be the best to pursue. He was in possession of a beautiful pavilion on the banks of the Rhone. I requested to have an interview with him, in the most solitary walk of his grounds, and, having obtained his promise of inviolable secrecy, said to him, "You have hitherto seen in your friend, a merchant, who, though still young, owes to his talents and his probity, an affluent and honourable fortune. It has been my fate to appear in a mask before the eyes of those whose esteem I most value. I have deceived my mistress, let me no longer impose upon my friend. You have spoken to me of Beatrice in a manner the most favourable; you know the half of her history-hear the remainder. You see before you the unfortunate bellows-mender, who was chosen by a set of young wags to be the instrument of their vengeance." At this unexpected declaration my friend started back with surprise, and it was easy for me to read in his countenance the sensations that agitated his mind. "I am indebted," continued I, "to nature for some talents, which I have improved by self-education and study; the generosity of my employers, and good fortune, have done the rest. I am, as you know, about to leave Lyons; but, I have firmly decided not to take my departure except in the company of Beatrice. I cannot, I will not leave Lyons without my wife. You enjoy the esteem and confidence of the public. May I ask you to be the mediator of your friend with Beatrice, and I shall owe my happiness to your intervention ?" The banker, when he recovered from his astonishment, assured me that he had no doubt of effecting the reconciliation I so ardently desired. abbess of the convent where Beatrice resides," said he, "honours me with a certain degree of friendship; it is not late, we are near Lyons, let us order horses and we shall soon be able to arrange with Beatrice herself the points which seem to you, at present, so embarrassing." I adopted this project with fond avidity. I was now no less eager for an interview, than I had once been anxious to avoid it. I was burning with impatience to look upon Beatrice and my child. "The My friend was announced at the convent in his real name, and myself, as the principal of a great commercial house at Paris. We were admitted. Ah, what a picture presented itself to my view! Beatrice, the enchanting Beatrice, in all the pride of a beauty twenty-three years of age, occupied a seat near the venerable abbess. A lovely child slept upon her lap, and it seemed so entirely to absorb all the attention of its mother, that she scarcely returned in a proper manner, the usual salutations. The first instant that she threw her eyes on me, I remarked distinctly, from her involuntary starting, that my presence recalled some disagreeable ideas; but, being introduced by a gentleman whom she well knew, and who was honoured with general esteem, and being presented as the principal of a commercial house at Paris, together with the shade of twilight, were circumstances which appeared so completely to set all her conjectures at fault, that certainly Beatrice did not recognize her husband in this stranger. My friend opened the conversation by making some very vague observations; he then mentioned my having connections with all the great houses of the capital, and requested to know if the abbess had any orders with which to honour me. While this conversation passed; the child awoke, and the sight of strangers, instead of surprising him, led him to smile. After having looked at us both with a kind of hesitation, he advanced towards me. O! who can represent my feelings, when I found myself covered with the sweet caresses, the innocent kisses of my child! An emotion which I had no power to subdue made me eagerly seize him in my arms, and, throwing myself with him at the feet of my pale and trembling wife, "Beatrice! Beatrice!" I exclaimed, "your child, your child claims from you a father! Will you suffer affection for ever to be vanquished by pride ?" While I uttered these words, in a voice half choked by my emotion, Beatrice quivered, seemed ready to faint, and fixed her wondering eyes first on me, and then on her child, who clung to her knees, as if imploring forgiveness for his father. At length a torrent of tears bathed the face of Beatrice, the child, unable to comprehend why his mother wept, joined his plaintive cries to mine. "Pardon, pardon !" I exclamed. The only answer of Beatrice was to throw herself into my arms. "I know not," she sobbed, "whether you again deceive me, but your child pleads too powerfully, Beatrice is YOURS.' She pressed me most affectionately against her palpitating heart. We were unable for a long time to speak; our uncontrollable emotion; the caresses of the child; the tears of my friend; the place itself; every thing served to add to our delirium. "My children," said the Abbess, looking at us with an eye moistened by affection, "you have both performed your duty-this gentleman is too affected to be a knave-Beatrice has too much the heart of a mother to live any longer the victim of a foolish pride. May this marriage, which you solemnly renew in my presence, be more happy than the first! May you enjoy that felicity, which belongs only to virtue. These words, pronounced in a serious tone of voice, calmed our sensations. I related my history, in its full extent, without sparing the confession of my faults, and the feelings of my remorse. I did not fail to remark with transport, that the hand of Beatrice often pressed mine, while I spoke of my projects of tenderness; although, I could not discern that she testified either pleasure or pain, when I mentioned the fortunate situation of my affairs. The part of my narration which most affected her was that which regarded the payment of her father's debts, and my attention to her feelings in saving from the hands of the creditors, the pieces of furniture which she had been accustomed to look upon from her infancy. My friend, the banker, celebrated our conjugal reconciliation by a fête. Near his pavilion stood a house delightfully situated, and which the heirs of the proprietor, who had lately died, had announced their intention of selling. A word which involuntarily escaped Beatrice discovered to me that this acquisition would be agreeable to her. I made the purchase in her name, and, twenty-four hours after, I put into her hands the act which left it entirely at her disposal. I returned with Beatrice and our child to Paris. Whether from some remains of her former haughtiness, or from real greatness of mind, I could not tell, but she expressed no surprise at finding herself the mistress of a house decorated with the utmost taste and magnificence. I found her character was much ameliorated by adversity; I found myself beloved by one, who was the sole object of all my tenderness. One happy year had elapsed, when Beatrice entered my cabinet, her eyes sparkling with joy. "You will not," said she, "refuse the invitation of your wife; I wish to give you a dinner in my house at Lyons. No objection! This very morning I am going to set off with my son. I want to teach him how a son ought to do the honours." My curiosity was excited, and I did not fail to arrive at Lyons at the appointed time. The day had scarcely dawned, when I found Beatrice under arms. She was still in all the splendour of her beauty; and on this day she adorned herself, with more than her accustomed elegance. After much wondering on my part, at the peculiar preparations and arrangements which met my eyes, I heard dinner announced. Judge of my sensations when Beatrice, giving me her hand, led me into an apartment which appeared to have been decorated by the graces themselves, guess who were the guests she had assembled? My friends, the engravers! my first friends-the authors of my fortune, and my marriage! During the repast, the gaiety of Beatrice animated all present with delight and admiration. After dessert, she led us into the apartment which she had destined for me. A slight spring, touched by her, undrew a curtain, which concealed two pictures, finely painted. We drew near to survey them. "Oh, enchantress !" exclaimed my friends, together with myself. picture represented the village scene, near Montelimart. I was kneeling at the feet of Beatrice, who repulsed me with disdain, throwing a look of indignation on the coachman-engraver. Underneath was written, "Love conquered by Pride." The second picture represented the scene of the present day; my ten friends at table, Beatrice, placed between her happy husband and the coachman-engraver, and appearing to smile on both. At the bottom was written, "Pride conquered by Love." The first Here finishes my history, or rather my adventures. My present happiness I can better feel than define; Beatrice made me the father of three other children, and requested that the first of them should have for his godfather, the engraver whose hand she had refused. This estimable man is now the happy partner of a charming woman, well known in Lyons, for the care which she bestows upon the education of her only daughter. Beatrice tells me, that she shall not be completely happy, till this young girl calls her mother; and, what is singular in this affair, is, that my son is of the same opinion. THE STORY OF THE ALABAMA. The Alabama cruised about the Cape for some time, and then disappeared for the East, where for some six or eight months she was busy sweeping the seas for the Federal flag. Like the Flying Dutchman this daring vessel was over and over again asserted to be in places at times quite irreconcilable with ordinary or extraordinary sailing speed. She was at almost one and the same time declared to be in the West Indian seas, doubling Cape Horn, cruising off the coast of California, and watching for Yankees at Singapore. Suddenly she again turned up at the Cape, to bewilder Admiral Walker with some hard sea-logic having reference to the liberties he had permitted himself to take with the Tuscaloosa; for it would appear that Captain Semmes is as much at home before his writing-desk, as on the quarter-deck. Once more putting to sea, all traces of the gallant ship were lost for a time, but certainly the vicinity of the British Channel was, of all others, the place where she might least be expected to turn up. However on the 11th, she appeared off Cherbourg, and steamed into that port, it being intended that she should undergo thorough repairs, as her two years' cruise had produced serious effects upon her, necessitating extensive reparation. She had, however, hardly got well into port when the Federal war steamer Kearsage made her appearance outside, and challenged the Alabama to combat. Semmes had often been twitted for avoiding armed Federal vessels, and for gallantly attacking utterly unarmed merchantmen in genuine pirate style. Now that he was challenged by the commander of the Kearsage, everybody in Cherbourg, it appears, said it would be disgraceful if he refused the challenge, and this, coupled with his belief that the Kearsage was an ordinary sloop of war, made him agree to fight; he was unaware moreover, that she possessed chain armour. On Sunday June 19th, 9 a.m., the Alabama steamed out of Cherbourg harbour, followed by the French plated ship of war Couronne for 3 miles, whose object was to see that there was no violation of the law of nations, by any fight taking place within the legal distance from land. The combat took place about 9 miles from Cherbourg, and was commenced by the Alabama at 11.10 a.m. opening with her starboard battery at the distance of about one mile from her enemy. The fire was at once returned by the Kearsage, and it became general, and a very spirited firing was kept up, shot being sometimes varied with shells. In manoeuvering, both vessels made 7 complete circles at a distance of from to a mile. In the early part of the action the relative firing was about 3 from the Alabama to one from the Kearsage, but as it progressed the latter gained the advantage, having apparently a much greater power of steam. She appeared to have an advantage over the Alabama of about 3 knots an hour, and steam was seen rushing out of her blowpipe all through the action, while the Alabama seemed to have very little steam on. It was estimated that the Alabama fired in all 150 rounds, shells and solid shot alternately, some single guns, some in broadsides of three or four, and the Kearsage about 100, the majority of which were 11-inch shells. At length, the Alabama's rudder was disabled by one of her opponent's heavy shells, and they hoisted sails; but it was soon reported to Captain Semmes by one of his officers, that his ship was sinking. With great bravery the guns were kept ported till the muzzles were actually under water, and the last shot from the doomed ship was fired as she was settling down. When her stern was completely under water, Captain Semmes gave orders for the men to save themselves as best they could, and every one jumped into the sea and swam to the boats which had put off to their rescue. Those of them who were wounded were ordered by Captain Semmes to be placed in the Alabama's boats and taken on board the Kearsage, which was as far as possible obeyed. An attempt was made to reach the French coast but the ship filled so rapidly that the fires were extinguished, and hope of escape being impossible, the colours were hauled down in token of surrender, and Captain Semmes dispatched a boat to inform the enemy of his condition. Although the Alabama was only 400 yards from her antagonist, the enemy fired upon her five times, dangerously wounding several men. While the wounded sailors were being thus saved, one of them who had been unhurt tried to get into the boat with them. The surgeon held him back. "See," he said, "I want to save my life as much as you do, but let the wounded be saved first." "Doctor," said the officer in the boat, "we can make room for you." "I wont peril the wounded men," was his reply. When the ship went down the surgeon was below dressing the wounds of a sailor, and he was the only officer lost.* The Deerhound a steam yacht belonging to Mr. John Lancaster of Hindley Hall, Wigan, Lancashire, who had left *Mr. David Herbert Llewellyn, who was the surgeon of the Confederate war steamer Alabama, during the two years of her adventurous career, perished by drowning on Sunday, the 19th of June, 1864, sinking with his ship after her conflict with the Federal steamer Kears age. He was the son of the Rev. David Llewellyn, Perpetual Curate of Easton, near Pewsey, Wiltshire. He was educated at Marlborough College, and studied Cherbourg some little time before the Alabama, to observe the fight, now steered up among the crew of the Alabama, which vessel having now sunk, the crew were all in the water, sustaining themselves as they best could, until assistance reached them. The wounded had privately been placed in the undamaged boats of the Alabama to be conveyed to the Kearsage. All hands jumped overboard, and the sea presented one mass of heads floating about, upwards of 70 individuals being in the water, supporting themselves on grating, slight spars, buckets, shellboxes, &c. The boats of the Deerhound came to the rescue and saved 13 officers and 27 of the crew taking them on board that vessel, among them Captain Semmes. Two French pilot boats and two boats from the Kearsage, saved 68, all told. As soon as it was ascertained that the water was clear of every one that had life left, and that no more help could be rendered, the yacht steamed away for Southampton. Not a relic of the Alabama fell into the possession of her fortunate antagonist. When she was sinking, Captain Semmes dropped his own sword into the sea, to prevent the possibility of its getting into the hands of the enemy, and the made a gunner hole in one of the boats of the Alabama, and sank her for the same reason. It was stated that the best practice generally on board the Alabama during the action, was shown by the gunners who had been trained on board the Excellent, in Portsmouth Harbour. The spectacle presented during the combat is described by those who witnessed it from the Deerhound, as magnificent, and thus the extraordinary career of the Alabama has come to a grand and appropriate termination. THE ANTHROPOGLOSSOS. Under the sesquipedalian title of Anthropoglossos, we have lately witnessed "the newest thing out" in Automota, which is now being exhibited in the Egyptian Hall, Piccadilly, to astonished multitudes. The figure consists of a gigantic head, about three times the size of life, with a species of speaking trumpet in its mouth, and a small body containing a pair of bellows and a few very plain looking wheels and cylinders, covered over with a loose robe. The figure is fixed to the ceiling of the room by chains on either side of the body, so that it is completely isolated, or at any rate appears to be so. After winding up the machinery like a clock, a buzzing sound is at first heard, and this in a few seconds resolves itself into a song, generally of a popular character, and possessing all that peculiarity of drawling accent which is so for the medical profession, first as an articled pupil of Dr. Hassel, at Richmond, and then, from 1856 to 1859, at Charing Cross Hospital, where he gained the silver medals for surgery and chemistry. The last letter which Mr. Llewellyn ever wrote, was addressed to Mr. Travers, the resident medical officer of Charing Cross Hospital, and is as follows:-"Cherbourg, June 14th, 1864. Dear Travers,-Here we are. I send this by a gentleman coming to London. An enemy is outside. If she only stays long enough, we go out and fight her. If I live, expect to see me in London shortly. If I die, give my best love to all who know me. If M. A. de Cailbet should call on you, please show him every attention. I remain, dear Travers, ever yours, D. H. LLEWELLYN." Mr. Llewellyn was much loved and respected by all on board. He remained behind and sank with the ship, an ever memorable instance of that chivalrous spirit and devotion, to duty, which we are proud to believe characterise the medical officers of the united services, and the medical profession generally, in the United Kingdom. It is further gratifying to be able to state, that Llewellyn's fellow students appointed a committee to provide for the erection of a tablet to his memory in Charing Cross Hospital, where as a pupil he had so greatly distinguished himself, and that another memorial is to be fixed in the church of Easton parish, where he was born. |