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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