l '1 j. ll l.’ .i, if ‘:1 .——é—— T HE SAILOR—nv sr.i.Lscx osnonu. The weary sea-bird screams afar 3 Among the waves dire omens sweep ; From me veil’d sky no friendly star Beams on the undulating deep 3 Hart; 1 from the cliffs of distant shores‘, The loom* emits his distant cry; The wave portentous warning roars, _ And speaks the threat’mng tempest nigh. W\hat guardian an gel’s watchful power, Shall snatch me from the angry deep, Ur bid, in that tempestuous hour, The demon of the waters sleep. Dr» who, if on some desert wild; _ I drift, weak, famish’d and distrest, Shall hush the sorrows of my child- And sooth Lavinia’s wounded breast- Sweet objects of my early love I For you with aching heart I mourn 3 Far from your peaceful vale I rove, Ah I hopeless everto return. Yet, should it be my happier lot , To hail again my native shore, \.Se'cure within my humble cot, 1’ll brave the restless deep no more. His prayer was heard, the rolling barquc _ Rode thro’ the storm with stubborn pride, And VVilliam, blithe as morning lark, ’ Flew to his sweet enraptttt’d bride. Yet VVill, with love and liquor warm, _ E’c.-r yet a monthltad pased in glee, Forgot ‘the ticrrors of the storm, And singing, squar’d away for sea. * The loom is a dismal kind of bird, which, es- pecially on the approach of a storm, perches on the cliffs and promontories of the shore, and ut- ters a noise like the shrieks of a drowning man. irnoist THE LADIES.’ Lrrmqtrtv c.It13ifv,i-;'i‘, 4 RESIGJV./}TIU.N'. AN ORIGINAL Tsniéé . [cox'rt.\iUE1).] _ j __ ,. Distressed and embarrassed by some marked -expressions which had fallen from Augusta, our heroine sincerely repented her appointment to meet Bellamy on the following morning, and sev- eral times during the night resolved to break it. But this resolution was no sooner formed, than the idea of her father would dissolveit into thin air._ She felt that her present suspchce was al- n1OStll‘lSLlP[)Ol‘lalll83 and she arose from her sleep- less couch, determined, at all hazards, to learn the‘ particulars of her father’s fate. The liglit-footed zephyrs were dancing in the fragrant foilage, through which she passed to- wards the little wicket which opened from the garden into the gl'()ul‘:'.lS beyond The sun was just peeping over the mountain top, and gliding the landscape bclow. lnnutnerable songsters were hailing his app'cat'ttn'ce, arid the litiiiiof rc- _ suscitated natttt'c, was heard from ‘every quarter. Adelaide, however, felt no disposition to contem- plate the beauties by which she was Sill‘l'_Olln(lC(l; but with a step as hurried and agitated as her mind, this picture of purity and innocence, glided along like the cautious spectre of guilt. Qn emerging into the lawn, she found the attentive Bellamy awaiting her approach, and gladly accep- ted his arm'fur the remainder of the distance to lhe /v‘az'ry’s G':“ott0. I will not attend too minutely to particulars, as the limits of a tale like this will not permit it.- Atlelaide heard a story which at once astonished and distressed her; and which in substance a- mounted to what follows :- Alexis Dupont, Marquis dc Albro. fled from France, to escape the fate which threatened eve- ry loyal adherent Louis XVI. His estate was confiscated, his title abolished, and the H)&\t‘ClllOn- ess, his wife, left in a situation of such extreme delicacy, as demanded sympathy instead of per- secution. He a_rt'ivecl at Boston, where, by the assistance of some of his friends who had emigra- ted a short time before him,‘ be commenced a Small liusiricss as fruitcrer, ‘kc. which he was soon enabled, in his turn, to become the patron of other,~s of his unfortunate countrym't-n. In the mean time he received the (llsttfsslllg intelli- gence of the death of his wife ; vvlio was r,eport- ed to have expired in giving birth to a lifeless son. The French character is too elastic to sink u: der grief, Dupont surmounted his, and in a few L months afterwards, paid his addresses to a daugh- ter of an opulent merchant in Boston ; who", gov- erned, by that unconquerablc prejudice which some people entertain against foreigners, forbid him to visit his house, or to think of his dangli- ter. This repulse was not congenial to the feel- ings of a French Mat'quis; and he determined to revenge the insult, by becoming the old muI‘::= son~in-law, without his consent. The young la- dy agreed ; they eloped to New-York, where they were doubly joined in the holy bands of wedlock ; first according to the rites of the Epis- copal church, and afterwards in conformity to those of the Catholic. Having taken this irrevocable step, they united .in addres‘sing a letter to the father, imploring his forgiveness, and permission to return as his ac- knowledged children. But the «old gentleman was inexorable, and in abriefuote, wished them all the m'isery that disobedience could merit.- They returned to Boston, however, where the bride made another fruitless attempt to soften her father's heart,by throwing herself at his feet. She was spurned from him as a wretch unworthy of pity, and even licr sister‘, (now Madame Vil- lean) was lavish in heaping her curses upo_n her. _ Stung to the soul by such trcatinent, Dupont became almost a madman ; and in a fit of frenzy, swore to be terribly rcvenged. His business had‘ for some time been declining, and he now began to tremble at the slow, but certain approach" 01 poverty. He at length came to a resolution of a- vengiug his wrongs and relieving the wants of his family, by one d'espera'te stroke.’ Disguised as a negro, he way-laid his fa't‘her-in-law on (Earn- bridge Bridge, pulled him from his gig, and af- ter beating him to his heart’s’ content, provided’ for the disinherited daughter, by robbing the fa- ther of several thousand dollars. ‘With this dreadful transaction, Mrs. Dupont vI'as”never made acquainted; but was led to be- , ’~;:,§1iev'e‘ that some fortunate speculation had amend- . ;‘:_-,ecl her husband’s circttmstances. The robbery .. - 1 v -- ‘ t ‘~ 3 »- .- » -;..‘..-~-": -.."‘;\".--. was made public in the hewspapers,’ and a "ftiivgc reward offered for the appt'ehension of the perpe- trator; but fortunately, without effect. ' " ._| M. Dupont, soon after this affair, closed his shop, and removed to Petitville, near Albany; wherie he calculated to reside until some opportu- nity _should_ofi'er to changehis situation for the better. In .about six months, however, he re- ceived intelligence that at once deprived his wife of a protector, and _our heroine bfa father. The cadsejwliich effected this sudden and mel- ancholy revolution in the family of Dupont, was a letter from his former wife, (whom he had mourne'd for as dead) announcing her arrival in New-York, after a short stay in Boston, where she first landed, and expressing an ardent wish tovsee him immediately. . This letter was like a thunderbolt to Dupont. He loved his American wife witlran ardour which he had never felt for the former; and felt more affection for the infant he had caressed, than for the one he had not seen He had, by dint of reason and philosophy, work- ed himself up to a state of resignation to the will of Providence, in depriving him of the Marchio- ness; but he felt that neither reason nor philo- sophy would reconcile him to a separation from the mother of the infant Adelaide. His situation was truly unenviable for several days, while he was debating in his mind the most prop'er‘course to pursue. This state of irresolution, however, was not suf- fered to be of long continuance. Enraged at re- ceiving no reply to her letter, the haughty Mar- chioness dispatched a second one, couched in a style which decided the question at once. She threatened him with prosecution, not only for po- lygamy, but also for robbery ‘wit/z an intent to mur- der .’ Dupont was too well acquainted with the la- dy’s character to doubt her being in earnest ; and was convinced that the only chance for safety was to comply with the conditions proposed. He had not courage to break the matter to the unfor- tunate mother of his child, but fled with such se- crecy and precipitation, that no trace of him could ever be discovered. Sixteen years ‘had elapsed since this event. without softening the heat tofthe obdurate Frencr lady, which was still so hostile to her husband's Ainerican connexions, that his acknowledging, or even noticing hither wife or child, would have been the signal for an explosion which might have jeopardized his existence. He had recent- ly learned that his daughter was an unprotected orphan in New-York..but yct he dared not see her, or even speak of her.’ Dining the recital of the foregoing narrative. Adelaide’s feelings were vatious and distressing. and when the fatal conclusion,convuilc.--.d lie!‘ that though her father lived, she inust still remain an orphan, an agony of tears only preveiiied her fainting. Bellamy was well aware that the com- mon terms of reason or condolence were unavail- able in opposing the effusions of genuine sensi bility ; and that with the mental, as with the physical elements, the more violent the tempest, the sooner are its energies exhausted. He, there- fore, sat in silence by heuside, until the tumult of her feelings had somewhat subsided, and she was again able to converse with composure. She tlicn thuukctl him for the trouble he had taken on her account, and asked explanations on several points connected with the singular story. 5 How long have you been acquainted with my poor father, and when did you learn these partic- ulars ?’ I . ‘I have been intimate with him for several years, but he never so far honored me with his confidence as to relate his story until since my return from Martinique.’ . * So recently, what a strange coincidence of e- vents 1 Your arrival in New-York was only two days before my own.’ ‘It was a knowledge of your being in the city, that induced your father to make me his confi- dant.’ .s .‘_.fi‘l >1‘ ceedefdfwith her inquiries. _ 9 -» ‘.If%I' amfnever to enjoy the love and protection of my father, for what purpose have the particu- lars of his unfortunate story been communicated to me, and why was I not suffered to remain in ignorance of his existence ?’ ,, Bellainy again appeared embarrassed ; and it was not‘ without considerable stammering and hcsitancy, that he framed the folloiving reply ‘ We have now arrived at a point, which I have both wished and trembled to approach.-— There is one -way, (and it is the only one that can be devised) of breaking down the barrier which divides you from a father's love and protection.---‘ There is one /tatlz, which if Atlelaide consents to tread, will lead her to the arms ofa doting parent, and bless that parent with a daughter's love.’ ‘O! quickly point it out, Mr. Bellamy. If there be such a path,though rough as poverty can make it, I cheerfully will tread it, with such a goal in view. What would I not do, to be ac- knowledged and loved by my father l’ ‘ ‘Then hear me, dear, lovely girl 1’ exclaimed Bellamy, éeizing her hand and dropping on his knees before her. ‘ Con_sent to be mine, and your wishes shall be accomplished. I alone can lead you in that path, and in no other way can I con- duct you, but as your husband.’ Surprise, for a moment, kept Adelaide silent and motionless. At length she rose with digni- ty from her seat, and withdrawing her handfrom the ardent grasp of Bellamy, cooly observed 5-- ‘ I do not understand you, Mr. Bellafny. Our conference must now terminate.’ , ‘ Not for the world, till you hear the further ;’ said he springing from his posture of htimility, and extending his_hand with an expression of en- treaty. ‘ Permit me to explain my meaning. and then decide and act as your heart and judgment may dictate. Do not condemn me uhheard.’ ,_ Adelaide at length consented to resume her seat_ while Bellamy thus proceeded :—- p ‘ I had the good fortune (as I then thought it) of saving the life ofthe Marchioness de Albro, and of restoring her to her husband. At the haz- and of forfeiting my ship and cargo, and perhaps the lives of myself and crew, I rescued several of the flying nobility of France, while pursued by the bloodhounds of the Revolution, and landed them safely in England. Among the number, as I have just stated, was the wife of your father, whom I afterwards conveyed to the United States. So boundless is her gratitude to me for this favor that she would love and respect my wife, though she were the daughter of her bitterest enemy.—- Aware of this, your father seized the idea with a- vidity, and commissioned me to make the disclo- sure of his secret for the purpose of inducing your compliance.’ Bellamy paused for a reply, when Augusta’s fa- vorite lap-dog bounded into the grotto, and began to lawn upon Adelaide ; who justly conjectured that its sentimental mistress was not far distant. She therefore merely said,‘ \Ve are interrupted,’ and taking. the little Ram in her arms, walked leisurely from the recess, pretending to caress the animal, while. in reality, she was looking round in search of its mistress. Bellamy stroll- ed to thecottage by a different route ; but nei- zner of them encountered the vvary Augusta, who soon after appeared, and infortned them that her cousin George hah suddenly_departed for the city without even waiting for his breakfast, leaving a written note requesting Bellamy to follow him immediately. » , _ » , (To be con4_tz'.-zue_a'.) .._.....s-2;:--‘.1:-®->3‘:--:'.:?7‘&-——-I’-3 , From (/1: Baltimore C’/zronicliei .~ .. Morris N. B. Hull.-—\Ve publish the following letter, which was delivered to us by the unhappy man himself for publication, with feelings of no ordinary sensibility. This paper will speak for itself; it needs no comment of our own ; it may be said to speak from the grave, which alrehdy opens for its victim ; and from the evidence that ‘ How did he obtain that knowledge ?’ Bellamy hesitated a moment,and then replit.-d : ‘ He did not inform me.’ , v Adelaide paused for a while and then e:3':clain1- ? ed :— ‘ O Mr. Bellamy! consider with what a secret you are entrusted. As you value the lift: and honor of your friend; as you value the peace of a defenceless female, swear never to betray it, for should it ever escape you, I could not survive its (ll't.‘atlll.l'l effects.’ . ‘ Bellamy never betrays the confidence repo- sed in him; especially where the ll'.1[)pll‘fCSS of Adelaide Dupontis concerned.’ _ ‘ 'l'h'c_n you will not find Adelaide Dupont un- grateful.‘ But tell me-—how did this secret reach the ears of that hiartl-lteat'ted woman 3’ Bellamy here not only hesitated but actually stammered in replying that he knew not. 6 How did you obtain an entrance into the gar- den on the evening of our first interview ?’ ‘ I was at the theatre, and sat in the same box with Freeman’, who introduced me to the‘ ladies.‘ and expressed a wish that I would sup with them after the play, as he wished me to converse with his fair /zrotoge respecting her aunt. You may be assured that I offered _no objcctionstod propo-' sal so congenial to my wishes.‘ When the cur- tain fell upon the first act, Matilda eiipressed a wish that you had been of their party, or that she had remained with you at home; ‘for who knows,’ added she in a gay tone, ‘ but sotne znalicious en- chanter may take advantage of our absence, and convey her away to his castle.’ ‘ It is\very pos- sible,’ replied Freeman,‘ for I now recollect that the key of the garden gate remains in’ the lock, and we left herin the rear balcony.’ I knew the situation of the premises—felt an irresistible dc- sire to see you‘-2-stole from the theatre, and en- tered_'the garden. You know what followed.’. ‘ Never shall I forget it,’ replied Adelaide ;_‘ it was an incident that—’ _ _ . She was here interrupted by the report of a fowling-piece, apparently directly above them.- So suddeu was the alat'fii,'tliat Adelaide screamed wit alfright. and instinctively caught _hold of Bellamy’s arm for support. He led her from the recess,and on casting their eyes up the moun- tain they caught the glimpse of a sportsman as he disappeared belilnd a clump‘ of dwarf cedars, which bounded the prospect in that direction. ‘ Unmannerly bumpkin !’ exclaimed Bellamy. ‘Had I the means of answering his salute, he would not speedily forget my courtesy.’ we personally become acquainted with, from the lips of this unfortunate and guilty man, we have no doubt ofits sincerity. Could we add any thing to the sentiments advanced by the writer, most cordially and deeply would we join in his supplies- aion, that our rising youth would learn from this awful example, to reverence the admonitions of their pious parents. Woultl to God that it would lead us all to reflect, that even murder is nearly allied to the indulgence of any known vice. That the same.beneficcnt Redeemer, through whose merits, not only this unhappy man, but every son and daughter of Adam must expect divine for- giveness, may have mercy on him, is our fervent sttpplication at the throne of divine grace. Dear Fat/n~r--1 am daily and impatiently ex- pecting a letter from you’. and hope you have be- fore this time received my last. On Wednesday I received my awful sentence, but clear father, I acknowledged to the court then, as I did before to you, the strict justice of it. Yes, I know that my hands are polluted with blood. and my conscience‘ —-on it is burdened the crime into which I have been drawn. Little did Iexpect when I left our happy home and an affectionate father, that before I could see you again, I should have incurred such guilt, and be a tenant of this doleful cell.—- '\Vould to God I had rejected the first proposal, which was that we should go on to get a sum of money, which I-Iutton ass'.‘1"red me he knew we could get, with ease and certainty. The plan was not fully explained to meuntil we got to Wil- mington—of the murder I knew nothing until we were returning from the place the first night, and when my terror prevented the execution of the plan. Then Hutton told me, that although he had not mentioned it to me, he meant to have put the man out of the way, lest his evidence should lead to out" conviction. Oh I if God had taken my life the next dayfand never allowed me to go out a second time. But then I should have died as I lived—-thougfi‘llcss,. rash and unprinci- pled ; and .now, though I have brought disgrace and allgtlfsll upon you, yet my guilty soul may be saved, because Jesus Christ died for sinners, and he has given me time and hope to repent. When the poor man begged for his life, I told him we would, and I" meant it. Indeed, I pleaded for him, but Hutton insisted we would be known, and told -me it was’ no time for pleading, and at last told me either to shoot him or the driver,‘ and then‘-—0l1 my God forgive me. Dear Father, I do not write you this to excuse my guilt—-no, this is too, too bad! I have not de- They again entered the grotto, and as satin as nied it before God or man, but it is to show you, _Adelafdh’s"~' spirits plermittied, B if that dreadfully as I‘ha've abused your care, Y0‘-if tears and prayers were not altogether thrown a- way. I-was not quite abandoned. Oh my God, preserve my brother from bad company. and ena- ble him to soothe a heart which mywickednesé has so much tortured. The poor woman too—"~ from her I have assisted to tear away her hus-_ band, and make her children orphans. If I could. pnly work for them 1 but God will take care of them. sorrow with me, but may God so help me to re- pent and be converted, that all my sins may be forgiven me, and blotted out from his holy books. I read the Bible the greater part of the time : I have several other books and tracts, but the Bible is now worth to me all that you used to say it was worth. I leatn there that God is gracious, long- sulfering and merciful, and forgiving sin to the penitent, and takes delightina broken spirit ;" for he says in the Scripture, ‘ a broken and a contrite heart he will not despise ;’ he is able to forgive the worst of sinners, and we read, ‘ though your sins be as scarlet, they shall be as white as snow ; though they be as crimson, he can make them white as wool.’ How often, my dear father, have you told me these things, and yet worse than ti child, or brute, I have resisted and not profited by your advice, and preferred the guilty advice of had friends. lktiow that I am inexcusable by my earthlyfat/zer; and can my God, my heavcn’. ly father, ever forgive me? Oh, if it was not for Jesus Christ, where,_t"-.rhct'e should Igo? but I hope that he will suppoat me under the dreadful punishment which I have shortly to st:fi'cr—how my soul sinks under it ; but it will only give me hope in my death, and the least, the lowest part‘ in his kingdom, and I die contented. _ One thing more.-—‘What will you think of me, who am so undeserving a wretclt, asking any fa- vor ofyou ? But, my dear father, Mrs. Heaps, the woman whose husband we murdered, is poor and dependent, and her children—-it was your son that helped to make them orphans! Will, you not then, nothwithstanding your large family, do something for thcm—give them a salary or any» thing you see best, or can af‘fortl_; and God, and they, and your son, will bless This would sweeten my death,_to know tltatit was done atmy request. Remember me, unfortunate as I am, to my mother. Thank God that my own moth- er is spared your sufferings. Remember me also to brother and sisters ; and may my awful’ situation be a wartiing to them and all my ac»: quaintances. God comfort you in this your time of affliction. I have seen a letter froma gentle- man in Utica, which stated you would probably be on a visit to me after my trial. I long, yet dread to see you; it will be it giievous meeting. My eyes are so filled with tears, that Icannot write any more. But you know my feelings bet- ter than I can describe them. Do write me soon. This from your guilty, afflicted, undutiful, and imprisoned son. , MORRIS N. B. I-IULL. - Baltimote (pris0n,) April 23d, I820. Doct. ./Imr/,9 G. 17’u/.’. . CURES PEl’.FUR'.’\'iEl), T/tough /Icr(.'(qfo7‘c‘ considcrecl jzast re-liqf .’ by‘ DR. R1£L1t‘1'."S 130'!‘/I./VIC./IL DROP-S. R. S/warman, carpenter of Boston, was 22 .. months afflicted with a Tumour on the back of his hand which incapacitated him for work, after having tried every thing in vain and suffered an operation on his hand and considered incurable, was cured and restored to health by ta- king 4 bottles of these drops. Mr. Wright of Boston, was 3 years afilicted with a Fever-sore on one of his legs, had tried most medicines without effect, was cured by two‘ bottles. I/1 c/zild qf Air. Burrill of Hanover, was cured of)Ulcers and Biles, some of which had eaten down to the ribs,‘ by 3 bottles. This child was considereilin a dying state when he began taking these drops. _ ./In infant of Boston, was covered all over with‘ eruptions, blind with bbth eyes, was cured by bottles. _ . , . ‘ A _ An elderly léidy of Boston, was severely afflict- ed for I6 years with an irrttption all oyer her, attended with the most tormenting ttchings, burnings and blotcltes, had lost thereby one fin- ger and two toe nails, was cured by 4 bottles---_ she had not left her room for six months and was considered past all relief. _ . , .d gentleman ofLexington, was afliictcd twenty years with five ulcers in his legs, could ‘obtain no relief, was cured by 4 bottles. I j I ./I gentleman of Boston, his wife and five chil- dren was many years afflicted with eruptions, had tried every medicine without success, was cured with these drops. .‘ flgcntlelnan of Roxbury, was 50 years afllicted with a humour on one of his legs, attended with burning, itching and blutches,was resigned as past relief, for 30 years could not lie in bed at times, was perfectly cured by these drops; _ A lady of Charlestown was 2 years afliicted with a white swelling on her knee joint, had tried every assistance‘ and considered past relief, con- traction had formed, when on taking these drops; and using Dr. Jebb’s Liniment, in 3 weeks she had the perfect use of the joint, the pain left her, and by continuing them has obtained a perfect cure." ' These drops are a ‘radical cure for scurvy, scro- fula, St. Anthony’s fire, leprosy,- pimpled faces,‘ enla‘rged glands, sore legs, ulcers even when the bone is affected, venerial taints when mercury has lailed, are the best spring and autumnal physio‘,- and may be given to children with perfect safety. Price 1 dollar per bottle, or 6 bottles for five dol-5' lars. [tj‘=" Ask for ‘ Dr. Rel/c’s Bolmzical Dro/is-.’_, None are genuine unless signed ‘ W. T. C'on«ruay.’ Prepared and sold wholesale by the sole proprie- tor, W. T. Conway, chemist, No. l, Bumstead Place, Boston, and by his special appointment by’ B. 8: C. ISAACS, Norwalk, Seymour Janis," Stamford, Stiles Nichols, Bridgeport, D. P. I-Io -" kins, Hartford,‘ Dyer 8: Co. Southmaid 8: Co. Middletown, Ripley, Norwich, Dyer 8: Howes; Windham, Green, New-London, M. 8'eB Grant,’ Stafford, and by most Booksellers, Druggists, and Post-Masters, throughout the Union, where may be had all those justly esteemed and highly approved Medicines, prepared‘ by W’. T . Cox- vntv. Price $1, or six bottles for 35. Nov. 23. BLANKS for sale at this office. Dear Father, this is a time of shame and’
Norwalk Chronicler