Vincennes Gazette, Volume 14, Number 51, Vincennes, Knox County, 22 May 1845 — Page 1

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" TRUTH WITHOUT FEAR," YOLOIE XIV. VJ:i:XIvS, IXDIAXA, THURSDAY NOKXIAC;, MAY SO, 1 S 13. .11

From the Ladiea' Companion. A 1 Ir o il , t h t U i p y . tiV THE AL'TltOtt F 'LAFITTE,' 'EUr.TON',' 'KiP,' ETC. ( Coniliul.'d. J CllATTEli V. Marly the tn-umg morning, the Earl of Linton drove to the Academy, u t; J demanded ot ihe keeper, the name and address of the p-'.imt-r of the two pieces, which he indicated.

'H is nllr 1 Allied, the Gi ipsey, my v ho ha" midc to much noie i;i u 1 1 d , I u i i .. . v,., e picture of Cain?" ir lotdshe. ' I s oe imjW in I ,odon.'' 'lie is. mv lord.' I will take Lis address Li twenty inirutes afterwr.rds the car:.".gc ot the no')lt-:.ia:i was drawn i'n at the -i . ..Ui'e i t a tut row court w hero he alighted, and after descending a tew steps, came to a d"Or, which by a Ilight of carpeted stairs communicated with r spacious room on the first door. In this room, which wa9 plainly hung with green cloth, relumed by a few valuable old pictures, bi) i one i r two more recent works, si' od at his easel, a line looking young nian, wail an exceedingly dark eamplexion. on whose features dwelt a cloud of setiled melancholy. It was the the young painter of Rome, known as "Alfred the Gipsey," who, after three years wandering in Italy, had opened a studio in London, and ha 1 already by the unaided efforts of his own genius and industry, placed hi-? name wi:ii hotiorab'e mention m the mouths of all men. The picture before him was the .Madona of Than, rot the ropv, but the original, of which, before leaving Italy he had succeeded in getmg possession. He was gazing on it w ith a tool; between that of a reverential worshipper and an a ioring lover. Suddenly he heard a footstep in his room, and looking up, he beheld and recognized ihe nobleman, so intimately connected with her, who at that moment shared his thoughts. The recognition was mutual. In a few courteous words Lord Linton ep.-psed his regret fit the long interval he had -uif erod to elapse before the opportu ni'y. which now presented itself hnd beta met wuh. to thank him for the servier he had rendered himself and family, in rescuing his child from a dreadful death; nnd inf irmed him of ihe numerous in pn r :'4 Hi nau o- e:i miuie a tier mm .n is. me purpose: 'and,' be ai'ded, "having a -i ii i r i i l) Hi tew lua since returned to England, after

-a 1 vig r sideni-e in ihe sou;!) of Europe, ! nc-h!.atal; v mot with a picture in the K . Academy, which is so c! sely as so i. ted with vourself, that eonf lent yon mus. he i;i l Oidon, I obtained your address. t: hatcnel at on.-e hither, that I might ffnllv reU-ase. myself from the de; : uf gratit udo yo ir gad?ni'y has imposed ou me. Permit me. sir. with my ( -. pt rr-Mons of thanks, to offer you at the same tune, not as a compeiwauon or rewar l, hut as a further proof of my grateful consideration, the enclosed check for jCIOoO. The young painter hjwed, while he said respectfully, 'My life is not bought, my lord, I need no reward. I newer gaze on this pict.ire, that I am not thanked; and each hour f my existence I am blessed with tne consciousness that the lovely personification of this propht tic picture of Titan's before me lives and is happy.' The old noble walked to the front of th" ensil to look at the. picture, and his face g'owed as h -3 beheld the miraculous likeness of his daughter. His aristocratic piide could n 'i endure, that one so humh'e should possess, too plainly as fuel to his d:ri:iii passion, the, picture of his highb v:i child, and this feeling overpowering Ids gratitude, he resolved to possess 'he portrait. Young man, you piesunie too far on ;he powers vour art gives you. and take, me thinks, undue advantage of an accidental resembhnce, found in this copy from an old painting. It is prostrating vour g id-like art to th lowest uses. The possession of this picture under the circumstances connected with it, :s a moral theft a sort of forgTrv that no honorable rn:i wi'l uphold no honest man be guilty of. You will oblige me by eidier destroying this picture or placing it in my keeping. I will become its purchases at your own price. 'My lord it is not to be bought. It is lear to me, as life!' ha replied with aniinati n. 'How, sir! Hemember, yceng painter, r is a portrait of my daughter of Lady '.iiurt Linton, vou speak! Heware, sir Hear me. my lord, said tha young i -mi, addressing the offended noh'e in a . .-e bo respectful in its tone, yet ear t. that he could not refuse to list- , 'hear me and then judge me! I am ninter a gf? if you will but in v boson throbs a heart warm as that ich beats in the breast of his majesty. ' ii heart is nohle its feelings noble i . i a human heart, my lord! in a word ; s man's heart, and as a man I love. :'f.e object of my passion is your daughr." Ha!'

rice. feene ner anu nave never vet s:)len i. with her yet I love her, for she i a woman, though an Earl's daughter. llu: the canons of social order place her faabove me, as the Madona before me. J have, therefore, chastened my deep 'ove, and wedded it to my faith, and wor-h'p a heavenly a:;d enrthiy duinity both at the same time in this serah'.c face. He not offended, mv lord ; mv thoughts are not ies j holy, whetlur 1 :-ee in it for a mo ment. Lady Laura Linton, or Mary, the Virgin. In fine, my lord, vain love ha grown into a religion, and in the likeness of your daughter I behold only a divinity. Ask mo nor. i hen, to ; a: t with it, my lord. Let me not be d 'isit d the happiness; of adoring afar off, ht r I may not i n-e present. Let m; be b'esM-d uith the idea! presence of her whom birth an i fortune have placed forever beyond my no-cession. It can give no offence to the-;- she Iwitl never know cf my hu'nb'e iO v-: KcMse toe not ;.us pra er, my tor. lie stood Lefore the earl with a look so eloquently pleading o modest, yet so earnest, that the nobleman, already moved by thia singular appeal to his feeling, suddenly gra-ped him by the hand, and was about to speak, when, as if emotion had overcome him, an i he feared to trust Ids voice, he signed towards the picture as a gesture of assent. For a few seconds afterwards he paced in silence and then iurn;ug towards the painter paid, 'I know not w hat to make of you, young sir: ue have so elten and so singularly met your str: nge appellati on your gpn-iu-, courage, ambition and romantic character all mark you as r,o ordinary person. You speak English like a native; yet in your pronunciation of some words, there is something, I know not what, that is foreign and your complexion, too. Are you English or Italian?' 'I am a (iipsy.lny lord!' 'Ah, true! an English Gipsy. This accounts for vour swarthy hue!' 'Yet I believe, my lord, that I am an Englishman by birth.' How!' 'It is my impression, from the early passages in my memory, tlmt I must have been stolen from my parents!' 'Indeed. You interest me! WIiM do you rem'tn'f er?' 'Though almost ali of the recollections are of a Gipsy life. I feel very confident of having once lived in another sphere. hut until my fifteenth year, excepting a very hasty period of childhood, I was a Gipsy, At this age, a bachelor gentleman in Sussex, taking a fancy to me, as we were encamped near Ids house, enticed me from the tribe, and put me. to school. Thiee years afterwards he was thrown from his horse and killed; ami there being no provision made for me, he having made no will, 1 was cast upon mv fortunes. I sought London, and having had from boyhood, a taste for rude sketching. I offered mv services to a portrait painter, .vho. finding I exhibited some talent, offered to become mv master, while his instructions I was to repay, by doing the drudge work of the profession. I remained with him nearly two years, when, inspired with a desire to visit the great school of art in Italy, I left England with only a few guineas in my pocket, and on foot travelled from !a!aiso Rome, where, in the gallery of the Cardinals yon soon afterwards saw me. 'What recollections have you of a horri 1 prison to your gipsy associations' ask ed the earl, after a few moment's reflec tion. 'An impression, like the relics of a pleasent dream dwells upon my earliest memory, (but I cannot say that I may not readily have dreamed it all,) of costly furniture and gorgeous hails, and servants in liveries of goid and blue, among which mv infancy seems to have been passed, I certainly remember the face of a lovely and elegant iemafe, bent close to mine; and to this moment, her image is never revived without bringing with it the impulse to say 'mother.' If, my lord. I were to represent on canvass the Ideal of 'mother,' a pictoral hieroglyphic of the word, I should instinctively paint that face as the symbol.' 'Do yo 1 recollect it then, so visibly! Transfer it to canvass if you have the skill to do it, and it may lead to the discovery of your birth-' Otten have 1 done it on the l)3rk of the beech tree with the walnut juice with which the gipsies dye the skins of those who join them, and with which my face and hands are stained the rest of my body being fair, is a proof that I am not gipsy blood, my lord!' Ah! it is a strong, nay, convincing proof! You must paint the picture.' I will do it, my lord, but have little hopes of its being useful to roe. A few more unimportant questions were asked by the Earl, who. then rising, expressed the interest Ids story bad Jivakened, and promising his aid, whenever he should require it, towards ascertaining his parentage, took his leave. Left alone, the young painter paced his room with a fevered step. His thoughts run into die channel the late conversation had opened for them, and he tasked his memory to its utmost, to bring vividly, back to his mind its first impression. If I rootd vet orove mv birth but

'Patiently, my kud! I have but t

no I may be only a country gentleman.' son a;id this would not bring mo near her! Oh, ur.towtred fate and fortune, thwii bait placed my love so high, that even hope cannot reach her. As he walked, memory went upward to childhood step by step, and brought

b fore loci a scene, which, from a thousnd n-sochtes, he knew must have been the haunt of his early years. He called to mind an o!d tower, lurched oti a ' wooded bill, with a stone bridge arching a foaming torrent beneath. Heside the Bridge was a vine-clad cottage, andnolfar below it a church with a peculiar spire: stdl farther beyond were tha roofs of a village,and towering over ad rose a noble castle; and in the bnck around was a chain of blue bids, rising here and there into a peak. (The whole seemed to vie w from the bridge. ; livery object in the scene was painted on i the retina of enriv me: nor v. with '.he dlj'f.t. :tness oi ::res3i:t vnion. I ''l ids, my he-iti tel s m-i,' he. said, as ihe. pieed the floor, -tins is my birth-place! I I remember it all! How it all comes 'back to memory! It was in that cottage I lived. I was a foster child I had a foster brother, too i remember it ail so vividly! In yonder castle lived my fathers! Oil, memory, blessed memory, I thank thee! 1 remember it all! I am no outcast!' For a few seconds he gave wing to the feelings of the moment, and then, as if choke i by some startling reflection, fie stood still and groaned aloud. 'Alas, alas! what avails this light, which, after years of darkness and of ignorance, Heaven has permitted to break in upon me. I know not in what part of England, if England at all, (yet it is an English scene.) it is situated. An outcast and nameless, I still am. Wretched, wretched!' I He threw himself on a chair, and burying his face in his hands, remained for a long time silent and gloomy. All at once he sprung from his seat, placed fresh canvass on the easal seized his pallette and brush, and began to paint with a rapidity and energy, that seemed as if he feared that ihe image ha was transferring from his brain would fleet away, ere he could impress it indellibly upon the canvass. Like magic, a bwely landscape grew beneath his skillful touches, and ere twilight was lost in the darkness of night, he had produced on the canvass, a picture of the scene that memory had painted on the brain. CHAPTER VI. 'Have you seen th3 mysterious painting'' was the salutations with which acouaintances erected each other, at a fashionable party, a few evenings after the in terview between the Earl of Linton, and Alfred, the Gipsy. 'How very odd, is'nt ii?' said a very dressy lady fanning herself with a peacock's tail. ''Tis said he takes tins method to learn his birth place,' remarked a spare gentleman near her, who alternately sipped ice and wiped with a cambric embroidered handkerchief, his bald forehead. 'And does he really oiler live hundred pounds to whomsoever will recognise it, and identify it with any natural scene?" asked a brik little gentleman in black, with a calculating eye and th.n lips. 'Indeed lie does,' responded the lady with the fan, 'and thousands have been to see it ail ready.' 'Have you been to see it lady Grossc?' iNo,' was the reply, with a toss of the head; 'I fear they might think that 1 wanted to g-o the 5 (J . 'Which would not be very far from the truth,' whispered a tall, stately old maid, who wanted line ancestors to her next neighbor, 'iler father was a grocer!' 'Hum!' was the significant reply, and the group separated.' Il was true, ail London was a-stir witfi the singular announcement that had been made, the morning after he had completed his picture, by the young painter, 'that the sum of 300 pounds steiling should be given to any individual who would identify a landscape painting, to b3 seen at his rooms, with any known spot in Great Brilain. or elsew here.' Thousands flocked to his studio, and thronged around the painting which was placed on the easel in the centre of ihe room, in a position that exposed it to the best light. Day after day passed by, without any recognition of the painting.- In vain the artist watched for the appearance of the Linton party not that he looked to them for a discovery; but that, perchance, he might once more see the object of his hallowed love. Hut the Earl had left for one of his seats in the north, the day following his visit to the studio, and in the .etirememt of the country knew iwtof the means taken by the youth to learn the secret of his birth. But not so his daughter and niece. The gossip of the journals which lie scarcely glanced at, in seeking political news, was eagerly perused by them, and they were not long in ignorance of the reward offered, and of is object Lndy Laura had heard his story from her father, and it need not be said that her interest in him was strengthened; nor will it surprise the female reader to learn, that a few days afterwards there appeared an additional offer, from an unknown source, of fiwe hundred pounds; making the whole film cae thousanl

pounds; nor will it be very difficult, though it perplexed the modest young painter to do so, to discover the fair hand from which

:it originated which hand at the same time, enclosed a bill for the addiiiomd sum. mi. success seemed as lar oti as bt-f re. Finally the patience of the young artist was weakened bv disa;;oi:;tment. and he began !.) prepare his mind, fortifying it with his best philosophy, to submit to his untoward destiny. T wtfi let i; remain on the ease! for ibis day longer, and then, wit:i the sun, sets my stat of hope forever.' Late in the day on which he came to this resolution he was alone in his studic, standing before the picture which had excited st much curiosity, listlessly touching it here and there with his pencil, adding to different parts as memory suggested, when the door opened and a clown, dressed in a coare frock anil trowsers, with v carl-v.Uip in Ins hand, thrust in his curly head. ,f ?r gazing about a few seconds, as if doubtful of his ground, he advanced his shoulders, and then rotruded into the room his whole body. The painter watched his motion with amused curiosity, and waited for him to make known his business. Be this ye the place whar ye grand picture be?' 'There it is.' said the artist, with an impatient gesture, for his patience had been tried by persons of his degree, who tempted by so large a reward, had in great numbers visited his room. T eoom'd up to London with ye wagon, thee sees, measter, and hearin' from Johnj Ostler 'bout this pietur I thought I'deoouij an' take a look on't; for a thousan' pounds been coom at every day. measter.' Look and be speedy,' he said, hastily; in five minutes the picture will be retroved. With the fir of one cautiously approach ing a lion, he walked round in front of the pic. are, its position on the easel being such as to present its edge to one entering, anl placing himself before it with his arms akimbo, began to stare at it with a knowing, consequential air. Hut scarce ly had his eyes taken in the scene, when they opened to their full width. and a beam of intelligence lighted up his florid countenance. He, thrust bis neck out, then drew it in: approached and retreated; surveyed it to the right then to the left; looked through his fist3 ai a (list'ince, anil then nlmost touched the canvass with his ntise, as if (it appeared) to be certain of a r$sernblv ne that he had detected. At length he seemed to be convinced; for suddenly clapping his hands, and emitting a loud whistle, he stooped down in ihe attitude of one looking through a telescope, or a key hole, with a hand, one of which contained his cart-wdiip, the other his hat, resting on each knee, and in this poiti ci began to scan it in detail, and speakieg to himself, while growing surprise and delight were visible on every feature. 'There be mither's cottage, bojimini! and there's the old apple-tree above the bridge I'se clomb mony a time; and there's the old haunte I tower on the hill, and yon der his lordship's castle; and if there beent the atone church where I w as christ ened, and ayont it the village whar The young painter who had detected the incipient signs of recognition, and received new life with each word lit uttered, stood by him as he was speaking, his pallette extended in one hand and the pencil in the other like a statute of surprise, while his fine countenance was illuminated with the radiance of the newly-risen hope. - 'Hold! enough!' he cried, dashing his pallette to the floor, and laying his hand on the shoulder of the voityig countryman; 'what tower? what lord? what village and chuicb?' 'Feck, measter, thee dost put thy quesas thick as hedge-berries. It's mither's cottage and Uo pastor's church don't I know 'em7' But the name of the village?' Deil a name I knows else.' ' 'Nor of the castle.' 'It's his Vordship's, sure,' Rut who is his lordship quickly?' I ia my lord, he is.' 'Hut Ins title?' Anan.' In vain did he question him closer. The peasant could only tell that the castle belonged to 'his lordship.' He reflected a moment. The evidence of the clown was strong; for it was plain from his countenance, when he made the recognition that it was without premeditation and perfectly natural, and not a trick to impose upon him. He resolved to act upm it, and instantly his course was taken. 'Do you know the road to this village and castle?'" 'That I do, measter. every inch on't.' 'When do you go back?' 'In ye mornin'.' 'With your wagon?' 'Y's, measter.' 'Lcava your horses at the inn; I will be chargeable for your horses' keeping. Take post with me to-night, and guide me to the place you seem to have recognized. Do you not know even the county it is in?' Somerse'tshire.' 'And how far?' Fifty-five miles or so.' Show me the spot, and I will py you the one thousand pounds,' 'Door.,' Stdd the clo e;i.

CHAP TER ML An hour b fore the sun set on the dnv he left London, with the young countryman by his side, the painter drew up with smoking hursos before the small inn of a pretty little hamlet in Somersetshire.' 'And tins is the village?' he asked his companion, as they alighted. 'ii be zur, and vender's the lane to mither's up by the bridge.' 'Landlord, the name of this village!' Merwin, your lienor.' 'And vondi-r castle?'

'The Earl of Cad allader's seat.' 'Thank you. Lead the way to ihe cottage.' 'These last words were ad tressed to the young peasant, who striding on before, led linn through a wooded lane, from which opened an extensive and lovely prospect a genuine lovely landscape made up of river an.! park, c.Hsiie and village, tower an I hamlet. He gave but a single glance and fell on his knees with his face lo the earth. 'It is it is my own native home!' Before him he beheld spread out, the identical scene the cottage in the foreground the tower, crowning a hill on his riuht the lordly pile, which he now knew to be Cadwallader Castle; with the village, river, spire, and distant range of blue hills one and all just as he had painted them. He rose to his feet, and without speaking, from the fullness of his heart, preceded the peasant along the gravel walk which led to the cottage, following each winding with a rapid and famillisr footstep. T remember every stone every tree, as if 1 had last seen them only yesterday,' lie said, as he walked along. In the door of the cottage sat a very respectable elderly dame knioing. Looking up at his step, she hospitably invited him to enter. Walk in, sir, walk in! Ah. son Wi'l, you're home soon, lad,' she added, descrying her sou behind; 'so you have brought a stranger from Lon'on.' He brought me, mother. We com'd in a four horse coach.' 'Hoit, ye'er erankie, lad. What have the likes oT ye to do in a four horse coach? Mind your own wogon and think not o' any thing above i'.' 'My good dime,' said the young man. if there is blame any where it lies with m. Permit me to put a few questions to you?' ''Take a seat, sir, take a seat. Will, give his honor a chair. Yes, sir, I will iry end answer them to my best. Well, now.' 'Were you ever a foster mother?' 'Alack-a day! Ah, your honor has come to open an old wound in my heart! Indeed I have been. cir.' 'To whose child?' 'Mv lord's.' 'What lord?' 'Cadwallader, who lives in die cr.stle yond'er. Poor nobleman he has not smiled since.' Since when? Speak I pray you.' 'Why, vour honor, I had his only son to nurse, and he being delicate, I kept him until he was w eaned, till he was five years old; for they liked to have him play about with my boy. Will, hero, who was the same age. They wanted to make him hardy, you must know, and so 1 brought 'em both no alike, letting his young lord ship run here and there as he would, j: as if he bad been my own.' 'Well.' 'Well, your hotior. Ah, woe'stne! One day he went out alone toother apples from the old tree by the .ndge, (for lie could climb to its very t he had got so brave and stout.) and'n coming home to his breakfast, 1 fell noxious about him arid went to seek him. But 'But from that day to this you have not seen his face!' 'Il is the ar truth, your lienor. 1 ne -;'--') os f'Rred he had fallen from the bridgeVaif. ihe river was searched m vain. But I thought ' What thought you?' ''That the Gipsies had stolen him.' Should you know him again if he were living?' , , . Know him. the dear chd '! ' wouid know him a hundred yea.s hence, his sweet smiie, curly hair and rosy, fat cheeks!' 'Bat time would soon change tc.ese. Hail beany natural mark by which hemight be recognized?' 'Two of them, your honor.' 'What were they?' A strawberry and. leaf on l.s n?cii jclow' the right ear, and the scar ol my steel watch-key here, which living fallen into the grate he drew it o'.t while re : hot, and left the prh.t on the inside t.ie fingers of his left baud. He was j.ist four the day he did ill' The young painter removed his cravat with trembling hand and p;.' , itatmg ..eart. Is that like Joe :rae. berry and leaf, trood mother; 'and.' 'ne added, spreading open his left hand, 'is this th3 impress of i it G I t? V ' ' As be spoke he displayed the marks she had described; the stawberrv on his neck, and visible shape of a watch key burned ir.ti the skin of his left ;-dm. Innl-o,' first at one and tiie.i; at the other, bewildered between doubt and joy: tl.ca gazd 3 ir.omo.:'. scruti zingiv into

his (eauires, till she saw confessed before h'T, the express image of her foster boy. With i cry of joy she extended her arms 'It is Alfred, my foster child God has given him back to me again.' Thus speaking she sunk into the embrace that was open to receive her. CONCLUSION. A few words will finish our story. 'The proper steps were taken to prove ihe identity of "Alfred, the Gipsy,' wnli the lost heir of Cadwallader, both by thn voung painter himself, and the Earl of Linion. The chief of the g'psy hordu was sought after and found, and eouf-sse i having stolen ihe child, knowing it to he the son of the Earl of Cadwalla.'er, and further, that the p.iintei ami that chd ! were one and the same. Noiw ithstanding Alfred's md istry in e Heeling e thence ins delicacy restra.ncd him from visiting Cad waiiader Castle, to seek an tnterviov with its old broken-hearted lord, but no v with the proof in his own hau l, to who-h lie added the portrait of his mother ("ken from memory, lie was conveyed thi;h?r in the carriage of Lord Linton, who accompanied him in person and presented him to the Duke. No sooner had the noble placed his eves upon him than, wav;ug all other evidences, except those of a father's heart, he rushed towards him. embraced h:m, and acknowledg-d him as ids son. 'Cod has written upon his face ihe lineaments of hi- mother. My son, my son!' 'My brother!" and the arms of the beautiful atid haughty Eleanor, were also entwined around htm. In a few months afterward", Alfred, the Gipsy, now Lord Cadwaliader, led to the altar, Laura, the lovely daughter of the proud Ear! of Linton; Eleanor Cadwallader being one of the bride's-maids, and so did the love of the noble maiden for the poor painter meet with its due re

ward. TitXAS. A gentleman just arrived from Texas, and said by the editors lo be wellinformed upon the affairs cf that country, lias given the Journal of Commerce, information which leads it to believe that the mission of Mr. Ashbel Smith to England, is not for the purpose of defeating annexation, inasmuch as lie is not known to be opposed to that measure. He further states that 'it is not truo that President Jones has been tampered with by the English and French Ministers, or that he has promised them any delay in submitting the proposi.ion of the United Slates Government u the Congress or people of Texas.' lie intends to submit the matter directly to the people, on receiving formal information of the overtures of the United States. The Journal believes tint Mexico lias offered to recognize the independence of Texas, if she will forever renounce the idea of Annexation: but says that a definite understanding as to boundary m ist be had. 'The Journal sys: Should a direct offer, of a satisfactory character, be mad- V Mexico, before the question of Anr-hin is submitted to the people, the president may deern it hi duty to pre-ent Uutn propositions to them simultaneously, Annexation or Independence, ,!lat ''ie.v ,nJ '-h'oose between them, j'jjerj is, however, no reasonable doubt of tlf. lesttl!, even in this cas-. Ahn st ah ae Americans, who constitute tbo grent majority of the population, are favorable to Annexation.' 'The same gentleman states that it is not true that our ('barge, M.ij. I)on"!son, was treated with disrespect on his arriva'. but that he had an interview with th President, and was cnuiteously received: he says Messrs. Elliott and Sadgny have not left Texas for Washington, but that the former sought recreation in a visit and t:.e latter uU3iiv resides in New Orleans: nor di l they visit the capitoi of Texas on account of despatches received by the Fury dice. The Journal adds: 'Our informant cuioo th. lo p i c"io -duty on imports is sufficient to r?.ie a'! t!n revenue nocessary to meet the nrd:nry expenses of : ho iexn Government, a-u! riso 1 ."i nor cent, would heave a e'.tse'e - i. nble surplcs. 1 he ..cf:a: !en ot the country, be savs, is between M '.' '0,000 and sl3.00;).0 ,0. 'The f o iutiy is extremely populous at present; busines go d: the products of the earth ahundan1; an ' the currency unquesti :ta'dc, consisting of gold anJ silver.' CC" A .' .j.-i;. -' '': '' suffered him, elf to be ?..." by the Loco. f,cos of Itiehiiiond. Virg.nia, to defeat th regular Whig ciidii.ite for t,:e. Legisla - - i ture. T; o cauet 'lie d feat of that gallant a, id .rue V hig. John the Wh'g M. Boi'T-S. party to be onv tor e t ..rsed wit.i sued men. Lid. J ur. Eleven tilings are comely and pleasant, and worthy of honor, says the good Bishop Hall and these are, a young saint, an old martyr, a religious eoldipr, a conscientious statesman, a great man courteous , l,,ri i, .n hnmhl child that under stands the eve of its parents, a cheerful comp-mcn without vanity, a friend not changed with, honors, a sick man oppy, a soul departing 'vith comfort and au-rar.ee.