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VOL. XXXII.
JJ Y GKIEVE dc OKHE
EDITORS AND PROP1UETORS.
MILI.EDGEV ILLE, GEORGIA, TUESDAY, APRIL 2*, 1851
NO. 16.
,ccomp!>' ued
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M I S CELLANEOUS
THE WIFE’S STRATAGEM.
Captain Marmaduke Smith, whom 1
li-ve had the honoi of once or twice before
introducing to the readers of this Journal,
jj judging from his present mundane,
matter-of-fact character—about the last
man ntie would suspect of having been at
a „y time of his life a victim of the‘tender
pasduii.’ A levelation he volunteered to
[win! three cronies at the club the other
evening undeceived us. The captain on
this occasion, a3 was generally the case on
the morrow of a too great indulgence,
wis somewhat dull-spirited and lachiy-
m ue. The weathet, too, was gloomy ; a
melancholy barrel-organ had been dtoning
dreadfully fot some time beneath the win
dows ; and, to ctown all, Mr. Tape, who
has a quick eye tor the sentimental, had
dhcuveied, and read aloud, a common but
sad story of madness and suicide itt the
evening papet. It. is not, thetefore, so
surprising that tender recollections should
hate revived with unusual force in the vet
eran’s memory.
‘Vou would hardly believe it, Tape,’
said Captain Smith, alter a dull pause, and
emitting a sound somewhat resembling a
sivh, as he relighted the cigar which had
gone out dining Mr. Tape’s reading—‘you
would liatdly believe it perhaps ; bull was
woman witched once myself!’
‘Never!’ exclaimed the astonished gen-
llemati whom lie addressed. ‘ A man or
your stieiioth of mind, captain ? l can’t
believe it : it’s impossitde !’
‘It’s an extraordinary fact, I admit; and,
to own the truth, 1 have never been able
to account exactly tor it myself. Fortu
nately, I took the disorder as 1 did ihe
meades—young ; and neither of these
complaints is apt to be so fatal then, I’m
told, as when they pick a man up later in
life. It was however, a very severe attack
while it lasted. A vety charming hand at
1. Hiking a gudgeon was that delightful Cu-
rahe Dufour. I must say.’
‘Any relation to the Monsieur and Ma
dame Dufour we saw some years ago in
Pads V asked Tape. ‘The husband, i re
member, was remarkably fond of expres
sing his gratitude to you for having once
wonderfully carried him through his diffi
culties.”
Captain Smith looked shatply at Mr.
Tape, as if he suspected some lut king irony
beneath the bland innocence of his words.
Perceiving as usual, nothing in the speak
er's countenance, Mr. Smith—blowing at
tlie same time a tremendous cloud to con
ceal a faint blush which, to my extreme
astonishment, I observed stealing over his
unaccustomed features—said gravely, al
most solemnly '• ‘You, Mr. Tape, area
married man, and the father of a family,
and your own experiences thetefore in the
female line must lie ample for a lifetime ;
hut you, sir,’ continued the captain patron-
isingly, addressing auother of his auditors,
‘ate 1 believe, as yet “unattached,” in a le-
gtl sense, and may therefore derive profit
as well as instruction from an example of
the way in which ardent and inexperienc
ed youth is sometimes entrapped and bam
boozled by womankind. Mr. Tape oblige
toe by touching the bell.’
1 he instant the captain’s order had been
obeyed, he commenced the narration of
bis love adventure, and for a time spoke
with his accustomed calmness ; but towards
the close he became so exceedingly discur-
Slve and excited, and it was with so much
difficulty we drew fiom him many little
j'anicuhrs it was essential to hear, that 1
have been compelled, from regard to brev-
K y as well as strict decorum, to soften
d*wn and render in my own words some
°f the chief incidents of his mishap.
Just previous to the winter campaign
which witnessed the second siege and fall
Badajoz, Mr. Smith, in the zealous ex
cise of his perilous vocation, enteted that
Clt y in his usual disguise of a Spanish emm-
toyman, with stiict orders to keep his eyes
and ears wide open, and to report as spee
ch' as possible upon various military de-
laiij which it was desirable the British
2 p, ieral .should be made acquainted with,
-ffi. Smith, from the first moment the plea
sant proposition was hinted to him, had
roaitifested considerable reluctance to un-
dciiake the task ; more especially as Gen-
fcr ‘ ) I Phillipon, who commanded the French
S ar, is hi, had not very long before been
riIuc b too neat catching him, to render a
Possibly still more intimate acquaintance
*wib so sharp a practitioner at all desirable.
- avenheless, as the service was urgent,
no, it was agreed, so competent
t to the duty—indeed upon this
P“"t Mr. Smith remarked that the most
‘titering unanimity of opinion was exhibi
* e ‘ ail ihe gentlemen likely, should he
ccline the honor, to be selected in bis
p ace lle finally consented and in due
l| me found himself faiily within the walls
lI,e Jeyoted city. - ‘It was an uncomfort
a, ‘e business,’ the captain said—‘very
uc,) j,,—and j Q more wa y S |fi an 0 n e , Jt
^ 1 v a long lime to accomplish ; acd what
Jas Worse than all, rations were miserably
The French ganisott were living
jpon ® a lted horse-flesh, and you may guess,
•erefore, at the condition of the civilians’
■ ( -1ualling department. Wine was how-
and
as bir
ever, to be had in sufficient plenty ; and I
used frequently to pass a few bouts at a
place of entertainment kept by an Anda
lusian woman, whose bittet hatred of the
French invaders, and favorable disposition
towards the British, were well known to
me, though successfully concealed from
Napoleon’s soldiers, many of whom—sous-
officers chiefly—vvete her customers. My
chief amusement there was playing at dom
inoes for a few glasses. 1 played when 1
had a chance with a smart, goodish-looking
sous-Jieulenantof voltigeurs; a glib-tongued
chap, of the sort that tell all they know,
and something over, with very little press-
ing. His comrades addressed him as Vic
tor, the only name I then knew him by.—
He and 1 became very good friends, the
more readily that 1 was content he should j on the sick-list, and consequently only as
generally win. I soon reckoned Master i sisted at the assault of Badajoz as a distant
Victor up ; but there was an old, wuy spectator—a patt I always preferred when
gieden of a sergeant-major sometimes pre- 1 1 had a choice. It was an awful, terrible
sent, whose suspicious manner caused me business, added Mr. Smith with unusual
This was quite true. On slightly sepa
rating the gray t airs of tile captain’s whis
kets, the places wheie the ball had made
its entiance and exit were distinctly visi
ble.
‘A narrow escape,’ I remar ked.
‘Yes, rather; but a miss is as good as a
mile. The effusion of blood nearly choked
me ; and it was astonishing how much wine
and spirits it required to wash the taste
out of my mouth. 1 found,’ continued Mr.
Smith, ‘on arriving at head-quarters, Ciu
dad Rodrigo had fallen as teported, and
that Lord Wellington was huirying on to
storm Badajoz before the echo of his guns
should have reached Massena or Soult in
the foul’s paradise wheie they were both
slumbering. 1 was of course for some lime
frequent twinges. One day especially 1
caught him looking at me in a way that
sent the blood tralloniug through my veins
like wildfire. A look, Mr. Tapie, which
solemnity. ‘I am not much of a philoso
pher that I know of, nor, except in service
hours, particularly given to religion, but 1
remember, when the roar and tumult of the
may be vety likely followed in a few mo-! fieree hurricane broke upon the calm and
ments afterwards by a baiter, or by half-a- silence of the night, and a storm of hell-
dozen bullets through one’s body, is apt to
excite an unpleasant sensation.’
‘1 should think so. I wouldn’t be in
such a predicament for the creation !’
‘It is a situation that would hardly suit
you Mr. Tape,’ replied the veteran with a
grim smile. ‘Well, the grey-headed old
fox followed up his look with a number of
interesting queries concerning my bitrh,
paientage, and present occupation, my an
swers to which so operated upon him, that
I felt quite cet tain when be shook hands
with me, and expressed himself perfectly
satisfied, and saunteted carelessly out of
the place, that be was gone to report bis
sut raises, and be probably back again in
two twos with a file of soldiers and an order
for my arrest. He had put me so smartly
through my facings, that although it was
quite a cold day in Spain, I give you my
honor I perspired to the vety tips of my
fingers and toes. The chance of escape
was, I felt, almost desperate. The previ
ous evening a rumor bad circulated that
the British general had stormed Ciudad-
Rodrigo, and might therefore be already
hastening in his seven-league boots towards
Badaj'tz. The French were consequently
more than ever on the elert, and keen eyes
watched with sharpened eagerness for in
dications of sympathy or cortespondence
between the citizens and the advancing ar
my. 1 jumped up as soon as the sergeant
major had disappeared 'and was about to
follow, when the mistress of the place ap
proached, and said hastily, ‘ l have heard
all, and if not quick, you will be sacrific
ed by those French dogs : iltis way.’ I
followed to an inner apartment, wheie she
drew from a well-concealed recess a
French officer’s uniform, complete. “On
with it!” she exclaimed as she left the
room. “ 1 know the word and counter
sign.” I did not requite twice telling, you
may he sine ; and in less than no time was
togged off beautifully in a lieutenant’s uni
form, and walking at a smart pace towards
fire seemed to hurst from and encircle the
devoted city, wondering what the stars,
which weie shining brightly overhead,
thought of the strife and din they looked so
calmly down upon. It was gallantly done
however, the vetetan added in a brisker
tone, ‘and read well in the Gazette ; and
that perhaps is the chief thing.’
‘But what,’ I asked, ‘has all ibis to do
with the charming Coralieand your love-ad
venture V
‘ Everything to do with it, as you will
immediately find. I remained in Badajoz
a considerable lime after the departure of
the army, and was a mure frequent visitor
than ever at the house of the excellent dame
who had so opportunely aided my escape.
She was a kind-hearted soul with all her
vindictiveness ; and now that the French
were no longer riding rough-shod over the
city, spoke of those who were lurking about
in concealment—of whom there were be
lieved to be not a few—with sorrow and
compassion. At length the wound I re
ceived at Lieutenant Victor’s hands was
thoroughly healed, and 1 was thinking of
departure, when the Andalusian dame in
troduced me in her taciturn expressive way
to a charming young French-woman,
whose husband, a Spaniard, had been slain
during the assault or sack of the city. The
intimacy thus begun soon kindled on my
part into an intense admiration. Coralie.
was gentle, artless, confiding as she was
beautiful, and moreover—as Jeannette, hei
soiightly, black-eyed maid informed mein
confidence—extremely rich. Here,gentle
men, was a combination of charms to which
only a heart of-.tone could remain insensi
ble,and mine at thetime wasnotonlyyoung,
but particularly sensitive andteiider.oAing
in some degtee, I dare say, to the low diet
to which 1 had been so long confined ; for
nothing, in my opinion, takes the sense and
pluck out of a man so quickly as that. At
j all events I soon surrendered at discretion,
and was coyly accepted by the blushing la-
one of the gates. 1 was within twenty-yards jdy. There was only one obstacle,’ she
timidly observed ‘ to our happiness. The
relatives of her late husband, by law hei
guardians, were prejudiced, mercenary
vvtetches, anxious to mat ry her to an old
hunk-of a Spaniard, so that the property
of her late husband, chiefly consisting of
precious stones—he had been a lapidaty—
might not pass into the hands of foreigners.
I can scarcely believe H now, added Mr.
Smith with great heat ; ‘ but if l didn’t
swallow all this stuff like sack and sugar,
I’m a Dutchman ! The thought of it, old
as I am, sets my very blood on fire.’
‘ At length,’ continued Mr. Marmaduke
Smith, as soon as he had partially recover
ed his equanimity—* at length it was a-
greed, after all sorts of schemes had been
canvassed and rejected, that the fair widow
should be smuggled out of Badajoz andlug-
gage in a large chest, which Jeannett and
the Audalusian landlady—I forget that wo
man’s name—undertook to have properly
of the corps de-garde, when whom should
I run agaiust but Sous-Lieutenant Victor !
He stared, but either did not for the mo
ment recognise me, or else doubted the
evidence of his own senses. I quickened
my steps—the guard challenged—I gave
the words, “Napoleon, Austei lilz !”—pas
sed on ; as soon as a turn of the road hid
me from view, I increased my pace to a run.
My horse, 1 should have slated had been
left in sure hands at about two miles dis
tance. Could 1 reach so far, thete was, 1
felt, a chance. Unfortunately I had not
gone more than five or six hundred yards,
when a hubbub of shouts and musket-shots
in my rear announced that I was pursued.
I glanced round ; and I assure you, gentle
men, I have seen in my life many pleasant
er prospects than met my view—Richmond
Hill for instance, on a fine summer day.—
between twenty and thirty voltigeuis,
headed by my friend Victor, who had arm
ed himself, like the others with a musket, prepared. The marriage ceremony was to
were in full pursuit ; and once, I was j be performed by a priest at a village affiout
quite satisfied, within gun-shot, my busi
ness would be very effectually and spee
dily settled.
‘I ran on with eager desperation ; and
though giadually neared by my friends,
gained the hut where l had left the horse in
safety. The voltigeurs were thrown out for
a few minutes. They knew, however,
that I had not passed the thickish clumps
of trees which partially concealed the cot
tage ; and they extended themselves in a
semicircle to enclose, and thus make sure
of their prey. Juan Sanchez, luckily for
himself was not a home ; hut my horse, as
I have stated, was safe in prime condition
for a race. L saddled, bridled, and btought
him out, still concealed by the trees and
from the French, whose exulting shouts as
they gradually closed upon the spot, grew
momentarily louder and fiercer. Ihe -ole
desperate chance left was to dasn right
through them ; and I don t mind telling
you, gentlemen, that I was confoundedly
frightened, and that but for the certainty of
being instantly sacrificed without benefit of
cletgy I should have surrendered at once.—
There was, however, no time for shilly
shallying. I took another pull at the sad
dle-girths, mounted, diove the only sput 1
had time to strap on sharply into the ani
mals flank, and in an instant broke covet in
full and near view of the expecting and im
patient voltigeurs ; and a vety brilliant re
ception they gave me—quite a stunner in
fact ! It’s a very grand thing, no, doubt
to be the exclusive object of altenti m to
twenty or thiity gallant men, but so little
selfish, gentlemen, have l been from my
youth upwaids in the article of “glory.”
that l assure you I should have been remar
kably well pleased to have had a few com
panions—the more the merrier—to share
twelve English miles off, with whom Cora
lie undertook to communicate. * I trust.’
said that lady, ‘ to the honour of a British
officer—I had not then received my commis
sion but no matter—‘ that you, Captain
Smith, will respect the sanctity of my con
cealment till we arrive in the presence of
the reverend gentleman who,’ she added
with a smile like a sunset, * will, I trust,
unite our destines for ever.’ She placed,
as she spoke, her charming little hand in
mine, and 1, you will hardly credit it, tum-
oled down on my knees, arid vowed to re
ligiously respect the dear angel’s slightest
wish ! Mr. Tape, for mercy’s sake, pass
the wine, or the bare recollection will choke
me !’
I must now, for the reasons previously
stated, continue the narrative in my own
wotds.
Every thing was speedily arranged for
flight. Mr. Smith found no difficulty in
procuring fiom the Spanish commandant
an order which would enable him to pass
his luggage through the barrier unsearch
ed ; Jeannette was punctual at the rendez
vous, and pointed exulting to a laige chest,
which she whispered contained the trem
bling Coralie. The chinks were sufficient
ly wide to admit of the requisite quantity
of air ; it locked inside, and when a kind of
sailcloth was thrown loosely over it, there
was nothing very unusual in its appearance.
Tenderly, tremulously did the rejoicing
lover assist the precious load into the hired
bullock cart, and off they staited, Mr. Smith
and Jeannette walking by the side of the
richly-freighted vehicle.
Mr. Smith trod on air, but the cart,
which had to be dragged over some of the
worst roads in the world, mocked his im
patience by its marvellously slow progress,
the monopoly which I eng.ossed as I came and when they halted at noon to give the
suddenly into sight. The flashes, reports, j oxen water, they were still three good
bullets, sacres, which in an instant gleamed miles from their destination,
in my eyes, and roared and sang about my j * Ho you think I said Mr. Smith in a
ears, were deafening, How they all con | whisper to Jeannette, holding up a full pint
tiivedtomiss me 1 cannot imagine, but
miss me they did ; and I passed them about
sixty paces, when who should start up over
a hedge, a few yards in advance, but my
domino-player Sous Lieutenant Victor!
In an instant his musket was raised within
two or three feet of my face. Flash ! —
bang! I fell a blow as if from a thrust of
red-hot steel; and for a moment made sure
that my head was off. With difficulty I
kept my seat. The horse dashed ot>, and
1 was speedily beyond the chance of cap-
tuie or persuil. Idiewbtidle at the first
villiage 1 reached, and found that Victot’s
I bullet had gone through both cheeks,
j The marks, you see, are still plain enough.
flask which lie had just drawn from his
pocket, and pointing towards ihe chest—
‘ Do you think 1—Brandy and water—eh?’
Jeannette nodded, and the gallant Smith
gently approached, tapped at the lid, and
in a soft low whisper proffered the cordial.
The lid was, with the slightest possible de
lay, just sufficiently raised to admit the
flask, and instantly reclosed and locked.—
In about ten minutes the flask was returned
as silently as it had been received. The en
amoured soldier raised it to his lips, made
a profound inclination towards his conceal
ed fiancee, and said gently, ‘ A votre same,
ebarmante Coralie !’ The beuignanl and
joyous expression o! Mr. Smith’s face, as
he vainly elevated the angle of the flask in ,
expectation of the anticipated draught, as- j
sumed an exceedingly puzzled and bewil
dered expression. He peered into the,
opaque tin vessel ; pushed his little finger
into its neck to remove the loose cork or
other substance that impeded the genial
flow ; then shook it, and listened curiously j
for a splash or gugle. Not a sound ! Cor-1
alie had drained it to the last drop ! Mr.
Smith looked with comical earnestness at !
Jeannette, who burst into a fit of uncontroll
able laughter.
‘ Madame is thirsty,’ she said, as soon as
•she could catch sufficient breath : * it must
be so hot in there.’
‘ A full pint!’ said the captain, still in
blank astonishment, ‘ and strong—very !’
The approach of the carter interrupted
what he further might have had to say, and
in a few minutes the journey was resumed.
The captain fell into a reverie which was
not broken till the cart again stopped.—
The chest was glided gently to the ground :
the driver, who had been previously, paid,
turned the heads of his team towaids Ba
dajoz, and with a brief salutation departed
bomewai d.
Jennette was stooping over the chest,
conversing in a low tone with her mistress,
and Captain Smith surveyed the position in
which he found himself with some astonish
ment. No house, much less a church or vil
lage, was visible, and not a human being
was to be seen.
‘ Captain Smith,’ said Jeannette, ap
proaching the puzzled warrior with some
hesitation, * a slight contretemps has oc
curred. The ftiends^who were to have met
us here, and helped to convey our ptecious
charge to a place of safety, are not, as you
perceive, arrived ; perhaps they do not
think i' prudent to venture quite so far.’
‘ llis quite apparent they are not here,’
observed Mr. Smith; ‘ but why not have
proceeded in the catt ]’
‘ What, captain ! Betray your and mad
ame’s secret to youder Spanish boor. How
you talk !’
‘ Well, but my good girl,' what is to be
done ? Will madame get out and walk ?’
‘ Impossible—impossible !’ ejeculated
the aimable damsel. ‘ We should be both
recognised, dragged hack to that hateful
Badajoz, and madame would be shut up in
a convent for life. It is but about a quar
ter of a mile,’ added Jeannette, in an in
sisting, caressing tone, ‘ and madame is not
so very heavy.’
* The devil !’ exclaimed Mr. Smith, ta
ken completely aback by this extraordinary
proposal. 1 You can’t mean that I should
take that ittfet that chest upon my
shoulders !’
* Mon Dieu ! what else can be done V re
plied Jeannette with pathetic earnestness :
‘ unless you at e determined to sacrifice my
dear mistress—she whom you pretended
to so love—you hard-hearted, faithless
man !’
Partially moved by the damsel’s tearful
vehemence, Mr. Smith reluctantly ap
proached, and gently lifted one end of the
chest, as an experiment.
‘ There are a great many valuables be
sides madame,’ said Jeannette, in teply to
the captain’s look, ‘ and silver coin is, you
know, very heavy.
‘ Ah !’ exclaimed the perplexed lover.—
* It is ducediy unfortunate—still Don’t
you think,’ lie added earnestly, after again
essaying the weight of the precious btntlien,
* that if madame were to wrap herself well
up in this sail cloth, we might reach your
friend the priest’s house without detection?’
‘ Oh, no—no—no !’ rejoined the girl.—
Mon Dieu ! how can you think of expos
ing madame to such hazard ?’
‘ How far do you say it is ?’ asked Cap-
thin Smith, after a rather sullen pause.
Only just over the fields yonder half a
mile perhaps.
Mr. Smith still hesitated, but finally the
teats and entreaties of the attendant, his
regard for the lady and her fortune, the
necessity of the position, in short, deter
mined him to undertake the task. A belt
was passed tightly round the chest, by
means of which he could keep it on his back
and after several unsuccessful efforts, the
chaiming load was fairly hoisted, and on
the captain manfully staggered, Jeannette
bringing up the rear.
Valieutly did Mr. Smith, though prespir
ing in every pore of his body, and dry as a
cartouch box—for madame had emptied the
only flask he had, toil on under a burthen
wtiich seemed to grind his shoulder blades
to powder. He declares he must have lost
a stone of flesh at least before, after numer
ous restings he arrived, at the end of about
an hour, at the door of a small house, which
Jeannette announced to be the private res
idence of the priest. The door was quick
ly opened by a smart lad, who seemed to
have been expecting them; the chest was
Deposited on itie floor, and Jeannette in
stantly vanished. The lad, with consider
ate intelligence, handed Mr. Smiih a
draught of wine. It was scarcely swallow
ed when the key turned in the lock, the ea
ger lover, greatly revived by the wine,
sprang forward with extended aTms, and
teceived ir. his enthusiastic embrace whom
do you think ?
‘Coralie, half stifled for the want of air
and nearly dead with fright? suggested
Mr. Tape.
‘That rascally Sous-Lieutenant Victor!
half drunk with braudy and water,’ roared
Captain Smith, who had by this time work
ed himself into a slate of great excitement.
At the same moment in ran Jeannette, and
I could hardly believe my eyes, that Jeza
bel Coralie* followed by half a dozen
French voltigeui s, screaming vvitlt laughter!
I saw 1 was done,’ continued Mr. Smith,
hut not for the moment precisely how, and
but for Itis comrades, l should have settled
old and new scores with Master Victor vety
quickly. As it was, they had some difficuly
in getting him out of my clutches, for l was
as you may suppose, awfully savage. Au
houi or so afterwards when philosophy, a
pipe, and some very capital wine—they'
were not had fellows those voltigeurs—had
exercised their soothing influence, l was
informed of the exact motives and particu
lars of the trick which had been played me.
Coralie was Vicfbr Dufour’s wife. He had
been wounded atthe assault of Badajoz, and
successfully concealed in that Andalusian
woman’s house; and as the best, perhaps
only mode of saving him from a Spanish
prison, or worse, the scheme of which I had
been the victim was concocted. Had not
Dufour wounded me, they would, I was as
sured, have thrown themselves upon my
honor and generosity—which honor and
generosity, by ihe by, would never have
got Coralie’s husband upon my back, I’ll
be sworn!’
‘You will forgive us, mon cher capitaiue?
said that lady with one of her sweetest
smiles, as she handed me a cup of wine.—
In love and war you know, everything is
fair.’
‘A soldier, gentlemen, is not made of ad
amant, I was I confess, softened; and by
the time the party broke up, we were all
the best friends in the world.’
‘And so that fat, jolly looking Madame
Dufour we saw in Paris, is the beautiful j
Coralie that bewitched Mr. Smith;’ said
Mr. Tape thoughtfully—‘Well’
‘She was younger forty years ago, Mr.
Tape, than when you saw her. Beautiful
Cot alies are rare, 1 fancy, at her present
age, and very fortunately, too, in my opin
ion, continued Captain Smith;’ for whal.
I should like to know, world become of the
paace and comfort of society, if a woman of
sixty could bewitch a man as easily as she
does at sixteen?’—Chambers.
A JUSTICE DEALING DRUNKARD.
While riding, not long since, in the in
terior of Virginia, and passing along a rare
ly frequented road, I heard a noise that at
once arrested my attention. It was a solil
oquy in a very loud key, and interlarded
with an occasional oath, to prove that the
colloquist was in earnest. Guiding my
horse quickly in the direction of the voice,
[ saw a fellow about half corned, deliber
ately cutting a long hickory switch, and
talking to himself at the same time, with
gteat earnestness. I thought at first, that
he intended to whip his horse that stood
tied, hard by, and I was about turning off.
when a new set of phrases to self-talk ar
rested me at once, and made me the wit
ness of the following scene : ‘ Well, now,
Leroy Jenkins, I expect you’ll catch goss
in a little while. It won’t be long first,
before Leroy Jenkins’ hide“gets painted
some. I’ll pay you, Leroy Jenkins, for all
this, you trifling cur, you.’
Being in some doubt whether Leroy
Jenkins was the name of the horse, or
some expected combatant, whose prepara
tions, of a character similar to those I have
mentioned, were quietly progressing a
short distance off l determined to await
the issue of these fierce threats, and throw
ing my leg over my saddle, I prepared to
become a calm spectator of the fight and
perhaps umpire when one patty or the
other got enough. My friend of the hick
ory as soon as he had cut and trimmed his
switch, and satisfied himself of its eiastici
ty, and unbroken strength, laid i' down on
the ground, talking all the time, in a very
truculent manner, of Leroy Jenkins. De
liberately taking offhis coat, aud laying it
on a log, he took up his flail, and the first
I heatd of his succeeding soliloquy, was
about as follows : * Now, Leroy Jenkins,
aint you ashsmed of yourself, you nasty
hound pup, you ; and 1 ana just now going
to give you your hitters, you infernal mean
reptile, you j’
In the mean time I leaned a little for
ward to catch a glimpse of his antagonist,
hut though the coast was comparatively
clear, I could not see a human face save
that of the speaker, and l was now very
sure that he did not mean his hotse, for he
look an opposite direction. 1 had small
time, however, for reflection, for as his
speech waxed warmer, he stepped a little
forward, and'aimed a soil of backhanded
blow, which descended with a keen sound
and considerable force on—his own back !
‘ There, you infernal devil, take that, and
that, (shrowshrow the switch descended.,?
That’s for your meanness, Leroy Jenkins :
Now. sir, what are you going to tell your
wife, when you get home, about the money
yer got for her eggs and huckleberries,
you mean pup 1 You spent it for liquor,
did you ? There, take that, sir, (shrow,
shrow, shrow.) Well 1 don’t care if it does
hurt, it serves you tight, Leroy Jenkins,
for making a beast of yourself, and fooling
your wife, you mean whelp you ! You
know, sir, when you left home, she told
you that you couldn’t pass Simmon’s with
out spending all that money. You know
she did don’t you 1—Now, sir, take that,
(shrow, shrow,shrow,) and didn’t you prom
ise her, Leroy Jenkins, that you wouldn’t
go near Simmon’s, and would be sure to
buy her a nice glass, and the prettiest kind
of calico for her bonnet ? Didn’t you, now,
you cussed mean dog, you ? Yes, sir, you
know you did, (shrow, slirow, shrow, and
the hickory descended with frightful kean-
ness,) and, Leroy Jenkins, what made you
such a fool as to go by Simmon’s at all,
when you saw Tom Walker standing in
the door ready to treat you, and to drink all
your money up ? What made you do that,
you rotten herring, you? (shrow, shrow.)
Well, sir. I’ll pay you for all this (shrow,
shrow.) You’ll go to town and spend your
wife’s money for whisky again, will you ?’
—(and the blows were now perpetrated
with more frequency than his words.)
Although almost dying with suppressed
laughter, I watched the infliction of this
self-acting punishment, which was bestow
ed with far more zeal than were the thou
sands of stiipes whereby Sancho was to
disenchant the lady-love of his master. At
length Leroy Jenkins stoppod, either
through pure exhaustion, or because be
thought the delinquency was sufficiently
punished. Throwing away his switch,
which by this time was a little frayed at
the end, he resumed his coat and his speech:
‘ Now, Leroy Jenkins, now, 6ir, you’ve got
licked, and well licked, too, this lime, and
the very next lime you do this trick, I’ll
just fairly take the hide off of you. You
near that, don’t you ? and now go home,
sir, to your wife and beg her pardon, you
meau cuss, you,’ I slipped away unper
ceived by this justice dealing culprit, but 1
never think of this scene without an irre-
sistable desire to laugh. And even now,
whenever there happens to be a little fami
ly breeze, 1 can always make my wife smile
by telling her, ‘ I’ll go into the woods, my
detir, and as a punishment for having vexed
you, for a while I’ll play Leroy Jenkins V
A Gentleman was once stopped in the
streets of London by a stranger, who ask
ed him. ‘ Did you ever thank God for your
reasou !’
‘ I don’t know that I ever did,’ the gen-.
tleman replied.
‘ Do it quickly then,’ said the stratger,;
‘ for I have lost mine.’
We are very liable to forget to thank j
God for his common mercies, whose great
ness we can never duly estimate till we
have experienced iheir loss.
“ I knew an excellent old laJy,”says the
author of the Life for the Lazy,” who al
ways dated from the time'when their hor
ses rail away.’ To be sure it was a remar
kable hegira, and she used to remark, in
describing it, that ‘she put the firmest reli
anceon providence till the breeching broke,
and then she gave up.’*
THE FOREST FUNERAL.
She was a fair child, with tresses of long
black hair lying over her pillow. Her eye
was datk and piercing, aud as it met mine
she started slightly, but looked up and
smiled. I spoke to her father, and turning f
to her, asked her if she knew her condition?
“I know that my Redeemer liveth,” said |
she in a voice whose melody was like the |
sweetest stratus of the Julian. You may ■
imagine the answer startled me, and with I
a very few words of the like import, I turn- 1
ed from her. A half hour passed, and she
spoke in that same deep, rich, melodious
voice:
“Father, I am cold—lie down beside me,
and the old man laid down by his dying
child, and she twined her arms around his
neck, and murmured in a dreamy voice,
“Dear Father, dear Falhet!”
“My child,” said the old man, “doth the
flood seem deep to thee?”
“Nay, father, my soul is strong.’’
“Seesc thou the thither shore?
“I see it, father, aud its banks are green
with immortal verdure.”
“Heareat thou the voices of its inhabi
tants?”
“1 hear them, father—the voices of an
gels falling from afar in the still and sol
emn night time—and they call me. Her
voice, too, father! Oh! I heard it then.”
“Doth she speak to thee?”
“She speaketh in tones most heavenly.”
“Doth she smile?”
“An angel srnile ! but a cold, calm smile,
but 1 am cold—cold! Father, there is a
mist in the room; you’ll be lonely. Is this
death father?”
“It is death my Mary.”
“Thank God!”
Sabbath evening came, and a slow pro
cession wound through the forest to the lit
tle schoolhouse. There, with simple rites,
the clergyman performed his duty, and went
to the grave. The precession was short.
There were hardy men and rough, in shoot
ing jackets, and come with rifles on their
shoulders. But their warm hearts gave
beauty to their unshaved faces, and they
stood in reverent silence by the grave.—
The river mut mured, and the birds sang,
and so we buried her.
I saw the sun go down from the same
spot, aud the sta rs were bright before I
left, for I always had ari idea a grave yard
was the nearest place to heaven on eaith ;
and with old Thomas Brown, I love to see
a church in a grave yard, for even aa we
pass through the place of God on earth, so
we must through the grave to the temple of
God oil high.
ANNABEL LEE.
[There are few readers of American po
etry to whom the sight of the above name
will not recall the ringing melody of Poe’s
popular lines to her memory. Thefollowing
article from the Daily Free Democrat, of
Milwaukie, was suggested by the obituary
notice prefixed to it, and is an interesting
commentary upon the poem.]
Died—On Monday evening, February
24, of inflamation of the brain after an ill
ness of 38 hours, Annabel Lee, only daughj
ter of Mary J. and T. C. Leland, aged 9
months and two weeks.
Connected with the above announcement
is a piece of beautiful history. This Ann
abel Lee Leland was the daughter of par
ents who had always cherished the warm
est affection for the late gifted and unfor
tunate Edgar A. Poe. The house had
been a refuge for him when all others were
shut against him, and in the bitterest hours
of trial aud suffering he had found in them
warm and steady friends. Often had they
taken him, in a state of inebriation, from
the streets in winter, when he must have
perished in the cold, and provided him shel
ter, comfort, and sympathy. So in theii
company was spent some of the most calm
and cheerful hours of the latter part of his
life.
This attachment between them was the
result of a sincere affection he had cherish
ed for the Mary Leland mentioned in the
announcement, in her youth. He had
known her when she was about twelve years
old, a fait haired, bright eyed, light hearted
g ir l—and he was a romantic inspired boy
of seventeen. But when he left school,
they weie 6eperated for many years, he
heard she was dangerously sick and after
wards supposed she was dead. But the
bright dreams inspired by her, remained
with him, and he told us, that her angel
form often rose up before him in his de
gradation and darkness and ruin. It was
like a beam of light that gilded the gloom
of his existence and shed its rays through
the thick clouds that rolled about his head.
In one of those moments, when, frenzied by
intoxication, the love light of his early days
appeared before him, he thought how it was
untimely quenched and left him in the dark
ness alone, friendless, helpless and hope
less, he seized and wrote those wild sweet
strains of “Annabel Lee”—and “the cloud
that came out by night.”
< Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee.”
Shortly afterward, chance threw him in
the way of her he had supposed to be dead.
She wa- the wife of T. C. Leland, mention
ed iffiove. But she cherished a sympathy
for the miserable child of genius, her hus
band befriended, and afterwards loved him
for his talents, his warm heart, and the daz
zling attractions of his conversation. The
only child, born shortly before his death
of these friends of the poet, out of teudei
respect and admiration of him was named
after the veises referred to. And here we
see that this child is dead. The cold sod,
is above the form of him whose life was
clouded by suffering and whose sun went
out in darkness. Lightly may it rpst on
his bosom, is the prayer of those who loved
him, and lasting will be their remembrance
of the proud and gifted one.
Wives well Appreciated.—The cler
gy of the Greek Church are . permitted to
marry while in deacon’s orders, but their
bishops and mouks are unmarried. If,
however, the wife of a papas dies, he can
not give her a successor; and it is said that
the knowledge of this gains her a larg» r
amount of respect and attention than is
usually the lot of her sex in the East. A
friend of mine, who bad resided some time
in Syria, was much surprised upon enter
ing the bouse of one of the principal priests,
to find the reverend papas washing
with his own hands the linen of the
household. On inquiring the reason, the
papas replied, “l do this to save my wife
labor, that she may live the longer ; for
you know, O Kyrie, that the lawot out
church does not permit me to have another,
and I wish to keep this as long as I can.”
iwwti MEN.
love a modest unassuming young
man, wherever we find him, in a counting
room or law office, at the bellows or crank,
at the roller stand or the type case, or a
claim back or in the pulpit. Among the
world of brass and impudence, be slanJs
foith tin honor to himself—showing to oth
ers that he at least has had a good bring
ing up, and knows what belongs to good
manners. Ask him a question, and he will
not give you a snappash reply, or look
cross enough to bke you. If you are look-
' n £ ^ or a»y thing, he will take pains to
nd it for you if he can. When in the
company of others, he won’t usurp tbe con
versation and endeavor to call the attention
° ° l e, u himself, by boisterous lan
guage, he listens attentively to his seniors,
an modestly advances his opinion. We
ove such a young man, we do sincerely,
and his company We highly prize. If he
meets you in the street, he pleasantly
bows and mildly bids- you good morning.
\ ou do not see him standing at the corner
using profanity, or find him at the entrance
of the churches- on the Sabbath. He qui
etly enters bis seal without a single flourish ;
he goes to hear and not to see. Such
young men there are in this city. We
meet them often.. You will find them in
some of our work shops, printing offices,
and other places, where to work they come
upon the stage of active life, they must
succeed—it cannot be otherwise. We
would give more for a modest, uuassuming
young man, for all the piactical business of
life, than for a scare of brassy impudent
rascals, who are not worth the bread they
keep from moulding.
AN OLD JOKE IN A NEW DRESS.
An old lawyer in the city of New York
tells a good joke about one of his clients.
We have read or heard something like it
before, but even if we have, so good a sto
ry will bear repetition. Here it is :
A fellow had been arraigned before the
police for stealing a set of silver spoons.—
I be stolen articles were found upon the
culprit, and there was no use in attempt
ing to deny the charge. Lawyer G
was applied to by the prisoner as counsel;
and, seeing no escape for his client except
on the plea of insanity or idiocy, he instruc
ted the fellow to put on* as silly a look as
possible, and when any question was put
to him to utter in a drawling manner, with
idiotic expression, the word ‘spoons.’ If
successful, the fee was to be twenty dollars.
The court proceeded to business; the
charge was read, and the question put to
the prisoner—‘Guilty or not guihj V
‘Spoons!’ ejaculated the culprit.
1 he court put several questions to him,
but ‘spoons! spoons !’ was all the answer
it could elicit.
The fellow is a fool!’ said the judge :
‘let him go about his business.’
The prisoner left the room, and the law
yer followed close in his wake ; and when
itiey had got into the hall ths counsel tapp
ed his client on the shoulder, saying—
‘Now my good fellow, that twenty dollars.’
The rogue, looking the lawyer full in the
face, putting on a grotesque and silly ex
pression, and winking with one ®ye, ex
claimed — “ Spoons /” and then- made
tracks
How the Boy knew his Father.—At a
justice’s court, in the Green Mountain
State, some years ago, the following
amusing incident occurred. It was relat
ed to us by one of the attorneys preseut on
tbe occasion:
A very ill-natured person was concern
ed in a street brawl, one daik night, arid
got a blow from somebody, which resulted
in a black eye and a suit for assault and
battery. In the course of the trial, a son
of the plaintiff was called to the witness
stand—a‘regular chip of the old block’—
about fourteen years of age. The boy tes
tified to some knowledge of the affray, but
couldn't give many particulars aa tbe night
was an exceedingly datk one. Now, sir,’
said the cross examining attorney, ‘ will
you venture to swear that your father was
there at all.’
‘Yes, sir, I know he was there.*
‘But you say you didn’t see him, nor
hear him speak, hew, then, do you know
he was present F
‘Why, I’ll tell yog ; just as I came out
of the gate, I heard Joe Smith, the defen
dant, holler out, ‘There goes the old devil!’
I know he meant dad !’—Boston Post.
Small Mocth one Husband—Large,
Two.—Old Governor L—— , of Vermont,
was one of the most iu veterate jokers of tbe
early times, in which he figured. An an
ecdote is told of him, which has never
been related in print, and never can, per
haps, with much effect, but we will try it.
One fall* a9 he was returning from tbe Leg
islature on horseback, as usual at that day,
he was hailed from a house by a garrulous
old maid, who had annoyed him with ques
tions respecting public affairs.
“Well, Governor,” said she, coming out
towards the road, “what new law have you
passed at Mountpelter this time V*
“Well, one rather singular law among
the rest,” he replied.
“Dew tell ! Now what is it, Governor ?”
asked the excited querist.
“Why, that the woman iu each town
who has tbe smallest mouth shall be war
ranted a husband.”
“Why, whot!” said she, drawing up her
mouth to the smallest compasa “uhota
queer curious lor that is !”
A DUTCHMAN’S REASON.
Some ten years since an old Dutchman
perchased in the vicriry of Brooklyn a snug
little farm for nine thousand dollars. Last
week a lot of land speculators called on
him to buy him out. On asking his price,
he said he would take “sixty thousand dol
lar* no less.” “And how much may re
main on bond and mortgage?” “Nine thou
sand dollars.” “And why not more?” “re
plied the would-be purchaser. “Because
der place an’t worth any more.
Passion distorts beauty, and makes ug
liness ten times more repulsive. The
handsomest face ceases to be attractive, af
ter you have once seen its fair owner in a
fury, while sweet temper and pleasant ex
pression will give to homeliness a halo of
beauty that make even the postively ugly
both comely and attractive.
A lady asked a physician whether snuff
was injurous to the brain t “No.** said the
