Carroll free press. [volume] (Carrollton [Ohio]) 1834-1861, 1848-02-03


own conclusion respecting ii.
Let me narrate history to you which heard
lew days ago, at the cou1lry-house Of NJ.
Augusle Maque, the colaborer of Alexander
Dumas, who has formed for himself one OF those
peaceful retreats beloved by poets and philosoph.
era, where the quiet Of nature assists the inspi-
ralions of the soul. In this house, from which
have issued SO many enrancing chapters, and
so many dramatic scenes, were assembled on the
occasion TO which refer, large company Of
young men, all interested in literary pursuits,
either from taste, or by profession.
it was the hour for careless chat, and the el.
fusions orlriendship; that is to say, supper was
drawing to u close. We had spoken Of every
thing, and Of good many things besides;
glanced at politics, touched upon philosophy,
blended the anecdotes Of the day with social con-
sidcralions whose profoundness had charmed
the genius Of Charles Fourier; dissened upon
several systems Of literature, and, from the ma'.
ters.o!lIct ofevery day, when the conversation,
by one Of those freaks Of vivacily peculiar 10 the
French character arrived, at bound, in the
domain Of fantasy; it passed from Rivorol 10
Hoffman,.
The biblophus Jacob, ono ofthosc men who
have grown pale over books, and have drawn
poetry from the fountains Of science, took upon
himself to be the Father Mathurin of the even
ing. At his first words we all grew silent; at
the third sentence half his auditors believed in
the truth Of the fantastic, US Dumas believes in
the truth Of magnetism.
This is the tale, or the history, whichever
you choose TO call it, that the bbophius Jacob
narrated with the peculiar style and leIicitous
boldness of expression, found in so high de-
gree in the Danse Macabre. His recital needed
only the framework of an old chateau sur.
rounded by woods, swaying and sounding in
the tempest; but there are excellent pictures
that yet have no frame, and this, TO use an ex.
preston of NJ. dc Musset, was a drama in an
armchair,
There lived in Paris, few years ago, an old
notary who was indeed one Of the most respec-
ted inhabitants of the first arrondiSSement lie
possessed the confidence of The richest and mos
respectable families. His name was the syno
nym Of probty; he was one of those excellent
cizens who, by the severity ofIheir morals, and
rectitude Of their principles, remind me Of the
virtues Of ancient days. He exercised his Gunc
ton like a magistrate.
This notary, whose name it is not importan
TO mention, had numerous family and an ample
fortune. At eighty years Of age he had retiret
from business, leaving his practice in the hands
Of his eldest son. One day when an ollicou'
friend asking him if he had made his will, tht
old notary replied with singular smile, that h,
would have time enough to make it after hi
death. The friend looked at the old man, fear
ing that he had suddenly taken leave Of his sen
ses. The notary smiled again.
al understand your thought" said he, "bu
take my four meals day: | walk without
stick read without spectacles, and have NOR
wit than the greater part Of those who pass 70
having good deal, in this age when there is 81
little to be found. have already told you so
shall make my will when am dead"
His friend said nothing farther on the subject
but recounted this conversation TO the notary
son, who did not seem 10 be at all surprised at il
81 am aware of it," said he, ait is a point o.
which one cannot ague with him; my father be
lieves that he has a secret by which he can brin,
himself again to life. 1t is an alIuson whic
h0salways aslonlshed me in man of such rar
intelligence"
This answer very much astonished the friend
and, curious 10 know what this secret could be
ne asked the notary's son if he knew what
vast
"Pertcctly WELL" replied he sit is thin
wl'hin reach of The poorest purse. This marve
ousrcceiPe issold al the corner ofcvcry street il