Muscogee democrat. (Columbus, Ga.) 184?-18??, May 17, 1849, Image 1

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A JOURNAL OF AGRICULTURE, NEWS, POLITICS & MISCELLANY Vol. V. Myg©@©[£[E DEMOCRAT. By Andrews dc Griswold. Comer of Randolph and Broad streets, (up-stairs.) COLUMBUS, G. TERMS. THREE DOLLARS per annum— in adeanet. Tm espies lor #5, “ •• •• Two deHart for six months. KT All Lktterx must be free of postsf'*. except where iwatr is enclosed. vffi. Tke Beauty of Liberty. ** In nil tiling* that have beauty, there is nothing to man more comely than Liberty.”— Milton. When the dance of the shadow*, At day-break is done, And the cheeks of the morning Are red with the un. When he sinks in his glory, At eve from the view, And calls up the planets To blaze in the blue ; There is beauty—but where is the beauty to see. More proud than the sight of a nation when free 7 When the beautiful bend Os tbe bow is above Like a collar of light, On the bosom of love— When the moon in her mildness Is flaming on high, Like a banner of silver Hung out in the sky ; There is beauty—but earth has no beauty to see, More proud than the front of a nation when free. In the depth of the darkness, Unvaried in hue, When the shadows are veiling The breast of the blue ; When the voice of the tempest, At midnight is still, . And the spirit of solitude £<ib* on the hill; There is bemnty—but where is the beauty to tee. Like the broad-beaming brow of a nation when free In the breath of the morning, When Nature's awake, And calls up the chorus To chant in the brake ; In the voice of the echo, Unbound in the woods ; In the warbling of streams. And the foaming of floods, There is beauty—but where is the beauty to see, Like the thrice-hallowed sight of a nation when free 7 Is roatl'on'thVmami""”"* Like the chargeiof a column Os plumes on the plain ; When the thunder is up From his eloud-cradled sleep, And the tempest is treading The paths of the deep ; There is beauty-—but where is the beauty to see, I/ke the brow of a nation when free! [From the Mother's Assistant.) Who Stole the Bird’s Nest t “To whit! to whit! to whee! Will you listen to me 7 Who stole four eggs I laid. And the nice nest I made 7” “ Not I,” said the cow, “ Moo, moo! Much a thing I’d never do; I gave yon a wisp of hay, But didn’t take your nest away. Not I,” said the cow, “ Moo, moo ! Such a thing I'd never do.” •’ To whit! to whit f to whee ! Will you listen to me ? Who stole four eggs I laid, And the nice nest I made 7” “Bob-a-link! Bob-a-link! Now what do you think 7 Who stole a nest away From the plum-tree to-day 7” “ Not I,” said the dog, “ Bow wow ! I wouldn’t he so mean,.l vow ; I gave hairs the nest to make, the mjH i diuTft cane. t “ Not I,” said the dog, “ Bow wow ! I wouldn’t be so mean, i vow.” “To whit! to whit! to Whee! Will you listen to me 7 Who stole the four eggs I laid, ” Coo-coo! Coo-coo! Coo-coo ! J.et me speak a word, too; Who stolp that pretty nest From little yfellow breast 7” “ Not I,” said the sheep, “ O, no! I wouldn't treat a poor bird so; I gave some wool the nest to line, Hut the nest was none of mine. Bah, bah,” said the sheep,O, no, f wouldn't treat a poor bird so.” ■“To whit.’ to whit! to whee ! Will you listen to me 7 Who stole four eggs I laid, And the nice nest I made 7” “ Caw ! eaw ! ,cried the crow ; I should like to know What thief took away A bird’s nest to-day ?” “ Cluck, cluck,” said the hen, “ Don't ask me again; Why, I haven’t a chick That wonld do such a trick. “ We all gave a feather, And she wove them together ; I'd scorn to intrude On her little brood; “Cluck, cluck,” said the hen, “ Don’t ask me again.” “ Chir-a-whir! Chir-a-whir! Wo will make a great stir! Let me find out his name, And mil cry, for shame I” ’ I woi)d npt rob a bird,” Said little Mitry Greene; ** I think I never heard Os any thing so mean.” “ ’Tis very cruel, too,” Said little Alice Neal ‘j “ I wonder if he knew How sad ike bird would feel!” A little sov hung down his bead. And went ai<-’ hid behind the bed | For he stole that pretty neat From poor littlo yellow breaet; And he felt ao full of ahame, He did nut like to tell his name “AS LITTLE GOVERNMENT AS POSSIBLE ; THAT LITTLE EMANATING FROM AND CONTROLLED BY TIIE PEOPLE, AND UNIFORM IN ITS APPLICATION TO ALL.” MKI S CBftit ABf , From the Cu*tis Recollections and Private Memoirs of the Lite and Cbarnc.ior of Washington. WASHINGTON : nts home and household.—order, method, ECONOMY, PUNCTUALITY. Wherever Washington established a home —whether temporary or fixed, whether amid the log huts of Morristown or the Valley Forge, the in New York or Philadelphia, or Mount Ver non—every where punctuality, economy reigned. His household, whether civil or military, was always a liberal scale, and wrs conducted with duo regard tp economy and usefulness. The Steward. — Francis, who kept the tavern in New York where Washington took leave of his officers in 1763, was the first Steward to the President. Francis was a rare Whig in the Revolutionary day, nnd attached no little importance to his person and character from the circumstance of the memorable parting of the Commander-in-Chief with his old and long endeared companions in arms have taken place | nt Francis’Tavern, in New York. The Steward was a man of talent nnd con siderahle ttiFc in the line of his profession, hut j was at the same lime ambitious, fond of display, nnd regardless of expense. This produced con tinued difficulties between the President and certainly one of the most devotedly attached to him of all his household. The expenses of the Presidential Mansion were settled weekly ; and, upon the bills being presented, the President would rate his Slew, ard soundly upon his expensiveness, saying that, while he wished to live comfortably to his high station, liberally, nay handsomely, he ab horred waste and extravagance and insisted that ; his household should he conducted with due re ; gard to economy and usefulness. Francis would promise amendment, and the next week the same scene would be enacted in all its parts, the Steward retiring in tears, and exclaiming, ‘Well, he may discharge me ; he may kill me, if he will ; but while he is Presi dent of the United Slates, and 1 have the honor to he his steward, his establishment shall be supplied with the very best of every thing that stew ardship. W ashington was remarkably fond of fish. It habit lor N. Fngland ladies fie fjuently to prepare the codfish in a very nice manner, and send it enveloped in cloths, so as to arrive quite warm for the President’s Satur day dinner, he always eating codfish on that day in compliment to his New England recul. lections. It happened that a single shad was caught in the Delaware in February, and brought to the Philadelphia market for sale. Francis pounced upon it with the speed of asi osprey, regardless of price, but charmed that he had sc. cured a delicacy that, above all others, he knew would be agreeable to the palate ofhis Chief. When the fish was served, Washington sus. pected a departure from his orders touching the provision to be made for his table, and said to Francis, who stood at his post at the sideboard, • What fish is this V ‘A shad, a verv fine shad,’ was the reply; I knew your Excellency was particularly fond of this kind ol fish, and was so foitunate as to procure this one in the market—a solitary one, and the first of the season.’ * The price, sir ; the price !’ continued Wash- Riguiii, tone; -the price, j sir?’ ‘Throe, three,three dollars,’ stammered out the coiiscience-stricken Steward. ‘Take it away,’ thundered the Chief; ‘take l it away, sir ; It shall never lie said that my la ! hie seis such an example ofluxury and crxtrav. agancc.’ Poor Francis tremblingly obeyed, and the first shad of the season was removed untouched, to be speedily discussed by the gour. inands of the servant’s hail, Ihe CriiEF Cook.— I his celebrated artist, as he would have been termed in modern par lance, was named Hercules, familiarly termed Uncle Ilarkfess. Trained in the mysteries of his art from and in the palmy days of \ irginia, when her thousand chimneys smok ed to indicate the generous hospitality that reigned throughout the whole length and breadth of her wide domain, Uncle Harkicvs. was, at the period of the First Presidency, as highly accomplished a proficient in the culinary art as could be found in the United Slates. He wag a dark brown man. little, it any. above the usual size, yet possessed of such great rriuscu iar power as to cutiile him to he compared with his namesake of fabulous historv. Ihe Chief Cook gloried in the cleanliness and nicety of his kitchen. Under his iron dis cipline, wo to his underlings if speck oi spot could be discovered on the tables or dressers, or if the utensils did not shine like polished sil ver. With the luckless wights who had ofTena in these particulars there was no arrest ofjudg. ment, for judgment and execution went hand in hand. The Steward, and indeed the whole house, hold, treated the Chief Cook with much re. spect, as well for his valuable service* as for his general good character and pleasing man ners. It was while preparing the Thursday or Con gross Dinner that Uncle darkless shone in ail his splendor. During his labors upon his ban. quet he required some half dozen aprons and napkins out of number. It was surprising the order and discipline that was observed in so COLUMBUS, Georgia, Tliiissdaj Evenings May 17, 1849. hustling a scene. His underlings flew in sll directions to execute his orders, while he, tip’ great master spirit, seemed to possess the pott er of übiquity, and to bo every whete nt tlf* same time. When the steward, in snow-white apron, sijt shorts and stockings, and hair in full powder, placed the first dish on the table, the clock bL ing on the stroke of four, ceased ‘ the lahoryjfc the Hercules.’ While the masters of the Republic were en gaged in discussing the savory viands of the Congress Dinner, the Chief Cook retired to make his toilet for an evening promenade. Hi* perquisites from the slops ofthe. kitchen were from one to two hundred dollars a year. Though homely in person, he lavished the most of these large avails upon dress. In making his toilet, his linen was of unccptionnhle quality and white ness, then black silk shorts, ditto waistcoat, ditto stockings, shoes highly polished, with largo buckles covering a considerable part of the foot, blue cloth coat, with velvet collar and bright me tal buttons, a long watch-chain dangling from his fob. a cocked hat and gold-headed canc com pleted the grand costume ofthe celebrated dan dy (for there were dandies in these days) of the President’s kitchen. Thus arrayed, the Chief Cook invariahjf passed out at the front door, the Porter making a low bow, which was promptly returned. Join ing his brother loungers of the pave, he proceed ed up Market Street, attracting considerable at tendon. Market Street being, in the old times, the resort where fashionables ‘did most congnf l gate.’ Many were not a little surprised on be holding so extraordinary a personage, while oth ers, who knew him, would make a * formal and respectful bow, that they might receive in return the salute of one of the most polished gentlemen and the veriest dandy of nearly sixty years ngvyt The Coachman. —John Fagan, by birth AT: Hesian, tall and burly in person, was an accom pi is 1 1 cri coachman in every respect, lie undos*. stood the mechanism of a carriage, and could tak to pieces and put together again all the parti, I should he meet with any accident on the road. He drove the President the whole tour of thfe then United States, from Portsmouth to Savan nah, in the white chariot built by Clarke, of Philadelphia, without the slightest accident or misfortune happening in so long a journey. On the President’s return Clarke wil* in alF* tendance to learn the success of what he deeiU* od his master-piece of coach-making. NtssooniP^ dential Mansion than the anxious coacn inu ‘ was under the body of the white chariot, exsß, ining everything with a carelul and critical ow; till Fagan shouted from the box, ‘ All right, Nuji Clarke ; all right, sir ; not a bolt or screw stat 9 ed in a long journey and over (lie devil’s owß roads.’ The delighted mechanic now found I>M hand grasped in that the President, who compJr-’ mented him upon his workmanship, assuring litF that it had been sufficiently tested in a great tl riety of very bad roads. Clarke, the happiestlf men, repaired to his shop, in Sixth Street, \v%oiS. he informed his people of the success of thX white chariot, the account of which lie had tv- | ceived from the President’s own lips, when the I day ended in a jollification at the coach-toto kcr’s. John Krause succeeded Fagan. He was a steady, estimable man, and, having been bread in the Austrian cavalry, was perfectly conver sant with horses. He was an excessive smoker, his mcershaum never being out of his mouth, excepting at meals or on the coach-box. The stables consisted of ten coach and sad. die horses, and the two white chargers, a coach man, and two grooms. Os the chargers the unt usually rode by the Chief was named Pre scoff? He was a fine parade horse, purely white and sixteen hands high, lie was indifferent to the fire of artillery, the waving of banners, and the clang of martial instruments, but had a very bad habit of dancing about on the approach of a car. riitge, a habit very annoying to his rider, who, although a master in horsemanship, preferred to ride as quietly as possible, especially when, during his Saturday’s ride, lie would meet with carriages containing ladies, it being customary with them to order their coachmen to stop and to let down their glasses, that the President might approach to pay his compliments. The other charger was named Jackson, from the circumstance of his having run away with Major Jackson, aid-dc-camp to the President, en route from New York to Philadelphia, in 1790, to the sad discomfiture of the Major, iuul the no little amusement of the Chief ant?Tpe brilliant cortege of gallant cavaliers with which he was attended. Jackson was a superb ani mal, purely white, with flowing mane and tail He was of a fierce and fiery temperament, and, when mounted, moved with mouth open, champ- I ing the bit, his nostrils distended, and his Arab I eye flashing fire. Washington, disliking a fret ful horse, rarely rode this line hut impetuous an imal, while Krause, w hose duty it was to accom pany the President when on horseback, had had divers combats with the fiery charger, in sever al of which, it was said, the old Austrian dragoon came off rather second best. When putting on the housings and caparison for the Chief to title Jackson, Krause would say, ‘Ah, ha, my lilie fellow, you’ll have your match to-day, and I know you’ll take care to bohavo yourself,’. In fact, the noble horse had felt the power of Wash ington’s stalwart arm, a power that could throw a horse upon his haunches in a single moment, and the sagacious animal quailed before a force not easily resisted or soon forgotten. Among the coach horses were a pair of beau tiful blood bays, bred at Mount Vernon, ireui the celebrated stallion, Magnolia. These thor ough breds were the pots of timetable, and al ways drew the coach when Mrs. Washington paid hor visits in Philadelphia. Mrs. Washing. 1 lion and her grand-daughter were just sealed in tlio coach, and James Hurley (a native of Ire. land) was putting up tho step when, the day be ing warm and the Hies troublesome, otic of the horsos nibbed off his bridle. The coach than, of course, sat powerless on his box. Th af- frighted animal at first stared wildly about him, and was in the act of springing forward, when Hurley, perceiving the imminent danger, with a presence of mind equalled by his courage, grap pled the animal around the neck, ami amid his .furious and maddening plunges clung to him, and so incumbered him with the weight of a ; heavy man that the passengers in the street j were enabled to come to the rescue, when the j ‘i-praocd, Rit.l the carnage off. j The President was much gratified when in specting his stable in Philadelphia. They were large and roomy, and every thing in and about thpin in the most perfect order; the grooming of the horses superb, such as the moderns can have no idea of. Punctuality. —Washington was the most punctual of tnen. To this admirable quality, and the one equally admirable of rising at four o’clock and retiring to rest at nine at nil sea. “Sons, this great man owed his being able to ac complish such mighty labors during a long and illustrious life. He was punctual in every thing, and made every one punctual about him. During his memorable journey through the •Union, he had, before setting oil', arranged all the stages for the whole route ; the ferries, the inns, the hour of arriving at, and departing from each, were all duly calculated, and punctually Mid the white chaiiot arrive at all its appoint ments, except when prevented by high waters or .excessively bad roads. His punctuality on that long journey astonish- Qid everY one. The trumpet call of the cuvah j | j\mH?Lb£4u eii coming it) at full speed, and the •rry resound far and wide, ‘He’s coining!’ Scarce.- j Jy would the artillery men linlimber the cannon, [ when the order would be given. ‘ Light your ’ matches, the white chariot is in full view !’ Revolutionary veterans hurried from all di rections once more to greet their beloved Chief. ‘They called it marching to Head-Quarters, and; ns the dear glorious old fellows would overtake their neighbors and friends, they would say,— cQ’ush 0I1 ‘ my boys, if you wish to see him ; for *we who ought to know can assure you that he is never behind time, but always punctual to the moment.’ It was thus.that Washington performed his memorable tour of the United Slates—every where received with the heartfelt homage that tho love, veneration, and gratitude ol a whole I people could bestow ; and there is no doubt yet ! living agrayhend who can tell of the time when j he gallantly rode to some village or inn on the Lhmg-remenabered route to hail the arrival of the Ouu'io'y Axict join ill tfci- yoymt. wcLcorse Vr. j the Father of his Country, j And equally punctual in his angngements was this remarkable man nearer home. To the re ’ view, the theatre, or the ball-room he repaired the appointed time. The manager _llLi<j<leut to re pptest him to attend a play, was asked, “At i what time, Mr. WigneJJ,doos your curtain rise ?” The manager replied, “Seven o’clock is the hour, but of course the curtain will not rise un | til your Excellency’s arrival.” The President observed, “I will be punctual, sir, to I lie time;! nobody waits a single moment for me.” And,! sMi e enough, precisely at seven, tho noble form’ Os Washington was seen to enter the stage box, j amid the acclamations of the-audience and the’ music of the President’s march- In the domestic arrangements of the Presiden tial mansion, the private dinner was served at 3, tin! public one at 4. The drawing-room com inonced at 7, and ended a little past ten o’clock. The levee began at 3, and ended at 4. On pub lic occasions the company came within a very short time of each other, and departed in the same manner. The President is punctual, said every body, and every body became punctual. On the great national days of the 4ih of July and 22<l ot February, the salute from the then head of Market street (Bth street) announced the opening of the levee. Then was seen the veil eralde corps of the Cincinnati marching to pay their respects to their President General, who j received them at head quarters, and in the uni- j form of the Commander-in-chief. This veteran band of the Revolution had learned punctuality I iforn their General in the “ times that tried men’s j souls;” for, no sooner had the thunder peals of! “ Gol. Proctor’s brass twelve pounders caused , the windows to rattle in Market street, than this venerable body of the Cincinnati were in full march for the headquarters.” A fine volunteer corps, called the Light In- ! fan try, from the famed Light Infantry of the Rev. i olutionary army, commanded by Gen. Lafayette, mounted a guard of honor at headquarters during the levee on the national days. When it was j about to close, the. soldiers, headed by their scr-1 gcants, marched with trailed arms aiitl noiseless j step through the hall to a spot where huge howls of punch had been prepared for their refresh- i ntent, when, after quailing a deep carouse, with three hearty cheers to the health of the President,! they countermarched to the street, the bands j struck up the favorite air, ‘forward’ was the or- ; der, and the levee was ended. I “Old times are changed, old manners gone.” ‘ True, we have become a mighty empire in ex- 1 tent, wealth, and population; hut where, Amer icans is the spirit of ’7O, the glorious and im mortal spirit that dignified and adorned the early days of the republic anti the age of Washington? Shall it decline.and die among us? • Swear on ; the altar ol your liberty that it shall live forever I Long years hav;p elapsed sinco the Recollec tions have been offered to the public. In an swer to numerous inquiries why they have not i been published in book form, the author begs | leave to observe that, having no views as to profit, ho was desirous that the private memoirs should go to the masses of the people in the cheapest and most diffusible manner practicable. Most liberal offers have been made to publish I the Recollections in two volumes, with fine en-1 graving* from the four originals at ArlingfonJ House, viz : the Provincial Colonel in ’72, tho elder IValo ; the retired General and trious Farmer of Mount Vernon, (has rrjjfl Houdon, 85); tho splendid equestrian by Trumbull, ('00,) and the President St.it'-.. Oho best possible lib onms.) |, v I ,'- 1793. In this form the work will be hereafter published. The work will also contain the private letters > of the commander-in-chief to his step-arm and aid-de-camp, John Parke Custis, (the father of the author,) during the whole of the Revolution ; also the paternal iettrrs of Washington to the author, his adopted sou, when a student at col logo iu ’93, 97 and 9S. NeUlfOr the “Revolu tionary nor Paternal letters lmvo ever been pub. Ii sited. If it has appeared to any that the Recollec tions have embraced particulars 100 minute, the author's apology is in various letter?, received both from at home and abroad, urging him to omit no details, however minute, or deem any thing trivial that related in the smallest degree to the life and character of Washington. It is somewhat remarkable, yet such is history, that, when all of the public, life and actions of a great man have been published to the world, the world invariably demands the private memoirs. Mankind wish to learn something of the private life, habits and manners of the individual whose great public actions have commanded their nd miration, whose illustrious public services have won their gratitude and love. Voltaire, in speak ing of Sir Isaac Newton, said : “ Does the great Newton eat like other men 1” I The labors of America’s distinguished histo rians have given to his country and the world the life and actions of Washington, as connected with the age in which he flourished, and* the mighty events thereof in which lie bore so prom- I inent and illustrious a part. It has become the j honored duty of the author of the Recollections j | to lift the veil that always conceals the private J | life of a great man from the public gaze, and to j i show the Pater Patriot umid the shades of do | mestic retirement, where in the bosom of his ’ family, on his farm,and at his fireside, friendship, ; kindliness and hospitality shed their benignant ! lustre upon his latter days.— Xat. Intelligencer. From Ilolien’a Dollar Magazine. An Incident in the Trial of an Irish Patriot. by rttiL brp.noi.e. | ‘A very original affairP said I, laying down , the Tribune, of that day. I ‘What is that 7’ asked my companion. •I refer to that scene in the trial of Smith O’- Brien, when Dotibin. the Irish Detective, is J proved ape juror by the unexpected testimony [ of Mr. D’Alton. All the circumstances connected with the affair—the visit of D’Alton at the Free i man office ; the hasty and successful measures > >nuntW H 1 —” t; H i into court : lki> t crushing ptwer of D’Alton’a testimony, and the : complete t/nrnasking of DobW&—would seem to ; mark the whole ns an interference by Provi. ! donee, if all these tilings had not so unacdoimt ! airly failed in the grand result.’ | The gentleman to whom 1 said this, was a | I rebellion in ‘Ninety-eight.’ He [lausSßl I moments, and then replied in a voice, tremulous ! with rage and strong feeling : j “I dare not trust myself to speak of the trial of ’ O'Brien, for it reminds me of the days of Fitsger- I aid and Emmet, lint there is one incident of those times which I can mention with more calmness. Your remarks suggested it. I will tell you of a providential interference, this time successful, in a trial of somewhat similar charac ter. The actors were obscure, and are now forgotten by all, except the few who stood in the court room, and saw the heroism of a poor ser vant girl, trampling upon her own love for the sake of truth and justice in the cause of Ireland. They never can forget it. All that I did not at that time understand in the affair, I afterwards learned by inquiry of others—so strong was the interest that humble heroine made within me. Late on Hollowmas Eve, a young man and girl were sitting together in the servant’s room ot an Irish country seat. The latter was a fair and buxom lass, known far and near as‘pretty Maty Donovan.’ She had an honest face, too, where the very heart seemed looking forth, and one for whose real nobility a man might pledge his life. At the moment it was clouded with anx- ! iety and timid love. Very near her, sat a young man with one of ; those false, handsome faces, that we occasional j ly meet, and always look upon a second lime, j llis glossy hair was elaborately curled, and his I eye, hard and bright like jet, was marked with insincerity. His whole appearance was, as 1 have just said, handsome and faifie. Had the young girl whom he was so earnestly addressing, been a physiognomist, she would never have lis toned to his words, and as it was, her whole man ner was wavering, distrustful, yfct tender. ‘Pheiim, von know that I love yo u, and oh I that I could trust ye too. If I could shut my eyes while ye talk to me, I’d wait no longer, hut give ye the word at once, but whenever 11 ook in your eye, you seem to be talking only with your lips, and so 1 turn away from the face I should love to look upon.’ ‘1 understand ye, Mary Donovan, said Pheiim, bitterly; ‘and because the lace 1 was horn willy don’t suit ye, you think I am trying to no use to feel around ve any tli 1 * iiiouiita in- ami join the tighbgfl •I 1111 • i Vai • If I ‘ C|* ,■ 4)d:. ’ j jjg ;... ■ jM thatfl *“ 1 he )■ jlipjH Phis discussion of ways, means, and all imprac ticable projects, carried them far into the night, so far, indeed, that Phclinr, lover though he was, yawned sleepily as he took his candle, saying, -Good night, Mary dear, and don’t forget Ilalow mas Eve.’ ‘Ah, Phclinr,’ she replied, ‘l’ll remember it long enough for us baikJ So she did. The next day brought tidings to the inmates Hail, that a large body of peasants'had risen during the past night, and committed ex cesses, too common in those times of apprehen sion and resistance. Nor did they end with that night’s Work. What is known in history as the ‘rebellion of Ninety-eight,’ speedily broke out, and for months kept the land’ in most fearful agi tation. At last the rebellion was crushed, and then commenced thKtrial of those leaders who” had been captured. All crowded to the cotvt to see their first men brought to trial and condemned almost invariably to death. One ol these leaders was of great no toriety in the vicinity of Hall, and when his case Was called from the docket, every man, wo man and child flocked to the place of trial—some to sympathize with the eager patriot, some to ex ult over his fall, and very many to see the man j whose name had been held up as a word of equal terror to refractory children and full grown men. ‘Mary,’ said her lover, as he saw her arrayed !in rustic finery, ‘surely, ye’re not going to the court to-day.’ | ‘lndeed I am, she replied ; ‘l’ll go and give the | poor prisoner a blessing with my eye, since I ! can do nothing else lor him. Why should I stay away when a man is to be tried for his life, be- I cause he loved us too well ? Surely wc must go and say to him by our presence, that we are with him in our Irish hearts.’ ‘lt’s no place for women, I tell ye,’ exclaimed Pht-lim wiih sudden violence, and then coaxing j ly, ‘lndeed, you must not go. Stay at home and I think of what I’m telling ye, that I’ve got fifty | golden guineas, and that wo can be married 1 next week, or as soon as ye’ll only say the word.’ ‘Fifty guineas in real gold ! Who gave them | to ye I —was it the nla-ter, or’— J ‘Hush ! Here’s the master’s own voice call ! ing me now, I must go. Stay at home, Mary i dear, or I’ll not forgive ye.’ j ‘I don’t understand ye, Phelim, and I will go to the court,’ said IVfary to herself. ‘Fifty guin | cas in bright and heavy gold—blessings on the ( g iv *l’ . j was observed Vb look anxiously around the court as in search of some particular face. Each time I he was disappointed, and at fast in the absence of its principal witness, the crdvvn would first re sort to other evidence. And meagre enough was that evidence to all in the crowded court. Eve rything . In- . ii j’ to 111 ously aH v -, ? - tft ,, i e 1 ‘l’helim !’ cried a faint the opposite side of the room. ‘Silence, there in court 1’ shouted the slioriflV angrily. But there was no silence in Mary Donovan's heart. ‘I see it now—theso fifty golden guineas ! Ah, they have made Pbeiim Keeney an Inform- but they shall never make me his wife.’ The Informer felt the moist, yet flashing pyo of Mary Doifovan, burning into his brain, and he shivered with terror, hilt the voice of the prose-” eating attorney soon restored self-possession, and he coolly testified as follows : Uo had disguised himself and joined tho reb els in their great meeting on the night of their hrst rising. He had especially marked the prisoner at the bar, as the seeming leader, and the one under whose direction the whole body acted. He heard this prisoner utter words anil do acts of treason on that night. This was tho substance of his testimony, and so clear, lull, di rect was it throughout, that every one saw that the prisoner’s life was hanging on the words from the informer’s lips. The Crown lawyers skilfully pumped him of everything, and found that he had done full justice to his training. The first question on the cross examination was in regard to the time of this affair ; Pheiim ap. peared somewhat uneasy, and replied in a very tow tone. ‘Louder !’ cried ono of the Judges. ‘lt was on the night before the rising—Hal lowmas Eve.’ ‘No ; it was not on Hollownias Eve,’ exclaim ed Mary Donovan, rising with an uncontrollable impulse. ‘Pheiim ! you are not cvei^M^B T:.t*aMuj* so.-