Newspaper Page Text
wfffiiM mrnii am
TERMS, $2,00 PER ANNUM, IN ADVANCE.
(Original
Kor the Southern Literary Gazette.
TO ISABEL.
BY LACRA LINTON.
I wandered lonely far away,
Oue sultry, <lreamy summer day,
cooling Hashing waters play,
And thought of Isabel.
\bove in* was the bright blue sky:
The insects idly sported by ;
j v ; r wed all beauties with a sigh,
I longed for Isabel.
payer thiin the lovely flowers,
That fiii these lonely summer bowers,
,j IP ' brighter than they, after showers.
~l its . My witty Isabel !
jr'd o’er and o’er
ihe elf-sme path I trod before,
[ said it o’er again, and o'er,
“My darling Is-a-belle’!”
Vnd is n so, I cried with pain,
While thinking on my woes again.
“Pis thus with every love I gain,
She still will be a belle.
lust as i learn to love her well,
n J promise soon with me to dwell,
The envious men, with vaunting smile,
Proclaim “she is a belle.”
\ml then come lovers by the score,
iicsciging window, walk and door ;
i'hcv never flattered her before,
“But now, “she is a belle.”
Hut tune is swiftly passing by,
Lover’s will leave the game and fly
Kejected, they will cease to sigh,
And worship some new belle.
so Bel, I’ll sigh for you no more,
hor you are twenty-three or more,
\ u d if you say “No,” evermore.
They’ll say “she tea* a belle,”
The Old Xorth Shite.
For the Southern Literary Gazette.
PATRIOT MEMORIES.
Tiie -ong of Freedom floats again,
Above each high and holy lane,
As oft in days of yore,
And well may patriot love rejoice,
Thus deeming in each glorious voice,
The perished to restore;
To hail anew each glorious birth.
That sent its names and deeds through Earth,
In lessons ever young ;
And still, in great material shrines,
To guide, where still the glory shines.
Which each old poet sung.
Oh 1 lesson’d by the glorious past,
Ourstrength in freedom’s cause shall last,
Nor fear these powers that, threat;
We have the inotals taught of yore.
The patriot’s song, and native lore,
Nor ean the tale forget,
When now again the tyrant power,
Once more begins in wrath to lower,
On homes our father’s gave :
Oh 1 we have heard their deeds in vain.
It now we wear the willing chain,
Inglorious to the grave ! _
flir |ton| tfrllrr.
REDWOOD, THE RGULATOK.
BY C. H. WILEY. ESll, OF NORTH CAROLINA,
AUTHOR OF “ ALAMANCE.”
CHAPTER I.
North Carolina was not at first a
lloyal Province, nor was the State col
"iiized or settled by those to whom was
granted the proprietorship.
Accident, chance, circumstances, peo
j'td this region; and as the original
‘• tiers were led, or attracted, by dif
terent interests and motives, the man
iii is and characters of the new people
“ere much diversified.
A colony of English was planted in
tl” northeastern part of the State; and
to these, accessions were made by emi
-i i its trom New England and Virginia.
Sir J olm \ eatnans led a body ofadven
tinvrs trom Barbadoes to the month of
the Cape Fear; and this became the
nucleus of planters and cavaliers of
“• ‘lth and distinction.
Eom these eastern settlements, hun
",| ’ s - fugitives from justice, hardy ad
venturers,and austere religionists,would
‘i''aggie off in the boundless woods to
tlu- west; and thus there were seatter
-1 1 over these upper regions occasional
; lK peopled by tenants of widely dis
-1 ‘‘ n t manners and morals.
‘latter times, a company of Mora
vians bought a large tract of land, in
“hat. is now the county of Forsythe;
! ‘l their flourishing little towns of
” ! han v. Salem, &c., became the centre
’ ivilization and trade.
As might be supposed, the people of
cth Carolina grew up in ignorance of
‘” Mother Country, of her laws and
1 ’*tutions ; and their own governors
1 1 I'ulers, chosen by distant courtiers,
“h i knew little of their wants and in
'ts. were generally weak, corrupt,
1! de pised. These petty tyrants,
“ere often in league with the pi
ll 1 s and buccaneers that swarmed on
coast of the Carolines for many
ls ? and while a knowledge of this
s mmetul fact added to the unpopulari
the Government, it enhanced the
‘piousness of the people, and justi-
in their riots and defiance of
authority.
but is, therefore, called the Revo
‘ “ J, h began in North Carolina at least
llt a century before the year 1770 ;
1 1 !|J those familiar with the early his-
Y ■', this region, the celebrated
’ klenburgh Manifesto seems remark-
I “ onlv from the fact that it is the act
’ 3 one county.
Riotous meetings and public decla
” “iis ot defiance to the laws were
‘'non from the earliest times; and
11 ibc Great Troubles with England
-•ail, there must have been many
I 11 meetings as that of Mecklenburgh
‘* ‘” the wild woods, and never re
’ ll ‘d in any of the newspapers of the
biles.
. CHAPTER 11.
hundred years before the
, Haration of American Independence,
II inhabitants of Albemarle in North
a mum mmw&k mmm n immm, y m m mmm, mb m mmmi wmusubl
Carolina rose, as Bancroft says, “against
the pretensions of the proprietaries and
the laws of navigation;” and continues
the historian alluded to, “the uneduca
ted population of that day formed con
clusions as just as those which, a centu
ry later, pervaded the country.”
The commerce of the country was
mostly in the hands of New England
traders, who bought the produce of the
farmers, and brought to their doors
such articles as they wished to purchase
in return ; in other words, the Yankee
pedlar was then, as now, an important
character, and familiar to all the inhab
itants of Carolina. One object of the
laws alluded to by Bancroft was to di
vert the trade of the country into dif
ferent channels; and this attempted
restraint upon the free couse of com
merce was resisted by the people. The,
resistance amounted to a revolution ; a
Governor was deposed, laws abrogated,
and new rulers appointed and new reg
ulations formed for the public welfare.
In the course of time, however, the re
publicans were subdued ; still disaffec
tion continued for many years, and the
effects of the “ Rebellion” were never
entirely obliterated. Feuds and ani
mosities prevailed for half a century,
and in the mean time many of the lead
ers of the “Opposition” becoming com
promised by their liberal doctrines, or
disgusted with the course of things,
plunged into the interminable woods to
the westward, and in the solitude of
those vast forests sought freedom and
safety. Some of them settled within
the nominal bounds of the county of
Orange, which was then as large as the
State of Maryland; but as they were
scattered sparsely through the woods,
they were hardl y recognized as citizens
by the public authorities, and were, in
almost all things, “a law unto them
selves.” Their children grew up inde
pendent in every respect,and from their
infancy imbibed the most bitter preju
dices against officials of every grade.
Offices and tyranny were with them
synonymous terms; and such conclu
sions, in the then misgoverned state of
things, were not extravagant or ab
surd. Many of these people were per
sons of property and education; and,
simple in their habits, stern in their
principles, and devotional in their feel
ings, they formed a population as dif
ferent from all classes of civilized men
in this age as it is possible to conceive.
CHAPTER 111.
In a thick forest, not far from Haw
1 river, stands Haw Fields Church ; or,
as it is generally called, Haw Fields
Meeting-house. It is a venerable edi
fice, standing on a site that has been
consecrated to religious purposes for
more than a hundred years. It hasal
* ways belonged to the Presbyterians;
but from the earliest history of the
country,other denominations have been
| allowed to worship there, and preachers
of other churches, especially of the
Methodist and Baptist, to hold meetings
and administer the rites and ordinances
of their societies.
Originally the church was a mere
frame, weather-boarded, but not ceiled;
and in fair weather the congregation
sat out of doors, and the minister held
forth from a platform erected against a
gigantic poplar.
In the spring of the year 1770, no
tices were posted through the neigh
bourhood of the Haw Fields, stating
that on the third Sunday in April a
minister from the up-country would
preach to the people, or explain to them
certain prophecies that were then ab
sorbing a good deal of public attention.
The prophecies alluded to were the
predictions of a modern divine, con
cerning the destruction of a portion of
the world; predictions that were strong
ly urged in an eloquent pamphlet,
which declared that on a certain day of
the next year, one-third of the earth
would be carried away by convulsions.
It was not stated what part would be
thus destroyed ; but many believed,
and the uncertainty as to the part to be
whelmed in ruin added to the terrors
of the people.
Os course, therefore, on the day ap
pointed, an immense congregation as
sembled at the Haw Fields Church ;
and early in the day a trumpet an
nounced to them the hour for worship.
When the company had gathered about
the stand or pulpit, their curious eyes
were directed to its occupant; and there
was a general suprise at the appearance
and dress of the minister.
His countenance had not the ghastly
expression of those who are supposed
to hold intercourse with spirits and
phantoms of another world ; nor did
lie wear the sad and uncouth raiment
of a pronhet. His powerful frame
was clad in a decent suit of the most
fashionable and comely “homespun” of
the times; and his brown hair, very
slightly frosted, was carefully combed
and trimmed, the strange divine not
even having a queue, then the univer
sal badge of dignity. There was that,
however, in his air and carriage, that,
to the rudest observer, marked him as
one of the princes of the earth ; and in
his face beamed a majesty which be
longs only to the free.
After a short and simple prayer, that
added still more to the astonishment
of the audience, and a hymn, in which
few joined, the minister rose and said :
“ ‘He that observeth the winds shall
not sow T ANARUS; and he that regardeth the
clouds, shall not reap.’ My friends,
these were the words of Solomon, the
wisest man that has ever lived ; and
they were intended to show’ the folly
of undertaking to foretell God’s future
providence.” With simple language,
but strong arguments, he endeavoured
to convince his audience that it was
given to no man to know the future, ex
cept bv the past; and he denounced as
madmen and impostors those who went
about alarming the people with their
evil predictions. “Yes,” he continued,
“they are sometimes worse than mad
men : they are vile instruments in the
hands of tyrants, assuming the most
holy functions for the most diabolical
purposes. It is their object,” he said,
I “to turn your attention froxn the cor
ruptions and the evil practices of those
in power; to cause you to wear meek
ly and patiently the yoke of oppression,
while with fear and trembling you are
looking for terrible visitations from on
High.”
Thus he went on, assuring the people
that they need not fear any judgements
from Heaven ; and depicting with real
eloquence the wickedness, extortions,
and corruptions of the officers of the
Province. Even the King did not
escape with impunity. The Governor
(Tryon) was pictured by him with a
master’s power, and, finally, coming
down to the clerk of the county, his
eloquence began to move his hearers,
because it was the eloquence of facts
and figures, the narration of acts with
which most of his audience were fami
liar.
“ And then,” continued he, startling
his congregation, “there stands the man
of whom 1 speak, and when I point him
out, it is not to subject his person to
violence or insult. I invite him to a
free discussion; I invite you, Colonel
Edmund Fanning, to come up here be
side me, and answer me if you can.”
The person alluded to had started
up one of the midtile aisles, hut so in
tent were the congregation, that they
had not observed him. All eyes were
now directed on him; and he stood
with his arms folded, and his well
marked and aristocratic features flushed
with indignation and embarrassment.
“Do you know that vain man ?”
said he to an elderly gentleman at his
side, without seeming to pay the slight
est regard to the preacher’s question.
His friend was ignorant of the stran
ger’s name ; and the question, “ Who,
is he ?” began to be buzzed through
1 c ’ o
the congregation, when the speaker re
sumed :
“ Colonel Fanning,” said he, “ you
will not, you cannot, you dare not,
meet me on the field of free discussion;
but willingly, aye, most anxiously, do
you desire to confront me in a corrupt
court, before an unprincipled judge. I
know you well; I understand you, sir.
You seem now, all indifference and con
tempt ; and yet, at this very moment,
you are endeavouring to find out my
name, that you may pursue me with
the vengeance of the law. 1 am res
ponsible, sir, for what I say ; I have
no aliases, and my name is Council Red
wood ”
The whole assemblage, electrified by
this announcement, rose to their feet;
and one young man, in the midst of
the general excitement, rushed upon
the stand and grasped the speaker’s
hand.
“ Your father and I were intimate,
Carey,” replied Redwood, to a remark
of his new acquaintance ; “or, rather I
should say, he was a father to me. My
father and he had stood together in dif
ficulties on Albemarle, many years ago;
they fled together, and, though they
settled many miles apart, used regular
ly to see each other twice a year. My
father died wher. I was young, and, fol
lowing his profession of horse-drover,
I often saw your father, you being gen
erally off at school. I never saw’ you
but once, and then you were a boy
about ten ; 1 believe they called you
Ambrose, after your father.”
“ That is my name,” answered the
young man ; “and now that l have fin
ished my education, I would be glad to
see you at my father’s old place. All
are dead but myself; but you will find
my bachelor entertainment not alto
gether rude. Come you must go with
me immediately ; it will be dangerous
to stay here.”
“ Why dangerous young man?” ask
ed Redwood ; “are the people here not
my friends? are they not the friends of
Liberty ?”
“ A majority of them may be, but
Colonel Fanning is here, and he has
tools and friends.”
“ And what brought that man here?
How could he have known of my
coining ?”
“ lie did not come to hear you,” said
Carey ; “the scoundrel has fixed his
eyes oil a beautiful lady of this neigh
bourhood,” he continued, in a whisper,
“and she and her guareian are both in
fatuated by him.”
While this conversation was going
on, the crowd were gathering together
in knots, some talking violently, some
dispersing, and others eagerly crowding
round the pulpit. To a great number
of these latter, Redwood was intro
duced, and to them he formally and
publicly announced his determination,
to speak there again on the following
Saturday.
CHAPTER IV.
A heavy two-horse coach, considered,
in that day, a very splendid one, divided
with Council Redwood the attention of
the people at Haw Fields Church.
The latter, and the owner of the
former, were equally notorious; the
one as a great leader of opposition to
the Government, the other as a corrupt
and haughty officer; and now that both
were present, the public curiosity was
unbounded.
The clerk of Orange was unusually
polite and affable, bowing kindly to all
who passed him ; but without appear
ing to be at all uneasy or intimidated,
he soon left the ground, carrying with
him in his carriage a plain old gentle
man of the neighbourhood, and his
niece and ward. Abraham White was
one of the fathers of the settlement, a
respectable but poor planter ; he was
a timid old man, fond of show, and im
mensely tickled by the attention of Fan
ning to himself and Miss Mary White,
his niece.
This latter, just then budding into
w r omanhood, was fairer even than the
comeliest beauties of the Haw Fields;
was a meek and playful child of nature,
with soft brown eyes, in whose orbs lay
a shadow,
“ Like the dusk in evening skies.”
She had been carefully raised and edu
cated by her uncle, her parents dying
when she was a child ; but old White,
unlike his neighbours generally, was
fond of the society of the town of Hills
borough, and endeavoured to model his
CHARLESTON. SATURDAY, OCT. 5, 1850.
niece after the gay belles of that ancient
borough. Indeed she had spent much
of her time in that place; and though
the traditions of the neighbourhood
represent her as having been much be
loved at home, she seems to have had
little relish for the rural sports and
spiritual exercise of the country. She
soon attracted the attention of Fanning;
and his marked respect for the Whites
made it fashionable for the gentry of
Hillsborough to treat with kind regard
these poor and obscure people. A close
and pained observer of this course of
things was Ambrose Carey ; and when
at his house with his new guest, when
ever the conversation turned on Fan
ning, he was sure to make some allu
sion to the Whites. Council Redwood,
a keen observer, soon divined the most
saered wishesofhis young friend’s heart;
and managed in the course of the eve
ning, to obtain from hiqi a full confes
sion.
They had been children together;
and from an early period the beauty
and confiding simplicity of “the Lily of
Haw Fields,” had won the manly heart
of Carey. He was much above her in
rank and wealth; and at the time now
alluded to was, in education and posi
tion, one of the leading men of Orange,
though still very young. Mere rank
and wealth, however, had no charms
for him ; and though educated abroad,
Mary W bite was still the magnet of
his soul. Ilis generous imagination
had invested her with every grace and
every virtue ; and though he had never
made any formal proposals, lie had un
til recently considered himself as the
object of affection as pure and devoted
as his own. Sensitive and jealous as a
true lover, he thought he saw in Fan
ning a splendid and unprincipled rival;
and with a real lover’s infatuation had
so managed the matter as to be him
self the unwilling source of reports not
creditable to Mary’s prudence. He
had, too, shown to worse and worse ad
vantage in her society : had quarrelled
with her, opposed her oppiuions, arid
disobliged her in many particulars.
Redwood, to satisfy himself of the
prudence of his friend’s passion, re
solved to visit the Whites; and with
out telling Carey his object, be depart
ed on his journey. The latter wished
to go with him, but Redwood preferred
to go alone.
CHAPTER v.
“ I have news for you,” said Red
wood, on his return to Carey’s, “impor
tant new T s, and I wish you to ponder
well what 1 say.”
“ And I,” replied Carey, “ have im
portant information for you; but do you
speak first, for, as you know, lovers are
impatient.”
“ Do you believe me to be your
friend ?” asked Redwood, seriously.
“ Certainly I do.”
“ Do you believe that I am a man of
honour and truth; that I would faith
fully serve your father’s son ?”
“ I sincerely lxslieve it,” said Carey
—“ but why are you so solemn?”
“Carey,” said Redwood, “you have
fallen down to worship an unworthy
idol! Be still.; a silly girl has en
slaved a great and mighty soul! Be
calm, young man ! She is a shallow,
giddy creature, with a heart that is ten
der and a mind that is pure, but utter
ly incapable of strong emotions. Your
imagination has deceived you ; the girl
you love is altogether the creation of
your own generous fancy. Ambrose,
you are just at that age when imagina
tion is strongest, and the heart full of
yearning; and objects on which the
1 ght of your imagination falls assume
the colour of your own soul. This
colour is but the gilding of your own
thoughts ; and it is melancholy to think
it should be lent to such unworthy ob
jects. Now, there is an object worthy
of all your fondest affections —an ob
ject whose beauties the poet cannot
embellish or increase, and whose gran
deur excels the most wonderful crea
tions of fancy.”
“ You have put a nightmare on my
heart,” said Carey, “and perhaps now
you wish to lift it off. Alas ! if Mary
White is what you represent her, then
is all beauty but a phantom, all virtue
loathsome vice, all the seeming fair
things of earth but hollow mockeries !
Have the gods thus sported with us ?
Are all the high hopes of the soul but
a sickly dream ? If so, then let me die
at once.”
“My friend,” answered Redwood,
“when a generous man is deceived in
one object of his regard, he doubts ev
erything ; and it pains me to witness
this first fearful struggle in your heart.
You speak of the gods ; there are no
gods but One, and whenever you lose
the anchorage of faith in Him, you will
be lost indeed !
“ Look out on the heavens, which are
now so beautiful! Did you that
shooting meteor ? But a minute ago
it was, to all appearance, a star, look
ing as fair and brilliant as the others ;
and yet it was but an exhalation. And
think you, because many of those bright
orbs above us are but burning gas, or
noxious vapors, that there are no stars ?
But time (lies, and 1 must finish my
news. On next Saturday,Mary White
is to go to Hillsborough, to spend sev
eral weeks at Fanning’s.”
“ Then she is lost!” cried Carey, ri
sing in great agitation. “ She is lost,
and 1 am forever undone ! It must not,
it cannot, it shall not be ! Oh ! that it
was morning !”
“ I agree with you,,’ interrupted Red
wood, “that she must be stopped, if
possible. Although not worthy of
your adoration, she is worthy of being
saved from ruin ; and, young man, she
is nearer to me than you think. That
girl is the first cousin of my poor wife,
who is gone to a better world ; and she
must be saved! But tell me, what have
you heard ?”
“ The sheriff was here to-day ; he in
cidentally mentioned your name ; and
I have no doubt in the world but he
has a process against you.”
“ I suspected as much,” said Red
wood ; “but he must not find me, for
I have now much great work on hand.”
Early next day, Ambrose Carey rode
over to White’s, and came home, leav
ing Mary in a pet; she even went so
far as to call him a bear. The crisis,
however, was too important to permit
him to take serious offence at her
whims : and so he sat down and wrote
her a very long letter, declaring himself
no longer a suitor, but a friend ; and in
the most delicate manner hinting at her
position, and the reports then in circu
lation. He declared his belief in her
perfect innocence ; but reminded her of
the necessity, in females, of keeping
down the slightest suspicions, and warn
ing her of the blasting effect to the rep
utation of others, of an intimacx with
Fanning. In conclusion, he promised,
if she would but forbear her visit to
Hillsborough, never again to annoy her
or visit her, and to serve her in any
other way she might desire.
The messenger brought back a note
from Mary, thanking Mr. Carey for his
magnanimity and generosity, and ex
pressing regret at his resolution not to
see her again. She, however, declared
that she might bt able to survive his
determination not to address her; and
concluded with a gentle admonition to
Mr. Carey to tike care of his own rep
utation, while traitors were his guests.
The very next Jay, Fanning’s carriage
carried Mary White to Hillsborough ;
and it was at once concluded by Red
wood and Care", that spies had notified
the clerk of their movements.
OEAPTER VI.
At this time the whole country was
in a ferment. Opposition to the Gov
ernment had assumed an organized
form ; and the multiplied memorials of
the people concerning the extortions of
officers having Veen treated with neg
lect by Governor Lyon, bold leaders
began openly to preach rebellion. —
Among the most noted of these were
Herman Husband, formerly of Penn
sylvania, Rednap Howe], William and
James Hunter, and Thomas Person ;
less known to subsequent history, but
perhaps more efficient than any in his
day, was Council Redwood.
Husband and Howel aspired to the
honours of authoiship—the former in
prose, the latter in poetry ; and others
followed their example, the country
was flooded with songs, lampoons and
inflammatory pan plilets. This new
branch of “the Sons of Liberty” styled
themselves u Regulators and their in
fluence and organization reached almost
every part of the Sta’ e. Many of the
leaders, however, lacked discretion;
and to the great mortification of wiser
men, matters were hurrying to a pre
mature crisis. The collection of taxes
was sometimes resisted; sheriffs and
constables were beaten, and riots were
daily occurring in nearly all the coun
ties.
The Government, feeble and remote,
was utterly ignorant of the dangers
impending, and to the very last enter
tained erroneous notions concerning
©
the numbers and determination of the
Regulators.
Such was tiie state of things at the
time Council Redwood was the guest
of Ambrose Carey ; and at such a time
such persons were objects of scrutiny.
Fanning, the clerk of the county of
Orange, entertained, like the Governor,
a contemptuous opinion of the Regu
lators; and, by his legal fees, and the
extortions which fanned the flames of
rebellion, was able to live in a state al
most equal to that of the Governors of
other Provinces, lie, however, knew
Ambrose Carey to be a gentleman of
education, property, and character; and
he was also well acquainted with the
reputation of Council Redwood. Be
fore lie knew him as a Regulartor, he
had often heard of him as an honest
and shrewd horse-dealer, and man of
the coolest courage. Report, too, rep
resented him to be a mysterious sort
ofpe rson,conversant with occu 11 sciences
and able to perform strange actions ;
and as he did not seek notoriety, and
never used liis power to advance his
own interests or injure his enemies, he
was rather more beloved than feared.
Even among those to whom he was
personally unknown,he was held in high
esteem ; and among his personal and
intimate associates, his influence was
unbounded. The Clerk ofOrange was
not a believer in witchcraft; and he
concluded that Redwood was a man of
parts, while he had every reason to
know that his courage and energy were
beyond dispute. Ilence Fanning re
joiced at an opportunity of reaching,
with the long arm of the Law, the
“Wizard of the Pilot,” the popular des
ignation of Redwood ; and while he
and Carey were discussing methods for
the rescue of Mary White, the Sheriff
of Orange, with two deputies, rode up
to the house. What was to be done ?
“ Ambrose,” said Redwood, hastily,
“ I would fain make an effort to save
Mary White, but 1 have a greater cause
to serve. Both will be in jeopardy if
I am taken; if I escape, while one will
be in no worse condition, the other will
be bettered. There is no time to be
lost ; give me a push up this chimney,
and then do you pretend to be anxious
about that great chest in the corner.”
It was the fashion, as some know, to
build chimneys, in those days, with
fire-places of immense size, whole fam
ilies being able to sit comfortably be
tween the jambs,and Council Redwood,
stout, active, and a practiced hunter,
found no difficulty in making an ascent
to the top of Carey’s house. The lat
ter, to the questions of the Sheriff, gave
evasive answers, constantly glancing at
the huge chest in a corner of the room;
and the Sheriff advancing towards the
suspicious object, his host threw him
self on the lid in such a way as to in
duce the officer to call in his deputies.
The lid was quickly forced the young
man, in the mean time, warmly expos
tulating against the proceedings; the
old-tashioned fixture, “ op’d its ponder
ous jaws,” and revealed piles of old
books and papers, and a rusty sword,
an old pair of horseman’s pistols, and
the decayed accoutrements of an officer
of a former age.
“ Behold,” exclaimed Carey, “ the
weapons and dress of a captain in Crom
well’s army; they did good service
then ; they served the cause of liberty
on Albemarle, and, by the blessing of
God, they shall again be worn by a
freeman, in the cause of humanity.”
Ihe Sheriff was not in a mood to
philosophize; and had he been, he would
have been interrupted by a loud, stern
voice in the lane :
“Sheriff of Orange!” cried Redwood,
and all the tenants of the house ran to
the door. The hardy Regulator was
mounted on a horse whose mettle he
well knew, and the noble animal seem
ed to understand that his master was
in danger. “ Sheriff of Orange,” said
Redwood, “tell Col. Fanning that I have
postponed my appointment at the Haw
Fields. I will preach there on Satur
day two weeks. Farewell, Mr. Carey;
good morning, gentlemen officers !”
Ihe Sheriff and his aids were soon
on horseback, and the chase began.—
At first the burly Regulator, like a
a coursing hare, seemed to play before
his pursuers, the latter also holding back
as if to try the bottom of their game:
but, gradually, all parties applied the
whip, and soon the woods resounded
with the clatter of hoofs striking furi
ously on the ground. The Regulator
kept within talking distance of his pur
suers, still sitting, half-turned in the
saddle, and calmly discoursing with the
Sheriff'and his aids; and thus they
went till mile after mile had been pass
ed, and the appearance of the country
began to indicate the proximity of a
large stream of water. Redwood knew
that the Alamance was not far off, arid,
for fear of accidents, put his horse to
his speed and was quickly out of sight.
One of file deputies, however, was bel
lowing behind, crying, “Stop thief! Ar
rest the outlaw!” and uttering such
other exclamations as were calculated
to excite the suspicions of persons
about the crossing of the stream before
them. The bridge of the Alamance
was a toll-bridge, and as the Wizard of
the Pilot came galloping up, all covered
with dust and soot, two men with guns
stood upon the abutment.
“ Dismount, or we’ll fire,” said one
of them. Redwood dismounted, and
leading up his horse, asked what was
the toll.
“ Nothing, till you pass,” they ex
claimed, seizing him, and indulging in
a quiet, sinister laugh ; “ may-be the
Sheriff will pay for you.” The officers
were then in view, shouting to the toll
keeper and liis aid to hold their prison
er fast; but the bold Regulator kept
liis eyes on other objects.
“ There, old Alamance, is my toll!”
said lie, as with a powerful shake of his
right arm he shook one of his jailors
into the turbid stream below, and then,
taking the other in his arms, cried :
“Your fitie i* paid, Mr. Sheriff,” and
flung his writhing victim over the other
side of the bridge. In an instant he
was on his horse, and rising in his stir
rups and lifting his hat, thanked his
pursuers for their company to the
bridge, bade them good day, and dash
ed into the woods.
(.Concluded in our next.)
THE VOLUNTEER COUNSEL.
[We copy the following from the
New York- Sunday Times. The sub
ject of it, John Taylor, was licensed,
when a youth of twenty-one, to prac
tice at the bar of Philadelphia. He
was poor, but well educated, and pos
sessed extraordinary genius. The graces
of his person, combined with the supe
riority of his intellect, enabled him to
win the hand of fashionable beauty. —
Twelve months afterwards the husband
was employed by a wealthy firm of the
city to go on amission as land-agent to
the West. Asa heavy salary was of
fered, Taylor bade farewell to his wife
and infant son. lie wrote back every
week, but received not a line in answer.
Six months elapsed, when the husband
received a letter from his employers
that explained all. Shortly after his
departure for the West, the wife and
her father removed to Mississippi.—
There she immediately obtained a di
vorce by an act of the Legislature, mar
ried again forthwith, and, to complete
the climax of cruelty and wrong, had
the name of Taylor’s son changed to
Marks —that of her second matrimo
nial partner! This perfidity nearly
drove Taylor insane. Ilis career, from
that period, became eccentric in the last
degree ; sometimes he preached some
times he pleaded at the bar ; until, at
last, a fever, carried him off at a com
paratively early age.]
At an early hour on thfe 9th of April
1840, the Court House in Clarksville,
Texas, was crowded to overflowing. —
Save in the war-times past,there had nev
er been witnessed such a gathering in Red
River County, while the strong feeling,
apparent on every flushed face through
out the assembly, betokened some
great occasion. A concise narrative of
facts will sufficiently explain the matter.
About the close of 1839, George
Hopkins, one of the wealthiest plant
ers and most influential men of North
ern Texas, offered a great insult to Ma
ry Elliston, the young and beautiful
wife of liis chief overseer. The hus
band threatened to chastise him for the
outrage, whereupon Ilopk'ns loaded
his gun, went to Elliston s house and
shot him in his own door. The mur
derer was arrested, and bailed to an
swer the charge. This occurrence pro
duced intense excitement: and H op
kins, in order to turn the tide of popu
lar opinion, or at least to mitigate the
general wrath, which at first was violent
again t him, circulated reports infa
mously prejudicial to the character of
the woman who had already suffered
such wrong at his hands. She brought
her suit for slander. And thus two
cases, one criminal, and the other civil,
and both out of the same tragedy, were
THIRD VOLUME-NO. 23 WHOLE NO 123.
pending in the April Circuit Court, for
1840.
The interest naturellv felt by the
community as to the issues, became far
deeper when it was known that Ashley
and Pike, of Arkansas, and the celebra
ted S. S. Prentiss, of New Orleans,
each with enormous fees, had been re
tained by Hopkins for his defence.
The trial, on the indictment for mur
der, ended on the Bth of April, with
the acquittal of Hopkins. Such a re
sult might well have been foreseen, by
comparing the talents of the counsel
engaged on either side. The Texan
lawyers were utterly overwhelmed by
the argument and eloquence of their op
ponents. It was a fight of dwarfs against
giants.
The slander suit was set for the Bth,
and the throng of spectators grew in
numbers as well as excitement; and
what may seem strange, the current of
public sentiment now ran decidedly
for Hopkins. His money had procured
pointed witnesses, who served most ef
ficiently his powerful advocates. In
deed, so triumphant had been the suc
cess of the previous day, that when the
slander case was called, Mary Elliston
was left without an attorney —they had
all withdrawn. The pigmy pettifog
gers dared not brave again the sharp
wit of a Pike, and the scathing thunder
of Prentiss.
“ Have you no counsel ?” inquired |
Judge Mills, looking kindly at the plain
tiff'.
“No, sir; they have all deserted
me, and 1 am- too poor to employ any
more,” replied the beautiful Mary,
bursting into tears.
“In such a case, will not some chiv
alrous member of the profession volun
teer? ’ asked the J udge, glancing around
the bar.
The thirty lawyers were silent as
death.
Judge Mills repeated the question.
“I will, your honour,” said a voice
from the thickest part of the crowd,
situated behind the bar.
At the tones of that voice many
started half-way from their seats ; and
perhaps there was not a heart in the im
mense throng which did not beat some
thing quicker— it was so unearthly
sweet, clear, ringing, and mournful.
i he first sensation, however, changed
into general laughter, when a tall, gaunt,
spectral figure, that nobody present re
membered ever to have seen before, el- i
bowed ids way through tlie crowd, and
placed himself within the bar. His ap
pearance was a problem to puzzle the
sphinx herself. His high, pale brow,
and small, nervously-twitching face,
seemed alive with the concentrated es
sence and cream of genius; but then
his infantine blue eyes, hardly visible
beneath their massive arches, looked
dim, dreary, almost- unconscious and
liis clothing was so exceedingly shabby
that the court hesitated to let the cause
proceed under his management.
“ Has your name been entered on
the rolls of the State ?” demanded the
J udge, suspiciously.
“ It is immaterial about my name’s
being entered on your rolls,” answered
the stranger, his thin, bloodless lips
curling up into fiendish sneer. “ 1 may
be allowed to appear once, by the cour
tesy of the Court and Bar. Here is my
license from the highest tribunal in
America!” and he handed Judge Mills
a broad parchment.
The trial immediately went on.
In the examination of witnesses the
stranger evinced but little ingenuity, as
was commonly thought. He suffered
each one to tell his own story without
interruption, though he contrived to
make each one of them tell it over two
or three times. He put few cross ques
tions, which, with keen witnesses, only
serve to correct mistakes ; and he made
no notes, which, in mighty memories,
always tend to embarrass. The exam
ination being ended, as counsel for the
plaintiff he had a right to the opening
speech, as well as the close ; but to the
astonishment of every one he declined
the former, and allowed the defence to
lead off. Then a shadow might have
been observed to flit across th • fine fea
tures of Pike, and to darken even iu
the bright eyes of Prentiss. They
saw they had caught a Tartar ; but
who it was, or how it happened, it was
impossible to guess.
Colonel Ashley spoke first. lie
dealt the jury a dish of that close, dry
logic, which, years afterwards, rendered
him famous in the Senate of the United
States.
Phe poet, Albert Pike, followed with
a rich rain of wit and a half-torrent of
caustic ridicule, in which you may be
sure neither tho plaintiff nor the plain
tiff’s ragged attorney was either for
gotten or spared.
The great Prentiss concluded for the
defendant, with a glow of gorgeous
words, brilliant as showers of falling
stars, and with a final burst of oratory
that brought the house down in cheers,
in which the sworn jury themselves
joined, notwithstanding the stern “ or
der!” “order!” of the bench. Thus
wonderfully susceptible are the south
western people to the charms of impas
sioned eloquence.
It was then the stranger’s turn. He
had remained apparently abstracted
during all the previous speeches. Still,
and straight, and motionless in his seat,
his pale, smooth forehead, shooting
high like a mountain-cone of snow;
but for that eternal twitch that came
and went perpetually in his sallow
checks, you would have taken him for
a mere man of marble, ora human form
carved in ice. Even his dim, dreamy
eyes were invisible beneath those gray,
shaggy eye-brows.
But now at last he rises—before the
bar railing, not behind it —and so near
to the wondering jury that he might
touch the foreman with his long, bony
finger. With eyes still half shut, and
standing rigid as a pillar of iron, his
thin lips cud as if in measureless scorn,
slightly part, and the voice comes forth.
At first, it is low and sweet, insinuating
itself through the brain, as an artless
tune, winding its way into the deepest
heart, like the melody of a magic in-
carnation :—w hile the speaker proceeds
without a gesture or the least sign of
excitement, to tear in pieces the argu
ment of Ashley, which melts away at
his touch as frost before the sunbeam.
Every one looked suprised. II is logic
was at once so brief, and so luminously
clear, that the rudest peasant could
comprehend it without effort.
Anon, he came to the dazzling wit
of the poet-lawyer, Pike. The curl of
his lip grew sharper —his sallow’ face
kindled up—and his eyes began to open,
dim and dreamy no longer, but vivid
as lightning, red as fire globes, and glar
ing like tw in meteors. The whole soul
was in the eye—the full heart stream
ed out on the face. In five minutes
Pike’s wit seemed the foam of folly,
and his finest satire horrible profanity,
when compared with the inimitable
sallies and exterminating sarcams of
the stranger, interspersed with jest and
anecdote that filled the forum with roars
of laughter.
Then, without so much as bestowing
an allusion on Prentiss, he turned short
on the perjured witnesses of Hopkins,
tore their testimony into atoms, and
hurled in their faces such terrible invec
tive that all trembled as with ague, and
two of them actually fled dismayed
from the Court House.
The excitement of the crow'd was
becoming tremendous. Their united
life and soul appeared to hang on the
burning tongue of the stranger. He
inspired them with the powers of his
own passions. He saturated them w'ith
the poison of his own malicious feelings,
lie seemed to have stolen nature’s long
hidden secret of attraction. He was
the sun to the sea of all thought and
emotion, which rose and fell and boiled
in billows as he chose. But his greatest
triumph was to come.
His eye began to glare furtively at
the assassin, Hopkins, as his lean, taper
fingers slowly assumed the same di
rection. He hemmed the wretch around
with a circumvallation of strong evi
dence and impregnable argument, cut
ting offal! hope of escape. He piled
up huge bastions of insurmountable
facts. He dug beneath the murderer
and slanderer’s feet ditches of dilem
mas, such as no sophistry could over
leap, and no stretch of ingenuity evade;
and having thus, as one might say, im
pounded the victim, and girt him about
like a scorpion in the circle of fire, he
stripped himself to the work of mas
sacre !”
O ! then, but it was a vision both
glorious anh dreadful to behold the ora
tor. His action, before graceful as the
wave of a golden willow in the breeze,
grew impetuous as the motion of an
oak in the hurricane. His voice be
came a trumpet, filled with wild whirl
winds, deafening the ear with crashes
of power, and yt intermingled all the
while with a sweet undersong of the
softest cadence. His face was red as
a drunkard’s —his forehead glowed like
a heated furnace—his countenance look
ed haggard like that of a maniac; and
ever and anon he flung his long, bony
arms on high, as if grasping after thun
der-bolts ! He drew a picture of mur
der in such appalling colours, that in
comparason hell itself might be consid
ered beautiful. He painted the slan
derer so black, that the sun seemed
dark at noonday when shining on such
an accursed monster—and then he fixed
both portraits on the shrinking brow of
Hopkins, and he nailed them there for
ever. The agitation of the audience
nearly amounted to madness.
All at once the speaker descended
from his perilous height. His voice
wailed out for the nn rderer dead , and
described the sorrows of the widowed
living —the beautiful Mary, more beau
tiful every moment, as her tears flowed
faster —till men wept,and lovely women
sobbed like children.
He closed by a strange exhortation
to the jury and through them to the
bystanders. He entreated the panel,
after they should bring in their verdict
for the plaintiff, not to offer violence to
the defendant, however richly he might
deserve it; in other words, “ not to
lynch the villain, Hopkins, but leave his
punishment to God.”
This was the most artful trick of all,
and the best calculated to insure ven
geance.
The jury rendered a verdict for fifty
thousand dollars; and the night after
wards Hopkins was taken out of his
bed by lynchers, and beaten almost to
death.
As the Court adjourned, the stranger
| made known his name, and called the
attention of the people, with the an
nouncement—“ John Taylor will preach
here this evening at early candle-light!”
The crowd, of course, all turned out,
; and Taylor’s sermon equalled, if it did
not surpass, the splendor of his forensic
effort. This is no exaggeration. I have
: listened to Clay, Webster and Calhoun
—to Dewey, Tyng and Baseom ; and
have never heard anything in the form
| of sublime words even remotely ap
! proximatingthe eloquence of John Tay
lor—massive as a mountain, and wide
ly rushing as a cataract of fire. And
this is the opinion of all who ever heard
the marvellous man.
#lint]ts nf jOrttt Steaks.
ROMANCE OF HISTORY.
From ** The I,ily and the Totem,” by William Gilmore
Simms, just published by Baker & Scribner, New York
IRACANA.
The disasters which betel his detach
ment, brought Laudonniere to his knees.
He had now been humbled severely by
the dispensations of Providence—pun
ished for that disregard of the things
most important to the colonization of a
new country, which, in his insane pur
suit of the precious metels, had marred
his administration. His misfortunes
reminded him of his religion.
•‘Seeing, therefore, mine hope frus
trate on that side, l made my prayer
unto God, and thanked him of his grace
which he had showed unto my poore
soldiers which were escaped.”
But his prayers did not detain him
long. The necessities of the colony
continued as pressing as ever. “ At-