Newspaper Page Text
ftom the Metropolitan Dr Aufu«.
PHILLIS LEYTON.
BT IHI AUTHOR OF THE IMPREGNABLE BACHELOR.
T.ic following diffuse pages "’ere found iu
the escritoire of a gentlemen, well known in t!ic
foa.iio.iable world some thirty years ago. In
tlie latter period of his life, ill hcalt.i, and a
painful affection of the i crves, debarred him
from society ; but he was once its brightest
ornament. He appears to have written tiiem
for his own atnusement; it is to be seen w heth
er tiny will amuse any one else. W• M •
I am alone : but what of it ?—the benefits
of a single life far surpass the miseries of done
liess. True, we bachelors have none to care
for us, no 011 c to attend to our little comforts;
and then our near relations wish us comforta
bly dead and buried, when we have once signed
a testament in their favor. Buttnen we n . ..k
claret —keep our horse —preserve our figure—
and come home as late as we please, without
being rated by any woman on ear’ll. All these
are great blessings.
Still we yearn for a helpmate, and sigh that
a woman is so indifferent from t .c angelic es
sence slic is painted in romances, and that she
has so little in common with tne immaculate
heroine of blank verse. As it is, 1 never find
any woman completely to my fancy. I might
have known I should die i t single blessedness
from what passed with Phillis Lev ton, and
even she I cared very little about.
It is f rue, lam grieved at her death, but
such feelings are natural—especially when the
intelligence is unexpected. For I have only
just learned from a country newspaper, that
.Miss P.iiilis Leyton die 1 at tue Parsonage,
Mary Ciiurcfi, South Devon, in the fifty-sixth
year of her age, esteemed and regretted by ail
who knew her.
It is thirty-seven long years ago since I first
saw Phillis. At that time of life, and indeed
ever since, I cherished an image of female
perfection quite ideal in my mind. She did
not come up to it. Tall, slender fair, and
stately, of lofty manners, of the most refined
ton, was to lie the lady of my c io *e, and the
most exquisite beauty and imhre I elegance
were imperatively icquired. Ptiillis Leyton
could boast neither blue eyes n n an aequiline
nose ; her figure, though tall, had little dignity,
and her manners, I am afraid, very much re
sembled no manners at all. But large, soft,
black eyes, a nose exquisitely Grecian, lips like
cherris, and a blush that comes and goes three
or four times in a minute, joined to a most
frank expression of countenance and natural
good breeding, are very bewitching things to
the heart ofa youngster of twenty three, and I
felt from the first I like ! her.
Having been once jilted by a Mary, and
soon afterwards dreadfully ill-used by a Sarah
I vowed never to endure any name under three
syllables; for women, creatures ofcircumstan
ces, are influenced materially inv their names.
Most Isabellas arc found haughty, the Agncscs
pensive, and some of them arc Roman Cutho
lies. Janes and Margarets are commonly
common-place, and as for Anns, Lucies, Fan
nies und El.cns, what girls can keep up their
dignity, when their godfathers, and godmothers
have been so much against it ? When you are
jilted by any Ann Smith, blame nobody but
yourself for your want of discernment.
Quaint names I abhorrid—Dorcas, Rachael
Bridget, the whole tribe of them. Yet P.iiilis,
when bestowed on a beautiful romping young
creature of nineteen, sounded charmingly
pithy; it even heightened her beauty to hear
her called by that name. You ex [tec tto see
someone above the common grade when you
hear people s iv, ‘ Miss P.iiilis Leyton.’
My eldest daughter, I inwardly informed
myself, shall be a P.iiilis, arid my second a
Bridget, provi led they lie as pretty as P.iiilis
Leyton is. It Is but customary to name the
eldest daughter after her mother, I ran on.
Surely I hud jumped already to matrimony, but
that was always my way of doing things.
To remember the evening I passed, the most
exhiliarating in my life, does away with years
oi dullness. 1 talked to Phillis, for I could not
hep it, though no one was more uncongenial
to my tern per. In the beginning 1 shrank fi om
her free manners, and felt vexed and angry to
see suen a pretty creature violate so many of
the canons of decorum ; but, by heaven! she
conquered and gained a complete victory over
my fastidiousness at last. 1 laugh to vocal
what strange answ irs she made to iny obsei va
tions. Thinking to suit mv conversation to
the capacity of my partner, 1 alluded to the
theatre. She conjured w me to tell her what it
was like, for she burned with desire to go.
Ine opera—a friend had promised to take her
there for the first tim : next week. Mozart—
she played hi s symphonies, but she preferred
the airs from “ Love in a Village,” which she
had at home in the country. Almack’s and
St. James’s, Phillis had little, very little con
eeption of, but her head run on country dances
and country balls. Her favorite reading was
the “ Vicar ol Wakefield, ’ but she knew some
little I found, of “Pamela, having once borrow
ed an odd volu ic. In fine she was a country
fied creature, and took no pains to conceal it.
I left my singular, and to me unnatural partner,
and inquired, 1 knew not wherefore, who and
what she was.
It was no romantic tale. Iler father was
n country clergyman, and hadofeourse biought
up his daughter a hoyden. Yet at this time of
hfe I can imagine there is a natural good breed
ing totally d.stinct from fasmon but sujicrior to
jt, Pliilli i Leyton is the reason why l think so ;
tshe behaved the same in company as in private
—open, lively, even boisterous— yet there was
no vulgarity in all her freedom.
Worse grew worse, for after supper I dc- j
tccted myself playing forfeits in a quiet corner
of the room, and even struggling with the girl
for my own handkerchief, which she protested
*he must keep for the sake of the owner. This
was 'to doubt n. challenge to snatch some
k sses ; bat, thank chance more than resolu
tion, I did not betray myself into such a fla
grant outrage of good manners, and Phillis
bade me good night ratiier sullenly on that
account.
Halt the niglrt I continued awake, nnd mv
thoughts ran upon her. I suspect she had
found me a ready auditor, and felt at home with
ne, for I listened with great eagerness, even
«cs*asy, to every word she uttered. Pniliis
had 1 given me a description of the life she led
in the country, and had run over all her amuse
ments and occupations. Walks in the green
iaaosy reading in the bay-fields in summer.
gathering hazeH iu autumn, picking bilberries,
joumieson horseback to the nearest market
town, visiting the sick and embroidering covers
for chairs and tables in the long winter nights,
filled up the sum of tier innocent and happy
existence. Slie read our elder poets, and had
a keen relish for nature, listened to the skylarks
and blackbirds in summer, watered her flowers
daily, and watched over tiiem like a parent—
preferred, above all things, a solitary walk in
a dark wood, and watched a thunder storm
with enthusiasm. She talked like Shakespeare
and made the country a forest of Arden. I
was transported, and certainly did let some
things fall which might have hinted how I ad
mired her.
Morning came and with the morn sundry
reflect in .not ofplulosophy, but ofPliillisLey
ton. “ 1 will see her again,” I ejaculated ; but
I never did *ee her again.
Many may remark how unnatural to be pi
ning thirty-seven years of your life after a girl,
seen, talked with, but one evening some few
hours in all: indeed, I have railed against
novels making their unnatural heroes take
similar fancies. All I can say is, I never saw
Pniliis Leyton but once, and though I do not j
exactly love her, I nave always thought upon j
her more tenderly than upoii any other wo- I
man.
Avery trifling thing determines a man’s
destiny. I was hindered by good breeding
from calling upon the lady she was visiting
until I had negotiated an introduction to tlie
family. This took me some weeks ; and
when I did call upon them, fully expecting to
see Phillis, I found my charmer had returned
home, and was buried . live in Devonshire. I
was so astonished, I forgot to ask in what
part of the country, and rushed away in a
paroxysm.
To be baffled is pediculous. I will run down
to Devonshire ; but there was then no Rail
Roads, and a journey into Devonshire took
months. T.en, I could not prevail upon my
self to fl v from town in the height of tlie seai-on,
foi 1 had been the most rigid observer of the
seasons since I was a stripling, and some bets
were depending on my punctuality.
At least I will write; and indeed people of
ten write what they are ashamed to speak. I
began a letter to her father with “ Rev. Sir,”
but, alas ! had no knowledge where to address
him. I waited to ask my new friends this
question but put it off* from day to day.
Once 1 saw my own fastidious disposition,
aid the obstacles in my way rendered all
thoughts of P. illis Leyton hopeless ; and in
despair I took a resolution to cut my throat
w.thout delay. But I was to tread the hal
lowed floor ofCarlton House that very i ven
ing, and determined, if j ossible, to live and
enjoy and eclat of appearing in the pres nee
of royalty, after which I could contentedly die.
1 therefore dressed, but could not helpiinagin
ing, as I looked in the mirror, the expression
of my features ve.y languid. B t melancho
ly, I surmise, became my cast of countenance;
for a baroness in her own right young, ele
gant, and unmarried, received my assiduities
with such condescension that 1 aspired to a
coronet, and, for the time, half forgot poor
Pniliis.
However, conscience reproached me for, I
dreamed of her that night, but not entirely.
Methought tne baroness told me her name was
P.iiilis, and then shifted for a time i ito the
features of Phillis Leyton, who said her real
name was the Baroness de D . All day
my thoughts ran upon black eves and pouting
lips, but I decided black eyes looked Lest half
veiled, and lips pleased most in an aristocratic
curl. Nobility hath a charm independent of
beauty, and to a man of refinement superior
to it. The baroness steps like a Juno ; her
very condescension is stately. Why should
1 linger? I made a sacrifice all real gentle
men must make when put to the test, and
gave up ingenousness for artificial polish ;
and since conscience was still unquiet, and to
convince myself I despised Phillis Leyton, I
penned a sonnet on the baroness, and enclo
sed it to tlie leading magazine. It was prin
ted, but much to my cost, for the poetry made
some noise, and the baroness thanked me in
public so warmly, that a colonel in thegua/ds,
who it afterwards was discovered had been
secretly married to her upwards of three
months, sent me a challenge, and I liked the
notoriety of a duel; but he ran me through the
body at the first lunge.
The affair brought all eyes upon me,and my
physician, I confess not against my own in
clination, forced me to go abroad. I made
the grand tour, and fell in love as often as Phil
lis Leyton was forgotton ; but I loved simpli
city for her sake, and began to court a Tom
boy I shall name Fanny. This is a painful
subject to me, and I must hurry over it. There
is an affectation of artlessness as well as of
art. My hoyden had no mind, and, what was
worse, less principle. On my hesitating to
settle an estate on her she was determined to
get, she pettishly broke off our courtship, no
doubt hoping to see me concede every point
to renew it; but I was disgusted, and would
not forgive her. 1 went through several other
amours, all of the same k nd, with females,
methou. ht it was an honor for me to ask in
marriage; but I discovered the middle classes
marry as much for money as our own.
Again I returned to higher life, determined
to seek a wife in my own sphere, not rich nor
beautiful, only frank and honest; but I was
now past forty, and ill health made me some
years older. The fair ones, perhaps, might
have overlooked these deductions but my for
tune was likewise reduced to a mere compe
tency, and the mothers all but told me not to
persecute their daughters.
I began to hate the world, and brooded in
solitude, which brought me little consolation.
I discovered my heart had been vitiated by
false education and tlie fine sentiment where
in I had taken such pride was tlie fruitful
source of most of my disappointments. In
my notions of matrimony 1 had erred altogeth
er, except once. Phillis Peyton was the only
girl I had ever thought of, who could have
made me happy. If she be alive,l ruminated,
she can now no longer be a child,and the high.
I spirited romp will have tamed down into a
kind and cheerful woman. But she may be
I married. I felt jealousy, and if you ever feel
jealous, you may be sure love is not absent.
I determined to seek her out, and if she were
single, to marry her. 1 had known her, ns I
j told you before, but a few hours, but she had
been for years familiar to my imagination.
it never occurred to me, so blind is love,
that Phillis had seen me—had spoken with
me— scarce one evening in all. No doult
slie had done the same with hundred-;—the
next day—the next week—that I was a stra t
ger —that I had been forgotten the next mor -
ing. or that very evening. All this never oc
curred to me, for I myself had never really
forgotten Pniliis Leyton for thirty years ; but
men brood over things more than women.
I set out then on this Quixotic search, de
termined to find her—in Devonshire; but I
knew not in what part, for our mutual friends
had long left England and were residing in
Florence. It was May, but I cared not then
for the fashionable’season, and even trusted
myself on the top of a coach. I began at
Exeter, and went inquiringthrough the county
for Dr. Leyton, but without success.
Sick at heart, I gave up the quest in des
pair, and turned my steps towards Torbay,
where I meant to recover my disappointment
in the midst of the beautifo) scenery, and then
return home. It was at Mary Church, three
miles higher up the coast, that night overtook
me, and I put up at the only ale-house nigh,
and made my usual inquiries, but with little
hope, of the landlady. To my great surprise
she told me, ’Poor Dr. Leyton, had been their
rector for years and years,” and then begun
weeping ; that he was dead ; he had died bro
ken-hearted, and Miss Phil,is—remember her,
ay, slie could never forget her, no more could
her husband when he wa- alive, but used to
talk about her the whole night long! She
was so pretty, and such a scholar too ; but
learning never made her proud to the last;
she would talk to poor folk as if she had been
one of thems lives. Heaven forgive her, for
she meant no wrong. She doubted not but it
was a hard thing for a child to break Icr fa
ther’s heart; —“lndeed, sir, it went nigh to
break all our hearts at the time.”
Mv good landlady made a long storv of if,
which can be told in a very few words. Phil
lis returned to Mary Church, kind, and even
more beautiful than ever, but not so contented.
She had seen the gay world, and had been
much admired by it; she had imbibed a keen
relish for pleasure and could talk of nothing
but London. She found the country dull and
its amusements insipid; cared little to walk in
the fields, and less to talk with her neighbors;
but when she did address tiiem her manner
was sweeter than ever, being quite as affable,
and somewhat sad and melancholy. She read
much, but it was poison. She had brought
from London novels, in three volumes, fuli of
high life and immorality. At last it was ob
served she grew pale and languid.but she never
breathed a complaint; and at times, when slie
received letters from London, which she fre
quently did, unknown to her father, she re
gained more even than the vivacity usual to
her before she left home. After some months,
these letters became more frequent, and as
sumed, to all appearance, a graver tone, for
she would tremble to break tlie so il and weep
when reading them. Slie now confined her
self closely to the house, and passed days to
gether wtih her good father.who never dreamed
his daughter might have fallen in love during
her visit. If love it was, I fear she fixed her
affections neither, upon an innocent nor a wor
thy object, for she never breathed a syllable of
it to her father, and at last could not even bear
to look him in the face.
Ere many months, Phillis confined herself
totally to her chamber. It was about the fall
of the leat, when a stranger one evening put
up at the “Sun.” and the good landlady says,
she saw something very diabolical in his coun
tenance. He was travelling in haste, for he
came in a coach and four, which he ordered
away that very night. The youth, for lie was
scarcely twenty years of age. was richly dies
sed, and had the air of a man quality. At
twelve o’clock that night the stranger left Ma
ry Church, it was surmised for London: and
tlie next morning, Phillis, who had been heard
the evening before weeping bitterly, was mis
sing. Every inquiry was made, and the whole
county searched, but she could nut be found,
and her father never held up his head after
wards. It is bel eved he heard what b. came
of his daughter, but lie told it to no one, and
soon afterwards died.
This is the substance of what I gathered
from the landlady.
That Phillis returned to Mary Church many
years afterwards, I have learned in the man
ner I have stated in the commenrrment. To
know even this is a great consolation ; for to
those who have been troubled, mere tranquili
ty is a blessing, and I know not a bourne more
grateful to the unhappy than their home. No 1
doubt she could never forget her fault but slie \
had every opportunity—a thing so many de- j
sire in vain—of repenting it; and although she
could at no place hold up her head as she had j
done, there was no place where she could
bury herself in greater quiet. It is not every
wanderer who is received into the bosom of
an indulgent and forgiving home, as Phillis
Leyton appears to have been.
A word in conclusion. These few pages
are a mere scattered record of mv feelings,
but there is nothing in the events themselves •
that can warrant my inflicting upon mvself ;
the unhappiness lam lamenting. That Ido
feel unhappy my language will vouch for me,
if what I tell in it does not. I began lightly,
and would fain have run on in the same buoy,
ant mood for it was my intention to ridicule
myself out of my melancholy, by showing
how ridiculous it looked upon paper. Alas, j
alas! every w >rd has grown more and more
solemn—every period has become greater and
more overflowing with anguish. I had better
break off* at once, for 1 find myself shedding
tears, and feel I am miserable.
TO PICKLE ONE HUNDRED POUNDS OF BEFF, TO
KEEP A YEAR.
Put together thr *e quarts of salt, six ounces
of salt petre, one and a half pint of Molasses,
and water sufficient to cover your meat after
laid into the barrel. Sprinkle the bottom of
the barrel with salt, and slightly sprinkle be
tween the layers of the meat as you pack
when done, pour in your pickle and lay on a
stone or board to keep the whole down. Beef
salted after this method during the Fall and
Winter may be kept nice and tender through
the Summer by taking it up about the first 'of
May, scald aid skim the brine, add throe
quarts of salt, when cold, pour buck upon the
beef.
ON CLEANLINRSS IN CHILDREN.
Dr. Burke remaks that in early life there is
a great determination ot blood to the cuircular
surface of a child. This increased supply
of blood will necessarily require increased
faell.ty for the exit of transpirabl» matter. In
infancy tne skin is the great outlet which na
ture seeks; should any obstruction occur to
cuticular transpiration,the matter which should
pass oflfby that channel is either thrown back
o i the circulating fluids, or becomes condens.
«:d in the form of scabs on the skin of the child.
A good deal, perhaps all of this, may be avoid
ed by a regular use of the hot or cold bath.
For children who are healthy, the cold water
hath s lould be used duringthe warmer weather,
with a warm bath once a week, in which the
child should be well washed with soap and a
brush. When taken out they should be rubbed
quite dry with a coarse napkin, and the body
rubbed over with fine salt; this latter mav be
very advantageously employed, fertile effect
of salt on the system of man is, as some sup
pose, a regenerating power. When organic
disease exists in children, it is hardly necessaiy
to state that cold bathing under any form is
unsafe with some few exceptions, when the
nervous system is chiefly engaged. A proper
attendant to hut and cofd bathing would not
only save children from many of the diseases
of infancy, but imparl tone and vigor to their
general system.
AN OLD-FASHIONED ECLIPSE.
The editor of tlie Cincinnati Post, (whose
memory is a complete store-house of old-time
occurrences.) gives the following interesting
account oi the Eclipse which occurred in 1806.
Tlie editor should indulge his readers with
more of the past:
“ It was our happiness to be at Providence,
(11. I.) when the total eclipse of June 1800,
took place ; —ttie day was perfectly bright—
the phenomenon commenced between 11 and
12 o’clock, and after the sun became totally
obscured, it remained so for more than half an
hour. Its operation upon animated nature
was truly and awfully sublime. The birds
flew about in every direction, in evident distress
and terror, the domestic fowls ran about iu all
directions, cackling as in a fright. Horses
galloped round their pastures neighing; while
tlie iiorned cattle which seemed more affrighted
than the rest, tore up the earth with their horns
and feet in madness—all this uproar was follow
ed by the silence of midnig t, when the eclipse
was complete ; tlie birds retired to their rest
ing places ; t ic fowls to their roosts, the horses
to tiie r stalls, and the cattle to their mangers,
while the stars shone forth in their beauty, and
all was still.
When the sun began to re-appear, a large
number of musicians, students ofßiown Uni
versitv, ns. enabled upon the terrace of the Col
lege, and struck up Milton’s Hymn to Light.
The effect was altogether sublime and beauti
ful—Nothing that ever met our eye or car,
before or since, was ever equal to it.”
From the Charleston Courier.
Messrs. Editors: —The celebrated horse
Mazeppa, whose interesting performances in
the play of the same name, has so often de
■ ghted our Southern audiences, arrived on
Monday 1 ist, from New York in tlie ship
Anson, after a passage of thirteen days, during
four nf which the vessel experienced two sevie
storms, and having been in the same vessel
myself, and in consequence of the confined air
of tlie cabin, necessiuted to remain on deck, 1
had an opportunity of witnessing an exhibi
tion of suffering and sagacity in this wonderful
animal, a recital of which, may prove interest
ing to some ofyour readers. The first storm
commenced on tlie 9th inst., wind blowing a
gale fom the N. W The horse as is usual'
was confimd in a clo-e stall, which was pad
ded on a!! sides, to secure as much as possible
the comfort of the animal, but the violence of
tne wind and waves was so great, that the
animal w is thrown with such force to and fro,
that his body w ts shockingly cut and lacerated,
and but for the canvass slings which were
p aced about his body he must inevitably have
been swept away ; and while the storm was at
its he'ght, the horse, with a display of sagacity
rarely witnessed, was seen to brace himself, ns
the sailors ter.i.e I it, “ fore and aft,” by taking
hold of the manger with his mouth and resting
o i the rear bar of the stall with his tail, and in
t lis manner endeavored to support himself, at
the time groaning most piteously from the pain
occasioned by his many wounds. The food
which had been provided for tlie passage was
so damaged by tlie salt water, as to be unfit for
use, and the horse was kept alive by means of
a bag of a; pies, which was kindly tendered by
Dr. De La Motta, a passenger, who had pro
vided tiiem for his own use. The second gale,
which commenced on Tuesday, with increased
violence, was so terrific, ns to preclude the
possibility of hisowner, Mr. Thomas B. Frank
lin, rendering him any assistance. During
the storm, tlie slings gave way, and the horse
was thrown in the stall, and so injured as to
lose tiie use of his hind legs— at the same
time tormented by an insatiable tliirs l , and
ever as ti e sailors passed him would stretch j
out his neck and moan piteously for water, and
during tlie rain the beast would hold up his
head with his mouth open, thus endeavoring to
derive temporary relief from the few drops j
that fell in his lips. The horse is, however.
• ow doing well, and through the attention of
hisowner, Mr. F., will probably recover.
A FASSENGER.
From the New York Mirror.
AUTUMN.
BY R. C. WATERSTON.
Bright flowers are sinking,
Streamlets tire shrinking,
Now the wide forest is withered and eere;
Light clouds are flving,
Soft winds ore sighing,
9 e will be thoughtful, for autumn is near.
Blossoms we cherished,
//ave withered nnd perished.
Scenes which we smiled on, are yellow and drear
Feelings of sadness,
O’ershadow our glndncss.
And make the mind thoughtful, for autumn is near.
Thus all that is fairest.
And sweetest and rarest.
Must shortly be severed nnd call fora tear;
Then let each emotion,
Be warm with devotion,
And we will be thoughtful, for autumn i« near.
ORIGINAL.
For ths Southern Post.
A Tala of South-Carolina.
It was one of those neat cottages, so often to be met
with in the Southern States, situated on a commanding
eminence, at a little distance from the public road
and surrounded by all the comforts usually found ud '
the farm of a Southern Planter, to which the reader’s at*
tention is now directed. The cottage was of the lar* "
class, and divided into several compartments, but bulk
of logs, the interstices of which had teen filled with cl- r
and plastered over with white. On the side facing
the road, a delicate woodbine neary concealed the
side of the house, while, near it, several graceful cedar
trees shot up their tiny tops, as if to vie with th
majestic oaks which, growing in their natural Dr, 6
fusion around, nearly hid the cottage f rw „
with their overspreading branches. Add to the
a neat little flower garden in front, laid out with sen,’
pilous exactness, and filled with a variety of fl™'
which shed their fragrance in every direction, and v ~
may form some idea of the residence of Joseph W L
mer, with whom the reader may become better ac*
quamted. The interior presented a scene, if possible
more prepossessing than the outside. The furniture
was p.am but extremely neat, and disposed with a nice
ty about the room which beiokened the taste of its fair
mistress. Near the window were seated two person,
evidently deeply absorbed in some important topic
The man, whom the reader will recognise as our hero’
was about twenty-five years of age, tall and straight’
and formed in a mould which indicated great strength
and activity. His face possessed great manly beauty
but, by long exposure to the sun, had acquired a tawny
color, which characterized the frontier farmers in the
earlier ages of our country. His companion, whom we
introduce as Mrs. Wilmer, was some years his junior
She was about the common height, rather slender, but
wiih a form of such matchless symmetry, that it would
have done honor to the loftiest conceptions of a Ra
phael. Her face was not what would he termed beau"
tiful at first sigh*, but was of that kind which discovers
some new charm to the beholder whenever contemplat
ed. Her large, lustrous, dark eye, surmounted by finely
arched eyebrows, formed a striking contrast to the
exceed.ng fairness of her skin, while her g’ossy hair
which might vie with the raven’s wing, was now neat
ly tied in a knot upon the crown offer head, except a
ringlet here and there which h id escaped from its con
finement, and seemed to kiss her cheek, and revel in
the beauty it serve! to heigh'en. Such wa* the wo
man to w hom Wilmer had given his best, his earliest
affection ; and whom he stillloved w ith an ardor which
would hid defiance to all description, and which could
only lie equalled by the fervor w ith which it was re-
turned. She had been reared in all the luxury which
wealth, aided by the fondness of a doting fat! er, co ild
bestow. But Ins could do no injury to a character like
hers, formed un ier il e careofa pious mother, who early
'aught her the utter insufficiency of all worldly honors,
and tutored her to become what slie then was, the devo
ted follower of the meek and lowly Jesus. She had left
her parental roof, and relinquished wealth and luxury,to
share the fortunes of the poor, but, in many respects, no
ble Wilmer. What wonder then, that he adored her?
What wonder that his hopes and destinies were center
ed in her ? We have said, they were engaged in conver
sa ion, and from the frequent recurrence of the words
whig—tory—Gates—the reader need not be told, that
our story opens soon after the defeat of that unfortunate
Gsneral; wnen brother was arrayed against brother,
father against son, nnd when the very name of whig was
but the passport to destruction.
“ But why not join the army, Joseph ?*’ said the lady
“What? Mary, and leave you at the mercy of those
marauding blackguards?”
“ Nav, do not fear for me ; my rex will be my shield.
Surely they would not injure an unprotected female ?”
“ Trust them not. They, who would prove recreant
to the call of thc r suffering country, could not be mov
ed, even by the cries of an injured woman.”
“ But you would be safe then, and they would have
no reason to molest me.”
“ 1 cannot trust them;” was the laconic answer.
It was during the night after this conversation had
taken place, when Wilmer hid retired to rest, that he
was awakened sud lenly by a negro at h s window,
who lia-tily told him the tories were coming, and be
sought him to flee. Disregarding the latter injunction,
he sprung from his bed, seized his rifle (in the use *f
which he was without a superior even in these trouble
ous times) ard posting himself by the window, firmly
awaited the arrival of the tories. He was not kept Lng
in suspense, for soon he heard the trampling of horses,
and thq fierce oaths and loud laughttr of the approach
ing company. Presently, he saw, by the dim star-light f
the foremost tory entering the gate, > e raised his rifle
and took deliberate aim, when his wife seized his arm
“ Hold, Joseph, you will but seal your fate; fly, for in
flight only is there safety now'. If you remain, destruc
tion is certain.”
“ But you, Mary !"
“ Will be safe—fly, or you are lost."
lie saw the danger of his situation, and knowing the
character of the marauders who now threatened him ;
he was well aware of the death, that awaited him if ho
fell into their hands. Already were the tories at th»
door, struggling for entrance, and denouncing ven
geance against the unfortunate Wilmer. Still was he
undetermined whether to flee for life, or meet death in
defence ofhis wife and his home.
“ Flee!” again exclaimed his wife, as she imploringly
threw her arms around his neck, and besought him to
eave himself before it was too late. He waited for no
more, but bounding through an opposite door, was lost
to sight just as the tories forced an entrance.
“Thank God, he is safe,” said the agonized Mary,
as Wilmer cleared the door, and the infuriated band
rushed in.
“ The scoundrel is gone, but we’ll save him yet;”
cried the leader of the squad, a tall athletic man, of a
dark complexion, with large, black whiskers, which
gave him an exceedingly fierce aspect.
“ Had he consulted his own feelings,” said Mary,
“ you, at least, would not have been here to traduce the
excellence to which yon could never aspire.”
“ 1 suppose,” replied the tory, with an impudent sneer,
“ he showed his courage by leaving you here to take care
of you s -If, while he took to the swamp to save his
cowardly neck from the halter he knows he deserves.”
The crimson blood instantly suffused her cheeks —
she felt the delicacy of her situation, hut resolving to
defend her husband’s character as became a woman
and a wife, she replied, “ For myself, tny sex should be
a protection against men, who, though they are tories,
should recollect they are Americans. As to my hus
bind,you perhaps may have an opportunity of testing
h s courage in a manner you will not relish.”
“ No, 1 rever relished running through the swamps
at night after a vagabond who trusts more to his heels
than his hand’.”
“ Tlie scamp is a long nays off by this time, I guess,’
said an overgrown wretch, as he rudely thrust Mary
aside with such violence as to throw her against aha
wall, and was proceeding to her apartment.
“ Not so far as you think,” said a hoarse voice from
wi’hout, as tlie report of a rifle was heard, and the vil
lain fell prostrate, weltering in his gore.
In an instant, Wilmer rushed in, almost frantic with
rape; the veins on his forehead were swelled almost to
bursting ; his brows were contracted until they almost
met; liis fist clenched, and he seemed altogether ths
picture of desperado i. Seizing the rifle of the dead
man, before the tories recovered from their surprise, he
prostrated another, and the ponderous weapon waa