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JOHN 11. SEALS,
NEW SERIES, VOLUME HL
Published every Thursday in the year, except two,
TERMS I Two Dollars per year, in advance.
JOHN H. SEALS, Sols Proprietor.
LIONEL L. VEAZEY, Editor Literary Department.
MBS M. E. BRYAN. Editress.
JOHN A. REYNOLDS, Publisher.
Clubs of Ten Names, by sending the Cash,
will receive the paper at ... - copy.
Clubs of Five Names, at 180 “
Any person sending us Five new subscribers, inclo
sing the money, shall receive an extra copy one year
free of cost.
Hates of Advertising:
1 square, (twelve lines or less,) first insertion, $1 00
“ Each continuance, 50
Professional or Business Cards, not exceeding six
lines, per year, 5 00
Announcing Candidates for Office, 3 00
not marked with the number of
insertions, will be continued until forbid, and charged
Druggists and others, may contract
for advertising by the year on reasonable terms.
Sale of Land or Negroes, by Administrators, Ex
ecutors and Guardians, per square, 5 00
Sale of Personal Property, by Administrators, Ex
ecutors and Guardians, per square, 3 25
Notice to Debtors and Creditors, 3 25
Notice for Leave to Sell, 4 00
Citation for Letters of Administration, 2 75
Citation for Letters of Dismission from Adm’n, 500
Citation for Letters of Dismission from Guard’p, 3 25
Sales of Land and Negroes by Administrators, Exec
utors or Guardians, are required, by law, to be held on
the First Tuesday in the month, between the hours oi
ten in the forenoon and three in the afternoon, at the
Court-house door of the county in which the property is
situate. Notices of these sales must be given in a pub
lic Gazett e, forty days previous to the day of sale.
Notices for the sale of Personal Property must be given
at least ten days previous to the day of sale.
Notices to Debtors and Creditors of an estate, must
be published/orty days.
Notice that application will be made to the Court oi
Ordinary, for leave to sell Land or Negroes, must be pub
lished weekly for two months.
Citations for Letters of Administration, must be pub
lished thirty days —for Dismission from Administration
monthly, six months —for Dismission from Guardianship,
Rules for Foreclosure of Mortgage must be published
monthly, for four months —lor compelling titles from Ex
ecutors or Administrators, where a bond has been issued
by the deceased, the full space of three months.
Publications will always be continued according
to these, the legal requirements, unless otherwise or
KOfG & LEWIS, Attorneys at Law, Greenes- I
boro, Ga. The undersigned, having associated
themselves together in the practice of law, will attend
to all business intrusted to their care, with that prompt
ness and efficiency which long experience, united with
industry, can secure. Offices at Greenesboro and five
miles west of White Plains, Greene county, Ga.
y. p. kino. July 1, 1858. m. w. LEWIS.
WIIIT G. JOHNSON, Attorney at Law,
Augusta, Ga. will prompily attend to all business
intrusted to his professional management in Richmond
and the adjoining counties. Office on Mclntosh street,
three doors below Constitutionalist office.
Reference —Thos. R. R. Cobb, Athens, Ga.
June 14 ly
ROGER E. WHIGIIAM, Louisville, Jes
ferson county, Georgia, will give prompt attention
to any business intrusted to his care, in the following
counties : Jefferson, Burke, Richmond, Columbia, War
ren, Washington, Emanuel, Montgomery, Tatnall and
Scriven. April 26, 1856 ts
LEONARD T. DOYAE, Attorney at Law,
McDonough, Henry county, Ga. will practice Law
in the following counties: Henry, Spaulding, Butts,
Newton, Fayette, Fulton, DeKalb, Pike and Monroe.
DII. SANDERS, Attorney at Law, Albany,
• Ga. will practise in the counties of Dougherty,
Sumter, Lee, Randolph, Calhoun, Early, Baker, Deca
tur and Worth. Jan 1 ly
HT. PERKINS, Attorney at Law, Greencs
* boro, Ga. will practice in the counties of Greene,
Morgan, Putnam, Oglethorpe, Taliaferro, Hancock,
Wilkes and Warren. Feb ly
PHILLIP B ROBINSON, Attorney at
Law, Greenesboro, Ga. will practice in the coun
ties of Greene Morgan. Putnam, Oglethorpe, Taliafer
ro, Hancock. Wilkes and Warren. July 5, ’56-lv
TAMES BROWN, Attorney at Law, Fancy
J Hill, Murray Cos. Ga. April 30, 1857.
SIBLEY, BOGGS & CO.
—WHOLESALE AND RETAIL DEALERS IN—
Choice Family Groceries, Cigars, &c.
276 Broad Street, Augusta, Georgia.
m.o jpo ~
Warehouse & Commission Merchant,
% /CONTINUES the business in all its
J= O- branches, in his large and commodi
ous Fire-Proof Warehouse, on Jackson
strceti near the Globe Hotel.
Orders for Goods, &c. promptly and carefully filled.
The usual cash facilities afforded customers.
July 22 6m s
basis a mot*
Warehouse & Commission Merchants,
—* entered into a co-part-
M O Jj-ship for the purpose of carrying on
the Storage and Commission Business in
all of its branches, respectfully solicit con
signments of Cotton and other produce; also orders for
Bagging, Rope and family supplies. Their strict, per
sonal attention will be given to the business.
All the facilities due from factors to patrons shall be
granted with a liberal hand.
ISAAC T. HEARD,
WM. C. DERRY.
July22d, fc> 8.
mass & mtsr® t ©iT
WILL continue the WAREHOUSE and COM
MISSION BUSINESS at their old stand on
Jackson street. Will devote their personal attention to
the Storage and sale of Cotton, Bacon, Grain, &c.
Liberal cash advances made when required ; and all
orders for Family Supplies, Bagging, Rope, &c. filled
at the lowest market price.
JOHN c. REES. [Aug 12] SAM J, D. LINTON.
~ I’OIILLAIN, JENNINGS & CO.
GROCERS AND COTTON FACTORS,
Opposite the Cilobe Hotel, Augusta, Georgia.
CONTINUE, as heretofore, in connection with
their Grocery Business, to attend to the sale of
COTTON and other produce.
They will be prepared in the Brick lireproot VV are
house, now in process of erection iix the front of their
store, at the intersection of J ackson and Reynold streets,
to receive on storage all consignments made them.
Liberal cash advances made on Produce in store,
requested. ANTOINE FOOLXAgJ^
Aug 19 —6m ISAIAH PURSE.
WAREHOUSE AND COMMISSION MERCHANT,
THE undersigned, thankful for the liberal pa
tronage extended to him for a series of years, would
inform his friends and the public that he will continue
at his same well known Brick Warehouse on Campbell
.-street, near Bones, Brown & Co’s. Hardware House,
where, by strict personal attention to all business en-
his care, he hopes he will receive a share of
the public patronage.
Cash Advances, Bagging, Rope and Family Supplies,
will be forwarded to customers as heretofore, when de
sired. [Augusta, oa. Aug 19-6 m
CANDIDATES FOR OFFICE.
GARRETT WOODHAM offers himself to the
voters of Greene county, lor the office of Tax Re
ceiver, at the election in January next.
|OIIN H. SNELLINGS offers himself to the vo
*J ’ ters of Greene county, rs a candidate for the office
of Tax Collector, at the election in January next.
M. JONES offers himself to the voters of
-LN * Greene county, as a candidate for the office of
Tax Collector, at the election in January next.
HENRY WEAVER offers himself to the voters
of Greene county, as a candidate for the office of
Tax Receiver, at the election in January next.
WE are authorized to announce the name of
JOEL C. BARNETT, Esq. ofMadison, Ga. as
candidate for Solicitor General of the Ocmulgee Circuit,
the first Monday in January next.
GREENE COUNTY LEGAL NOTICES.
’ GREENE SHERIFF’S SALES,
WELL be sold befove the ccurt houso door in the city ofGreenes
boro, on the FIRST TUESDAY in NOVEMBER next, within the
legal hours of sale, the following property, to-wit:
One house and lot in the village of Penfield, whereon
B. E. Spencer now lives ; also, a negro woman named
Mary, about forty years old ; also, one pair counter
scales: Levied on as the property of B. E. Spencer, to
satisfy ofifa from the Superior Court, in favor of C. C.
Norton vs B. E. Spencer and Joseph H. English.
Also, at the same time and place, 6 cane bottom
chairs, 6 Windsor chairs, 1 bureau, 4 chests, 2 beds,
bedstead and furniture, 1 wardrobe, I carpet and 1 clock:
Levied on as the property of B. E. Spencer, to satisfy a
fi fa from Greene Superior Court, in favor of Scranton,
Seymour & Cos. vs B. E. Spencer and Henry English.
Property pointed out by Henry English.
Also, at the same time and place, one negro boy
named Jim. about 22 years old: Levied on as the prop
erty of Henry English, to satisfy two fi fas from Supe
rior Court of said county, one in favor of Scranton, Sey
mour & Cos. vs B. E. Spencer and Henry English, and
one in tavor of Scranton, Kolb & Cos. vs said Spencer
and English. I. MORRISON, Sheriff.
Sept 30, 1858
A I,SO. AT THE SATIIE TIME AND PLACE,
Two hundred acres of land, more or less, whereon R. A.
Newsom now lives, adjoining Dr. B. F. Carlton, P. W.
Printup and others ; also, two negroes, one a man named
Ned, about 55 years old, dark complexion, and a negro
woman named Martha, about forty-five years old, ot
dark complexion: Levied on as the property of Richard
A. Newsom, to satisfy sundry fi fas from Greene “Su
perior and Inferior Courts, in favor of James W. As
bury, and other fi fas in my hands vs Richard A. New
som. C. C. NORTON, D. S.
Sept 30, 1858
FOR SALE OR EXCHANGE,
MY house and lot in Penfield ; it is two story,
nine rooms and fire-places, conveniently situated
in the centre of the town, and known asthePENFIELD
Also, my plantation near Bairdstown, on Little River,
being nearly six hundred acres, two hundred, or more,
cleared, supposed to be one hundred acres in bottom,
with good Dwelling-house, Gin-house, Screw, and all
necessary out buildings. This land may be had for se
ven dollars per acre. H. NEESON.
Oct. 7—2 t
SELLING OFF AT COST!
The subscriber, with a view to closing his busi
ness, is now offering his entire stock of mer
chandise at cost. Any one in want of a bargain, ei
ther in Dry Goods, Dress Goods, Ready-made Cloth
ing, Hats, Caps,Boots,Shoes,Drugs, Medicines,Crock
ery, Hollow and Willow Wares, &.e., &c., will do well
to call and examine my Stock, before purchasing.
Penfield, Aug. 5 WM. B. SEALS.
qrUIE GEORGIA TEMPERANCE CRUSADER
JL offers greater inducements to advertisers,
we verily believe, than any paper of the same circula
tion, and that is scarcely exceeded in Georgia.
A TRUTH TELLING STORY.
The following is the conclusion of a touching
sketch which appears in the Boston Herald:
The proprietor was vexed. He tossed the shirt
to his customer and said, “Sir, you simply insult
me when you affirm that this garment is not clean
—that it has the least stain upon it. You can
leave my store, sir. Ido not desire to sec you
There whs a singular gleam in the eyes of the
customer as he dashed the bundle upon the floor,
where he trample l it. He exclaimed in a frenzy,
Tt is stained—damnably 1 I saw a pale young wo
man stitching it for small price—for half price
—for almost no price. Her tears fell fast and
scalding upon it! It is well you say you can
make it no whiter by your washing; for those
tears which were the blood of a soul, are stitched
into every seam. I cannot wear it—’twould burn
like fire. It was her last shirt; you have driven
her forth and she now walks the path that leads
to hell, every day. She’s a Broadway prostitute ! i
No, no, no, you can’t wash it out; you can never
wash it out?”
“Poor lunatic,” said the proprietor, “I thought
all along this man was crazy ?” and he went im
mediately for an officer, to have his troublesome
customer removed to a lun atie hospital.
A MOUSE HUNT.
I was stopping last summer at Cape May, and
of course my wife was with me. About 2 o’clock
one morning I was awakened by a reveille tap
from my better half. “For gracious sake!” she
whispered, “if you want to laugh just listen to
that gentleman and his wife hunting a mouse in
the next room.”
“Ee ce aw !” I murmured, half awake.
“Now do just wake up. To-morrow, when I
tell the story, you’ll be sorry you were not awake
to the reality.”
Thus abjured, I awoke in right earnest, too late
to hear any of the mouse hunt, but just in time to
hear the next room door open, and a little quiv
ering dandy voice, which I at once recognized as
that of Prinkey, call out to some distant night
]|“Waitaw! waitaw ! waitaw !”
“Potaw! potaw ! potaw 1”
“Watchman ! watchman ! watchman 1”
“That’s me sir, growled a deep voice.
“Watchman come here diwectly! We’re in
gwate twouble ! There’s a mouse in this apawt
ment, and it nibbles all around in the most dis
twactcd manner. I spoke to Mr Ha’wood about
it, and he pwomised to have the mouse wemoved
but he hasn’t done it. Aw think it vewy unhond
some conduct of Mr. Ila’wood to allow the mouse to
wemain after pwomisiug that it should be we
moved. Watchman, Mrs. Prinkey is vewy ap
pwehensive of mice. Can’t you come in and catch
“ ’Fraid not, Sir. It’s too late, and I should
be sure to wake up some boarders as mightn’t
“llow ridiculous ! Well, (a long pause,) watch
man, couldn’t you just step down to the baw
woom and get some cwaclcers and cheese, and entice the
animal out into the entwy ?”
A brief remark from the watchman that the
bar was closed sent Mr. Prinkey back into his
A Learned Justice. — An old offender was
lately brought before a learned justice of the
peace. The constable, as a preliminary, informed
‘ that lie had in custody John Sim
mons, alias Jones, alias Smith. “Very well,”
I said the magistrate, r “ I will try the two women
first; bring in Alice -Jones.”
THE ADOPTED ORGAN OE ADD THE TEMPERANCE ORGANIZATIONS IN THE STATE.
PENFIELD, GEORGIA, THURSDAY, OCTOBER 14, 185 8.
THE EXECUTION OP MARY STEWART.
From the seventh volume of the “ Lives of the Queens of Scot
kind, by Agnea Strickland.”
AT six o’clock on the fatal morning of the Bth
February, Mary Stewart told her ladies “ she
had but two hours to live, and bid them dress
her as for a festival.” Very minute particulars
of that last toilette have been preserved, both by
French and English historians, and a contempo
rary MS. in the Vatican contains a description of
it from the pen of an eye-witness of her death. It
is there stated that she wore a widow’s dress of
black velvet, but spangled all over with gold, a
black satin pourpoint and kirtle, and under these
a petticoat of crimsc n velvet, with a body of the
same color, and a white veil of the most delicate
texture, of the fashion worn by princesses of the
highest rank, thrown over her coil, and descend
ing to the ground; also, which is not mentioned
in any other account, that she had caused a cam
isole of fine Scotch plaid, reaching from the
throat to the waist, but without a collar, to be pre
pared the night before, that when her upper gar
ments should be removed, she might escape the
distress of appearing uncovered before so many
While her ladies were assisting her to dress,
she, with the feminine delicacy of a really modest
woman, earnestly entreated them to be watchful
over her in the last terrible moment, when, ob
served she, “I shall be incapable of thinking of
this poor body, or bestowing any care upon it.
Oh, then, for the love of the blessed Saviour,
abandon me not while under the hands of the
executioner!” They promised, wifli streaming
eyes, to be near her and to cover her body as she
Then she entered her oratory alone, and, kneel
ing before the miniature altar, at which her al
moner had been accustomed to celebrate mass,
opened the gold and jeweled ciborium in which
the Pope had sent her a consecrated wafer with a
dispensation to do what had never before been
permitted to one of the laity—administer the
Eucharist to herself preparatory to her death, if
denied the ministration of a priest. It is impos
sible for a Protestant biographer to describe the
feelings with which Mary Stuart performed her
lonely communion, under circumstances so
strange to a member of the Roman Catholic
Church. No mortal eye beheld her in that hour;
but the following Latin prayer is well known to
have been extemporized by her during her last
devotions, on the morning of her death:
“ O Domine Feus, speravi in te;
O care me Jesu, nunc libera me.
In dura catena, in misera pena?; desidero
Languendo, gemendo et genu flectendo
Adoro, imploro, ut liberes me!”
“ My Lord and my God I have hoped in Thee ;
O Jesus, sweet Saviour, now liberate me.
I have languished for Thee in afflictions and chains ;
Lamenting and sighing through long years of pains.
Adoring, imploring on humbly bowed knee,
I crave of thy mercy, by grace set me free !”
The wintry morning had dawned before Mary
left her oratory. She then concluded her letter
to her royal brother-in-law, Henry HI. of France,
by adding several earnest petitions in behalf of
her faithful servants, and the final date: “The
morning of my death, this Wednesday, Bth Feb
ruary. Signed Marie R.”
She returned to her bed chamber, where, seat
ing herself beside the fire, she began to console
her weeping maids by declaring the comfort she
felt in her approaching release from her long af
flictions, and reminded them “that her uncle,
the late Duke of Guise, had told her in her child
hood ‘ that she possessed the hereditary courage
of her race, and he thought she would well know
how to die;’” yet, he had never anticipated the
possibility of her suffering the terrible death by
which she was about to verify the truth of his
prediction. She spoke of the transitory nature
of human felicity, and the vanity of earthly great
ness, whereof she was destined to serve as an ex
ample—having been Queen of the realms of
France and Scotland, the one by birth, the other
by marriage; and after being at the summit of
all worldly honor, had to submit herself to the
hands of the executioner, though innocent, which
was her greatest consolation—the crime alleged
against her being only a flimsy pretext for her
At the foot of the stairs—which, on account of
her lameness, she descended slowly and with
great difficulty, supported on each side by two of
Paulet’s officers, who held her up under her arms
—she was met by Andrew Melville, who was now
permitted to join her. lie threw himself on liis
knees before her, wringing his hands in an uncon
trollable agony of grief, the violence of which al
most shook the majestic calmness she liad hith
erto preserved. “ Woe is me,” cried he, weeping
bitterly, “that ever it should be my hard hap to
carry back such heavy tidings to Scotland us that
my good and gracious Queen and mistress lias
been beheaded in England.” “ Weep not, Mel
ville, my good and faithful servant,” she replied.
“Thou shouldst rather rejoice that thou shalt
now see the end of the long troubles of Mary
Stuart; know, Melville, that this world is but
vanity and full of sorrows. lam Catholic, thou
Protestant; but as there is but one Christ, I charge
thee in His name to bear witness that I die firm
to my religion, a true Scotch woman, and true to
France. Commend me to my dearest and most
sweet son. Tell him I have done nothing to pre
judice him in his realm, nor to disparage his dig
nity; and that although I could wish he were
of my religion, yet, if he will live in the fear of
God, according to that in which he has been nur
tured, I doubt not he shall do well. Tell him,
from my example, never to rely too much on hu
man aid, but to seek that which is from above.
If he follow my advice, he shall have the bless
ing of God in Heaven, as I now give him mine on
earth.” She raised her hand aS she concluded,
and made the sign of the cross, to bless him in
his absence, and her eyes overflowed with tears.
“My God,” continued she, “forgive them that
have thirsted for my blood as the hart doth for
the brooks of water. O God, who art the autlipr
of truth, and the truth itself, thou knowest that
I have always wished the union of England and
Scotland.” One of the commissioners, doubtless
the pitiless earl of Kent, here interrupted her by
reminding her “ that the time was wearing apace.”
“ Farewell,” she said, “ good Melville. Farewell.
Pray for thy Queen and mistress.” The passion
ate grief of her faithful servant brought infectious
tears to her eyes. She bowed herself on his neck
and wept; and, with like sensibility as her cousin,
Lady Jane Grey, had kissed and embraced Freck
enkam on the scaffold, so did she vouchsafe, as
sovereign might, without disparagement to regal
dignity, or departure from feminine reserve, the
like affectionate farewell to that true subject who
had shared her prison, and was following her to
death. She who had experienced the ingratitude
of a Moray, a Lethington, aud a Mar could well
appreciate the faithful love of Andrew Melville.
Another gentleman came to kiss Mary Stuart’s
hand, and bid her farewell on her way to execu
tion. He exhibited and offered her his most
tender sympathy, together with expressions “of
regret and indignation that her blood should bo
cruelly slied while under his roof.” This was Sir
William, of Milton, who at that time held Foth
eringhay Castle on lease from the Crown. Os a
very different spirit from Sir Amyas Paulet, this
fine old English gentleman had shown the royal
prisoner all the kind attention in his power.
Mary thanked him for his “gentle entreatment
of her while in his house,” and begged him “to
accept, and keep, as a memorial of her grateful
appreciation of his courtesy, the portrait of the
King her son, which lie would find hanging at
her bed’s head, being her last remaining posses
sion that she had not bequeathed.”
The procession proceeded in the following or
der: Frst, came the Sheriff and his men ; next,
Mary’s keepers,drir Amyas Paulet and Sir Drue
Drury, the Earl of Kent and Beale; then the
Earl of Shrewsbury, as Earl Marshal, bearing his
baton raised, immediately preceding the Royal
victim, who, having rallied all the energies of her
courageous spirit to vanquish bodily infirmity,
moved with aproud, firm stem. She was followed
by Melville, who bore her train, and her two
weeping ladies, clad in mourning weeds. The
rear was brought up by Bourgoigne, Gourion and
Gervais, her three medical attendants.
A platform twelve feet square and two and
a-half high, covered with black cloth, and sur
rounded with a rail, had been erected at the up
per end of the great banqueting ball at Fother
inghay, near the fire-place, in which, on account
of the coldness of the weather, a large fire was
burning. On the scaffold were placed the block,
the axe, a chair, covered also with black cloth,
for the Queen, with a cushion of crimson velvet
before it, and two stools for the Earls of Kent and
Shrewsbury. About one hundred gentlemen,
who had been admitted to behold the mournful
spectacle, stood at the lower end of the hall; but
the scaffold was barricaded, and a strong guard
of the Sheriff’s and Earl Marshal’s men environed
it to prevent the possibility of a rescue.
The dignified composure and melancholy sweet
ness of her countenance, in which the intellectual
beauty of reflective middle age had superseded
the charms that in youth had been celebrated by
all the poets of France and Scotland, her majes
tic and intrepid demeanor, made a profound im
pression upon every one present when Mary Stu
art and her sorrowful followers entered the hall
of death. She surveyed the sable scaffold, the
block, the axe, the executioner and spectators
undauntedly as she advanced to the foot of the
scaffold. ‘I hen she paused, for she required as
sistance, and Sir Amyas Paulet tendered her his
hand, to aid her in ascending the two steep steps
by which it was approached. Mary accepted the
proffered attention of her persecuting jailor with
the queenly courtesy that was natural to her. “I
thank your, sir,” said she, xvhen he had helped
her to mount the fatal stair; “this is the last
trouble I shall ever give you.”
Having calmly seated herself in the chair that
had been provided for her, with the two Earls
standing on either side, and the executioner in
front holding the axe, with the edge towards her.
Beale sprang upon the scaffold with unfeeling
alacrity, and read the death-warrant in a loud
voice. She listened to it with a serene and even
smiling countenance, but, as before, bowed her
head and crossed herself when it was concluded,
in token of her submission to the will of God.
“Now, madam,” said the Earl of'Shrewsbury,
“ you see what you have to do.” She answered
briefly and emphatically, “Do your duty.” Then
she asked for her almoner that she might pray
with him; but this being denied, Dr. Fletcher,
the Dean of Peterborough, standing directly be
fore her without the rails, and bending his body
very low, began to address her. “ Mr. Dean, trou
ble not yourself for me,” said the Queen, “ for
know that I am settled in the ancient Catholic
and Roman faith, in defence whereof, by God’s
grace, I mind to spend my blood.” “ Madame,”
replied the Dean, “change your opinion, and re
pent you of your former wickedness.” “ Good
Mr. Dean,” rejoined she, “ trouble not yourself
any more about this matter. I was born in this
religion, and am resolved to die in this religion.”
The Earls, perceiving her resolution was not to
be shaken, said: “Madame, will you pray for
your grace with Mr. Dean, that you may have
your mind lightened with the true knowledge of
God and his word?” “My lords,” replied the
Queen, “if you will pray with me, I will even from
my heart thank you; but to pray with you, in
your manner, who are not of the same religion
with me, tvere a sin.” The Earls then bade the
Dean “say on according to his own pleasure.”
This he did, not by reciting the beautiful office
for the dying, or the burial service from our An
glican Church, but in a bitter polemic composition
of his own, tending neither to comfort nor edifi
cation. Mary heeded him not, but began to pray
with absorbing and tearful earnestness from her
own breviary and psalter, uniting portions from
the 31st, 51st and 91st Psalms. She prayed in
Latin, in French, and finally in English, for God
to pardon her sins and forgive her foes; for
Chri. i ?t’s afflicted church ; for the peace and pros
perity of England and Scotland ; for her son, and
for Queen Elizabeth, not with the ostentation of
a Pharisee, but the holy benevolence of a dying
Christian. At the conclusion of her last prayer
she arose, and holding up the crucifix, exclaimed:
“As thy arms, O Christ! were extended on the
cross, even so receive mo into the arms of Thy
mercy, and blot out all my sins with Thy most
precious blood.” “Madame,” interrupted the
Earl of Kent, “it were better for you to eschew
such Popish trumpery, and bear Him in your
heart.” “Can I,” she mildly answered, “hold
the representation of the sufferings of my cruci
fied Redeemer in my hand without bearing him,
at the same time, in my heart ?”
The two executioners, seeing her preparing to
make herself ready for the block, knelt before
her and prayed her forgiveness. “ I forgive you
all and all the world with all my heart,” sh( re
plied, “ for I hope this death will give an end to
all my troubles.” They offered to assist her in
removing her mantle, but she drew back and re
quested them not to touch her, observing, with a
smile, “I have not been accustomed to be sened
by sych pages of honor, nor to disrobe before so
numerous a company.” Then beckoning to Jane
Kennedy jtnd Elizabeth Curie, who were on their
knees in tears below, they came to her on the
scaffold; but when they saw for what purpose
they were required, they began to scream and
cry, and were too much agitated at first to i ender
her the assistance she required; so that she began
to take out the pins herself, a thing to which she
was not accustomed. “Do not weep,” said she,
tenderly reproving them. “I am very happy to
leave this world. You ought to rejoice to see me
die in so good a cause. Are you not ashamed to
weep ? Nay, if you do not give over these lamen
tations I must send you away, for you know I
have promised for you.”
Then she took off her gold pomander, chain
and rosary which she had previously desired one
of her ladies to convey to the Countess of Arun
del as a last token of her regard. The execu
tioner seized it, and secreted it in his shoe. Jane
Kennedy, with the resolute spirit ot a brave
Scotch lassie, snatched it fiom him, and a strug
gle ensued. Mary, mildly interposing, said:
“ Friend, let her have it, she will give you more
than its value in money;” but he suddenly re
plied, “It is my perquisite.” “It would have
been strange, indeed,” observes our authority,
with sarcastic bitterness, “ if this poor Queen had
met with courtesy from an English hangman, who
had experienced so little from the nobles of that
country—witness the Earl of Shrewsbury and his
Before Mary proceeded further in her prepara
tions for the block, she took a last farewell of her
weeping ladies, kissing, embracing and blessing
them by signing them with the cross, which ben
ediction they received on their knees.
Her upper garments being removed, she re
mained in her petticoat of “crimson velvet and
camisole, which laced behind, and covered her
arms with a pair of crimson velvet sleeves. Jane
Kennedy now drew from her pocket the gold
bordered handkerchief Mary had given her to
bind her eyes. Within this she placed a “ Cor
pus Christ! cloth,” probably the same in which
the consecrated wafer sent to her by the Pope,
had been enveloped. Jane folded it cornerwise,
kissed it and, with trembling hands, prepared to
execute this last office; but she and her compan
ion burst into a fresh paroxysm of hysterical sob
bing and crying.
Mary placed her finger on her lips, reprovingly.
“ Hush,” said she ; “ I have promised for you;
weep not, but pray for me.” When they had pinned
the handkerchief over the face of their beloved
mistress, they were compelled to withdraw from
the scaffold, and “ she was left alone to close up
the tragedy of life by herself, which she did with
her wonted courage and devotion.” Kneeling
on the cushion, she repeated, in her usually clear,
firm voice, “In te Domine speravi.” “In Thee,
Lord, have I hoped; let me never be put to con
fusion.” Being then guided by the executioners
to find the block, she bowed her head upon it
intrepidly, exclaiming as she did so, “In mams
tuas.” “ Into tliy hands, 0 Lord, I commend my
spirit.” The Earl of Shrewsbury raised Iris ba
ton, in performance of his duty as Earl Marshal,
to give the signal for the coup-de-grace, but he
averted his head at the same time, and covered
his*face with his hand to conceal his agitation
and streaming tears. A momentary pause ensued,
for the executioner’s assistant perceived that the
Queen, grasping the block firmly with both hands,
was resting her chin upon them, and that they
must have been cut off or mangled he had not
removed them, which he did by d ra wing them
down and holding them tightly in hj •, own, while
his companion struck her with the axe a cruel but
ineffectual blow. Agitated alike by the courage
of the royal victim and the sobs and groans of the
sympathizing spectators, he missed his aim and
inflicted a deep wound on the side of the skull.
She neither screamed nor stirred, but her suffer
ings were too sadly testified by the convulsion of
her features, when, after the third blow, the
butcher- ork was accomplished, and the severed
head, str e aming with blood, was held up to the
gaze of the people. “ God save Queen Elizabeth !”
cried the executioner. “So let all her enemies
perish !” exclaimed the Dean of Peterborough;
one solitary voice alone responded “Amen!” It
was that of the Earl of Kent. The silence, the
tears and groans of the witnesses of the tragedy
—yea, even of the very assistants in it—proclaimed
the feelings with which it had been regarded.
PORTRAIT OF WASHINGTON.
Fr new volume of the History of the Revolution.
COURAGE was so natural to him, that it wa s
hardly spoken of to his praise. No one ever,
at any moment of his life, discovered in him the
least shrinking in danger, and he had a hardi
ood of daring which escaped notice, because it
was so enveloped by superior calmness and wis
dom. He was as cheerful as he was spirited ;
frank and communicative, in the society of his
friends; fond of the fox chase and the dance;
often sportive in his letters, and liked a hearty
laugh. This joyousness of disposition remained
to the last, though the vastness of his responsi
bilities was soon to take from him the right of
displaying the impulsive qualities of his nature,
and the weight which he was to bear up was to
overlay and repress his gaiety and openness.
His hand was liberal, giving quietly and with
out observation, as though he was ashamed of
nothing but being discovered in doing good. He
was kindly and compassionate, and of lively sen
sibility to the sorrows of others; so that, if his
country had only needed a victim for its relief,
lie would have willingly offered himself as a sac
rifice. But while he was prodigal of himself, he
was considerate for others ; ever parsimonious of
the blood of his countrymen.
Ho was prudent in the management of his pri
vate affairs, purchased rich lands from the Mo
hawk valley to the flats of the Kanawha, and im
proved his fortune by the correctness of his judg
ment ; but as a public man, be knew no other
aim than the good of his country ; and, in the
hour of his country’s poverty, he refused personal
emolument for his service.
ITis faculties were so well balanced and com
bined, that his constitution, free from excess, was
tempered evenly with all the elements of activity,
and his mind resembled a well ordered common
wealth; his passions, which had the intensest
vigor, owned allegianco to reason; and, with all
the fiery quickness of his spirit, his impetuous
and massive will was held in check by consum
He had in his composition a calm which gave
him, in moments of highest excitement, the power
of self-control, and enabled him to excel in pa
tience even when he had most cause for disgust.
Washington was offered a command where there
was little to bring out of the unorganized resour
ces of the Continent but his own influence, and
authority was connected with the people by the
most frail, most attenuated, scarcely discernible
threads; yet, vehement as was his nature, impas
sioned as was his courage, he so restrained his ar
dor that he never failed continuously to exert the
attracting power of that influence, and never ex
erted it so sharply as to break its force.
EDITOR AND PROPRIETOR.
VOL XXIV. NUMBER 40
In secrecy he was unsurpassed ; but his secrecy
had the character of prudent reserve, not of cun
ning or concealment.
His understanding was lucid, and his judgment
accurate; so that his conduct never betrayed hur
ry or confusion. No detail was too minute for
his personal injury and complete supervision;
and at the same time, he comprehended events
in tlieir widest aspects and relations. He never
seemed above the object which engaged his at
tention, and lie was always equal, without an of*
fort, to the solution of the highest questions, even
when there existed no precedents to guide hie
In this A’ay, he never drew to himself admira?
tion for the possession of any ono equally in ex
cess; never made in council any one suggestion
that was sublime but impracticable; never in ac
tion took to himself the praise or the blame of
undertakings astonishing in oonception, but be
yond his means of execution. It was the most
wonderful accomplishment of man that,
placed upon the largest theatre of events, at the
head of the greatest revolution in human affairs,
he never failed to observe all that was possible,
and at the same time to bound his aspirations by
that which was possible.
A slight tinge in his character, perceptible only
to the close observer, revealed the region from
which he sprung, and he might be described as
the best specimen of manhood, as developed in
the South ; but his qualities were so faultlessly pro
portioned, that his whole country rather claimed
him as its choicest representative, the most com
plete expression of all its attainments and aspira
tions. He studied his country, and conformed to
it. His countrymen felt that he was the beat
type of America, and rejoiced in it, and were
proud of it. They lived in his life, and made his
success and his praise their own.
Profoundly impressed with confidence in God’s
Providence, and exemplary in his respect for tho
forms of public worship, no philosopher of the
eighteenth century was more firm in the support
of freedom of religious opinion; none more tol
erant or more remote from bigotry ; but belief ia
God, and trust in his overruling power, formed
the essence of his character. Divine wisdom not
only illumines the spirit, but it inspires the will.
Washington was a man of action, and not of
theory and words; his creed appears in his life,
not in his professions, which burst from him very
rarely, and only at those great moments of crisis
in the fortunes of his country when earth and
heaven seemed actually to meet, and his emo
tions became too intense for suppression; but
his whole being was one continued aet of faith ia
the eternal, intelligent, moral order of the uni
verse. Integrity was so completely the law of his
nature, that a planet would sooner hare shot
from its sphere than he have departed from his
uprightness, which was so constant that it often
seemed to be almost impersonal.
They say of Giotto, that he introduced good
ness into the art of painting; Washington carried
it with him into the camp and the cabinet, and
established anew criterion of human greatness.
The purity of his will confirmed his fortitude,
and, as he never faltered in his faith in virtue, he
stood fast by that which lie knew to be just, free
from illusions, never dejected by the apprehen
sion of the difficulties and perils that went before
him, and drawing the promise of success from
the justice of his cause. Hence he was persever
ing, leaving nothing unfinished; free from all
taint of obstinacy in his firmness, seeking and
gladiy receiving advice, but immovable in his de
votedness to right.
Os a “retiring modesty and habitual reserve,”
his ambition was not more than the conscious
ness of his power, and wa3 subordinate to his
sense of duty ; he took the foremost place, for he
knew, for inborn magnanimity, that it belonged
to him, and dared not withhold the service re
quired of him; so that, with all his humility, he
was by necessity the first, though never for him
self or for private ends. He loved fame, the ap
proval of coming generations, the good opinion
of his fellow-men of his own time, and he desired
to make his conduct coincide with their wishes;
but not fear of censure, nor the prospect of ap
plause, could tempt him to swerve from rectitude;
and the praise which he coveted was the sympa
thy of that moral sentiment which exists in every
human breast, and goes forth only to the welcome
There have been soldiers who have achieved
mightier victories in the field, and made con
quests more nearly corresponding to the bound
lessness of selfish ambition ; statesmen who have
been connected with more startling upheavals of
society, but it is the greatness of Washington,
that in public trusts he used power solely for the
public good; that he was the life, and modera
tor, e.nd stay of the most momentous revolution
inhuman affairs; its moving impulse and its re
straining power. Combining the centripetal and
the centrifugal forces in their utmost strength
and in perfect relations, with creative grandeur
of instinct, he held ruin in check and renewed
and perfected the institutions of his country.
Finding the colonies disconnected and depend
ent, lie left them such a united and well ordered
commonwealth as no visionary had believed to
be possible. So that it has been truly said, “He
was as fortunate as great and good.”
ABOUT GIRL’S NAMES.
If you are a very precise man, and wish to be
certain of what you get, never mary a girl named
Ann ; for we have the authority of Lindley Mur
ray and others, that “ an is an indefinite article.”
If you would like to have a wife who is “one
of a thousand,” you should marry an Emily or
an Emma, for any printer can tell you that “ ema
are counted’by thousands.”
If you do not wish to have a bustling, fly-about
wife, you should not marry one named Jenny;
for every cotton spinner knows that jennies are al
ways on the go.
If you want to marry Belle, it is not necessary
that you should be a sexton, just because you
have to ring her at the altar.
If you marry one named Margaret, you may
fear for the manner that she will end her days ;
for all the world knows that pegs were made for
If you wish to succeed in life as a porter, you
should marry Caroline, and treat her very kindly;
for so long as you continue to do this, you will bo
good to Carry.
The most incessant writer in the world is ho
who is always bound to Ad-a-line.
You may adore your wife, but you will be sur
passed in love when your wife is Dora.
Many men of high moral principles, and who
would not gamble for the world, still have not
refused to take a Bet.
No printer who expects to make anything off
his brother typos by the game of “jeffing,” should
marry a Mary; for the craft, generally, knows
that a “melly” is ns ’mml,