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THE SOUTHERN* SENTINEL Is published every Thursday Morning, IX COLUMBUS, GA. BY WILLIAM H. CHAMBERS, EDITOR AND FKOPBIETOR. To whom all com nunicutions most be directed, post paid. O/ice on Randolph Street. Terms of Subscription. One copy twelve months, in advance, - - 82 50 Not in advance, -3 00 ” “ Six “ “ “ - 150 CT Where the subscription is not paid during the year, 15 cents will be charged for every month’s delay. No subscription w.ll be received lor less than six months and none discontinued ui.til all arrearages arc paid, except at the option of the proprietor. To Clubs. Five copies twelve months, ... 510 00 Ten “ “ 16 00 xsr The money from Clubs must in all cases ac company the named, or the price ol a single subscription will ue charged. Rates of Advertising. One Square, fir-t insertion, - - §1 00 “ “ Each subsequent insertion, - 50 A liberal di Art.on on there terms will be made in favor of tho. e wi; > advertise by the year. Adve.itlenre.lU not specified as to time, will be pub lished till forbid, and charged accordingly. M j.ithly Advevt.seinents will be charged as new Ad vsrU'ciiieiits at each inreiton. Letsl Advertisements. N. B—Sales of Lands, by Administrators, Ex ecutor; ,n- Guardians, are required by law to be held on the fir t i’llo day m the month, between the hours of 10 in tiie forenoon, aud 3 in the afternoon, at the Court House el tiie county in which the land is situated. No tice of there sales mu-1 be given in a public gazette si xt it da vs previous to the d.-.y of ‘ale. Sales o! Neioroes ru.. t be made at a public auction on the first 1 ie-day of the month, between the usual hours of sale, t the place of public sales in tiie coui ty where tiie Letters Te-tamentary, oi Adinini tration or Guard.. ll hip,may have been granted, first giving sixty days nol.ee thereof in one of tiie public gazette* of this State, and at t!ie door of the Court House, where such sales are t > i'c held. Notice for the sal- of Personal property must be given in Lite mannei roarv days previous to the day of sale. Notice to the Debtors and Creditors of an estate must fee published forty days. Notice t.iat application will be made to the Court of Ordinary for leave to sell Land, must be published for FOUR MONTHS. Notice for leave to sell Negroes must be published for FOCR months, before any order absolute snail be made thereon by the Court. Citations for loiters of Administration, must be pub lished thirty days—for dismission from admiur-t ration, 7n3.i1/Uy six months —for dismission fiom Guardianship, FORTY DAYS. Rules for the foreclosure of a Mortgage must be pub lished MONTHLY f>r FOUR MONTHS —tor e tabii.-hing lost papers, for tiie full stace of three months —for com pelling titles from Executors or Admini-t store, where a Bond has reen given by the deceased, the full stace ol THREE MONTHS. Publication!, will always be continued according to these legal requ.rement.. unless otherwise ordered. SOUTHERN SENTINEL Job Office. HAVING received anew and extensive assortment 01 Joj Material, we are prepared to execute at tfiia office, all orders for JOB WORK, in a manner which can not be excelled in the State, on very liberal term-, and at the shorte t notice. We feel contident of onr ability to give entire satisfac tion in every variety of Job Printing, including Boms, Business c ards, Pamphlets, Bill Heads, Circulars, Blanks of every description, Han l Bills, Bills of Lading, Posters, djv. <s•<:. In abort, all descriptions of Printing which can be ex ecuted :u any otiice m the coui.try, will be turned out with elegance and de-patcli. mm-. • 11 mimm d—M— County Surveyor. THE undersigned informs his friends and the Planters of Muscogee county, that lie is prepared to make official surveys 111 Mu-cogee county. Letters addressed *o Pot Olh-re, Columbus, will meet with prompt atten tiom WM. F. SLKRbLL, County Surveyor. Office over E. Barnard it Co.’s store, Broad St. Columbus, Jan. 31,1650. 5 ly NOTICE. rpilE firm name of “M. 11. Deseau, Agent. ‘ is champed, A from this date, to M. 11. DESSAU. Columbus, Feb. 7, 1350. 6 ts JAMES FORT, ATTORNEY AT LAW, HOLLY SPRINGS, MISS. July 4, 1350. 27 6m Williimb, Flewellen & Williams, ATTORNEYS AT LAW, COLUMBUS, GEORGIA. May 23, 1853. 21 Williams & Howard, ATTORNEYS AT LAW, COLUMBUS, GEORGIA. *OBT. It HOWARD. CHAS. J. WILLIAMS. April 4, 1350. 14 tl J. D. LEXNARD, ATTORNEY AT LAW, T.II.HUTTON, GA. WILL attend to business in Talbot and the adjacent co j..t es. Ail business entrusted to his care will meet with prompt attention. April 4, 1350. 14 ly KING & WINNEMORE, Commission Merchants, MOBILE, ALABAMA. Dec. CO, 1840. p/ofc. Trib] 15 tl THIS PAPER IS MANUFACTURED BY THE Rock Island Factory, NEAR THIS CITY. Columbus, Feb. 23,1350. 0 ts Marble Works, East side Iliorsil St. near the Market House, COLUMBUS, GA. HAVE constantly on hand all kinds of Grave Stones< Monuments. Tombs and Tablets, ol American. Italian and Irish Marble. Engraving and caning done on stone 111 the best possible manner; and all kinds of Granite Work at the shortest notice. JOHN H. MADDEN. P. S.—Plaister of Paris and Cement, always on hand for sale. Columbus, March 7, 1850. 10 ts NORTH CAROLINA Plutaal Life Insurance Company. LOCATED AT RALEIGH, H. C. rpHE Charter of this company gives important advan- L tagesto the assured, over moT other companies. The husband can insure his own life for the sole u.-e and benefit of lus wile and children, tree from any other cWim*. Pe . oils who insure for life participate in the profits which are declared annually, ana when tiie pre mia n exceeds 830, may pay one-half in a note. Staves are injured at two-thirds their value for one or five years. Applications for Risks mav be made to JOHN MUNN. Agent. Columbus,Ga. fcz*’” Office at Greenwood &. Co.’s Warehouse. Nov. 15, 1349. ts WANTED. •JAA AAA tbs. RAGS. Cash paid for clean cot Ivl/.y v/v ton or linen rags—3i cents per pound. When delivered in quantities ot 100 pounds or more ; and 3 cents when delivered in small quantities. For old hemp, bagging, and p : eees of rope, H cents, delivered e.the- at Rock Island Factory or at their store in Co lumbus, in the South eomer Room of Oglethorpe House D. ADAMS, Secretary. Columbus, Feb. 23,1550. 9 ts TO RENT, TILL the firet day of January next The old printing oifice room ot the “Muscogee Democrat ” Apply at this office. 13 ts. M Globe Hotel, BUENA VISTA, MARION CO„ GA. BY J. WILLIAMS. March 14,1350. 11 ts JUST RECEIVED, A LARGE lot ol Miscellaneous and School Books. Also a large and beautiful assortment of Stationery, fine Letter and Note Paper. Envelopes, &c. deGRAFFENRIED & ROBINSON. April 18 VOL. I. [For the Southern Sentinel.] The Past and the Present. BY E. S. R. He was a fair browed youth, far from his home, And all tl-e cherished t.e- that moke home dear; In thoughtful mood he -at, and watched the stars, And drank the music of a moonlight eve, Till he seem’d 10-t to all but rcve.y. I marked his blue eye flash, then melt to tears, As ho-is of early memories welled up, Chaining a spirit wild as tame’ers steed. Unmindfully, he wandered in his dreams, Aud thus his tongue gave utterance to his thoughts:— Turn to my childhood's page, remorseless Time, And let me live it o'e • a little while; It* mem'ries have a charm that doth asmage The cares, and choking grief--, I've le.imt from life ; Give back to me my childhood’s purity, Thief of m_v brighte t days ; the joyous heart, w itii all its little treasures, and its joys, That was mine own, when I wa9 but a child : Then hide from mem’ry’s eye there clouded years, These bla ted hopes yield to me.’ I would mure: I made thee banker, tyrant, of my hopes, Ar.d largely reckoned on thy promises ; I heard, w-th willing ear, a syren’s ta'e, That told of happiness in store for me, Entiu-ted to thv care, and I believed That it would ripen fully in thy charge,— That thoa would’t mete it out with bounteous hand, When ripening years were stamped upon my brow. Alas! how recreant thou art, O, Time; To be the victim of mere circunr tance, Is poor return for young life's withered hope3. I was a wayward chi'd, to fancies given, And musing* rendered dear, by light and shade _ Ol pe ’sive thoughtfulness, and sadness sweet. Oft did I steal away from noisy play, And scenes where life was drawn in miniature, To be alone in nature’s solitude l . Yet not alone, for eve-y flower, and leaf, And brook, and rustling breeze, did -peak to me. The e was a fav’rite dell where I did stray, Dear to the mem’ric* of the sunny past: A gurgling streamlet from the tow'ring hills, That had for ages leaped from rocky steeps, Came babbling through this glen, yet ere ’twas lost ’Mid mossy rocks, and creeping vine*, below, Fell in a foaming sheet from lofty height, Making sweet musie in that lone dell’s choir. Oft have I listened to that waterfall, The in ccts ham and note of warbling bird, The many sound* which wake that solitude, As I have clam 1 ered up the -lippery crag*, Or stood upon some overhanging rock, Gazing delighted on the silver thread That spurned the g een bp of the precipice, To wander in the quiet depths Veneath. Oh, I was happy then, for I d.d look On nature’s leauty With enraptured eye, And I did feel drawn rear to nature's God ; My heart was glad, yet bound with solemn awe; There was a blissful feeling that stole o'er My soul, and there were bright and sunny thoughts That came, and went, and came, a* a soft breeze Steals o’er the placid bosom of a lake. At dawn’s first blush I've stood upon the clifis, And gazed upon the grandeur of the scene ; Beneath me.lay the dell in shadows wrapt: The morning mists, that wore strange phantom shape*, Crept slowly up, and hung, a leath’ry cloud, Upon the crag* ; anon, this bridal veil Spring gave my haunt, as a remembrancer. When summer bade her seek a northern clime. Enfolds the whitened trunk of aged oak, Or hoary rock, lending to them new forms As strange as superstition ever wove. I’ve gazed upon the e “veiled and shapeless depths,” And likced them unto Eternity: The vapor cloud, irnpe etrable o’er The voiceless boundary of mortal ken ; The stream that kisicd the fiow’ry banks above, Then fell abruptly to the e depths profound, Unto the swiftly gliding tide of Time, Sinking forever in that shoreless sea ; The withered leaf upon the wat’ry verge, A truthful emblem of its watcher’s fate. Sublime, and beautiful, the wakening scene, When rew-bom sunlight re t* on mountain top, And glides to -leeping vales, to kiss from flowers The glittering dews that dark-eyed night hath wept; From valleys green sweet sounds come welling up ; From leafy tree the thrilling gush of song ; The brooklet* lend their sweete t minstrelsy, A glorious anthem, to the new-born day. Yes, my young soul was like thee, lovely dell! When mom’s first blush stole o'er thy sleeping breast, There was a dawn for me, and then bright thoughts Came stealing in, and lighted up mv world As sunny rays came timidly to thee. ’Twas in thy haunts, O, sweet, neglected spot, My spirit bowed in homage to the Muse: ’Twas there it strove to breathe, in measure rude, The fervid thought and a*piiat,on warm, And tell of thing* of leauty, le ime 1 of thee. Thy flowered clifis will echo back no more The rhymes of childhood to my eager ear ; Thy smiling nooks, my dear old shady beech. Who e trunk is carved with letters rude and quaint,— Thy flowers, and bird*, and rocks, and murm'ring rill, — Thy bubbling spring, where oft, on bended knee, I drank, ala.*! I ne’erw.ll see again. Time whispered to me, on a summer day, I could no longer be a careless child, — That I must leave thee, for life’s busy scene*, — Be doomed to w.re tie with its bufferings,— To learn of want its care*, of sorrow griefs,— To bid my spirit leave its sunny sphere, And seek, in crowded marts, a golden oie, A pittance small, to live from day to day. It was a bidding -tore to one who e life Had never knew lefore a daikened cloud, — A bitter drink to quaff for one who e hopes Bade him look forward to a fairer path, In ofe'ning life, than chilling penury’s : My thoughts soared up ldie eagle's to the skies, And now they flutter like a wounded wren. Still on life’s flue hold, come on, then, ye cares, I’ll be a man, and strike for mastery : I'll dream no longer, but will struggle on, And do thee battle, yielding but w.th life A Tavern Incident. —“ What are you about you black rascal ? Twice have you roused me trom my sound sleep to tell me that breakfast is ready, and now you’ve awoke me by attempting to pull off the bedclothes! What the deuce do you mean ?” “Why, massa, if ybu isn’t goin’ to git up, I mus hab de sheet any how, ’case dey’r waitin for de table clof!” The Reason Why. ——“ Why, Bridget, how came you to burn the bread so f” “Oeh! ; an’ is it burned it is ? Sure, then, ma’am, but it's no fault of mine, for wan’t you after tellin’ me the las’ thing afore you wint out, I must bake one large loaf an hour l I made three large leaves,so I baked ’em three hours, } jist; for what else should I do?” A shopkeeper once wrote his sister, that “our aged father died yesterday with an assortment of disorders.” PHANTASIES of WALPURGIS NIGHT. The Tempter. It was at Prague, a considerable distance from home, that 1 was once detained during April by business of importance. I might, perhaps, have found plenty of entertainment there, if I had been disposed to enter into the amusements of the place. All my thoughts, however, were upon my distant home. From my earliest years 1 have ever been fondly attached to my native town. It had become doubly dear to me from the time my wife had inhabited it. She was there at the time I speak of, and our separation had then lasted for a longer period than upon any oth er occasion since our marriage. D lobe sure, we corresponded regularly; but my Fanny’s letters, overflowing with tenderness and affection, served to increase my impatience at our separation, till I wished Prague and St. Nopomuk were many miles to the N. E. of me. The reader can conceive how heartily I thanked Heaven when my business was at last settled. I paid farewell vi-its to the friends and acquaintances I had in Prague, and bade my host be ready with his bill, as I intended to start next day by the mail. On the following morning, accordingly, he waited upon me very deferentially with an ac count of most portentious length. As Iliad not change about me enough to meet hiS charges, 1 felt for my pocket-book with the intention of cashing a note. To my horror the book was gone! I searched high and low, in every pocket, hole and corner. It was ail trtH'.o purpose. My anxiety may be con ceived when i mention that, the missing pock et-book, besides Fanny’s letters, contained no less than two thousand dollars in notes, a sum which I could ill afford to loose. It was no use to turn the room topsy-tur vy —the pocket-book had disappeared. Was it stolen or lost? 1 had it in my hands the day before. I generally carried it in the breast-pocket of my coat. I couldn’t help thinking that I had felt it safe as I un dressed to go to bed on the previous night. How to recover my precious papers was the next question. If they had fallen into bad bands, they might be converted into sil ver or gold at a moment’s notice. In the ex tremity of m3’ distress 1 could not help swear ing—a most unusual thing with me. Oh, thought l, would that the devil prowled about as i.i the good old days of yore: I’d make a bargain with him on the spot. As I thought this, my mind involuntarily’ reverted to a fig ure 1 had met with in a billiard room, some days before, in a closer-buttoned, tightly-fit ting red surtout, and which I set down at the time as belonging to some potentate of hell, who had lor some mysterious purposes as sumed a human form for the time being. A cold shudder th: illed through me ; and yet, in the extremity of my despair, I thought—and what if he were? he should be welcome if he would but restore my pocket-book. A knock at the door interrupted my semi invocation. Aha, thought I, does the tempt er mean to turn jest into earnest? I ran to the door, my head so full of the red surtout that L verily expected to see its bearer walk in. Aud behold, wonder ul to relate, as I opened the door, what should enter, with a slight inclination of the head, hut the tempter in person, on whom my thoughts had been dwelling. Further Particulars. I must now explain how, and under what circumstances, I became acquainted with the apparation in question. At one of the tables in the coffee-house, w here I happened to be one evening, were two persons deeply ab sorbed in a game of chess. Some young men, seated at the w indow, were engaged in ani mated discussion on the theoiy of spiiits and the human soul. All elderly man,of diminu tive stature,clad in a scat let surtout, was pac ing up and down the room, with his hands crossed behind his back. 1 called for some refreshments and took up a paper. There was something about the mysterious man, as he strode to and fro, which irresisti bly attracted my attention, to the exclusion of politics and all other current topics. Sin gular as was his choice of attire, his whole appearance was more striking and singular still. His features were repulsive and 3’et most remarkable; although below the com mon height, his shoulders were broad and his frame well knit. He appeared to be from fif ty to sixty*/ wears of age, and had a stooping gait characteristic of that time of life, li is hair was coal black and bristly. There was something uncanny and repulsive in his high cheek-bones and booked nose; and whilst every feature was cold and impertura ble his large hi iglit eye gleamed \\ itli a strange fire that it was difficult to attribute to any or dinary human thought or passion. He may be, thought I, an hereditary headsman, a grand inquisitor, a brigand chief, or, king of the gypsies. From sheer capiice and wan tonness that man would fire a whole town, and impale infants on his lance. Right sony should 1 be to meet him in a wood. Os a sure ty’ he never smiled in all his life. There I yvas wrong. ‘I he man stopped to listen to the conversation alluded to, and laughed several times as i* proceeded. But, gracious Heavens, what a laugh it was! It fai.ly made me shudder. His features ap peared animated with a fiendish glee. Well, thought I, if that being in the red coat be not the devil himself, he is next of kin to him. I involuntary cast my eyes upon his feet, ex pecting to find them clpven; and though one certainly was made much as those of or dinary mortals, the other was clubbed, and confined in a lace-up boot. But he was not lame ; on the contrary*, he stepped as gingerly as though the floor yvere paved with egg-shells. As he of the flame-colored garment passed the table yvhere the players sat at chess, one of them triumphantly observed to his adver sary, “You are lost beyond all hope.” Redcoat paused as he spoke, cast an ea gle glance on the chess-board, and said to the self-complacent speaker, “Wrong; three moves more, and 3'ou are mate.” The victor smiled blandly; his hard-pressed adversary shook his head, and moved ; the third move, and his exulting foe yvas defeated. Whilst the players were disposing them selves to reneyv the stiife, one of the young men at the window observed somewhat warm ly to Redcoat, “I infer, from your smile, that 3’ou entertain contrary opinions with re gard to the nature of the world and the God head. Have you read Schelling ?” “Certainly,” said Redcoat. “And what means )'our smile?” “Your COLUMBUS, GEORGIA, THURSDAY MORNING, AUGUST I, 1850. Schelling is one of j our subtle poets, yvho look upon the phantasies of the brain as facts, because there is none to contradict them. It’s the old story; the blind are discussing colors, and the deaf criticise sounds.” So said Redcoat. His yvords provoked dis cussion ; but, without mingling further in the argument, he took up his hat, and glided from the room. Since then I had not seen him, although I never forgot his remarkable figure, with his fiendish features, and was in constant dread of their haunting my dreams. And now, when least expected, I found myself closeted in the same room yvith him. Temptation. “Pardon my intrusion ; have I the honor to address Mr. ?” “The same,” yvas m3’ reply. “What proofs have you of your identit3’ ?” A singular question, though I; the man is, no doubt, a spy of the police. An open let ter lay before me. I took it up and pointed to the address on the envelope. “So far, so good ; but 3'ours is a very com mon name. I want more conclusive testirno 113’. I may hay’e to do business yvith 3’ou.” “Excuse me, sir, 1 am on the point of set ting out on a journe3’ 5 besides, 3'ou are mis taken in 3’our man. lam neither merchant nor government official.” He looked at me for some time yvith evi dent surprise, and seemed as though about to take his departure ; at length he observed, “Business, however, has detained 3’ou at Prague. Is not your brother on the verge of bankruptcy?” The blood rushed to my face ; for this, I had imagined, yvas a secret known to myself and my brother only. “You are again mis taken, sir. True, I have a brother, and more than one ; but none of them are in the pre dicament to which you allude.” “Indeed ?” muttered the tempter, incredu lously. “sir,” I returned yvith some yvarmth, for I yvas distressed to think that any one in Prague should be aware of my brother’s cir cumstances, “3’ou have hit upon the wrpng person. Excuse me if I beg you to ex plain your business at once. 1 have not a moment to lose.” “A minute’s patience, I beseech you. I have an object in speaking yvith you. You appear ill at ease; has anything unpleasant occurred? lam not a native of Prague, and have not visited it for tyvelve years. Are you in yvant of money ?” As he spoke, the same smile, or rather grin, of fiendish malignity, passed over his features. I mistrusted him more and more. My eyes fell by chance on his club foot, and I own to haying yvorked myself up to a most uncomfortable pitch of superstition. I re plied, hoyvever, that I yvas in no need of mo ney ; but that, as he appeared so fiiendly to. wards me, I should like to know his name. “It will avail you little to hear it; how ever, I am a Mandevil.” At this moment the door opened, and the landlord handed me a letter. “Read your letter before we resume our conversation; no doubt it is from 3'our dear Fanny.” I yvas more puzzled than ever. “Well, have you any further doubts as to who I am, and the nature of my business yvith you?” I felt half inclined to say’ —“Sir, I have not the slightest particle of doubt as to 3 our per sonal identity with Satan himself, and anx ious accordingly to make a bid for my unhap py soul; but 1 resisted the impulse and yvas silent. “Moreover,” he continued, “you are start ing for Eger. My route takes me thither. Will 3’ou accept a seat in my carriage ?” I thanked him for his offer, but told him I had already ordered horses for niyself. This seemed to disconcert him, for he said —“Hoyv difficult it is to deal yvith 3’ou! I have set my heart upon making the acquain tance of y our Fanny and children. Cannot you guess yvho I am? Do speak in the dey'- il’s name. Sir, lam really most anxious to oblige you.” “Well, then,” quoth I, “if 3’on be a sorcer er, my pocket book is lost; tell me hoyv to recover it.” “Pooh! never mind y-our pocket book; is there nothing else ?” “But Ido mind my pocket-book; it yvas full of valuable and important papers. Tell me yvliat I am to do if it be lost, or yvhat steps to take supposing it to be stolen ?” “What sort of a pocket-book yvas it ?” I described it. “Well, yve’ll see what is to be done. What return yvill yreu make me if I cause it to be restored to you ?” And he fixed his eye upon me as though to extort the yvords—?‘My soul shall be yours;” but as 1 stood silent and beyvildered, he put his hand in his pocket and produced the mis sing book. “How on earth did you come by it?” I exclaimed, as I ascertained that the contents yvere untouched. “1 found it at four o’clock yesterday upon the bridge.” (I noyv remembered to have ta ken it out at that very time and place.) “I examined the contents in order to ascertain to whom it belonged. I thus discovered your name and address, and I called on you last night to restore it.” I could almost have hugged my Mandevil in the plentitude of my’ joy. He would not listen to my thanks, but coolly said, as he closed the door behind him, “My compli ments to tho fair Fanny and a happy journev to you. We shall meet again.” Horae. During the whole of my journey I could not prevent my’ thoughts from reverting to the mysterious stranger. I recalled his de moniac laugh, his deformed foot, his syvarthy hair cluste: ing about his temples as though to conceal the horn that would have reveal ed his secret to the sons of men, and I firmly’ convinced myself of his identity with the Evil One. He had certainly’ behaved very hand somely in the matter of the pocket-book, but might not that have been, after all, but a snare to entrap my soul ? I bewildered myself in thinking of possi ble temptations. I thought of ambition, of woman’s beauty. But, pooh! what had Ito do with beauties ? Was not my own sweet Fanny all in all to me ? As the reader may conjecture, I was endowed with a tolerable degree of imagination, and I may as well ad mit at once that at an earlier period of my life, ere I knew my Fanny, I fancied myself most desperately enamored of a certain Julia. Her parents, however, would not con sent to our union, and she subsequently be came the bride of a wealthy Polish noble. Os course we cried, kissed and vowed eter nal fidelity, and, as generally happens in such cases, both gotmariied forthwith. Amidst all these fancies and reflections I entered my native town as the church clock was striking one. All was hushed in slum ber. Unwilling to disturb my family at so late an hour, I resolved to pass the night at ; the inn, but I could not resist the temptation of strolling out to contemplate by moonlight : that beloved home where, wrapped in sleep, | lay all that w as dear to me. The Fatal Meeting. Not a soul w r as stirring. Fortunately, the summer-house was open. I entered; and saw by sundry little indications that Fanny and the children had but recently occupied it. I threw myself at length upon the sofa, and de termined to pass the night there. I had scarcely closed inv eyes, w’hen I was arous ed by a noise at the door of the summer house. I sat up; and imagine my astonish ment at beholding my ftiend of the red coat! “Whence come you, in Heaven’s name?” I asked. From Prague. I leave this within the hour. Hearing you had but just arrived, I thought, of course, that you would be still astir, and that I could pay you and your Fanny a pass ing visit. You must not sleep here, the damp will injure your health.” As 1 quitted the garden with him, I could not help saying, “You have scared me as though 1 had beheld an apparition; I tremble in every limb. What induced you to seek me in the summer-house? You seem to know everything.” Fiendish was his smile as he murmured, “Know you me now, and what I would of you ?” “No better than I did at Prague; but I must tell you the impression you then made upon me. I trust you will not take offence ; but l fancied either that you held communion with spirits or with the Devil himself.” Again that sardonic smile. “Now, merely for the sake of the joke, assuming me to be the latter, are you disposed to do a little bu siness with me ?” “You must bid high if you hope to win me, for really, Sir Devil—pardon my jest in so terming you—nothing can augment the hap piness of my present lot.” “Ho! ho!” laughed he; “that was all well enough in the olden times, when folks still had some faith in the Devil’s existence, and ! so kept every watch over their silly souls; then one was lain to come to terms with them. Cheap enough are they now-a-davs; the sons of clay little reck they of the Devil, their sole reliance is on pure reason.” “I hold myself at a high rate; and albeit, I regard Beelzebub as an old wife’s story, still better worth is a grain of reason than the strongest conviction of the powers of hell.” “Spoken with all the pride of sorry mor tals ; suffer me to use the language of the personage I represent. Your arrogant self reliance brings more recruits to the gates of hell than w ould a swarm of fiends desp. tch ed to tempt you. The best among your scur vy crew is he who has met but the fewest op portunities to sin.” “Spoken right fiendlike!” I exclaimed. “Os a verity,” answered he of the flame colored doublet, smiling his horrid smile ; “but it is the truth I speak, though all your faith in truth be gone. You are, in truth, already mine. Grant me but a single hair, and your head is no more your own ; but the air is chilly—my carriage waits—l must hence.” I accompanied him to the inn, at the door of which stood his carriage; he begged me to enter the house, and partake of some punch he had ordered. I w illingly complied, as the night air had rendered such beverage highly acceptable. Temptation. The punch sent forth its grateful odour as we entered the room. We soon applied our selves to it, and discussed a variety of topics over our glasses. At length my companion departed, and as I felt no inclination to re turn to the summer-house, ordered a bed at the inn. On my return to the coffee-room I perceived a lady. As she turned towards me I almost lost possession of my senses. It was Julia, my first love, who, as I afterwards learned, was there with her husband, on their way to Italy. “Gracious Heaven!” she cried, “is it you, Robert?” I could but stammer “Julia!” in reply. “We have much to say to each other, Rob ert. Follow me to my room.” Once there, and my heart, my soul, were all hers again. She was not happy, she said; her husband was harsh and stern with her. Did I remember our former vows, our last farewell, our parting kiss? Forgive me, my Fanny; how frail and weak is man. Julia’s lips met mine once more. The door flung suddenly open, and a tall, gaunt stranger en tered abruptly, exclaiming, “Whom have 3 T ou w ith you at this hour, Julia?” We started up. Before us stood her hus band, his face livid as a corpse, and unable to articulate a word. With three strides he was at Julia’s side. He caught her by her long auburn hair, and dashed her to the ground, exclaiming, “False, worthless woman !” In the agony of the moment I caught up a knife from the table, and threatened to plunge it into his body if he stirred; but he rushed upon me, and seized me by the neck, w ith so vice-like a grasp, that I felt I was losing con sciousness. With the instinct of self-preser vation I thrust at him with the knife; he fell. He was stabbed to the heart. Julia was moaning over the body of her slaughtered lord, whilst I stood motionless and thunder-struck. O, thought I, would it were all a dream, and that I were once more on my sofa in the summer-house. Accursed be the red-coat; accursed be the pocket book ! My children, my own dear injured Fanny, I am a murderer! Meanwhile the alarm had been given, and I heard the sound of approaching steps and voices. Flight was my sole resource. I snatched up a light, and rushed from the house. The Crowning Horrors. I felt that I was pursued, and, hopeless of reaching the street, I dashed across the yard, and made for a barn, behind which were fields, on the outskirts of the town. My pur suers gained on me a pace, and as I neared the barn I felt myself seized by the coat Nerved by despair, I dashed aside the hand that clutched me, and thrust the light I bore into the stack of straw before me. H igh rose the flames, and in the confusion that followed I effected my escape into the fields. On wards, ever onwards, I hurried desperately, over height and hollow, over brake and bush. Was it a dream ? Alas, my bloody hands bore witness too truly- to the frightful reality. My strength forsook me; panting and exhausted I sank at the foot of a tree. What means that glare? why peal those bells? I looked around; the town was in flames—mine was the hand that fired it. Foresw-orn, a murderer and an incendiary, and all within one short hour! Thou said’st well, fiend, the best among us is he who has met with fewest inducements to sin. Louder and louder pealed the bells, and I was about to resume my flight, w-hen it suddenly oc curred to me that this was the Ist of May’, and my Fanny’s birth-da}-. Well had I ush ered in it, forsooth! Moreover, it was Wal purgis Night, when demons are said to hold their revels upon earth. - Cain. I paused for breath, and took hurried coun sel with rn}’self. I raised my hand to my brow, it was still bedaubed with blood. Away with these polluted garments, thought I, as I discarded coat and vest, and conceal ed them in the wood. None hut the maniac or murderer travels in this guise. I must do battle with some peasant for his jerkin—lie hid by day, and journey by night; food, too, I require, and money. And I now recollect ed that ray pocket-book was in the coat I bad deposited in the wood. What was to be done? Not for worlds would I have looked again on the blood of the murdered man, or beheld, through the opening trees, the red glare of the horizon. Sudden!}-, there ap proached, at a sober pace, a handsome trav elling carriage, and drawn by two horses, and driven by a man, who, with a quantity of luggage, was its only occupant. As he was about to pass me, the traveller drew up, alighted from his carriage, inspected it most minutely on every side, and then quitted the road and walked a little distance into the wood. Were mine yon carriage, it w r ere well w ith me, thought I. Means of escape—money clothes, all within my gi f asp; I may } r et be saved. ’Twas done as quick as thought. One spring, and I was in the seat. I seized the reins, and was turning the horses’ heads in the opposite direction, when their rightful owner issued from the wood and attempted to arrest their progress. I lashed them furious ly, they reared and started at full speed for wards, freeing themselves from their master’s hold, who fell at their feet. The carriage passed over his body. He shouted for help. His voice pierced to my very marrow; it was the voice of one I well knew and loved. Could I believe my ears ? I pulled up and stretched forth my neck to catch a glimpse of his face. It was my brother’s ! I threw myself upon his body, life was not yet extinct. I raised him ; I called on him ; but he heard me not, he recognized me not; his head drooped, all was over. Again were in}- hands imbrued in blood. Remorse, As I pressed my lips to ni}- brother’s life less brow I heard voices in the wood. Ere I was aware of what I meditated, I found my self in the thickest of the wood, having aban doned corpse and carriage to their fate. The sun was high in the heavens, the fatal Walpurgis Night was over. Morning be held me bereft of home and hope. The curse of Cain was upon me. Visions of the heads man and his axe, the gibbet and the wheel, flitted before me. Was an existence such as mine worth the struggle to save ? Should my own hand ?—hut no, I would deliver my self into the hands of justice. Now, that I had settled upon the course to adopt, I became somewhat more calm. I rose and prosecuted my route. I had lost all traces of the track I was to follow; no mat ter—sooner or later, my object would be at tained. The Tempter. I held my course until a turning in the road disclosed to me an overturned carriage lying along it, and at its side, who to m}’ hor ror or my delight, but—the well-known red coat. On perceiving me he grinned after his wont, saying, “Welcome; I thought we should meet again. Here have I remained the whole night. I despatched my postilion to the town in search of assistance, and he has not yet returned. “They need assistance more than you here,” was my reply, “the whole town is in flames.” “I guessed as much, from the appearance of the sky. But what brings you here in the wood, why are you not lending a helping hand }-onder ?” “Save me. lam steeped to the neck in crime. Since last we met, three short hours have sufficed to render me a perjured hus band, a cut-throat and an ineendiar}*, a high way robber, aye, and a fratricide; and yet, believe me if you will, I am at heart an up right man.” The redcoat stamped furiously with his misshapen limb as I spoke. “Know you me know,” he cried, in a ter rible voice, “and what I would with you ?” he at length exclaimed. “My soul, } r ou would my soul; for now *do I begin to believe you are in very earnest he whom I deemed you in Prague during my happier hours.” “Whom deemed you me, th<?n?” “The Evil One.” “Bow down, then, and worship me,” burst forth in tones that curdled my very blood. I knelt before him in an agon}- of despair; , with clasped hartde I besought him to save me, and my innocent wife and babes. As l thus besought him, his outstretched foot, (that foot!) spurned me, as I lay grovel-; ling in the dust before him. I rose, and re newed my entreaties. His voice withered my soul, as he exclaimed, “Behold the mor- : tal, in all the power and pride of his reason ! Lest his measure of iniquity should not be full, 10, he crowns it by falling at the feet of Satan!” “I know thee now, Satan, and thy wile 6,” I cried, “atld I defy thee; for I feel that my 60ul can yet be saved ; penitence and pray er may yet avail.” Harsh and contemptuous was his stem re ply : “No, sir, I arrt no evil spirit, but a man like yourseif. From a criminal, you haVe be* come a madman*—rO uncommon phase in the chapter of crime. I despise you, nor, were it in my power, would I stretch forth my hand to help you. What care 1 for your soul? It is already ripe for hell. Satan would hold it dear at the meanest coin!” Hope* Speechless and shame-stricken Stood I be fore him; at length, I mustered sufficient cour age to address him once more. ‘■Would } v ou were he for whom I took yott. If you save hue not, I am lost. Save me! But for } r ou, and all this had never been. Who broke in upon my slumber? Whd made me wander forth in the night ?” “Aye, aye, ’tis always so ; man ever seeks ’ to shift his burden upon another, even though that burden be his brother’s blood. True, I awoke } r ou; but say, was it I who aWoke within yott your slumbering lust for guilt ? As well may the midnight assassin impute ; his crimes to him who forged his sword.” j “But why enact the fiend ? Why tell mo that once to yield a hair, was to peril one’s ! head ?” “Was I mistaken ? Who better knows it than myself? I craved no hair, of your own free will you tendered it. Had vou resisted i the first impulse, had you called reflection And religion to your aid, all had been well Forget not that the first light and idle thought to which we give Wat is the orfe single h'ffir within the clutches of the fiend. You exult ed in your imagined virtue, you gloried in your hitherto unblemished career, hut the germs of vice were quickening within you ; ; they awaited hut the first opportunity to be j come matured.” “I see and own it all; but save me, the 1 moments are precious; save me, and I sin no j more.” “I hope to save you,- but you must aid me to do so. Know } r ou me now, and what I would of you ?” “You are my preserver, my- guardian an gel !” “Not in vain was my appearance in your garden, or the warning I gave you; hut be of good cheer, he who has faith has all.” I am SirTed.’ As he uttered the last word's I sank faint ing upon the ground. It was long ere 1 re j turned to consciousness; as I re-opened my eyes, bewildered hf the glare of the noon-da}’ sun, I saw the old man bending over me } the harsh expression of his countenance was gone. Benevolence seemed painted on eveiy feature. I looked wildly and vaguely on him. There was a confused din in my ears, as of the distant peal of bells, the rustling of the wind among the trees, or the far-off roar of some mountain torrent. I had lost all power of volition, and again I relapsed into a state of insensibility. At length I rallied sufficient ly to inquire \\ here I was, and what had hap pened. The old man still bending over me : there was pity, hope, encouragement in those eyes I had erst judged so ill. “Thou art saved,” he whispered in soft and soothing tones. —“Fear not; weak wert thou, and infirm of purpose. Demean thyself, henceforth, as a man—but, remember, hu man being never save I twice/’ Again I sank down in a kind of stupor, and was aroused by feeling the pressure of some invisible lips upon mine. The New World. That kiss restored me to earth, and now I discovered that my eyes still refrained clos ed. I started from the hard cold couch whereon 1 lay, and beheld my own Fanny bending over me. Her kiss it was that had dispelled that fearful trance ; my children clung about me, whilst Fanny rebuked me gently for having passed the night in a chilly summer-house. Had it not been for the arri val of ray servant, she assured me that no one would have suspected my return. “And has Christopher but just returned from the inn ?” I inquired; “did he pass the night there ?” “Why, you strange man, of course he did, and said such were your orders. But why on earth pass the night on this dreary sofa ? why not wake us up?” How relieved I felt! “And so you passed an undisturbed, quiet night ?” “Only too quiet, since I little dreamed you I were so near me. Don’t you know that it was Walpurgis Night, when evil sjiiits and goblins are abroad ?” I “Too well I know it!” I exclaimed, rub bing my eyes, and overjoyed to find, as I ’ clasped my Fanny to my heart, that our roof i was still standing, and our little town as peaceful as ever. I told my dream to Fanny. She laughed heartily. Temptation and the Tempter. It seemed as though my Walpurgis eve ad ventures were not yet terminated. As I have before said, it was my wife’s birthday, and some friends had been invited in honor of the occasion. As we were placing ourselves at table, the servant informed me that a strange geritle mnn, a Baron Mandevil, desired to speak with me. Fanny observed me start as the name was announced. “Never mind the tempter said she, “as long as the temj.ta’ion is absent; ; and never mind the temptation as long as I am present.” i I repaired to the summer-house, where I had passed the preceding flight, and there up on the very identical sofa that I had occu pied, sat the redcoat of Prague bin s If. He rose and greeted me as though we were old friends, saying, “I am as good as my word, you see. Do not be jealous; lam determin ed to make your charming Fanny’s acquain tance ; moreover, I bring two guests with me, my brother and his wife. I believe you have met my sister-in-law before.” I was expressing satisfaction at his visit, when in came a stout, burly gentleman, upon whose arm was leaning a lady in a travelling dress. Imagine my surprise—it Was Julia! I, of course, conducted my guests into the drawing-room. The Baron made my wife the most flatter ing speeches as I introduced him to her. “I lost my heart to yod at Prague,” he said, “upon reading all those pretty little secrets in your letter.” “I know all about it,” retorted Fanny. “However, we have fourteen hundred dollars to set against your knowledge of our secrets ; but you are a very bad man nevertheless, fot* you have made my husband pass a most wretched night.” “It is not over yet,” said I; advancing tm wards Fanny, and introducing Julia to her. I could perceive that Fanny was somewhat ta ken aback ; however, the wit that never de serts Womankind soon came to her assistance, and she gave Julia a most hearty Welcome. Ten minutes afterwards, and you might have sworn that they had been friends from infan cy ■ I learned from Julia, as we walked iu the garden after dinner, that she was very happy, and much attached to her worthy husband. She felt all a daughter’s affection for her broth er-in-law, who, as she told nte, after having been a great traveller, had now settled down at Pdsen, where he possessed a small estate* and passed his time between agriculture and literary pursuits. She spoke of him with the greatest enthusiasm, and main tamed that he NO. 31.