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THE 11M1HT PBK
■J. A. TtRNEU. EDITOR. |
VOLUME I.
INDEPENDENT PH ESS.
44 Without Fear, Favor or Affection."
EATONTON, GA.
SATURDAY MORNING. OCT. 14.1854.
Chapters i» Osorgia Biogra
phy and History.
We have for a long tune had it in
mind to write some biographical sketch
es of the distinguished men of Georgia,
living and dead. To undertake the
complete biographies of Georgia’s dis
tinguished sons would be the business
of a life-time, and not the work of a
few leisure hours or days. The name
of Troup itself tills'the mind with the
contents of a volume. And then we
have such names as Crawford’s, For
syth’s, Berrien’s and others.’ For the
lack of in re time, then, if for no other
•cause, we cannot undertake complete
biographies. Mere sketches are all
that we propose.
And m the preparation of these
sketches even, there is much moredif
fim.ty then one would at first suppose.
There is abundant material, it's true;
but how to conic at it is the trouble.
There have been so few r cords made
of the sayings and doings of our dis
tinguished men, that though there are
a great many tilings in connection with
them worthy of being written, they
present themselves in that vague and
unreliable garb which makes a careful
and discriminating mind hesitate be
fore recording them. Cue may have
upon his mind the outline of an amus
ing an.-edote, or some of the corrusea
tions of brilliant wit. But he does not
wish to present cither to his readers, ;
unless he can give them in their best ;
form. lie does not wish to give the j
skeleton, unless lie can first clothe the j
dry bones in living flesh. How to do
it is what puzzles him.
The lives and sayings of those who
have figured as principal actors upon
the stage of law, politics and religion
in Georgia, is chiefly traditionary.—
No pen has put them in the durable
form of history or biography. They
remain chiefly in the memories of the
surviving cotemporarics of those who
have gone down to their graves, not
unwept or unhonored, but unsung; or
in the minds of younger persons who
have received the traditions of the fath
ers. To collect all of these traditions
is a hopeless task. In the first place
they are scattered all over the state;
and a person would have to give up
his life to their pursuit, in order to
make them available. He would have
to see converse with nearly all the
leading men in the State. And even
then there would still be around all the
information he could thus gather, an
air of vagueness and uncertainty which
would much puzzle him as to what
was reliable and what was not. And,
in addition to this, even where certain
information was obtained, the impro-
priety of publishing any thing of a
personal or dubious nature would be
apparent. And the very fact of its
being known that a“ehiel” was about,
“takin notes” to “print ’em” would,
to a great extent, dry up the sources
of information, through fear on the part
of informants of saying or doing some
thing which would lie invading the
. sanctity oi private life.
There are in our day, so many lion
hunters, aid I on makers, who like
tious, go t rowling about seeking whom
they may devour, that gentlemen of
refined tastes and feelings instinctive
ly shrink from contact with those who
would hold up their private life to the
public gaze. There are itemizers for
newspapers who will publish to tho
world the cost of your wife’s silk dress,
or the quality of the flavor to your
tea or coffee, and retail conversations,
gossip, and scandal, picked up at the
social board, or in the parlor. Ever
since N. P. Willis set the example for
this manner of procedure in his “Pen
cils ngs By The Way,” he has had a
host of imitators to follow in the loot
steps of their illustrious predecessor. —
Yankee impertinence and yankee cu
riosity are proverbial. We think it is
Hal lock, who, in one of his poems,
speaks of the yankce “with his old felt
hat on,” asking a king the “price of
the throne lie sat on.” Our people are
disposed to look with little favor upon
the hunters up of personalities —taking
the word in its •broader sense—and lie
who undertake# the task we propose,
Y ®lCtli(g sinillill:—fltMtll til ftatTO, fOlitifS, illlil dtHtial Uliscdlm.
i is in danger of being placed in rather
'an unenviable light if his purpose is
! not well understood.
We hope it is unnecessary to assure
the reading public of Georgia, that in
the sketches which we shall lay before
them, it shall be our aim to consider
our subjects only in that light which
may be properly placed before the
public. We intend to say nothing
which can offend the most fastidious
taste, nor would we, upon penalty of
forfeiting the honor of a Southern gen
tleman, invade the sanctity of private
life. It will be seen that we have ital
icised the word Southern —for we are
so much attached to our section, and to
those who are ‘‘to the manor born,”
that it would be hard to make us be
lieve that there is not a nobility ab
sorbed from our sunny clime, which
makes the wo and gentleman with the
prefix Southern, mean more than that
word without the adjunct. And this
much we say by way of preventing
Georgians from closing up the channels
through which we seek information.
Another difficulty there is in our
way. It is often impossible, in giv
ing sketches of the living, to obtain ac
curate information without getting it,
from the man himself, a sketch ol
whom is to be given. Through fear
of appear ng egotistical, that informa
tion is often refused. We think thory
is an unnecessary delicacy felt in refeiVi
ence to this matter. If we, for instance,'
seek of a gentleman such facts and
elates merely as will enable us to fill
out the sketch, we see no impropriety
in the gentleman himself giving them
tous. For him to launch out into
self-eulogy is a different matter- That
should be 1 ft by the autobiographer to
the biographer. And to say the least,
surely no one can feel any delicacy in
naming a friend who is best 1
from, his intimate acquaintance, to give
the data for a biographDvytfind personal
<ko*ch. r °'/
si
But in addition to the biographical
sketches, we shall occasionally give
some chapters in the history of Georgia.
“ Troup and the treaty,” “ The Yazoo
Fraud” and “ The Missionaries” are
headings for chapters which thrill the
mind of ever y Georgian with absorb
ing interest. They stand prominent
ly out as leading scenes in the drama
of Georgian, history. They are salient
points upon which we shall lay hold,
when we claim the attention of the
reader, in our historical pictures.
The material at hand for carrying
out our design is meagre. W c shall
therefore avail ourself of every source
of information which comes before us,
and shall not, in every instance, stop
to give the proper credit as we go. —
We ask it as a kindness to us, and a
patriotic act to the history of the State
and the memory of our great men, that
the people of Georgia throw in our
way every facility for the task before
us.
Soda Water and Soda Bread.—
We have always, says the Louis
ville Journal, regarded soda water as
one of the most villainous concoctions
ever put into the human stomach. —
The same may be said of bread in
which there is a large admixture of
either pearlash, or of soda. The fol
lowing statement of Dr. Doremus con
firms the correctness of our opinions :
Soda W ater. —ln an article recent
ly published in the American Medical
Monthly, Dr. Doremus makes some in
teresting statements relative to the ex
istence of poisonous substances in so
da water. He says that ihe test of
Several gallons, obtained from differ
ent sources, showed the presence of one
and a half grains of carbonate of cop
per to every quart of the fluid. This
deleterious product was the result of
the corrosion of the copper condenser,
when the water containing the Carbo
nic and sulphuric acids found in so
da laid been standing in it several days.
When the tm with which the conden
sers are usually lined is in good con
dition, of course there can be no cor
rosion ; but after use for some time the
tin wears away and the copper is
exposed. Carbonate of lead, also de
rived probably from the lead pipes us
ed in conveying the water to the jet,
was found in most of the waters exam
ined. Dr. Doremus says that the use
of soda water sometimes, though rare
ly, produces sickness, vomiting and at
tacks like cholera, and he recommends
coridensors of iron, stone, block tin, or
gutta percha, as substitutes for those
commonly in use, whose imperfect tin
ning or corrosion from long use ren
ders them dangerous to health and
life.
—| —
Jx>ve is a strong and secure cord.
EATONTON, GA., SATURDAY, OCTOBER 14, 1854.
flottrii.
I'OU THE INDEPENDENT PRESS.
[No. 21!.]
Columbia my Country.
Columbia my country, enshrined in my heart,
t\ lion I see thee to peace and to freedom alliedi
llow the patriot throbs in my bosom will start.
llow it fires my breast with emotions of pride.
Thy sons are the kings and the princes of earth,
Not one is so mean but a sovereign is he—
The sons of such sires, they are mighty by birth,
And their glory is this—they are born to be free.
Thv daughters are fairest of all 'neatii the skv,
And the bloom of their cheek is the vermil of
rose—
Their words are as soil as the cherubim’s sigh,
And pure is the passion in their bosom that
glows.
Since 'tis under thy tiag that the bold and the free
Undaunted the billows defy when they rave,
Where's Britain’s vain boast that her home is the
sea.
That in triumph site rides on the crest of the
wave?
Thou callcst the poor and invit'st to thy breast
The sons of the world that are toiling in chains —
Let them come from their toil to a home in the
West,
For ’tis here that equality peacefully reigns.
From ocean to sea doth thy banner unfold
O'er a soil that is rich as an Eden-like plain
And its products arc better than rubies or gold,
For the food of the world is its harvest of grain.
Oh Erin, how oft to my eye does the tear
Start warm from my heart as I mournfully gaze
On thy fetters too galling for mortal to bear,
| While the sceptres of tyrany over thee blaze.
We will weep for thy chains on thine Emerald
shore,
And thy sons let them come to the homo of tho
brave,
’VXliere their letters shall blister and gall them n°
more,
lor the flag ol the fieeman shall over them
wave.
Coliiubia, my country, enshrined in my heart,
W ien I see thee to peace and to freedom allied,
i Howthe pat rift throbs in my bosom will start,
Hug it fires my breast with emotions of pride.
TuiNWOLD, August Bth, 1854 1.1.
% i'air.
FOR THE INDEPENDENT TRESS.
1 ENT W0L1):
A TALBOF FLORIDA AND GEORGIA.
BY T
(Con tin tied.)
CHAPTER XIII.
One da; Mr. Bentley concluded to
pay a visi to his Blue Spring Place,
and call L see old man Ramsey. It
must not b supposed that he had neg
lected to key) informed as to the old
man’s healt. lie had received infor
mation at east once a week, from
messengers passing between Bentvvold
and Blue SyfingPlace; and knew that
the wound idieted by Frank on Mr.
Ramsey was nearly healed. He had
also received frequent messages from
the old man, entreating him to come
and see him. At length he concluded
to steal a dajor two from his guests,
leaving Frail to do the honors of the
house duringiis absence.
One or twj of the gentlemen con
cluded 10 accjmpany him, as the trip
would be thnigh rather a wild por
tion of county*, and might afford some
thing of advoture or interest. Fitz-
Warren was f the number who un
dertook the journey. They started
early, and V fast riding, arrived at.
Mr. Ramsey’house early in the after
noon. The artv dismounting at the
gate walkodwithout ceremony into
the house, bev found the old man
sitting in hisbrch, smoking, and, for
a wonder, hi: wo sons were with him.
This time here was no display of
cards and bn y, as On the occasion
when Frank id his father passed the
house; andj te absence of these two
articles, oifsoiething else, seemed to
have rend/ret Jake and John Ramsey,
as surly nl twl bears.
As the' waked up the steps and
Fitz Warren encountered the eye of old
Ramsey,/jio stilted and turned pale,
so that Jis comyUnidns both noticed it.
His c)j diluted as he gazed, and his
breatl Jyew slioit and quick. It was
only W a moment that this emotion
lasteijfmd he sail, turning to his com
panies, 1h h
“Tp man’s countenance bears a
strtfVrcsemokn-feJo that of a man I
-“WITHOUT FEAR, FAVOR OR AFFECTION.”
once knew under very painful circum
stances. What a striking and singular
resemblance it is!” he added in the
musing abstracted manner, so often as
sumed by him.
Age had dimmed the eye-sight of
Mr. llamsey, so that he could not dis
tinguish the features of the party ap
proaching, until they were very near.
Then, as he gazed on Fitz Warren, his
emotion was painful to behold. He
rose from his seat and starte 1 forward,
| with a sudden impulse. He advanced
only a few steps, however, before he
seemed to change his intention, and
instead of rushing up to Fitz Warren,
as lie at first seemed about to do, he
lie spoke to Mr. Bentley and shook him
by t e hand.
Afl this was lost upon Fitz Warren,
who was now lost in one of his fits of
abstraction. Mr. Bentley noticed it
however, and wondered at it. He had
no time to dwell upon the circum
stance then, and he proceeded to in
troduce his companions. At the men
tion of Fitz Warren’s name, Jake and
Joe Ramsey seemed fully as startled
as had been their father.
Mr. Bentley’s wonder was at its
height. What could all this mean?
But Mr. Ramsey allowed him no time
for wonder. He said
“I wish to see you privately Mr.
Bentley. Suppose we walk into an
other room.”
“Certainly sir,” was the reply.
When they were in the room, Mr.
Ramsey shut the door and fastened it
on the inside. Mr. Bentley involunta
rily put his hand in his pocket, where
he had concealed a weapon. He was
thus provided, because he had not been
sure, all the time, that the old man’s
repen fence was sincere.
llis suspense was soon over though,
when he saw his host go to an old
fashioned secretary, open it and take
from a secret drawer, a paper. Turn
ing to Mr. Bentley he said,
“I am grow’ing old, and although I
am recovered from my wound, it is
certain that I cannot live long. It is
unnecessary for me to state to you that
I have no confidence in my sons. How
can I have ? And how can they have
any in me? I have here a will, pro
perly drawn up and attested, which I
wish you to keep until my death, an (I
I then open it. You see it is sealed.”
“Os course I will do as you request;’
said Mr. Bentley, “though I had rather
you would leave it in the hands of vour
son-.” '
“Have I not already said that I have
no confidence in their honesty?”
“True; but you have no other heirs,
and they would have no room for the
display of dishonesty. They no doubt
will inherit all your property.”
“There lies your error,” said Mr.
Ramsey. “I have left the large bulk
of my property to another person,
whom it is unnecessary to mention.”
“Very well,” said Mr. Bentley, “I
will take charge of your will.”
“You,” resumed Mr. Ramsey, “are
appointed my sole executor. Will,
you accept the appointment?”
“Yes.”
“Then, of course you are the most
proper person with whom to leave the
will.”
And he handed it to Mr. Bentley.
The latter looked at it, saw the label
was in a clerkly hand, and placed it
carefully in an inside pocket.
“You must recollect,” said Mr.
Ksqasey, “that my sons are to know
nothing of all this. I was obliged to
send for a lawyer and have this will
executed by stealth. I shudder, Mr.
Bentley, while I say that if they had
known of my having this will in my
possession, they would have assassina
ted me, to get possession of it.”
“I hope they are not so bad as that,”
said Mr. Bentley.
“You know them not,” was the re
ply. “Great God ! to what a state am
I reduced! llow am I rewarded!
Oh remorsel remorse 1”
“Hush!” exclaimed Mr. Bentley
suddenly, as lie walked softly to the
door and applied his ear to the key
hole.
After listening attentively some mo
ments, he returned, saying
“I thought I heard some one at the
door, but.l believe I was mistaken.”
“And'that reminds me;” said Mr
Ramsey. “I will not conceal the fact
from you, that by receiving into your
possession that will, you run the risk
of assassination yourself. If you wish
to live in safety, do not allow my sons
to know that you have a will of mine
in your possession.”
“I shall keep the secret,” said Mr.
Bentley, “out of regard for your wishes
and safety, and happiness ; but as for
me, I am not much given to fear.”
“I know you are not, and for this
reason I select you as my'executor.
It will require a boll man to execute
that will.”
“I will do my best. And now al
low me to express a hope ”
1, 1 am not through with my re
quests,’ interrupted Mr. Ramsey. “•
fear I am troubling you too much, and
I am but too well aware that I deserve
scorn and reproach at your hands
instead of the rendering of service.
But alas 1 if you refuse me, to whom
shall I apply? I have made no friends
in the neighborhood and a great many
enemies. When I tell you that my ob
ject now—my sole object—is the ren
dition of justice, and the expiation, so
far as possible, of the sins of my life,
perhaps you will the more willingly
undertake the commissions I leave in
your hands.”
“Say no more,” was the reply.—
“Make no apologies. lam ready and
willing to do any thing in the further
ance of such objects.”
“Here then is another document. —
This you perceive is quite a long one.
I may as well say to you, that it con
| tains a conk ssion of some ot my crimes,
which I intended to make to you ver
bally, but have not the nerve to do so.
This also is sealed, and I make the
same request concerning it as concern
ing the oilier—that you will not open
it ti l after my death.”
Mr. Bentley ook the package and
deposited it safely with the will. When
this was done, the old man appeared
much relieved. During the whole of
the conversation, he had been a good
deal agitated ; and when Mr. Bentley
was listening at the door, his terror
seemed intense. Here was a strong ex
emplification of the power of remorse.
This man who, a short time before,
by his hardihood and ferocity had en
joyed an almost undisputed suprema
cy over his sons and dissolute compan
ions, now was weak and as easily terri
fied as a child; dreading the very sons
he had formerly held under such ab
solute control. His physical health
seemed entirely restored, and yet there
was evidence, in the wild wandering
of his eye, and his nervous and agita
ted manner —starting and trembling at
trifles—of a “disease of the mind”
which was incurable.
After he finished his business with
Mr. Bentley, he relapsed into a fit of
lethargy, from which nothing seemed
capable of arousing him. This had
gotten to be a custom with bint of late,
since he had had the fear of death be
fore his eyes. He would converse a
few moments with an energy and earn
estness which was painful, and then
relapse into one of these fits.
Finding he would converse no more,
Mr. Bentley rose to leave the room.
By this time it was growing late, and
the sun had sunk behind the trees.
The room in which the two men had
been sitting was on the east side of the
house, and when the sun was low, it
was very poorly lighted. A long, dark,
narrow passage led to it. On opening
the door suddenly, to go out. Mr.
Bentley’s quick car caught the sound
of letreating footsteps. Rushing for
ward, he caught the glimpse of a figure
which he took to be Juke Ramsey's,
just as it flitted into a room not far off,
and he heard the doorshut and bolt on
the inside. Seeing a negro at the oth
er end of the passage, lie asked him
if that was not Jake Ramsey’s room,
pointing it out to him. He was an
swered in the affirmative, and then he
felt convinced that Jake had been eaves
dropping, and had probably overheard
all that passed between him and Mr.
Ramsey. That accounted lor the
noise, he had thought he heard at the
door, during their interview.
When he and Mr. Ramsey went nut
into the porch, lie observed that Jake
Ramsey was absent, and on enquiring
of Joe after his brother, was told that
he had ridden out to the field. He
was now satisfied, not only that Jake
Ramsey had been caves-dropping, but
that his brother was in collusion with
him. He and his companions made
their adieus, and were soon riding rapid
ly toward Blue Spring Place.
Mr. Bentley was not at all frighten
ed, at the discovery he had made. He
believed that Jake and Joe had at
last learned to fear him. Still he was
cautious, kept a sharp lookout, and re
marked to his fellow-travellers,
“Gentlemen, there is a slight chance
that an attempt may be made to assas
sinate me in going through these dark
woods before us.”
“The devil there is?” said Charley
Hampton
“Fes. So have your persuaders
ready.”
“Whom do you suspect of a design
against your life ?’’ asked Fitz Warren.
“Those two young men we saw
back there. As I said, however, the
probability is so slight, that I ought
not to have mentioned it, perhaps;
and I had rather it should not be men
tioned hereafter, lest it render my fam
ily uneasy.”
“Oh we will be discreet,” said Char
ley. “But what have you been doing
to* them?”
“Let me see; I knocked them both
down not long since, &c. But that is
not the reason why they wish me out
of the way now. It is rather a long
tale, and I will tell you all about it af
ter supper. Now let us get on.”
And they pricked their horses into
a sharp gallop.
Their ride was uninterrupted by any
attempt at assassination or annoyance
of any kind. A good plain supper
was soon cooked for them after their
arrival, and the hunger induced by
their ride, enabled them to do it full
j ustiee.
After supper, true to his promise,
Mr. Bentley gave Charley a full ac
count of all the dealings he and Frank
had had with the Ramseys, from be
ginning to end. It was after Fitz Wa
rren had retired to his room. Mr.
Bentley finished his narration by say
ing,
“If I had not already convinced
Jake and Joe Ramsey that it would
not do to tamper with me, I should
now be a little uneasy.”
“I think,” said Charley, “there is
cause for apprehension as it is. It
would seem that after their first expe
rience with you, they would have been
afraid to encounter you again, but you
see they did so, nevertheless.”
“I do not think they would ever
have attacked us,” was the reply', “if
they had not been urged on and sup
ported by the old man. Indeed I was
told as much afterwards, by a man
who had been carousing with them,
out who left as I rode up.”
“I trust there is no danger,” said
Charley, “but keep a sharp lookout.”
“That I will do of course.”
“By the way,” said Charley again,
“did you notice what a strange effect
Fitz Warren’s and old Ramsey’s ap
pearance exerted on each other ?”
“Yes,” said Mr. Bentley, “and Fitz-
Warren’s name seemed to have equal
ly as startling an effect on the young
men.”
“There is something mysterious in
it Horace. Fitz Warren said that old
Ramsey bore a strong resemblance to
some one he had known under pain
ful circumstances. That might ac*
count for his agitation, but how arc
we to account for the startled appear
ance of the old man, as soon ns we
were near enough to him, tor his old
eyes to distinguish our features? And
why should Fitz Warren’s name have
such an effect on the young men?”
“I cannot fathom it,” said Mr. Bent
ley.
“It would seem,” resumed Horace,
“that the old man had known Fitz-
Warren’s face, “under painful circum
stances, and that Jake and Joe, had
been acquainted with his name, un
der like circumstances.”
“Do you know anything of Fitz-
Warren, or his family, Charley? He
is a Georgian, you know.”
“I know very little,” was the reply.
“Fitz Warren enjoys the reputation of
being exceedingly refined and literary
in his tastes. I believe though, that
very few men know anything of his
antecedents. I never heard of his hav
ing an intimate friend. I think from
what I have noticed at Bentwold, that
Frank enjoys more of his confidence
than most people. As to his family, I
know nothing-—not even whether he
has any.”
The two igcntlemen were sitting in
a cool pia?/,V with the indispensable
{TERMS, 82,00AYEAK
NUMBER 26.
cigar diffusing fragrance around. The
moon was shining brightly, but tbe
house, and some distance around, was
enveloped in a thick shade, caused by
enormous trees of forest growth. Just
in front of the piazza, however, was
an open space, on which the rnoon
shone with almost the brightness of
daylight.
Just as Charley ceased speaking, a
long shadow was thrown across this
lighted space, and immediately after,
a tall form turned the corner of the
house and stood upon the stej)s. The
new comer was a curiosity in the way
of form. He stood very near seven
feet in bight—was exceedingly lank
and slender in appearance, and carri
ed on his shoulder a ponderous rifle,
so long, it would seem as if he used it
for the purpose of knocking his game
out of the trees rather than for shoot
ing it. Ilis beard was grizzled and
apparently, had not known a razor for
years. He was clad in the most pri
meval style of hunting suit; but instead
of the cap made of the skin of some
wild animal, usually worn by hunters,
he sported a felt hat, slouched on one
side, in Spanish style.
Indeed his whole appearance was
Spanish. His complexion was very
dark, his eye black and keen, his fea
tures angular, and his beard, with the
exception of a sprinkling of white hairs,
was ot a jet 4 y blackness. Take him
altogether he was calculated to excite
curiosity, as he stood leaning on his
long rifle, without speaking.
“What strange specimen have wo
here Horace ?” said Charley.
But Mr. Bentley, without answering
Charley’s question, called out to the
| stranger,
“What the devil do you stand there
for, Gaunt ? Why don’t you come
in ?”
Thereupon, the hunter strode for
ward and grasped Mr. Bentley’s hand
with
“I wanted to see if you knowed
me.”
“Knowed you ? Why how do you
suppose any one could forget such a
scarecrow, after his vision had once
been blessed with a sight of it?”
“I wanted to see if your eye-sight holds
as good at night as it used to, when
we played those wild tricks. But may
be I oughtn’t to mention such things
before this here stranger.”
“Never, mind him. lie knows eve
ry thing that I do. But let me intro
duce you. Mr. Hampton, allow me
to introduce to you Mr. Carlos, Nun
nez, familiarly known as “Gaunt,” & fom
the gaunt man. He has killed more
panthers and more Indians, and done
more smuggling than any other man
in Florida. Ilis smuggling business
has long since been broken up, and he
has since become quite an expert in
the use of the rifle. Mr. Gaunt, this is
my friend Charles Hampton, Esq., who
has slain as many hearts as you have
Indians and panthers. He is as cele
brated in bis line, as you arc in yours,
and I am happy to be able to bring
together two such notabilities, in my
poor house.”
Charley replkd tythis speech of his
host, in a strain of 'elaborate compli
ment, while Gaunt, grabbed' his hand
an 1 said,
“How de do sir? Glad to know a
friend of Mr. Bentley’s, but I don’t see
the use of all tire damned nonesense
you and he have been jabbering over.”
“Why Gjaunt, what’s the matter with
you ?” asked Mr. Bentley, who began
to perceive, from the man’s manner
that there was something wrong.
“Give me some cold meat and bread,
and I will tell you,” was the reply.
The cold victuals was brought, and
a hasty meal was made, after which,'
Gaunt —for so we will call him, for tub
sake of brevity—began';
“You say this gentleman is i%,ali'
your secrets ?” ig®
“Yes.” 'Hgfei w
“Have you got a gentleman inyour
house named Fitz Warren ?” y
“Yes.” \ ■'
“Well Jake and Joe Ramsey arc
going to have his blood, the first, chance*
they |ct at him.” ■
“Jake and Joe Ramsey ! exclaim
ed Mr. Bentley. “Why they never
saw Fitz Warren before this evening,
and they surely have had no cause for
quarrel since then. Charley you iv-