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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.