Newspaper of Burlington Free Press, July 31, 1840, Page 4

Newspaper of Burlington Free Press dated July 31, 1840 Page 4
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ram aim . . .- "H touched his harp, nml nations heard, entranced." for the l'rco Press. Ml' 13. , , Oil wliat is life, With all ita care?, with all its joy." 1 'Tis liko a dream, a ision of the night, That flits before the mind and tlien ixpone. 'Tis liko the uictcnr'sglarc, that sliootsnthwart the sky, And dazzling n while, pectus filuryinir in its brilliancy, But quickly disappear, and all is'lnrt, and darkness Reigns complete. 'Tis like the morning llower That blooms and sheds its fiagrnm v round, Hut soon is domncd to wither nml decay. 'Tis like the small and fragile bark, on ocean billow tossed ) That strimulcs fur a while, 'gainst wind and wave, Then sinks, o'crpowcrcd, amidst the roar of U:ters. '.Tis like ths vapor borne alolt, and ecnllcrtd here and there, Ily furious winds, Pofh cling and so vain a thing a life, A slender thread, that binds llm niul tnpirth, And but the shadow of the life to come. A thousand ills upon it wait Trouble and sorrow, death and pain. To-day man i to-morrow he is not j His spirit's flown, and nought but dust remains. The distance from the eradln to the crave is lint a span, Vet man rljng fondly to this present life, And worships it, and calls it God ! for tho l'rco Press. TO MISS W Wo mr.t as friends as friends we part s Itut the faltering lip and glowing check, Though they betray the cotiM-inus heart, Cannot its full emotion speak. . Tis better thus I thou shoiildst not tear Away the eil Mispcndtd there i Nor wifh to read one thought abovo A brother's tininiiassioncd love. And now wc part ! A foil and kind And warm farewell my lins bestowi And inay the heat t with thiiio entwined, Willi thee the richest lilfssintrt! know, for thee my best dc-ircs hball rise, For thro my my prayers ascend the skies, And tune nml chnuur perchance di?pil The sorrows of this last furuwifl ! G. Steamer F.iirlington, July 20, 1P10. TCKNS' BIBLE in our posscsewn on Saturday the identical pair of Bibles prevented by tho im mortal Burns to tho dearest olrjcet of his affec tions, Highland Mary, on tho banks of the wind ing Ayr, when ho spent with her "one day of parting love," They are in remarkably good preservation, and belong to a descendant of the family of Mary's mother, Mrs. Campbell, whoso property they became on the death of her daugh ter ; and subsequently, Mrs. Anderson, Mary's only surviving sister, acquired them. The cir cumstance of the Bible being in two volumes, teemed at ono time to threaten its dismember ment, Mrs. Anderson having presented a volume to each of her two daughters ; but on their ap. proaching marriage, their brother William pre vailed on them to disposo of the sacred volumes to him. On the first blank leaf is written in the hand writing of tho immortal hard, " And ye shall not swear by my name falsely I am tho Lord. Lev. 19, IS :" and on tho corresponding leaf of tho second volume, "Thou shalt not forswear thyself, but shalt perform unto tho Iird thine oath. Mat, fi, D'A," On the second blank leaf of each volumo there are the remains of "Boh. trt Burns, Mossgiol" in his hand writing, be neath which is drawn a masonic emblem. At the end of tho first volume, there is a lock of Highland Mary's hair. Uicro is a iiiournlul interest attached to those sacrud volumes sacred from their con touts, and sacred from having been a pledge of jovo ironj tlio most gilteil of Scotland's bards, to tho artless object of his affection, from whom he was separating, no more to moot on this side tho grave. Tho life of Burns was full of ro. mance, but thoro is not . .10 circumstance in all no romantic and full of intorcft as thoso which attended tlio gillot thoso volumes. Ho was younj when ho wood and won tho affections of Mary, whom ho describes as a " warm hearted charming young croaturo as over blest man with generous love. Tho attachment was mutual and forms tho snhjoct of manv of bis oarlinr .lyrics, as well as of tho productions of his later years, which shows that It was very deep rooted. Ileforo lie was known to fame, steeped in povor to the very dregs, and meditating an escape to tho West Indies, from tho rcmorsolcss fangs of a hard hearted creditor, ho addressed to his "dear girl" the song which begins : "Will yogo to the Indies my Mary, And leave tho nulil Scotia s shore Will yo go to tho Indies, my Mary, And cross tho Atlantic's roarf' But neither Hums nor his Mary wcro doomed to " cross the Atlantic's roar," nor to realize those dreams of mutual bliss which passion or enthusiasm had engendered in their youthful imaginations. Burns was called to Edinburgh, there to commence his career of fame, which was to terminate in chill poverty, dreary disap pointment and dark despair while Mary's hap pier lot, after a transient gleam of the sunshine of life, was to bo removed to a better and hap pier world, llor death shed a sadness over her whole future life, and a spirit of subdued grief and tenderness was displayed whenever she was the subject of his conversation or writings. "Ye banks an' braes an' streams around The castle of Montgomcrie, Green be your wood", and fair your flowers, Your waters never driimlie j There simmer first unfaiilds her robes, An' lliern they langest tarry, for there. I took the last farewell O' my sweet Ilicland Mary." In a note appended to this song, Burns says : "This was a composition of initio in early life, before I was known at all to tho world." My Highland lassie was a warm hearted charming young creature as ever blessed man with gener ous love. After a pretty long trial of the most nrflent reciprocal affection, wo mot by appoint ment on tho second Sunday of May, in a seques tered spot on the banks of the Ayr, where we spent a day in taking a farewell before she would embark for the West Highlands to arrange mat ters among her friends for our projected change of life. At the close of tho autumn following, she crossed the sea to meet mo at Greenock, where she was seized with a malignant fever, which hurried my dear girl to her grave in a few days, before I could even hear of her illness." It was at this romantic and interesting meet ing on the banks of tho Ayr, that the Bibles before us were presented to Mary ; and he must have a heart of stone, indeed, who can gaze on them without his imagination calling up within his bosom feelings too big for utterance. On J'u.rt spot, they exchanged Bibles, and plighted their faith to each other, the steam dividing thctn, and the sacred book grasped by both over its purling waters. This was the only token of affection each had to give the other, and the wealth of the Indies could not have procured a better or more appropriate one. In Lockhart's life of Burns we arc informed thr.t fevcral years after the death of Mary.on the anivcrsary of the day which brought him the mournful intelligence, he appeared, as tiie twi light advanced, (in the language of his widow) " very sad about something ;" and though the evening was a cold and keen one in .September he wandered into his barnyard, from which the entreaties of his wife could not, for some time. recall him. J o those entreaties ho alwavs promised obedience but these promises were were but the lip kindness of afTection, no sooner made than forgotten, for his eye was fixed on heaven, and his unccasin" itridc indicated that his heart was also there Mrs. Burns' last approach to the barn yard found him stretched on a mass of straw, looking ab stractly on a planet which, in a clear starry sky, "shone like another moon," and having pre vailed on hiin to return into the house, instantly wrote, as they still stand, the following sublime verses, which have thrilled through many eves. and which will live the noblest of the lvrics of Burns, while sublimity and pathos have a re- sponding charm in the hearts of Scotsmen. TO MARY IN HEAVEN, Thou hns;ering star, with lessening ray, That lovts toured the early mom, Again thou tisbcrcstin the day My Mary fiont my soul was torn. O Mary, d ar, departed shade! Wlure is thy place of blissful rest) Secst thou thy lover lowly laid ? Hcar'st thou the groans that rend his breast J That sacred hour can I forcer, fan I forgit the hallowed grove, Wlicu' by the winding Ayr wu met To live one day of parting love ? Ktemity will not eliacc Those records Iear of transport past Thy hinge nt our last embrace Ah little thought we 't was our last I Ayr, gurgling, kissed his pebbled shore, I OVrllUIlL' with wild Wnnils. tliirk'nuwr nmn . friie fragrant birch and hawthorn boar," ' Twined am'rous round the raptured scene. The flowers sprang wanton to heprcst, The birds sang love on every spray ; Till soon, loo soon, the glowing west reclaimed the speed of winged day. Still o'ir these scenes my memory wakes. And fondly broods with miser care; Time but the impression deeper makes, As streams their channel deeper wear. My Mary, dear, departed shade, hero w thy blissful placeof rest? Sect thou thy lover lowly laid ! Hcar'st thou the groans that rend his breast ? The Bible is, as wc said before, tho property of a descendant of Mrs. Campbell, tho mother of Mary, who lives in Upper Canada, and who is in such reduced circumstances that she has sent tho invaluable heirloom to this city for the pur pose of disposing of it. Of its genuineness wo have not the slightest doubt, as wc have, times without number, seen original letters from Bums, and the writing on the Bible corresponds exactly with the letters wc have seen. It is to bo do. plored that stern necessity should decree the cparation of such a tribute of the affections of ono of the noblest hearts that ever graced hu manity, Irom tlio family of the darling object of that affection, and tho token of an attachment which almost ennobled tho family of Mrs. Camp, hell, must fall into the hands of a stranger : hut since such must be the case, we hope the Natu- ai History .society will not allow so valuable a relic to becoino private property. COOLNESS ON THE BATTLE FIELD. Connected with tho movements of the north western armies in 181U. and nrovimmk.. , many incidents, which, though too unimportant iwj uiu p.igrs in junurai msiory, are neverthe less highly interesting, and worthy of tireserva tiou. Some of these have been related bv Km, Tipton and other bravo officers : several nm m. corded in tho naratives of Dawson and Hall; a "y uiiuui in me hows nanors o t in tnnnu oi men umy occurred; nut tlio greater number a mum uwen merely in tlio recollections of the surviving KoldiurH who wi Inn tlu.n. of them display an intrepidity unsurpassed in .i. M.in.t, ... Hariarn: oi Mors, n.vlnliit n ran nnuj mi. i im.mum.oi imminent ihngor, indicative of uiu luusi. uuiuniwiiHi resolution and tho most j.Mr..iruiii.iry nunc, wt tins latter character ire tho two uicincntH inniitionnil lmt..,.. wr.. 'hid them related in a letter from Col'. John ojiuuu ,-iuiiiii, . i piiiuiiuuiu irmniiot the adiiiiuiH 'ration in Kentucky, to agontleinan in this city". Col. Smith, it will ho recolocted. was mm .,f nn aids of (Jon. Haurifon at tho baltlo of tho Thames. Tho writer states that a moinont boforo tho battle commenced, Con. Harrison rode up to a majestic Souuca chief, and took ins powder horn toro.primo his pistols. Upon witnessing this, Lieut. Smith asked him if ho oxnected m mmr. in personal contact with tho enemy ; to which tho General roplied, Umt it was proper to be prepared for any event that ho commanded an army of bettor materials than Proctor's and that lie was determined not to survive a defoat : adding with a smile, to Lieut. Smith, "You had hotter fresh prime too, us I shall expect my aids to die around mo I" While- at tho crotchet, after tho left wing had recovered from its momentary confusion, and was joining tho front, General Harrison ordered Lieutenant Smith to bringdown Chlllcs's com mand to support it. While ho was giving this order, tho necks of their two horses wcro inter locked : and some twiirs of a trco abovo them, which had gathered and retained a cluster of leaves, and around wincli tlio aid Had to tool: at Ins Commander, were cut down by tho enemy's balls. Near tho spot, at the same moment, a soldier was shot through tho thigh; andscoin" the Commander-in-Chief as he swung around and fell, he cried out. "Did you see that Go ncral ! they have shot ine again." This man had been wounded the day before, at the Bridge. General Harrison directed him to bo taken back to have his wound dressed ; but finding that his thigh was not broken, tho brave follow bandaged it with his handkerchief to stop tho bleeding, clutched up his gun, swore ho meant to have satisfaction, and continued to fight. A few moments afterwards, a young man dashed up to tho Commander, holding a scalp in his hand and sung out, "Look hero, General, Iv'o got it ! My father was an old Kentucky In dian Fighter ; and when I left home, he made me promise to bring him the scalp of red skin killed by myself. And here it is this is for the old man. 'Now I want ono for myself !" And away he sprang in search of another enemy. These two anecdotes, Colonel Smith says, greatly amused Commodore Perry, when ho re lated them to him at tho close of tho battle; and the gallant sailor truly said, that an army of such men could not he conquered. And ho ire qucntly afterwards on meeting with the officers of the army, would repeat the bravo soldier's exclamation, with great zest, "Do you sec that General ! they have shot mo again !" C't'n. einnati Hep. THE TilKUU FltlENDS. A NAHRATIVr. l'OUNPEI) ON TACTS. Some years ago there resided nt Brussels three young men, tunned Charles Darancourl Theodore do Vtilniont, and Earnest do St. Maure, wliosc friendship for each other was of so ardent a nature that they were general ly known by the title of The Itisqiarablcs. The first link which hound these youths to gether was the remarkable circumstance of their having been all three born on ono day, and being all of good families, they had been constant playfellows in childhood, had stu died at the same academy as schoolboys, and had become members of the same university in their more advanced years. Through all these stages of their existence, they had ex hibited the same unvarying affection for one another, and had displayed great similarity in their tastes, feelings, and pursuits. On reaching manhood, however, circumstances led them, as might have been expected, to adopt different courses of life. Darancourt, the son of an eminent physician, selected tho profession of the lawns the road to eminence and respectability in the world. St. Maure, whose father was a nobleman of decent for tunes, chose the army as most suitable to his birth and pretensions. De Valmont, on tho other hand, preferred tho captivating studv of letters and the fine arts to tho pursuit of ins positive proicssion ; ana ttio circums tances of his lather, a retired colonel of en gineers, enabled the young man, for the time at least, to indulge his tastes in this respect. Ernest do St. Maure, at the period whence this narrative takes its date, had not vot joined the army; but tho imperial mandate (tor urusseis was then within the dominion of Napoleon) was looked for daily, and Count do St. M aure and his lady wcic preparing their minds for parting with their beloved soif. At tins time it was that Charles Derancourt, who had been recently admitted a member of ,h0 masonic iraternity, took an opportunity oi suggesting to young or. niauro tlio pro priety of entering tho same society; Damn court's counsel was founded on certain stories of soldiers having fallen into the hands of the enemy, ami having been saved by discover ing a brother-mason in some of the captors. "Now, who knows," cried the young bar rister, with the ardor of friendships, "but you, St. Maure, may be thrown into a si milar situation, and may escape by tho like means V Though disposed to look upon the mysteries of masonry as a useless mummery. St. Manic allowed himself to lie persuaded by his friend, and promised to undergo ini tiation nt an early day. At tho same time he would consent only on condition of Daran court himself acting as sole initiator, which the barrister, however irregular the proceed ing might bo, professed his willingness to undertake. During the Sunday immediately following the day on which this conversation took place, Count do St. Maure's house was obser ved to be shut up b the neighbors. None of tlio inmates, at least, wcro seen to issue from it, though they had ever been remarkable for their punctuality in attendance on tlio services of the church. The neighbors, how ever, merely concluded some of them to bo ill. But at 8 o'clock in thoevening, Charles Darancourt and Theodore do Valmont cal led, in order to spend a social hour with the j family. Their repeated knocking nt tlm door remained unanswered, thoy at length alarmed tiie neighborhood. Tho door was hurst open, and to the horror of tho specta tors? four murdered bodies were found in tho various bedrooms. Tho corpses, whoso throats were shock ingly cut, were thoso ol tho Count do St. Maure. his lady, and their two servants. It was found that a desk had boon broken open unu piuuuereu oi vaiuatiio jewels, Known to have been there. On this appalling discov ery, Darancourt, whoso friendship for the luiiiuy was wen Known, appeared nt first paralyzed with grief. When ho recovered Irom trancelikc stupor, ho rushed from tho I house, exclaiming, "My friend! my dear Ernest ! Where is my poor friend ?" This j exclamation called tho minds of the specta tors, for tho first time, to tho circumstance of young St. Mauru's absence. The autho rities were immediately called to tho spot, and among other steps taken, a search was instituted for Ernest de St. Maure. Do Val mont, who retained much more presence of mind than Darancourt had exhibited, con ducted in person the search for Ernest. But the wholo of Brusicls was examined in vain. The young man was to ho seen nowhere. At tho solemn investigation which took phico into tho wholo of this tragic affair, cir ciinistnncci came out which tended strongly to fix tlio guilt of parricide on tho missing youth. A penknife, marked with his ini tials, was found near the scono of slaughter, covered with blood. This, to all appearance was tho instrument with which tho mimhirs. had boon committed. Howards were offered for tho nppreln'iision of young St. Maine, nnd in tho estimation of all men he was ac counted n parricide, until, on tho sixth mor ning after tho inurdors, a now turn wnstrivon o tnc i nuair ny tho discovery of tho youth's body m n stagnant well in tho outskirts of tho city. At first, indeed, ns no wound wus seen on tho body, it wns onlv thnnulit i.. i... had added self-destruction to liisothor crimes; but, on a more mUiuto examination, a final! puncturo was dctoctcd on tlio broast, imme diately over the heart. This had well nigh been passed over as n trifling and accidental scratch. At tho urgent entreaty of ono sur geon, however, the chest wns thorought, Inid open, when it was found that tho heart has been pierced to its centre by a sharp instru ment of exceeding minuteness inn direct line with tlio external puncture. This obviously had been tho cnttso of Ins death. As tho young innii could not have thus slain himself nnd then have conveyed Ins body to tho well, it boenmo apparent to all that Ernest do St. Maura also had fallen a victim to tho same conspiracy which had over vhelmcd his pa rents. 1 his, at nil events, was the strong presumption: nnd so satisfactory did tho dis covery appear to tho authorities, that thoy laid tho son in the same grave with his pa rents, thus clearing his memory, as fur ns they could, from the dreadful charge of being a parricide. Tho arguments of Charles Da rancourt wcro chiefly instrumental in procur ing this justice for his departed friend. The young ndvocato displayed in this enure till the warmth of sorrowing affection, and all the power of forensic nonius. No further light was thrown on tho fato of the at. JYiauro's, until somo weeks after the tragical event. Several papers wcro then discovered in a escritoire by tho Into count's brother, which thrown dark suspicion on ono of tho most intimate friends of tho deceased on Theodore do Valmont ! It appeared by these documents that Do Valmont had fix ed his affections on Emily Duplessis, a beau tiful young lady, who returned his passion, in spite of a long standing quarrel between their families. Ernest do St. Maure and Charles Darancourt had been Do Valmont's only confidants, and had assisted him in pro curing interviews with tlio object of his affec tions. Being thus occasionally brought into contact with 'the young lady, Ernest do St. Matiro had himsclfbcen inspired withadcop and unhappy passion for Emily Duplessis. He had confessed this to Darancourt, and had at the same time declared his resolution to root it out of his mind, and to die rather than injuro Do Valmont. But the passion had not been so easily overcome, and Do Valmont had at length become aware of the truth. This led to a scries of letters between him and St. Maure, which letters arc now discovered. In some passages of these-, Do Valmont rea soned with Ernest as with a brother on the subject of his misplaced passion, while in others Theodore used language, that now bore a most unfortunate aspect. "You know mo too well," said Do Valmont in otic letter, "not to fool convinced, that, independently of an uiuur uiuiivus, an innate sense oi wnat is duo to my own honor would urge mo to in dict the most ample vengeance on the head of him who could avail himself of my un bounded confidence to estrange from mo the affections of my adored Emily." These and other passages of the discovered correspon dence, admitted of an inference so unfavo rable to Theodore de Valmont, that the au thorities, on having the letters laid before them, immediately took him into custody. Various other circumstances of a disadvan tageous nature came subsequently into view. It was remembered by thoso who had been present, how comparatively little emotion had been shown by Theodore on the disco very of tlio murdered bodies, while Daran court had displayed such agitating grief and horror. Besides, De Valmont, it now an- pcared, had been met and recognized near tlio scene ot guilt on thenight of the murders. When asked to explain where ho had been, Do Valmont showed manifest confusion, and said ho had been visiting a friend, but posi tively refused to name that friend. And, moreover, arespcctable female cameforward, who averred that, on the third or fourth dav after the tragedy, she had washed a shirt for the prisoner, the right sleeve of which was clotted with blood. The explanation which Do Valmont gave of this circumstance was lame, confused improbable. On these grounds ot suspicion, thcodoroDc Valmont was ap pointed to take his trial for the murderof the St. Maure's, though no ono could iniatiinc a reason for his having included the parents in mat revenge winch krncst alono seemed to have merited at his hands. Charles Darancourt was unremitting in his attempts to sustain his imprisoned friend un der the heavy allliction of such a charge as this. To Darancourt. Theodore confided the task of communicating tlio intelligence of iius accusation io JMimy wupiessis. Tlio

young lady was so dreadfully affected as to sink into a violent fever, during the ravings of which she revealed to her parents the fact of her having not only loved Do Valmont, hut of her having beeu recently united to him by a private marriage. This information, which she did not gainsay on recovering par tially from her illness, had tho effect of widen ing tho circlo implicated in these dark trans actions, since the parents of Emily had the grief of seeing her fato bound tin with that of one on whom a charge rested of the most atrocious kind. Their previous hostility to the. Do Valmont's the parents might perhaps have readily cot over; but there was now dee'p disgrace attending any connection with the very name of Do Valmont. The discov ery of the marriago was thercforo concealed. Tho morning: allotted for Do Valmont's trial arrived. Tlio officers went to his coll to rcmovo him, but lo ! the place was empty ! The prisoner had undermined tho cell, and escaped by means of scaling tho walls. On the tablo lay a letter addressed to Madamoi- sellc Duplesis, which was opened by the au- inornios, nnti was lound to contain an ani mated and solemn assertion of tho writer's innocence But, sooinscircumstanccs to bear gainst him, ho had resolved (tho letter saidi to tako tho only visible mode of saving his life, in tho hope of ono day proving his in nocence ; and until this was established, iio never would roturn (hesaid) to Brussels. An energetic search was mado for Theodore de Valmont, but it proved fuitless. Thus was justice atrain baffled, nt a time when it had fixed, in its own belief, on tliu true criminal. But Theodoro's letter, which was lone and elonucnllv pathetic, made a deep impression in his favor on many per sons, aim, among others, on tho parents of his wife, Emily Duplessis, or rather Do Val mont. On conversing with their daughter, they moreover learned that Theodora had been visiting Emily on tho night of tho mur ders, and had hurt his arm iii crossing tho garden wall of lior father's house. Not knowing that Emily, in her sicknoss, had revealed tho marriago, Dn Valmont would not betray tho secret, and Iionco his confu sed answers when questioned, ns already mentioned. Knowing theso things, Emily longed for Theodore's return, which might havo been comparatively safe. But ho could not ho heard of any where. Tho parents now consented to tho opou acknowledge ment of their daughter's marriago with the absent Theodore, which consent Emily had Mrong reasonsor entreating from thum. When Theodora had boon absent about seven months his wife gave birth to son, for whom Charles Darancourt stood sponsor at tho font. Darancourt on this occasion, after piuugmg to in motnor and ciuid, called on tho guests present to join him in drinking "To tho happy return of the absent father, and may his innocence soon bo established!" Strange to say, this wish seemed in somo measure fulfilled, not many days after its ut terance, in a manner that deeply affected him who tittered it. A enrt was stopped one night nttho city barrier, by ono of tho col lectors of the imposts. No contraband goods were found in the cart, hut In tho net of search a small box fell off, and was crushed by one of tho wheels. Tho collector assis ted in gathering up its contents, and whilo doing so picked upa brilliant diamond brooch. The collector had been onco in tho service of tho Count de St. Maure, and instantly re cognized tho brooch, which was of great value, as having belonged to that nobleman. Tho carter was taken into custody, and, on examination, stated that ho had been em ployed by a gentleman to carry trunks nnd various articles of furniture to a country house nbotit a inilo distant from Brussels. Being asked the gentleman's name, the man readily gavo it as "Monsieur Darancourl, the younger, residing in tho Grand Square." Charles Darancourt was ere long, ns his friend De Valmont had been before him, consigned to a prison, on tho churgo of mur dering tho St. Maurcs. Tho strango fato which had thus caused suspicion to full on the very dearest friends of the deceased, mado the case most remarkable in the eyes of all men. Charles Darancourt was fairly brought to trial. lie defended himself with equal calmness nnd ability, declaring the brooch to have been given to him in a pre sent by tho Count do St. Maure. Charles Darancourt solenily protested his innocence, and continued to repeat tho as sertion during the interval spent in awaiting the fulfillment of his sentence. The fatal day at length arrived, and tho prisoner was led out to the scaffold, to die an ignominious death, in the presence of assembled thous ands, who looked on with strangely mingled feelings of pity and satisfaction, caused by tho ambiguous and mysterious nature of the case. Tho majority of the spectators could not bring their minds to believe in the com mission of such wholesale murders by one man, and that man an ingenious youth. On the other hand, tho collector proved that the Count had ever seemed to regard tho brooch onco most valuable of his family jewels, and had refused it, in the witness's hearing, to his only son. There was, on the very face of it, an improbability in tho notion that a man of small fortune like the Count, should give away a jewel of such value, as a mere friendly present. It was further proved that Ernest do Si. Maure had been last seen en tering tho prisoner's house on the night be fore his disappearance; and on being called forward to tell what they knew, Charles Darancourt's throe servants were found to have been sent out of the way on various errands, on the night in question. A chain of presumptive evidence of this nature was established against Darancourt, and, in de spite of the talent with which lie defended himself, lie was condemned to die for the murder of the St. Maurcs, and a dear friend of tlio sufferers. But the decision of the law though it could not remove doubt, wns not to be opposed. When all wns ready on the scaffold, and eternity immediately before him, Charles Darancourt pulled from his bo som a scaled packet, and handed it to the priest in attendance, with directions that it should be given after his death to his father The fatal cord was about to bo fixed, when a loud shout arose from the populace, and a crowd was seen opening up to premit the passage of a horseman, accompanied by sev eral soldiers. "A respite!" was the cry. l tic populace already excited by this event, were still more so, when thoy" beheld the horseman spring to tho scaffold, embrace the prisoner, and then advance to nddivis them selves. It wns I hcodore do Valmont: Hi spoke nt some length to the multitude, tell ing them that on hearing of Darancourt's condemnation, lie had flown to Paris, and had detailed the wholo circumstance to the Emperor, who had been thus moved to grant a respite. "I knew my own innocence," continued Thedore, "and I could not doubt that my beloved friend was equally innocent with myself. Our intimacy with the unfor tunate deceased has well nigh brought death on both of us, for that intimacy is our sole crime. Tlio mystery which hangs over this sad story heaven will clear up in Ins own good time." The shouts of the peoplo arose joyfully on the air, for tlio words of Do Val mont carried conviction with them What were the feelings of Charles Daran court on being thus snatched from the grave? Ho retained all his calmness, and merely uttered a few broken sentences, expressive of gratitude to heaven for his liberation from tho charge of being a murderer nnd a robber. He then turned mildly to the priest and requested the restoration of the packet. The priest was about to comply, when ono of tho attendant officers snatched it from the holy father's hand, declaring it to be I lis duty to retain and show it to his superiors. The prisoner quietly remonstrated against tlio seizure of papors relating only to privato family affairs. But the officer was obstinate. Darancourt and Do Valmont were then con voyed to prison, ns tlio respite ordered, till the emperors will should be further known. On reaching prison, Charles Darancourt immediately communicated with his friends, nnd protested anew against tho seizure of his papers. Tlio authorities did not listen to his request. Well might Darancourt struggle for the repossession of that fatal packet! Believing death inevitable, Darancourt had there mado a confession ! and what a confession. A confession of five cool nnd deliberalo mur ders effected by him without an accomplice ! Tho following is an abstract of that paper's contonts: 'Having formed a deep attachment to Emily Duplessis, Darancourt had re solved to cut off both Do Vnlmontand Ernest de St. Moure as obstacles in the way. Er nest fell into his power. This victim camo to the houso of Darancourt to bo initiated into tho mysteries of masonry. Under pre tence of fermormmg these, Darancourt had contrived to bind tho young man so that ho could neither stir hand nor foot, and had then oponnd tho victim's dress, and thrust a knit ting needle between tho ribs into tlio centre of tho heart! Ernest do St. Maure died ins tantly, almost without a groan. Taking a key, by which tho deceased lot himsulf into his house at night, from Ernest's pockets, ami also a penknife, Darancourt then carried tho body by a hack road to a neighboring well and threw it in. Hu then hurried to the Count do St. Maure's house, lot himself in, and murdered tho master of tho house, his wife, and his two domestics, whilo sleeping in their beds. Tho principal motive for Da rancourt's entering tho house wns tlio desire to gain possession of a bond for 5000 francs, which, out of his slender means, tho count had lent tho young lawyer to prosocuto his studies. The murder of tho servants, and indeed, of tho othor victims also, was com mitted lest thoy should disturb him in tho robbery of tlio house, which provod a tempta tion too .strong to bo overcome when tho mur derer found the chance in his power. Family jewels and cash to a considerable amount were the price of his guilt. By leaving the penknife Darancourt hoped lo throw suspi cion on tho son of the count ; and this really turned out as ho had anticipated, though the unexpected opening of the old well hud sub verted that part of tho first opportunity.' This fearful revelation, from tho murde rer's own hand fitted the minds of the people of Brussels with thodecpest horror. Hnd the packet been returned to tho guilty Daran court, mystery, it seemed probable, would havo permanently hung over the fate of the bt. INIaurcs; lor the accomplished hypocrite, who had shed so inuch'blood, seemed toknow naught of conscience or its stings. When ho was again taken to tho scafiold, it was amid tho execration of multitudes, and no man's pity followed the wretch into eternity. His crimes had been committed with as little remorse, and under ns unnatural circumstan ces as any that ever disgraced the annals of mankind. Theodore do Valmont was restored to the arms of his beloved, Emily, and enjoyed a perfect happiness as over fulls to human lot. In the close concealment which ho was com pelled to preserve after his flight, ho had not hoard of the acknowledgement of tho mar riagc,othr)rwisc ho would probably have bra ved all danger, and retnrned earlier to Brus sels. THE ANTARCTIC DISCOVERY. The Globo of Saturday last contains a letter from Lieut. Com. Wilkes, dated March 10, 1840, from on board tho U. S. ship Vin cennes, communicating to tho Department, tn official account of tlio late discovery of an antarctic continent. It appears, from his uccount, that up to the 1st January, his squa dron continued in company, but on that day they were parted in a fog, it having been de termined to leave each vessel to act indepen dently, under n belief that it would give, if possible, a greater degree of emulation lo all, and from the fact that owing to the ice and tho thick weather, it would be impossible to continue long together. On tlio 12th of January the Vinconncs ran into a bay or field of ice in Ion. 1G4 deg. 53 mm. E. nnd hit. G4 deg. 11 min. S., present ing a perfect barrier to any progress further South. After an unsuccessful attempt to penetrate through tho ice, the ship proceeded westward. On the morning of tho 19th of January land was seen to the south and cast ; many indications of the proximity of ami uceing aiso apparani sucn as penguin, seal, and the discoloration of tho water. The impenetrable barrier of ice prevented r noar approach to the land. After passing tnrougn largo clusters and bodies ol ice and inumcrablo ico islands, tho ship entered a largo bay formed by ice, but no point could bp discovered where a passage through to the south was practicable. In exploring this bay Lieut. Wilkes reached the lat. of G7 deg. 7 min., in Ion. 147 deg. '20 min. E., which was the farthest point south to which the Expedition penetrated. Appearances of distant land were seen in the eastward and the westward. About one hundred miles to the west of this, the needle gave no variation; afterwards it in creased rapidly in westward variation as the ship proceeded from which circumstance, Lieut. Wilkes is of opinion, that when in the ico bay ho could not have been vcrv far from the South magnetic pole. This bav was called Disappointment Bay, as it seemed to put an end to all hopes of farther progress soutin On the 28th at noon, after thirteen re pulses, tho ship was in Ion. 150 deg. 30 min L., and lat. 05 deg. 32 min.. S., when land was again discovered bearing south. A storm coming up it was necessary to run back but upon the abatement of the gale the same course was retraced. Lieut, wilkessavs : Wc ran towards the land about fiifty miles, when we reached a small bay pointed by high cliffs and black volcanic rocks, with about sixty miles of const in sight, extending to a great distance towards tiie southward in high mountainous lnnu. The breeze freshened to a strong gale, which prevented our landing, nnd compelled us to run out after sounding in thirty fathoms water ; and within two hours afterwards tlm ship was again reduced to her storm sails, wuii a neavy galo irom southward, with snow, sleet, and a heavy sea, continuing 36 hours, and if possible more dangerous than that of the 28th and 2Dih, owing to the large number of ico islands around us; after which I received reports from tho medical officers, representing the exhausted state of the crew and condition of the ship. Notwithstanding tho unfavorable accounts of tho Medical officers, Lieut. Wilkes deemed it his duty to persevere, and accordingly ho steered again for the land. The coast was reached on tho 2d of February, about GO miles to the westwardof the point first visited, but the perpendicular ico cliffs lining the const prevented the possibility of landing. The course of the ship was continued west ward along the barriers of ice which appeared to make from tho land. On the 9th and 10th, tho appearance of distant mountains wns seen and again on tho 12th. The ice barrier nt length began to tend more to the southward, which induced a hope that a nearer approacli might bo made to the land. On the 13th, at noon, in longitudo 107 deg. 45 min., latitude G5 deg. 11 min. South, land appeared plainly in sight, with a tolerably clear sea. But the courso of the ship was stopped by tho ice barrier within about fifteen miles of the shore. From tho icebergs around the ships, which were colored and stained with earth, Lieut. Wilkes obtained numerous specimens of sand stone, quartz, &.C, some weiL'hincr a hundred pounds. After coasting westwardlv for some da vs. and witnessing some splendid appearances of tho Aurora Autrahs, Lieut. Wilkes, on the 21st of February, changed his course, and proceeded JNorth, it being evidently ltnprac ticablo to land on any part of the coast. Tho conclusions to which the navigator comes, aro: that there can scarcely bo a doubt of tho existonco of tho Antarctic Continent, extending throughout the distanco of seventy degrees from East to West ; that different points of the land are at times free from the ico barrier; that they aro frequented by seal, auu mat wnaics abound on the coast, otTerine: to our enterprising countrymen, engaged in whaling nnd sealing, a field of largo extent for their future operations. Eiotit. Wilkes commends to tlm nrnim r mo uepartment the ca ant conduct of ihn ollicers, seamen nnd marines, during Ibis Antarctic crisis tho manner and spirit, to gether with the coolness and nlacrily, with which they met danger nnd porfoiuied their duties. "All that I can say in their favor." in iho words of tho comnnndor, "would fall far short of what thoy dosti ve. I shall boar tostimony that thov havo proved ih.im. selves worthy of tho high character borno by our couiilrvninn lllul llm in.... ,l.!l. .1 . belong."- rrSHH. ' UWy Scnocn has vory clolightfnllv remarked, that malico drinks ono half of its own poison, "I am a true laborer ) 1 tarn that I cat cct that I wear owe no man hate i tnvv no ninn's hnntiincsi i glad of other men's good i content with my harm ; nnd tlio greatest of my pride is to see my ewes cram and tny Imnbs suck." &al.ncarc's 'As you Ukt it.' From tho Franklin Farmer SEEDING WOOD LAND IN GRASS. . Bouitno.v Co., April 2, 1840. Dear Sir Your request that I should communicate lo you my experience in the cul tivation of grass, ns yon arc inclined to think, I may know something worth telling, is com plied with by mo most cheerfully, though, at the same time, I must acknowledge, my qual ifications ns a writer fire not such as will make the subject interesting, evon to you, who take so much interest in it. You will permit me to describe tilings in my own way, and if I am in the main intelligible, you will I know be satisfied, although I may not treat matters in the order and stylo a critic might wish. Before I am done, I think it likely 1 shall in troduce some topics not strictly within tho scope of your request, but lying very near to its borders. If, for instance, my hand docs not tiro, I may say something about tho best mode of grazing and fatting cattle, a subject, you perceive, that has not much to do with tho cultivation of grass, but which is of equal interest, and is more closely connected with it than is supposed. You inform me that much of your wood land is in a state of nature, and that you would like to know the best way to get well sot in grass. To do this, as in every other work of importance, you will have to cxer crcise patience nnd perseverance. And in the first place, you must as speedily as possi ble, get rid of all useless timber, such ai buckeye, box-elder, thorn-bushes, and tho rough and crooked suar trees, ns well as shrubs, iron wood, hornbeam, and suchlike, as may encumber the land; reducing tho amount of shade to about one-third ol what is common on forest land. This is usually done by cutting down and btiring tho smaller sized timber and shrubs, and by deadening tlio larger, and leaving them for time to as sist in their removal. All fallen timber, both top and trunk, must be removed. This work being done during summer and autumn, in the winter following yon you must feed stock of any every kind upon the land so prepared for the more it is tramped the 1 etter. Scat ter your grass seed in January or February, and to enable you to do it regularly and upon all of the surface, you must tako advantage of a snow for by sowing it on a snow you Will be able to see where your seed falls, and nnd where it does not, and thus regularity in sowing is gained, an object greatly to be de sired. You should continue to feed upon and tramp the ground, until, from the warmth of weather, it is apprehended the seed is about to germinate, at which time all stock must be taken off. A hoof must not now touch it until about the first of June, when tho young grass will be up from six to ton inches" Inch, being in appearance quite slender and weak ly, and which if pel nutted to remain much longer without beinjr grazed off, will fall with its own weight; will mildew, rot and dio,root and branch, at least in a great measure, es pecially if the shade covering the ground is considerable. It is, therefore, proper, at this time to turn your stock upon it, (horned cattle much to be preferred J and graze it closo to the grot-rj the greater number of cattle turned on the belter ; a large number will accomplish the object much more evenly than will a small one. After your stock has takenoff the grass and weedsns close rs it will readily cat them, it must again bo removed, and you must cut down w ith a scythe, all re maining weeds, briers and elders. My ex perience has convinced me of tho necessity of this kind of management in setting wood land pastures, as it not only prevents tho tops of the grass from smothering the feeble roots, but the treading of the stock gives a compactness to the ground about the roots of the grass, which is indispensable at this time. After this, when tho grass has again grown to a sufficient height to afford a bullock a full bite, you can graze it according to in clination or necessity. If tho set happens to to be irregular, a tiling not uncommon, you should renew your cllbrts by resowing iho naked spots, and treading the seed in with stock in the winter, or you can succeed as well by feeding hay, containing tho rilit kind of seed, over them. Indeed, there isno method so certain of success in setting land in grass, as feeding hay, containing the de scription of seed desired, upon it. When this pl.i-i is pursued, the hay should bo scattered with great regularity. A ton of hay having good seed is cnougli to go over five acres, if care is taken in scnttcrinc. Blue grass, you know, is in universal use here for woodland pastures, but as it slow in getting a sufficient set to be profitable, timothv and red clover seed ouht to he mixed with tho bluo grass seed. One bushel of striped blue grass seed, half a gallon each of timothy and clover seed to tho acre, is the usual quantity UfflcuU and tardv to bo set with the tScr grasses. " pip" grasses. If deadening timbor is resorted to, when it begins to full nnd is sufficiently dry and rot ton to be got rid of easily you should take it all down, and either burn it or carrv it from tho ground ; nnd if this is thouglu a wasto of fuel, you should at all events, remove k as fast as it falls ; for by letting it remain to rot on tho land, as is the practice of some graziers, it not only encumbers and takes tip much of tho ground but encourages tlm growth of sprouts, briet;, ciders, poke and million, nnd, in tm.n, every kind ot weed Every neat farmer will go over his pastures onco in cat'n year Willi a scythe, and cut all weeds bricrs.'ctc, and the month of Awnist is tho proper time to do it, This should by no mentis bo neglected, for although Iho work may bo one of considerable extent, ye oach year the labor will bo lessened bv a do creuso of weeds, until linaly, if von perscvero yon will havo but littlo lo do in "that way. 1 will, at present, continno my reniarks no further, If you desire it, 1 will horonftnr gtvo you nioio of my oxperienco on this sub. joct, ns well ns upon others in connection with it, Farewell, r, pt jj Tho pneo of performing tho mrr:n oniony in Iowa, is (hreo goat skin, or four