Various
International Weekly Miscellany of Literature, Art and Science - Volume 1, No. 8, August 19, 1850
JACOB JONES, U.S.N
COMMODORE JACOB JONES, of the United States Navy, died in Philadelphia on the 6th inst. He was born in Smyrna, Kent county, Delaware, in the year 1770, and was therefore, eighty years of age. He was of an eminently respectable family, and commenced life as a physician, having studied the profession at the University of Pennsylvania. He afterward became clerk of the Supreme Court of Delaware for his native county. When about twenty-nine years old he entered the navy, and made his first cruises under Commodore Barry. He was a midshipman on board the frigate United States, when she bore to France Chief Justice Ellsworth and General Davie, as envoys extraordinary to the French Republic. He was next appointed to the Ganges as midshipman. On the breaking out of the war with Tripoli, he was stationed on the frigate Philadelphia, under Commodore Bainbridge. The disaster which befell that ship and her crew before Tripoli, forms a solemn page in our naval history; atoned, however, by the brilliant achievements to which it gave rise. Twenty months of severe captivity among a barbarous people, and in a noxious climate, neither broke the spirit nor impaired the constitution of Jones. Blest by nature with vigorous health and an invincible resolution, when relieved from bondage by the bravery of his countrymen, he returned home full of life and ardor. He was soon after promoted to a lieutenancy. He was now for some time employed on the Orleans station, where he conducted himself with his usual judgment and propriety, and was a favorite in the polite circles of the Orleans and Mississippi territories. He was shortly after appointed to the command of the brig Argus, stationed for the protection of our commerce on the southern maritime frontier. In this situation he acted with vigilance and fidelity, and though there were at one time insidious suggestions to the contrary, it has appeared that he conformed to his instructions, promoted the public interest, and gave entire satisfaction to the government. In 1811, he was transferred to the command of the sloop-of-war Wasp, mounting eighteen twenty-four pound carronades, and dispatched, in the spring of 1812, with communications to the courts of St. Cloud and St. James. Before he returned, war had been declared against Great Britain. He refitted his ship with all possible dispatch, and repaired to sea, but met with no other good fortune than the capture of an inconsiderable prize. He next sailed from Philadelphia on the 13th of October, and on the 18th of the same month encountered a heavy gale, during which the Wasp lost her jibboom and two seamen. On the following night, the watch discovered five strange sail steering eastward. The Wasp hauled to the windward and closely watched their movements until daylight next morning, when it was found that they were six large merchant vessels under convoy of a sloop of war. The former were well manned, two of them mounting sixteen guns each. Notwithstanding the apparent disparity of force. Captain Jones determined to hazard an attack; and as the weather was boisterous, and the swell of the sea unusually high, he ordered down top-gallant yards, closely reefed the top-sails, and prepared for action. We cannot give a detail of this brilliant engagement, which resulted in the capture of the Frolic. It was one of the most daring and determined actions in our naval history. The force of the Frolic consisted of sixteen thirty-two pound carronades, four twelve-pounders on the maindeck, and two twelve-pound carronades. Both vessels had more men than was essential to their efficiency; but while there was an equality of strength in the crews, there was an inequality in the number of guns and weight of metal—the Frolic having four twelve-pounders more than the Wasp. The exact number of killed and wounded on board the Frolic could not be ascertained with any degree of precision; but, from the admissions of the British officers, it was supposed that their loss in killed was about thirty, including two officers, and in wounded, between forty and fifty. The captain and every other officer on board were more or less severely wounded. The Wasp sustained a loss of only five men killed, and five wounded.
While erecting jurymasts on board the Frolic, soon after, a suspicious sail was seen to windward, upon which Captain Jones directed Lieutenant Biddle to shape her course for Charleston, or any other port of the United States, while the Wasp should continue upon her cruise. The sail coming down rapidly, both vessels prepared for action, but it was soon discovered, to the mortification of the victors in this well-fought action, that the new enemy was a seventy-four, which proved to be the Poictiers, commanded by Admiral Beresford. Firing a shot over the Frolic, she passed her, and soon overhauled the Wasp, which, in her crippled state, was unable to escape. Both vessels were thus captured, and carried into Bermuda. After a few weeks, a cartel was proposed by which the officers and crew of the Wasp were conveyed to New York. On the return of Captain Jones to the United States, he was everywhere received with demonstrations of respect for the skill and gallantry displayed in his combat with the enemy. The legislature of Delaware gave him a vote of thanks, and a piece of plate. On the motion of James A. Bayard, of Delaware, Congress appropriated twenty-five thousand dollars, as a compensation to the commander, his officers, and crew, for the loss they had sustained by the recapture of the Frolic. They also voted a gold medal to the Captain, and a silver medal to each of his commissioned officers. As a farther evidence of the confidence of government, Captain Jones was ordered to the command of the frigate Macedonian, recently captured from the British by Decatur. She was rapidly fitted out under his direction, in the harbor of New York, and proposed for one of Decatur's squadron, which was about to sail on another expedition. In May 1811, the squadron attempted to put to sea, but, in sailing up Long Island Sound, encountered a large British force, which compelled the United States vessels to retreat into New London. In this situation the enemy continued an uninterrupted blockade during the war. Finding it impossible to avoid the vigilance of Sir Thomas Hardy, who commanded the blockading fleet, the government ordered Captain Jones to proceed with his officers and crew to Sackett's Harbor, and report to Commodore Chauncey, as commander of the frigate Mohawk, on lake Ontario. There the Americans maintained an ascendency, and continued to cruise until October, when the British squadron, under Sir James Yeo, left Kingston, with a greatly superior force, which caused the United States squadron to return to Sackett's Harbor. It seemed, indeed, that the contest now depended on the exertions of the ship carpenters. Two line of battle ships were placed on the stocks, and were advancing rapidly to completion, when, in February 1815, the news of peace arrived, with orders to suspend further operations on these vessels. A few weeks after the peace was announced, Captain Jones with his officers and crew was ordered to repair to the seaboard, and again to take command of the Macedonian, to form part of the force against the Algerines, then depredating on our commerce in the Mediterranean. As soon as the Algerian Regency was informed that war existed between the United States and Great Britain, the Dey dispatched his cruisers to capture all American merchant vessels. To punish these freebooters, nine or ten vessels were fitted out and placed under Decatur. This armament sailed from New York in May, 1815, and when off Cadiz was informed that the Algerines were along the southern coast of Spain. Two days after reaching the Mediterranean, the United States squadron fell in with and captured the Algerine frigate Messuado, mounting forty-six guns, and the next day captured a large brig of war, both of which were carried into the port of Carthagena, in Spain. The American squadron then proceeded to the bay of Algiers, where its sudden and unexpected appearance excited no slight surprise and alarm in the Regency. The Dey reluctantly yielded to every demand to him; he restored the value of the property belonging to American merchants which he had seized, released all the prisoners he had captured, and relinquished forever all claims on the annual tribute which he had received. After having thus terminated the war with Algiers, and formed an advantageous treaty, the squadron proceeded to other Barbary capitals, and adjusted some minor difficulties, which, however, were of importance to our merchants. After touching at several of the islands in the Mediterranean, at Naples, and at Malaga, the entire force came back to the United States early in December. From this period till his death, no event of much importance distinguished the career of Commodore Jones. He was, however, almost constantly employed in various responsible positions, his appointment to which evinced the confidence government placed in his talents and discretion. In 1821, he took the command of a squadron, for the protection of our trade in the Mediterranean, in which he continued for three years. On his return he was offered a seat in the Board of Navy Commissioners, but, finding bureau duties irksome, he accepted, in 1826, the command of our navy in the Pacific, where he also continued three years, Afterward he was placed in command of the Baltimore station, where he remained, with the exception of a short interval, until transferred to the harbor of New York. Since 1847, he had held the place of Governor of the United States Naval Asylum, on the Schuylkill, near Philadelphia.
JULIA BETTERTON GLOVER
An actress who has been admired and respected by three generations of play-goers has quitted the stage of life in the person of Mrs. Glover. The final exit was somewhat sudden, as it seemed to the general public; but it was anticipated by her friends. A friendly biographer in the Morning Chronicle explains the circumstances; first referring to the extraordinary manifestations of public feeling which attended Mrs. Glover's last farewell, at Drury-Lane Theater, on Friday, the 12th of July.
"In our capacity of spectators we did not then see occasion to mention what had otherwise come to our knowledge—that the evidences of extreme suffering manifested by Mrs. Glover on that evening—her inability to go through her part, except as a mere shadow of her former self, and the substitution of an apologetic speech from Mr. Leigh Murray for the address which had been written for her by a well-known and talented amateur of the drama—arose not merely from the emotion natural on a farewell night, after more than half a century of active public service, but also from extreme physical debility, the result of an attack of illness of a wasting character, which had already confined that venerable lady to her bed for many days. In fact, it was only the determination of Mrs. Glover herself not to disappoint the audience, who had been invited and attracted for many weeks before, that overruled the remonstrances of her friends and family against her appearing at all. She was then utterly unfit to appear on the stage in her professional character, and the most serious alarm was felt lest there should be some sudden and fatal catastrophe. The result of the struggle of feeling she then underwent, superadded as it was to the physical causes which had undermined her strength, was, that Mrs. Glover sunk under the disease which had been consuming her, and quitted this life on Monday night."
Mrs. Glover, born Julia Betterton, was daughter of an actor named Betterton, who held a good position on the London stage toward the close of the last century. She is said to have been a lineal descendant of the great actor of the same name. Her birthday was the 8th January, 1781. Brought up, as most of our great actors and actresses have been, "at the wings," she was even in infancy sent on the stage in children's parts. She became attached to the company of Tate Wilkinson, for whom she played, at York, the part of the Page in The Orphan; and she also exercised her juvenile talents in the part of Tom Thumb, for the benefit of George Frederick Cooke, who on the occasion doffed his tragic garb and appeared in the character of Glumdalcar. Another character which she played successfully with Cooke was that of the little Duke of York in Richard the Third; into which, it is recorded, she threw a degree of spirit and childish roguishness that acted as a spur on the great tragedian himself, who never performed better than when seconded by his childish associate. In 1796 she had attained such a position in the preparatory school of the provincial circuits, chiefly at Bath, that she was engaged at Covent Garden; in the first instance at £10 a week, and ultimately for five years at £15 a week, rising to £20; terms then thought "somewhat extraordinary and even exorbitant". Miss Betterton first appeared in London in October 1797, fifty-three years ago, as Elvira, in Hannah More's tragedy of Percy. Her success was great; and in a short time she had taken such a hold of popular favor, that when Mrs. Abington returned for a brief period to the stage, Miss Betterton held her ground against the rival attraction, and even secured the admiration of Mrs. Abington herself. Her subsequent engagements were at Drury-Lane and Covent-Garden alternately, till she made that long engagement at the Haymarket, during which she has become best known to the present generation of playgoers. Her more recent brief engagement with Mr. Anderson, at Drury-Lane, and her last one with Mr. W. Farren, at the Strand Theater, whither she contributed so much to attract choice audiences, are fresh in the memory of metropolitans. Looking back to Mrs. Glover's "long and brilliant career upon the stage, we may pronounce her one of the most extraordinary women and accomplished actresses that have ever graced the profession of the drama." Mrs. Glover had a daughter, Phillis, a very clever young actress, at the Haymarket Theater, who has been dead several years. Her two sons are distinguished, the one as a popular musical composer, and the other as a clever tragedian—the latter with considerable talent, also, as an amateur painter.
A London correspondent of the Spirit of the Times gives an interesting account of the Glover benefit, and the "last scenes."
MADAME GAVAUDAN is dead. To many it will be necessary to explain that Madame Gavaudan was, in her time, one of the most favorite singing-actresses and acting songstresses belonging to the Opéra Comique of Paris; and that, after many years of popularity, she retired from the stage in 1823.
GENERAL BERTHAND, Baron de Sivray, died early in July at Luc, in France, in the eighty-fourth year of his age. He was an officer before the first revolution, and served through all the wars of the Republic and the Empire.
ROBERT R. BAIRD, a son of the Rev. Dr. Baird, and a young man of amiable character and considerable literary abilities, which had been illustrated for the most part, we believe, in translation, was drowned in the North River at Yonkers on Tuesday evening, the 6th instant, about seven o'clock. The deceased had gone into the water to bathe in company with several others, and was carried by the rising tide into deep water, where, as he could swim but little, he sunk to rise no more, before help could reach him. This premature and sudden death has overwhelmed his parents and friends in the deepest distress. He was twenty-five years old.
THE DEATH OF MR. S. JOSEPH, the sculptor, known by his statue of Wilberforce in Westminster Abbey and his statue of Wilkie in the National Gallery, is mentioned in the English papers. His busts exhibit a fine perception of character, and many a delicate grace in the modeling. Mr. Joseph was long a resident in Edinburgh. He modeled a bust of Sir Walter Scott about the same time that Chantrey modeled his—that bust which best preserves to us the features and character of the great novelist.
JAMES WRIGHT, author of the Philosophy of Elocution and other works chiefly of a religious character, died at Brighton, England, on the 9th of July, aged 68.
SIR THOMAS WILDE, who has just been promoted to the Woolsack, as Baron Truro, we learn from the Illustrated News, was born in 1782. After practicing as an attorney, he was called to the bar by the Honorable Society of the Inner Temple, the 7th February, 1817. He joined the Western Circuit, and soon rose into considerable practice. His knowledge of the law, combined with his great eloquence, made him one of the most successful advocates of his time. He was for many years the confidential and legal adviser of the late Alderman Sir Matthew Wood, and his connection with that gentleman caused him to be engaged as one of the senior counsel for the Queen on the celebrated trial of Queen Caroline. Though surrounded by rivals of the highest eminence and the brightest fame, Wilde always stood among the foremost, and obtained briefs in some of the greatest causes ever tried. For instance, he was engaged on the winning side in the famous action of Small v. Atwood, in which his fees are said to have amounted to something enormous. In 1824 he became a sergeant-at-law; and he was appointed King's Sergeant in 1827, and Solicitor-General in 1839, when he received the honor of knighthood. In 1841 he first became Attorney-General; and after a second time holding that office, he succeeded the late Sir Nicholas Conyngham Tindal, as Lord Chief Justice of the Common Pleas. His recent appointment as Lord Chancellor places him at the very summit of his profession.
[From the London Ladies' Companion.]
THE MORNING SONG
BY BARRY CORNWALL
A new "English Song," by Barry Cornwall, is now—more's the pity—a too rare event in the musical year. We are at once doing our readers a pleasure, and owning a welcome kindness, in publishing, by the author's permission, these words, set by M. Benedict, and sung by Madame Sontag.
The world is waking into light;
The dark and sullen night hath flown:
Life lives and re-assumes its might,
And nature smiles upon her throne.
And the Lark,
Hark!
She gives welcome to the day,
In a merry, merry, lay,
Tra la!—lira, lira, lira, la!
Soft sounds are sailing through the air;
Sweet sounds are springing from the stream;
And fairest things, where all is fair,
Join gently in the grateful theme.
And the Lark, &c., &c.
The morn, the morn is in the skies;
The reaper singeth from the corn;
The shepherd on the hills replies;
And all things now salute the morn,
Even the Lark, &c., &c.
[From Eliza Cook's Journal.]
A LESSON
If society ever be wholly corrupted, it will be by the idea that it is already so. Some cynics believe in virtue, sincerity, and happiness, only as traditions of the past, and by ridicule seek to propagate the notion. This vain and pedantic philosophy would turn all hearts to stone, and arm every man with suspicion against all others, declaiming against the romance of life, as empty sentimentalism; against the belief in goodness, as youth's sanguine folly; and the hope of pure happiness, as a fanciful dream, created by a young imagination, to be dissipated by the teaching of a few years' struggle with the world.
If this be wisdom, I am no philosopher, and I never wish to be one; for sooner would I float upon the giddy current of fancy, to fall among quicksands at last, than travel through a dull and dreary world, without confidence in my companions. That we may be happy, that we may find sincere friends, that we may meet the good, and enjoy the beautiful on earth, is a creed that will find believers in all hearts unsoured by their own asceticism. Virtue will sanctify every fireside where we invite her to dwell, and if the clouds of misfortune darken and deform the whole period of our existence, it is a darkness that emanates from ourselves, and a deformity created by us to our own unhappiness.
Yet this is not relating the little story which is the object of my observations. The axiom which I wish to lay down, to maintain, and to prove correct, is, that married life may be with most people, should be with all, and is with many, a state of happiness. The reader may smile at my boldness, but the history of the personages I shall introduce to walk their hour on this my little stage, will justify my adopting the maxim.
M. Pierre Lavalles, owner of a vineyard, near a certain village in the south of France, wooed and wedded Mdlle. Julie Gouchard. Exactly where they dwelt, and all the precise circumstances of their position, I do not mean to indicate, and if I might offer a hint to my contemporaries, it would be a gentle suggestion that they occupy too much time, paper, and language in geographical and genealogical details, very wearisome, because very unnecessary. Monsieur Pierre Lavalles then lived in a pretty house, near a certain village in a vine-growing district of the south of France, and when he took his young wife home, he showed her great stores of excellent things, calculated well for the comfortable subsistence of a youthful and worthy couple. Flowers and blossoming trees shed odor near the lattice windows, verdure soft and green was spread over the garden, and the mantling vine "laid forth the purple grape," over a rich and sunny plantation near at hand. The house was small, but neat, and well furnished in the style of the province, and Monsieur and Madame Pierre Lavalles lived very happily in plenty and content.
Here I leave them, and introduce the reader to Monsieur Antoine Perron, notary in the neighboring village.
Let me linger over a notice of this individual. He was a good man, and what is more curious an honest lawyer. Indeed, in spite of my happy theory, I may say that such a good man, and such a good lawyer you could seldom meet. All the village knew him; he mixed up in every one's quarrels; not, as is usually the case, to make confusion worse confounded by a double-tongued hypocrisy, but to produce conciliation; he mingled in every one's affairs, not to pick up profit for himself, but to prevent the villagers from running into losses and imprudent speculations; he talked much, yet, it was not slander, but advice; he thought more, yet it was not over mischief, but on schemes of good; he was known to everybody, yet none that knew him respected him the less on that account. He was a little, spare, merry-looking man, that sought to appear grave when he was most inclined to merriment, and if he considered himself a perfect genius in his plans for effecting good, his vanity may be pardoned, because of the food it fed on.
M. Antoine Perron considered himself very ingenious, and if he had a fault, it was his love of originality. He never liked to perform any action in a common way, and never chuckled so gaily to himself, as when he had achieved some charitable end by some extraordinary means.
It was seven months after the marriage of M. Pierre Lavalles, M. Antoine Perron sat in his little parlor, and gazed with a glad eye upon the cheerful fire, for the short winter was just terminating. Leaning forward in his chair, he shaded his face with his hands, and steadily perused the figures among the coals with a most pleasant countenance. The room was small, neat, and comfortable, for the notary prospered, in his humble way and seeking only comfort found it, and was content.
Suddenly a violent knocking at the door aroused him from his reverie, and he heard his old servant rushing to open it. In a moment, two persons were ushered into the room, and the notary leaped to his feet in astonishment at the extraordinary scene before him. Had a thunderbolt cloven the roof, and passed through his hearth to its grave in the center of the globe, or had the trees that nodded their naked branches without the window commenced a dance upon the snowy ground, he had not been more surprised.
Monsieur Pierre Lavalles, and Madame Pierre Lavalles stood just inside the doorway. Never had Monsieur Perron seen them before, as he saw them now. Like turtle-doves, with smiling eyes, and affectionate caress, they had lived in happy harmony during the seven months of their married life, and motherly dames, when they gave their daughters away, bade them prosper and be pleasant in their union, as they had been joyous in their love, pleasant and joyous, as neighbor Lavalles and his wife.
Now, Pierre stood red and angry, with his right arm extended, gesticulating toward his wife. Julie stood red and angry, with her left arm extended, gesticulating toward her husband. Eyes, that had only radiated smiles, flashed with fierce passion, as the turtle doves remained near the door, each endeavoring to anticipate the other in some address to the worthy notary. He, aghast and perplexed, waited for the denouement.
"Madame," said Monsieur Pierre Lavalles, "allow me to speak."
"Monsieur," said Madame Pierre Lavalles. "I insist—"
"But, Madame, it is my—"
"But, Monsieur, I say I will."
"And yet I will."
"But no—"
"Madame, I shall."
"Then be careful what you do; M. Perron, M. Lavalles is mad."
Then the lady, having thus emphatically declared herself, resigned the right of speech to her husband, who began to jerk out in disconnected phrases a statement of his case. Seven days ago he had annoyed his wife by some incautious word; she had annoyed him by an incautious answer; he had made matters worse by an aggravating retort; and she had widened the breach by a bitter reply. This little squall was succeeded by a cool calm, and that by a sullen silence, until some sudden friction kindled a new flame, and finally, after successive storms and lulls, there burst forth a furious conflagration, and in the violent collision of their anger, the seven-months' married pair vowed to separate, and with that resolve had visited M. Perron. Reconciliation they declared was beyond possibility, and they requested the notary at once to draw up the documents that should consign them to different homes, to subsist on a divided patrimony, in loveless and unhappy marriage. Each told a tale in turn, and the manner of relation added fuel to the anger of the other. The man and the woman seemed to have leaped out of their nature in the accession of their passion. Pity that a quarrel should ever dilate thus, from a cloud the size of a man's hand to a thunder-storm that covers heaven with its black and dismal canopy.
Neither would listen to reason. The duty of the notary was to prepare the process by which they were to be separated.
"Monsieur," he said, "I will arrange the affair for you; but you are acquainted with the laws of France in this respect!"
"I know nothing of the law," replied M. Pierre Lavalles.
"Madame," said the notary, "your wish shall be complied with. But you know what the law says on this head?"
"I never read a law book," sharply ejaculated Madame Pierre Lavalles.
"Then," resumed the notary, "the case is this. You must return to your house, and I will proceed to settle the proceedings with the Judicatory Court at Paris. They are very strict. You must furnish me with all the documents relative to property."
"I have them here," put in the husband, by way of parenthesis.
"And the whole affair including correspondence, preparations of instruments, &c., will be settled in less than three months."
"Three months?"
"Three months. Yes, in less than three months."
"Then I will live with a friend at the village, until it is finished," said Madame Lavalles, in a decided, peremptory tone, usual with ladies when they are a little ashamed of themselves, or any one else.
"Oh, very well, Madame,—oh, very well."
"Not at all well, Madame; not at all well, Monsieur," said the notary, with a solid, immovable voice. "You must live as usual. If you doubt my knowledge of the law, you will, by reading through these seven books, find that this fact is specified."
But the irritated couple were not disposed to undertake the somniferous task, and shortly left the house, as they had come, walking the same way, but at a distance of a yard or so one from another.
Two months and twenty-seven days had passed, when the notary issued from his house, and proceeded toward the house where Monsieur and Madame Lavalles dwelt. Since the fatal night I have described, he had not encountered them, and he now, with a bland face and confident head, approached the dwelling.
It was a pretty place. Passing through the sunny vineyards where the spring was just calling out the leaves, and the young shoots in their tints of tender green were sprouting in the warmth of a pleasant day; the notary entered a garden. Here the flowers, in infant bloom, had prepared the earth for the coming season, for summer in her gay attire was tripping from the south, and as she passed, nature wove garlands to adorn her head, and wreathe about her arms. Early blossoms lent sweetness to the breath of the idle winds that loitered in this delightful spot, and the fair young primrose was sown over the parterres, with other flowers of spring, the most delicate and softly fragrant, that come out to live their hour in modesty and safety, while the earth affords them room, and before the bright and gaudy bloom of a riper season eclipses their beauty, bidding them, blushing, close their petals.