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A deeper flush of wrath blackened the bor
derer’s face at this resolute defiance from a mere
child as it were, and carried away by rage he
was about to throw himself upon the youth—
when suddenly, before Beausire, who had sprung
from his saddle and reached the spot at a bound,
could interfere, a sonorous voice was heard, and
the crowd separated right and left before one
whom all seemed to treat with a respect amount
ing to fear.
“Stop there 1" cried the hoarse, martial voice
“Knives drawn, or the devil take me! Let
me see a man touch liis knife in front of Cap
t Sin Julius Wagner’s fort, and I’ll flay him alive,
or the devil fly away with me I”
With these words Captain Julius Wagner ad
vanced, dealing blows right and left with the
hilt of his tremendous broadsword, and placed
himself between the combatants.
The Captain was truly a martial-looking indi
vidual, with his gigantic stature, his enormous
beard, and the midnight fringe which swept
over his iron lips. He wore huge horseman’s
boots, against which the scabbard of his sword
kept up a.heavy clattering as he strode; and
the voice which issued from his oavernous chest
reverberated like the growl of a bear, or the
blast of a trumpet.
“What the devil’s all this about?” said the
worthy Captain, looking from one to the other.
“And you, my big beefy woodman, why are
you going to cut the throat of my young friend,
Will Stockton?"
At this name, Isabel, who had trembled so
much that she seemed about to fall fainting
from the saddle, suddenly raised her head; but
no sound issued from the white lips.
“ I am the cause of the uproar, Captain,” said
Beausire, coolly; and he related the whole affair,
thereby rousing the indignation of the Captain,
who informed the huge borderer, with a porten
tous frown, that il he over interfered again with
the affairs of the post, or prevented any one
from reporting quietly to him, Captain Wagner,
he would provide him with free lodgings in
the lockup.
Having discharged this pleasing duty, the
Captain wheeled round and said:
“ But who are you, my unknown friend—and
this fair dame?”
“ My namo is Beausire,” returned the young
man, “ and I am to escort this young lady to the
valley.”
“Beausire I —called L’Enfant de Bois! —eh?"
“Yes, Captain."
The Captain reached out an enormous hand,
and shook heartily that of his companion.
“ Zounds I” ho cried, “ I know you I Joncaire
and Lcgardeur de St. Pierre have often spoken
of you, companion. And Captain Beausire is to
be thus received at a post commanded by Capt.
Julius Wagner!”
The revelation, and the frownß of Wagner
quite extinguished the borderer, who disappear
ed sullenly in the crowd.
“And this young lady ?"
Isabel made a quick sign to Beausire, whore
plied that ho would inform the Captain of all
things connected with himself and his com
panion at another time. Would he now direct
them the shortest way to— —
“The Opequon,” interposed the young girl
quickly.
The Captain would do so, with pleasure, and
it was fortunate that Will Stockton, who had
come over on military business, was about to re
turn in that direction. He would guide the
travelers, and designed to set out after break-
WflttM-'they CO.mo and tool
To this Beausire assented, and they dismount
ed and entered the fort—Jsaoel gazing at tin!
fair-haired boy with eyes swimming in tears.
V.
FALLING WATER.
It is the evening succeeding the arrival of the
travelers at Fort Pleasant.
The sun is near his Retting, and the ruddy
beams pass through the small windows of an
old lowpitchcd mansion on the banks of the
Opequon, aud make tbo homely, but picturesque
appointments of the apartment a pleasant Bight
to seo.
The house stands on a knoll dotted with great
oaks, and in sight of ttie bright stream which
runs at the foot of the hill. The boughs of the
trees brush against the low roof with its dome
windows, and a flavoring vino covers the portico,
and loads the atmosphere with pcrlumo.
Within, the mansion is not without ornament
of a substantial kind. Tho floors are of polishod
oak the walls rudely wainscotted, and the furni
ture is plain but excellent. On tho walls are
suspended guns, fishing rods, and spears for
“ gigging” in the Potomac. Beside thoso objects
hang a few old portraits brought from the tide
water, and oue, especially, representing a young
girl of fifteen, which tho crimson rays of 'he sot
ting sun seem to take especial pleasure in lin
gering upon. The mansion is plain and homely,
but extensive aud convenient—indeed, "Falling
Water” is the boast of the whole region, from
Ked Bun to Tuecarorn Creek, and Major Stock
ton, its master, is tho richest and most influen
tial’ settler in the country round about.
Tho Major sits in bis great chair by the fire
place, and rends a venerable copy of the Virgi
nia Gazette. He is a tall old cavalier, and very
thin, with long gray hair scattered upon his
shoulders. His dress is homespun, and on a
chair noar by lies an old shabby hat, which lias
evidently done duty for many years.
He reads by tho last rays of sunlight, bill
finding this painful—for nearly seventy years
have dimmed the old eyes—lays down the paper,
and leans back m his great chair.
At the same moment a ringing stop is heard
upon tbe porch, a long shadow runs through the
hall, and a young man who is a stranger to the
master of the mansion, enters aud claims Majoi
Stockton’s hospitality.
The demand, a customary one upon the fron
tier, is acceded to with courteous smiles on the
part of the host, and he enters into conversa
tion with the stranger, who does not, however,
seem to be in a very communicative mood.
His glances have for some moments been
directed to the portrait of the girl, whose rosy
cheeks, bright curls, and brilliant eyes arc bathed
in the mellow flood of sunset.
“ May I ask who is or was the original of that
picture, sir?” he says.
“That was my daughter, sir,” the old man re
plied, with a weary shadow on his brow, and a
deep sigh, “ a very dearly beloved child, who
three years ago was carried off from a neigh
bor’s, whither she had gone upon a visit, by the
Indians. You know, sir,” added the old man.
gazing at the picture with moist eyes, “that
the Opequon district here is periodically ravaged
by these bloodthirsty wild beaßts, who are piti
less. It was in the invasion of 1152 that my
great woe came to me. Do not, I pray you, pro
long the subject, sir; even now it unnerves me
to think of my pride, my darling—wo called her
“ tbe Pride of Falling Water, sir"—do not speak
of that 1”
And tlie unhappy father turned away with a
heaving bosom and eyes bathed in tears. The
visitor’s brown face flushed, and an unspeakable
van m’WTmmwM arssu n vx&kskmb.
pity, sweetness, and joy were mingled in the
smile upon bis bold features.
“ Did you not endeavor to discover her fate,
sir?" he went on. “In this unhappy world so
little is certain 1 so few things are such as we
suppose them might she not have been
saved ?”
Tbe old man raised his head quickly and
gazed with distended eyes upon the speaker.—
The father’s heart had by a supernatural in
stinct discerned in the voice, tbe features, the
eyes of the stranger, that he meant more than
bis words expressed—that he had a design in
prolonging topic.
For a moment the glances of the men crossed
like flashes of lightning; and then the old man
rose to his feet, and seizing the hand of the
stranger, said in a hoarse, almost inarticulate
voice:
“You mean something more than to gratify
an idle curiosity I Speak, sir 1 Do not trifle with
me I I sought her over a thousand leagues of
country 1 I sent emissaries to all the tribes!—
I beard nothing—but yet—yet I—in1 —in God’s name
speak 1”
“ I will, sir,” said the young man, rising, and
looking at his companion with an expression of
such joyful pride, that bis eyes seemed to float
in dazzling light, “ as the humble instrument of
that God whose name you use, I come to tell
you that your child is saved—that she is there,
without, awaiting the moment when I announce
to her that you have strength to sustain this
sudden load of happiness ”
As he spske, Beausire saw the old man totter,
as though be were about to faint. He passed
his arm around him, and assisted him to his
geat—and in an instant the dizziness produced
by the sudden rush of feeling had passed away.
“My child I—myl—my child, sirl” he said, in a
trembling voice, “ where is my child ?"
“ Here, father 1” cried a voice at the door;
aud in an instant the sobbiDg girl, with a quick
burst of tears had bounded to his side, and was
clasped in the old man’s arms, to his throbbing
bosom.
No word was uttered. In that long, close,
lingering embrace —heart beating against heart,
cheek pressed to cheek—tho untold joy of both
was sufficiently expressed—language was not
needed.
And, leaning on tho mantelpiece boside them
—his proud, clear eyes giving back the crimson
light of evening, which fell on his sunburnt
cheeks, and long, dark hair—beside the father
and the daughter, trembling in each ether's
arms, Beausire, the author of their happiness,
looked on the scene with a smile of indescriba
ble joy.
VI.
now THE EVENING OF THE 5tH OF MAY, 1755, WAS STENT
AT FALLING WATER.
The girl was still locked in her father's arms
when quick steps were heard at tho door, and
with broken exclamations and sobs, two other
porsona entered tho apartment and hastened to
ward Isabel.
One wag a buxom damo, apparently about
thirty-five; the other a beautiful girl of fifteen,
with long, curling hair of a soft brown, and
deep blue eyes which swam in tears.
The first was Mias Patty Fairfield,housekeeper,
governess, and factotum at Falling Water—tho
latter Clara Stockton, tho old man's niece and
adopted child.
Behind Clara, and holding her hand pressed
Mosely in his own, Will Stockton, Whom we
have seeu at FoH Pleasant, endeavored to re
strain the violence of the girl's emotion—though
the boy’s eyes were foil of tears, breaking
through smiles.
From her father’s arms. Isabel passed to the
warm embrace of the crying and laughing Miss
Patty, who declared that tho young girl was
her own dear child, and that she, Miss Patty,
was ready to go crazy at tho thought that she
was not dead, and safe homo agaiu.
After which, Isabel was relinquished to Clara,
who leaned her head upon her cousin’s bosom,
and cried quietly.
“ The fact is,” exclaimed Will, who by a tre
mendous effort, had banished tho lears from his
oyos, and regained his .manly self-possession.
“ the fact is, this is a family rc-uniou, and Capt.
Beausire, you are the cause of it."
Beausire smilod, and when tho old man came
and took his hand in both of his owu, and
tlimikod him with lips still trembling from the
sudden rush of emotion, said:
“ It was wortli a joumoy through the wilder
ness to bo present this evening, and seo ybur
happiness, sir. But that journey was a happi
ness to me, lor your daughter and myself are old
acquaintances and friends."
“ Oh, yes, father," said Isabel, wlio had been
duly delivered up to' Will, ami sat with her
head leaning on the hoy’s shoulder,-* 1 he has
been my kind, true friend. If you lovo me, you
must love him too.”
And then tho young girl, in the midst of her
loving auditors, related all her adventures —how
she had been carried off by the Indians—taken
to their towns far away in the wilderness—how
l she had become “a wild girl of the woods,”
mndo the acquaintance of Beausire, who pro
cured her release —and journeyed home with
him.
Tiie light of evening faded, aud the twilight
slowly fell upon them, as they sat and listened
to the dear voico of the person whom they had
looked upon as long since dead—and when she
ended, in the gathering jlarkness, nothing was
heard but suppressed sobs of happiness from
the overflowing hearts around her.
Beausiro alone, did not have this full, unal
loyed joy.
Lost in the shadows of the great mantelpiece,
and caressing, absently, the head of the tall
deerhound who had stolen to his side, he thought
of the past and the future—of the happy hours
of the long jouruey, and the dreary woods to
which he must soon return.
His head drooped and a deep sigh issued from
his bosom: but it had scarcely died away in the
still apartment when he felt a warm, soft hand
glide into his own.
It was the hand of the woman whom he loved,
and at that contact, which made his pulse throb
and his cheek flush, all his gloomy thoughts
disappeared, and he realized one thing alone,
that she was there beside him —that her hand
lay in his own.*
(TO BE CONTINUED IN OCR NEXT.)
♦The return oflsabcl Stockton Is not an incident duo
to the writer's imatrination. In Kercheval’s History of
the Valley of Virginia, page 9.% the author says:
“George Stockton and his sister Isabelle, who were
also among the prisoners, were taken to the Indian
towns. Her story is as remarkable as it is interesting.
She was detained and grew np nmong the savages. Be
ing a beautiful and interesting girl, they sold her to a
Canadian in Canada, where a young Frenchman soon be
came acquainted with her, ana proposed to conduct her
home."
They returned accordingly to the Opequon settlement
from which the girl had been carried off; bat as we have,
scriouslv diverged from the account of the venerable
historian in relation to what followed, we shall not pro
long our extract.
[For the Southern Field and Fireside.}
HEELS OVER HEAD.
Some simple folk believe that only politicians
and the pupils of the ring-master turn summer
sets. A wider range of vision will increase the
class.
We are not indifferent to avowed professors
of the art, as they awaken admiration in pro
portion to the artistic skill with which the caper
is cut. Hence the pupil or the politician adapt
ing his spring-board to similar purposes, and
evincing neatness in his several evolutions, pro
vokes a smile and elicits applguse.
We do not object to change. He is mole-eyed,
who does not perceive it.
Immntat formas, tellusque quicqidd in ilia eat
As all the natural kingdoms undergo, and are
undergoing mutations, it would be " passing
strange," if man, with all his artificial attributes,
and surrounded by and sympathizing with these
influences, did not show variableness and sha
dows of change. In opinion he is almost ne
cessarily mutable, according to the scope of his
inquiries, or may be subject to other deflections,
impressed by passion or prejudice. A just me
dium is his only safety, and which, if teachably
pursued, may guard him against excess: “Not
to overstep the modesty of nature.”
If he be a teacher of morality, or a narrator
of the habits or country of a distant people, too
much caution cannot he exercised in shielding
himself against the* hazy medium of pre-con
ceived opinions, or that narrow horizon which
circumscribes the view to a part and compre
hends not the whole. Unflinching dogmatisms
not unfrequently become stumbling blocks in
his way, and in the sequel of life he is required
to perform that hazardous evolution in military
affairs of changing front to the rear.
As reminiscences, and not as novelties, some
instances are now referred to, as constituting
illustrations of our mgtto.
The great English moralist and scholar lived
to illustrate in bis own person a remarkable
palinode, practically and painfully. In compi
ling hia Dictionary, Doctor Johnson indulged, as
was his wont, in wliimsey and spleen. The
pensionaries of his government he either hated
or despised. Scotland and her people fell into
the same category. He did not spare the lowly
class, of which poor-Bitrns was an humble mem
ber.
A glanco at this work of surpassing merit
and labor, shows his definition of
** Pxxsiok. An aUowancejnaile to any one without an
equivalent. In England It la ifenerally understood to
mean pay given to a State hireling for treason to his
countiy.
“ Pensioner. 2. A skive of state, hired by a stipend
to obey hts master."
Did that great m< alist consent to accept a
pension ?is the obvie s inquiry. It is true that
he coquetted with v ,iat ho bad published aud
what he wanted. Amid his perplexities, friends
kindly gave him an i eceptable “ if,” as a peace
maker. The lustre of the guineas dimmed the
black-balling of his book. So ho took the £3OO
per annum.
Intimately connected with this occurrence
was the Earl of Bute, Who is entitled to the
honor of presenting tbe Dame of Johnson, as
worthy of Royal bounty. He was the lirst
Scottish Premier slnee the union between
England and Scotland.
We lake another glanco at the Dictionary:
“Oats. A grain, whiaiifn Englaad js generally given to
burses, bn t in
Reflecting f-ciifoif and
possessing a always placid, he nnist
uavo encountered if second obstacle, inwardly.*
Oatmeal stuck, or fought to have stuck, in his
gizzard. Or, when( he was inditing his pam
phlet, “Taxation ml Tyranny," against us, then
struggling colonies, Vith a modicum of memory
about a “ slave of Atate, Ac.,” if he had placed
his hand on hia cheek, probably an usual
glow might have be«.n felt.
It is a noticeable fact, that with only an inter
vening county or shire, north of the place of
his birth, and during the entire period of his
life and for several years after his death, a large
section of England produced only oats, and its
inhabitants fed on oatmeal as an habitual diet.
A wheat crop was a rarity and a marvel. This
section has now a dense population, and is pros
perous mid wealthy. This great advancement
lias been owing mainly to Amerionn cotton and
American trade. Slave labor has imparted this
impotus to social progress almost without a
parallel.
Wo return to Doctor Johnson. Dryden re
marked that he admired Ben Jonson and loved
Shakspeare. We confess to the double emo
tions toward “old surly Sam.” He was a splen
did parvenu. In early life be lived as a “beggar,"
and always ruled as an autocrat.
We turn to another instance, which is or
ought to he higher than morality andkgentlo as
peace. In the days of Elizabeth, there were
two brothers, each of the clerical order, but of
different creeds. William Raynolds was in
stalled os a minister of the English Protestant
church, whilst his brother John waß educated
abroad and as a Romish priest William, the
protostant was seized with the spirit of prose
lytismhnd deemed that his papist brother was
a fit suhject for conversion. Accordingly he re
paired to the continent, where he found his
brother engaged in the performance of his priest
ly functions, and at the first moment of relaxa
tion he commenced tho onset. They discussed
the issuable points of their respective creeds.
Zeal prolonged this game ot shuttlecock beUreen
tho brothers. Strange as it may appear"this
controversy resulted according to the stage-di
rection given in the most philosophical play of
the greatest dramatist of England—“Laertes
wounds Hamlet; then, in scuffling, tbeychaDge
rapier«, and Hamlet wounds Laertes.” Both
brothers are wounded, and both fall. In a word,
they exchanged cassock and surplice—they
swapped creeds.
William, the ci-derSrd protestant, became a
zealous papist and assumed the priestly duties
of his brother; whilst John returned to Eng
land and was a worthy successor to his brother,
in his parochial offices. After this palinode it
need scarcely be told that each became rigid
and probably virulent, to that verge when legal
or social restraint is happily interposed as a check
on insolence or fanaticism. It, however, must
be conceded that for a century after the period
of which we are writing, the greatest evangel
ical poet. Charles Wesley, of Methodism, was
presented, and stands on the record,•“ as one of
ill fame, a vagabond and disturber of his Majes
ty’s peace, and ought to he transported.”
Alabaster wrote a clever epigram on the
double doublings of the Raynoldses. (Pray, sir,
was the thing a doll? No, madam, only a doc
tor.) He must have acquired his doctorate by
his scholarly attainments and not by a steady
adherence to the original direction of his reli
gious life. Indeed, be surpassed the Raynoldses
in skinning the cat. He was educated and or
dained a protestant minister, but dazzled, whilst
in Spain, with the brilliant service of the Cath
olic church and the enormous authority of the
Romish priests, he lapsed suddenly into papacy
snd eventually reversed his position by return
ing to Protestantism. His experience, under
these double, nay treble exercitations, might have
qualified him not only to have written, a Latin
epigram, but also a searching analysis and com
parison of the practical operation of the various
creeds which he successively adopted.
As his epitaph was written in the English age,
when the purest Latinity is boasted of; we'trans
cribe it:
Bclla'intor geminos plniquam ciTllia fratres,
Traxerat ambignns religion!* apex.
Ille reformate fldei pro partlbus instat,
late reformandam denegat esse fldem.
Propositis cans® rationlbns, alter utremque;
Concnrrere pares, et cecidere pares.
Quod fult In votls, fratrem captt alter nterque;
Quod fult in fatii. perdit nterque fidem,
Captivl gemini nine captivante fnerunt,
Et victor vtcti tranafuga castra petit
Quod genus hoe pugna eat übi victnß gaudet nterqne;
Et tamen altersta ae Bunerasse dolet
Before we quit the agreeable company of the
Doctors, we will supply tbe translation of Dr.
Cheylin, who has skilfully performed the delicate
mental manipulation of pouring precious oils out
of one vessel into another, without much appre
ciable loss:
In points of faith, some nndetermin’d jsrs
Betwixt two brothers kindled civil wars.
One for the church’s reformation stood,
The other tbonght no reformation good. •
The points proposed, they traversed the field
With equal skill, and both together yield
As they desired, each brother each subdues;
Yet such their tote that each his faith did luce —
Both captives, none the prisoners thence do guide;
The victor flying to the vanquish'd side.
Both join’d in being conquer d, (strange to say,)
And yet both mourn'd, because both won tbe day.
If moralists and pious people exhibit such ex
travagances, we ought to cast an indulgent eye
on a more susceptible class—the politicians.—
They usually look to comfort, and hence, in a
consoling spirit, we conclude with one of the
traditional anecdotes of the celebrated Whit
field.
Field-pretthing was a necessity, as most pul
pits were denied to the dissenters. The success
of the experiment was perfect, and became
thereafter as one of their most effective means.
On one occasion Whitfield met with many ob
stacles, in the shape of men, women and child
ren, in reaching the rostrum, from which he was
to “ hold forth.” He, however, finally ascended
it, and with a mirthfulness, sometimes the con
comitant of g«ius, he read that portion of Holy
Writ which announces that it is "easier for a
camel to pass through the eye of a needle, than
a rich man to enter the kingdom of Heaven."
His application of it was: “There is consolation
for you, Tag, Rag and Bobtail.”
Quis.
-
PORTRAITURES IS ISDIA ISK.
The following striking account of the horrors
of prison life in England, in the earlier part of
the last century, occurs episodically in one of a
senes of papers on the Life and Genius of Ho
garth, in course of publication in the Cornhill
Magazine. They are attributed to Ruskin, the
run-mad interpreter of Turner and author of the
“ Stones of Venice,” though they seem to us to
betray but few of the characteristics of bis pe
culiarly fervid style. The sort of hell on earth
revealed in this historical reminiscence was
what John Howard came afterwards, like an
apgel of mercy, to mitigate anp make more
tolerable;
A sterner Vmbjeet, tbe f®B(ftio to A dismal
drama of human life, was nsfcr to engross the
pencil of this painter, who was now making
his presence known and feA among his contem
poraries. I speak of the strange Boleran pio
ture of the Committee of the House of Commons,
taking evidence of the enormities wreaked on
the wretched,prisoners in the Fleet by Huggins
and Bambridge. Let us drag these mouldering
scoundrels from their dishonored graves, and
hang them up here on Cornhill, for all the worid
to gaze at, even as the government of the Resto
ration (but with less reason) hung the carcases
•of Cromwell and Bradshaw on Tyburn gibbet.
Huggins—save the mark I—was of gentle birth,
and wrote himself "Armiger.” Ho had bought
the patent of the wardenahip of the Fleot from
a great court lord, and when the trade of tor
turing began, through usance, to tend towards
satiety, he sold liis right to one Bambridge, a
twin demon. Tho atrocities committed by the
pair may very rapidly be glanced at Huggins'
chief delight was to starve his prisoners, unless
they were rich enough to bribe him. Bam
bridge’s genius lay more towards confining his
victims charged with fetters in underground
.dungeons, with the occasional recreation of at
tempting to pistol and stab them. The moneyed
debtors both rascals smiled upon. Smugglers
were let out through a yard in which dogs were
kept; ran their cargoes; defrauded the revenue,
and came back to “ college.” Oue, who owed
10,0001. to the crown, was permitted to make
his escape altogether. A certain T. Dumay
went several times to France, being all the time
in the “custody,” a? the sham was facetiously
termed, of the Warden of the Fleet. What was
such a fraud iu an age when the highest legal
authorities (who would not take the fetters off
Christopher Layer) gravely doubted whether tbe
rules of the King’s Bench might not extend to
Bombay in the East Indies?
These surreptitiously enlarged prisoners were
called “pigeons.” They had bill transactions
with the tipstaves; they drew on Huggins, and
then pleaded their insolvency. On the other
hand, the poor debtors were very differently
trfeated. A broker-down baronet, Sir William
Rich, on refusing to pay the “ baronet’s fee, 7 or
“garnish,” of five pounds, was heavily fettered,
kept for months in a species of subterranean
dog-kennel; the vivacious Bambridge sometimes
enlivening liis captivity by threatening to run a
red-hot poker through bis body. This cheerful
philanthropist, who was wont to range about
the prison with a select gang of turnkeys, armed
with halberds and firelocks, ordered one of his
myrmidons to fire on “ Captain Maekpheadris”
(what a name for a captain in difficulties!
Lieutenant Lismahago is nothing to it). As,
however, even these pilous bravoes hesitated
to obey so savage a behest, and as there was
absolutely nothing to be squeezed in the way
of garnish out of this laekpenny Captain Mack
plieadris, Bambridge locked the poor wretch out
of his room and turned him out to starve in an
open yard called the “Bare.” - Here, Mack, who
was seemingly an old campaigner, built himself
out of broken tiles and other rubbish, a little
hovel in an angle of the wall, just as the evicted
Irish peasantry in famine and fever times were
wont to build little kraals of and wat
tles over dying men in ditches; but Bambridge
soon heard of the bivouac, and ordered it to be
pulled down. J. Mendez Sola, a Portuguese,
was by the same kind guardian fettered with a
hundred-weight of iron, and incarcerated in a
dead-house, with dead people in it, moreover!
Others languished in dens called “Julius Ca:-
sar’s chapel,,’ the upper aud lower “ Ease,” and
the “ Lyon’s Den,” where they were stapled to
the floor.
Attached to the prison itself was an auxilia
ry inferno in the shape of a spunging-house kept
by Corbett, a creature of Bambridge. The otho
doz process seemed to be. first to fleece you in
the spunging-bouse, and then to flay you alive
in the gaol. Os course, Mr, Bambridge went
snacks with Mr. Corbett. Very few scruples
were felt in getting fish for this net. In one
flagrant instance, a total stranger was seized as
he was giving charity at the grate for poor pris
oners, dragged into Corbett’s, and only released
on paying “garnish,” and undertaking not to in
stitute any proceedings against his kidnappers.
When a prisener had money to pay the debt for
which he had been arrested, he often lay months
longer in hold for his “ fees." The caption fee
was £5 16s. 4d.; the “Philazer”—whoever
that functionary may have been, but his was a
patent place in the Exchequer—the jugde’s clerk,
the tipstaves, the warden, all claimed theirfees.
Fees had to be paid for the favor of lighter
irons, and every fresh bird in the spunging
house cage paid his “footing," in the shape of a
six-shilling bowl of punch. When, as from
time to time, and to the credit of human nature,
occurred, a person visited the gaol, “on behalf
of an unknown lady,” to discharge all claims
against persons who lay in prison for their fees
only, Bambridge often sequestred his prisoners
till the messenger of mercy had departed. But
he was always open to pecuniary conviction,
and from the wife of one prisoner he took, as a
bribe, forty guineas and a “toy," being the mod
el of a “ Chinese Jonque in amber set with sil
ver,” for which the poor woman had been offer
ed eighty broadpieces. In these our days, Bam
bridge would have discounted bills, and given
one-fourth cash, one-fourth wine, one-fourth
camels’ bridles, and one-fourth ivory frigates.
When an Involvent Act was passed, Bambridge
demanded three guineas a piece from those de
sirous of availing themselves of the relief ex
tended by the law; else he would not allow
them to be “listed,” or inserted in the schedule
of Involvents. And by a stroke of perfectly
infernal cunning, this gaoler-devil hit upon a plan
of preventing his victims from taking proceed
ings against him by taking proceedings against
them. After some outrage of more than usual
enormity, he would slip round to the Old Bailey
and prefer a bill of indictment against the priso
ners he had maltreated, for riot, or an attempt
to break prison. He bad always plenty of un
derstrappers ready to swear for him; and the
poor, penniless, friendless gaol-bird was glad to
compromise with his tormentor by uncomplain
ing silence.
Already had these things been censured by
highest legal authorities; at least the judges
had occasionally shaken their wise heads and
declared the abuses in the Fleet to be highly
improper: “You may raise your walls higher,”
quoth Lord King; “ but there must be no pris
on within a prison.” An excellent dictum, if
only acted upon. At last, the prisoners began
to die of ill usage, of starvation and disease, or
rather, it began to be known that they were so .
dying, and died every year of our Lord. A
great public outfry arose. Humane meqbestir
red themselves. The legislature was besieged
with petitions. Parliamentary commissioners
visited the gaol, and a committee of the House
of Commons sat to hear those barrowing de
tails of evidence of which I have given you a
summary. Bambridge was removed from his post
but tiievindictepublique was not appeased. First,
Huggins, the retired esquire, and Barnes, his as
sistant, were tried at the Old Bailey for the murder
of Edward Arne, a prisoner. Page, the hang
j ttr judffOl j»-«*Ml«d, bu* fro* stem /east
trie re flowed waters of mercy for the monster of
the Fleet Owing Chleffy to his summing up,
a special verdict was returned, and Huggins and
the minor villain were acquitted. Huggins’ son
was a well-to-do gentleman of Headley Park,
Hants, had a taste for the fine arts, translated
Ariosto, and collected Hogarthian drawings 1 It
was as though Sanson should have collected
miniatures of Louis the Sixteenth, or Simon the
cobler statuettes of the poor little captive Capet
of the Temple.
Next, the coarser scoundrels, Bambridge and
Corbett, were tried for the murder of a Mr. Cas
tell, who had been thrust into Corbett’s spung
mg-houso while the small-pox was raging there,
and died. Bambridge, too, was acquitted
through some legal quibble; but the widow of
the murdered man had another quibble, by which
she hoped to obtain redress. She retained the '
famous casuist Lee, the sage who, in a single
action, once pleaded seventy-seven pleas. She
sued out an appeal of murder against the war
den and his man. This involved the ‘'wager of
battle,” which you remember in the strange
Yorkshire case some forty years ago, and which
was at last put an end to by statute. The appel
lee could either fight the appellant a la dog of
Montargis, or throw himself on his country, t. e.,
submit to be tried again. and Cor
bett chose the latter course, were again tried,
and again escaped. They were, however, very
near being torn to pieces by the populace. Lord
Campbell says, I venture to think unjustly, that
Mrs. Castell was incited to the appeal by a
“ mobbish confederation.” Good heaven 1 was
anything but a confederation of the feelings of
common humanity necessary to incite all honest,
men to bring these wretches to justice ? I sup
pose that it was by a “mobbish confederation ”
that the villainous Austin, of Birmingham gaol,
was tried, and that after all his atrocities of
gagging, "jacketting," and cramming salt down
his prisoners' throats, he, too, escaped with an
almost nominal punishment. Lee, the casuist
(he was afterwards Chief Justice), was so dis
gusted with the result of the trial, that he vow
ed he would never have aught to do with facts
again, but henceforth would stick to law alone.
I am not lawyer enough to know why the case
against Bambridge and Corbett broke down; —
1 ouly know that these men were guilty of mur
der most foul and most unnatural, and that one
of our most ancient legal maxim 3 is explicit as
to their culpability.
—•■
The following description of Macaulay ap
pears in Bulwer’s new poem, “St Stephens”:
Perhaps so great an orator was ne’er
Soltttle of an actor; half the care
Giv'n to the speaking which he gave the speech
Had raised his height beyond all living reach; •
Ev'n as it was, a master's power he proved
In the three tests—he taught, he charm'd, he moved.
Few compass one; whate'er their faults may be,
Great orators alone achieve the three.
Best in his youth, when strength grew doubly strong,
As the swift passion whirl'd its blaze along;
In riper years his blow less sharply fell,
Looser the muscle, though as round its swell;
The dithyramb sobered to didactic flow,
And words as full of light had less of glow.
Take then his best; and first the speaker view.
The bold broad front paled to the scholar's hue,
And eye abstracted in its still, clear blue.
Firm on the floor he sets his solid stand.
Rare in his gesture, scarcely moves a hand;
Full and deep-month'd as from a cave profound,
Comes his strong utterance with one burst of sound,
Save where it splits into a strange wild key,
Like hissing winds that struggle to be free.