Newspaper Page Text
BT JAMES W. JO AES.
The Southern Whig,
PUBLISHED EVERY SATURDAY MORNING.
TEIi.tlS,
lire e dollars per annum, payable within six
months after the receipt of the fit st number, or
fur dollars if not paid within the year. Sub
scribers living out of the State, will be expect
ed in all cases, to pay in advance.
No subscription received for less than one year,
unless the money is paid in advance; and no
paper will be discontinued until all arrear
ages are paid, except at the option of the pub
lisher. Persons requesting a discontinuance
of their Papers, are requested to bear in mind,
a settement of their accounts.
Advertisements will be inserted at the usual
rates; when the number of insertions is not
specified. they will be continued until ordered
put.
All Letters to the Editor or Proprietor, on
matters connected with the establishment,
must be post PAiuinorderto secure attention.
Notice of the sale of Land and Negroes, by
Administrators, Executors, or Guardians,
must be published sixty days previous to the
day of sale.
Tho sale of personal Property, in like manner,
must be published forty days previous to
the day of sale.
Notice to debtors and creditors of an estate must
be published forty days.
No'ice that Application will be made to the Court
of Ordinary for Leave to sell Land or Ne
g.oes, must be published four months.
Notice that Application will be made for Letters
;o administration, must be published thirty
days and Letters of Dismission, six months.
PKOSPECTrs
OK THE
TIIIS paper formerly edited by Wm. E.
Jones, is now under the direction of the
undersigned. Thegro wing importance of Ath
ens, the state of parties in Georgia, and the
agitation cf certain questions having a direct
influence on southern interests; render it neces
sary that the northwestern part of Georgia
should have some vigilant, faithful sentinel
always on the watch tower, devoted to a strict
construction ofthetruc spiritofthe constitution,
she maintainance ofihe rights and sovereignty
of the States, the retrenchment of executive
patronage, reform, and a strict accountability
of ail public officers; moderate, yet firm and
decided in “ upthipo extenuate or
setdown -
a b 11
. ...
■ ...
ments of out?
»o t Sjock Companies, will
?ic appetite not in vain for an increase of
age—and Ire respectfully asks the friends of
constitutional liberty to make an effort, to ob
tain subscribers.
The Southern Whig is published weekly in I
Athens Georgia, at Three Dollars per annum
payable in advance, Three Dollars and fifty
cents if not paid within §jx months, or Four
if not paid u >tjl the end of the year.
J. W. J ONES.
Athens, Aqg. 8,1836.
THE 1N»1 Aft’S PANACEA,
I7IOR the euro of Rheumatism, Scrofula or
King's Evil, Gout, Sciatica or Hip Gout,
Incipient'Cancers, Salt Rheum, Siphditic anti
'mercurial diseases, particularly Ulcers and
painful affections ot the bones,Ulcetated Throat
and Nostrils, Ulcers of every description, Fever [
Sores, and Internal Abscesses, Fistulas, Piles,
•Scald Head, Scurvy, Biles, Chronic Sore Eyes,
Erysipelis, Blotches, and every variety of Cu
taneous Affection; Chronic Catarrh; Headache,
proceeding from an acrid' humor; Pam in tlie I
Stomach and Dyspepsia proceeding from v,tia- j
pon; Affections of the Liver; Chronic Inflania
tion of the Kidneys, and general debility caused
by a torpid action of the. vessels of the skin. .It
is singularly efficacious in renovating those con
stitutions which have been broken down by in
judicious treatment, or juvenile irregularities.
In general terms, it is recommended in all those
diseases which arise from impurities of the
blood, or vitiation of the humors, of whatever
name or kind.
Some of the above complaints may require
some trifling assistant applications, which the
circumstances of the case will dictate; hut for a
general remedy or purijicalor, to remote the cause,
Tub Indian’s Panacea will generally be found
sufficient.
' For sale by REESE & LORD.
May 14 2 if.
CAREY’S LIBRARY
OF CHOICJELITERdTVRE,
TTAS now completed its first Six Months of
publication, and the publishers offer the
fo’lowing works in testimony of the fulfilment
of the promises made to the public in the origin
al prospectus.
Life -of Sir James Mackintosh, by his Son. !
Kincaid’s Rifle Brigade.
Characteristics of Hindustan,by Miss Roberts. ’
One in a Thousand, by G P. R. James.
Rienzi, by E, L. Bulwer.
Random Recollections of the House of Com
jnons.
The Second Volume has commenced with
Selections' front The Dramas of Joanna Raillie,
pud Confessions and Crimes, or Posthumous Re
cords of a London Clergyman— a work resem
bling in style, and supposed to be by the same
author, as the celebrated Tales from the Diary
of a Physician.
The First Volume can be had separate, with
out subscribing to the work, upon the remit
tance of #2 sfi to the publishers.
The Library is published weekly, containing
Twenty imperial octavo pages, anil the Literary
Advertiser, which accompanies it, four pages,
and is bound tip at the end of every volume.
Price per annum, in advance, $5.
Address, E. L. CAREY & A. HART,
Or, LOUIS A.' GODEY,
Philadelphia. I
CLUBBING.
A remittance of Five Dollars will command
the first volume of the Library and the Marry -
att Novels, complete in 8 numbers, containing
Peter Simple—Jacob Fkithfui—-Pirate and
Three Cutters—King’s Own—Newton Foster
—Pacha of Many Tales—and Japhet in Search
c i his Father—dr
First Volume of Library ami Lady’s Book.
Papers exchanging with tficLibrary will
c »nfer a favof by inserting the above.
Two Apprentices,
be. taken at this office. Boys
▼ V ’from the country will be preferred/ j
¥ v " 4 .
//A !fi a Zk x A SS '9 *■ ’Sf Z
z Xx&K s r— B / r // ’B l I H ’fei x i
.'lsl X«K 3 Y®r A iBSi l»\ y/VJs > / fit ■ /'t I‘B iM ■« AvEk/ —/
/ tßffi *nH I I | lK3| I,• \ i'Hßi X igjf | .MB iSa x /iB I l jS I f B Iw9 I fisSy X *ta * X ■ ■S'a ■ iEb X- x
lOLltJi I IS LS 11 r r 1 ii if Til
From the Saturday Netos-
THE ORPHAN.
BY MISS C. E. GOOCH.
Il was quite late when we stopped for sup
. per, after which the chambermaid showed me
into a room to arrange my hair. On the bed
was a beautiful little girl asleep. The tears
were on her cheek, but. in her slumber she
smiled.—“ Who is she?” said I. “Why, Miss,
it is a poor little thing, whose father, mother,
and twin sister, died of the cholera lately, and
some distant relation is taking her on to the
far west.”
The horn sounded—l stepped lightly, and
impressed a kiss on her forehead, aiid was
soon whirling off, on my way to .
[My Diary.
She sleeps—how innocent she looks,
And free from earthly guile— I
Her lashes are begemmed with tears,
Her red lip wears a smile.
Thou’rt roaming in the land of dreams,
Thy smile says they are fair;
A oung orphan! seem thy childhood’s friends
To wander with thee there?
She too, the playmate of thy youth,
She, thy fair sister twin,
Doth she too wander merrily,
The land of dreams within?
And dost thou see thy happy home,
Does that too, to thine eyes
Unreal, but a blessed dream,
Again in beauty rise!
Were I endowed with magic power,
Methinks I’d cast a spell,
That thou might’st ever sleep and dream
Os things thou lovest so well.
But, no! thou must too soon awake.
Wake in this icy world,
From thy dreani-pinnacle ot bliss,
Thou must, poor child, be hurl’d!
This life is a wild and weary one,
And thou must shortly go,
Un piloted by parents’ hands,
Where stormy' waters flow.
Thou art alone—alone in life!
I would it were my lot.
To guard thee with a sister’s care—
Dear sister I have not.
But we must part—ere thou awakest,
Far distant I must be—
One kiss—farewell, sweet orphan girl,
God’s blessing rest on thee.
-¥*7 v E 1 !j:
COMBAT.
h I rfeTbgafes- from lOU ....
11- I Him iiKt at All,f;r the pnrfrrs-
union; ana it was
wiser. Its institutions vary with its years,
and mark its growing wisdom; and none
more so than its modes of investigating
truth, and ascertaining guilt or innocence.
In its nonage, when man was yet a fallible
being, and doubted the accuracy of his own
intellect, appeals were made to heaven in
dark and doubtful cases of atrocious accu
sation-
The accused was required to plunge bis
hand in boiling oil, or to walk across red
hot ploughshares, or to maintain innocence
in armed fight and listed field, in person or
by champion. If he passed these ordeals
unscathed, he stood acquitted, and the re
sult was regarded as a verdict from on
, high.
It is somewhat remarkable that, in the
gallant age of chivalry, the gentler sex
should have been most frequently the sub
jects of these rude trialsand perilous or
deals; and that, too, when assailed in their
most delicate and vulnerable part —their
honor.
In the present very old and enlightened
age of the world, when thp human intel
lect is perfectly corqpetent’to the manage
ment of its own concerns, and needs no
special interposition of heaven in its affairs,
>' the trial by jury has superseded these su
perhuman ordeqls; and the unanimity of
twelve discordant minds is necessary to
constitute a vepdict. Such a unanimity
would, at first sight, appear also to require
a miracle from heaven; but it is produced
by a simple device of human ingenuity.
The twelve jurors are locked up in their
box, there to fast until abstinence shall
have sb clarified their intellects that the
whole jarring panel can discern the truth,
and concur in a unanimous decision. One
. point is certain, that truth is one, and is
immutable —until the jurors all agree, they
cannot all be right.
It is not our intention, to discuss this
great judicial point, or to question the avow-
I ed superioity of the mode ofinvestigating
< truth, adopted in this antiquated and very
sagacious era. It is our object merely to
exhibit to the curious reader, one of the
most memorable cases of judicial combat
wo find in the annals of Spain. It occur- j
red at the bright commencement of the ■
reign, and in the youthful, and, as yet, gkoj
rious days, of Roderick the Goth;
sequently tarnish^Mb|^MMMMM^ 5 ■.
his misdeeds,
and his lite
in that ikuMp* ■
s i ‘
* ■*
dlllSp .
wiseT- -Jr I* l
thesß • * JF' lIC 1 iat 1C
V his P‘‘ iv y
1 cotijfc attendance:
, and \ J* things and made
such ■■Jliat his high cham-
berlain from laugh
ing with and gapil’g With
wonder at the otiier.
This very witty and exceedingly wise
potentate lived for half a century in single
blessedness, when his courtiers began to
think it a great pity so wise and wealthy a
prince should not have a child after his
own likeness, to inherit his talents and do
| mains; so they urged him most rcspectful-
—— -■ I I ■I I 1 .11 1 ■ - - 1 _ . I I ■
ARE AS..L3.ED WHICH HAVE NOT BEEN DELEGATED, A NULLIFICATION OF THE A6T IS THE RIGHTFUL REMEDY.” Jejjerson.
ly to marry, for the good of his estate, and
the welfare of his subjects.
lie turned their advice over in his mind
some four or five years, and then sending
emissaries to all parts, he summoned t<*
i ins court all the beautiful maidens m the
I land, who were ambitious of sharing a du
cal crown. Ihe court was soon crowded
with beauties ol all styles and complexions,
horn among whom he chose one in the
earliest budding of her charms, and ac
knowledged by tdl the gentlemen to be un
paralleled for grace and loveliness. The
courtiers extolled the duke to the skies for
making such a choice, and considered it
another proof of his great wisdom. ‘ The
duke,’ said they, ‘is waxing a little too old;
the damsel, on the other hand, is a little
too young; il one is lacking in years, the
other has a superabundance; thus a want
on one side is balanced by an excess on
the other, and the result is'a well-assorted
marriage.’
The duke, as is often the case with wise
men who marry rather late, and take dam
sels rather youthful to their bosoms, be-
came doatingly fond of his wife, and in
dulged her in all things. He vtas conse
quently, cried up by his subjects in general,
and by the ladies in particular, as a pat
tern for husbands; and, in the end, from the
wonderful docility with which he submit
ted to be reined and checked, acquired the
amiable and enviable appellation of duke
Phillibert the wife-ridden.
There was only one thing that disturb
ed the conjugal felicity of this paragon of
husbands: though a considerable time
elapsed after his marriage, be still remain
ed without any prospect of an heir. The
good duke left no means untried to propi
tiate Heaven; he made vows and pilgri
mages, he fasted and he prayed, but all to
no purpose. The courtiers were all as
tonished at the circumstance. They could
not account for it. While the meanest
peasant in the country had sturdy brats
by dozens, without putting up a prayer,
the duke wore himself to skin and bone
with penances and fastings, yet seemed
farther off from his object than ever.
At length, the worthy prince fell dange
rously ill, and felt his end approaching.
He looked with sorrowful eyes upon his
young and tender spouse, who hung over
him with tears and sobbings. ‘ Alas !’ said
he, 4 tears are soon dried from youthful
eyes, and sorrow lies lightly on a youthful
heart. In a little while I shall be no more,
and in the arms of another husband thou
wilt forget him who has loved thee so ten
derly.’
‘Never! never!’ cried the duchess.— i
‘Never will I cleave to another! Alas, that
my lord should think me capable of such I
inconstancy 1’
The worthy and wife-ridden duke was |
s pro- i our b> rde re is, mww
wished to have some pledge of her endur- ,
ing constancy:
‘ Far be it from me, my dearest wife,’ :
said he,‘to control thee through a long'
life. A year and a day of strict fidelity!
will appease my troubled spirit. Promise i
to remain faithful to my’ memory for a
year and a day, and I will die in peace.’
The duchess made a solemn vow to that
effect. The uxorious feelings of the duke
were not yet satisfied. ‘Safe bind, safe
find,’ thought he: so he ./ji'. j n
which he bequeathed to iLirtMßflHßiitita
on condition of her
for a year and a dirfre/ ' ■
should it appear
had in any wise
the inheritance should
the lord of a neighboring territory.
Having made his will, the good duke '
died and was buried. Scarcely was he in
his tomb, when his nephew came to take;
possession, thinking, as his uncle had died
without issue, that the domains would be
devised to him of course. He was in a fu
rious passion, however, when the will was i
produced, and the young widow was de
clared inheritor of the dukedom. As he
was a violent, high-handed man. and one
of the sturdiest knights in the land, fears
were ententained that he might attempt to
seize on the territories by force, lie had,
however, two bachelor unejes for bosom
counsellors. These were two swagger- j
ing rakehelly old cavaliers, who, having i
led loose and riotous lives, prided them
selves upon knowing the world, and being
deeply experienced in human nature.— I
They took their nephew aside. ‘Prithee, 1
man,! said they, ‘be of good cheer. The ;
duchess is a young and buxum widow. ,
She has just buried our brother, who, God
rest his soul I was somewhat too much I
given to praying and fasting, and kept his j
pretty wife always tied to his girdle. She I
is now like a Lir<| from a cage. Think
you she will keep her vow ! Impossible 1 '
Take our words for it—we know mankind,
and, above all, womankind. She cannot
I hold out for such a length of time: it is not .
|in womanhood—it is not in widowhood—■- j
;we know it, and that’s enough. Keep a
sharp look-out upon the widow, therefore,
; and within the twelvemonth you will catch
jtt^tri]>piug7—-and then the dukedom is
u as pleased with this coun-
'* "4ediately placed spies round the j
' , ■'T’ribcd several of her servants j
upon her, so that she could i
.■■ . step, even from one!
of her palace to another, with- 1
**mbeiiig observed. Never was young and
beautiful widow exposed to so terrible an I
ordeal.
The duchess was aware of the watch j
thus kept upon her. Though confident of
her own rectitude, she knew that it is not,
enough for a woman to be virtuous—she j
must be above the reach of slander. For I
the whole term of her probation, there
fore, she proclaimed a strict nonintercourse
with the other sex. She had females for
cabinbf-ipinisters and chamberlains, thro’
whom she transacted ah her public and
private concerns; and it is said, that never
were the affairs of the dukedom so adroitly
administered.
All males were rigorously excluded from
the palace; she never went out of its pre-
ATHENS, GEORGIA, SATIIRaAY, NOVEMBER 1-3, 1836.
I cincts, and whenever she moved about its
courts and gardens.s’ie surrounded herself
with a body-guard of young maids of'hon
tr, commanded by dames renowned for
discretion. She slept in a bed without
curtains, placed in the centre of a room
illuminated by innumerable wax tapers.
Four ancient spinsters, virtuous as Vir-)
ginia, perfect dragons of watchfulness,
who only slept during the day-time, kept
vigils throughoat the night, seated in the
four corners of the room on stools without
hacks or arms, and with seats cut chec
quers of the hardest wood, to keep thorn
from dozing.
Thus wisely and warily did the young
duchess conduct herself for twelve long
months, and Slander almost bit her tongue
• >lt in despair at finding no room even for I
a surmise. Never was ordeal more bur
densome, or more unduringly sustained.
The year passed away. The last, odd
day arrived, and a long, long day it was.
It was the twenty-first of June, the longest
day in the year. It seemed as if it would
never come to an end. A thousand times
- did the duchess and her ladies watch the
■ sun from the windows of the palace, as he
, slowly climbed the vault of heaven, and
■ seemed still more slowly to roll down.—
i They could not help expressing their won
der, now and then, why the duke should
have tagged this supernumerary dav to the
end of the year, as if three hundred and
sixty-five days were not sufficient to try
and task the fidelity of any woman. It is
the last grain that turns the scale—the last
drop that overflows the goblet—and the
last moment of delay tbat exhausts the pa
tience. By the time the sun sank below
the horizon the duchess was in a fidget
that passed allbounds, and, though several
hours were yet to pass before the day re
gularly expired, she could not have re
mained those hours in durance to gain a
royal crown, much loss a ducal coronet.
So she gave her orders, and her palfrey, j
magnificently caparisoned, was brought
into the court-yard of the castle, with pal
freys for all her ladies in attendance. In
this way she sallied forth just as the sun
had gone down. It was a mission of pie
ty—a pilgrim cavalcade to a convent at
the foot of a neighboring mountain—to '
return thanks to the blessed Virgin for ;
having sustained her through this fearful
ordeal.
1 he orisons performed, the duchess and
her ladies returned, ambling gently along
the border of a forest. It was about that
mellow hour of twilight when night and
day arc mingled, and all objects indistinct.
Suddenly some monstrous animal sprang
from out a thicket, with fearful howlings.
I he whole female body-guard was thrown
into contusion, and fled different wavs. .
Jt was some tim ■ before they recovered ;
*•*•* . lA.> t 1 . A
; her safety. The hazy mist of twiligntTfttT
! prevented their distinguishing perfectly the
1 animal which had affrighted them. Some
; thought it a wolf, others a bear, others a
I wild man of the woods. For upwards of
an hour did they beleaguer the forest,
without daring to venture in. and were on
the point of giving up the duchess as torn
to pieces and devoured,when,totheirgreat
joy, they beheld heradvancing in the gloom
supported by a stately cavalier.
j He was a stranger knight, whom nobody
''•■o. ll tj' ill l ,, ' ss^*le to distinguish
irk:
a noble pres-;
had res- j
fm> .>l':’.
the ladies, was
I neither a wolf, nor a bear, nor yet a wild
' man ofthe woods, but a vertible fiery dra
; gon. a species of monster peculiarly hostile
; to beautiful females in the days of chivalry,
and which ail the efforts of knight errantry
had not been able to extirpate.
The ladies crossed themselves when
■ they heard ofthe danger from which they
; had escaped, and could not enough admire
the galkmtry ofthe cavalier. The duchess
would fain have prevailed on her deliverer
to accompany her to her court; but he had
no time to spare, being a knight errant,
vvho had many adventures on hand, and
many distressed damsels and afflicted wid-
I ows to rescue anil relieve in various parts
10l the country. Taking a respectful leave,
i therefore, he pursued his wayfaring, and
' the duchess and her train returned to the
; palace. Throughout the whole way,, the
ladies were unwearied in chanting the
praises of the stranger knight; nay, many
j of them would willingly have incurred the
danger of the dragon to have enjoyed the
happy deliverance of the duchess. As
to the latter, she rode pensively along, but
I said nothing.
No sooner was the adventure of the ■
wood made public, than a whirlwind was
raised about the ears ofthe beautiful dutch
css. 'I he blustering nephew of the de
. ceased duke went about, armed to the
i teeth, with a swaggering uncle at each
shoulder, ready to back him, and swore the
duchess had forfeited her domain. It was
in vain that she called all the saints, and
angels, and her ladies in attendance into
the bargain, to witness that she had passed
I a year and a day ol immaculate fidelity.
. One fatal hour remained to be accounted
j for; an I in the space of one little hour sins
; enough may be conjured up by evil tomrues,
| to blast the fame of a whole life of virtue. •
I , The two graceless uncles, who had seen ;
1 the world, were ever ready to bolster the
I matter through, and. as they were brawny,
| broad-sliouldered warriors, and veterans
. in brawl as well as debauch, they had great
j s "’<iy with the multitude. 11 any one pre-
I tended to assert the innocence of the
i michess, they interrupted him with aloud
ha .hal ol derision. ‘ A pretty story truly.’
would they cry, ‘ about a wolf and' a dra
gon, and a young widow rescued in the
dark by .1 sturdy varlet, who dares not
show his face in Lie daylight. You mav
tell that to those who do not know human
nature; for our parts, we know the sex. j
and that’s enough.’-
If, however, the other repeated his as-'
scition, they wmild suddenly knit, their ■
brows, swell, look big, and put their hands>
upon their swords. As few people like to
fight in a cause that does not touch their
own interests, the nephew and the uncles
were suffered to have their way, and swag
ger u.ucontradicted.
The matter was at length referred to a
tribunal composed of all the dignitaries of
] the dukedom, and many and repeated con
sultations were held. The character of
the duchess, throughout the year, was as
bright and spotless as the moon in a cloud
less night; one fatal hour of darkness alone
intervened to eclipse its brightness. Find
ing human sagacity incable of dispelling
the mystery, it was determined to leave
Xhe question to heaven; or, in other words,
to decide it by the ordeal of the sword—a
sage tribunal in the age of chivalry. The
i nuphew and two bully uncles were to main
tain their accusation in listed combat, and
six months were allowed to the duchess to
provide herself with three champions, to
meet them in the field. Should she fail in
this, or should her champions be vanquish
ed, her honor would be considered as at- i
tained, her fidelity as forfeit, and her duke- I
, dom would go to the nephew, as a matter
of right.
With this determination the duchess was
. fam to comply. Proclamations were ac
cordingly made, and heralds sent to vari
ous parts; but day after day, week after
week, and month after month elapsed,
without any champion appearing to assert
her loyalty throughout that darksome hour.
The fair widow was reduced to despair,
when tidings reached her of grand tour
naments to be held at Toledo, in celebra
tion of the nuptials of Don Roderick, the
last of the Gothic kings, with the Morisco
princess Exilona. As a last resort, the
duchess repaired to the Spanish court, to
implore the gallantry of its assembled
chivalry.
The ancient city of Toledo was a scene
of gorgeous revelry on the event of the
royal nuptials. The youthful king,' brave,
ardent, axd magnificent, and his lovely
bride, beaming with all the radiant beauty
of the East, were hailed with shouts and
acclamations whenever they appeared.—
Their nobles vied with each other in the
luxury of their attire, their splendid reti
' nues, and prancing speeds; and the haughty
dames of the court appeared in a blaze of
.jewels.
In the midst of all this pageantry, the
beautiful but afflicted Duchess of Lorraine
made her approach to the throne. She
was dressed in black, and closely veiled;
four duennas of the most staid anil severe
aspect, and six beautiful demoiselles, form
ed her female attendants. She was guar
ded by several very ancient, withered, and
gray-headed cavaliers; and her train was
borne by'one of the most deformed and
diminutive dw^^ ce.
BBBKTto
so beautiful that
half the courtiers present were ready to
renounce their wives and mistresses, \nd
devote themselves to her service; but when
she made known that she came in quest
of champions to defend het fame, everv
cavalier pressed forward to offer his arm
and sword, without inquiring into the mer
its of the case; for it seemed clear that so
beauteous a lady could have done nothing
but what was right: and that, at any rate,
she ought to be championed in following
the bent of her humors, whether right or
wrong.
Encouraged by such gallant zeal, the
■ duchess suffered herself to be raised from
I the ground, and related the whole story of
I her distress. When she concluded, the
king remained for some time silent, charm
ed by the music of her voice. At length :
‘As I hope f>r salvation, most beautiful
duchess,’ said he, ‘ were I not a sovereign
king, and bound in duty to my kingdom, I
myself would put lance in rest to vindicate
your cause; as it is, 1 here give full per
mission to my knights, and promise lists
and a fair field, and that the contest shall
take place before the walls of Toledo, in
presence of inv assembled court.’
As soon as the pleasure of the king was
known, there was a strife among the ca
valiers present, for the honor ofthe contest.
It was decided by lot, and the successful
candidates were objects of great envy, for
every one was ambitious of finding favor
in the eyes ofthe beautiful widow.
Missives were sent, summoning the ne
phew and his two uncles to Toledo, to
maintain their accusation, and a day was
appointed for the combat. When the day
arrived, all Toledo was in commotion at
an early hour. The lists had been pre
pared in the usual place, just without the
walls, at the foot of the rugged rocks on
which the city is built, and on that beauti
ful meadow along the Tagus, known by
I the name ofthe king’s garden. The popu
' lace had already assembled, each one ea
ger to secure a favorable place; the bal
conies were soon filled with the ladies of
the court, ciad in their richest attire, and
bands of youthful knights, splendidly arm
ed, and decorated with their ladies’ devi
' ces. were managing their superbly-capari
soned steeds about the field The king at
length came forth in state, accompanied
by the queen Exilona. They took their
seats in a raised balcony, under a canopy
of rich damask; and, at sight of them, the
people rent the air with acclamations.
Tlie nephew and his uncles now rede
into the field, arnied cap-a-pie, and follow
ed by a train of cavaliers of theii own rov
stering cast, great swearers and caroiisers,
arrant swashbucklers, that, went about with
clanking armor and jingling spurs. When
the people of Toledo beheld the vaunting
and discourteous appearance of these
knights, they were more anxious ever
for the success of the gentle duchess; but
at the same time, the sturdy and stalwart
frames of these y, arriors, showed that who
ever won the victory from them, must do
it at. the cost, of many a bitter blow.
As the nephew and his riotous crew
rode in at. one. side of the field, the fair
; widow appeared at. the other, with her
I suite of gray headed courtiers, her duen
' nas and dainty demoiselles and the little
' dwarf tojling along under tl;e weight of
> her train. Every one made way for her |
as she passed, and blessed her beautiful
face, and prayed for success to her cause.
She took her seat in a lotVer balcony, not
far from t he sovereigns, and her pale face,
set off by her mourning weeds, was as the
moon, shining forth from among the clouds
of night.
• The trumpets sounded for the combat.
The warriors were just entering the lists,
when a stranger knight, armed in panoply,
and followed by two pages and an esquire,
came galloping into the field, and riding ;
up to the royal balcony, claimed the com- .
bat as a matter of right.
“In me,” cried he, “behold the cavilier ■
who had the happiness to rescue the beau
tiful duches from the peril of the forest, and
the nfisfortune to bring on her this e?!- 1
lumny. ft was but recently, in the course
of my errantry, t hat tidings of her. wrongs
have readied my ears, and I have urged
hither at all speed, to stand forth in her
vindication.
No sooner did the duches hear the ac
cents of the knight, than she recognised;
his voice, and joined her prayers with his
• that he might enter the lists. The diffi
culty was, to determine which of the three
; champions already appointed should yield
his place, each insisting on the honor of
the combat. The stranger knight would
have settled the point, by taking the whole
contest upon himself? but this the other
knights would not permit. It was at length
determined, as before, by lot, and the cav
alier who lost the chance retired murmur
ing and disconsolate.
The trumpet again sounded—-the lists
were opened. The arrogant nephew and
his drawcansir uncles appeared so com
pletely cased in steel, that they and their
steeds were like moving masses of iron.
When they understood the stranger knight
to be the same that had rescued the duch
ess from her peril, they greeted him with
the most boisterous decision.
“O ho! sir Knight of the Dragon,” said
they, “you who pretend to champion fair
widows in the dark, come on, and vindi- '
cate your deeds of darkness in the open
day.”
The only reply of the cavalier was, to
put lance in rest, and brace himself for the
sneounter. Needless it is to relate the
particulars of a battle, which was like so
many, hundred combats that have been
said and sung in prose and verse. Who
is there but must have foreseen the event
of a contest where heaven had to decide ;
on the guilt or innocence of the most beau-*
tiful and immaculate of widows?
The sagacious reader, deeply read in this
kind of judicial combats, can imagine the
encounter of the graceless nephew and
the stranger knight. He sees their con
cussion. man to man, and horse to horse,
in mid career, and in that Sir Graceless
ny uncles were less successful in their rude
encounter; but he will picture to himself
the stout stranger spurring to their rescue,
in the very critical moment; he will see
him transfixing with his lance, and cleav
ing the other to the chime with a back
stroke of his sword, thus leaving the trio
of accusers dead upon the field, and estab
lishing the immaculate fidelity of the duch
ess and her title to the dukedom, beyond
the shadow of 4 doubt.
The air rang with acclamations; noth
ing was heard but praises of the beauty
and virtue ofthe duchess, and of the pro
wess of the stranger knight; but the pub
j°y was stiH more increased when the
champion raised his visor, and revealed
the countenance of one of the bravest cav
aliers in Spain, renowned for his gallantry
in the service of the sex, who had long
been absent, in quest of similar adventures.
That worthy knight however was se- ;
verely wounded in the battle, and remain
ed for a long time ill of his wounds. The
lovely duchess, grateful for having twice
owed her protection to his arm, attended
him daily during his illness. A tender pas
sion grew up between them, and she final
ly rewarded his gallantry by giving him
her hand.
The king would fain have had the
knight establish his title to such high ad
vancement by farther deeds of arms; but
his courtiers declared that he had already
merited the lady, by thus vindicating her
fame and fortune in a deadly combat to
entrance; and the lady herself hinted that
she was perfectly satisfied of his prowess '
in arms, from the proof she received in his 1
achievements in the forest.
Their nuptials were celebrated with :
great magnificence. The present husband i
of the duchess did not pray and fast like his j
predecessor, Phillibert the wife-ridden:
yet he found greater favor in the eves of I
Heaven, for their union was blessed with i
a numerous progeny—the daughters chaste !
and beauteous as their mother; the sons
all stout and valient as their sire, and all re
nowned. like him, for relieving disconso- ;
late damsels and desolate widows.
A Steambout A'lventurc.
The boat was just ready—the second bell j
was ringing—every thing was in confusion— ;
disconsolate old gentlemen were searching in 1
vain for their baggage—and terrified young
ladies were trembling lest half their party were
left on shore. Porters were flying backwards
and forwards with trunks and bandboxes, and
stumbling over nursery-maids with childrenin
their arms. Tho heavy arms of the engine
moved slowly up and down, and tho boat, im
patient of restraint, swayed to and fro, gather
ing up her energies for a mighty plunge.
Just at tiiat moment, my friend Wilson came
up to me and said, “I come to ask a favor of;
you, or rather to confer a favor upon you. A !
young friend of mine, Miss Milton, is on board i
and I am anxious to place her under your par- !
ticular charge. Come quick—the. boat is |
leaving—you will be in love with her before
you pass Point Judith. She is i 1 the ladies’ ■
cabin—quich, quick! the last bell is ringing— 1
I must be off.”
“Here! how many band-boxes, Wilson?”
“Only three.”
“Are ye certain?”
“Upon my word, cdy three. I just saw
them taken from the carriage—three band-!
I boxes, live trunks, and seven bundles. She
! returns in the next boat, and consequently has
I no need of much baggage.”
Vol. IV—Ao. Siß.
] i follow! d Wilson wiih somewhat UoubUul
. - sf- p,—for a! ( hou”h, as I have said, he was
! rnv p rticular friend, he was something
_{ of a quia, and I more than half suspect
| ed that he would introduce to my acquaint
ance some v' legar-faced maiden, who had ta.
. k n h r pound of snuff p- r week for fifty years.
I My fears, however, vanished when ! entered
the cabin, nu 1 was presented to one of the love-
I li“st women it lias ever been my lot to meet.
I She smiled with th- most bewitching sweet
ness. thanked me for my kindness, and pro
j mised to b- b«V 3 like a gtod girl—not to ba
very s -a-aick. and give as little trouble as pos
| sible. I spoke from mv heart when I assur-
■ ed her ih it the more trouble she gave me the
! better, so that it would but give me an excuse
■ to bo near her.
“This is r-allv ki id in you,” I said, as I
tiuloweJ VV dson on deck; ‘ Miss Milton is in
j truth a most lovely girl; I hope I shall have
■ some mean® of reoaying your kindness.”
“Pshaw! nothing at all: I might, to be sure,
have put. her u <lerlhe cam of Sam or Ned—
you see th m there in the aft part of the boat:
indeed, Sam intimated to me that he should
like an introduction to her, and I believe Ned
h is com 1 on o le day sooner than he intended,
> I forth .t express purpose. But. I wished tq
; place her tinder the charge of some steady,
J substantial man—some one upon whom I can
■ r flv; th-<s.‘ v. I young fellows are not fit to
I protect a y u g lady. Well, good bye—the.
I boat is going—an heiress, by the way—a cool
1 hundred thousand, at least—take good earo
ol the band-boxes.” So saying, hi sprung to
the wharf.
The boat, like a noble horse, eager for the
race, leaped into the channel, and cut her ra
pid way throngli the waters.—l stood on deck
with Mis- Milton, watching the fair city as
it lad'd from our vietv, and poi> ting out the.
most interesitg places on the shores and is
i lands of the beautiful bay down which wa
were sailing. N ver was gallant knight more,
devote to fair lady, and. never did fair lady
■ smile more sweetly upon gallant knight. Thai
hours flew as rapidly as the boat, as though
they too were impelled by the all-powerful in
fluence <>f steam. The di merhour arrived, it
; seemed, in five minutes after I hid come on
! board. A dinner on board of a steamboat is
I never a. very pleasant affair; and I always cal-
■ culate upon having oi»e dish of gravy spilled
cn my coal by the waiters, as a matter of
course. This time it was rendered p iculiarly
unpleasant by a couple of children who kept
up a continual squalling and fighting witn their,
nursery maid. lamof an affi ctionate dispo
sition, and a man of general philanthropy; I
b dong to th'> Society for the General Improve
ment of the Hum an Race, and last year gave,
five dollars to the Society of E lucation—but I
do hate children. I abominate sqalling chil
dreii— and, above all, I detest squalling chil
dren at the dinner-table; and I was on this oc
casion moro than usually annoyed, as thay
seoGu-d perf ctly offensive to tny fair friend.
S im and Ned were very unsociable
during the whole passage; they
to me from >
. ir~. 1 par!
xlissMilton; aid from their looks,
' not that I was the subject of their conversa-""
tion. How very envious.some people are?
However, I took no notice of their coolness,
but continu 'd pacing the d ck, after dinner,
wrapped up in pleasant reflections, and balanc
ing the numerous advantages of a bachelor’s
| establishment. I remembered that I was yet
’ 1 on the. su.inv side ot thirty-five, and began se
riously to ask myself if tnv table would not
1 look better fir having some one at the head of
if, to turn out the tea and coffee; and if my
fire side w u 4 1 ot Ln improved by sending off
i the old arm cha ; r, i . the corner, and drawing
!up a sofi in fro.it. N t that I had any per
•, sonal anticipations—l disclaim that altogether.
| My reflections were pur lv of a general nature.
I If any thing c mid have disturbed the tenor of
I my thoughts, they would have been scattered
I by the appearance of the two children, who
! gave so much u ieasi tees at the dinner table,
j But nothing could, and for the first time I look-
I ed upon them with endurance, if not with kind
i ness.- I patted one on the cheek, m retarirA
for which he civilly spat in my face, and ran
off thinking it an excellent joke. I gave tho
other an orange, with the juice of which he be
spattered my very best coat, ta the no small
amusement of Ned, who was standing by nqa
at the time.
“Fine little fellow that.” said he, “sorry for
your coat though—stain neyer’ll come out—
had one spoiled so myself once; but you are
so fond of children. By the way, I see you
have a lady with you; who is she?”
“Miss Milton—-an old friend of mine.”
“An old friend! I thought you was just
trodnced to h w?”
‘■Oh no—l have known her tLis longtime.”
! Upon certain occasions I hold a white lie
! to be justifiable. Miss Qpie to the contrary
! notwithstanding. Besides, impudent curiosi
ty’ should not be gratified.
I 'l'he evening was lovely and moonlight; the
1 breeze just perceptibG. and th-' boat dashing
j the white foam before her at the rate of eigh.
teen miles an hour. Neither Miss Milton nor
mvself were ven sneiab! •. She seemed oc
cupied in watching the white track that the
bo t left belli id her, and the occasion. I spark
ling ofthe foam and bubbles. I was debating ’•'l
upon the pr< pricty ofsnyiag something paiti
cularlv tender, and endeavoring to fix upon the
precise amount of sentiment that an acquaint
ance of < ighi hours would warrant.. I had
heard afa man who went so far as to offer his
heart and hand to a lady whom he had only
known two hours; and as 1 h id the advantage
of moonlight on my side, 1 ih< qght I might
venture a few gentle words. Mentally I con
ned over many a soft phrase, but I was unused
to the business, and could think of no.thing
to suit me. However, “faint &eart neyer'gou
fair ladv,” I thought, and I resolved to make
the attempt, desperate though it might be.
“Th. re are certain situations,” I commenced,
“anil peculiar sent imei is. which—that—and—
[would seem to justif ,” 1 hesitated, she
looked up; whitapair of eyes! as waiting for
the conclusion of my se fence. For the life
of mo, I could only tbrtik of one word—and
that word was— aboin'itaJJe. M hether i 1 my
dire distress I might have adopted it, I know
not; for just as my embarrasment had risen to
a degre positively insupportable, the little boy
whose orange h i d l< f its marks upon my coat,
came running up to us. Halt vexed, h ilt re
lic-red by the jutrusioa, I was abo »t pushing
him awav. mW*’. Ii ■ recognized me, and ex
cl timed.—“JZrtwa! th t’s the good gentleman
who gave me the orange; got another orange
for mo, sir?”
1 believe I actually s’arted f-om my sea* ~t
that word mama. I saw *' ,r ’ugh the - j lO 0
plot nsta-tlv. Tte -”<reptio ' tbs' ,
had practised ' Wc ’ flasi »ed