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154 shall have the blissful consolation of antici pating a reunion in Heaven.” The eye of the dying girl lighted up with a quick and sudden joy, as she smilingly an swered, “It is well, Clarence—l would fain bear thy name before I die!” We were startled at this strange request and answer, but no heart or lip ventured to oppose it. Lucy then said— “ Mother, dear mother, deny me not my last request; will you and Ellen dress me in rny bridal robe? 1 will wear it to my tomb.” Clarence also besought Mrs. Mary to grant this wish, and let him win a bride and moth er: and she answered — “As you and Lucy will, but it will be”— and her heart spoke —“it will be a mournful bridal.” Lucy now motioned us from the room, and we retired. Clarence was the first to speak. “ You will not blame me that I seek, even in the arms of death, to make her my wife. Oh! how much of bliss has been crowded in to this one anticipation ; and, though it will be indeed a ‘sad bridal,’ it will sweeten the cup of bitterness which is now pressed to my lips.” In a few minutes, we reentered that hal lowed chamber. The light of day had faded, and a single lamp was burning on the stand. Lucy was arrayed in a muslin robe, which scarce outrivalled her cheek in whiteness, save where the deep hectic, now heightened by excitement, flushed it. Clarence seated himself by her, and she was raised to a sit ting posture, and supported in his arms. She placed her wasted hand in his, and said, half playfully, half sadly, “’Tis a worthless of fering, Clarence.” He pressed it to his fevered lips, his face pale and flushed by turns. The minister arose and stood before them, and in few words and simple, united those two lovely beings in a tie which all felt must be broken ere another sun should rise. Yet was that tie registered and acknowledged in heaven. As the holy man pronounced them “one flesh,” and lifted up his hands and his voice in benediction, Lucy put her feeble arms around Clarence, and in a low voice mur mured— “My husband!” “ My wife !” responded Clarence, and their lips met in a long and sweet embrace. We gave them congratulations through tears, exchanged the sweet kiss of holy love and friendship, and left the wedded pair to a brief realization of bliss, of which we cannot tell the reader aught. That night, before the last hour, the angel Azrael came as a messenger of peace to that bridal chamber, and though new fountains of earthly bliss had been opened in the heart of Lucy Hamilton, she repined not at the sum mons, but while heavenly joy sat on her fea tures, and her lips murmured—peace—fare well, husband—mother—sister—all—her pure spirit took its flight, and her lifeless body lay in the ardent embrace of the vo-stricken, but humble Clarence, who still lingers in this weary world, doing his Master’s work, and waiting his Master’s will to be reunited to his angel-bride in Heaven. W. C. R. For the Southern Literary Gazette. A REVOLUTIONARY INCIDENT. / BY J. M * LEGARE, Few Carolina families, whose ancestors were actors in the first war, are unpossessed of legends transmitted by word of mouth from generation to generation, which better illus trate the traits of those stirring times than the most elaborate history could do, and, for this reason, are occasionally worthy o| bpqg re corded. xN Among the many related to me du ring childhood, one remains vividly stamped on my memory—the heroine of which was a great grand-mother, and the scene of action an estate (Yona,) in Christ Church Parish. The proper names, however, I have sup pressed. 11 The Hall at Y’ona, as on most original plan tations in Carolina, is a dark cypress-built structure, well furnished with ancient por traits within, and old mossy oaks dotting the lawn and skirting the avenue in front, and supported in the rear by a small village of out-houses and negro-huts, surrounded by the usual expanse of cotton and corn-fields. The above-mentioned lady, although young and lecentfly married at the date of this incident, buw little of her husband, who passed his life § © ©ir si &(E m &airg && & n ©Assirirs. with Marion, on horseback, or hidden in the j depths of swamps. Sometimes Marion and his troop would reside at \ r ona a few days, and, close upon their departure, the place would be occupied by Tarleton with his dra goons. More than one officer has mounted his steed from the stone-block, by the steps yonder, who never put foot in stirrup again: mo?e than one skirmish has taken place on the lawn in front, and many a poor fellow has been stretched out bleeding on the piazza floor, while the mistress of the house herself assisted to bind up his wounds. The British and Tories often threatened, but never mate rially injured the settlement, as she gave them no further cause of complaint than that of be ing the wife of a rebel. To say the truth, it was only the earnest request of her husband that prevented her from exhibiting to them, in a very forcible manner, her indignation. She was a woman of high spirit, and desired noth ing so much as to call the negroes into the house, upon the approach of the marauders, place arms in their hands, barricade the doors, and bid the scoundrels begone, or approach at their peril! When she saw one of these same men, however, covered with blood and helpless, brought into the Hall, the woman triumphed over the patriot, and she hastened to bind up his wounds in the true Samaritan spirit. One day, a nephew of this lady, named Mikel, brought a letter from her husband, near by, in Marion’s camp, but whose duties did not at the moment allow him to leave. The partizans, while their squadron remained in the neighborhood, frequently visited their wives and children in their homes, keeping a good look-out, meanwhile, lest the Tories should give the swamp-fox the slip, and steal upon them unawares; and this was the wel come news Mikel brought from the master of Yona to its mistress. It was yet early in the morning, and they sat down to breakfast together, yet not before a trusty negro had been posted a short dis tance from the house, as a spy on the move ments of the enemy. Even this they did rather from habit than otherwise, as no band of British or Tories had been heard of in the vicinity for a long while. They had not half finished their meal, however, when the ad vantage of a sentry was evinced by the hnr ried entry of that personage. “What is the matter?” they asked, for he was out of breath with running. “De Tory—da cum, sar!” he ejaculated, his great eyes wide open with fright; for the negroes attached to the house-service fre quently escaped with little more than their lives, when it was supposed their masters were concealed, and the secret was attempted to be wrung from them. Mikel sprang up instantly. “In which direction?” he demanded. “In de abenue, sar —’bout two hundred yard off.” He could already hear the gallop of their horses’ feet. 11 was evident they had watched him here, or they would not have ventured thus, without object, into the very jaws of the lion. One seldom had long to consider in those days of energy —of life and death. Mikel ran to the hack door, and leaped on his horse, which the negro had there ready for him, while his young aunt went to meet the troops, who came thundering up to the steps in front. “ Where is the rebel ?” they shouted— “ Where is the and and fox, that we may trim his ears ?” “If you are fox-hunting,” she said, “you will have to find him yourselves, f owe the foxes no ill will now, since it is only you who take my poultry.” She said this with the view of irritating* them, that they might lose the more time. “ Since you won’t answer, take that!” cried one, levelling a pistol. The piece snapped. “What are you about?” cried another; “she only wishes to gain time—come on !” While they spoke, four or five had dis mounted and ran into the house, with oaths, thrusting their swords into every suspicious spot. Scarcely had they done so, however, when the rest caught sight of Mikel crossing at full speed a field in the rear, and gave chase, halloing to those within to follow, which they presently did. He had not a start of much more than a hundred yards, and had about a quarter of a mile to ride before he could reach the swamp; his horse, besides, had evidently been jaded by a recent march, while those of the Tories were as fresh as if just led out of their stalls. At starting, they saved much ground by cross ing diagonally the space Ihe partizan traver sed in a straight line from the back of the house. Since concealment was no longer of any use, the mistress stood in the back piazza, and watched the chase with intense interest. Away they went, across fields and over nu merous fences; for it was through the Negro Quarter that they rode, where the land was much divided, until the fugitive was within three hundred yards of the swamp and safety, the leading pursuers not thirty yards behind. There was one more fence to be cleared close to the cypresses, and at the instant Mikcl’s horse rose to the leap, the Tory nearest to him perceived the game was up, drew a pistol, fired at twenty-five yards, and the partizan fell headlong from his saddle, shot through the head. The thrilled spectator of this tragedy pressed her hand over her eyes, when she saw her nephew fall. But the next instant a clear bugle-note rang in her ears; and when she looked up, the Tories had wheeled their hor ses, which had not even breathed after their hot run, while close at their heels came Ma rion and his troopers: across the field, over the fences again they flew —death behind, life before! Not so, either: they only cheated them selves by believing that life awaited them be fore. When they reached the lawn, the par tizans rode among them, pistoling, cutting down, trampling under foot. Two only of their whole number escaped by the superior wind of their steeds, and one of these must have counted himself fortunate in getting off with a dangling arm. Aiken, S. C. £ctter from a JJljgoician. For the Southern Literary Gazette. HOMEOPATHY. Roswell, Cobb county, Geo. ) August 31, 1848. j My dear friend: —I reply to your last epis tle in this public manner, because I believe it to be the duty of every medical man to tell the “ laity” somewhat of Homeopathy. The public are deeply interested in all that concerns the “divine art.” The relations which exist between the members of the medi cal profession and the public, are of such an intimate nature, that what affects the one has a corresponding action on the other. You say truly—“ Physicians in early life, are he roes, and in old age, an honor to the State.” We are the ministers of nature; and neither the contagious atmosphere of our hospitals, nor the dismal, dark and impure abodes of vice or misery, will stay the true physician in heartily responding to the wants of “poor, houseless, poverty.” It has been said that “ Grace Darling was not more a heroine, than the youthful Sidney Bernard a hero, when he joined the Eclair .” In fact, the public will not admit our generous self-devotion to the cause we espouse ; hut insist upon it, that we possess some charm which effectually protects us from the ravages of the diseases we are so constantly exposed to. 1 his non-recognition of one of the characteristics of our profes sion, is quite as much to be deplored by the public as by the profession, inasmuch as it leads divines, lawyers, and literateurs to rush in heedlessly, and laud all sorts of quackery to the skies. Do you not remember the pi ec( > of aristocratic nonsense Sir E. Bulwer Lytton gave to the world, not long since, on the sub ject of “cold water,” as administered by Preissnilz ? Have you forgotten the insane ravings of Drs Elliotson and Wilson ? ‘‘You have been thinking of the distinctions be tween the ‘regular’ and ‘irregular’ practi tioners.” Let me tell you some. The “regu lar” engages to treat disease—the “ quack” to cure : the “regular” receives pecuniary re compense for benefits conferred—the “quack” for what he promises; the “regular” is ever ready to spend and be spent in doing good the “quack” never lets charity walk far from home. I come now to the most important part of your letter, and 1 will first reply to your interrogation, “Have you ever seen a Homeopath administer his remedies by the sense of smell ?” I never have, but the rea son is obvious. I, being a “ regular,” and wishing to bear myself well among my fel lows, never “go in and out” with the “ir regulars” of the Hahnemann school; but that they do so administer remedies is evident from their writings. I have not the “Orga non” at hand, or I would select a few curiosi ties for you. I, however, will call your at tention to an “ Essay on the Highest Poten cies,” by Dr. Gross, published in the Homeo pathic Examiner, (N. S.) vol. 1, pages 42-71. On page 49, Dr. Gross relates the melancholy case of his horse, who —not like John Gil pin’s, of blessed memory refused to go “ when the sun shone, or when driven out early in the morning, before he had eaten anything of consequence, and the rising sun shone in his face.” But let me give you the symptoms, my dear Colonel, and you will at once see the value of the remedy applied. “ The horse almost stood straight on his hind legs —the eyelids and muscles of the face were twitching as in a person affected with an epileptic fit—the yvhole body was in a state of convulsive tremor —the breathing was loud and spasmodic—he reeled as if he had been intoxicated”—so says Dr. Gross; and at this critical moment, the learned German tells us, “ I immediately applied my vial, with Cocculars of the size of a goose-quill, to the right nostril of the horse, until he had taken two inspirations. I then drove on. Since then no trace of a paroxysm has been perceived”—(page 50.) On page 51, we are told of “ a girl who had been suffering seve ral days with tooth-ache, a rending pain in the head and face, stitches in the ear, and profuse salivation. She smelled the 200th potence of Chamomile; the next day the symptoms had disappeared entirely.” This will be sufficient to satisfy you as to the mode of administering the “essence of infinity.” “ But are these men honest ?” I tell you no r they are not. Their practices do not corres pond with their writings; but, like Romeo's apothecary, “ their poverty rather than their will” urges them to their work. There are two sorts of poverty. I bear no malice, nor would I aim the shaft of ridicule at the men tal hallucinations of Hahnemann’s disciples; hut the following, which may be found on the 339th page of the Organon, is so fragrant with transcendental philosophy, that creduli ty herself blushes. Hahnemann assures us, that “a single drop of Domera in the 30th degree of solution, at each of which it had been shaken twenty times, endangered the life of an infant who took it for hooping’ cough, whilst one, to which only twelve shakes had been given at each grade of solu tion, was sufficient, with a portion of sugar of the size of a poppy seed, moistened with it, to produce a prompt and easy cure.” A’ gain—we are told, that a person, endowed with the greatest sensibility, may take several grains of gold leaf without experiencing the least effect; but from the trituration for one hour of one grain of gold, with 100 grains of sugar of milk, there results a preparation