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from tlie hole. The head of another was perceptible a moment afterwards, as the two spoke together. The bead was then with drawn, the trap door carefully let down, a few dry leaves scattered upon it, when the fellow struck off down the creek, and turn ing the point of the opposite ridge was soon out of sight. “ Well,” said Arden, “this is good luck indeed—much better than I expected; this is the rendezvous, I doubt not, at which tlie villains are to meet to-morrow night—here are the negroes whom they have seduced from their owners, and concealed for the purpose of running them of}’ and selling them ; and here, too, I expect, the money which was stolen from me is deposited, un til Strain should get ready to start. So, then, I was to pay the expenses of the trip; but I will forestall them yet, or my name is not Edward Arden. I’ll make them pay for their experiment, if there is law in Georgia—the scoundrels. This is not the first batch of runaways they have decoyed off, but if I am not greatly mistaken it will be the last.” Satisfied that this was to be live place of meeting for the next night, at which time Strain had informed Watkins he would be ready to stait, Arden carefully marked the exact sport, nnd every object near it, so that ho could not err even at night, and then re turned home by the nearest way. A little after dark Mr. Campficld accom panied by a young man rode up to the store. They alighted and went in. Arden with the young man, whom he had requested in the morning to come up, were already engaged in making preparations for the capture of old Isaac. A gun and brace of pistols had been loaded, and they only waited the ar rival of the present party, to set out upon the adventure. “ I see you are fixing up the shooting irons, boys—you don’t expect to have any use for them, do you ?” asked the old gen tleman, as he entered. Arden replied, “ that it was always a good rule to be ready for any emergency, for vve don’t know what sort of customers vve may pick up.” ” That is true enough,” he responded. “ You youngsters may take them along; but this is my stand-by in a difficulty,” showing a tremendous hickory stick which he grasped in his right hand. “ But it is now time to be off, what say you, Edward, you know the distance.” Arden answered liiin that it was about a mile and a half from the store, and then pro ceeded to inform him of the evening’s dis covetv, and that he had no doubt but that the den of the negroes was the rendezvous of the burglais. “ Did I not tell you so 1 You have been lucky indeed.—this is much better than catching a runaway. We’ll not trouble our heads about old Isaac now—we’ll leserve our ammunition for larger game, for we may have a use tor it to-morrow night, or 1 am greatly mistaken.” “ What! you don’t think of giving up the catching of old Isaac to-night?” eagerly ask ed Arden. “To be sure I do. Where will lie the advantage of it ? No doubt be is to meet s ‘me of this clan at the place of appointment, and should we catch him there, in all prob ability someone or other of them will he on the watch for him, and vve shall be seen, and his capture will be known; this will put them upon their guard, as they will have good reason to fear that the negro will tell all he knows, and thus discover their plot. No, no—let the old fellow go for to-night— we shall only have to wait another day, when if we manage the thing properly, vve shall not only nab him. hut the whole ‘ posse com itatus’ of them, while and black together.— That’s my notion of it.” The propriety of this course was readily seen by all, and they resolved to act upon the suggestions of the old gentleman, whose judgment and experience in such matters were well known. They separated soon—the old gentleman pretering to return to town that night, fear ing lest his presence in the neighborhood should excite suspicion. He promised, how ever, to be punctual on the next night, and to bring one or two persons with him. About noon the next day, the weather changed, and before night a drizzling rain bad set in from the east. Arden feared that it would interfere greatly with the ad venture of the night. As the day began to draw to a close his impatience began to man ifest itself in various ways. Several persons had been about the store during the even ing, and among the rest, Walsh, one of the men whom he suspected. This individual had purchased several articles, which he doubted not was designed for Strain’s con templated journey, andthen remained about the store after every other person had gone, until Arden began to fear that his friends might come before he left. He had finally, to close the door, and lock the man out be fore he could get rid of him, after which he still lingered near the place for some time. Finally ho mounted his horse and rode off. He had scarcely gotten out of sight before Mr. Catnpfield and two other persons rode up. “ Well, Arden, you see I am here, wet ns it is,” said Mr. Campfield, at the same time entering the store and throwing his cloak upon a chair. “ Have you made any futther discoveries ?” “ None at all, I have been here all day. One of the gang left here not more than fif teen minutes ago.” “ Which one of them ?” “ Walsh.” “Ah, did he seem to suspect anything?” “ Not that I could perceive—though lie hang about the store for some time after lie had’finished his business. He purchased several articles which might be intended lor a long journey.” “ Well, he may take a journey soon, but it will be in a different direction from the one intended. We have an ugly night for it, boys, but it is all the better tor our pur pose.” “ How so,” said Arden, “ I feared we might have to give it up altogether.” “ Why, it is betterfor us, because on such a night as this, they will be less upon their guard, and the ground and leaves are so damp, that we shall be able to come upon them with little danger of discovery. It is just such a night as I would have chosen, if I had had the picking of it.” Arden had informed Squire Osborne that several of his friends would be with him to supper that night, and accordingly about dark they repaired to the house, where a stnokitig meal awaited their arrival. This was discussed to the satisfaction of all. The Squire was then made acquainted with their object, nnd all the circumstances connected with it, upon which he proposed to accom pany them, and aid in the capture. The preliminaries were quickly arranged. They were to proceed on horseback, along an old blind way leading within a quarter of a mile of the place. Then the horses were to be left, and they were to proceed on foot.— Each one had provided himself with such weapons as suited his taste. Arden had a gun, the two young men had pistols, Mr. Campfield had the hickory stick he carried the night before; Squire Osborne had also a cane, and a couple of stout cords. Thus armed and equipped, about an hour after daik they stalled, Squire Osborne and Arden taking the lead, as they were best acquainted with the way. A ride of a cou ple of rnile3—their route being a circuitous one—brought them to the place where they proposed leaving their horses. They dis mounted and fastened then). A consulfrt tion was now held, and their plans adopted. Arden was perfectly satisfied that he could find the place, and it was agreed that he should guide them,until theyreached a good point of observation. This was a much more difficult matter than lie had imagined. He soon found himself at fault, ami was unable to proceed with any degree of certainty.— The ground was rough and rocky, the un dergrowth thick and difficult to penetrate, and the night was so dark,that objects were perceptible at but a short distance. All these taken into theaccount rendered itsome what problematical whether or not they i would find the place. They had been ma king their way through as well as they were able for about a quarter of an hour,and had I gone far enough to be near the place, as Ar den supposed, when they baited, to find out as well as they could where they were.— They could hear distinctly now, the mur muring of the crock, as its waters dashed onwards over its rocky bed. ‘ They had fall en several hundred yards below the place. They changed their direction up the ctcek, and upon ascending a hill, they could per ceive the glimmering of a light in the dis tance. They paused—the light approached towards them, then turned towards the creek, and was bid behind an intervening ridge. ” We are near the place,” said Arden in a whisper. “ The deu is in the ravine be yond that ridge.’’ “ We shall have them now, boys,” eager ly rejoined Mr. Campfield, “ifyou will be guided by me. We may have a chunk of a fight first, but that is a matter of moon shine.” They all now cautiously descended the hill upon which they were standing, passed through the hollow, and ascended half way up the next, when they again halted. Mr. Campfield went ahead, as lie said to recon noitre. On gaining the top and looking down into the vnlley the whole scene was revealed before him. Nearly at the foot of the hill, beside a large tree, a fire was kin dled, which threw a few straggling rays of light almost up to the point at which be was standing. Aioiind tlie fire were seated and standing a group of sevetal persons, some of whom were white and some black. They appeared to he in high glee, and the bottles —for there were two —passed briskly around, as they laughed and talked at a merry rate. The old gentleman scanned the scene with an experienced eye, and determined upon his arrangements for their capture. He fear ed, however, that some might escape, as lie counted seven of them, and knew that his force numbered only five. He returned to the others informing them of all that he had seen. “And now boys,” said he, “wemust use the utmost prudence. And you youngsters, be careful oftyour fire-arms, don’t shoot un less it be in self-defence. If they resist us, and show their teeth, why, we must meet them upon that ground —but I am in hopes that if we manage rightly, we shall take them without a blow. They are all around the fire outside of the den now,hut it may be that after we have placed ourselves some of them may go into it—if so, that will be the time for us to lie upon them. And now for our arrangements. 1 will go to the top of the hill again, and gain a large tree, which stands more than half way down it, where I will station myself, and where 1 can see and hear all that they do. Do you, Ar den, and one of the young men, take a po sition near together —and as close to them as you can safely get, just” at the point of this ridge, between them and the creek.— The Squire and the others will go ‘to the right, and approach from the hollow a hove, so that we shall surround them as near ly as wc can. You can accomplish this in half an hour—and with entire safety, if yon use proper caution, for the rain is all in our favor. You must he ready at a mo ment’s call—for at the right time, I will give a loud whoop—then let each one rush to the spot as quickly as possible, and every fellow secure bis man.” They separated, each one to the place as signed him by the old gentleman, who in spiied them all with his own hopes as to the result. He succeeded admirably in gaining tlie shelter of a large oak which stood with in twenty paces ofthe fire. There conceal ed from view, lie could hear every word which waaspoken, and watched every move ment. All the others were equally success ful, two of whom he could see, almost as near to the fire as himself, each one snugly hid behind liistree. There were hut throe white men,Strain, Walsh and Watkins, the rest were negroes. “ Well, Walsh,” said Strain, “what news did you hear up at Fairplay this evening ?” “ Nothing at all, of any consequence.” “ It’s confounded strange that we have heard nothing übout the breaking open of Arden’s store. He has some scheme in liis bead, I dare say, which prevents liis making it known. But he will have to he pretty quick on triggerof heever liandlestliatmon ey again.” “ Well l shouldn’t be surprised if he had; and now I recollect hearing Phil, Squire 8 ill U S IB IL 1L il it “ST® Osborn’s blacksmith,say that Mr. Campfield and another man from town were at Arden’s store after dark last night.” “The devil you did ! What!—old Char ter Campfield up there last night after dark! did you ask Phil what he was after ?” “ Yes, I asked him if he knew his busi ness, but he didn’t know any thing about —but said be rode tiff down the road agum after staying there half an hour.” “ It is a lucky thing that I shall be off to night, else I should not rest easy, fori would as soon have a half dozen devils after me any time as old Campfield.” The conversation upon that topic ceased, and matters of business connected with their arrangements were discussed. Presently Watkins and two of the negroes opened the door of the den, and taking a light went in. The door remained open —the rest were all seated round the fire, when suddenly they were startled by a tremendous whoop, and quick as thought the old man was in their midst, the door of the den thrown down, and he standing upon it. At the moment of his approach, Strain had jumped up, and wielding a large cudgel, was about to strike. “ Strike at me and you are a dead man,” said the old gentleman, at the same time robing a stick that in his hand would have felled a giant. His voice was more power ful than a dozen cudgels—the club fell from the hand of the burglar, as if lie bail been stricken with an invisible bolt, and he yield ed without resistance —just as one of the ne groes, who was about to take to bis heels, exclaimed, “ I blieve in my soul its Mas Charter Campfield.” The rest of the party at the sound of his voice, rushed at once to the spot, and Walsh, who hadstarted to rum, was knocked down by Arden before he bad gone five steps from the fire. Strain and Walsh were lashed together with a strong cotd, and the negroes secured in less time than 1 have taken to write it—Mr. Camp field standing upon the trap door of the den, while they were being tied. This done, lie stepped off and lifted it up, and looking in called up Watkins and the negroes, who came forward making not the least resist ance. So completely does crime and vil lainy destroy the courage of a man. All being secured, the den was thorough ly searched. It was a strange hiding place, arid well arranged for comfort. But wehave not time to dwell upon its description. Ar den’s trunk was found in one of the apart ments —there beingtliree—containing a por tion of the clothes, but there was no money. The money he never got. It tvas late before they reached the store, and the prisoners were-guardeduntil morn ing. The next day about eleven o’clock, tlie white men and negroes were all march ed into town in single file, to the great grat ification of the citizens,of whom there were hundreds to witness the scene. The ne groes were returned to their owners, the white men lodged in jail. At Court they were tried, and all sent to the Penitentiary there to pay the penalty of their misdeeds. E. L. W. Madison, Georgia. M 0 © © r £ 1L L A M Y □ A Journalist. —No man requires a larger range of intellect, more varied acquirements, or greater strength of character, than the conductor of a public journal. Os course, we allude to one who acts with a full sense of the dignity and worth of his calling, and in the conscientious desire to discharge its duties. Neither statesman, lawyer, nor di vine,moves in a more extended sphere, or has more occasion for the use of the noblest faculties both of mind and heart. He stands in immediate contact with the public mind. He furnishes the intellectual aliment of the people. He gives a tone to public senti ment ; is a leader of public opinion ; and the guardian and guide of public morals. Thousands of men, each morning and even ing, listen to liis voice, are moved by his persuasions, are corrected by his rebukes, or corrupted by liis license. The charac ters of men are in some degree placed in liis hands. He may elevate the had, or tra duce the good. He can stimulate the worst passions of inflamed times, or give an im pulse to wise and beneficent movements. — This influence differs from that of others who operate upon the public mind, in that, while theirs is confined to particular and distinct occasions, his acts incessantly. Ihe orator agitates only while lie is speaking; the preacher is hemmed in by the walls of his church and the limits of a Sabbath-day; the statesman seldom steps out of his bureau; the man of science is fixed among his re torts and crucibles ; and the teacher has an existence only in liis school-room. But the editor is perpetually at work. As the mails carry his speculations from one city to an other, and from one state to another, hisac-* lions spread like the waves of a pool, in concentric circles, and before the last ripple lias subsided, the waters at the centre are again disturbed. Even while he sleeps, liis thoughts are awake, they are diffusing good or evil, they are entering other minds, to mould them to a better or worse condition. “iThey rest not—slay not—on, still on they wing Their flight”— and whether benign or pestiferous, are pro ducing their inevitable imptessions. An Illinois court scene. —Wo sometimes get rich jokes from Illinois, and tlie latest is the following. It is a good bit of drollery quite original, we believe, and we must put it on file amongthe funny things ofthe time. A constable that had lately been induced into office was in attendance on the court, nod was ordered by the judge to call John Bell and Elizabeth Bell. He immediately began at the top of his lungs— “ John Bell and Elizabeth Bell!” “ One at a time,” said the judge. “ One at a time — one at a time — one at a time,” shouted the constable. “ Now you’ve done it,” exclaimed the judge, out of patience. “ Now you've done it — now you’ve done it —now you’ve done it !” yelled the consta ble. There was no standingthis ; the court, bar and bystandersbrokeinto a hearty laugh, to the perfect surprise and dismay of the as tonished constable. The Falls of Niagara. —Between 5 and 6 o’clock in tlie morning we arrived at Buf falo where we breakfasted, and being too near the Great Falls to wait patiently any where else, we set off by the train the same morning at 9. Whenever the train baited I listened for the roar ; and was constantly straining my eyes in the direction where 1 knew the Fallsmust be, from seeing tlie riv er rolling on towards them, every moment expecting to behold the spray. Within a few minutes of my stopping I saw two great white clouds rising up slowly and majestical ly from the depths of the earth. That was all. At length we alighted ; and then, for the first time, 1 heard the mighty rush of water, and felt the ground tremble under neath my feet. The bank was very steep, and was slippery with rain and half melting ice. I hardly know how ] got down, but was soon at the bottom, and climbing with two English officers, who were crossing, and had joined me.over some broken rocks, deaf ened by the noise, half blinded l>y the spray and wet to the skin, we were at the foot of the American fall. I could see an immense torrent of water tearing beadlongdown from some great height, but had no idea of shape, or situation, or any thing but vague immen sity. When we were seated in the little ferrv boat and were crossing the swelling river immediately before both cataracts, I began to feel what it was; but I was in a manner stunned, and unable to comprehend the vastness of the scene. It was so until 1 came on tlie Table Rock, and looked—great Heaven, on what a fall of bright green wa ter! then it came upon mein its full might and majesty. Then, when I felt liovv near to my Creator I was standing—the first ef fect, and the enduring (me —instant and last ing—of the tremendous spectacle,was peace —peace of mind—tranquility—calm recol lection of the dead—great thoughts of eter nal rest and happiness, nothing of gloom and terror. Niagara was at once stamped upon my heart an image of beauty; to remain there change less and indelible until its pulses cease to beat forever. Oh, how the strife and trou bles of our daily life receded from my view and lessened in the distance during tlie ten memorable days we passed on that enchant ed ground ! What voices spoke from out the thundering water; what faces, faded from the earth, looked out upon me from its gleaming depths; what heavenly promises glistened in those angel’s tears, the drops of many hues, that showered around and twi ned themselves about the gorgeous arches which the changing rainbows made. 1 nov er stirred all that time from tlie Canadian side, whither I had gone at first; I never crossed the rivet again ; for I knew there were people on tlie other shore, and in such a place it is natural to shun strange compa ny. To wander to and fro all day, and see the cataract from all points of view ; to stand upon the edge of the great Horseshoe Fall, tnarkingthe hurried watergatlieringstrength as it approached the verge, yet seeming too to pause before it shot into the gulf below ; to gaze upon the river’s level, up at the tor rent, as it came streaming down ; to climb theneighboringheights, and watch it through the trees, and seethe wreathing water to the rapids hurrying o.i to take its fearful plunge: to linger in the shadow of the solemn rocks three miles below, watching the river, as stirred by no visible cause, it heaved and eddied, and awoke the echoes, being trou bled yet far down beneath the surface by its giant leap; to have Niagara before me, light ed by the sun and by tlie moon, red in tlie day’s decline, and gray ns evenin'; slowly fell upon it; to look upon it every day. and awake up in the night and hear its ceaseless voice,—this was enough ! — Buz. Presentation of Li rings. —l have frequent ly heard my brother clergymen declare that they had been often greatly affected by their being presented to a living, a vacancy in which had occurred ftom the death of the previous incumbent, in visiting flu the first time the parsonage, and not unfrequently being obliged to come in contact with the widow or family of the deceased, for the transaction or necessary business; that it has for a season caused them to forget their own success in the desire to alleviate tlie distress depicted on every countenance.— Such, I know, unquestionably were the feel ings of the new incumbent of S , when for the first time lie entered the rectory, and was ushered into a room, plainly hut neatly furnished (the interview was necessary) and found the widow surrounded by seven chil dren. He was not by any means a timid or nervous man ; lie bad undergone many a stiff examination; he had answered well, as liis tongue testified. For the first time in his life lie was speechless—liis tongue was tied. The children shrunk from him as an intruder into their parlor, and could not bear to think that he was to have papa’s garden, and preach in papa’s pulpit, and to go about as papa did among the poor. “My feel ing,” says he, “ was, what business have 1 here ? lam an intruder; and, when, after a while, one little urchin summoned courage to come to my knee, and pointed to a portrait, saying, “ That’s dear papa; he is gone to live in the churchyard, but will be back to preach next Sunday.” I fairly burst into tears.” Dickens Notes. —The following extracts are taken from a review of Dickon’s book on this country in the London Illustrated News. They express very correctly the general character ofthe work:— Boston Post. “ There seems something ominously uu propitious in this production. It is conceiv ed, nomeiiclated, dedicated, written, and li naled in a spirit of entire bad taste. The title of “American Notes for General Circu lation” implies a sneer, which, if just, is not generous, upon the financial condition ofthe country. The dedication conveys the idea that the volumes are full of “unpleasant truths,” if truths they really he ; and the conclusion announces the fact that the au thor has had warning that liis hook will not “be tenderly or favorably received by the American people.” All this is unfortunate. Lord Ashburton has just arrived with a trea ty concluded, an old gap of quarrel closed, the American’s banishing old hostility, and breaking out into new and generous aspira tions for our friendship, all discordant jars silenced, and a carpet of good feeling spread for the feet of both nations—and in the teeth of those new and good impulses, an English writer, who fordiis eminence in literature lias been crowned with, all the hospitalities of the land he has left, comes back to bis native soil laden with sneers, vituperations, caustic sarcasms, arid every other element of dissatisfaction and contempt, and pours them in one endless stream through two volumes of flippancy, compared to which the black feathers in Mrs. Trollope’s wing are as the snow upon the bosom of Alp. Moreover, we are sorry to be obliged to regard the vol umes in tlie light of a literary imposition. They are the mere rough offshoots of a ram bling diary. There is all through them an effort to be smart, a straining after humorous effect, which reminds us of Boz, hut does not enligbted us upon America. A sort of vein of ingratitude seems to pervade the book, and it is not honest in its quantities ; it is swelled, bladder-blown, eked out by all sorts of adventitious and extraneous matter. It is set in large type, in a small form, with some twenty-two lines to a page, and a sea of margin around it. The matter itself is of the most flimsey gossip, except when certain pretty episodes of writing creep gracefully in to relieve the incessant flippancy.” # * * # “ Is not this sort of writing contemptible enough ? But the volumes abound in the most ill nat tired touches of character, which although individual, are meant to have a general application, and are, we have no doubt, so many libels upon the nation im pugned. There is not one course or dis gusting feature in tlie societyofthe country that is not almost gloated over by our au thor; he laughs atevery weakness, he sneers at every ill conditional want of civilization, he (juizzes the slang, and quite riots in the expectoration of the entire people. We have not room to adduce the thousand in stances of half venomous flippancy which the book contains. Indeed, the imperative claims of space now warn us—as it were in mid-article—to conclude, and we therefore thus suddenly suspend our criticism till a future number.” Hireling — Dr. Franklin. —When Dr. Franklin wtis in England, prior to the Amer ican revolution, he was one night in one of the coffee houses in Loudon, in company with a number of Literary and scientific gentlemen, who greatly admired his conver sational powers, both for its force and or ig inality. A stranger, who was afflicted with a most offensive odor, but liked the Doctor’s conversation, came into the box in which the party was assembled. Franklin propo sed that bis fi iends should remove to another box to escape the horrid smell; they did so, but the stranger followed them—again, at Franklin’s instance, they removed, and a gain he followed ; when the Doctor’s pa tience gettiug threadbare, lie said to the stranger that he would oblige him not to fol low them again, for his scent was so offen sive it could not be borne. lie,of the smell took it as a gross insult, arid challenged the doctor the next morning, who replied by saying to the offended party, “ If I accept your challenge, we fight, you kill me, I shall in a few days smell as bad as you do now ; If 1 kill you, you will if possible smell worse than you do at present; in neither case can I see how any benefit can result to ourselves or others, and therefore decline the challenge.” All about the Eye. —What part of the eye is like a rainbow ? The iris. What part is like a schoolboy ? Thepu l,iL What part is like the globe ? The hall. What part is like the top of a chest ? Tke lid What part is like a piece of a whip? The lash. What part is Ike the summit of a hill ? The brow.— N. Y. Sunday JMcrcury. Calculation of Distance. —Every one lias heard of the two Irishmen, who, coming to a mile stone, discovered that they were ten miles from their destination, upon which one exclaimed with glee—Och, Paddy, sure its only five miles a piece ! This is riot so good as the calculation of a countryman of our Black Birds, who lived out in Yazoo. A stranger, mounted on a very sorry horse, asked him how far it was to a neighboring town whither he was going. The negro looking at the horse under the rider, with a broad grin of contempt upon his counte nance, replied, ” Wid dat boss, it’s jist fo’- teen miles, Wid a good chunk of a boss, seven mile; but il you jist bad Massa Sam my’s you’re dar now /” Close Shaving, —A justice of the peace was called on for the payment of a bill of seventy-five cents. Upon presenting the hill tlie squire asked tlie man if lie would swear to the account. He replied, “ Yes.” The squire swore him, and handed him fifty cents. Stop squire, you are mistaken in the amount —’tie seventy-five cents.” “ I know,” returned the squire; “but 1 can’t swear you for nothing.” A dirty Witness. —A German gentleman, in tlie course of a strict cross examination on a trial during the Oxford circuit, was asked tostatc the exact ago of the defendant. “Dirty,” (thirty) was the reply. “And pray sir, are you liis scinor, and by how many years?” “ Why, sir, I atn dlrty-tuo'” Were you born in wedlock ?” asked a quzzical lawyer of a country fellow.—No sir, I was born in the Jarsies.” Major Noali says;—“A young gentle man at a temperance meeting, on being asked to sign the pledge, excused himself by saying, “I am not quite ready.” At the close of tlie meeting lie proposed to one of the young ladies present to see her home. “ I am not quite ready,” was the laconic re p’y- _ “ It’s the wrong tooth! it’s the wrong tooth ! it’s the wrong tootli!” screamed an old lady to a dentist. “ Why, madam, there is not another tooth in your head!” said he ;“ it must be right.” “It must be lft,” said the old lady, “ifit’s the last.” © EF2 0 © D M A L a LETTER FROM MAJORIrONEsT NO. IX. Pineville, November 23d!, 1542. To Mr. Thompson : Dear Sir, —If I didn’t havesomereal fim rate news to tell you, I don’t blieve IJcould find time to write now, I’m so monstrous bissv Its bog-killin time now, you know, and thfe way we is into the hog-meat in Pineville is mazin. It seems to me that I haint seed nothin but dyin hogs, arid haint heard nothin but squealin, for more’n a week, and I know I haint eat nothin but back-bone and turnips and spare-ribs, and sassingers, and craek|j n .’ bread ever sense the killin commenced ; but as for that part of it, I wouldn’t care if hn killin time lasted all the year. Igo for hoe meat myself, any way it can be fixed, not withstandiu old nick was turned into ’em once, and set a whole gang of ’em runnin rite down a steep hill into the ocean, whar they got drowned in the water. Old Miss Stallions says its all a fact, and I don’t nev er care bout gittin into a argyment with her hut thars one thing I’m certain of—if the old feller did git into the hogs then, he didn’t spile the meat. I3ut that’s not the pint. I want to tell you bout that little matter what I rit to you bout last time. Y~ou know I told you I didn’t zactly know how the cat was gwine to jump then. Well, liters been a dredful climax among tlie galls iu Pineville sense my last letter. Things has turned out jest as I spected, only a grate deal more so. They couldn’t went more to my likin if they’d tried. That chap Crotchett, what I told you bout, had all the galls in town cra sv bout him, in no time, and Idoblieve thev tried to see which could git the most tentioii out of him. The way the feller did shine bout here for bout a week beat any thing that ever was seed in Pineville y ft* was callin and takin tea here, and dinner thar, arid ridin out with this young lady’and wal kin out and permenadin.as he called it, with that one, jest as if lie was cousin or uncle, or some near kin to ’em all. Well, Miss Mary come in for her share, and I do blieve the cussed fool—it makes me so mad when* I think of it—l do blieve lie hadsome notion ofmarryin her; and what was a dratted sight worse, she seemed to be bout as willin as lie was. He said liis kin was monstrous rich, and owned some mighty grate water-powers in the Jarseys. He told old Miss Stallions that be jest come out South to spend the winter, for his lielth. and would like to ston irii his people by takin n butiful wife to New York with him in the Spring. He showed the old woman too or three maps of tlnmderin big towns that was all on his fa ther’s land ; one was named Crotchettville, and had tlie greatest water-powers in it in the world, lie sed, cept Niagra river which he lowed was hard to heat. But old Miss Stallions warrit to be tuck in so easy, and she gin her gails a rite good talkin to, rite afore me, bout the way they was blievin ev ery thing lie told ’em. “ A track o’ land,” says she, “ is worth more’n adozensicli picter papers—and min'd what I say, all aint gold as glitters. 1 haint lived my time for nothin galls, and I don’t blieve in these Jarsy water-powers. “Whar upon yeth is Jarsey, any how?” says she. “ Why, mother, Jarsey'’a to the North,” sed Miss Mary. Hush, child, scs the old woman* “your head’s full of nothin hut Crotchelts,"and wa ter powers, and the north,and sich nonsense. I tell you 1 don't blieve in ’em*” “ Thar aiat no use of gittiif mad at the gentleman, mother—l’m sure li’e’s very po lite to us all,” sed Miss Mary. I didn’t say a word to her, tfnd Miss Ke siah and Miss Calline kep lookin at me and then at onenother and smilin ; tut Miss Ma ry looked as serious as a judge. Old Miss Stallions was jest gwine to speak, when rap, rap, went somebody at the door. “ Thais that plagy Crotchett, i’ll lay my life,” says she. * Miss ‘Mary run to the dooras quick as she could. “ Ah, ha! Good evenin, Miss Stallions— ladies, good evenin. All, how are you, Jones, —here agin, eh ?” 1 felt my dander risin when the imperent cus went and tuck a seat rite long side Miss Mary, and she begun to smile and talk with him as pleasin H 9 could be. I knowed it wouldn’t do for me to stay thar, so I jest tuck niv hat and went home. “ Good evenin, Jones,” ses he. I was in a ace of cusin him back— “ Oli, don’t go, Majer,” ses Miss Mary, “don’t go yet, Majer.” I jest sed good evenin ladies, without look in at anyone in pertickiler, and put out. Well, the next mornin 1 went out to the plantation to tend to the hog-killin, and I was jest mad enough to kill all the hogs in Georgia. I couldn’t get the feller out of my lied all day, and as to Mary Stallions, I didn’t hardly know what to think—some times I felt sort o’ mad at her, but then agin 1 could n’t. The fact is, it aint sich a easy thing to feel mad at a rite pretty gull, and the more a man feels mad at ’em, the more he’s apt to feel sorrow too. I tell you what, I was in a stew. I didn’t know what to do. It was after dark when I got homo, and when I got thar, all Pineville was in a buz—eve ry body was talkin bout Crotchett. Some sod he was a bigamy, and some sed he was a thief, and 1 don’t know what all. Come to find out bout it, what do you think? His name wasn’t Crotchett, but Jackson Alias Brown, and he was no more n music teach er than 1 was, hut was a dandy barber wbat. had stole somebody’s pocket-book with m heap of money, in New York, and then run away and left his wife and two children* to keep from bein sent to the Penitentiary.— He was gone, and no body couldn’t tall whar, and the man wliat come after him, stuck up some notices at the tavern and the post-office, offerin •* IS 100 remard!” for any body to ketch him. Cousin Pete lowed he knowed he want no grate shakes all the time, and was makin more noise than anybody else bout gwine after him to ketch him, and all the fellers that was tryin to git into Mr. Crotchett’s good graces, was tellin how they spected something, and how they had tber eyes on him—they was lookin out for him, and all