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98 duced to Mr. Graham, nothing could exceed his politeness. ‘“Merry Christmas to you, massa!” he ex claimed, “Long life and crossperity!” “Well, old Tom,” said Frank, “how does the world go with you now ? lJow does that hov of yours come on ?” “Oh, he comes on middling, massa: he no good for much, but I lick um heap, an 1 1 spec’ 1 mek um good for someting one of dese days ; de Lord knows I had for lick um heap, mas sa ; I lick um no longer an las’ night.” “You did !” said Frank, “what for?” “ Somebody bin gib um one letter for gib to massa, and he bin loss um; so I lick um for he kayless ; (carelessness,) and den when he sway he no bin loss um, I lick um for de lie he tell! ” “But he’s a big boy, old Tom,” said Frank, “I wonder he lets you whip him.” “Big hoy for true,” answered Tom, “but I lick um for all dat; big boy for true; entv he married ? he ! he! he ! ” “ Married!” exclaimed Frank, “you do n't say so; do tell me all about it ? ” “Why, you see’ Mass Frank,” said Tom, putting on a most mysterious air, and rolling up his sleeves by way of preparation for an important communication, “he bin axe me one night for let um go to Jane nigga-house; and 1 tell um yes, he kin go. Well, you see, I bin mistruss he bin guine for pay he tention to Jane dahter Sally, so I follow um sofTy, for see whathebinarter. Well, Mass Frank, by de libin’jingo ! I bin tink true. He gone in de nigga-house, an’, as de Lord would hab it, dey was Sally sitting down all by heself, bilin homny. Well, de boy go in. an’ he sit eber so long eyein’ Sally, but he no say nut tin. He kep so long for ’spress he min’, dat I was jis’ guine way ’bout my bisness, when 1 hear um speak. Den I tek my eye way from de hole, and put my ear to um. Well, he begin, “ Sally, I come for tell you someting bin weighin’ pon my min’ for some time ; but I sway, Sally, I no know how for tell you.” Den Sally, she laugh, and say : “ You want for axe me for hab you, enty ? ” “ Dat’s it, dat’s de bery tingr,” de boy say; “granny j how de nigga bin know what 1 come for ?•” ” Lord!” Sally say, “ent’ you tink I kin see de flash oh you eye when you look at me ?” Den dey no bin say nuttin for long time. At last, Sally say: “Well, what you hab for say, Mingo? ” “I cla’, pon my soul,” Mingo say, “I no know how for talk um.” “Well, I kin tell you, Mingo,” Sally say; “ you jis say, “Does you lub me well nus for hab me?” Den de boy say um right strait arter um, “ Does you lub me well nus for hab me ? ” “Yes,” Sally say; “yes, sir: I tenk you.” Den de boy kiss um, and kum right way, an 1 hab for hide behin’ de pig-pen till he pass by.” “ Well, that was certainly a droll courtship, Tom.” Frank, “and we’re much obliged to you tor telling it; it may be of service to us some day or other.” As for poor Mr. Gra ham, he nearly laughed himself into convul sions during the recital. CHAPTER 11. After an early dinner, the two friends, started on horseback to pay their projected visit to Harriet Banks. Anthony followed on a mule. They came to the swamp, and found it, as Emily had forewarned them, quite full of water; but what was that to young, ad venturous spirits, full of hope and excitement ? Mr. Graham, it is quite true, more unaccus tomed than Frank and Anthony to such ad ventures, looked sometimes a little alarmed, and held up his feet rather higher than was necessary to keep them out of the water ; but, considering his inexperience, he maintained his equanimity remarkably well. By-and-by they approached the vicinage of the so much dreaded ghost. It was, it must really be con fessed, a fearful, mysterious looking spot. Completely overgrown with mammoth cy press trees, their gnarled and knotted trunks obstructing the road in every direction, it seem ed precisely the spot to suggest to the excited imagination deeds of darkness and circum stances of horror. Anthony pressed closer and closer to his master, set his teeth togeth er, and scarcely dared to breathe, lest he should by some mysterious magic, conjure up the spirit of the murdered man ! Being a light mulatto, it was easy to perceive by his un wonted paleness that he was frightened near ly out of his wits ; and if at any moment the ghost had chosen to make his appearance, he would have had nothing to fear from Antho ny’s skepticism. But his ghostship was dis creet enough not to appear by daylight, and consequently they passed the dreadful spot without let or hindrance of any kind.. Harriet Banks was delighted at seeing her old inend and playmate, while a rosier blush than often visited her cheek, made her look §®®IfEEB IS El IL> aITISIE AIE U ® A&ls If IT Hi ♦ still more brilliant than usual; and she was at ail times an uncommonly pretty girl. Frank scolded her in good round terms for not being at his fathers house to welcome him, and though she did not appear at all vexed or grieved at being thus soundly scolded, the flush upon her cheeks was evidently deepen ed. After an hour or two spent in pleasant conversation, in recalling by-gone days, and recounting many a youthful adventure, Har riet caught up her gingham sun-bonnet, and invited the gentlemen to a stroll over the grounds, a proposal to which they joyfully assented. They wandered hither and thither, forgetful of the lapse of time; and finally, as they found themselves in the neighborhood of the negro houses, and heard the scraping of a fiddle —or, I beg pardon, a violin—they went in to see the negroes dance. Double shuffle, pigeon-wing, the apron dance, were all executed after the most approved negro fashion, each dancer entering into the amuse ment with his whole heart and soul. Here they found Anthony, who, notwithstanding his exquisite enjoyment of the dance, could not divest himself of a certain degree of ap prehension when he thought of the swamp and its mysterious occupant! The instant he saw his master, he came to wards him, and inquired if he did not think it was time to get the horses. “It gittin’ dark, massa,” said he, “ and de swamp mighty deep.” “ And the ghost ,” said his master, with a wick ed smile, “the ghost, you know, Anthony!” Anthony looked on the ground with a very serious air. “We had better wait awhile,” said Mr. Graham, “ I am anxious to see the ghost, and therefore the later we go the better!” An thony instatly raised his head and cast glan ces of horror first at Mr. Graham, and then at his master, upon whose face his large black eyes finally rested with a most imploring ex pression. Frank’s heart could not resist so mute and touching an appeal, and he accord ingly told Anthony that he might get the hor ses, and taking out his watch at the same time, he found, to his surprise, that it was much later than he supposed. As they emerged from the negro-house, they perceived also that a heavy storm was rising, which hurried them so much the more. But the fates were against them ; Frank's horse had got away, and it was some time be fore he c ould be caught, and when finally they were all ready, it was, what with the heavy clouds which had gathered in the west, and the real lateness of the hour, so dark, that Anthony was almost in despair. Mr. Banks and Harriet did their best to prevail upon the young men to stay all night where they were; but to this arrangement Frank would by no means consent, knowingthathismotherwould expect him home, and might, in her feeble state of health, suffer seriously by his non-ap pearance. Accordingly they bade Mr. Banks and Harriet an affectionate adieu, and started gaily off, putting their horses immediately in to a brisk canter. They had five miles to ride before reaching the swamp, and it was growing darker every moment. It was evident too, that they could not escape the storm which was rapidly ap proaching, and which threatened to prove one of those winter thunder-storms which some times happen in southern latitudes, and which seem so fearful because they are rare and un seasonable . Onward they rode, pushing their horses to the utmost, but when they entered the swamp, overgrown as it was with trees and interlacing vines, it was really so dark that they could scarcely discern an object three yards before them. Now and then a sudden flash of lightning brightened for an in stant their homeward way, but this, of course, only rendered the succeeding darkness more deep and fearful. Frank, however, continu ed for some time to converse in a merry tone, and occasionally burst forth into a lively song, which awoke the distant echoes, startling al so from their resting places the lazy screech owls, and causing them to flap their wings, and fly to a little distance uttering their hide ous screams. The whole party, not even excepting Frank's grew gradually more and more silent, until at length nothing could be heard save the mel ancholy splashing of the water as the horses slowly picked their way, rendered difficult and dangerous by the cypress stumps which lay in every direction. Anthony said nothing, for he was nearly paralyzed by fear. Occa sionally, when, from an unusually long ces sation of the lightning, he had quite lost sight of his master, he would, indeed, muster cour age to call out, “Where you, massa?” but when Frank would answer, in a cheerful tone, “ Here \ye are; come on, Anthony! ” he would again relapse into silence. They were now approaching the fearful neighborhood of the ghost! And hark! what sound was that ? Could it be a groan ? Hark! again ! and yet again! Anthony was near expiring; and even Frank and Mr. Gra ham began to feel a little odd. And now they heard a shriek, a dreadful shriek, which rung wildly through the woods; but it came from no ghost. It was plainly the terrified Antho ny who had thus given voice to his long-pent horror. What was to be done ? Frank call ed. and called again, but received no answer; and he at length began seriously to fear that the poor boy had been spirited away to keep company with the ghost of the swamp! The two gentiemen turned their horses and rode back a few steps, and there they found poor Anthony, still sitting erect upon his mule, while a long and brilliant play of the light ning showed them that he was pale, rigid and almost insensible. Ever and anon they heard faint and smothered moans, which seemed to proceed from an undergrowth of brushwood, a few yards upon one side of them, and, as well as Frank could judge, that was precisely the spot where the murder had been commit ted. Was it strange that even Fiank should feel as he had never felt before in his whole life ? Was it strange that he grew cold, that his teeth chattered, and that large drops of perspiration trickled down from his manly forehead ? Mr. Graham, too, the skeptical Mr. Graham, he who was so anxious to see a ghost, how strange that he should tremble! and, if the truth must be told, grow pale as a fainting lady, and nearly totter from his horse! Frank was the first to rouse himself from the sort of nightmare into which they seemed all to have fallen. Laying his hand on An thony's shoulder, he shook him roughly, and called his name in an authoritative tone. An thony, thus roused, answered immediately, but (lid not move his eyes from the spot upon which they had all along been fastened; yet, slowly raising his finger he pointed in the di rection whence the strange moans were heard, and distinctly whispered, “Dere he is, sin dereheis!” Frank gazed steadily through the darkness, and the next gleam of lightning, enabled him to see what seemed a tall, white spectral figure, standing motionless, and with extended arms. Frank’s courage nearly fail ed him; but once more he rallied, and collect ing all his energy he turned his horse and ur ged him towards the figure. The animal reared and plunged, but Frank had almost spent his life on horseback, and was not ea sily to be thrown. At length, though with much difficulty, he reached the spot, and soon his loud, merry laugh reached the ears of his companions. “Hallo, Frank!” cried Mr. Graham, “have you caught him?” Frank’s only reply was another laugh, still longer and louder. At length the secret was explained ! The tall, white, spectral figure w r as the trunk of a dy ing pine, denuded of its bark ; and the groans proceeded from a poor old nanny-goat . which had been lost in the swamp, and having been for some time up to her neck in the water, w T as very nearly dead, and was uttering at in tervals its low and plaintive “ba-a —ba-a— ba-a! ” ©riginal |j)octni. For the Southern Literary Gazette. THE BETTER LAND. BY WM . N . WHITE. A better land, a better life, Awaits us when these scenes of strife, Apd toil, and care, shall close: There shall this unembodied soul Its pinions wave without control, Or fold them in repose. 0 There to its view shall not be brought, By patient and laborious thought, The truths but dimly seen: Exulting in its new-found light, *T will freely play, a thing of might And vision vast and keen. its warm affection shall not rest Upon a wand’ring, faithless breast, In those blest realms above ; Before its unbeclouded eyes Shall God’s sublime perfection rise, Ilis deep aud boundless love. And there temptation is unknown, The mind is swayed by love alone, Attracted by the right; Nor pain, nor death, nor want, nor wo. The darksome ills of earth below, Abide the heavenly light. To that blest land of blissful bowers, Cool founts and amaranthine flowers, Oh may rav thoughts extend; And to that bourne do thou my Lord My fainting footsteps thitherward By thy sweet influence bend. For the Southern Literary Gazette FANNY WAYNE. I grieve each day when you’re -away And sing a sadden’d strain, Vet breathe a prayer, with faith sincere, For lovely Fanny Wayne. Then farewell, then farewell, Then farewell, Fanny Wayne, I’ll breathe a prayer, oh Fanny dear. That we may meet again. Thy memory will to me impart Joy, till we meet again— Thy winning smiles shall cheer my heart, My gentle Fanny Wayne, Then farewell, etc. As I look back upon the past, And view the lovely train Os maiden virtues round thee cast, My beauteous Fanny Wayne— Then farewell, etc. ’Tis then, ’tis then, with raptures wild, I clasp your pleasing chain, And vow to love the fair, the mild, The lovely Fanny Wayne. Then farewell, etc, % Oh Fanny, sometimes think of me— ’Twill soothe each anxious pain To feel that I again may sec My noble Fanny Wayne. Then farewell, etc. If Fortune frown, and I should And My love for thee prove vain, Still the last thought that fills my mind Will be of Fanny Wayne. Then farewell, etc. Now fare thee well, perhaps we’ll meet No more on earth again— If so, in Heaven I hope to greet Angelic Fanny Wayne. Then farewell, then farewell, Then farewell, Fanny Wayne, I’ll breathe a prayer, oh Fanny dear, That we may meet again. H. Montgomery Cos., Ala. (El)c ©ssarftst. For the Southern Literary Gazette. THE MORAL AND POLITICAL EF FECTS OF THE CRUSADES. To these wild expeditions, the effects of supersti tion or folly, we owe the first gleams of light which tended to dispel barbarity and ignorance !—Robert son’s Chart.es, p. 21. Few tilings are more striking to the critical reader, than the almost universal illiberalitv with which historians and essayists have re garded those singular expeditions of which we are about to treat. A spirit of ungener ous partizanship, wilful concealment, and de liberate misrepresentation, appears to have blinded their judgments and entered into all their conceptions, concerning, as well that pe culiar aspect of the social relation, under which these undertakings took their rise, as the benefits and the instruction which were through them imparted to mankind. Indeed, when we come seriously to consid er the want of candourand impartiality, which modern historians display, we feel almost in clined to agree with Lord Bolingbroke, that the prejudices and circumstances of the times in which men live, have ever exercised so powerful an influence over their judgment, that not even the most authentic narration, unsupported by evidence palpable to sight, or amounting to equal demonstration, should be received with implicit confidence. When history, which should be the prepa ration for experience, the guide through its mazes, and the beacon-light amidst its obscu rity, becomes thus perverted from its only true end and proper usefulness, by an unwor thy spirit of party feeling , it loses the strong est claim it has upon the respect and atten tion of mankind; it falls from that high and dignified position it has been accustomed to fill, and becomes the mere tool of a faction, the exponent or the champion of an isolated cause. These remarks may be applied in then strongest sense, to most of the English annal ists who have had occasion to touch upon the