tain heard a sound and lifted up his head. "Hurt me," cried the landlord, "only think now; calling me a rascal, a man strung up in a basket alongside of a house, blackguarding. Forward march, men!" Upon this a file of soldiers belonging to the American detachment, wheeled round the corner and surrounded the spot. Capt. Fudge trembled from head to foot, and begged the landlord to get him down. "So ho;" said the landlord. "Capt. Fudge, who has shot twenty-one men, and stabbed eleven, leaped four six bar fences just ahead of a bullet, run a gauntlet along a sharp fire of musketry, and mounted Bucephalus at the head of his gallant company? really afraid to jump down fifteen feet! But stand on your feet, for you might as well come down at once. I had a good hand at the trigger in the old French War." So saying, he took a gun from a soldier, and the Tory captain, as he was about to protest, was cut short by the crack of the musket; the rope parted, and the basket and captain bounced on the ground. The not scene to which we shall introduce the reader, is a magnificent structure, reared for the amusement of the depraved and dissipated, and for the emolument of the proprietor. Its exterior is not much to view; it is in the interior that the exquisite workmanship of the artisan has been lavished. On either side of the principal room-which is a long, lofty, and well ventilated hall-a "Forward march," cried the corporal, as row of polished mirrors, in massive frames of his men formed around the gallant, but crest-gilt wood, meet the eye. A small oblong fallen captain; and he, our interesting hero, was safely lodged in the American camp. table, with a surface of variegated marble is placed under each mirror, and above, the walls are decorated with naked figures, and exhibits scenes well suited to the lascivious propensities of the frequenters of the place. THE LAST WARNING. The ceiling is supported by marble pilasters CHAPTER I. "And must you go to-night, Frederick?" "Mother, I must, I have staked my honor, and it must be redeemed." 166 "O, Frederick, these companions of yours are leading you astray, be assured they are; and when ruin stares you in the face-when you have squandered wealth and health over the gaming table you will own the truth of my words." "This is foolish, mother, they have no power to lead me; what I do is my own free will." "You are wrong, my son; they are as Ives to the sappling-gradually twining themselves about you, and, inch by inch, destroying you with their poisonous influence. Would that my words" "This is the senseless snivelling of old age; I tell you mother I will have the money?" "I dare not let you have it, Frederick." with bronzed cornices, and is covered with a It was to this place that Frederick Thornton directed his steps. The moment he entered, several young men, on whose face the result of dissipation was indelibly stamped, rose from a table and welcomed him. "What has kept you so long, Fred? We were about giving you up," said one of the party. hanno loved 27 "Some little business at home detained me longer than I intended. I am here at last, however. How stands the rhino to night?" 66 'Fairly, fairly," was the reply. "I see admit the entrance of the jailer, who had you are eager to recover the ground you lost last night. You shall soon have a chance. What say you boys,-shall we game it?" The answer was given by all in the affirm-linked in a last embrace, and they parted forative-punches were called for-dice were already upon the table-and the game was commenced. ever! "And am I indeed the guilty wretch they tell me?" were the thoughts of Thornton, after the door of his cell had closed upon the mother, whose advice he had scorned until too late. "Am I indeed a murderer? Yes For some time the play was even-luck sided with neither of the players. Presently, however, Thornton, who had been anxiously waiting for a chance, began to win. Game-it is no delusion; I am the inmate of a cell, after game was played the heap of silver was accumulating every moment by his side, and success seemed to be his, when a chance throw by his opponent once more changed the tide, and stripped him of all he had won! Then Thornton's anxiety knew no bounds; stake after stake he made, and glass after glass he drained as he beheld the money given him by his mother dwindling to the end. At last he started up and plunging his hand into his pocket, drew forth a five dollar bill the last he had-threw it with an imprecation upon the table. "There is the last I have-you must have that also, I suppose, he exclaimed. Another throw, and Thornton was penniless! "There is cheating somewhere," exclaimed Thornton," those dice are loaded!" "How?" exclaimed his adversary, as the whole rose from the table. "The last throw was a dishonest one, expect! you have loaded dice about you!" "Sir?" was the reply of the winner. Thornton sprang forward and with a blow felled his adversary to the ground. The friends of the fallen one then interfered, but it was too late for further injury-he was dead! An unlucky blow near the temple had killed him. Thornton did not attempt to escape; he was as one in a stupor, and might almost have been taken for the dead person, so pale was the hue of his countenance. He submitted to be secured and led away from the scene of his folly. CHAPTER III. Two figures were in the cell of the city prison, the mother and the son. The effects of the liquor he had drank were entirely dispelled, and his mind was free to contemplate the dreadful doom that awaited him. "Oh! Frederick, my son, is it thus I find? -Had you heeded my innumerable warnings you would not have been here." "Do not upbraid me, mother: I am a murderer, but the deed was committed in a fit of frenzy, and I repented it as soon as committed." from whence I may never depart, but to the scaffold! Well, I deserve my fate. Had I listened to my poor mother's instruction it had not been thus. But dissolute companions, and a propensity for strong drink have been my ruin. It is a hard death to die; to be taken forth in the face of the assembled multitudes, and hung by the neck until life is departed-to be cursed in the public journals and scoffed at by the crowd-." A dreadful thought came into his brain. He glanced at the bars of his cell; and The bolt was removed from the socket to dead? THE EARLY DOOMED.symptoms of this wide pervading malady. A TALE FOUNDED ON FACT. BY L. F. FIZLER, M. D, There are but few members of the profession, and but few mothers especially, now residing in the western part of the state of New Jersey, but that will recollect with painful distinctness, the memorable summer of eighteen hundred and thirty A wide spread epidemic prevailed during that season, and was marked with uncommon mortality. The disease seemed to be confined chiefly to the young and beautiful of our race; and within a few years has sent thousands and thousands of them to that inheritance, which our Saviour has prepared and promised to all, but especially to them. To these were added fever, pain, and a difficulty of respiration, threatening almost instantaneous death. Delirium soon ensued, at which time he would call long and loudly upon his departed father to succor him in his deep distress. Dark and livid spots soon began to cluster up around his little neck, the sad and certain presages of his early doom. There was a rapid exhaustion of all the vital energies; and he trembled as if his little spirit was impatient to disengage itself from the cold investments of mortality, and then soar away to its final resting place. It was a long night of pain and sorrow, without a parallel in the whole history of my professional life. But just as the morning's sun arose, death kindly interposed and let the little sufferer loose-he went down like Scarlatina!-thou dreaded scourge of a foundering bark, amid the woes and wailchildhood; what sad and sorrowful associa-ings of his distracted mother. tions are connected with thy history. At thy slightest touch, infancy droops and dies. Before thy pestilential breath, beauty, innocence, and unoffending childhood, all fade and fall like autumn's leaves, swept by autumn's blasts. Among the many mothers who have been called upon to mourn over the ravages of this dreadful disease, there was one whom I shall not soon forget. She was a young, widowed lady, having one child only; a son aged about six years. Immediately after the death of her husband, she found it necessary to adopt some pursuit, which would enable her to provide for herself, and to fit and educate for future life this interesting child, which had been so recently deprived of its protector. For this purpose she removed into the State of New Jersey, in the Spring of eighteen hundred and If there be any one class of our race, over which death seems to tread with an air of triumph, it is those who are in the morning of existence; bright sportive childhood is often arrested in its innocent gambolings, and before the eye had been dimmed by disease, or the cheek deprived of its healthful glow, they are made to struggle long and hard with the great destroyer. Henry was beautiful even in death. His countenance which had been changed by disease, had now resumed its sweetness. He was dressed in death's solemn drapery; and his little hands were folded across a breast which heaves no more with anguish. The mother stood a long time speechless and almost motionless over her breathless child; and as she would run her fingers playfully and unconsciously through his dark glossy ringlets, her countenance indicated that she was communing closely with the Possessing a superior education, and a great power which had inflicted the blow. mind eminently qualified to impart instruc- After a long interval of undisturbed silence, tion, she was soon employed as a tutoress in she remarked, in a calm and composed manthe female department of a flourishing and ner, "afflictions and sorrow are the lot of all, respectable country seminary. Her hopes and though thick clouds seem to gather round now began to brighten; and it was clearly me, yet amid their dark unfoldings, I can obvious that her little Henry was the object still see the hand which has so often supportand the idol of all her affections. He was a ed me when in distress. I yield him," she child to whom all the warm and deepest continued, "with perfect resignation. Had feelings of her heart were devoted. On him he been in the possession of his intellectual she looked, as her future comforter and pro- faculties, that I could have explained to him tector, when age and its infirmities should why it is that childhood must suffer-could I come upon her. But she thought not, when have told him in his last struggles, of the her child would sport around her with all the joys of heaven, of a rest and a reward, where buoyancy of boyhood, as if to cheat her poor he would soon meet his departed father, and widowed heart into a moment's cheerfulness, would soon be joined by his afflicted mother that death, even then had marked him for-then I could look upon his fair, faded feahis own. tures with feelings of triumph, and say with the afflicted patriarch of old. The Lord gave and the Lord hath taken away.' She suppressed her lamentations, though it was Henry sickened and his mother sorrowed. His disease progressed with an alarming rapidity, and exhibited all the characteristic 6 9.99 evident that she was suffering severely from internal grief. Nature has implanted in a mother's bosom a principle which death only can destroy. Maternity is so deeply and so intimately intertwined and interwoven about her heart, that that organ must cease to beat before she can cease to love. Owing to the peculiar putrescent character of the disease, it became necessary to make early arrangements for the interment. It was our duty to accompany the distressed mother to the grave of her child, and when she stood over the frightful chasm, she seemed to look into it with a melancholy longing, as if desirous to inherit the same resting place, which was about to enclose her cherished child. Henry was deposited in the earth-and such manifestations of sincere sympathy and feeling I had never witnessed before. The assemblage was large and solemn. The mother stood with a fixed gaze upon the scene, as if unconscious of the melancholy occasion. All wept but the disconsolate one who had given him birth. Her eyes as yet had withheld their stores; the funeral service was concluded, and when the turf began to fall upon the little bosom which she had so often pressed unto her own-"the fountains were broken up; she wept long and loud and bitterly." We returned with her to her desolated abode, and all that female kindness and female friendship could suggest to soothe her sorrows, were freely tendered. She would assume an occasional composure, as though her loss was in some measure alleviated by the love manifested towards her. She remarked, that she was now "childless, companionless and alone; a stranger among strangers; with no arm to rest upon, save His who has promised to be an husband to the widow, and who will temper the winds to the shorn lamb." Her constitution was naturally delicate, and much enfeebled and enervated by excessive grief; there were strong apprehensions that some disease might arise and threaten her with alarming consequences. These fears were too soon realised; symptoms of a pulmonary affection began to be apparent. A flush would occasionally steal upon her cheek; beautifully, though painfully pencilled by the hand of the detroyer. It was a delusive flower, indicative of death, and which savored only of the sepulchre. Her disease soon assumed a dangerous aspect; a violent cough ensued, accompanied with all the distressing symptoms which are attendant upon this universal scourge. It was Pulmonary Consumption in its most frightful form; a disease which regards no country, no condition, and which always looks with an invidious eye upon the budding bloom of youth. It prowls along in beauty's path, and loves to steal its victim from the ranks of the loved, the virtuous and the refined. Tiger-like it plays with its prey; first deceives, and then destroys. Memory has still in record the sufferings of that afflicted mother; every hour, as it passed away, aggravated every symptom of her disorder. The premonitions of her fast approaching fate were clearly enstamped upon her countenance. Her mind, however, remained perfectly calm and tranquil, evidencing an entire and perfect resignation. The last time we visited her, she enquired if "we thought it possible she would survive to see another Sabbath morning?" It was an hour in which we dared not dissemble; the reply was "she could not see the light of another day." It was the first time we had ever seen her smile; and her large black eyes kindled up with an unusual brilliance, as if illumined by the bright glories of the "better world," towards which she was so rapidly approximating. She looked upward with a trusting glance, and in a confiding tone remarked: "the storm is nearly over, I fear it not; my anchor is cast within the vail." And when the thought would recur to her, that the period was almost at hand when she would be released from the troubles of life, she would laugh audibly. One of her female friends enquired the cause of her cheerfulness; she remarked, "with me there is but one short step betwixt this and the other shore; but a few moments between a world of suffering and a world of bliss." She continued, "my husband is in Heaven, my child is there, my parents are there, and I shall soon join the family group again, to be separated no more." It was now evident that she was fast sinking down into death; her breathing became extremely difficult; according to her request, another pillow was placed under her head; she gave one parting look, and with a smile upon her face, and a song of triumph upon her lips, she closed her eyes in death! There was a general interest and sympathy excited through all the country round. Friends and strangers assembled to pay the last tribute which was due to one, who died a martyr to a mother's love! Amid tears and sighs, she was borne to the "narrow house appointed for all the living," and I there saw deposited (within two short months) side by side, in one dark and sunless grave, the remains of little Henry and of his devoted mother. A LETTER FROM JERUSALEM. The following interesting particulars are extracted from a letter of a late traveller, published in the Poughkeepsie (N. Y.) Eagle. We have already given several articles in relation to Jerusalem and its environs, and one or two views of it. The one now given, however, is entirely different from any previous one. We never weary in contemplating the grand and glorious events that have taken place in the land of Judea, and especially in the favored city of Jerusalem. Jews, as well as Christians, are deeply interested in them, and we presume that as long as either of these names are retained among us, Jerusalem and its associations will ever be dear to the hearts of both.-ED. GAR. Some days since, when I crossed the mountains of India, and my eyes beheld the holy city in the distance for the first time, I could not help exclaiming, "is it possible that at last, after a voyage of six or seven thousand miles from my native land, I am soon to visit the many interesting localities connected with the life and sufferings of our Saviour, from his nativity at Bethlehem to his crucifixion upon Mount Calvary?" In approaching Jerusalem we passed the village of Loudd, (Lydda,) where the apostle Peter cured Eneas of the palsy, and after two hours ride we commenced the first ascent of the mountains of Judea. The road winds by a rugged ravine, round a detached and barren hill, on the summit of which is the village of Latroun. Soon after leaving this village we entered the mountains, some parts of which were extremely wild and romantic, and abounding with flowers. In some parts the road or path was almost impassable and steep with rugged rocks, and we had to lead our horses. After a few hours ride over a rough road, where a few olive trees are the only signs of vegetable life, we reached the top of a high hill, when, suddenly, the anxiously looked-for city presented itself to view. We soon found ourselves at the gate, where our bill of health was demanded, and found our caravan had been suspected and put on quarantine, but were immediately liberated. The first morning after my arrival I attended the Episcopal service, and found a small congregation worshiping in my native tongue, and the words of scripture which declare that "where two or three are gathered together in my name there will I be with them," were forcibly impressed on my mind. During my first stroll in the city-having had occasion to visit the palace of the Pasha-I mounted the flat roof where the panorama of Jerusalem was taken, and below me lay the square of Harem Scheriff, a grand and noble retirement for the Turks, which also encloses the mosques of Omar and El Aksar, and are built on Mount Moriah, where formerly stood the throne of Solomon and the Judgment seat of David, and a certain spot is shown where the Turks believe Mahomet is to judge the world, assembled in the Valley of Jehosaphat below. None but Turks are allowed to visit its sacred precincts. It is prettily arranged with walks, fountains, and a few orange trees. I then strolled along the via Dolorosa, regarding its localities with interest, and soon found myself in the garden of Gethsemane; the olives here have the appearance of great age. From the valley I ascended the Mount of Olives, which is a round tabular hill, covered with verdure and a sprinkling of olives. To reach the summit is a long walk, and half way up are the remains of a monastery, built on t the spot, according to tradition, where Jesus wept over Jerusalem, foreseeing how her people should be scattered and her high places be made desolate. On the top of the hill is the ancient church of the "Ascension," now a Turkish mosque. |