred verses, having once read them, and in the couree of a few weeks could repeat the contents of whole books mn langauges. The German poet Klopstock could repeat Homer from beginning to end. | William Lyons, having lent him a manoscript ita peculiarity that it emanated front trgend going to print, came to him soon after it was ian! Lilian!” she gasped; “ where is our! throat than that of Blusco. ~*~ But where was he? Mesired bim to repeat as much of it as he . n which Mugliabeccbi wrote dowa without missing a word. j and was now full of frantic joy. The iceberg—a | Frederick observed that a foreign gentleman could immediately repeat the same poem to | him, and therefore it could not be original. | Voltaire listened with astonishment to the stranger's declaration, and then fell into a great rage, and tore the manuscript int» pieces. When Frederick informed him of his mistake, the Englishman again dictated to Voltaire the whole poem with perfect cor- rectness Morphy and other chess-players have re- cently given instances of their extraurdinary memories. Dr. Wallis tell us that he could by a mere effort of memory perform arithme- tical calculations, as multiplication, division, extraction of roots, ete, up to forty places. Rerah Colburn, George Bidder and Jedediah Baxton were also wonderful arichmeticians. Che fast named, once mentally caleutated how much a farthing, doubled 140 times, would come to, and the answer was set duwn from his lips in 39 places of pounds, and an odd 2s. 6d.; and being once asked how many barleveorns would reach eight miles, an- swered in one minute and a half, 1.520 540 Sir Walter Scott hoda maryeilously retenuve memory; so had Macaulay, who, 1 is said, eould repeat from lis memory the whole o! *» Paradise Lost.’ In the stirring days of Athenian political greatness, men could be found who could re- peat the “Ihad’? and ‘Odyssey ;’’ and we have read of a wan in Naples who could re- peat the whole of Tasso’s ‘Jerusalem De- livered,’’ and not only recite it consecutively, but repeat any stanzas in any given book, repeat thuse stanzas in utter defiance of the sense, either backwards or forwards, or from the eighth to the first line alternat ly. We have heard of several persons (notably the late Blind Jamie of Stirling) who could re- peat the whole of the Bible, or any required chapter or verse in it. There are, besides, dozens of living persons with most marvelloug memories, the chief of whom ts, perliaps, Mr. Eliha Burritt, the Mezzofanti of the present day. Now, all these are instances of extraor- dinary memories given by nature, although they may have been improved by cultivation and practice. That Nature's eff srts can be assisted is plain in this as in other cases; and us a good memory has at all times been considered ad- Vantageous to its possessor it is not to be wondered at that attempts at different times should have been made to cultivate and im~- prove it. Lt 1s now an art, and indeed has! been so for a couple of thousand years, The art is said to have been discovered about 600 BB, by the poet Simones, who was once, as the story tells us, employed by Scopias, a rich Thessalian nobleman, to compose a song in Commemoration of the victory gained by the Initer at the Olympian games—a banquet heing given by Scopias in honor of the ocea- sion, to whieh Simonides was invited. Due- ing the feast a message was brought to the poet that there was a young man ut the gate anxious to see bitin. When he went out te fuued ov vue, bus while engaged ia the search, the house which he had just left fell down killing Scorpias and all that were with him. The bodies were 80 mutilated that they could not be res cognized ; but Simondes, by calling to mind the place that each had occupied at the feast, was enabled to distinguish them; bence his attention was attracted to the important aid afforded to memory by material objects. This plan was subsequently much practised among the Romans. Cicero says: ** Such are the effects of local situations in recalling asso- ciated ideas to the mind, that itis not without reason some philosophers hava founded on this principle a species of artificial memory.”’ lt would even appear, from the accounts which have been handed down to us, that the ancient orators were in the habit of con necting, in their minds, the different parts of a speech with the diff:rent parts «fthe build- ing in which they were delivered; and this association of mental with material objects is the Jeading principle upon which the art of newory is founded at the presentday. Some hundreds of works on this art have been pub- lished in this and in foreign countries, and mnemonics has, at times. been so much etud- ied as to amountalmost toamania. In 1811, temaigie, a German lecturer, gave i}lustra- tious of mnemonics at the Royal Institation, and astonished a good number of his hearers by the apparentiy extraordinary memories ot himself and pupils. Then tue art of me- mory died out of public favor, EO A SEA FIGHT, The fifth volumn of Carlyle‘s great histori- cal work is almost wholly taken up with bat- tle pieces—echiefly battles by land. The au- thor is an admirable describer of warlike exploits; but he has usually confined himself to the narrative of actions by land. In his volume of the life of Frederick, however, be gives us a sea piece, which, though it docs not specially concern the hero of the book, cannot but have its own interest for Kaglish readers, since it isa record of the achieve- ments of one of our sea-dogs, the once famous defeat of Conflans in Quiberon Bay. Nov. 9th.—A wild gale of wind had blown Hawke out of sight, away hone to Lorbay for the moment. **Now is the time,” thoaght Conflans, and put to sea (Nov. 14); met by Hawke, who weighed from Torbay to his duty, and who, of course, crowded every suil when be heard that Conflans was out. At break of day, Nov. 20cm, im the very hours in which poor Finck was embattling himself round Maxen, and Daan sprawling up upon him through the passes, Wawke had had sig- nal—*‘a fleet in sight,’’ aad svon after **Con- flins in sight.’’ and the day of trial come Conflins is about the strength o! Hawke, and France expects much of him; bat he is not expecting Hawke. Conflins is busy at this moment in the mouth of Quiberon Bay open- ing the road for Vannes and the 18,000 ;—1n hot chase at the moment of a Commodore Duff and his small squadron, who are keeping watch there, and are now running ail they can. On a sudden, to the astonishment of Conflans, this little squadron whirls round, every ship of it, with a sky-rending cheer which could be heard, and commences chas- ing. Conflans, taking survey, saa that it is Hawke; he, sure enough, coming down from windward yonder, at his highest speed, and that chasing will not be now one’s business About Ll a. m , Hawke is bere; eight of bis vanward ships are sweeping on for action. Confians, at first, had determined to fight Hawke, and drew up accordingly, and did jtry a iittle, but gradually thought better of | it, and decided to take shelter in the shoaly coast and nooks thereabout, whieh were un- known to llawke, and migtt ruin him if he lweather extremely bad,—weather itself al- {most to be catlhed @ storm. \roaring weather,—a man of fuloon or accipi- 'tral nature, as well as name. prow forced in his lower tier of guns, | Conflans himself fought well, as did certain of the others, all more or less, sv long as their plan continued steady; thunderous miscel-. lany of cannon and tempest ; — Conflans, with his plan steady, or Conflans, with bis plans wavering, versus those vanward eight, for two houre or more. But the scene was too dreadful; this sbip sinking, that obliged to strike, things all going away with Conflans. Llawke, in his owo flagship, bore down epe- cially on Conflans in his, who did wait and exchange a couple of broadsides, but then sheered off, finding it so heavy. French Vice-Admiral then gave Llawke a broadside ; ons only, and then sheered off, satisfied with the return, Some four others in succession did the ike. ‘+ One blastas we hurry by,’’ making for the shore mostly ! So that Hawke seemed swallowed in yoleanves (though in- deed their firing was very bad; such a flurry among them), and his blue flig was invisible for sume time, and various slips were hausten- ing to help bim:—till a fifte French ship coming up with her broadside, Hawke an- swered her in particular (La Superbe, « seventy-four) with all bis guns together, which sent tue poor ship to the bottom ina &@ hideously sudden manner. One other, the Thesse, had already sunk in fighting ; two (the Solel, and the Hervs.) were already ranning tor it,—the Herus in a very unheroic wanner. Bat on this terrible plunge home ot the Superbe, the rest all made for the shore ; and escaped into the rock intricacies of the darkness. Four of Conflans’ shijys were already gone; struck, sunk, or otherwise ex- net; when darkness fell, and covered Con- flans and his distresses. Country people to the number of ten thou- sand, ** crowGed on the shore, had been watching the Dattle ; and as sad witnesses of the white Hag’s disgrace, disappeared into the interior.’’ Lt was sach a sight as men never witnesged before. Walpole says: **The ruaring of the elements was redoubled by the thunder from our ships; and both con- curred in that scene of horror to puta period to the navy and hopes ot France. Seven ships of the line got into the river Villaine, (lay there fourteen wonths under strict watching till their backs were broken, thumping against the shallow bottom every tide,’” and only three with three frigates ever got out again) ; ** eight more escaped to different ports,’? into the ceiver Charente chiefly. —Conflans’ own ship and another were run on shore and burnt. One we took. ‘Two with their crews bad gone to the bot- tour; one under Hawke's cannon ; one partly by its own mismanigement."? Two of ours were lostin the storm (‘‘chasing that Solei/ and Heros,’’) but the crews saved, Lord Howe who attacked La Formidable, bore down on her with such violence that her Cap- tain Digby in the Dunkirk received the fire of twelve of the enemy’s ships, and Jost not a man. Keppel’s was full of water and he thought it sinking ; a sudden squall emptied his ship; but he was informed that all hie powder was wet. “Then,’’ said he, “1 am sorry [am sate.’? They came and told hiw a emall quantity was undamaged. ‘Very well then,’’ said he, ‘‘attack again.’? Not above eight of our ships were engaged in ob- taining a decisive victory. The invasion was no more. * * * Hawke continued watch- ing the mouths of the Villaine and the Cha- romce Rivers, for a goud wnile alter, and without interruption henceforth — til! the storms of winter had plainly closed them for one season. Supplies of freeh provisions bad come to bim from England all summer, but were stopped by the wild weather.—Upon which, in the fleet, arose this gravely pathe-. tic stave of sea poetry, with a wrinkle ol briny homour grinning in it; Till Hawke did bang Monsieur Qonflans (Cong ang), You sent E beef and beer; Now Monsieur’s beat, we’ve nowght to eat, Since you have quught to fear. ~<a THE EXTRAVAGANCE OF WOMEN. There is a great outcry at present against the extravagance of women. ‘The expensive- ness of their dress, their jewellery, their adornments, their habita, the frivolity of their tastes, the vanity ot their manners, the pretentiousness of their display, are pro- nounced to be unprecedented and disgraceful. The animadversions upon the matter come with great vehemence from all parts of the civilized world — from Paria. London, and Vienna; from New York, New Orleans, and Montreal. ‘The London journals assert that it is impossible tor any but the very rich to support & fashionable woman now-a days In one of tne largest cities of France it is reported that eight thousand young bachelors have entered into an wssociation, and pledged themse!ves never to marry until the women shall sve fit to adopt less extravagant habits uf dress and living; end one of the papers of this city bas lately cortained an ace sunt of an assyciation of a similar character alleged to have been established in New York. The outery upon this subject of female ex- travagance and vanity is not novel, bat is as old ag the annals of the race, and eon- tinugus as the successive generations. Ir occupied much attention in the literary ma- gazinesof the last century, and was a favorite point for the dramatic writers of the century before; it was satirized by the ofd Roman poets and wits, and denounced by the earliest prophets of the ancient Llebrews. Notwithstanding all that has been said upon the subject in times past, we are con- vinced that there is more ground for the outery at this present day than ever there was belore: that ia ta say. we helieva that the vice of extravagince—for a vice it assur- edly is—has a greater scope with the present generation of women than it had with any previous generation; that it affeets a far larger number of persons in a much larger number of ways now than ever. Not merely the daughters of wealth and fortane are un- der the influence of the mania, but the wives and daughters of those who are compelled to engage in the most active pursuits of lite—in coumere'al and professional, and even in trading and mechanical vocations. Notonly giddy young girls, with empty heads, plunge into the vortex—but matronhood as well as maidenhood—tifty equally with fitteen. Not only the * children of thie world" join with each other in the race, but those wh» profess tu bave their affections above the earth and their thoughts in Heaven. The flock of belles in the chureh are as gay and gaudy as the erowd of belles in the theatre, and the extravagance of display on the morning of Sunday 18 even more wild than on the after. noon of any eecular day. Lt is not only the women in the great cities who have now got demented on thie ma ter but the little town vies with the lesser village, and the women lof the farmhouse with the females of the ‘hamlet. Extravagance covered no such sur- ‘face as thisin other times. If it was confined to ladies of tue court, the damsels of the aristocracy or fortune, and others who seem /born to be butter-flios of fashiun, it never carried its pretensions down to euch a point | in the social scale as it hag now reached. The nich merchant's wife, in other days, might perchance have a silk gown and a golden foreign should pursue, the day being short and the | brooch; but she never conceived such prepos ‘terous displays of rainbow silks, and India orb Common with the sex im every village. The | Great time in the history of our count ‘wite of the well-to-do artizan or mechanic of | cap du better by going over the Boi other times might be dressed tastefully or | nicely, but she never thoug't of making such a show of ornaments as ars now communly [enough found upon the female dependents o/ _ those who spend their days in working at the bench. Some may say that silks are more com- monly wern now than formerly, because they are cheaper than in other generations; that jewellery abounds more than ever because of the wider distribution of wealth in modera days; and that elaborately wrought articles of costume are really of less account now than they were in the times before machinery was applied to its manufacture. It as all true enough And it 18 well it isso. For we neither vbject to the use of rich material, bright colours, or golden orsaments, under proper circumstances, and by those who can fitly wear them after discharging properly all the other duties uf a true lite. Wiat is emphatically objectionable is the extravagant and vain and pretentious displays which are now so common among the sex, and which are certainly unbecoming and out of place, not to speak of their wickedness or their ten- dency to give rise to other and worse yices. fiis all-prevailing extravagance is baneful to both sexes. [e lowera the respect of the sterner sex for female qualities. [t bears ex- tremely hard upon the great generality of wen in active and business life, for few of them can bonestly afford to induige the ex- penses required for their fashionable wives and daughters, and many of them are con- tinually being driven to dishonesty and rain by this cause. Ie anfirs women for properly doing their part in life as belp-meets tor men; for a female got up in the modern style has time for little else beyond attending to her dress, und to the display of it. It is des- troying the profound regard which young men and all men must entertain for women ii they would retain their virtue; for a m»- ther, or a Sister, or a& sweetheart, or com- panion, who gives her whole thoughts to per- sunal ornamentation, is neither capable ol arousing noble sentiment or deep affection; therefore, as the sex values itself, let it be conjured to temper its raging extravacances, and devote itself to nobler things. —Scostish American. (+ + ++ ppe— — --- ILLUSTRATIVE OF THE WAR, - The New Orleans Crescent gives an incident illustraung wa feature of Southern society since the war, A relic of the past 1s seen in a man, bearing upon his face and body the impress of many years. This man walks the streets daily, bearing the marks of muisfor- tune, amid the friends he had know in better years, Sus with au appearance su changed, vne could hardly recogn!gs im him the Mer- cutio of the Crescent Uity, the gay, witty, elegant onl. who was at one time the very leader vf fashion. Seedy babiliment, a bent body and wrinkled face, bave nearly obliterated all in bim that was famiiiar in the past. Inberiting a great fortune, he in creased it largely by marriage, and {rum his profession at the bar had an income of forty or fifty thousand a year, and received a sin- gle fee of $60,000 upon a claim on real estate in the lower part of the city. This wealth he seattered with princely generosity and royal profusion. Ue was a Lucullus at home, and his hospitalities aspired to all the magnineence of the ancient Koman nobleman. In 1837 he gave a single sviree that cust $25,000, and which exceeded in splendor anything ever betore known here. The very floors over which the dancers moved were covered with scenic paintings, the work of the most accomplished artwt then in New Orleans; and in the saloon where gaming tables were arranged stood two baskets—one filled with bank notes, the other with gold, for the use of those guests who were unfor- tunaty with the fickle godess. The dispenser of this gorgeous hospitality isnow dependent upon bis relatives. He takes his losses with christian resignation, and does not fly from the world or rail against it, like Timon of Athens, but moves through the world with pleasant and urbane manners, as if be had still a princely fortune at command. Such cass as these are common since the war, and in the ** Relics of the past,’’ the Crescent writer has been happy in bringing out one o! the best features of the Southern people. It is not a rare sight here to see a threadbare man passing by his own fine house in posses- sion of the military, casting one sad glance towards it, and then moving on as cheerful and resigned as if he had just come from the familiar doors. In every Southern city can be seen noble men, ruined by the war, yet content in the thought that the sacrifice was made for conscience sake. <-> —___—_ BEAUTIES OF A HIGH TARIFF. COMMERCIAL MORALITY IN THE STATES. Ex-Governor Seymour, of New York, delivered a number of speeches during the political eam- paign just closed in that State. In the course of one of them he referred to suwuggiing from Canada as follows :— “Tue duty upon alechol is two dollars per gal- lon. It is generally made double proof for the market. It only costs about thirty or forty eents a gallon to make it across the line, You have io the United States a coast line of ten thousand miles. The line between ourselves and Canada is four thousand miles, in some places indicated by river or lake, and in some places by an imagin- ary line. A man, then, who runs a hundred gallons of aleohol across the line, free ot duty, makes a hundred and sixty dollars by evading our laws. Why, a large cooking steve now is about as good a distillery as they used to have, and al- most any man can distila gallon a night in bis own kitchen. That will bring bim more han he ean earn by honest labour, For the first time in the history of our country, a man who wishes to buy shoes tor his child, sees on one side of the line that the price of boots is 85, and on his own side $10. The government says you must not buy boots for $5, you wust pay $10. The temp- tation to disregard the law ia great. The honest suffer, and the unscrupulous reap immense pro- fits. All along our borders you see a continual evasion of the laws of smuggling, driving out the honest trader from the market, rendering legiti- wate transactions unprofitable, and resulting in a fearful demoralization of the community, and a coutempt for old ideas of business morality. A man cames aleug wilh lace. He save:—* This is damaged lace; it came from a shipwreck ;’ or, ‘Tam an unfortunate sailor; I oan sell this very cheap.” It is as good lace as you ean get for twice the money at the storee, and men generally buy from whom they can precure the cheapest. He makes a good profit on it, for he has brought it across the line {ree of duty. [ met a mau at the West, near the northera border, who bad some goods to seli. He said, *I bought them at out of fashion, and I can afford to sell thei very cheap. I looked at them, and they were as goud as any that could be bought. Why was he de- erying his own goods? He was going to sell them at one-half less than a fair trader could do, and yet he was making five times the profit, for he bad paid no duty. You cannot resiat these things. The «nore the duty 1s increased the more profit is made by the smuggler. You know how ing the late war, ‘rua into port, and after putting in his eargo, had to run out again, thus taking a double risk. The ismnuggler loads @ schooner at the West Indies, | whieh costs him $5,000, with a thousand barrels of aleohol; if he evadee the duties, he makes **Shoreward shawls, aod enormously expensive head-geer | $160,000; he runa ashore, unloads, and burns | a‘ / i blood a travelling player, could, then eastward every ship,’’ became ultimate- | as are now seen upon thousands of those who | his vessel. The cost of bis vessel is 3 trifle com- The editor, in eommantingsa the —"* auction of a man who failed. They are a little | staying on this side. While the war lasted, it made its own market; but now we are te com- | uence a competition with the labor of the world. | We have to cope with the great financial problem, ‘and I appeal to you if it does not become ail classes of Awerican citizens to say how we can put av ead to that condition of the country which requires a continuance of the enormous expense of waintaining arinies and governing the Southern States.” (Cheers) eet eS Oe THE SECRETS OF THE DEEP. What has become of the innumerable bones and teeth and scales of fishes that, for all tre years gone by, have died in the bread Atlantic? Where are the remains of the wany ships that have been swallowed up by its waves? Where the gravel heaps left behind by the icebergs that have been melted in floating down from the pelar seas?) Where also the substances drifted across by Gulf Stream and other currents that traverse of all these, but in their place an impalpable, te- nactous mud, everywhere extending, and ma up of little particles of carbonate of lime secreted by countless myriads ot animacules, the food per- haps of the whale and fishes of the surface, but tore probably the sole inhabitants of these great depths which other animals more highly organized would in vain attempt te penetrate. Truly may we say that the secrets of the deep are mysterious and grand, and that the secrets after them repays the labour of investigation. By the iavestigations of modern observers, we find laid open for our observation the great valley of the Atlantic, des- cending by a succession of broad terraces and steep like cliffs, to a gully or ravine some 7C,000 feet below the ridges of the Andes and Himalaya Mountains. Like a vast amphitheatre their ter- races appear to surround a central comparatively small arena. On one principal upper floor, ten to fifteen thousand feet below the present sea level, we have discovered the inhabitants, and already all trace of our world above is lost; all high forms of organic life are absent; and ae remains but skeletons of the simplest animals, which it may almost be said that bat ene or twe specific forms can be determined—certainly nine- teuths of the solid material consisting of the re- mains of one species only. What may be ex- pected when the deeper levels are dredged, and we bring up the material of which they consist? What will be the direction of the line of deepest depreesion, and how will it agree with the adja- cent line of greatest elevation? What will be the inhabitants of that part of the ocean bottom fully double the depth concerning which we bave only very recently obtained information, where the pressure of the water is nearly seven tons to the equare inch of surface, and where each cubie foot of water probably occupies less space by one hundred cubic inches than it would do if litted to the surface, owing to the weight of the superin- cumbent column of water resting upon it?) There are queries yet unanswered, but to many, if not all of them, we may expect to receive satisfactory auswers before very long. The facte that remain to be determined, are hardly more difficult te make oul than those we have already mastered; and the investigations, when onee fairly se on foot, will probably soon leave little te be desired. The soundings that formerly could not be attempt- ed, except in the calmest weather, and with the certaiuty of half a day's severe and incessant las bour, are now accomplished, not only in ordinary weather, but even in a fresh breeze and disturbed sea, ina couple of hours: and whilst, according to former methods, there was more probability of enormous error than of accuracy, the result is now to be depended on, in almost every case, withia very modern limits.— Professor Ansted. > THE JAMAICA INSURRECTION. HORRIBLE SCENFS—THE WHITES BUTCHERED WITHOUT MERCY. The Kingston, Jamuica, Guardian, furnishes these incidents of the massacre of the whites at Morant’s Bay: — Dr. Gerrard was drawn from his place of con- cealmeut, and was about to be struck down, When he exclaimed, “I am Dr. Gerrard,” and the murderera desisted. He tad, however, na influence to save any one. Mr. Batty, who clung tv him, was tern away and dispatched under bia eyes. Mr. Hitchins, faint and horribly mutilated, staggered toward the doctor, and, with bis arm asound his ueck, could only gasp out, “1 am weak, ductor —I cau scarcely stand.” While te stood in this position the savages were striking into bis back and neck with their cutlasses, and Dr. Gerrard evuld feel the rebound of the blowa, At last the unfortunate gentleman relaged hie bold of the doctor, and sunk dowa literally hacked to pieces. While the Custos and other gentlemen were in the Court House. bis Honor displayed the utmost abnegation of self, and only thought of the safety of those with him, Addressing Mr. Price, he said-—* You are a man of their own color; will you undertake to address them, asking what it 16 they want? If it is my life they want, I am pre. pared to yield it up and save you all,” Sir. Price observed that he feared the mob would have ao consideration for him. The Baron then said, “ Let us all go out, then, or I will go ont,” balls and brick bats showering thick at the time, Mr. Hitchins dissuaded them, observing that it would be certain destruction, for eack one who ever appeared at the windows was at once wade a mark for twenty bullets. Mr. Alberga’s little boy was in great alarm, and begged and entreated to be put sumawhere. The spectacle preeented by ais wretched father, thus fearing for a life even dearer to hun than hie own, was truly heart-rending, and drew the tears of the beholdera, notwithstanding the perils they were under, When the company had retired to the school room, a volley came through one of the windows, and the Baron bolding his hands up to his breast said, * My triends, I uave it BOM ¢ they have shot me.” An exclamation came from Mr. Georges, into whose leg two bullets had penetrated. The Rev. Mr. Herschel teok off tis clerical neck tie and bound up the wound, Poor little Alberga, clinging to his father’s knees, re ceived a shot in the leg. Previous to thie, a rveh out having been determined upon, as the burning roof was expected to fall in, the Rev. Mr. Here schel had proposed the offering up of a prayer. All were engaged in pouring out their petition to the Most High for merey, when the balls came crashing through the window and hit three among them. The roof immediately gave way, and every soul rushed out. Mr. Alberga, with his child in his arms, received the firat bluwe, and his cries of ** save my child,” moved the heart of a woman, who took the little innocent away and conveyed hin to hie mother. Mr. A. Cook and Mr. McPherson bid under the flooring, but the glare of the fire betrayed them, and they were pulled out and butchered, The Custos got bold of a aword, and sold his life dearly. The mob jointed his fingera, leavi them hanging by some emall teguments, a laughingly dangled them about with jest. “ Now you write ne more lies to the Queen against us.” Mr. Georges escaped by crawling into seme penguies after he had been shot in the thigh. Mr. Price, before leaving the school, bad genes rously handed his revolver to Mr. Georges, say- ing, * Georges, I cannot escape! I feel it; take this, and try and eave yourself.” Mr. Brovks Cooke being telled by a blow, rolled down the Court House Hill at the back, and when he recovered hie senses found that be owed his life to the care of a black man who bad checked bis fall, aod stood watching over aud protecting bie. The rebels took every article out of Mr. Al- berga’s residence, not leaving his family a stitch of clothing, They also went round levying cone tributions in money and goods from the stores at the Bay. A lot of ruffiana went up to the residence of Mr. Danvers and demanded bim from his wife. After satisfying themselves of his abeence weut away, telling the lady it was a lucky thing extensively blockade-running was carried on dure | fur her husband that he was not there, but that The blockade-runver bad te they would retura for biw or cateh him come | where. | The Kingston Guardian of November 4th says, | that 165 rebelg have been hung at Morant’s Bay, and that the rebellion has already cost $500,000. pared with his’ profits. How ean you prevent | 888i The | this on ten thousand miles of coast? The block. | “We must be wakened tharoughly and look at ‘ade-ruuner was compelled to rua in eatety, and | all the circumstances earnestly, and with the de | industry from being stricken down? to euter a port to load his cargo, But the simug- termination that, se far as we may be able to _gier cau run ashore anywhere, and cares nothing devise the means | for his vessel. How can we prevent American shall never, never of preservation, such things again occur. We understand For the | fully now the character of our pessantry, and we the laborer | wust shape our legislation aceordivgly, avd all - than by such hegitiattein Be cowteived sod curried mut the ocean? Nothing—not one solitary indication” eee ee .