VOL. I—NO. 26.
POETRY.
TIV MIGHT ON E.
br i„ht one ! thou art moving through
flie tight and graceful dance,
;( j t ),ere is pride upon thy brow,
tod sunshine in tny glance;
iileaflis'o’f pearl l>»li out upon
|>v wreath of braided hair,
i) jewels flash —like starlight thrown
Upon the thankless air.
j voice pf song ! the aif is rife
Vti, * dream of glorious things,
.1,/}, is thrilling with the life
ytall its shining strings;
, seeihis bow'd in beauty down,
jiivlips arc half apart;
f oocl's deepest thougl t is thrown
forth from thy glowrug heart !
t would thou wert where softly fulls
)n flowers the evening light
dim, deep streams on cottage walls,
With woodbine trail’d and bright!
IVsteps should be where the lily weeps,
Anil the breeze be in thy hair,
nil blessings should break from faltering lips.
And thou be named in prayer.
M ISC E LL A N EOTS.
FltOM THE PHILADELPHIA CASKET.
♦IIDNHJHT SCENE IHltnii
THE DEVOLUTION.
Tint following incident is strictly a fact.
iavc but arranged in regular form those
cumstanccs which 1 heard from the lips
the actors in the scene, and in so doing
im very conscious that I have deprived
»m ofniuch that added deep interest to
[•event. Bas the glance, the tone, the
sturc, the rapid utterance or the pause
emotion, must be imagined by the rea
r; my pen claims no merit, save tlrat of
corating truth with the mellowed rc
licctions of friendship, for I knew and
red those of whom lain about to speak,
and there arc still some living who could
itantly give to my story “a local habita
in and a name.”
Fertile as each of the ‘Old Thirteen’
iv lie in harrowing and romantic inei-
Dls. connected with the war of the Rev
tiou, ttn/ie can offer a fairer field to the
agination or the feelings than South
rolina. Many causes, combined to
:ike her situation at that period very in
esting; and not the least striking, was
e peculiar nature of the population. The
i!de independence and high toned sense,
honor, the polished manners and accom
ished education of tie were
iafuily contrasted by the ignorance and
ssive obedience of her numerous slaves;
and lietween these extremes, there was to
found a middle rank, which seemed
rasionally to exhibit the sterling cliar
leristies of the on-e and tl«o degraded vi- i
of the other, flood sense, strict pro
y, enduring patriotism, were prominent
its, but among those especially whoad
cd to the ancient order of things, and
use passions and fears were constantly
lited by the threatsyuf change and the
lad ol danger, there was sometimes
ndtiio a ferocity, an eagerness lor plun
r, a readiness to engage in scenes of vio
ee which scattered terror over many a
gliborhood that else would have known
a "lily in its milder forms. Rut at the
hod 1 speak of, South Carolina was also
•rey to civil discord; all the tics ofbro
erliood were broken, and as success I
owned either party, the patriot tri
iplied with a taunting and reproachful
■or the tory exulted in the prospect of
ih a return to the ‘good old days’ as :
'uld make the word treason a shield 1
la sword to him. In flic mean time,
lording to the depth of the moral cliar
feelings of aversion and hatred, or
open and manly disunion, were silently
wished or boldly avowed,
ouch characters wertf numerous in a
Uhorn district of South Carolina, which
! 'cry near the beautiful river that sep
hsit from Georgia. The year 1780
Sw,c of gloom and sorrow to the hearts
i,s patriots ; —Charleston was in pos-
S! oiiot the Rritish ; the whole State at
mercy ot the Royalists, and the gallant
fits who had thrown life and property
J l ' l(: perilous stake, were in general
t'cd to abandon the one and seek safe
lor the other in the depths of their
Jni psand the solitudes of their pinebar-
There were some, however, who
f'Wiaincd at their homes, and, in bit
ltss ot heart, tried, by a voluntary re-
Jueut, to avoid the expression of tooling
lc ‘) could only bring ruin to their help
s Emilies.
\tnong tins class was a planter whose
nc was P- . He possessed a fine
ale on one of the narrow and winding
:a!ns which empty into the Broad Ili
• He was young, intelligent ardent
enthusiastic, and devoted to the cause
' " c h his country was struggling. Such
fciracter was exactly calculated to se
es strong friendships and excite strong
ijhcs in a time that tried men’s souls.
11 “t freedom of speech was allowed him,
av o\ved his sentiments in a careless
11 , ss > a hold independence, which al
’V g-urd and those who
MOT - awJWSi' ABAVMJKMI.
PRINTER AND PURLISHED BY NAKNADIKE J. SLADE, AT THREE DOLLARS PER ANNU'SI.
I adhered to tlie ungracious course pursued 1
|by the mother land ; and unfortunately
! there was a regular channel for tiie out
pouring of his triumph or his wrath in a
kind of weekly meeting, at a favdurite spot
where the neighborhood in every direc
tion, sent forth its little groups, to spend
an evening in comparing news, or deba
ting upon the the results of the engrossing
j events of the day. The demon of discord
' hailed these meetings As rts own. The
[ passions whether noble or base werp all a
round : and hail they needed stimulant,
they would have found it in those deep
and frequent draughts, which were ten
| dered and accepted as the pledge of good
j fellowship—it was visible in a short time
I to Mr. P's friends, that he had given great
disgust to some low characters whom he
had treated with a scornful contempt.
He was warned, as affairs on the Amcri
[ can side became more gloomy, to be on
his guard; but he laughed at the idea of giv
ing serious offence to them, as they still
dolled their hats and bowed obsequiously;
| and when at last, conscious of his own im
petuosity, lie withdrew entirely from these
meetings, he little dreamed that scenes and
! sayings which had passed from his own
memory with the flush they had excited on
; his brow, had sunk deeply into the hearts
of some whom he called and in all the sin
s gleness of spirit looked upon as neighbors,
in the primitive sense of the word.
He had married about a 12 month be
fore this period, a very, amiable girl—an
orphan, and almost friendless, tho’not por
| tionless—and very recently she had given
birth to a lovely boy. Ills wife was a be
ing of quiet and gentle mood ; best suited,
i perhaps to the bold and vehement char
acter of him she called lord. His thoughts,
his hopes, his fears, were faithfully reffcc
| ted on the placid stream of her feelings, it
i resisted only the shadows of bitterness
which sometimes passed over his spirit;
! and when they came to trouble the foun
tains of her happiness, the tear in her dark
eye, and its imploring look, dispersed
them when holier influences prevailed.
To his wife, who had found cause for
| constant anxiety in this bait of his charac
ter, the change in his habits a blessed one.
She no longer watched the setting sun in
sadness and loneliness, dreading lest lie
should have been embroiled with some of
ofhis rude companions ; yet trying to
1 conceal her real cause of solicitude under
the pica of fear lest he should be exposed
to the heavy dews of the season. She no
longer saw him return exhausted by cx
i citcmcnt or irritated by opposition. It
was grievous to know that the patriots
were even for a time, crushed in Caroli
na ; hut she deemed all safe who no long
er offended by word dr deed, and her bus
kind avoided intercourse with any save a
few tried friends; and tho’ serious, lie was
• calm and always with her now. Mary
asked no more.
‘I think, dear Edward,’ said she, as they
sat one lonely t veiling, in their piazza
• which embraced the whole front of their
mansion. 1 really think w c never werp
so happy as at present —for our days of
i courtship, as they arc called, were
I days ot anxiety and alarm, and even our
bridal was so hurried and so private that
it could scarcely he called a season of joy.
You know I low restless you were just at
' that time, under the uncertainty that at
tended the plans against Savannah, and I
am sure wearied of D’Estaiug’s name.
Then when you brought me here, for ma
ny. many months, yon were constantly on
1 the wing—and Is temed scarcely to
pass a quiet day at your side. But now
I you are no longer' a truant; you are ta
j king care of home, instead of seeking care
: abroad, and are literally what our good
old rector told you must be, ‘the liouse
hand’—encircling all things by your vigi
■ lance and love ; and you are going to set
! a charming example to my sweet George,’
| added she playfully, as she laic! her infant
jin its father’s arms, and pressed her own
1 soft lips to his polished forchcftd.
Mr, P looked up and smiled, for
thoWcould even an absorbed jioliticiaii re
sist the sweet tone aild innocent caress
of his young wife. For a few moments
lie forgot all beyond the treasures which
his arm encircled, butonlv a few moments.
He sighed, as he said, ‘My dear Mary, I
hope that we shall yet see even happier
days than these. Mark as is the pros
j pect of our country, I look for the cloud
to roll away even as that gorgeous one is
"oin< r from the glorious sun ; and then,
lovefthe domestic habits for which you
"ave me such sweet credit will, 1 trust,
be of choice, not necessity. I shall not
then be obliged to limit my rides toiny
cotton Jk Id, lest I should lie ordered off"
the r oad—or bite my lips when I chance
to meet a neighbor, lest the sentiments of
a freeborn American should offend his
royal cars. ‘Those fellows!—(she put her
hand gentlv on his mouth,—well then,’
said Ijc.'-Ih" king »!lt ruing warmth. • those
. *— r-*-~r .■ ■■ i twm
f“™ or A.NV THIKU—TbiTB BMBU yUtt 0(IW£, i « 'SJO- i'NjySJI IK/l/aUSplcE*” HogACk.
eiMmau inHEs
MILLEDGEVILLE, GEORGIA,-#ULY 10,1833.
loyalists will then no longer lord it over /
bower and hall—and that worthless sot j
low, Gilford, will have better employment,
1 U'ust, than abusing me—harmless mat.
las I am!—or tampering with my negroes.'
•Nay, Edward, do pot believe such
tales. lie can bear no ill-will towards!
you ; idle and worthless lie is, but I am j
sure he is not ungrateful. He cannot have j
forgotten all he owes to your kindness, du
ring the sad distress of his family last au- j
jtumn.’ Mary said this earnestly, lor she
knew herhusbaud was not prone to suspi-!
cion.
He shook his head. ‘I have not a parti- j
i cle of faith, my dear, in his good feeling
towards us'; you may judge of it when he i
has been trying to induce even our faith
ful Cyrus, to desert us and join the British.
‘And only Cyrus V asked his lady. *Oh!
lie tempted them all; and I have no doubt
some of them will yield to the booty he
promises them, ‘Booty! Mrs. P-
turned pale. ‘Be surely wished them to
depart peaceably.’ said she gasping, for ]
that was a fearful chord to touch.
‘Her husband saw her alarm, and with
assumed carelessness smiled, as to be wil
ling to think that he desires nothing more
than my ruin. He will urge these poor
devils to join the British, and then take’
especial heed to secure a good part of their
i wages ; and he will care little for their
j sufferings or my distress. But come, let
! us go in f the evening has grown chilly.
1 must retire early, lor 1 shall rise with
I the dawn.’
•If it please God to protect us from evil
i during the night, my dear Edward,’ said
1 his wife, in a low and solemn tone.
‘Truc,’replie*d he bending his bead with
reverence, ‘if it pleases God!
At an early hour they returned to their
chamber ; and wearied bv a day of bodi
j ly toil, and with a mind oppressed by ap
j prehensions which he had only hinted to
j his wife, Mr. soon sunk into,an unre
j freshed 'sice:'. But to Mary there was
Jno rest; her heart was aroused, and what
| charm can lull the mother and the wife,
when she trembles for the object of her
i love. She could not sleep ; she sat with
i her infant in her arms, until fatigue com
pelled her to lay his soft checks on the pil
[ low. She watched by his little couch un
til her husband awoke from a troubled
dream—and then to convince him that j
she was not indisposed, she trimmed the
lamp, committed herself and those who
were more dear than self, to Him ‘who nei
ther slumbers nor sleeps,’ and tried to re- i
pose. But even on her pillow fancy was
busy around her.—She started at*every’
sound ; strange noises seem id to ring in
her ears ; she thought she heard shouts ;
wild cries ; then she distinguished low
murmurs, as of whisperings beneath her
windows. Again and again she started:
from a momentary slumber, to say ‘is it
the night that has no morrow?’ At length (
about midnight, she was thoroughly a
roused by a sound in which imagination
had no share. She distinctly hear 1 the |
rapid and.icgular advance of horsemen
She listened, and just when they must
have reached a spot where the road was
forked, the sound died away. Breathless,
yetrelieved she was again about to recline
her head, when it returned—but gently,
and as if fearing to alarm him, she grasped!
her husband’s arm, and called upon him
to arise ; and ere be had hastily dressed
himself, a rough voice hailed ‘The house!’
and in a few moments the front door was
furiously struck by impatient hands. Mr.
I*. implored his wife to remain where
‘ she was ; and taking a light, had only
! reached the door which led into his parlor,
when an entrance was forced by his rude j
visitors, and with a shout of triumph lie
was seized and hurried into the room.—
He found himself in the midst of a party
of armed men, carefully wearing crape o
ver their faces, and from their noisy and
tumultuous manner as it was very evident
that they were under the influence of li
quor. Whilst an eager and important de
bate apparently occupied a part of the ’
number, and completely drowned his at
tempts to be heard, lie was calm enough j
to scan the forms and listen to the tones i
of those who were near him, and in spite)
of the disguise something every now arid j
then escaped that was familiar to his eye
or can lie turned to look on him who
had seized and held him in his grasp as a
tiger would his prey ; he started : he j
could not be mistaken—it was Gilford ;
and from his loud and frequent curses on j
their folly and delay, it was evident lie j
was their leader, and that his life was in
the hands of a personal enemy.—For a
moment Mr. P closed his eyes to des
pair ; for a moment lie determined to ad- j
dress the wretch by name; but the im-!
pulse was inercitully checked—but ere j
the temptation could be repeated he was
suddenly placed in the middle of the room,!
and the party formed a close circle around |
him.
The leader deliberately cocked his pis-1
tol, and taking Mr. I’. ’s watch from
his side am handing it to a comrade, said.
‘Offer up a prayer, as you are fond of the
business, you have five minutes allowed I
you —whenthey pass, you die.’
A wild shriek of agony rang, through j
the room as he closed the brutal address, j
and by t sudden movement of the cirelo I
the poor victim saw in a corner of the j
room his wretched wife on her knees, j
holdihg up, as if in appeal, his sleeping in- j
font. She had thrown aruund hersclt aiul,
babe a large scarlet cloak, and following;
her husband, had hitherto in silent horror j
witnessed the whole scene. A mist |
seemed to blind Mr. P. ,as his eye !
rested on her ; a faintness to pass over j
him, which might well be termed the ag-!
ony ol death. But lie had a dauntless 1
spirit, and he rallied when he tlio’t his ene- 1
my would triumph in his weakness. He j
looked steadily upon him, as he said, ‘1
know not why or wherefore you are a
bout to murder : hut since 1 am to die, if
not already prepared lor the hour, assu
redly it is not here that I can pray.—Fire!'
The wretch obeyed He was a perfect
marksman ; but either he was embar
rassed by the noble bearing of his victim,
or some shght movement eluded his eye,
lor he did not kill. Mr. P hadinvol
i untarily raised his left arm as he spoke,
land the motion saved his life. The bul
jlet shattered his hand, and passing through
it grazed his temple. He stood covered
I with blood: the sight of this ‘certain crime’
j softened instantly those around him. The
I scene had all passed in a moment, and un
til the flash of the pistol, they perhaps nev
er dreamed that Gilford meant more than
to insult and terrify. They now firmly
protested against farther violence, and in
j sisted on being led to seek the booty he
had promised them, lie sullenly submit
j ted. Every part of the house was ran
! sacked, aild nil that was valuable secured;
! and then, dreading lest an alarm should
j reach some of his friends in the neiglibor
i hood, they hastily retreated with their
j ‘spoils from the rebel.’
By that time Mr. P had become
j weak and faint from loss ol blood. lie
had never moved, but with stern compo-
I sure stood and supported his shattered
i hand until the last ol' the band rode furi
j ously from his door. Then he returned,
and called upon his wife. But she did not
heed him ; her eyes were fixed with a
horrid glare ; one hand was held up as if
to shield them from some fearful sight ;
her lips were apart as if struggling to utr
| ter a sound ; but she uttered none, and her
! whole appearance would have served as
| a personification of approaching madness.
; Mr. P tottered towards her; and sunk
■ at her side. ‘My wife,’ said he, rouse your
self and aid me, for if you do not I must
die.’ And he held up his bleeding hand.
) 'the sight acted on her as he hoped.
She gazed slowly and fearfully round the
room, as if to see that the murderers were
gone; and then, with a burst of mingled
j anguish and joy, she threw her arms a-
I round him and wept bitterly. Mr. P
| permitted her tears to flow in silence, and j
| when with uplifted hands and eyes she had)
! returned thanks to a merciful God for his;
1 preservation from a cruel death, she by j
degrees became composed, and placing j
her infant by his side, she went to seek for !
aid in binding up his wound. But not a j
domestic was to' be found—and believing j
that they had indeed all deserted, she was |
endeavoring, weak and trembling as shej
was, to drag a matrass to the parlor, when \
Cyrus cautiously peeped in at the door.
LI is cabin was at some distance, and he
told her that on hearing the alarm he had
immediately ran towards the dwelling, but j
seeing it filled with armed men and terri- !
lied by her shrieks, he had withdrawn,
and watched at a distance until habcr.cld
them departing, with many of his fellow ’
servants in company. Then dreading!
lest they should seek for him. he had actu
ally concealed himself in a deep dry ditch, |
so long as he heard even the faintest sound
of the retreating hoofs. The faithful
creature uttered a thousand-simple but af- j
feeting expressions of sorrow and pity for:
his wounded master, busied himself in ar-!
ranging the matrass, kindling a cheerful
blaze, (lor the night air was cold,) and see
ing that the blood still flowed thro’ all the
bandages and applications his mistress j
had wrapped round the wound, he begged
her to let him try something which the old!
people said the Indians always put on fresh i
wounds. She gladly consented. Her
husband passively submitted to all the di
rections which Gyrus gave, whilst with a
trembling hand she unwound the bloody
folds, and lie then sunk faint and exhausted
on his palet. Mary hastened to prepare
a safe and refreshing cordial in a strong
cup of coffee, and strengthened by the be-!
verage, and soothed by the judicious sur
gery of Cyrus, lie was ere long able to talk !
of the future.
1 My love, when day dawns, we will go
to our kind friend, Mrs. S . She is
skilful in the treaunent of most diseases,
and I dare say can manage even this
wound ; at all events she will do as much
as a surgeon could just now, were I near
er one than twenty miles, lor I am sensi
ble that all ready my hand is so swollen
that the bones could not possibly be set.’
The plan was a most gratcliil one to
his wife, lor no words could express the
horrible dread which hung over her as
she looked upon him in his hopeless state.
•They will return and complete their work;
[Gilford will never he satisfied until he mur
ders him I shore my eyes ; and every leaf
that fell with the rising breeze, seemed to
1 her painfully acute ear the heavy tramp
I of a horseman.
With the first faint streak of day, Cyrus
was sent to the stable. He found an old
and gentle animal grazing near the door, !
the only one which the marauders bad
left. He tried to equip it with his own old
saddle and bridle and make up a kind of
pillion for his mistress. Mr. P's arm was
carefully secured in a sling, his wife, with
her infant rode behind him, and Cyrus,
their trusty guard, walked briskly by the
side of the horse until they reached the
house of her who was truly the Lady
Bountiful of the neighborhood—the home
of the distressed, the comfort of the un
happy, and the refuge of the poor. She
received them with a woman’s tenderness
and a woman’s tear, but her sympathy was
ever an active principle. She exerted all
her skill, and finally effected a perfect
cure, although the band was dreadfully
disfigured, and she did not permit her
young friends to return to their own resi
dence until happier days had dawned on
South Carolina.
It was in 1800 that, with the bride of
I that lady’s son, I visited the hospitable
mansion of Mr. P He was then an old
man, and surrounded by a large and most
engaging family, the light and active form
had shrunken, the keen blue eye was dim,
and the brown locks which Marv used to
entwine with so much pride around her
slender fingers, were ringlets still, but sil
ver ones, yet still as carefully arranged by
the same kind hand, for she was living too,
j and enjoying with him a green old age. 1
I became n favorite with them both, and
j loved to induce them to talk of former
days, these were necessarily the days of
jour Revolutionary War,and I was struck
by the excessive bitterness which the old
[gentleman displayed, whenever the roy
alists of that period or tories as he called
them, were die subjects of discourse. 1
’ ventured one evening to tax him with want
of charity, and urged him as the Scotch
I say ‘to let. by gones be by goncs.’ lie laid
on the table before me his inutilalcJ band,
and asked ‘whether it could he easy to for
get the times or the men, who had left him
Isueli a memorial as that.’ I had often re
marked the terrible scar, but as he had ne
ver named it I of course had asked no
question ; but now I learned from Mrs.
P and himself the particulars of the
trying scene which I have related. From
other sources, 1 afterwards gathered the
sketch which I have given of their youth
ful characters. As I listened to the details
of the cruel outrage, I ceased to wonder
at its infiuencfc on a man of Mr. I’ ’s
deep feeling, and I saw if ever he forgave
it would not be the voice ol reason that
would effect the change.
‘And you are sure, sir,’said I, that you
were not mistaken—that it was really Gil
ford V
‘As sure madam, as if I bad seen every
feature of hi face. The villain betrays it
now by his cowardly conduct.’
‘Now ! W hat—is lie living—and do you
meet !
He smiled. ‘I can scarcely say that)
we meet; the first time I saw him afterthat
night was, to use a homely phrase, when
the tables were fairly turned. I suspected
he had dreaded my vengeance,and fled the
country for a time. My friends here had
even studiously avoided naming him as the!
chief actor in the murderous scene, and
Mary's tears and entreaties had scaled o-t
ven my lips until all danger was past, sat
that, concluding he was unknown, the
scoundrel was actually approaching me hi!
a crowd,and offered his hand. 1 did not!
kill him,, madam. I pray you give me!
credit, I did not even fed! him to the earth.
But I taxed him with his crime; I pro
claimed to those around him, that he was
a thief and a murde.rcr ; and 1 swore, by
all which I held sacred, that if ever he in- 1
toiitionallv crossed my path again, or n- :
mained one instant where we eon !<l breathe
even the same atmosphere, I’d crush him j
as I would a vijier. He was glad to es
cape on such terms. My son,’ turning to
him whose flashing eyes bore witness to
his father’s assertions, * my son longs to
get hold of him; but he keeps carefully
out of our way; and I tell my children
♦hut in two senses of the word wc arc old '
enemies, and I choose to keep the iSsue in
my own hands.’
During iny stay in Carolina we often
spoke ol the event, and when I bade them
farewell 1 could only hope that the kind
hearted old gentleman was a little unde
cided as to his course, if ever lie should
chance to meet his enemy again.
I returned to the north, and some tb\T
years afterwards, having preserved mv in
tercourse with the family, I received «
message from Mr. P——-.*,. GJell her thaL
like llavid ot old, tlte life of him who
sought mine has been in my power ; and
that, like him, 1 have been enabled too to
forgive the pursuer of blood, and to let
him depart in peace.’ His daughter ad
ded, that the sudden death of her beloved
mother had seemed at once to quench the
fiery spirit which nourished his invetera
cy, and lie ceased even to allude to Gil
ford. Having consented to attend a pu
rish meeting where the site of anew church
was to be selected, he left his son to at
tend to the equipment of his pony, and sea
ted himselfat hi* little table, with that sa
cred volume, which, under bis Mary’s gen
tle influence, bad long been the source
whence he drew strength for the trials of
every dav. The first sentence that caught
his eye, was the solemn warning, 4 he that
‘liateth’ his brother is a ‘ murderer.’ He
paused. ‘ l)o 1 not in word and deed show
that I ‘ hate’ Gilford!’—He shuddered. —
‘ What, am I then, in the sight of God, on
a par with him ?
Filled with these solemn thoughts, he
in silence pursued his way to the place of
meeting,and had scarcely exchanged greet
ings with his neighbours, when the
wretched man accidentally approached it
also. Ilis impetuous son fiercely ordered
him off, and seeing him hesitate, raised his
whip to enforce the command; but his fa
ther caught his arm, and calmly, yet firm
ly, said, ‘ Stop ! on your obedfence harm
not a hair of his head.’ He then, to the
amazement ot all present, turned towards
the dogged wretch, who still cowered un
der young P "s fiery tone and manned, -
and extending his hand, said, ‘ Gilford, fTfir
time to put an end to such scents as this r
we arc both on the brink of the grave; we
must both stand before Him who vVill judge
the heart as well as the actions. May
He in that hour Waive me my offences, as
with sincerity I tell you I forgivd yours.
1 offer you my Irviid as pledge that you
shall never be visited lor yOur conduct, by
injury from me Or mine.’
Gilford touched—yet scarcely touched
the withered hand that was extended to
him; but his lip quivered, and tears stood
in bis eyes. Mr. P turned from him with 1
emotion, and as be left the spot the per
fect silence of the group was only broken
by low tones of admiration and astonisb
isliment, at the triumph of the Christian
principle. The old men shook their heads,
and said, that such a change, in such a
man. was but a preparatory to a greater.
And they were fight. In a few months
Mr. P. was called from earth, and the
mortal remains ot the once bold patriot,
and of his gentle Marj% repose in jieace;
and lew are now Jiving to bear witness of
this simple record of even one event in
their fives—this ‘ Midnight Scene’ of vio
lence and bloodshed.'
COURTSHIP AND NAKRIAGE.
The pleasantest part of man’s life is'
that which passes in Courtship. Love,'
desire, hope, and all the pleasing emotions
ot the sold arise in the pursuit. An art
ful man is more likely to succeed than the
sincere lover. The lover hath ten thou
sand griefs, impertinences, and resent-'
incuts, which render a man unamiabley
and often ridiculous. Where the Citoicc
is left to friends, the chief point is an es
tate. Where the persons choose for them
selves, tlieir thoughts turn iqion the per
son. The first would provide for the con
venience of life; the others are preparing
for a perpetual feast. Aft agreeable wo-
Iman is preferable to a perfect beauty.—
:Good nature aud evenness of temper will
[give you an easy companion for life ; vir
tue and good sense, an agrcable friend ;
love and constancy, a good wife or hus
band. Ot ail disparities, that in humor
|makes the most unhappy marriages, yet
scarce enters our thoughts in contradict
ing them. Before marriage we cannot
lie too inquisitive and discerning in the
fault of the person beloved. Mar
riage enlarges the scene of our happiness
or misery. A marriage of love is plea
sant; of interest easy; and where both
meet, happy only to those who tread the
(Kttlis of life together in a constant uniform
course of virtue.
The ne plus ultra of I'i ffery. — A
New-York paper tells us of a Scythe,
manufactured by Messrs. & Cos.,
which was so sharp that even its shadow,
as it hung on the hmb of an apple tree in
the bright sun. cut a man’s loot off
