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VOL. 1.
Georgia, Times, & State flights* Advocate.
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T»I ISCELLAXEOIJS.
The Murderer’s Pardon.
The winter of affliction, the hot sun of Ibe
ria, and fatigues of many a field of citivalrv,
had robbed six-and-ttventy summers of their
gladsome beauty, giiingto the warrior Pil
grim an appearance matured and sedate. Tall
and finely proportioned, his mien was ligui
lied and graceful, while Ins features, regular
and handsome, were touched with an expres
sion of melancholy. Ilis blue eves indica
ted a more northern race than his dark sun
burnt skin, dark moustaches and Spanish cos-,
tunic. In the front of his hroad-llapped, up-1
wards-turned hat, lie wore an cscalop-slicll,
which showed that lie had been oil a pilgrim- j
age to the shrine of San Jagodc Compostello. i
He rode ait Andalusian jennet, black as jet, |
excepting a white star in the centre of the !
forehead, and a white ring above the hoof 61
the near hind-leg. At some distance behind
him rode, on an English iiorsc, his Biscayan
valet, leading a Spanish mule, loaded with the
baggage and arms of the Pilgrim.
Guilt—deep and fearful crimes—but in
their enormity wholly unpremeditated, had
banished him a voluntary exile ft'dm his na
tive land. In the unthinking, impassioned
rashness of youth he had felicitated himself
in the success of a midnight fraud, but when
the morning dawned, and Ike terrible truth
became known to his victim, reason from that
hapless fair one fl and, and his own avenging
brother fell beneath his unwilling sword.
With what deep anguish had lie lied frour
that scene of horror! llow profound had
been his remorse, how truly penitent the lol
lon'iug years of his life.
As lie now traversed the border of Hamp
shire, and he recognised objects familiar to
him in the guileless days of youth ; the plea
sure they would have excited was changed
into agony, as they reminded him with all the
vividness of actual presence, of that owe most
fatal era of his existence.
The turrets, clustered chimneys, high roofs,
botched gables, and bay windows ol a man
sion were seen, for a moment, through an o-j
pelting of the trees; and more continually,
from its elevated site, the ivy-clad tower ot a
church, the main body of which was conceal
ed by some majestic limbs ; the sun was stok
ing behind the distant woods, and darted a
parting gleam on that baitlemcnfed tower.
The golden light faded away, and a purple
haze every moment deepened into a more
Sombre gloom; that guidon gleam was like
one moment of life—that gloom the years
that follow—the dark obscurity which rapidly
o’orspreads the scene—the grave !
The Pilgrim groaned from deep and bitter
agony of soul.
A turn in the road, and abruptly swelling
hanks, now shut out from the traveller’s view
these distant objects of deeply painful inter
est, who now rode on buried in thought.
At length ho was roused from his reverie
by the lould haying of dogs, and looking in.
tho direction from whence the sound came,,
he observed, at a furlong’s distance, a cluster
of buildings, corn and hay-stacks, a pond, a
fine ash, an aged, almost leafless oak, and
some stunted pollards. A deeply rutted land,
betwc :na thorn hedge, with a dappled green
ditch on the right hand, and a wall of loose
stones on the left, bed to this rural homestead.
Desirous of a shelter for the right, lie turned
U P the land and soot) reached the gate o! the
farm-yard. The house was one of those long,
rambling, high-roofed, thatebld buildings,
which in the sixteenth century, and long sub
sequent, was tho abode of the substantial
English yce.'nan ; in connexion with which
»as, and running' cfTin capricious irregulari
ty, other buildings of various forms and di
mensions, from the granary to the cow-house
and pig-stv, ar and bovond these a cluster of corn
and hay stacks of sufficient magnitude to
prove the rural wealth ot the.owner-
As (he traveller approached the large mas
tiffs, chained in the yard, growled, and tin.
unrestrained curs and terriers ran to meet him,
yelping and barking incessantly- Ihe yeo
man himself, with two or throe children, and
a farm servant, stood in the yard, gazing on
the approachinir’s ranger in silent wonder,
but he was courteous and bland in his man
ners, and when he craved shelter lor liimscll
and servant for the night, the fanner dropped
his fears of freebooter, and opened Ins gate
"ith a frank and kindly welcome- Ibe mule
"as unloaded, and the farmer’s lads taking
the charge of tho cattle, Diego gladly lollovvcd
his master into the house.
" hen the stranger had finished a homely
*«p3tl and was seated oil a high backed settle
•o the right us the fire, and In* host on one
®pp®atte, while in a comer, still nearer theca
pteiom. chimnev. up which ascended the blur
’timkr. from ttu\ ba z 1 n;' wood fire, '• •** *he a
laedlui of tlie yeoman, knitting «'tli '
j det'atigahle industry a large stocking of bine
| worsted. The good wife was still "bustling
j about, and two comely wenches were putting
the house in order; while leaning against a
! lt,,l k r and high dresser, were three “or lour
• youths, whose sleek and rosy faces and vacant
expression of countenance, were strongly
contrasted with the swarthy and shrewd vis
j ago of the Biscayan valet, who stood a little
I distance from where his master sat. The
j younger children were seated on stools or on
I the floor, amusing themselves with a kitten
j but occasionally stealing a look of fearful in’
! ipnry at the traveller.
! The Stranger sit some time musing; his
i f, ycs. fixed on the crackling and blazing oil
j lets, which fitfully lighted the more promi
objects in the irregularly-built chamber,
I while it left Others in impervious gfoom. At
length lie addressed some observations to his
host on matters likely to lie interesting to
him, and, in the course of a somewhat desul
tory conversation, let fall that lie had himself
recently arrived from Spain, and not being
pressed for time on bis journey to London,
would like to tarry a few days at the fatm if
agreeable to the host. After sundry depre
catory apologies for the lowliness of the- abode
and fare for the gentleman of the stranger's
I supposed rank, his proposition was agreed to.
The point being arranged, the stranger again
spoke of the surrounding country, and at last
: mentioned the ivy-clad tower of the church
he had seen in the distance with the castella
ted mansion beyond it.
“I never like to look at either,” said the
farmer, “ and am glad that is not our parish
church.”
“Why 7” said the stranger, and the next
moment seemed to regret that ho had asked
the question.
“ Because you see, sir, 1 loved the kuiglit,”
said the farmer, “ he was a good friend to me
when a friend was most needed ”
Tlie stranger shaded his eyes from the fire,
but did not speak.
“ t hear,” resumed the farmer, “that thej
heirs-at-law are claiming the estate, as though
Master Charles were really dead.”
“ And so ho is,” said tho goodvvife, stop,
uitig in the middle of the kitchen. “It was
out of nature that a ship could ever cross the
sea with such a fiend on hoard—the blessed
Virgin forgive me!”
“ Hold thy peace,Bridget, hold thy pence !'’
sai 1 the farmer, “ thou knowest not what thou
sayest ”
“ Not know !” said Bridget, coining for
ward, “ then I should like to know who should
know if 1 don’t. Was not my poor sister— 1
Heaven rest her soul 1. sworn gossip to Alice [
-Mayfield, the still woman at the hall, and did
not Alice tell the whole rights of the story to
my poor sister, and did not Kitty tell the whole
story to mo?—not know indeed I”
“ Ay, av, you heard enough, I doubt not,”
said tho fanner, “ but I don’t believe all 1
hear.”
“ Then you ought to be ashamed of your
self for doubting honest folks,”said Bridget;!
“ but I suppose you wont say the poor dear
young lady did not go stark mad !”-
The stranger groaned.
“ And that incarnate fiend, Master Chailes,!
did not slay his brother?” continued Bridget:!
but looking at the stranger instead of at her j
husband, and as she thus plunged into the vc-1
rv middle of the tragical story, the various ]
members of tlie family silently closed around.
“There was sad mistake,” said the farmer, j
“Mistake!” cried his wife. “What were
they mistaken who found Mister Ldivau. run
through the body with Ins brother’s sword ?;
Were they mistaken who watched the poor:
crazed laily ? Was the old father mistaken -
when lie followed Ins son and her to the grave,
and was laid down in it himself, within three
short months of (hat serpent Charles having j
done all these horrors.” _ !
The stranger abruhtly rose and walked from -
the cottage.
Tlie wife looked at her husband, and tlie
husband at his wife.
“ Thou art always talking about what thou
kiiovvost nothing ol,” said the farmer.
“If l had 1 should not have been heeded,”
said the dame significantly, “ and 1 will make
no bed to-night for nodoily knows—”
“ Whist, goody,” said tlie tanner.
“1 beg pardon, young man,” said the wife
to tho Biscayan. Who. is your master ?”
‘ Non lnglesi, Sonora,” replied the Span-
iard, bowing.
“ J never heard the lianio before, said the
goodvvife. What do you say is your master’s
name ?”
“ Non lnglesi, senora,” was the reply, and
none other could she obtain from the honest
Biscayan. , „ ~ „ .
“ I believe he can t speak Lilghsh, sanl
the goodvvife to her husband, “which is a proof
tliathc is no better than bis master, end so I
! think the sooner we send them both packing
the better.”
The stranger re-entefed the cottage, Ins.
face in spite of a southron sun was palid, his
eyes heavv, and the expression of his coun
tenance full of melancholy. The farmer Ai
led a horn with nut-brow;, ale, and presented
I|t w |th a kindly manner to his guest, who de
clined not the well-meant offer hut the good
wile had certaiii vague suspicions and imagtn
i j„gs, to satisfy which site would not let the
| subject drop. ~
“Soas I was saving, sir, nun she addres
sed hc-rcseif directly to the stranger; “ when
i poor Mistress Amelia died—
i The stranger again raised Ins hand to his
I f„ rc | lC ad. —" The broken-hearted old knight
| had her name put on the cofiin as the avviu
j w ife of his poor murdered son—what do you
I*' “Think I”'said the stranger, turning Ins
' head, A looking so wildly in her tace that the
j wood w. fe Started two paces bae k - I »»'* •
’ whv m that was the madness of the whole .
| The blessed Virgin protect us tjar ula-
j t ,,j the goodvvife, “why they »ere not all
i m The stranger recording hi.nscif resumed
! h ’*SyXS:-, Master C'hatlcs 1 =
thcv were married V' said the goodwill, alter
[ „ p iuse, vv tth the feminine tact at
“" C “ eVCr dcspair of an > Truth being our guide, we sail trader her auspices.”
j ‘lt lie had he would indeed have been the i
fiend you have styled him,” said the strar
f? er * ’ j
“ I’iien as he was a friend of yours, sir,”;
; said the goodvvife, “ I suppose you dont think j
there was any harm in his going under covtr
i °I the night, and passing himself as his bio-;
tlier, because he did not know .the poor orphm j
adopted by his father was that brother's law
ful wife ?”
I “ Woman ! why speak you thus?” said die
; stranger sternly.” “I would retire tores.”
“ To rest 1” muttered his excited hostess,
j “ Can you rest V
i Thy stranger rose, but recovering his self'
l possession ho resumed iiis seat, and seonied
|to forget the presence.of the person who lad 1
:so greatly excited him. lie spoke to his j
trank and single minded host, of cattle, earn !
: and pastures ; leaving his hostess to biiitlc
about, muttering anil glancing at him eyes of,
suspicion and dread. But her heart was not 1
; unkind, and forgetting her threat, she went
i and prepared her best bed for the stranger,
j and when she again approached the kitchen
i Are, she absolutely started on beholding her
| youngest and favourite child, a boy, between [
j three and four years of age, standing on the
- stranger’s knees and laughing and playing
, with his moustaches.
! “Come to me, Willy,” said the mother!
with a voice A manner as though her belov-
I ed w ere in the hands of the evil one.
But the child heeded her not. .She took
Jiohl of his right arm. “ Come to me lammey,”
she said, coaxingly.
“ No, 1 won’t,” said the child, 7 “ I’ll stop
and sleep with gentleman—naughty inammcy
not make bed for nobody.”
The good-wife coloured, ami looked for a
moment in the now mildly smiling and hand
j some face of the stranger—so beautiful, he
could not he had !—and iic had won the heart
lof her child ! —it was impossible 1 There are
chords to a woman’s heart, which, if touched,
arc yours—no matter what else you lie.
From this moment all allusion to the tragi
cal events of by gone years were carefully
avoided, and the stranger during some days
sojourned at the farm in uninterrupted quiet.
His chief gratification appeared to be in pen
etrating the depths of the forest, in which he
would wander lor many hours apparently ab
sorbed in thought, so much so that when his
| nth was occasionally crossed by a country
man he seemed unconscious of the respectful
salutation with which lie would he greeted.
Frequently had he approached that desert
ed mansion, and that ivy-clad tower, and field
of sepulture, hut he had not once entered
their immediate precincts. He had indeed
listened to the garrulous chroiiiclings of the
aged sexton, who, with bonnet in hand, had
invited him to enter and sec the tombs, and
even the hall of which he had the charge;
and when those oilers were declined, he seem
ed desirous of piquing the stranger’s cuiiosi
tv by relating many wondrous events of past
generations; but none of w hich" were so tru
ly appalling as the fatal one which has been
already dimly sketched. To this sad tale,
with all its various coloring, tlie stranger lis
tened with constrained composure, hut offered
neither interruption nor comment; but when,
after a short silence, the sexton said,
“ Master Charles was a fine, generous, spi
rited youth. 1 can even yet scarcely believe
him capable of sucli feartul deeds—if lie be
alive what a sorrowful heart lie must have!—
poor fellow ! —his good father prayed God to
forgive him !’
The stranger breathed with difficulty.
‘God forgive him!’ said the sexton.
‘God forgive him!’ murmured the stran-'.
ger, and drawing his hat over his brow, and
touching, in doing so, the cscalop of JSan Jago |
do Compostello, lie turned slowly away, and
was soon lost in the deepening shades es the
forest.
A fine autumnal day was closing in, and
the stranger buried in thought, w as still wan
dering in the forest. For sonic lime the clash
! of swords, and brief ejaculations of human
i voices, close at hand, were wholly unheeded,
so completely was the agency of the external
I senses in abeyance to the profound operations
of all-absorbing mind, when a piercing shriek
\ rent the gates ot the temple, and he started
completely awakened to surrounding circum
stances. lie had penetrated the very depths
of the forest, in which huge oaks throwing
their gnarled and fantastic arms around, gave
with their sacred foliages, a wild liorrcr to the
scone, lie beheld, leaning against a massive
■ tree, a young & beautiful female ovcrvvhelin
-1 cd with terror, and gazing oil a cavalier of
; most noble presence, who was manfully con
testing with liis coutcau du ehasse, against
the combined assaults of two power Iu l and
visored men, armed with long cut-and-tbrust
, swords.
The stranger could not doubt a single in
stant on which side he should array himself,
! aad drawing his highly-tempered steel of far
famed Toledo, sprang forward to the succor
,of the cavalier. Although thus placed, in
i point of number?, on an equality, the ruf.ians
I did not give up the contest, but seemed to re
-1 lv oil their gigantic frames as superior to the
; more slight and elegant proportions of the tivo
I cavaliers. But’ in this they soon found their
i error, and their biood began to flow from some
severe wounds, ere, uttering a mutual signal
ed}-, they suddenly started oil in opposite' di
-1 reclions, and in an instant disappeared.
“Thou hast done well,” said the cavalier
; to his deliverer.
The stranger drew himself up, looked at ns.-’
late a?lv, and then,without noticing his words,
approached the lady thcv had rescued.
' "By holy Paul,” said the cavalier,approach
ing, “thou hast done me good service, which
shall not ho forgotten.—(Ms fish! what a
scrape I was in with those big boned knaves
—gramerev, an' you bad not come, 1 should
; have had enow on my hands :—pretty demoi
scllc, what in tho fiend’s name brought you
: into the midst of this forest with two masked
ruffians for practical lovers,
i The lad* sobbed but could not speak.
“Is she "a stranger to you, sir’’’inquired
their rescuer. ,
“Never saw her in my life before, replied
the cavalier. "Lo t inyrelfm hunting, ant
tumbled on tbe.'f ruffian* in lime to stop
| ( ~ c Ton 1 assault. —she’s beauti
i *'il, i’ faith, but 1 like not tears—they spoil
j the eyes : —cheer ye, cheer yc, lady, we’ll
j have aid anon. ’ And so saying, hr. raised n
I silver bugle to his lips, and sounded a call
I that awoke a score of echoes in the forest*
i I liesc no sooner died away, than otherhhor s
i were heard, and, by and by, a crushing
. through the trees, and trampling of horses,
j and yet a little while and hunters gaily ap
parelled came, by ones, twos, and threes, gal
; lopping to the spot, who all, as they arrived,
I dolled their plumed bonnets to the voting cav
alicr.
“OJs fish! my gallants,” he said with im
, patient gesture, “1 owe you “marvellous
thanks! 1 should have been ns dead as Rich
j ard but for this brave follow!”
j “My liege,” said one, throwing himself
I fiotn his horse, and bending liis knee to the
, young King Harry the Eighth, “we
have been this Lour traversing the forest in all
directions searching for your glace.”
“1 lake not such hooded hawks,” said the
king. “But as toyou Stanley—and the rest,
mark me—l will grant this brave gentleman
I a boon, when to yc 1 may say nay.”
ISo turning to the trav eller, he said, “Soho!
brave pilgrim frain San .lago, what boon
ti ou askest,-were it the brightest jewel of my
crown, on a king’s royal word it shall lie
granted.”
The stranger bent his left knee, and said,
looking in the king’s face, “My liege, it is
the brightest jewel in your crown t claim.”
“Ha !” exclaimed tlie king.
“Tis mercy!” said the kneeling pligrim.
“So won, so pledged, so asked,” replied
the monarch, “tliou hast it were thou traitor
to our crown and life.”
“From such iniquity God shield me,” said
the pilgrim. “Mine is a private crime of
deepest die !”
“I grieve to hear such acknowledgements
of guilt from one of such noble hearing,”
said Henry ; but my royal word is plighted,
and the great seal shall confirm thy pardon.
God, not man must now he thy judge !”
“My future life shall speak my gratitude,”
said the pilgrim: “and my penitence deprecate
the wrathful judgment of God.”
“Arise, and tell me who thou art,” said the
monarch.
“Charles Brandon,” replied the pilgrim
standing erect.
“Ila! diaries. Brandon!” exclaimed the
king, and all the courtiers looked with in
creased curiosity at the pilgrim. “I have
heard the tragedy of thy house—beshrevv ine
but thy cunning feint had a doleful end—but
tliou shall tell me the tale thyself. Gad so !
thou art marked for adv entures!—here is our
fair rescued demoiselle who hath got half a
dozen knights to console her, whilc|we are
wasting lime on prerogative. Fair lady, wc
shall mount you on a gently-pacing palfrey,
anJ escort you to v our tiomejt so it pleases
you.!’
The rescued lady was with all care escor
ted to her home, and from the hour of that
meeting with the king, the deep grief of the
pilgrim began to soften, and then arose the
bright star of Charles Brandon’s splendid for
tune.
l’llll DI.ACH DWARF.
The original of this extraordinary portrai
ture, one of the most remarkable even of
Scott’s, was David Ritchie, a Scotchman,
horn in I’ecblcshire, 1710, anti believed to
have been illsliapcn from his birth. After
learning to read English at acomiifon school, j
lie was sent to Edinbu.g to learn a brush rna- j
kcr’s trade, but liis figure attracted such no- \
• ticc that lie soon afterwards left the city in!
[disgust. After his father’s death he fell in |
the way of Sir James Nasmyth, a wealthy!
neighbor, and obtained of him permission to
build a cottage on his manor, at the bottom of!
a secluded steep bank. 11c immediately;
cleared a spot suitable for the put pose, and!
scooped out a large recess in the side of the j
hill, proper for a garden. This was enclosed 1
by the eaith on one side, by the cottage on u
nother, and by high walls on tlie third and
fourth, built of alternate layers of stones and
turf. Having covered the cottage with anew
thatched roof, and constructed a small door,
and a few rude pieces of household furniture,
he proceeded to tlie cultivation of liis garden,
in which he displayed very considerable taste
as well as industry. In a short fiinc lie con
trived to stock it with a few fruit trefcs, and
with all sorts of flowers, herbs and culinary
vegetables, which could be procured in the
neighborhood. His manner of working is
described by persons who used to used visit
him as exceedingly laborious. Being unable
to use his feet in digging, ho had a spade so
contrived that lie could force it down with
his breast ; the rest of the labor was per
formed entirely by' means of liis Crms and
hands, in which lie possessed great strength.
He also procured some licc-hives, and plant
ed a bovver Os willows and rowan trees.
Thenceforth Davie’s whole happiness consis
ted in ornamenting and exhibiting these lit
tle premises Flc raised flowers for liis rich
neighbors, and herbs for thf poorer ; and liis
bees enabled him to supply the tables of all
ciasses with an abundance of honey. The
if'Wvi'ith liis cat and dog, and the company
of one sister in the day-time, constituted his
whole living society.
In r?OJ, the old cottage getting ruinous,
.Sir James had another built for him, and in
this lie lived till his decease in 1911, at the
age of 61. Ho latterly subsisted chiefly on
charitv, but had grown so penurious that
£•.*() were found in his chest. His change
was spent mostly for snufl, the only luxury
which he indulged in.
Davie’s height, >ve arc told in the M nvcrly
Anccdofcs, was about three feet arid a half.—
His skull, which was of an oblong and rath
or unusual shape, was of siteh strength that
he could strike it with case through the pan;
ncl of a door or the end of a barrel. His
laugh is said to have been quite horrible ;
’ and liis screech owl voice, shrill, uncouth
and dissonant, corresponded well with his
i other peculiarities. 1 here was nothing very
i uncommon about lnsdrc6S—He usually wore
; an old slouched hat when he went abroad.
* and when at home a suit ol cowl or night
RILLEDGEVILLE, GEORGIA, AI’€SCRT 28, 183a.
l eap. Ho never woVe shoes, being unable to i
■ adapt them to his mis-shapen, tin-like feet, j
hut always had both feet and legs quite con
! coaled, and wrapt up with pieces of cloth.)
i lie always walked with a sort of pole or pike I
I staff considerably taller than Ipmself. Scott’
says, “His arms were long and brawny,, fur
nished with two muscular hands, and when i
] uncovered in the eagerness of his labor, Were !
shagged with coarse black liair. It seemed j
as if nature had originally intended the sepa
rate parts of the body to bo the members of
a giant, blit had afterwards capricious. y as
signed them to the person of a dwarf, so ill
did the length of his arms and the strength of
his frame, correspond with tho shortness of
stature.”
Davie was n misanthrope. He detested
children, probably from their propensity to j
ridicule him. 'To strangers lie was surly,!
anil in the presence of all sorts of company I
exceedingly irritable. Ono day, it is said, a
lady who had known him from infancy, ha
ving gone to visit him with another lady, lie
took them through Lis garden, and was
showing them with much pride and good hu
mor, all his rich and tastefully assorted bor
ders, when they happened to stop near a plot
of cabbages which had been somewhat injured
by the catepillars. Davie, ’observing one of !
tha ladies smile, instantly assumed liis snv-j
age, scowling aspect, rushed among the cab. i
liages, and dashed them to pieces with liis
kent, exclaiming, “I hate the worms,for they '
mock me.”
Another lady, likewise a friend and old I
acquaintance of liis, very unintentionally 1
gave him mortal ofleiiccon a similar occasion.
Throwing hack Ills jealous glance, he fancied!
lie saw her spit at him. “Am 1 a toad, wo-'
] man ! that ye spit at me —that ye spit at me!”
he exclaimed with fury,and without listening
to any answer, lie drove her out of the gar
den with imprecations and insult.
A farmer in the neighborhood went one
night, out of a frolic, to frighten Davie, hut
paid pretty dearly for his joke. He had as
sumed the character es a robber, and preten
ded to he breaking into liis but. The dwarf,
after rcconnoitering him from a small un
glazed window, which lie had near bis chim
ney, wrenched a large stone out of the wall,
dashed it down upon the assailant, anil knock
ed him down to the ground, where lie lay for
a while senseless and very severely hurt.
Davie was very dogged in pursuing his pur
poses. He once applied to a neighbor for
leave to cut oil" a branch from one of his
trees. The gentleman civilly refused, a:n!
Davie went away grumbling. The next |
morning, some of the. gentleman’s servants
happened to he going from home so carlv us;
two o’clock, when, to their surprise and ter-1
ror they perceived through the twilight n|
strange liguie struggling and dancing in the
air below the said tree. Upon going up to
theplase, tlicv found it was Davie, vviiu uao
contrived by some means to fasten a rope to
the branch he wanted,and was swinging with
all his weight upon it, to bieak it down, j
They left him, and before he was again dis
turbed, lie succeeded iu bringing it to the
ground, and carried it home with him.
The Dwarf was said to be extremely su- j
perstitious. liis reading was confined to
Farad iso Lost, Tooke’s Pantheon, Shenstone’s
Ballads, and tin Adventures of Wallace,
Bruce and other Highlanders. His informa
tion, wc arc told, appeared to great advan
tage when lie mingled with the peasantry at 1
i the mi)! or smithy. He watt very satirical in j
j hi* vonver.mtivti ; ami liis harsh croaking
[ voice was there frequently heard much high- j
| er than tlie sound of the clapper or tho tore ’
i hammer. He visited I’ecbles, the county!
I town, but very seldom went to church, llej
| was supposed to entertain some very peculiar i
| notions on religious subjects. But those j
I who were intimate, with him say that he;
would now and then Speak concerning a fti-;
j turc state with great earnestness and good i
sense ; and on such occasions, when his feel-,
| ings were excited, would burst into tears. |
The nurial place of tho Dwavt is described'
by one writer as “a" beautiful mount called !
the W'uodhiil, which rises from a plain nearly]
in the centre of the parish Manor, skirted
with a number of venerable old trees, and
encircled bv an ainpithcatrc of steep and lof-;
ty mountain?, covered to the tops with heath,;
and sides broken and diversified by I
deep ravines and rocky precipices.’' Davie
had requested that a clump of rowan
trees, iu whoso power against witches lie put
great faith, might be planted over lus grave,
and this had been promised him, but liccliang-
I ed his mind on his death bud, and contented
1 himself witii tho ordinary rites.
Boston Joui nul.
A Gentle Reproof.'
There is no sound which greets more harsh
] ly on the ear of man of a feeling, generous
! disposition, than to hear a brutal husband j
! speak harshly to an amiable wife,’ The wretch
1 who can treat a wiftian HI, deserves the con
tempt of his fellow crcatuics —but when that,
I woman is one who looks to him for support,
1 for kindness and protection—one whose path
through life lie ishound by every noble prin
-1 ciple to strew with flowers, the brute who
! plants tlie thorns instead, like Gain should
! have a mark setupon his forehead, that lie
I may he known and shunned by every honest
1 mail. But there is many a worthy woman,
| who Could tell an affecting tale of. patient s&f
--' fcrfng tiri ! der unmerited abuse.
' Zacliariah Hadgdon was not nati:fully an
I ill natured innn. It was want of reflection',
! n v>ro than a c orrupt and ungenerous heart,
; that led him to consider his wife in the light
lof an inferior being, arid to treat her more
! likes slure than an equal. II he met with
! any thing abroad to rutile his temper, Ins
wife wassure to suffer when lie came home.
His meals were always ill-cooked, and what-]
[ever the poor Woman did to plea-c him was
sure to have a contrary effect, idle bore his
ill-humor in silence tor a long tune, but find
' ing it to incrcnse, she adopted a method of
j reproving him for his unreasonable conduct,
which had the happiest cll'eq*.
1 One day as Zacliariah was going to Ins dai
;! |v avocation after breakfast, be, purchased a
. i fine Ingc ccdfit-h and cent it homo, with di-
ri ctions to his wife to have it cooked for
dinner. As no particular mod# es cooking
was prescribed, the good woman well knew
that whether she boiled it, or fried, or made
it m a chowder, her husband would scold her
w hen he came home. But she resolved to
please him once if possible; and therefore
cooked portions of it in several difl’ent wavs.'
She also with some littledifficulty, procured
an amphibious animal from a brook back of
the house, and plumped him into the pot.' in
due time her hush .ml came homc—some co
vered dishes were placed on tlie table, and
with a frowning, fault-finding look, the man
commenced the conversation.
‘ Well, wife, did you get the fish I bought?’
‘ Yes, my dear.’
‘ I should like to know how you have cook
ed it—l will bet any thing that you ItaVo
spoiled it for my eating. (Taking off tho
cover.) 1 thought so. What in the and ’a
name possessed you to fry it? I would as
live cat a boiled frog.’
* Why, my dear, 1 thought you lovet? it
best fried.’ *_
‘ You did not think any such tlrttlg. You
knew better —l never loved fried fish—why
did’nt you boil it ?
‘ My dear, the last time we bad fresh-fish
you know 1 boiled it, and you said you liked
it better fried; 1 did it merely to please you.
But I have boiled some also.’ So aaying.'sho
lifted a cover, and lo! the shoulders ol tho
cod nicely boiled, were neatly deposited on
a dish—a sight which would have made an
epicure rejoice, hut which Only Added to tho
ill-nature of her husband.
‘ A prctlv dish this 1’ exclaimed not* boiled
fish! Chips and porridge. If you had no.t
been one of the most stupid of worOenklnO,
you would have made it into a chowder.
His patient wife, with a smile, immediate
ly placed a tureen before him, containing an
excellent chowder!
* My (tear, said sne, 1 was resolved to please
you. There is your favorite dish.’
‘ Favorite dish, indeed,’ grumbled tho dis
contented husband, ‘ 1 dare say it is an un
palateablo wishy-washy mess, l would rather
had a boiled frog than tile whole of it.’
This was a common expression of his, and
had been anticipated by liis wife, who, as
soon as the preference was expressed, uncov
ered a dish at her husband’s right hand, and
there was a Ball Frog of portentous dimen
sions, and pugnacious aspect, stretched out
at full length ! Zacliariah sprung from his
chair not a little frightened at the unexpected
apparition.
‘ Why dear,’ said his wife in a kind en
treating manner, ‘ 1 Lope you will at length
ho able to make a dinner.
Zachnriah could not stand this. His surly
mood was finally overcome, and he burst into
a hearty laugh. lie acknowledged that his
wife was right and that he was wronr—-arid
declared that she should never again liaro
occasion to road him such another lesson.—
And he was as good as his word.
Lowell JcUrriHF
Humorous J.cttrr. —The following humo
rous letter was addressed by a veteran lo Ad
miral Boscawen:
“ Sir—l had the honor of being at the ta
king of Port Mahon, for which one gentleman
i was made a Lord; I was also at the losing of
! Mahon, for which another gentleman lias
been mad.' a laird ; each of those gentlemen
performed hut otic of those services, surely I,
who performed both, ought at least to bo
made a Lieutenant. Which is all from your
honor’s humble servant, iVc.”
Answer to a Challenge. —Through some
mistake, a gentleman in the South of Ireland
led off the dunce, at a country lia'l, out of his
turn. The person appointed to the post of
honor challenged the intruder, and rccivcd
tho following reply : “ Sir— I cannot under
stand why, because i opened a ball at night,
a ball should open nu (in the morning.
Yours,” Ate.' - »
Watering Houses.—Horses used on
the roads in this--countty, ore watered
several times in the course of (he day—
stage horses every lew miles.—“ YY r e re
collect,” says the Cincinnati Advertiser,
“on a Very warm and dusty’ day, travel
ling in a stage ovor the hills ot Normandy',
tlie horses forming with sweat and cover
ed with dust. The driver slopped at an
inn, and when wc expected to sec him
with his bucket, giving water to each, he
brought from the house a bottle, and pour
ing out into bis hand some ol,the con
tents, he washed each horse's nose, and
threw a little up into (hem. On inquiring,
wc found it was Vineoak, and although
they had already travelled a long stage,
they went otf as fresh as at tlie lirst start
"w."
London is said to be the hqulthicst place
in the world. It has been stated, , and wc
] believe correctly, that the happy exeinp-
I tion which the inhabitants ol that city, tor
! the most part, enjoy trotn the disease oom
! men to other capitals; is owing to the sul
phurous naptha emitted from the eoal,
! serving the salutary purpose ol checking
! tlie progress of febrile infection, i o prove
that the air is saturated with this naptha,
you cannot find a wasp, an insect to which
[sulphur is obnoxious, within the sphere
of its action.—[Boston Post.
tlppugnancy to Physic. —A comi 'al sort of a
newspaper editor “ down east ” rejects an of- (
frr of a dniggist to ndvertisA his drugs jforf
medicines,"and take bis pay out o' the shop.
He says lie will take nearly* all.sort* ofpro-'
[ duee, in pat t .out for papers and advi ttising,'
I “ such a? parsnips, wooden combs, old combs,
j old clothe 3, eold victuals, Ac. but he wont
i take physic."
There arc some who are good in can:
[ vassc sos fact ions, who are otherwise v cede
rnen. Nothing doth more hurt in n Stans
; dian that cunning men pas* for w ise.
i
NO. 33.
