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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-