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*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.