arousing the fearful jealousy of Rossi, to whom Ullman wrote from New York, that he would find letters in her trunk from Pozzolini, the young and fascinating tenor; that Rossi did find letters in her trunk from Pozzolini, (filled with the most enthusiastic love,) which Rocco said were doubtless placed there by Ullman, prior to her departure for Mexico, to revenge himself on Sontag, for her refusal at Cincinnati to give more Concerts under his direction; that Rossi belched words of fire, and threatened her with instant death; that herself and Pozzolini were seized with violent pains, on their return from the Mexican festivals; that during her confinement, Rocco daily called, but was not permitted to see her; that Rossi paced the balcony as a sentinel for days and nights, and would let no one visit her; that he permitted Rocco to enter her apartment only one hour before she died, when he found her in the wildest delirium. And Rocco told me that Sontag and Pozzolini were doubtless poisoned by Count Rossi, and that Ullman was the instigator. Rossi artfully attributed their sudden death to cholera, but the rumor flew on the wings of lightning, that Rossi was their murderer, and he fled for his life to New York, with all her jewels, and went to Europe. And Rocco sorely grieved to see her borne to her sepulchre without kindred mourners in a far distant land; and when he saw her form exhumed, and borne through mud and stones, and deposited as luggage in the filthy suburbs of Vera Cruz, and exposed for weeks to the heat and rain of those withering latitudes,—when he gazed at the remains of a being who had been the pride and glory and adoration of all civilised nations, and who had long been his own dear friend, poor Rocco prostrated himself beside her coffin, and wept for hours in loneliness and utter desolation. And now, dear Sontag, I can see thy pure and genial spirit in its happy home, beyond the pretty stars. And while I indite these melancholy words, thy sweet face smiles upon me from my parlor wall, as you appeared in the immortal _Somnambulist_. It is the likeness you gave me at our final interview, and represents _Amina_, in the joyous bridal scene with _Elvino_, among her native cottagers in the mountains. All! Sontag! I often think of thee, and my highest solace is in gazing at thy bewitching smile, and laughing eyes, and lovely dimples, and even teeth, and classic temples, as depicted in thy likeness, which I shall keep while I linger in the dreary paths of earth. And I will part with fame and fortune and with life itself, ere I will separate from the precious picture of my adored Sontag. And my last prayer to God shall be, that I may join my Parents and Kindred and Sontag in the realms of eternal bliss. ------------------------------------ James Gordon Bennett’s Editorial Career. BENNETT’S OFFICE IN 1835. _Enter John Kelly._