USA > Ohio > Hamilton County > Cincinnati > The Cincinnati miscellany, or, Antiquities of the West, and pioneer history and general and local statistics. Volume II > Part 32
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He had been speaking for four hours ostensi- bly on the Panama mission, I think it was, but. actually travelled over every thing by and large, in the world, illuminating and ornamenting all that he touched, and giving way for a motion to adjourn, resumed his speech on the next day. It was in the same vein, a tissue of sarcasm and invective against the President and his Cabinet, being the string on which he fastened his pearls and diamonds of every shape and colour, but all variegated, angular and brilliant. He took oc- casion to refer to the Revolutionary pensioners' law, spoke of their number at the close of the revolution, the large proportion left who were found to claim the benefit of the act, and the in- creasing number of pensioners from year to ycar under its operations. " Yesterday, Mr. Speaker, I told you I had found the philosopher's stone. I now tell you, sir, I have discovered the elixir of life. Give a man a pension and you make him immortal. Nay more, you raise him from the dcad."
His sarcastic force was usually felt in somc sting, brief, pointed, and generally envenomcd. After some allusions to Burr; he once observed, " Wilkinson, I forbear to touch, let alone, han- dlc. He is in the last stage of putrefaction- touch him and he falls to picccs."
The Missing Wig.
While Lord Coalstoun lived in a house in the Advocates' Close, Edinburg, a strange accident one morning befell him. It was at that time the
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custom for advocates and judges to dress them- selves in gowns, and wig, and cravats, at their houses, and walk to the Parliament House. They usually breakfasted early, and, when dressed, were in the habit of leaning over their parlor windows for a few minutes, before St. Gile's bell started the sounding peal of a quarter to nine, en- joying the agreeable morning air, and perhaps discussing the news of the day. It so happened, one morning, while Lord Coalstoun was prepa- ring to enjoying his mutual treat, two girls, who lived in the second flat above, were amusing themselves with a kitten, which in thoughtless sport, they had swung over the window, by a eord tied round its middle, and hoisted for some time up and down, till the creature was getting rather desperate with its exertions. His lordship had just popped his head out of the window, directly below that from which the kitten swung, little suspecting, good easy man, what a danger im- pended, like the sword of Damocles, over his head; when down came the exasperated animal at full career, directly upon his senatorial wig. No sooner had the girls perceived what sort of a landing place their kitten had found, than in ter- ror and surprise they began to draw it up; but this measure was now too late, for along with the animal, up also eame the judge's wig fixed full in its determined talons. His lordship's surprise on finding his wig lifted off his head was ten thou- sand times redoubled, when, on looking up, he perceived it dangling in its way upwards, without any means visible to him by which its motion might be aceounted for. The astonishment, the dread, the awe almost of the senator below-the half mirth, half terror of the girls above-together with the fierce and retentive energy of puss be- tween, altogether formed a scene to which lan- guage cannot do justice, but which George Cruik- shank might perhaps embody with considerable effect. It was a joke, soon explained and par- doned; but assuredly the perpetrators of it did af- terwards get many a lengthened injunction from their parents never again to fish over the window with such a bait for honest men's wigs.
Books of Fiction and the Bible.
The Bible contains the literature of Heaven- of eternity. It is destined to survive in human hearts every other book, and command the ulti- mate veneration and obdienee of the world.
When Sir Walter Scott returned a trembling invalid from Italy, to die in his native land, the sight of his "sweet home" so invigorated his spirits that some hope was cherished that he might recover. But he soon relapsed. He found that he must die. Addressing lis son-in-law, he said, " bring me a book." " What book?" re- plied Lockhart. "Can you ask," said the ex- piring genius, whose fascinating novels have charmed the world, but have no balm for death- " can you ask what book ?- there is but one."
A Kiss for a Blow.
A visitor once went into a school at Boston, where he saw a boy and a girl on one seat, who were brother and sister. In a moment of thought- less passion, the little boy struck his sister. The little girl was provoked, and raised her hand to return the blow. Her face showed that rage was
working within, and her elenched fist was aimed at her brother, when her teacher caught her eye. " Stop, my dear," said she, " you had better kiss your brother than strike him."
The look and the word reached her heart. Her hand dropped. She threw her arins round his neek and kissed him. The boy was moved. He could have stood against the blow, but he could not withstand a sister's kiss. He compa- red the provocation he had given her with the re- turn she had made, and the tears rolled down his checks. This affected the sister, and with her little handkerchief, shie wiped away his tears. But the sight of her kindness only made him cry the faster; he was completely subdued.
Her teacher then told the children always to return a kiss for a blow, and they would never get any more blows. If men and women, fami- lies and communities and nations would act on this principle, this world would almost cease to be a vale of tears. "Nation would not lift up the sword against nation, neither would they learn war any more."
Trickery in Trade.
A late number ot Hunt's Mcrehants' Maga- zine, contains an interesting memoir of Gideon Lee, from which we derive the following anee- dote, illustrative of his own fair dealings, and of the usual effect of trickery in trade. No man more thoroughly despised dishonesty than Gid- eon Lee; and he used to remark, no trade ean be sound, that is not benficial to both parties, to the buyer as well as to the seller. A man may ob- tain a temporary advantage by selling an article for more than it is worth; but the very effect of such operations must recoil on himself, in the shape of bad debts and increased risks. A per- son with whom he had some transactions, onee boasted to him, that he had on one occasion ob- tained an advantage over such a neighbour; and " To-day," said he, " I have obtained one over you." "Well," said Gideon Lee, " that may be; and if you will promise never to enter my house again, I will give you that bundle of goat skins." The man made the promise, and took them. Fif- teen years afterwards, he walked into Gideon Lee's office. At the instant of seeing him he ex- claimed, " You have violated your word; pay me for my goat skins." "Oh," said the man, " I am quite poor, and have been very unfortunate since I saw you." " Yes," said Gideon, " and you always will be poor; that miserable desire for over-reaching others must ever keep you so."
Epitaph.
In a work entitled Church-yard Poetry, we find the following epitaph, copied from the mar- ble sarcophagus of " Ladye Eudora Vennome," in one of the church-yards of Yorkshire, England:
" This shelle of stone within it keepeth, One who dyeth not but sleepeth;
And in her quict slumber seemeth As if of Heaven alone she dreameth.
Her form yt was so fayre in seeminge, Her eyne so holy in their beaminge, So pure her heartte in everie feeling, So high her mind in each revealing, A band of angelles thought that she Was one of their bright companie; And on some homeward errand driven, Hurried hier too away to Heaven."
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Cuvier and his Protegee.
Heaven be praised, the coucous* have almost entirely disappeared from the neighbourhood of Paris! In a few years, not a trace will be left of these detestable vehicles. Under prctence of con- veying travellers, these horrible machines' subject unhappy mortals to the most dreadful joltings; keep them, besides, in a constant cloud of dust, and exposed to the hottest rays of the sun, as well as to every passing shower; and again, do not furnish the least protection against the winter's cold. Strange solution of that problem, how one can continue to move without advancing, it takcs them two hours to travel a single league! And then, too, the surly driver, the broken winded and sorry horses, the seats, mere planks, only planed down, the stocks in which one was compelled to keep his feet. With only a few alterations, the coucous would have served an executioner in the middle age, as a fearful instrument of torture.
It was in one of these contrivances of affliction, on one rainy morning, that an individual was ob- liged to take a seat, in consequence of an acci- dent that had happened to his own carriage. He submitted to the misfortune with a joyous, and almost child-like resignation, and seemed very much amused at the idea of terminating his journey in a coucou. Whilst the domestics were actively employed in raising the fallen carriage, and taking the axletree to the village blacksmith, the traveller climbed up the dangerous steps that led to the interior of the coucou, and took his seat; not, however, without a smile, at the grotesque appearance of the driver, whose projecting chin, flat nose, and low forehcad, seemed to belong to an ourang outang, rather than to a human being. The Automedon did not appear to be in a great hurry to start, and his only unlooked for passen- ger did not seem to mind this delay, for he wished for some companions on his route, that he might lose none of the amusing incidents of his situa- tion. After about twenty minutes delay, which the traveller passed in turning over the leaves of a book, and the coachman in looking around him, from his seat, but without secing anything, like sister Anna, in the tale of Blue Beard, ex- cept the grass of the fields and the dusty road, it was at length necessary to start. The horse groancd under the lash, the wheels crackcd, and the traveller hastily changed his seat from the back to the front; for such was the pitching of the coucou, that no one could stand the first shock it gave him. From the first seat he returned to the second, but he could not find any that werc comfortable. The unfortunate sufferer began to regret that he had not remained at the village to await his own carriage, when all at once the ve- hicle stopped. A young girl, hardly giving the driver time to open the heavy door, sprung upon the heavy stops and seated herself on the lower seat, by the side of its occupant. He scrutinized the companion, whom chance had thus thrown into his way. A smile liglitened his whole face, which, until then, had retained a serious, but Le- nevolent expression. He had never seen a more lovely maiden. Of a fair complexion, rosy cheeks, small in size, her large blue eyes indica- ted at once vivacity and innocent frankness. Although the heavens were darkened by thick clouds, her golden locks seemed almost irradiated by the rays of a sun. She put a basket of flow- ers at her feet, adjusted the ribbons of her pretty little lace bonnet, looked by turns upon the coach-
man and her unknown companion: " Thank Heaven," said she, joyfully, " That I have arri- ved in timc."
Without minding the rough jolts of the car- riage, and as much at her case apparently, as if she werc seated in the softest arm chair, she be- gan to look out through the glass at the trees, the country, the road, and the little birds, which were covering themselves with the moistened dust in the ruts of the road. Soon, however, the rain beat so violently against the glass that it was no longer possible for her to look out. Without showing an uneasiness at this, she took her basket upon her knees, took out the flowers it contain- ed, and cssayed to arrange them in bouqets. She did this, however, so unskillfully that the bouquet was not at all in good taste, and her trav - elling companion could not repress a half smile. She raised her head as gracefully as a bird, and blushing slightly, but without any show of dis- pleasure, said:
" I do this but poorly; do I not, sir?"
He gave a friendly smile, in assent. She en- deavored, butin vain, to do better. Two or three times the flowers were arranged in different ways, but neither time were they fixed taste- fully. At length she gave up in despair.
The traveller had carefully watched her efforts. " You onght, indeed, sir," said she, this time, with a slight vexation, and that air of authority which youth and beauty always give, "you ought, sir, to show mc how to arrange them better."
He smiled at her proposal, which seemed to amuse him mightily, and replied:
" With the greatest of pleasure, Miss."
She put all her flowers in his lap, and watched him while he arranged them. As soon as she saw the manner in which he proceeded, the young girl imitated him so well that when the coucou had reached the barricr, two pretty bou- quets were completely finished. But it must be acknowledged the pupil had surpassed her teach- er; the latter candidly confessed it.
The girl took her two bouquets, placed them in the basket, and a profound silence succeeded the intimacy which the lessons in bouquet-ma- king had brought about between them.
The coucou approached the end of its route. The young girl appeared very much occupied by thoughts to which she hesitated to give utterance, and her checks were suffused with a beautiful blush, and she said:
" If the gentleman will accept one of these nosegays it will give me great pleasure."
" Thank you, my pretty child; your flowers are very beautiful, but I ought not to deprive those of them for whom you destined them."
This argument seemed irresistible to the young girl, for she did not insist apon it, but took from the bouquet the most beautiful pink she could find, and presented it to her neighbour.
This time he took the flower, and placed it in the red riband tied to his button hole. The young girl appeared delighted with the value which he scemed to attach to her gift. At this moment the carriage had reached the end of its journey.
The girl put her head out of the door, but soon drew it back. " It rains hard," cried she, and she gave an anxious look at her neat coloured linen dress, her black silk apron and her new buskins, which well set off her pretty foot.
" Mademoiselle," said the stranger to her, in a friendly manner, " you have shared your bouquet
* A kind of stage coach.
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with me, permit ine to offer you a seatin the car- riage which I am going to order." As he spoke, he bestowed so liberal a sum upon their sturdy driver as almost to restore him to good nature. He ran as quickly as possible, procured a car- riage, opened the door, held the large flap of his great coat over the head of the young girl, in- stead of an umbrella.
" Whither am I to take you?" said her com- panion, much amused at the confiding artlessness with which the grisette had accepted his pro- tection.
" Rue du Pas de la Mule, No. 3."
It was some moments before the carriage reached the designated place. The unknown imitated the contrivance of the driver, to protect the dress of the young girl. When he had con- ducted her in safety to her door, he received the thanks of his fellow-traveller, who invited him to walk in and rest himself.
This proposal appeared to amuse him much, and he accepted it with an eagerness almost child-like.
" Since I have taught the child how to make nosegays," said, he to himself, " I might as well make her a visit." Preceded by the grisette, he gaily climbed four pair of stairs. She knocked at the door: it was opened-and an old woman, followed by two girls, came out.
" Maria! dear Maria!" cried they, throwing themselves inio her arms. "Good day, little mother."
She embraced and caressed them, and cxtended her cheek to the old woman; and, for the first timc, thought of her companion."
" Pardon me," said she, naively; " I had quite forgotten you."
" I do not complain, Miss; your pretty little sisters, and your mother, are ample excuse."
" These are not my sisters; they are my chil- dren!"
" Your children!"
" Her adopted children," interrupted the old woman. "My daughter, sir-a poor woman, left in poverty by the death of her husband, an honest and industrious labourer-died of grief, in the garret above this little apartment, and left me alone, and without resources, with these two orphans. It was then necessary for us to have recourse to the hospital; for, old and infirm as I am, I could do nothing, either for myself, or for these poor creatures. My despair was noticed by those in the house; and, the same evening, I heard some one knock at the door. It was Maria, sir." "Mother Marguerite," said she to me, " I lost my mother, about three months since. I am alone in the world, without any relatives. You and these two children shall, henceforth, be mine." And since that time, sir, we have dwelt with her. To my great distress, the generous girl has to work, night and day, to meet the cx- penses which she has thus imposed upon herself, and which she is not fully able to do; for, every month, she is obliged to expend a small portion of her little capital of fifteen thousand francs, left her by her mother. If I was alone in the world, I would, long since, have left her, that I might not ruin my benefactress; but these two children prevent me-I have not the courage to do so. Must I take them to the hospital, sir ?- my daughter's children to the hospital!"
Whilst Marguerite was speaking, Maria stood with her eyes upon the ground, confused and ashamed, as if what she was telling had not been to her credit.
" I was an orphan: I could not live alone, and without some one to love," interrupted she, as if to excuse herself. " Marguerite watches over nie -her children love me-ought I not to feel un- der obligations to them, sir?"
" You are a good girl, Maria," replied he, much moved. " You deserve that others should take an interest in you; and I will now prove how much I take in you, by giving you a little scolding. Yes, by scolding you. Listen to me, my little friend; you should not thus travel alone in public carriages."
" Sir," interrupted Marguerite, " she has been for the last eight days to work, as a seamstress, at the house of the Marchioness de St. Vincent, who employs her."
" That is all very well, but recollect, Maria, that you ought not to converse with fellow trav- ellers, whom you do not know, and still less make nosegays with them; and moreover, a young girl ought not to permit a person, whom she does not know, to conduct her in a carriage. God has this time thrown into your way a man in whom your beauty and your innocence have only inspired such respect and admiration as we feel for angels. But there are many others who would have made an unworthy return for your confiding frankness. Be then, for the future, more prudent and silent, when you ride in a coucou, and even suffer your pretty bonnet to be spoiled, rather than invite a stranger to your house. Now as a reward for my lesson, let me kiss this fair brow, and the fat cheeks of these charming little girls, who call you mother." He pressed his lips upon the forehead of Maria, slip- ped two pieces of gold into the hands of the two children, and departed without leaving his name. " That is a very kind man," said Maria.
" Let us pray for him to-night," added Mar- guerite, " for he has given you good advice, my child."
Maria expected to see again the unknown, who had been so kind to her. But eight months pas- sed without his coming again, and they were very painful ones for the poor girl! During their long and trying duration, she shed nearly as many tears as in those days of distress, when she saw her mother slowly dying before her. Old Mar- guerite fell sick first, after her the two young girls, Lydia and Zenais, took their turns. Maria was obliged to take care of all three, and was un- able to leave their bed side either by night or by day. When at length it pleased God to put an end to these painful trials, and the old woman and the two children were at length restored to health, there no longer remained upon the cheeks of Maria, any of their late peculiar fresh- ness. Pale, worn out by her long watches, her fatigue and anxiety, she seemed at least five or six years older. From the dreaming illusion of youth, she had passed at once into the stern re- alities of life. She had now seen life as it really was, and with all the cares of a mother before she had ceased to be a young maiden, she had tasted all its bitterness. Before, a smile of hap- piness was ever playing upon her lips; now all felt moved by a mysterious anxiety when they beheld her sad resignation and sweet content- ment.
As soon as the sickness and its attendant anxie- ties were once fairly out of the house, it was ne- cessary she should once more restore order and attention to her work. The cost of the physi- cian, and the medicines, had made a sad breach in the little fund left to Maria, by her mother.
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She set herself courageously to work, that she might not have to resort to it any more
One morning, surrounded by her two children, whom she was teaching to sew, having been sewing herself since sunrise, she heard old Mar- guerite, all at once, utter a cry of surprise and joy, exclaimed:
" Is it indeed you, sir?" You have not, then, entirely forgotten us."
The door of her chamber opened, and the mys- terious friend of this industrious little family en- tered. He wore a uniform that Maria did not recognize-several decorations shone upon his breast. .
" I thought, sir, you had forgotten your pu- pil," said the maiden, smiling.
" My child, I have never once ceased to inter- est myself in you, and I hope soon to prove this to you. I wish to take you with me. Will you get ready and accompany me?"
" Whither are you going to take mc, sir?".
" That is a secret. Be speedy ; I will give you ten minutes to prepare your bewitching toilct. Your little lace bonnet, your rose-coloured robe, your black apron, and those little buskins-have you them still?"
" Alas! sir, I have not worn them once since the day on which I met you. They have not even been taken out of this wardrobe."
"So much the better; that is the dress in which I desire to see you. To your task, then, my child! . Ten minutes, my dear; you hear, not one moment more."
He took out from his pocket a paper of good things, which he divided between the two little girls, and inquired, with much interest, what pro- gress they were making in the difficult science of reading. At first somewhat afraid of him, thesc little rogues ended by getting on such a familiar footing with the gentleman that they played with his hat, and had climbed upon his knees, when Maria returned from her dressing room, very neatly and tastefully attired.
" You are dresscd just as I wish to have you," said her unknown friend. " Embrace your chil- dren and dame Marguerite, for I do not expect to bring you back before the evening."
He offered his arm, which Maria took with some timidity. When they had descended the stairs, the young girl saw a carriage awaiting them at the door. This time it was no hack, but an elegant and convenient landau.
The coachman whipped up his horses, tra- versed a part of the Boulevards, crossed the Seine, entered into the court yard of the Institute, and stopped before one of the flights of steps. Maria's guide took her by the hand and led her in by a private stair-way. A small door was hastily opened, and the young girl found herself all at once in the midst of a brilliant and crowded as- semblage. All eyes were directed towards him, as well as upon herself. Maria was moved, even to tears.
" My child!" whispered her protector to her, " there is a lady in this assembly, who wishes very much to make your acquaintance. She is my wife; I am going to take you to her side."
He conducted the maiden to the side of a lady of distinguished appearance and benevolent countenance. She took her hand in both of hers, just as a voice was heard to say,.
" The session has now commenced."
Several gentlemen, dressed in the same uni- form which the friend of Maria wore, took their seats around a large table, and one of them arose
to deliver a discourse. His subject was noble and generous dceds.
" We have reserved," said the speaker, towards the close of his address, " to conclude our long series of charitable and virtuous deeds, the generous and unsolicited devotedness of a young girl, who has nobly taken upon herself the burthen of two little girls and an old grand- mother of seventy years. To be able to assist them without being separated from them, she has not only passcd nights of hard labour, but she has not cven hesitated to sacrifice a portion of her little inheritance from her mother. For the last six months it has pleased God to subject the courage and devotion of this young maiden to a new trial; discase has prostrated her threc bene- ficiaries. This orphan girl has exhausted her own strength, health, and her little wealth in de- votion to them, and has not once given way to any discouragement, not even during the time that all three were dangerously ill. Therefore, gentlemen, let us not hesitate to adopt the sug- gestion of our distinguished colleague, M. George Cuvier, to decrec the prize of the Institute to the Maria"
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