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194
her mortal remains, as they reposed in the cof
fin. The elder sister and her husband took
charge of the house; the other two remained a
few days, and left for their residence. William
took his room, and never left it for near a month,
save to tread pensively the walks of the garden.
At the end of a fortnight, he addressed a letter
to Miss Green, reporting liis mother’s death, and
telling her that she was the last and strongest
tie that bound him to earth, and his only hope
of heaven. In due time he received an answer,
expressing the tcnderest sympathy for him in
his bereavement, and concluding as follows:
“ I have been tormented by strange reports
concerning you which I cannot, I will not be
lieve, until they receive some confirmation from
your own lips. I will not aggravate your griefs
by repeating them now, farther than just to say,
that if true, your last brief epistle from Prince
ton was untrue.
With unabated love,
You* Louisa.’’
(to be continued.)
[For the Southern Field and Fireside.]
COMETO ME
Come to me, come to me,
Image of light!
Hovering over me,
Through the still night;
I.et me, in dreams,
Hear thy soft voice again,
Love, in its cadences.
Calling my name.
it.
Come, when I'r* dreaming ;
When with e«er sweep,
Fancy is •cveling
In real* lß f ar and deep I
Wh" l each fleecy cloud
folds me in light,
Come to me, dearest,
In the still night t
in.
Come, when in crowds
I am happy and gay.
Smiling to sounds
Os music and play.
Draw near me in spirit:
In each quivering strain.
Let thy low baby voice
Repeat my name.
iv. .
Come, when I am kneeling;—
When Doubt wraps her shroud
'Round my agonized soul,
That cowers 'neath the cloud !
Come, tell me that life
Ends not in the sod;
Oh ! when I am praying,
Come, whisper of God.
Come, when I am dying;—
When the violets’ biconi
Is scattered, to place me
Beside thy loved tomb;
When gently my spirit
Feel s the parting pain,.
Then, come to me, darling,
Low whispering my name !
Augusta, Ga.
———
[For the Southern Field and Fireside.]
JACK HOPETON AND HIS FRIENDS
08.
THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A GEORGIAN.
BY WM. W. TURNER.
CHAPTER XX.
I rejoined Fitzwarren in Tallahassee, and we
proceeded to travel through some of the wildest
portions of Florida. One day, we stopped to
get dinner in the little village of M . When
we alighted at the door of the tavern, a great
crowd of men was collected on the little square,
and we perceived evidence of a deep excitement.
Groups and knots were collected in various pla
ces, conversing eagerly and hurriedly. So ab
sorbed were they, that the arrival of the mail,
usually an event of no inconsiderable impor
tance, was almost unnoticed.
Most of the crowd were armed; some carry
ing their weapons openly in their hands, while
others wore ill-concealed pistols and knives.—
Another circumstance excited my curiosity :
some ot those assembled wore, in their hats,
sprigs of pine, and others, sprigs of oak; and
whenever those of different parties passed near
each other, they cast stern and vindictive glances;
though the wearers of the oak badges were evi
dently overawed by the superior number of the
pine badges.
Soon the dinner bell rang, and I followed in
the wake of a large number to the dining room.
A furious and rapid onslaught was made on the
edibles, but a most ominous silence prevailed.
However, I could not refrain from asking a man
near me what was the meaning of all the excite
ment I witnessed. He regarded me with a sur
prised and rather surly gaze, as he replied :
“ Why, there’s hell to pay at the three oaks
this evening, as you can see, if you’ll take the
trouble to go out there.”
“Where are the three oaks?” I enquired.
“ Follow the crowd after dinner, and you’ll
see,” was the gruff reply.
Just then mine host passed, and I addressed
him —
“Landlord, can you tell me where the ‘ three
oaks’ are?”
“ About half a mile out here,” answered he,
panting as he spoke.
“ Well, can you tell me what is to be done
there this evening ?”
“ Yes ; they are going to break the neck of
one of the damndest rascals unhung.”
And off ran the landlord, to attend to the
wants of his numerous guests.
“ Fitz.” said I to my companion, “ do you hear
all this?"
“ Yes was the cold, laconic reply.
“What do you say to taking off’ our baggage
and seeing the end of these things ?”
“ I say that I feel but little disposition to do
so.”
“ But I feel great curiosity in the matter, and
hope you’ll stop a little while with me.”
“ Well then, if yonr heart is set on it, I’ll
stay.”
So we took off our trunks, after dinner, and
following our table companions, soon found
ourselves at a jail. \Around this was posted a
strong guard, composed of as determined-look
ing a set of men as I Vave ever seen. They
were armed, not only with pistols and bowie
knives, but also with trusty rifles. They all
wore pine badges.
And they had need be resolute, for those of
the oak badges were, many of thsm, dark and
stern-looking men, and they cast threatening
glances, and muttered ominous words, as they
pressed eagerly forward. But a general grasp
ing of weapons on the part of the guard, and
those of their party, warned the others not to
proceed too far.
When I had approached very near, to my ut
ter astonishment, I beheld the familiar features
of Gaunt. He recognized me at the same mo-
Augusta, Ga.
msi mwwmmMM him m
ment, and witli a significant gesture exclaimed:
‘‘Hello, squire, I’ve seen you before. My
name is Stuart.”
By this, I perceived that he wished to conceal
his name.
“ Certainly you know me, Stuart.” answered
I; “ but do tell me what all this means.”
“You’ll soon see, squire,” answered Gaunt.
I can’t tell you yet.”
“ I can’t tell you a siugle thing yet,” he con
tinued, seeing curiosity strongly depicted in my
face. “ When it's all over, then you shall, I
think, know everything.”
I concluded *o remain silent, but the specta
tors around began to grow impatient, and one
near me exclaimed,
“ I wonder why the Colonel don’t come along!”
“’TVs- tiros for him to be here,” said another.
“ Stuart,” again spoke the first, addressing
Gaunt, who figured as leader of the guard,
« Stus. t, do you know when the Colonel will
com l ?”
1 Yes;” was the curt reply. “He'll come
■ v hen he gets ready, and not before; so just
| make yourself easy.”
“Here ho comes,” at length exclaimed one,
and I turned to look.
The “ Colonel ” was a tall, imposing, but ac
! tive and muscular-looking man, clad in a rough
hunting suit. Round his frock he wore a belt,
in which he carried a pair of pistols and a bowie
knife. Occasionally, he was jostled by some
one in the crowd, and then his eye shot forth
fierce and fiery glances. If one of his ownpar-
I ty was the offender —lie wore the pine badge—
-1 he merely addressed him with an impatient
expression ; but when, at one time, a man with
an oak sprig stumbled against him, whether
i from design or accident, I could not say, he
turned upon him with a glance so tiger-like, and
laying his hand on his pistol, muttered an im
precation so frightful, that the fellow, although
a rough looking customer himself, made haste to
lose himself in the throng.
Another astonisnment awaited me. As the
“Colonel ” approached, I recognized Tom Har
per !—I do not recollect w’hether I informed the
reader that for a year or two he had been gone
from Georgia and no one knew his whereabouts
—but oh how changed was his expression!
His evil passions appear to have been developed
to such an extent as to obscure all elevated and
high toned feelings.
He was passing by me, when I touched him
on the shoulder and caused him to look round.
Seeing me without the badge of his part}’, he
started to move on, with a half stifled curse; but
I grasped liiu. firmly by the arm. He again
turned quickly, drawing a repeater.
“ Tom Harper,” I exclaimed, "don't you know
me ?”
He looked for a moment, and then, with a face
lightened up and softened in its expression, he
seized my hand, and held it without speaking.—
At length his countenance resumed its hard,
vindictive look.
“ I have no time to talk to you, now,” he said.
“ Tho task before me requires nerve, and if I
talk to you, memories of old will leave but little
of this. When my work is over, I will tell you
all of what has been my fortune since I saw you
last. But come now, and see me avenged of
mine adversary.”
“ Here is another acquaintance, Tom,” said I,
“ my friend Fitzwarren.”
“ Ah, I recollect him well. But follow me.”
We followed, a* ho strode on toward the jail.
“Waita moment, though,” he again said, as
he pulled oft’ his cap and, taking the twig out of
it separated it in two parts, offering me half.
“If you are tlio same to mo,” ho continued,
“ that you once were, you will wear this. I
cannot explain to you farther than to say that it
will be an act of friendship to me, and the wear
ing of it may be attended with considerable
persoual danger. Are you armed ?”
“ Yes,” I answered. “ You will hardly find
me guilty of the folly of traveling in such a
country as this, unarmed."
“ Well then, if a fracas occurs, side with the
I pine twigs.”
“ Mr. Harper,” said Fitzwarren, in his cold,
polite manner, “ I also am armed, and, if you
please, would like to wear your badge.”
“ I shall be most happy if you will sir,” was
the reply, as Tom took a sprig from a bystand
er and divided it. giving part to Fitzwarren.
Again wo followed Tom as he neared the jail.
“ Well, Stuart,” said he, addressing Gaunt by
his assumed name, “ I suppose you have the
bird safe ?”
“ I should think so, Colonel.”
“ Bring him out then.”
Several men entered the building, and soon
returned with the prisoner in their midst.
“ Will wonders never cease ?” said I to my
self, as I recognized in this man still another ac
quaintance. ‘ I turned to look at Tom, and caught
his eye fixed enquiringly on me.
“ So you know him ?” said he.
“ Certainly,” I answered. “ How could I
ever forget Jim Hardaway ? But Tom, what in
the name of wonder does "
“ Hush Jack ! Recollect what I told you. Not
now, nor yet in the presence of these, can I
speak. You shall soon know all.”
Concerning the prisoner, I will here say this
mneh. When I first knew him, I considered
him a very good hearted, clever sort of fellow,
with some share of vanity, and a great fond
ness for tho company of ladies. He had a plau
sible, popular way of his own, which took very
well with old people, as well as young. In fact
most of Ins acquaintances considered him a good
fellow, though some of them knew him to be ra
ther too fond of brandy. He made shift, how
ever, to conceal this latter failing from most peo
ple. Afterwards, he joined a temperance so
ciety, but finally went back to his first love —
the” brandy bottle. Some ill-natured persons
said he never had quit it.
When the prisoner first came out of the jail,
I could perceive on his Hushed countenance an
eager, excited, but somewhat defiant expression.
As he proceeded, lie glanced quickly from side
to side, but when he saw, all around, nothing
but lowering and frowning countenances, all
surmounted by the badge hostile to his hopes;
especially when he encountered Tom Harper’s
basilisk eye fixed on him with the glare of dead
ly hatred, he turned pale and shook with fear.
Seldom has it been my lot to behold a coun
tenance more frightful than Tom Harper's was at
that moment. It was livid, and distorted with
contending passions—the most hellish triumph,
the coldest disdain, the most deadly hatred, and
the most loathing, withering contempt. As the
prisoner approached, he who was the control
ling spirit on this occasion, motioned his guard
to stop. Immediately the victim broke out:
“Oh, Toml you cannot mean to carry out the
purpose you avowed. My God! To hang me
like a dog, without a legal trial 1 It is awful!”
“ Yes, my very true aud faithful old friend,”
was the mocking reply, “itis a horrid fate; but
the dear people, whom you have so long pro
fessed to worship, have willed it.”
“ I do not believe the people wish my blood,
Tom, if left to themselves.”
“ Ask them, then,” said Tom.
“You know,” replied the prisoner in a de-
1 spairing tone, “it is useless for me to speak, un
| less you bid them hear me.”
“ Ah!” sneered the vindictive Tom Harper,
! “you were very defiant at one time. Where,
then, are the gallant hundred and fifty, who
were to deliver you ?”
“ They have failed me,” was the reply. “ The
damned—the double damned miserable trai
j tors 1 ”
Tom’s manner suddenly changed, at these
las! words, from cool contempt to fearful rage.
“ And do you, accursed viper,” he hissed from
his shut teeth, “do you dare accuse other men
as traitors—you, who are the very basest of the
fraternity?—A traitor, with whom Judas Isca
riot would blush to own fellowship? For Ju
das at least had thirty pieces of silver as the
price of his treachery, but you did not receive
even this paltry compensation. Your only re
ward was the fiendish pleasure you experienced
in destroying the happiness of another. In be
traying your friend, you merely followed out the
groveling instincts of your ignoble nature. —
Wretched worm! The infinite inferiority and
feebleness of your intellect constitutes the only
difference between you and the serpent who
crept into the garden of Eden to destroy the
bliss he found there.”
“ Tom,” answered the other, “ I swear to you
solemnly, you are mistaken in this matter. I
was ever your friend.”
“ Lying hound!’’ was the furious response,
“ I am tempted to rob the gallows of its due.”
And as Harper said this, his bright knife
gleamed close the prisoner’s heart. The latter
closed his eyes, aud the pallor of death over
spread his countenance, as he sprang back and
uttered a shriek so fearful, it made me shudder.
“ But no," resumed the tormentor, sheathing
his blade, “I will not be so merciful as to end
your miserable existence thus suddenly. Pon
der well on tho bitterness of the wretched fate
which awaits you. Think how hopeless is your
condition—how completely you are in my pow
er.
“Judas,” he continued after a pause, “had
the grace to repent of his treachery and hang
himself; but you, craven coward, are frightened
beyond measure at the prospect of death—and
in this cousists the perfection of my revenge.”
Tom glared gloating on the cowering reptile
before him. I was shocked that the noble Tom
Harper should thus give himself up entirely to
the control of evil passions, but I was convinced
that he must have some strong reason for it.
“To the oaks!” he at length exclaimed.
The prisoner’s arms were grasped, and we all
started forward. But few steps had been taken,
when some, who had hitherto worn pine twigs,
suddenly threw them aside and uttered a pecu
liar cry. Instantly there was a wild rush to
ward the spot where the prisoner stood.
“ Treachery, by hell 1” shouted Harper, as he
drew a pistol and discharged it full in the face
of the foremost assailant.
“ Woe to the traitors!” ho continued, as he
again fired, and his adherents gathered thick
around him.
Then followed a scene such as I never wish
to witness again. Shouts of rage and defiance
mingled with yells of pain and terror. The
sharp crack of rifles and the stunning reports of
pistols rendered the din deafening, while the
deadly gleaming of the silent bowie knifes ad
ded horror to all. As for me, though almost
maddened by the noise of the conflict, I man
aged to confino myself to the task of watching
over my friend, warding off blows and turning
aside pistols aimed at him. While thus engaged,
a ball passed through my hat and a kqife grazed
uiy arm, but I knew nothing of It, till all was
over. .
It was soon over. Those who had proved
wolves in sheep’s clothing, were few, and even
when joined to those wearing the oak badges,
were in the minority. They were quickly van
quished, and fled precipitately.
Not one of tho guard, selected with great
care by Harper, had turned traitors.
There were corpses on the ground, and wound
ed men. A number were detailed to attend to
them, and the procession moved on.
We soon came to a grove of live-oaks, m one
part of which stood three trees of such gigantic
size, as threw the rest of their companions com
pletely in the shade. Under one of these had
been erected a rough and strong platform, with
steps leading to the top. Up these steps Hard
away was hurried, attended by the guard and
Tom Harper.
“ Mr. Hardaway,” said Gaunt, standing
straight before him as he spoke, “ I don’t waut
you to go away without knowing I helped to
prepare this pill for you.”
“I know it well, Stuart,” was the reply, “but
you, at least, ought to have some mercy, and
Tom will listen to you, if you plead for me. I
never harmed you."
“Never?”
“ No.”
“Never harmed Stuart? Well, I admit it,
but you have harmed Bill Guant."
Hardaway looked steadily in the face of his
interlocutor a moment, and as he finally seemed
to recognize his face, he bowed his head and
groaned.
“I could a killed you, coward,” resumed
Gaunt, “and would a done it, but that wouldn’t
a been no sort o’ revenge. The Colonel here,
and I, know how to do these things. You know
what you done to me. That’s all I’ve got to
say.”
The laconic Gaunt fell back, and Tom, with
his old look of cruel derision, spoke;
“Well, Hardaway, my tried friend, I expect
to return to L , so soon as this little affair is
is over, and your friends and relations will be'
enquiring after you—your lady acquaintances
especially, my boy,” and here a sneer, which
seemed almost spasdomic, passed across the
speaker’s face. “ The ladies, Jim, will be mak
ing special enquiries concerning you. What
shall I say to them ?”
“Great God!” groaned the unhappy man, “is
there no way of escaping this fearful doom ? It
is dreadful! To die on the gallows, amid the
hisses and hootings of a mob of vermin such as
these!”
“Vermin, eh? "What a fastidious young
man be is! To be sure you have a right to be
so.”
Again Tom’s lip absolutely writhed with a
sneer.
“ I can tell your friends,” continued the mer
ciless man, “ that when I last saw you, yours
was a very exalted position, and still you are
not satisfied. How very unreasonable you are!”
And Tom actually laughed.
“ Have you, then, no mercy ?” once more said
the prisoner. “ Will nothing move you ? I
conjure you, by the memory of our former
friendship ”
“Base dog 1” interrupted Harper, while the
expression of mocking passed off his face, and
one dark and malignant again came over it.
“ Could I forget our former friendship, it would
be well for you. Had you injured me as an
open enemy, or even an indifferent acquain
tance, I might be brought to forgive you; but
you chose the garb of friendship, under which
to stab me.
“ Mark me, James Hardaway,” and the voice
subsided into a low and measured, but fearfully
distinct utterance; “so long as the memory of
your treachery rankles in this bosom, so long
will it be impossible for me to feel one sentiment
of pity. As soon could 1 be brought to relent,
after my foot had been uplifted to crush the ser
pent which had stung me in the path. Sooner
could I forgive the cur which had attempted to
worry me, merely because he crouched at my
feet, afterwards.
*' Groveling idiot! I will kill thy body and
send thy soul, covered with guilt, to its last pun
ishment. And oh! if there is one part of the
lake burning with fire and brimstone hotter
than the rest—if there is one spot in it better
calculated for the torture of a damned spirit
than another, may your frightened soul find it.
Die, dastard! Die the felon and craven that you
are!”
Harper ceased, and motioned to the guard.
They seized Hardaway and bound him, amid
frightful howls. The noose was fixed, the trap
door dropped, and the unfortunate man’s lifeless
body swung from a bough of the old oak, “with
the gray moss waving silently” over it.
CHAPTER XXI.
Telling Fitzwarren I would soon rejoin him at
the hotel, I took Tom Harper’s arm and led him
from the scene. We wandered on through the
grove, till we were out of sight and hearing of
the crowd, and then we sat down on the fallen
trunk of a tree. After a short pause, my friend
spoke as follows:
“I will satisfy your curiosity, Jack, in as brief
a manner as is possible. Several years ago, I
formed the acquaintance of Fannie Stanley.
You have seen her, and I need not describe her
personal appearance. This she was, liowevet:
the embodiment of an ideal 1 had formed in my
yonth—l am wrong—but she was very near to
this. She had, I thought, a spirit congenial with
my own. and this is why I loved her.
“You know nothing of what I am telling you,
Jack, because you were at college. What lam
going to relate to you, happened when you were
not at homo. Had you been within reach, yon
would nave been informed. I never intrust se
crets to letters.
“ I told Fannie of my love, and she gave me
leave to hope. For a long while I was happy
in this hope.
“I never received any of those distinct avow
als of love which some men consider the evi
dence of its existence. I did not wish for such,
and it would have been unnatural for her to give
them. I loved her as she was. Such proof of
affection as it was in her nature to give, I re
ceived. I was convinced that she loved me. I
am still sure of it. While I! —1 counted my
life as nothing in her cause.
“ Such love is, I know, now out of fashion,
and I would not be guilty of the folly of mak
ing such professions as these to persons who
are not capable of believing them ; but you,
Jack, have known my most secret thoughts, as
well as you know your own, and you know I
speak truth. It would be useless for me to
affect sentiments I do not feel, while talking
with you.
“ About this time I was thrown a good deal
in the company of Jim Hardaway. I considered
him a common-place, mediocre kind of fellow,
but good-hearted and honorable. You know
he was a sort of universal favorite with young
and old, high and low, moral and dissipated.
Afterwards, however, he was discovered to be
an arrant hypocrite, and sank very low in public
estimation.
"He was me only Human Detng wtio ever to
tally deceived me with regard to his character.
I thought I could read human nature, but this
man was, in almost every respect, precisely the
opposite of what I had conceived him to be. I
considered him a tame, every-day sort of fellow,
and rather dull withal. He proved to boa very
uncommon personage, and, though far from in
tellectual, very shrewd and cunning. I deemed
him capable of friendship—the sequel will show
that he was more incapable of it than the beast
which roams the field.
“ I invited him to my house, and he came.
By this time, Fannie and I were formally en
gaged to be married. I liked Hardaway better
and better, every time he came to see me. One
day, when my evil genius had the ascendancy,
I confided to this man my tale of love. He lis
tened with apparent delight, congratulated me
with all the warmth of friendship, and volun
teered to be my special advocate —he was dis
tantly related to Miss Stanley.
“ The very next time I saw Fannie after this
interview with my good friend, I thought I could
discover a change in her manner. Then I rea
soned myself out of this foolish imagination, as
I chose to consider it; but I saw her again, and
this time I knew I could not be mistaken. I
would not be rash, however, and attributed her
conduct to some coquettish whim which had
come over her. She was as free from such
things as it is possible for a woman to be, Jack,
but, believe me, there are none of them entirely
free»-no, not one.
“I had grown very fond of Jim Hardaway’s
company. Indeed, he supplied the place which
you once filled. How could Ibe so deceived ?
But so it was. Soon he began to avoid me.
Fannie grew still colder. Coupling these cir
cumstances with the fact of the relationship ex
isting between the two, is it surprising that a
suspicion should cross my mind that my ‘advo
cate’ had been doing me an injury ?
“At first, I dismissed it as utterly improba
ble. I had not yet sounded the baseness of the
man’s character. Soon, however, there was a
total rupture of the engagement between Miss
Stanley and myself, and, not loug after, I had
proof positive that Hardaway had proved a
traitor.
“As soon as I was satisfied on this point, I
thought only of revenge. ‘Life’s dearest joy’
had been ‘dashed from my lips,’ and I was de
termined, should my life be spared long enough,
to render full quittance to the agent by whom
this had been effected. What this revenge
should be, as yet I knew not; but I was deter
mined to devote the remainder of my existence,
if need be, to the task of inventing something
which should satisfy the demon which had
been roused within me.
“Gaunt knows everything. He knew when
I was wronged by Jim Hardaway, and he came
to me. He said that he too had been injured
aud insulted by this smooth villain—the details
you can get from him—aud ho wanted to join me
in some plan of revenge. A quick death, he
said, was much too good for such a scoundrel.
I accepted his offer gladly, knowing he would
prove a most efficient coadjutor.
“ Hardaway left L , and Gaunt and I
tracked him up, following him to this place.
Here he entered ou a course of dissipation much
more reckless than he had pursued at home.
“At the same time, the delectable youth
sought popularity. You know his organ of ap
probativeness was very largely developed, aud,
besides, he was ambitious of going to the legis
lature.
“ As soon as I perceived what he would be at,
I laid out to check mate him. I endeavored to
acquire popularity, so that, whenever an oppor
tunity should occur, I could strike him a blow
with impunity to myself.
“ Not that I feared any thing which human
hands could inflict, but my revenge would have
been incomplete if, iu obtaining it, I had brought
calamity on my own head.”
“ With Guant’s help I succeeded in gaining an
ascendancy over the minds of the people here
which astonishes me even now.
“Hardaway had contrived to acquire consid
erable influence with some people; especially
the vicious, and he could gather around him a
band of desperadoes at any time, who were en
tirely under his control; but I had at my ser
vice a majority of the whole county, among whom
were men equally as determined—l may say as
reckless as his lawless companions.
“Up to this time, even, I had formed no very
well defined plan of revenge, only I was resolv
ed to cross his path continually—to confront
him on all occasions, and to thwart all his little
plans of petty ambition. I succeeded admira
bly.
“At length I began to perceive that the day
of reckoning was at hand, and how my revenge
was to come. Jim Hardaway would go any
length to gratify licentious passions which he
possessed.
“ Not far from this place, there reside an aged
couple, and their beautiful grand-daughter.—
This girl, ever since my sojourn here, has been
the pride and belle of the country for miles
around. The youths who sought her favor rath
er worshipped than loved her, and many of them
would laydown their lives for Ginny Hart.
“Well, Jim Hardaway saw the girl, and re
solved upon her ruin. He visited the cabin—
they were poor—where she and her grand-pa
rents resided, and tried every art to gain their
good opinion; taking particular care to assist
them pecuniarily, whenever they stood in need
of such assistance, which was very often.
“ As for Ginny herself, she had never before
been courted by one who wore such fine clothes,
and had so much money, so she felt flattered at
the man's attentions. Perfectly innocent, pure
and truthful herself, she had no suspicion of
Hardaway’s real object in seeking their cabin
so often. She, poor girl, believed him, when
he declared ho wished to marry her. He had
little difficulty in winning her affections.
“This, of itself, was sufficient to excite the
jealousy and hatred of her numerous rejected
suitors, against the man who had supplanted
them. They were naturally more indignant
than they would have been u one of their own
set had won this wild flower. Besides many
of them suspected that Hardaway was ‘ after no
good,’ as they expressed it.
“When the scoundrel imagined he had the
girl completely under his influence, he ventured
to make his villainous advances. She received
Hardaway’s propositions with tears and re
proaches. lie pretended to repent, begged for
givenness, protested his ardent love, was par
doned and again received into the affection of
the simple trusting girl. He soon renewed his
vile attempts, was repelled and forbidden ever
again to enter the house. The scoundrel then
swore, ho would have a most devilish revenge,
and with the aid of some of his infamous com
panions, he accomplished it. One morning the
poor girl was found roving in the fields, a raving
maniac.
“ I was soon informed of the circumstances,
and, having collected a number of men on whom
I could rely, some of them being Hardaway’s
former rivals, proceeded in search of him. We
had not far to go, for he did not pretend to con
ceal himself.
“ I could hardly restrain some of my men
from butchering him on the spot. You have
seen that this was not my policy. We managed,
after a considerable fight, to take our prisoner
alive.
“Sending out runners, I soon collected to
gether the people for some miles around, and wo
brought Hardaway up for trial. His own ad
missions before and subsequently to the fact
were all that was needed for his conviction.—
When he saw the turn affairs were taking, he
was fain to shuffle and prevaricate, but it was
too late.
“ The poor crazy girl was introduced into our
court, where her appearance excited the assem
bly into a pitch of frenzy almost beyond my con
trol. By showing them that a speedy death
would be too merciful, I succeeded in calming
them. Hardaway was found guilty, and it was
decided that his punishment should be death—
by hanging.
“It was left to me to say when the sentence
should be executed, and J appointed the day
several weeks from the time of the trial, in or
der to allow him opportunity to reflect on the
pleasantness of his position.
“ lie was foolish enough to indulge in the
hope of a rescue. You saw how completely ho
was unmanned, when this hope failed.
“ You also saw the corpse of the dastardly
traitor, swinging in the breeze, and the crow
and the buzzard hovering over it.
“ I have been avenged of mine adversary, and
I feel calm and satisfied.”
Tom ceased, and whether I thought he had
pushed the spirit of revenge too far, or not, I
felt that his provocation had been great, and, at
least, that it was not the part of a friend to dis
turb the placid quietude which had come over
his troubled spirit.
“And what,” I asked, “will you do now?—
Remain here?”
“ No,” was the reply. “ True I have found a
degree of manhood, truth and honor—chivalry
if you please—among my rough associates,
greater than you would imagine. I always find
theso things among such people. There aro
some here to whom I have become attached and
whom I regret leaving; but my mind was made
up long since—that, whenever my revengo
should bo complete, I would go back to the old
neighborhood and the old homestead, to spend
the balance of my days in peace among the
graves of my forefathers.”
“ When I go back to Georgia, then,” said I,
you will be there ?”
“ Yes.”
“ When do you start home ?”
“ To-morrow.”
We went back to the tavern, and next day
separated, Tom going back to Georgia, Fitzivar
ren and I continuing our wauderings in Florida.
(to be continued.)
——
Robert Hall. —This able diviao was not de
ficient in sarcastic wit. One day he was at
tempting to prove the necessity of Church Re
form, to a clergyman who had been bred a dis
senter; but had changed his principles and won
a good living at the siAio time. This gentleman
kept replying to Mr. Hall’s arguments, —“ I
don't see it." Mr. Hall wrote on a piece of pa
per the word “God.” “Do you see that, sir !
said he. “ Yes, I see it." Ho then put a guinea
over the word. “Do you see it now Y” “No
certainly not.” “Just so," said Mr. Hall, “anjl
now I will wish you good morning."
—-*<l
Common conversation is the best mirror of a
person’s mind and heart.