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nap-he wondered in his dream if all these incongruities could ever be reconciled, and-for he thought his fate was fixed-if he ever should be comfortable and easy again!

But presently in his dream he saw something which sorely disturbed his philosophy. The village barber was among his guests! Now, the barber had once been his butler, and a great man in his household. Great men have their infirmities, and the butler had his. He was too fond of tasting; and practice, while it improved his judgment in one department of his vocation, injured him in others. So he resigned, upon a hint, and retired upon a pension, setting up an independent establishment under his old master's patronage, and still keeping the run of the hall. Moreover, he looked sweet

upon the housekeeper. ed, looked sweet upon him. Now the certain old gentleman might have considered all this a very good joke, under ordinary circumstances; but when one marries into a family, you know————

And she, the servants hint

Was it another fly? Again Betty was compelled to leave her wheel to soothe the old gentleman. The sight of the ci-devant butler, now barber and prospective father-in-law-the curious looks of the old family servants under the new regime-the quandary whether the barber was to be addressed as John Butler, John Barber, or my lady's fatherin-law.

Upon our word, such a dilemma would be a quandary for a man wide awake, and in possession of all his senses. To a dreaming man it was dreadful. It was worse than the nightmare. It was "gorgons, hydras, and chimeras dire" rolled into one big mon

ster.

"John, go to the pantry!" shouted the certain old gentleman-that is, he dreamed he shouted.

"And I" said the housekeeper. "And I"- - said the housekeeper's daughter. And then the old gentleman, in his sleep all the time, be it understood, forgot the claims of the bride and the mother-in-law, and choleric, aimed to collar the upstart, whereupon the barber resisted, and dashed soap in his eyes! He waked with a scream. His snuff box lay at his feet, and Betty flew to his aid, holding open his eye with her hands while she strove to blow out the angry particles with her gentle breath. She never looked prettier; but who could see that, with snuff in his eyes?

"What is the matter?" said his daughter, who just then bounced in upon him, in her travelling dress.

"MY EYE AND BETTY MARTIN," said the old gentleman, with a smile on his lips, and a tear in his eye. "I've had such dreams! I thought the bells were all ringing!"

"You may well think that," answered his daughter; "listen to them now!"

"And I thought there was a barrel of ale with the tap running on the green, and the boys shouting."

"Yes," said his daughter, "and the men too; hear them still."

"Hip! hip! hip! hurrah!" sounded in the dis

tance.

"And I thought there was a crowd in my houseand, and, and confusion."

"So you might, for I have made the greatest tumult to get in, and should not have succeeded at all, if I did not know the way myself."

"Why, where are all our people ?" asked the old man, bewildered.

"All run to hear the news, I suppose, or to tell it."

"The news? Where am I? What is it? Where's my snuffbox?"

"Here, sir," said Betty, picking it up from-the ground, courtseying to the daughter as she handed the box to the father. "But the snuff is all spilled."

"Humph," growled the certain old gentleman. "And who are you? Are you Betty Martin, and nobody else?"

"Nobody else, sir," sighed Betty, with another courtesy and a tone of sad presentiment.

"Such a dream!" yawned the old gentleman. And he drew his daughter to his breast, and kissed her with a fervor of affection which surprised and delighted her. "I believe I am awake now, thank Heaven! But those bells and shouts-what is this news, daughter?"

"Bonaparte has been beaten, his army cut to pieces and broken up forever!"

"Hurrah! I could shout myself. Who brought the tidings to the village?" "I did."

"But those bells, haven't they been ringing all day-all the afternoon, I mean?"

"Only five or ten minutes, father. I came in a chaise, and the postboy has set the villagers crazy." "But"but what, did not then transpire. The old gentleman left the philosophy of dreams, and the discussion thereof, until another occasion. Betty by this time having disappeared his daughter produced from her pocket THE GAZETTE EXTRAORDINARY, and pointed out to her father, who was pleased in spite of himself, the name of her husband among those who had distinguished themselves on that greatest of modern battle-fields-WATERLOO.

The wars were soon over. Betty's hopes were at an end, so she supplanted her mother, and married the ex-butler, John Barber, herself. The certain old gentleman's pet daughter was domiciled in his house again, and the ensign, her husband, vindicated her preference by becoming a general. He retired on half-pay early enough to aid his wife in comforting the last days of her father; and, after some years had passed away, the certain old gentleman ventured to tell this his dream. Whether it was the origin of the saying "My Eye and Betty Martin" or not, we are not prepared to aver; but it was certainly a good illustration.

ILLUSTRIOUS CHARACTERS

MRS. MADISON.

BY THOMAS WYATT, A. M.
(See Plate in August Number.)

THIS loved and honored lady, whose character is the subject of this brief memoir, was born in North Carolina, in the year 1767. Shortly after her birth, Mr. and Mrs. Payne, her parents, removed to Philadelphia, and joined the Society of Friends, or Quakers. Accordingly, Dolly Payne was educated in the strict system of that society to which her parents belonged; a system which, taking morality and virtue for its basis, forbids the vanities of fashionable life.

But we find it satisfactorily proved that these external accomplishments may be dispensed with without diminishing the attractions of the sex. And, although Miss Payne was not indebted to acquired graces of mind or manners, admiration and pure esteem followed her wherever she was known.

The kindness and benevolence of her disposition were the charms which fascinated her admirers, imparting a beaming grace and brightness to her countenance never to be effaced; charms which the withering hand of Time could not destroy, and which shone forth in brilliant lustre till their owner reposed in the silent tomb.

Although a strict member of the Society of Friends, sho soon became the observed of all observers, for the beauty, which hereafter was destined to be so celebrated, began to attract attention; and the lovely Quakeress was soon not only the object of general admiration, but of serious and devoted attachment.

In the year 1790, this lady became the wife of John Todd, Esq., a talented young lawyer of Philadelphia, and a member also of the Society of Friends. During the lifetime of Mr. Todd, she lived in the simplicity and strictness of the society to which she belonged. But this exalted happiness was not long to be hers; death, which is ever ready to pluck the fairest flower, or sever bonds never again to be united here below, took from her side her beloved husband, after a sickness of only a few days, leaving her a young widow with an infant

son.

Her mother, Mrs. Payne, of one of the oldest families of Virginia, then a widow, resided in Philadelphia, and Mrs. Todd became an inmate in her family, where congregated the good and distinguished of that day, when the worth and wisdom of the land assembled there in council to guide the destinies of our infant republic. Among the many suitors whose

worth and talents were a passport to her society, was Mr. James Madison, then one of the most conspicuous members of Congress; and, in the year 1794, Mrs. Todd became the wife of that eminently great and good man. From the time of her marriage till Mr. Madison came into the administration, she lived in the full enjoyment of that abundant and cordial hospitality which characterized the wife of a Virginia gentleman. Her house was never without guests, who were freely and kindly bidden to partake of the social pleasures of the happy domestic circle. Never were circumstances more in accordance with disposition, and Mrs. Madison appeared to be in the very sphere for which nature had designed her.

In 1801, Mr. Madison was appointed Secretary of State, and removed with his family to Washington, leaving, among their Philadelphia friends, universal, kind, and pleasant recollections, which endured to the latest hour of the lives of this much honored and loved pair.

A lady, who was herself an eye-witness, gives the following description of the metropolis of the Union at that period. She says: "The infant metropolis of our country was at that time almost a wilderness. The president's house stood uninclosed on a piece of waste and barren ground, separated from the capitol by an almost impassable marsh. The building was not half completed, and standing, as it did, amidst the rough masses of stone and other materials collected for its construction, and half hidden by the venerable oaks that still shaded their native soil, looked more like a ruin in the midst of its fallen fragments and coeval shades than a new and rising edifice. The silence and solitude of the surrounding space were calculated to enforce this idea; for, beyond the capitol hill, far as the eye could reach, the city, as it was called, lay in a state of nature, covered with thick groves and forest-trees, wide and verdant plains, with only here and there a house along the intersecting ways, that could not yet be properly called streets. The original proprietors of the grounds on which the city was located, retained their rural residences and their habits of living. And new inhabitants were thronging from every part of the Union, bringing with them the primitive modes and customs of their respective States. Mr. Madison, from Virginia, Mr. Gallatin, from Pennsylvania, General Dearborn, from Massachusetts, and Robert Smith, from Maryland, were the heads of the several departments of

government. These were followed by political friends and dependents, to fill the subordinate places in the several departments."

Such materials, and such unsimilarity of habits, must have given to society a most novel aspect; and nothing but their entire dependence upon each other could have formed that close and intimate circle, which became so blended together as almost to form one complete harmonious family. Mr. Jefferson, for years after his retirement, often recurred to that time, observing that the perfect unanimity that prevailed in his cabinet made him feel that they were all members of his family.

Mr. Madison held the office of Secretary of State for eight years, during which time he, with his family, resided in Washington, reciprocating civilities with all around him in the kindest manner. Much of this depended upon his lady, who, although placed, as she must have been, in a most conspicuous, and not enviable situation, conciliated the good-will of all, without offence to the numerous competitors for her interest and influence.

At a time when the restless spirit of party began to manifest itself, covering every path with thorns, this estimable woman held the branch of conciliation, ever ready to promote peace and good-will. A politician of the present day exclaimed, on a memorable occasion, "We are federalists, we are all republicans." In her intercourse with society at that day, Mrs. Madison reduced this liberal sentiment to practice; her circle was the model of polished life, and the dwelling of cheerfulness.

"When the term of Mr. Jefferson's presidency drew near its close, the spirit of political intrigue, which, for the last eight years, had lain dormant, was again roused into activity. A new president must be chosen, and there were several competitors for the people's favor. Each had their zealous and untiring partisans, who left no means unemployed to insure success. Private society felt the baneful influence of these political intrigues; social intercourse was embittered by party spirit, and personal confidence often violated. Mr. Madison was assailed with all the violence of political animosity, and calumnies were invented where facts were wanting."

Mrs. Madison, who felt the attacks on her husband with keen sensibility, always met the assailants with a mildness and condescension that disarmed their hostility of its individual rancor, and often converted political enemies into warm personal friends. The magic influence which the tender of her snuff box exerted, won from the most obdurate a relaxation from hostility; for none partook of its contents, so graciously and kindly offered, and retained a feeling inimical to its owner.

The eventful moment arrived, and Mr. Madison was declared President of the United States.

Mr. Jefferson soon retired to Virginia, and Mr. Madison took possession of the presidential mansion. Here, again, Mrs. Madison had an opportunity of

VOL. XLV.-38

exhibiting to advantage those high and noble feelings, which had so often triumphed over the animosity of party spirit, and gained for her husband so much popularity and good-will. But, in the third year of the presidency of Mr. Madison, our history became one of war with England; and then it was that, in this "second war of the Revolution," the energies of the nation and of her rulers were called forth.

The president was occasionally censured, with all the bitterness of party animosity; but Mr. Madison, confiding in the entire purity of his motives, and the justice of his fellow-citizens, ever left his acts to be duly estimated when the effervescence of popular excitement should subside; and, with unaltered equanimity, he continued his social intercourse with persons of all opinions.

News now arrived that the British forces had landed some miles below the city, and that the metropolis was marked for destruction.

As soon as this was known, the commanders of our army met, but were divided in their opinion as to the route to be taken; nor were they unanimous in the measures to be adopted to oppose the enemy, who were now at their doors.

General Winder, with his army, had stationed himself at Bladensburg, expecting that might be the route which the enemy would take on their way to the capitol. This had been strenuously opposed by the Secretary of War, which caused some unpleasantness at the moment.

The president, anxious to settle this unhappy difference, went himself, accompanied by several members of the cabinet and other personal friends, to Bladensburg, where they, to their great surprise, found the two armies preparing to engage.

Being so near the city, the inhabitants were much alarmed for the result of the battle, and all the dismay attendant on a besieged city displayed itself among the unarmed citizens.

The sound of the cannon was distinctly heard. The cabinet party, who had gone to hold a council of war, had now been absent two days, and no signs of their return. The whole city was in confusion. The few friends remaining with Mrs. Madison urged her to leave the city; but she peremptorily refused, even if she was taken prisoner, till she was assured of Mr. Madison's safety. The carriage was several times brought to the door; but they could not prevail on her to enter it until her husband's return. The following extract from a letter to her sister, written in all the tumult and confusion which surrounded her, shows her attachment for her husband, and her firm patriotism to her country :

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assurance that I had no fear but for him and the success of our brave army, he left me, beseeching me to take care of myself, and of the cabinet papers, public and private. I have since received two dispatches from him, written in pencil; the last is alarming: he desires I should be ready, at a moment's warning, to enter my carriage and leave the city; that the enemy seemed stronger than had been reported, and that it might happen they would reach the city and destroy it. I am, accordingly, ready. I have pressed as many cabinet papers into trunks as to fill one carriage; our private property must be sacrificed, as it is impossible to procure wagons for its transportation. I am determined not to go myself until I see Mr. Madison safe, and he can accompany me, as I hear of much hostility towards him. My friends and acquaintances are all gone, even Colonel C., with his hundred men, who were stationed as a guard in this inclosure. French John-a faithful domestic-with his usual activity and resolution, offers to spike the cannon at the gate, and to lay a train of powder which would blow up the British, should they enter the house. To the last proposition I positively object, without being able, however, to make him understand why all advantages in war may not be taken. "Wednesday morning, 12 o'clock. Since sunrise, I have been turning my spy-glass in every direction, and watching with unwearied anxiety, hoping to discern the approach of my dear husband and his friends; but, alas! I can only descry groups of military wandering in all directions, as if there was a lack of arms, or of spirit to fight for their own firesides!

"Three o'clock. Will you believe it, my dear sister? we have had a battle, or skirmish, near Bladensburg, and I am still here within sound of the cannon! Mr. Madison comes not; may God protect him! Two messengers covered with dust come to bid me fly; but I shall wait for him.

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At this late hour, a wagon has been procured; I have had it filled with the plate and most valuable portable articles belonging to the house. Whether it will reach its destination, the Bank of Maryland, or fall into the hands of the British soldiery, events must determine. Our kind friend, Mr. Carroll, has come to hasten my departure, and is in very bad humor with me because I insist on waiting until the large portrait of General Washington is secured, and it requires to be unscrewed from the wall. This process was found too tedious for these perilous moments. I have ordered the frame to be broken, and the canvas taken out, and it is done, and the precious relic placed in the hands of two gentlemen for safe keeping. And now, my dear sister, I must leave this house, or the retreating army will make me a prisoner in it, by filling up the road I am directed to take. When I shall write you again, or where I shall be to-morrow, I cannot fell!"

With a few devoted friends around her, Mrs. Madison left the house, and joined her husband a few miles from the city, to return in a few days.

The president's house having been destroyed by the enemy meanwhile, the elegant and commodious residence of Colonel Tayloe became for a time the presidential mansion; and, subsequently, the two south-east corner houses of the "Seven Buildings," now standing on Pennsylvania Avenue, were made the abodes of hospitality until the 4th of March, 1817, when, having seen his successor, James Monroe, of Virginia, inaugurated President of the United States, Mr. and Mrs. Madison, after a long service of virtue and usefulness, retired to the shades of Montpelier, his paternal residence, in Orange County, Virginia.

Mr. Madison scrupulously refrained, after his retirement, from all interference in the politics of the nation; but enjoyed, in his abode of sylvan beauty and mountain salubrity, the visits of guests of distinction from every clime, who sought the patriot and the sage, that they might testify personally that respect and regard which his eminent services and the purity of his character universally inspired.

Here, in retirement, as in public, the equal virtues of Mrs. Madison conciliated the warmest regard from all around her; and, in the dispensation of an elegant and enlightened hospitality, she gladdened the evening of her husband's days by her attention to his friends and guests, while her anxious watchfulness of him, best known in the domestic circle, are perhaps better described in the following lines, inscribed to grateful recollections:

MONTPELIER.

Here, at this gate, the swelling sylvan range,
The stately mansion with its pictured halls
I'll bid adieu. Perhaps this is the last
Of all this excellence that life may lend
Me time to look upon. Here, let me stand
And look, and say, even from my inward heart,
Peace be within these walls-the peace of Heaven!
May it forever reign within your breasts,
Ye gentle inmates of that honored roof!
Never two purer hearts, amid the lands
And varying climes I 've known, have I observed.
Thrice blest and honored they, whom even age
Adorns with brighter excellence, in whom
Fidelity, mutual respect, and love,
And mutual tenderness unite.
That noble dame! see her gracious bearing,
The cordial welcome to her numerous friends!
Observe her zeal, her hospitable cares;
But mark the keen solicitude, the thought,
Constant, ever to him, there, where he lies
Alive in an immortal spirit, though
The lofty cares of more than fourscore years
His sinews have unstrung. Each day she lives
But for to watch over his precious life;
Soft is the pillow from her careful hand!
Never was a man more blessed in such a wife;
Never was a wife more honored in her mate.
Hail, MADISON! among the noble sons
Peerless, of fair Virginia's soil;

Behold

Of all its generous children, first art thou,
Save for the memory of him whose name
Shines above all men's names; in whom the love
Of country and of virtue far surpassed
The love of life. He, whose glorious days men
Where Christendom extends, by one consent,
Have hailed the type of human excellence:
A glass for men to look in, when they need
To curb the wild ambition that weak minds
Lead oft astray, and makes historic names
The curse and shame of human annals, when
They might be gems like that of WASHINGTON.
His great example was not lost on thee,
Whose life has passed in loyalty to truth.
The tree of liberty, planted by him,

Well hast thou nurtured; now, its spreading boughs
Give shade to all; and thou shalt be revered
Whilst time shall last. Forever shall our sons

Raise in this land the honored names

Of WASHINGTON and MADISON, the types

Of human wisdom, patriot probity.

Blest be thy future days! long may'st thou live

To love thy friends, to know how much thou 'rt loved! Long may the wisdom of all ages past

Oft, from thy gentle lips and hallowed heart,

Be poured into the listening ears of mer by sea, and
As mine have drank it in. And when ting a large
Declines, at length, into the golden wegh Asia Mi-
To rise refulgent to a brighter day,
May thy immortal mind still turn to
Bearing thee onward in thy course to,

start, when it Archbishop of After the death of her husbandaad promised. continued to reside at Montpelier tit we did not the exception of part of each wintening an engenerally spent in Washington; till, final decided she made that city her permanent residence, their ing uninterrupted good health till within five days of her death, which took place on the 13th day of July, 1849, at the advanced age of ighty-two years. Without disease, she rapidly sank from age and exhaustion into the grave, in hope of a joyful resurrection.

Her remains were deposited temporarily in the receiving-vault in the Congressional burying-ground, till they could be conveyed to Montpelier, in Virginia, to repose by the side of her illustrious husband.

HOW WE SPENT THREE DAYS IN CONSTANTINOPLE, AND HOW WE LEFT IT:

BEING SOME PAGES FROM THE JOURNAL OF AN ORIENTAL TRAVELLER.

BY A. R. MIDDLETOWN PAYNE.

THE sun was just disappearing in the horizon, on Thursday evening, when the anchors of the lumbering Austrian merchant vessel "Presburg" plunged into the calm blue waters of the Bosphorus. The domes and minarets of the "City of the Sultan" were tipped with the last beams of day, and the twilight breezes were sighing through the branches of the cypresses that sweep down, in thick and solemn clusters, to the water's edge, in the vast cemetery of Pera, not far from which the ship had hove to.

Hailing a passing caïque, guided by a single athletic Turk, we descended on board of her, literally, I believe, for I do not think there was much more than that between our feet and the water. However, I would have been glad enough to leave the vessel on a chip, and I labor under the impression that my travelling companion, Grey, had precisely the same feeling. Now, let it be understood that there is no such thing to be done, in any way compatible with safety, as to leap on to a caïque; for a suddenlyjerked-on weight would infallibly sink the frail boat, or go through it. They appear to float in accordance with some, as yet, undiscovered principle, and their extreme needle-like narrowness makes them fly through the water like-what shall I say?-a hot knife through fresh butter?-similies are scarce nowadays; the motion is not unlike that of an eel

trying to escape from a fisherman's hand-a wriggle and a jerk.

We took nothing with us from the ship but a portmanteau apiece, and a letter of introduction to Monsieur L-n, a French gentleman resident in Pera, which had been kindly given to us by his brother-in-law, to whom we had been introduced at Venice. Our heavy baggage was to be sent on shore the next morning with our three servants, the brothers Boyd.

Grey and I now summoned up all our powers of Turkish conversation-limited to six sentences which had been taught us by the Austrian captain, and a seventh, which we had ourselves manufactured by dint of great perseverance and research, from the others-and practised upon our boatman instead of addressing him in Armenian, which we both understood and spoke pretty decently, I flatter myself. "Can you take us to the quay of Tophanna?" I commenced. "Yes." "Are there many Franks in Stamboul now?" "A good many." This we did not understand at the time, but treasured up the pronunciation, so that we might inquire, at the first opportunity, what it meant. "Is the Sultan in Stamboul?" asked Grey. Another unintelligible reply; for we had always been taught not to expect more than a "Yes," or a "No," from so unioqua

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