ance made the mark around Bob Cheriot's neck and caused his death." With this .connecting link in my possession, it only remained for me to prove that it was the property of Tamar Cheriot. Calling my servant I bade him drive me at once to the Station, and I followed Tamar by the next train to London, having previously telegraphed a detective to watch the train ahead for Tamar. Arriving in London some hours later, I was assured that I could be at once taken to her lodging. I was hurried on by a species of frenzy which would never be satisfied until I confronted the murderess, for such I felt certain Tamar Cheriot was. I resolved to meet her face to face, and being directed to the house to which she had been driven from the Station, I went straightway to it. I told the porter to announce me as "a gentleman friend." I entered the room, concealing with a smile, as best I could, my vengeful feelings. She gave a little joyous shriek and her face was irradiated with triumph. She was apparently almost beside herself that love for her had brought me so soon and so far to seek her. She was jubilant that I was so completely in her toils. Her conversation was wonderfully bright and blithe, her whole being seemingly thrilled with new-born hope. I fostered this gaiety as much as possible, and when at its height, I rose to my feet, drew the dreadful garrote from my pocket, saying:

quent words were ever chanting the praises of a true union, and whose chivalric soul entered into such an existence with bright anticipations of earth's completest happiness. I could conceive what ardor and æsthetic rapture he would bestow on the woman whose mind and person combined such graces as those of Tamar Cheriot. I knew what devotion he would lavish upon a noble woman, and how, like a goddess, he would hedge her life about with every luxury and comfort at his command. In my thoughts I traced the grow ing worship he gave his wife and the terrible reaction when his idol would fall from the pedestal on which he placed her. His proud nature touched to the quick, ever carried with him the gnawing secret, and when he heard of the birth of a son and its death within a few months, the once light-hearted man was changed into a misanthrope. In cool malignity Tamar followed Bob Cheriot to England, had the terrible instrument made in Paris, not despairing of using it on her victim. some day. She it was, who sang Poe's ghastly poem in the stillness of the night, not dreaming that the requiem would reach our ears. She it was as well who stole into his room and applied the instrument, and with a few turns of the screw sent Bob Cheriot to his death. She also confessed that she was well-nigh persuaded to use it upon me before resigning her charge, believing me to have

A few words more close my story. She died before she was brought to trial. She confessed that she was once the wife of my friend, who had deserted her for an infidelity, of which, she averred, she was innocent, although appearances were much against her. I knew what complete desolation this caused Bob Cheriot, whose elo

my proposal the day previous to her departure from the house. The man whom she met in the lawn was an American, who, in some way, had obtained power over her to extort money, which she paid him to hold his peace concerning some of her disreputable deeds in America. I never after saw her face, and her body lies in a desolate graveyard with a stone at its head, upon which the single word "Tamar" is graven. Locked in my cabinet is the death instrument, and whenever I feel tempted to marry I take it out, and, thinking on the tragedy at Chelmsford, all thoughts of marriage are put to flight.

THE beautiful ceremony and pageant of unveiling Bartholdi's fine statue of this illustrious friend of America, recently (September 6th) presented by French residents to the city of New York, was one of the most fitting and appropriate acts of the Centennial year. And it was one, also, that revives very forcibly in the breasts of old citizens the memory of his presence among us in 1824-25, as "the nation's guest." Many there are in every part of the land who then, as children or young persons, saw him and partook of the joy and enthusiasm of the grand ovation paid to the venerable hero as he returned to behold once more the scene of his sacrifices for liberty, in the great struggle of fifty years before. And how changed the scene that after such a lapse of time met his wondering view! The contrast was as great as that of the child and the man. "He left us," says a New York paper of that day, "weak, unorganized and tottering with infancy; he returns to us and finds our shores smiling with cultivation, our waters white with the sails of every nation, our cities enlarged, flourishing, and wealthy, and our free government, for whose establishment he himself suffered, per fected in beauty, unity, and experience." That happily-invited and lovingly accepted visit to our shores was an historical event of lasting interest, and, viewed in its motives and national and moral aspects, was truly a sublime and most remarkable one. The sight of a great people, moved as by one impulse to tributes of love and gracious and grateful welcome to such a personage, coming from a distant land, after nearly a half a century's absence, to embrace them as it were with a father's heart, receiving the salutations of his ancient Revolutionary companions and of their children and children's children in every part of the landwhere in the world's records do we find a similar event that can be at all compared to it in moral beauty and grandeur? His receptions in New York, Boston, Philadelphia, Washington and many other cities, during his stay in this country were a succession of joyous scenes, incidents, reunions, and recognitions to which neither pen nor pencil could do justice. The Marquis embarked for America about the middle of July, 1824, in the

VOL. VIII.-13

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ship Cadmus, belonging to the late William Whitlock, Jr., a well known New York shipping merchant. He had declined the honor of a United States frigate, tendered by Congress to convey him to our shores, and had also received several invitations from captains of American packets to take passage with them, but had at length arranged for coming over in the vessel above mentioned, commanded by Captain Allyn. In France his doors had ever been as open to Americans as his heart. Quite illustrative of this is a little anecdote, found in a letter from Paris dated June 14th, 1824, and published in the New York Commercial Advertiser of that year. It was written to a gentleman in that city by an American, who with a party of fifteen or twenty of his countrymen, had just called on the veteran General, then in his 67th year. After stating that he was in company with the celebrated General Fucy; was very plain in manners, etc., the writer adds, that General Fucy, pointing to his American visitors, said to Lafayette: "Your children are the most affectionate in the world." "Indeed, you are my children," replied the noble old man, as he rose from his seat and took us all by the hand, the tears trembling in his eyes." And it was with such a spirit that he came to see us all and receive the tokens of a true Republic's gratitude fifty years ago. He arrived at the Narrows Sunday morning, August 15th, after a pleasant passage of thirty-one days from Havre, accompanied by his son, George Washington Lafayette, Mr. Auguste Le Vasseur, a companion, and one servant. Landing on Staten Island, he was conducted to the seat of Vice-President Tompkins, where he remained during the day, and passed the night. The next morning a most imposing squadron of steamboats, having on board the chief civil and military functionaries, and about six thousand citizens, escorted him to the city of New York.

Of the splendor of his debarkation there, and of subsequent ceremonies there; of Mayor Paulding's tasteful and feeling address and the General's modest and impressive response, at the Governor's room in the City Hall; of his taking quarters at the famous Old City Hotel, with the scarcely less famous Jennings at the head; of his

were

dining there with public officials and distinguished friends as his guests, and of his visit to the Navy Yard, Brooklyn, etc., we are not here to speak. But several other scenes and facts of interest in the same connection there were which deserve more notice than they have yet received, or are likely ever to receive, but from the present writer. One was the meeting of the New York Historical Society, of which Lafayette and his son elected honorary members. This institution was then located in a public building which stood in the rear of the City Hall. On that occasion the eminent Dr. Hosack, of all old New Yorkers perhaps the most majestic in stature, figure, and presence, who was President of the Society, made a felicitous address, in which he brilliantly associated the names of Lafayette and Washington a3 stars destined to shine forever in the same firmament of fame. And this suggests to us to say, en passant, that Bartholdi's admirable statue of the former has, with excellent taste, been erected near the grand equestrian statue of the latter, in Union Square. Over the chair assigned to the aged Marquis in the Historical Room hung his portrait, a fine picture, painted in 1784 for General Ebenezer Stevens, a Revolutionary officer and prominent shipping merchant of the City of New York, who died in 1823. It is said to have been executed by a French officer-artist, was taken in France when Lafayette was twenty-seven years old, and was presented to the Historical Society by General Stevens, soon after its formation in 1806. The contrasts of youth and old age, thus brought to view by the canvas above and the living original beneath, were striking to the eye. That unique picture still hangs in the Society's portrait gallery, in its present beautiful building in the Second aveAnd by its side hangs another of Lafayette, taken by Ingham from life, 1825, being the original head from which was made the full-length

nue.

portrait for the State, now in Albany. The former picture was also a gift from the artist, and it is doubtless the best extant of the noble old man at the epoch of his final visit to America. In this connection we add that the Common Council of the City of New York, during the General's sojourn there passed a resolution requesting him to sit for his portrait, to be placed in the Picture Room in the City Hall. This portrait was painted by Professor Morse, and it has lately been in the National Exhibition collection at Philadelphia. George Washington Lafayette was also made a freeman of the city, and a certificate thereto, handsomely engraved, was presented to him in a golden box. In his toast at one of the then public diners, Captain Allyn of the Cadmus, pays this handsome compliment to this son and compagnon du voyage of his illustrious passenger. "May the son equal the father in devotion to the progress of liberty, as he does in amiableness of character!" That of the General at the City Hotel dinner was the following: "The City of New York. May all the nations who resort to this flourishing place reflect on the blessings of a free constitution and the dignity of a self governed people!" Colonel Aaron Ogden, ex-Governor of the State of New Jersey, and one of his old companions in-arms, gave this sentiment: "General Marquis Lafay ette. His sun rose in glory, its meridian shone in splendor, and its setting orb now falls with gladness and gratitude on the hearts of ten millions of people beneath these Western skies!" As for our thus justly honored guest, he well knew how to return, as well as gracefully to receive, compliments. In replying to the Mayor's welcome at the City Hall, he handsomely says that such demonstrations of regard "excite sentiments to which no human language can be adequate." For the reminiscences of the interesting event in our nation's record that has been here recalled we crave a future opportunity.

As oft one catches in a child's pure face
Some faint resemblance to one loved and dear,
And feels a strange desire to draw more near,
And touch caressing in a close embrace
That other which we see within its eyes;

Or hears, perchance, in ringing, happy voice,
Some tender note which makes the heart rejoice

In echoes, lingering through sweet memories;
So I behold in the fair face of youth,

And hear in her bright gladsome laugh and tone,
A phantom girlish face and voice--my own!
And seeing this resemblance clear, in truth
It is this foolish fancy which to me
Makes loved and dear each girlish face I see.

Thus this venerable building has been standing the storms of one hundred and thirty-seven winters, and it bids fair to stand as many more, unless the rapid march of improvement, or a desire to erect a more modern and beautiful place of worship, compels its removal.

The first Mayor of the town, Samuel Boush, Esq., made the parish a present of the grounds, embracing about two acres, situated on the corner of Cove and Church streets. This is about the heart of the city. Upon the southern end of the building may be seen the initials of the donor's name in large capitals, and the date, 1739. These letters and figures are formed of projecting bricks, and, to make them more conspicuous, they are painted white.

There is really nothing attractive about it. You would not take it to be a place of worship without observing it very minutely. Though not in the least imposing, yet you would be forced to admire it. It is in the shape of a Roman cross. The four corners point respectively to the North, South, East and West. The windows and doors are arched, and there is a large circular window above the entrance in the northern end and also in the southern. The walls of this venerable building, as well as the enclosure of the cemetery attached, were built of brick brought from England. Every other brick in the building has a bluish caste, produced by extra heat in the kiln. The interior of the building is very plain. There are four galleries situated severally in the four corners of the church. The eastern gallery is occupied by the choir. On the northern side of the eastern wing to the left of the northern wing, is the chancel. There are two aisles, one running through the centre of the building from the western to the eastern wing. I should have stated that there is an entrance in the western wing, making three entrances. The other aisle runs from the northern to the southern wing, being on the left, entering

The pews

by the way of the southern entrance. are plain, and grained to imitate oak, with walnut trimmings.

In the early part of the Revolution, Dunmore fled to the British fleet anchored in the harbor. A few days after the British were so signally routed in the battle of the Great Bridge, Colonel Woodford arrived in Norfolk. When Dunmore was informed by a boy of the defeat he swore that he would hang him. The soldiers opened fire upon the fleet. Dunmore sent word if they did not stop firing and send them provisions he would bombard the town. This they sternly refused to do.

Accordingly, on the 1st of January, 1776, between the hours of three and four in the afternoon, they opened fire on the town. A few dwellings escaped being totally destroyed. Old St. Paul's was one among the few. All the combustible parts of it were consumed, but the walls received but little injury. A cannon ball struck with great

force about three feet from the eaves of the building, about one foot from the southeastern corner of the east end. If the ball had struck a few inches farther to the left it would not have ranged with the eastern wall. Hence it would have gone

entirely through the building.

A good number of years elapsed before the lost ball was found. Captain Seabury conceived the idea that it might be buried in the ground near the southeastern corner. A man was set to work to find it, and he was successful. It corresponded with the cavity, and was believed to be the identical ball. It weighs about twenty pounds and a half, and measures about five and a half inches in diameter. Doubtless its original weight was twenty-four pounds, and its diameter six inches. This ball may be seen where it fell over one hundred years ago.

"On it Time his mark has hung;
On it hostile balls have rung;
On it green old moss has clung;
On it winds their dirge have sung:
Let us still adorn thy walls,

Sacred temple, Old St. Paul's!"

On the 22d of February, in the year 1800, the city of Norfolk was filled with people gathered to

ton.

gether to pay funeral honors to our departed Washington. It was in this church that the services were held. The Herald of the 25th inst. says: "On Saturday last, the 22d inst., agreeably to the notification of Major Ford, the different troops stationed at the forts and Navy Yard paraded in this borough, in order to form a procession to pay funeral honors to the memory of George WashingAt twelve o'clock they were joined by the different volunteer corps, in full uniform. In the Main street the whole formed in battalion, and received the word of command from the Major. The bier passed them, attended by the principal gentlemen of the town as chief mourners; then followed the Lodges of the Masons in their orders; then the officers of the Navy; the different artificers from the Navy Yard, and the citizens of Norfolk and Portsmouth in general.

The troops then reversed their arms and marched, the drums being muffled, and the music playing the Dead March, until they arrived at the church wall, when the ranks faced each other, and resting on their arms reversed; the bier, etc., passed be- ! tween into the church (old St. Paul's), the troops following; but the church not being sufficiently spacious, a great portion of the citizens were prevented from seeing that part of the ceremony.

After prayers were given by the Rev. James Whitehead, Dr. Read, Mayor of the town, pronounced a handsome oration, well adapted to the occasion, and was followed by Mr. Blanchard, who delivered a beautiful monody."

We consider this ode to be part of the history of this church, having been delivered therein over seventy-six years ago. We have only part of it in our possession, and because of its great worth, we will place it in this article.

"TO THE MEMORY of George Washington, GENERAL OF THE ARMIES AND PRESIDENT OF THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA.

PROCUL, O PROCUL! ESTE PROFANI.
Let no obtrusive, no unhallowed eye,
On which the rays of virtue dimly beam,
Let no cold mind, fashioned by common themes,
No breast, that glows with patriot zeal,
Presume to violate the peaceful verse,
The pious offering to a Hero's shade.

I dare (since some must dare) to send abroad,
On every saddened breeze that sweeps the earth,
The plaintive accents of a general grief.
Then rising upwards from the vale of tears,
Essay, with rapid step, to mount on high
To the raised summit of the hill of praise.
But e'er the task begins, I lowly bow-

Not to some storied Muse or fabled god

But with raised mind, fixed eye, and eager thought, I bend to Him

Who from the mountains of omniscient light
Drew a strong ray, and lent it to the earth.
I ask some pitying spirit of the sky

To bend in silence o'er the honored theme,

To guide the pencil and direct the strain.
For thee, lost Washington, the new-born Babe
Wears on its tender form the dress of woe;
For thee the Infant shows its feeble arm,
Bearing for thee, the emblem of the tomb;
The Child, spurning the sports of early life,
Weeps, while its mother reads the tale of death;
For thee the Virgin rends her sunny robe,
And veils from day the radiance of her eye;
Pensive along the pebbled beach, the Youth
Muses in thought profound on deeds of thine:
For thee the Matrons pour the piercing strain,
And tell the stranger their great Son is dead;
For thee the Warrior piles his useless arms,
And waits in silence for the word-Depart!
For thee, great Chief, the Fathers of the land
Suspend their labors, and their minds unstring;
Her darts all scattered and her quiver broke,
And sends incessant on the passing winds
The sorrowing tidings on to distant worlds.
Ye blest companions of his early years,
Who saw the youth fast ripening into man,
Lend your glad praises to his spotless morn.
Virgins and youths, if e'er you hope to lay

And sad Columbia sits, her bow unbent,