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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