Newspaper Page Text
*r
totiitarft of Union
Edited by THOMAS BATHES.
out CONSCIENCE—ODI COUNTRY—OUR PARTY.
P. antBOX, proprietor. ^
VOLUME VIll.
MILLEDGEVILLE, GEORGIA, FRIDAY MORNING, JUNE 4, 1841.
NUMBER lSyjj
f
THE LEGEND OF KNOCK-A-TH AMPLE.
In the valley of Knock-a-thample, beside a rained
church and holy well, the shattered walls of what had
been once a human habitation are still visible. They
stand at a bowshot distance from the fountain, which,
instead of a place of penance for ancient crones and
solitary devotees, was visited two centuries since for a
very different purpose.
The well, although patronised by Saint Catharine, a
lady of as determined celibacy as ever underwent can
onisation, had one peculiar virtue, which, under her
especial superintendence, it might not have been ex-
possess. Indeed, in every-day complaints,
its waters were tolerably efficacious; but, in cases of
connubial disappointments, when the nuptial bed had
been unfraitful, they proved an absolute specific; and
in providing an heir for an estate, when “hope de
ferred bad made the heart sick,” there was not in the
kingdom of Connaught a blessed well that could hold
a candle to that of Knock-a-thsmple. *
• Numerous as the persons were whom the reputa
tion of the fountain collected from a distance, few re
turned without experiencing relief. Occasionally, a
patient appeared whose virgin career had been a little
too protracted, and to whom the rosaty, rather than
the cradle, was adapted—and so thought Saint Catha
rine—-though tier water was unequalled, yet she bad
neither time nor inclination to work miracles eternally;
consequently, those ancient candidates for the honours
of maternity returned precisely as they came: to ex
pend holy water on such antique customers was al
most a sinful waste—their presumption was unpardona
ble—it was enough to vex a saint, and even put the
blessed patroness of Knock-a-thample in a passion.
Holy water, like prophecy, appears to be of little
value at home, and hence the devotees usually came
from some distant province. The soil, indeed, might
then have possessed the same anti-Malthusian qtiali-
tijtf for which it is so remarkable at the present day.
Certainly, the home-cousuniptiou of Knock-a-thample
was on a limited scale—and the herdsman and his
wife, ulio then occupied the ruined cottage near the
church, owed their winter comforts to the munificence
of the stranger pilgrims who, during the summer sea
son, .'- sorted in numbers to tbe well.
It was late in October, and the pilgrimages were
over for the year—winter was at hand—the heath was
withered, and the last flower had fallen from tbe bog-
mirtle—the bouilics [lints] were abandoned, and the
cattle driven from the bills. It was a dark evening;
and the rain which had been collecting on the moun
tains began to fall heavily, when a loud knock dis
turbed the inhabitants of the cabin. Tbe door was
promptly unbarred, and a young and well-dressed
stranger entered, received the customary welcome,
with an invitation to join the herdsman’s family, who
were then preparing their evening meal. The ex
treme-youth and beauty of the traveller did not escape
tbe peasant’s observation, although he kept his cap
upon his bead, and declined to put aside his mantle.
— -An hour after the young stranger had arrived, an
other, and a very different visiter, had demanded lodg
ing for the night. He belonged also to another coun
try, and for some years had trafficked with the moun
tain peasantry, and was known among them by the
appellation of the Red Pedler. He was a strong, un
dersized, and illvisaged man, mean in his dress, and
repulsive iu his appearance. The pedler directed a
keen and inquisitive look at the belated traveller, who,
to escape the sinister scrutiny of his small but piercing
eyes, turned to where the herdsman’s wife was occu
pied in preparing the simple supper. The peasant
gazed with wonder at her guest; for never had so fair
a face been seen within the herdsman’s dwelling; while
her eyes were still bent upon the stranger, a fortui
tous opening of the mantle displayed a sparkling cross
of exquisite beauty, which hung upon the youth’s
bsaan: and more than once, as it glittered in the un
certain light of the wood-fire, she remarked the rich
and sparkling gem.
When morniiig came, the pilgrim took leave of the
hospitable peasants, and as he inquired the road to the
Indy well, slipped a rose-noble into the baud of the
herdsman’s wile. This was net unnoticed hy the Red
who proffered his services as guide, which the
‘ lit firmly, declined. The pilgrim
to the fountain, performed the customary
' i noon, and foegi took the mountain
path, leading through an opening in the hills, to a sta-
timf which, though particularly lonely, was usually $e-
by good Catholics for a last act of devotion
when returning from visiting the blessed well. The
pedkr,wlmoa various pretences had loitered near
tbe plane, soon afterwards departed in the samedi-
That night the herdsman's family sought repose in
rild, unearthly noises were heard around die
hovel; and shriek and laughter, aw folly mingled to
gether, were borne upon the breeze which came moan-
iug from die mountains. The- peasant barred Ins
<foor aad grasped his wood-aze; bis wjfc, with tremb
ling fingers, told her rosary over again and again,
ling broke; and harrassed by alarms, they sank
(at last. But their slumbers were rudely bro-
xy-haired monk roused them hastily—hor-
fclooks. -aJfd with difficulty he staggered
ally lie collected strength to tell his
young and lovely devotee lay in
Fgfcn, before Saint Catherine’s cross, a
srpse!
lings of this desperate deed flew through the
bespoke the mortal agony which had accompanied the
spirit’s flight. One deep wound was in his side, in
flicted evidently by a triangular weapon; and the
brilliant cross and parse of gold were gone.
The women from the adjacent villages assembled to
pay the last rites to the remains of the murdered pil
grim. Preparatory to being Jaid out, the clothes
were gently removed from the body, when a cry of
horror burst from all—the pilgrim was a woman/
Bound by a violet riband, a bridal ring rested besides
her heart; and from unequivocal appearances, it was
too evident that the fell assassin had committed a
doable murder.
The obsequies of this unhappy lady were piously
* A pltre of penance fre-uenrestyCaftalir deleter*.
performed; the mountain girls decked her grave with
flowers; and old and young, for many a mile around,
offered prayers for die soul of the departed. The
murder was involved in a mystery—the peasants bad
their own suspicions, but fear caused them to be
silent.
A year passed—the garland upon the stranger’s
grave was carefully renewed—the village maidens
shed many a tear as they told her melancholy story;
and none passed tbe tnrf which covered the murdered
beaoty without repeating a prayer for her soul’s re
pose.
Another passed—and the third anniversary of the
pilgrim’s death arrived. Late on that eventful eve
ning, a tall and noble-looking stranger entered the
herdsman’s cottage. His air was lofty and command
ing; and though lie wore a palmer’s cloak, the jew
elled pommel of his rapier glanced from beneath the
garment, and betrayed his knightly dignity. The
beauty of bis manly countenance forcibly recalled to
the peasants the memory of tbe ill-starred stranger,'
But their admiration was checked by the fierce,
though melancholly expression, of the handsome fea
tures of the stranger; and if they would have inclined
to scrutinize him more, one stern glance from his dark
and flashing eye imperiously forbade it. Suff 4 ' was
prepared in silence, until, at the knight’s request, the
herdsman detailed minutely every circumstance con
nected with the lady’s murder.
While tbe peasant’s narrative proceeded, the stran
ger underwent a terrible emotion, which his stern
resolution could not entirely conceal. His eyes flared,
his brows contracted till they united; and before the
tale was ended, he leaped from his seat, and left tbe
cabin hastily.
He had been but a few minutes absent, when the
door opened, and another visiter entered with scanty
ceremony, and, though unbidden, seated himself upon
the stool of honor. His dress was far better than his
mien, and he assumed an appearance of superiority
which, even to the peasants, appeared forced and un
natural. He called authoritatively for supper, and
the tones of his voice were quite familiar to the herds
man. With excited cariosity, the peasant flung some
dried flax upon the fire, and by the blaze, recognised
at once the well-remembered features of the Red
Pedler!
Before the peasant could recover his surprise, the
tall stranger entered the cottage again, and approach
ed the hearth. With an air which could not be dis
puted he commanded the intruder to give place. The
waving of his hand was obeyed, and with mattered
threats the pedler retired to the settle. The knight
leaned against the rude walls of tbe chimney, and re
mained absorbed in bitter thought until the bumble
host told him that the meal was ready.
If a contrast were necessary, it would have been
found in the conduct of the strangers at the board.
The knight ate like an anchorite, while the pedler in
dulged his appetite largely. The tall stranger tem
pered the aqua vita presented by the host copiously
with water, while* the short one drank fast and deep,
and appeared anxious to steep some pressing sorrow
in tbe goblet. Gradually, however, his brain felt the
influence of the liquor—and unguarded from deep
and repeated draughts, he thus addressed the host.
“Markestthou a change in me, fellow?”
“Fellow!” quoili the peasant, half affronted; “three
years ago we were indeed fellows; lor the Red Pedler
often sought shelter here, and never was refused,”
“ The Red Pedler P' exclaimed the tall stranger,
starting from his revery as if an adder had stung him,
and fixing his fiery glance upon the late visiter, he ex
amined him from head to foot.
“You will know me again, I trow,” said the pedler
witli extraordinary assurance.
“Ishall” was the cold reply.
“Well,” said the new-couier, “though three years
since I bore a pack, I’ll wager a rose-noble that I have
more money in my pouch than half the beggarly
knights from Galway to Athlone. There!” be ex
claimed, as he flung his cloak open, “ there is a
weighty purse, and here a trusty middoge, and a fig for
knighthood and nobility!”
Slave!” said the stranger, in a voice that made
the peasants tremble, “breathe not another word until
thou has satisfied my every question, or, by the Moth
er of Heaven! I’ll cram my rapier down thy false
throat;” and starting on his feet, he flung his mantle
on the floor.
Though surprised, the pedler was not discomfited
by the dignity and determination of his antagonist.
Yes!” he suddenly replied, “I wear no rapier—
but this muldoge has never failed me at my need,”
and drawing from his bosom a long triangular weap
on, he placed it on the table—“Sir Knight,” he con
tinued, “the handle of my tool is simple deer-horn,
but, by the mass! I have a jewel in my breast that
u’outy buy thy tinselled pommel ten times.”
‘‘Thou liest, slave!” exclaimed the knight.
“To the proof then,” said the pedler, and opening
secret pocket, he produced a splendid cross.
“Villain !” said the tall stranger, under deep emo
tion, “surely thou hast robbed some hapless trav
eller?”
No!” replied the pedler, with a cool smile; “I
was besides the owner of this cross when bis last sigh
was breathed!”
Like lightning the stranger’s sword flashed from its
scabbard.
“Murderer!” he shouted, in a voice of thunder,
“for three years have I wandered about the babita-
rapidly. Tbe body was carried to the herds- j hie earth, and my sole object in living was to find thy
cabin. For many hours life had been extinct, caitiff self; a world would not purchase thee one mo-
the distorted countenance of this hapless fyoutli ! ment’s respite.” And before the wretch could more
' than clutch his weapon, the knight’s sword passed
through his heart—-the hilt struck upon the breast
bone, and the Red Pedler did not carry his life to
the floor!
The stranger for a moment gazed upon the breath
less body, and having with the dead man’s cloak re
moved the blood from his blade, replaced it coolly in
the sheath. The pedler’s purse he flung scornfully to
the peasant, but the cross be took up, looked at it with
fixed attention, and the herdsman’s wife remarked that
u;c>re than one tear fell upon the relic.
just then the gray-haired monk stood before him;
be had felt his convent to offer up tbe mass, v/hich he
did on every anniversary of the pilgrim’s murder. He
started back with horror as he viewed the bleeding
corpse; while the knight having secured the cross
within his boson, resumed bis cold and haughty
bearing.
“Fellow!” he cried to, the trembling peasant,
“lienee with that carrion, Come hither, monk—why
gaspest thou thus ? hast thou never seen a corpse ere
now ? Approach, 1 would speak with thee apart”—
and he strode to the further end of the cottage, fol-
lowed.by the chnrclunan.—“I am going to confide to
thee what—”
“The penitent should kneel,” said tbe old man,
timidly.
“Kneel!” exclaimed the tknigh, and to thee, my
fellow-mortal! Monk, thou mistakes!—I am not of
thy faith, and I langh thy priestcraft to derision,
Hearken, bnt interrupt me not. The beantious being
whose blood was spilled in these accursed wilds, was
the chosen lady of my love. I stole her from a con
vent, and wedded her in secret; for pride of birth in
duced me to conceal fom the world my marriage with
a fugitive non. She ktta^ pregnant, and that cir
cumstance endeared her to 'me doubly, and* I swore a
solemn oath, that if she brought a boy, I would at once
announce him as my heir, and proclaim my marriage
to the world. The wars called me for a time away.
Deluded by tbe artifice of h&confessor, my loved one
was induced to come hither bn a pilgrimage, to inter
cede with thy saint, that the burden she bore might
prove a son. Curses light upon the shaveling that
counselled that fatal journey! Nay, cross not thyself,
old man, for 1 would execrate thy master of Rome
bad he been the fake adviser. Thou knowest the
rest, monk. Take this purse. She was of thy faith
and thou must say masses for her soul’s health. Yearly
shall the same sum be sent to thy convent; see that
all that prayers can do, be done—or, by my hopes ot
grace, thy Vive of drones shall smoke for it. Doubt
me not,—De Burgo will keep his word to the very
letter. And now, farewell! . I hurry from this fatal
spot for ever; ray train are not distant, and have long
expected me.”
As bespoke, he took bis mantle from the floor, and
wrapped it round him carelessly; then, as he passed
the spot where the body of the murderer lay, he
spurned it with his foot, and pausing for a moment,
looked, at the monk—
“Remember!” he said, in a low voice, which made
the old man shuddi /, and passing from the cabin, he
crossed the heath, and disappeared.
But did not the terror of the herdsman’s family
abate with this departure; a dead man lay before them,
and the floor deluged with Iris blood. No human
help was nigh, before daylight assistance could not be
expected; and no alternative remained but to wait
patiently for the morrow. Candles were lighted op,
tbe hearth was heaped with fuel* and a cloth thrown
over the corpse which they lacked the courage to re
move. To sleep was impossible—and in devotional
arts they endeavored to while the night away. Mid
night came; tbe monk was slumbering over Iris brevia
ry, and the matron occupied witli her beads, when a
violent trampling was iuanrd .outyde, and the peasant,
fearing the cattle he had in Charge were disturbed,
rose to ascertain the cause* In a moment he returned.
A herd of wild deer surrounded the cabin, and actu
ally stood in a threatening attitude within a few paces
of tbe door! While he told this strange occurrence
to the monk, a clap of thunder shook the hovel to its
centre—yells, and shrieks, and groans succeeded—
noises so demoniac as to almost drive the listeners to
mauiic^, hurtled through the air, and infernal lights
flashed through the creVS?es of the door and window.
Till morning broke, these unearthly terrors continued
without a moment’s intermission.
Next day the villagers collected. They listened to
the fearful story with dismay, while the melancholy
fate of the gentle pilgrim was bitterly lamented. To
inter the pedler’s corpse was the first care; for the
monk swore hy Ids patron saint that he would not pass
another night with it over ground, to be made a “mi
tred abbot. A coffin was forthwith prepared, and
with “maimed rites,” the murderer was committed to
the earth.
That masses were requisite to purify the scene of
slaughter was indisputable—and wilh the peasants who
had flocked from the neighboring villages, the monk
determined to pass that night in prayer. The blood
stains had been removed from the floor—the corpse
had been laid in consecrated earth—and the office had
commenced at midnight, when suddenly, a rushing
noise was heard, as if a mountain torrent was swollen
by the bursting of a thuuder-cloud. It passed the
herdsman’s cabin while blue lights gleamed through
the casement, and thunder pealed above. In a state
of desperation, the priest ordered tbe door to be un
closed, and by the lightning’s glare, a'lierd of red deer
was seen tearing up the pedler’s grave! To look
longer in that blue infernal glare n as impossible—the
door was shut, and the remainder of the night passed
in penitential prayer.
With the first light of morning, the monk and villa
gers repaired to the pedler’s grave, and the scene it
presented showed that the horrors of the preceding
night were no illusion. The earth around was blast
ed with lightning, and the coffin was torn from the
tomb, and shattered into a thousand splinters. The
corpse was blackening on the heath, and the expres
sion of the distorted features was more like that of a
demon than of a man. Not very distant was the grave
of his beautiful victim. The garland which the vill
age girls had placed there was still fresh and unfaded;
and late as the season was, the blossom was still upon
the bog-myrtle, and the heath-flower was as bright and
fragrant as though it were the merry mouth of June.
“These are indeed the works of bell and heaven,”
ejaculated the grey friar. “Let no hand from this
time forth pollute itself by touching yon accursed
corpse.”
Nightly, the same horrible noises continued. Shriek
and groan came from the spot where the unburied
murderer was rotting, while by day the hill fox and
the eagle contended who should possess the body. Ere
a week passed, the villain’s bones were blanching in
the winds of heaven, for no human bad attempted to
cover them again.
From that time the place was deserted. The des
perate noises, and the frequent appearance of the
pedler’s tortured spirit, obliged tbe herdsman to aban
don bis dwelling, and reside in an adjacent village.
The night of the day upon which he had removed his
family and effects, a flash of lightning fell upon the
cabin, and consumed the roof; and next morning 1
nothing remained but black and rifted walls. Since
that time the well is only nsed for penance. The pes-
anl approaches not the desecrated bury ing-place if he
can avoid it. The cattle are never known to shelter
underneath the ruined walls—-and the corse of God
and man have fallen on Knock-a-tkample.
A BASHFUL LOVER.
A Green Mountain boy fell iu love with a very
pretty girl and determined to ‘court her.’—To that
end he dressed himself in his “ Sunday-go-to-meet-
mgs,” went to her father’s bouse and found her alone.
‘How d’ye du,’ says Jonathan.
‘I’m nicely—take a cheer, Jonathan,’ says the girl.
Jonathan took a chair, and seated himself in the
farthest corner of the room, as though the beauty was
a thing to be feared rather than loved.
*Aint you cold—had’nt you better sit up to the fire,’
said Sally, supposing be would of course, if he was
going to make love at all, do so in a proper manner.
‘No, I thankee, I reckon I’m comfortable,’ returns
Jonathan.
‘How is your inarm,’ said Sally.
‘Well, she’s complainin a leetle,’ said Johnathan.
Here a pause of ten minutes ensued, during which
time Jonathan amused himself by whittling a stick.
‘There’s nothin’ new np your way is there.’ said
Sail, which Jonathan might understand as applying
to his present situation, or to his father’s domicil.
*Here1—yis, you meant tu hum; well no—that is
yis—our spotted cow’s got a call!’ said Jonathan.
Sally would undoubtedly have langlied at this queer
piece of information, only she was too much vexed at
the bashfulness of the speaker. At length after an
other protracted silence, Sally got up a very small
edition of a scream, and in a loud voice exclaimed,
‘Let me alone!’
‘Why,’ says Jonathan, dropping bis knife and stick
in astonishment, ‘why I aiut a touchin’ on ye.’
‘Well,’ says Sally, in a voice which might be indi
cative of fear, bnt sounded very like a request. ‘Well,
aint you goin' tu?
Jonathan thought a moment of this equivocal reply,
and then after placing his knife in his pocket and
blowing his nose, he drew his chair by the side of
pretty Sally, gently encircled her waist and—the
next week they were married.
A Clre for Love.—Take a grain of sense, half d
grain of patience, one drarhm of understanding, one
ounce of disdain, a pound of resolution, and a handful
of dislike. Mix them together, fold them in the alem
bic of your brain, for twenty-foui hours set them on
the slow fire of hatred, strain it clear from the dross
of melancholy, stop it down witli the cork of sound
judgment, and let it stand uine days in the water of
cold affection. This rightly made and fully applied
is the most effectual way in the world. You may get
it at the house of understanding, in content street, go
ing up the hill of self denial, count v of forgetfulness,
and iu the state of peace.—Spirit of the TimcSi
Choking off a Lawyer.—The best and roost
effectual check ever given to a verbos pettifogger,
occurred in a well known Western city, and is within
our own knowledge as fact. Much against his will,
a shrewd, plain spoken, straight forward citizen, was
called from his business and forced upon a jury to
pronounce verdict over some trivial point of litiga
tion. Hejat sometime patiently, until lie got the mer
its of the case, and saw the matter was just worth the
toss of a red ceut, and far worthier of being so deci
ded than thrust into a court of justice. Yet a pedan
tic looking small lawyer got np, having an ostenta
tions, display of law books before him, and giving been tbe consequence Jiail iftK
every indication that he was going to commeuce a
prolix fanfaronade, a kind of forensic oratory for
which he was somewhat celebrated among the difier-
entjustices courts, and other bars of the place. After
several pompous hems and haws, he commenced—
* Gentlemen of the jury.’
‘Look here,’ said our juryman, rising and pulling
out his watch—‘l’v just one remark to make before
you go on. Jf you talk more than fire minutes TU
give my verdict against you ! So you see the less
yoit the better.”
The lawer took the hint, consented to he choked
off, and was rewarded by the paltry verdict be wished
to gain.—Picayune.
Tlie proprietor, Mr. Koch, ia UtpripwddntnpJ’
tion of the animal, makes the following remarks writs
supposed habits and nature: - . , - . , „ , -
The animal has been, without doubt, an inhabitant
of water-courses, snch as large rivevs and lakes, whirl*
is proven hy the formation of the bones; 1st bis fleet
were webbed; 2d * all bis bones sreye Solid, a#d with
out marrow, as the aquatic animals of the present
day; 3d, his ribs were too small and slepdor to resist
the many pressures and bruises they would be nriject
toon land; 4th, liis legs are short sod thick; Sib, Us
o|ps flat and broad; Cth, aod tox ins josksmf* so
situated in the head that it would be utterly impossi
ble for him to exist in >a timbered country. His fond
consisted as much of vegetables as Ink, although fee
itflPoubtedly consumed a great abundance of tbe lat
ter, and was capable of feeding himself yriifefen fore
foot, after tbe manner of the beaver or oiler, mutpos
sessed, also, like, the bipopotamu*, the foeobjr df
walking oh tbe bottom of waters, and rose occusiooalljr
to take air.
The singular position of the tusks has been very
wisely adapted by the Creator for foe protection of
the body from llie many injuries to which il would ho
exposed while swimming or walking coder foe wa
ter; and iu addition to this, it appears that foe ani
mal has been covered with the same anode as the al
ligator, or perhaps tbe niigatheriunt.
. LAMENTABLE CATASTROPHE,
Jl the Manchester Zoological Gardens. Yesler*
aorning, (Tuesday) one of the keepers at these
is, named Wiliiani Harvey, whose employment
ak after the carnivorous animals, as welt as to
out tlieir dens and lairs, was engaged in
the den appropriated to the leopard and
discharge of the same duties on the previous
had by his carelessness, or bis daring, nearly
ught in the toils of the leopardess; bnt, by
■od fortune, he escaped injura. On the oe-
now specially referred to, he was armed, or
irepared, with a couple of knives and tea
iron; thus favoring ibe presumption that he
contest rather than the avoidance of one,
Hy ofhis conduct, as the sequel will show,
[o corroborate the former opinion,
n as Harvey had cleaned what is called the
spsrefon or lair, instead of retiring from K awl clo
sing foe outward grated iron doors, and then with-
drawhqnjfee sliding partition betwixt the den iu which
the leopard and leopardless were and that which he
bad just cleared, he, with a folly unparalleled, forced
back the sliding partition whilst in tbe adjoining den, -
and the instant that sufficient room was thus made for
the ingress of y lie leopardess into that in whicb-the
keeper was, she flew at Harvey and seised him by foe
scalp, the greatest part of which she tore away..
It would seem that he had made a desperaie-stnig-
gle; bnt against such odds certain death most bave_
A Description of the Missourian.—This ex
traordinary zoological monumeut of former ages, ar
rived at Louisville a few days since, and is about to
be exhibited in lhat city. We gather from the Louis
ville Journal a hasty description of this mighty skele
ton, which will he read with more than ordinary in
terest.
It measures 32 feetiu length and 17 in height. Tbe
head measures, from the tip of' the nose to the spine of
the neck, 6 feet. From the edge of the upper lip,
measuring along the roof of the mouth, to the socket
of the eye is three fee t, from the lower edge of the up
per lip to the first edge of the front teeth, 20 inches.
Each jaw has four teeth, and the upper jaw has besides
two enormous tusks.
Tbe teeth are each 4 inches broad. The noswpro-
jects 15 inches over the lower jaw. The tasks are 10
feet long, exclusive of 1 foot and 3 inches, which forms
the root, and is buried in the skull. The right tusk
was found firm in the head, and remained fixed in its
socket during its excavation, and its transportation to
St. Louis, which fortunate circumstance enables us to
know the exact position and situation which the tusks
occupied iu the head of the animal during its life.
They were carried by him almost horizontally, bend
ing somewhat down, and then coming with their
points up again, making a sweep, from extremity to
extremity, in a straight line acrors the head of 15 feet.
The longest rib measures 5 feet 6$ inches in length,
the shortest 2 feet 3 inches. The scapula, or shoul
der blade, is 3 feet 1 inch in length, and 2 feet 7 inch
es in breadth. The length of the humorous, or fore
arm, is 3 fee 151 inches, and it. greatest ciremofercnce
3 feet 3 inches. The femur, or thigh-bone, is 4 feet
and a half inch long, and 8| inches in diameter. The
feet of the animal appear to have been webbed. The
fore fool has 4 toes and a thumb. The longest toe
measures 1 foot 8 inches, the shortest ! foot; and the
thumb 7 inches. All the bones of the animal are
Grin, and contain no marrow. The cavity of the
brain is quite iarge.
tor’s servants, who attends the refectory, had occasion
to pass the building .when the contest w as at its height.
Further assistance was then instantly obtained, and
on? man, with more courage than the rest, boldly en
tered, accompanied by a bull terrier, which flying at
the leopardess, caused the {noble animal to let go her
hold of the keeper. This attack was followed by a
dreadful wound inflicted in the side of the animal with
a pike.
In a short period, however, a sufficient force was
collected for any emergency, but by a sort of council
of war held among the various persons employed iu
the gardens, it was unanimously decided that the ani
mal shofol be forthwith despatched by a musket or
rifle, an<| tbe shot taking effect in the side, site almost
instantly.cxpired. The lacerated keeper was taken to
tbe Infirmary, where Ite now lies, with little hopes of
recovery.
Another of the servants, perceiving the terrier’s
death could not be avoided, and wishing to preserve
its life, took Up a piece of iron about three quarters
Of an iucli ia diameter, boldly went into the building
and bent foe iron with a blow he gave the animal on
its nose. This blow was so effectual that the leop
ardess instantly loosed the letrier from Its grasp.-—
London Papin
From die Baltimore Cliwpcfs
US$ AND ABUSE OF THE FRESH.
The use of tlie Press is to diffuse correct informa
tion—to enlighten and instruct—to inculcate mor
ality—“to raise the genius, and to mend the heart.”
It is an abuse of the press to misrepresent farts, mo
tives, or actions—to encourage immorality—to use
abusive terms, 6r to expose tlie occurrences at die do
mestic fireside. It is not our intention to enter npott
this wide field; we shall confine our attention to one
point—the abuse of the press in dragging before tbe
public matters which are entirely of a private char
acter. Newsmongers, in their eager search after nov
elty, do not sufficiently discriminate between tat
which is a proper subject for animadversion, and dial
which is of a strictly private nature; and hence we
have eveuU narrated, uhich, however they may min
ister to tlie morbid appetite, should remain secluded
from public view. Petty disputes between iudividn-
als—the quarrels of lovers—domestic discord—runa
way matches—disappointed hope*—every thing is
now thought worthy of being paraded before the pub
lic. If the public morals could be improved by such
publications, some benefit would result from the vio
lation of property; but this is not pretended. Tlie*
sole object appears to be, to create a demand for the
paper in which such things are inserted; and die pur
pose is answered to a great extent. Tbe press should
be a terror to a great extent. The press should bo
a terror to evil doers, hut jt should disdain to resort,
to die family sanctuary, to drag forth and publish il*
secrets.
An Elopement.— We hear it reported yesterday
that one of the young ladies in the Convent, of the
Sacred Heart, 50 miles above this, eloped on Tues
day night with a young tnarV; a former lover,.ayid ew
this they probably are married.—.V. • O. Picayune,
We understand that Mrs: Wood, Jot* .widow
Queen saury, committed suicide ia this county, near
the Molensviile road, oa yesterday, by shooting oat
£«r brains '.vita a rile.—flask. Whig.