With the aid of a large fire, a sufficient number of blankets, and a bottle of old Jamaica, we contrived to pass the night in tolerable comfort, notwithstanding the cold, which was tremendous. Early next morning, we proceeded to scour the prairie in search of our lost companion. We searched until late in the evening--but all our efforts were vain, and we returned once more to the camp. The unfortunate man had doubtless fallen a victim to the fury of the storm,--for we never heard of him more. His body probably lay wrapped in its snowy shroud until spring, when at last it was revealed to the eager eyes of ravenous birds and beasts. Death is in any shape appalling; and his near approach will for a moment shake the stoutest heart. It will even blanch the cheek of the hero, surrounded by the "pomp and circumstance of glorious war." What then must be the situation of him who is overtaken by the violence of the wintry storm, and sinks, exhausted by cold and weariness, on the trackless prairie. For the last time he hears the night wind, as it chants his funeral dirge,--whilst the mournful howl of the starving wolf, or the scream of the ill-omened raven, as he circles in the air, and watches the last vital spark as it vanishes--disturbs the dying moments of the victim!

Foundling Hospital--Hotel Carnavalet--Count de Ségur.

The Southern Literary Messenger, Vol. I., No. 10, June, 1835 — Part 5

This morning, dear Jane, we visited the Foundling Hospital. Being told we should go there very early to behold the emptying of the baskets in which the babes are deposited at the gate during the night, we hastened there ere seven o'clock; but we had been misinformed, and were disappointed in our wishes. The infants are carried there at all hours; none however were received during our visit. We were conducted through the numerous wards, and saw many forsaken little creatures--a distressing sight, indeed! Then to behold the sufferings of such as were diseased! Some of them lying on hard beds, with a bright light from opposite windows torturing their eyes, which were generally inflamed from being thus exposed. Some of the nurses too, were exceedingly rough. For instance, in an apartment attached to the sick wards, four or five women were occupied in _dosing_ and feeding several babes--one of them asked another who stood by a table, to hand her a spoon; instead of handing it, she threw it, and so carelessly, that the poor child received a blow on the cheek. I could have boxed the vixen! Each infant is swathed, and wears on its wrist a piece of pewter, telling the hour, the day of the month, and the year of its reception at the hospital; this enables a parent who may desire to reclaim a child, to find it. About six thousand children are annually received here, and frequently as many as twenty in the course of a day. A considerable number are sent into the country to be nursed, and during our stay, a half a dozen carts drove off, filled with peasant women and their helpless charges. The destiny of these we thought enviable, when compared with that of those who remained. At two years of age, the children are removed to another hospital, and there instructed until old enough to be put to some trade.

The Southern Literary Messenger, Vol. I., No. 10, June, 1835 — Part 5