-'~ -*---:'//.-~--’— /«-"/:.r.«.~,T//-:./5;—‘.:,; »_r.—,,,,-,-~.,..._.,_.A_,.,-. ma». .
'1, '~. ,.
krnom was RELIGIOUS 'xN'rm.;.xomtcmt.
A cloud lay cradled neanthe setting sun ;
A gleam of crimson tinged its br~aide‘t_l snow;
Long had I watclt’d the glory moving on,
0”er'the still radiance of ‘the lake below‘.
Tranquil its spirit seamed, and floated Slow:-'1
Even in its very motion ther_'e was rest: _ .
‘While every breath of eve that chanc’d to blow:
Wafted the traveller to the beauteous west.
Emblem, methought, of the departed soul , _
To whose white robe th‘e gleam of bliss IS giv-
9“ 3' ‘ . . .
And by the breath of mercy made to roll
Right onward to the golden gates of }I§3V€‘na
‘Where, to the eye of Faith, it fpeaceful lies,
And tells to man his glot'ious~destinies.
A. '-
FROM 'rntn C‘1NCINNATI,G.-\ZET'l‘E-
./3RCl'IIUR FITZROY9
‘on with irotino B.tcK.woonsM.t1v;.
During an excursion of pleasure in the spring;
of the ‘year l8l4, after a pleasant clay’:-‘titles I
found myself on the cliffb of the Kentucky river.
The talkative ferrytnan, as we crossed the streams
pointed to the neat country house, at thegcltstance
ofsome half a mile on the opposite shore. ‘ \Vb0l‘€~
(said he‘. they keep a tavern. ‘and Y0“. 93“ be ‘_1°'
com‘ntcdateei.’ Jtmttsed with his simple garrultty
L’ bade him farewell, and asccndccl by a wmdtug
path the towering cliff. ._
The sky was brilliant with the tints of the Set-
ting sun--—beyontl the ntstnerous and vurtegatetl
farms which my elevation overlooked, the distant
hills lost their tops in the blue mist of heztvcn---
all nature was ltushetl to a solt.-‘mn stillttcfss, save
the hollow_echo of the fer ryman’s song--even the
impetuous stream, as it dashed along hetw_een_ the
stupendous masses of calcareous rock, which pre-
sented an insurmountable barrier on either side,
seemed fearful of r.listurbing the general repose.
Iviever have I been more delighted with the con-
templation of nature--every idea for a while was
lost. save that of the mareilold and resplendent
‘beauties which sttrro-_tn<’.'etl me. As I rode along
z'h¢_- t,rir;k of the precipic'e towards‘ the tavern to
which I had been tlitected, I discovered at a short
distance on the right, a small country church, to
which Iinvoluntat‘ily turned my horse. Iltare
ever adinircd the app:-ara‘n'ce of a" cpuntry church
andgrave yard some parts of Ixentucky. -In
the copse near the road side a neat wooden build-
ing is erected---the under-growth for some_thst-
ancearoimd cleared away--while the majestic
2‘,-4,‘-,'3_gf the forest wave their green foliage in si-
lence over the clay tenements ofthose who have
‘ l>,ee‘n gathered to their fathers.’ Th_C l3""“'“5‘“"
s'c;att_e.rer.l around the church, and quite shut out
fr-om. the rays of the son by the bcugh-s of the
‘overhanging trees, no costly monuments are to
be seen, but occasionally a will.-,»~.v or an evergreen.
planted by some kindred spirit, aw’-‘kins a tram
of emotions which the fittest tnavl.~lt- could ttevt"
impart, The little rural temple _:<tood_ ht-
-fore me was built of hetvn logs. on: stzz tit ht"?-:.3‘l
and almost bid by the surrounding forest. As I
drew nearer, inf: attention was arrested by the
x:0]‘nn1a!’)(iil‘.j.'§, and I may add, martial figure of a
man, who with downcast looks was standing near
the foot of a recent grave, over which was scat-
tered a profusion ofevergreens. _There was a de-
gree of woe depicted iuhis manly but stzn-burn‘.
face, that I have seldom seen exhibited : his long
dark hair hung in graceful curls be-.low_h1s cap of
fur, and the green hunting shirt in “illicit he was
C136‘ was f,,,-xentd around his robust body by an
Indian belt ; his moccasins, although intzch worn.
were of the most beautiful kind, ntanufactured by
the natives of our norilt-\v'£s~’. My feelings were
deeply inter-ester! by the personage before me,
but unwilling to appear intrusive, I passed on to
the tavern which was distant but a f-w hundred
yards, anti had no sooner seated myself in the per-
tico, than I t)‘.)S.e‘,‘vet’l the object of my attention
leave his position, and with a slow and measured
step pursue the path which had conducted meitp
the steep dcclivity. Just as he was disapp'e:trtng
r from my view, the landlady entered, and calling
her attention to the strange figure that I had been
contemplating, I inquired ifshe knew him? ‘Yes,
':~, (she replied with -.1 serious look,) I know him
~,vt-ll-‘-he was formerly the pride of our neigh-
borhood, and the liztppi-est youth that dwelt upon
these hills—--his -history is a sad one, but if yotl de-
sire to hear it, as soon as supper is over] will re-
late it to you.’ On our Petutn to the portico, af-
ter ‘having partaken of some refreshment, my
landlady, begging me till excuse her country-like
mannerbf relating a story, gave me the follow-
ing narration :--_-
/‘-Thename ofthe unhappy voting man ofwhom
you desire me to speak, is ARTHUR FITZRO‘Y.—-
His parents, though poor, belonged to a highly
respectable familygin Virginia, an-d‘wer‘c among
those who early emigrated to this state, and made
the improvements where they now reside, about
two miles from the opposite shore. Arthur, the
only child, was born soon after their arrival, and
breathing nothing from infancy but the sahtbrious
air of these mountain cliffs, and exercised by the
laborsof the farm and chase, his person attained
the size and manly beauty which it new exhibits;
while his intellectual faculties, improved by lhe
ablest teachers which could be procured, gave, at
the age of twenty,indications of a mind vigorous
‘in its perceptions, and replete with the noblest.
“feelings of our nature. At this period he receiv-
'ctl"i'ront '2. wealthy uncle in Virginia an invitation
"to spend a couple of years beyond the mountains.
Arthur was enrz-.ptured with the idea, and upon
cxpre:;sing his wishes to his parents, who were
-ct,-,1" (.',e5i_u-nus of improvement. they willingly cun-
sentetl; The day for his-‘tleparturc soon arrived,
"and well in fact do I retr1:::.rt'oe' it : the compan-
ions of his chililiiooti, both -male and fetttale, for’
tnany miles a'l'ou'nd, 'll£l(l‘5_*.f?.3€1TlblCtl to say -fttt‘e-
well, and xtritttess ltis'departu\re-—autl as he passed
arsttlldcxtendittg his hand with an asstttned air
of cbeerfulr.ess, there was not a dry eye in the
~,y-hole circle. _ '
During the latter part of the two years wlncn
he spent east of the mountains in visiting the
P,-ti.-cipal cities, and reading works of general ht.-
erature, "‘-2<=.._ became acquainted with EMELINE
Ilu.uTtNG'ro:t§'dh° "‘¥“§"l5“ Of 3 “’°a1l!‘Y 1113"‘
chant in the citftgof Richmond, where his uncle
resided. She -hgad ‘just entered~her'nineteenth
fervor and elevation of fancy, which ocoasioiiallyfl,
seemed bordering on the romance. Artless as
an infant’, divested of .e_nv‘y,__ and suspecting none
in others, she was esteemed by all who knew her,
whilst the continued sprightlincss of her manners,
and the brilliant corruscations of her wit, gave ti‘
zest tothe enjoyment of every circle in which
she mingled; nor were the attractions of her-i
rnind s’urp'assed by those of her person : cast in
the finest mould of her sex, grace characterised
every movement, and loveliness sat cntltroned up-
oh her face. - i '
In our young Backwoodsman, her enthusiastic
mind found a congenial spirit, and for hours would
she listen enraptured to his glowing descriptions
ofthe land of his nativity, and thegltardships, pri-
vations‘, and battles with which the adventurous
pioneers to civilization in the western country had
to contend. Arthur had been acquainted with
her but a few months, ere he discovered that her
society was essential to his happiness, and the re-
sult of a protracted interview, which soon took
place, rendered him the happiest of men-‘-—in
short, emotions ofa new kind were awakened in
the breast of each, and Heaven was called to..,wit-
ness their declarations of unsh-alien constancy.—-
That correctness of deportment which had ever
chttracterisetl Emeline, was -again manifested by
an early disclosure to her parents of the engage-
ment which she had formed; but great was her
surprise. and almost insupportable her grief, up-
on learning that they were utterly hostile to the
connexion—-they could illy brook the'ideaofmar-
vying their daughter, possessing wealth,'beauty
and intelligence, to :1 young Backwoodsinan,
without fortune and without celebrity. He was
forthwith forbid the house, and she enjoined to
break oil‘ all communication with that man for
w horn‘ alone life now seemed to her worth possess-
lug. Arthur ncade several unsuccessful attempts
for a personal in't'erview, and with feelings highly
laccrated, disappointed hopes and mortified pri<l'e,
returned to the VVesteru Country. His arrival“
was a source of joy to his fond parents, and de-
tight to the neighborhood, and a twelve-month
soon p]i(lc(l away without the occurrence of any
event worthy of narration. 'l'he'rem<:mbran'ce of
the beloved object of his affections dissipated his
forrner gayety, and in vain were his books and the
plt.‘a:sttt'es of the chace resorted to. as the means
of restoring his wanted cheerfulncss. In this
gloomy mood he was most pleasantly surprised
by the arrival of the beauttous Emeline. in his
own immediate neighborhood. (me of those un-
fortunate speculations which so frc;-quently ruin
commercial men, had swept away the wealth of
her father, and induced him to seek an asylum‘-' ’
the west--but whether his settlement in thi'si';‘-,_;,_
mediate neighborhood arose from his owning the
small tract of land on which he now resides, or
the hope of renewing the engagement between
Fitzroy and his (l'elU§>’llIt-‘l’, is uncertain. The con-
‘net-tion, houcver was immediately renewed, and
never perhaps was there a more perfect coinci-
dr net: of thought and feeling, titan this happy pair
cxlalblttitl. Often have I seen them clambering
over these rugged clifi's——wandering in the shady
l't'VBS, or sitting on the rocks engaged in reading
and conversation--—h'er fanciful imagination seein-
ed now to realize all her former auticipations of
love in a_ cottage, and happiness amid the unculti-
tated wilds of the west. ,
The day for the solcmniiation oftlre marriage
had been appointed, and was distant about two
v- eeks, when the uuw elcoine intelligence of Gen.
Hnll"s disgrttcieful surrender reached Kentucky.
'l he call of the executive for volunteers to pro‘-
tect the defcnceless frontiers of the north-west,
had no sooner met the car of young l?'itzro_'v, than
his resolution was format]; The love of country,
and proud spirit of independence which have
characterised the natives of the west, shone forth
In him with an increased brilliancy; his bosom
fired with the itnpul-.-e ofa noble enthusiasm in
the cause of his country and suffering ltumzutity,
perntittetl him not for a moment to hesitate in ex-
changing the blandishtnents of love for the habil-
imcnts of war, or his anticipated union to a belov-
ed female, for the fatigues of the camp--the prep-
arations for the approaching ceremony at the al-
tar of flymen, were instantly changed to those of
a ‘campaign, and in ten days Fitzroy was ready for
the tented field. _ ,
I was myself present at the last interview be-
tween him and his intended bride, which took
place on the morning of his departure. Oh 1 it
was an affecting scene, and ‘one I shall ever re-
member. His warlike dress and martial mein’
were finely contrasted with her delicate form and
simplicity of habit. She rose as he entered the
room and with a tnelaucholy look extended her
trembling hand, which he seized with a convul-
sive grasp, and pressed it to his lips--‘ I go, sweet
girl,’ said he, ‘ to avenge the cause of our injured
country—to protect dc fenceless. women and chil-
dren front savage barbarity, and wipe away the
disgrace of an ignominious surrender: and be
assured that in the midst of battle, the re-
collection of my beloved Emeline shall nct‘ve~
this arm with tenfold vigor, and relying up-,
on your unshaken constancy and the smiles of
heaven, I shall fearlessly march to victory or to
death.’ He gazed for a moment in silence upon
her beautiful face, which was bathed in tears-—
pressed her to his bosom, and imprinting upon
her ruby lips a fervent kiss, tore himself away and
joined his companions in arms. _
The tragical events of the 22d of Januaryptvltich
encrimsoned the banks of the river Raisin with
the blood of Kentucky’s noblest sons, were an-
nounced to Emeline the morning after the re-
ceipt of a letter which Fitzroy had written her
from Fort Defiance. VVith a glow of fervent pat-
tiotism he had depicted his bright hope of that
halo of glory which heifatttéied would be his should
he -gallantly fall in defence of his country, and
with the most touching pathos didhe dwell upon
the still brighter hope of an honorable return to
the home of his parents and the bosom of his be-
loved Emeline. ‘
I need not attempt .to paint her emotions when
the awful intelligence was c_ommunica_ted—-for a
‘month she suffered every pang which the most
terrible suspense could inflict, until one of the
companions of her unfortunate -friend arrived in
the ueigltborhood, from whom she learned, that
the company to which he and Fitzroy belonged,
was one of those under the command of the gal-
lant Madison, that maintained its position with.de-
termiued intrepidity, until the order of Winches-I
yam.’ and to a mind highly cultivated, possessing
every nati '3 virtue’, there was added a degree of
i
ter, the commanding general, to surrender tltuem-= ‘
his po.s.'_t,’_7an.d..tytng‘7hi_s.g dk‘eri:hief.c_losely ounif
the wounded part,.'contit_i_ued.fi litiiig most val-
iantly until the cessation‘ of arms.
though faint with the loss qf blood, justly feared
the incensed savages, resolved upon accompany-
ing his companions, and had proceeded with their
assistance about three miles, when the pain ari-
sing from his wound became so excessive that he
was ‘compelled to stop, and seating himselfon a
log by the road side, yhis fellow-prison‘ers left
him, apparently awaiting his fate with manly
composure. According to his own statement
since his return,_he had remained in this situation
but half an hour when he was taken prisoner by,
a Pottawatamie chief, called the Little Owl, to
whom he offered a considerable rewa'r'd, provided
he should be conducted to l\'l‘:tlden. The chief,
however, pleased with his line appearance, im-
mediately resolved upon ret-ainin‘g him, refused
the proffered reward, and marched him back to
the battle ground, wlrere they remained until eve-
ning, when they set off in company with several
Indians,'and having proceeded a couple of miles
to the north, encamped for the night--the chief
perceiving the pain and exhaustion of the prison-
cr, procured hint some food and made an applica-
tion of» roots to his wound, which gave immediate
relief.
On the following morning they renewed their
march, and after a few days travelling, arrived on
the shore of Lake‘ Michigan. where they remain-
ed several weeks, suffering every privation which
the rigors of a northern winter and the scarcity of
food could inflict. Fitzroy’s wound in the mean-
time was nearly cured by the Indian specificstltat
were adtninistered: but another misfortune gt-
waited: Little Owl, his master, who ltad treated
him with e\et‘y degree of kindness, was taken
sick and died-—his prisoner was claimed by two
Indians of the same tribe, and by them sold to a
Kickapoo chief, who happened to be in company,
and from whom he was destined to receive every
species of cruelty that savage barbarity could in-
flict--he was immediately loaded with plunder and
marched to the head waters ofFox river, a stream
that empties into \Vinebago lake, at the head of
Green Bay, in the n‘3lgl]b0l‘hoO(l of which he re-
mained constantly guarded, until the spring of
IBM, when an unsuccessful attempt to escape
drew down upon him the fiend-like ire of his mas-
ter, antl after a solemn debate among the chiefs
of his tribe, it was resolved that he should be
*burnt to death: the funeral pile was soon erected
by placing a quantity of dry wood around a young
elm that stood on a high bluff‘ bank of a rivcrnear
their encampment. According to custom, pre-
vious to the sacrifice of their victim. at war dance
was held over the prisoner, which lasted for half
an hour, replete with horrnrs that no pun can des-
cribe, and "doubly appalling when accompanying
the awful solemnities of a dying hour. with ex»:-
ultation Fitzroy was now led to the stalre, and as
they were about to confine his hands, conscious
that the last moment for resistance had arrived,
and that no consequence could result from his at-
tempt more dreadful than the smoking pile which
awaited him, he sprung from the midst ofthose
who were tying him, rushed to the brink of the
precipice, leaped down on a projecting rock and
from thence into the water, to the astonishment
of the Indians, who stood for a moment amazed
at his daring intrepidity. His master perceiving
that he had descended unhu rt, and was swimming
for the opposite shore, raised the war whoop and
descending by the same projecting rock, pursued
his pri-snner, who had by this time gained the op-
posite shore. F'tzroy, observingthat in addition
to his master, many warriors‘ were descending the
bluffsome distance below, and aware that nothing
but immediate flight could save him, set off‘ with
the utmost cclerity. His irtcensctl master ascend-
ed the opposite bank before he was bid by the
thicket, and shouting to his companions to follow,
pursued with all the flee-tness and sag-acity of a
bloodhound ; at the end of halfa mile the chief,
from his superior swiftncss, seized Fitzroy by the
shoulder, who immediately wheeled, and a most
desperate struggle ensued——locked in each other’s
arms they fell to the ground-, and twice was the
savage ‘uppermost, and in the act of drawing his
scalping'-knife, when a vigorous ‘effort gave his
prisoner the ascendency, and grasping the knife
which had a moment before threatened his own
existence, he plunged it into the heart of his an-
tagontst+thc crimson blood gushed forth in tor-
rents--an awful scream succeeded—his muscles
relaxed in the agonies of death--and Fitzroy
found himself disengaged front the hold ofthe
dying chief. _ _
Aware that a moment’s delay would prove fa-
tal, as the yell of the remaining savages, was dis-
tinctly heard, he drew from the belt of the fallen
foe his tomahawk, and again fled with retloubled
energy-—,-availing himself of-the knowledge which
he had gained of the country during his captivity,
be directed his course towards the Ousconsin.
which at its great eastern bend approaches with-
in a few miles of the Fox river, but did not reach
it until day light next morning. After a few
hours sleep he crossed the stream and proceeded
down . on" the opposite shore, for the port of Praire
du Chi.en, which he knew waslocated at the junc-
tion of the Ousconsin with the Mississippi; and
on the fortieth day from that on which he made
his escape,he trod with an exulting step and grate-
ful hcart the soil of Kentucky... The fatigues of
the camp--the bloody tragedy of the river Raisin
...thc cruelty of the savages and their dreadful
funeral pile were all forgotten-.--and the fond an-
ticipation of a return to civilized life--to the home
and caresses of his parents, and above all to the
out-stretched arms and palpitating bosom of a
lovely female, whose every aspiration was breath-
ed for his happiness, and upon whose love and
fidelity he had ever implicitly relied, retained un-
dived. possession of his soul. Flushed. with the
idea of dissipating her anxious uncertainty as to
his faite, and elate with the confident hope of a
speedy union to the engaging object of his wish-
es, he dreamed not of A disappointment, nor for a
moment believed that the lowering hand of death
would dash from hislips,untasted, the nectareous
bowl. It was under the influence of such emo-
tions that, last Sabbath day afternoon, be ap-
ther——he sprang from his horse, entered the door
Vvhcn the | tomb, his friend, his -compgtnionfiliifs w
prisoners were marched for Maiden, Fitzroy, al- l Interrupted waste ofjoyless existenc‘ A ‘D ,_
before him, without the"-intervention of a sing es»
preached the dwelling of his dear Emeline’s fa- ‘In {fig Soltt_fIf_1W0?'{! =?f'_“5”-"ft ml’
alel::-'-_'_I_N‘lit.f.‘i‘tlo‘i_,,
unreleufing hand: of dea
enlivening ray to cheer his gloomy path--eve
whelmed with disappointment and grief, he sunkf
into a chair and was unable for some time to give‘
utterance to a single word-—his countenance assu- ‘j
med the woe-begone aspect which it now wears-«
and at the close of each day since his return, has
he sought consolation in ‘-‘s eeping over the dark-
narrow house which contains the mortal part of
his lovely friend. ' ‘ _
Had Emeline been certain of the fall of Fitzroy
in the midst of battle, by the arms ofa magneti-
imous foe, her grief perhaps might have been as-
suaged : but the dreadful uncertainty of his fate-
the screams of mangled warriors--the yell of the
ruthless barbarian--antl the cracklin flames of
the faggots which formed the funeralgpile of the
wounded prisoners, struck upon her mind with
redouble-d horror, and as if commissioned by the
king of terrors, early marked her as the unhappy
victim of consuming grief. Month after month
rolled away without bringing her any intelligence
of the ultimate fate of F itzroy--the return of each
of his companions was gladly hailed, and every
newspaper read with avidity, in hope that some
light might be shed upon the subject--but all in
vain : Little doubt remained but what-he had ei-
ther been tomahawked by the road side when he
was left by his companions, or marched back to
the battle ground and inhumanly burnt with the
wounded prisoners,for whose protection from sav-
age barbarity the faith ofa British General was
pledged. Each succeeding day gradually dimin-
ished thefond but fearfully cherished hope which
Emeline had hitherto entertained of his still be-
ing held a captive among the Indians, and the
probabilityof his escape and return: the glow of
youthful health fled from her cheek-her spright-
ly eye was bathed in tears-—-her bosom beat high,
but not with joy——it was the throb of fearful ap-
prehension, and the dread foreboding that anoth-
er hour might toll in her ear the death of ‘her lov-
er. In vain were the sympathy and condolence
of parents—in vain was the magic of books and
travelling--and equally vainwete her own excr-
tions to rise superior to disappointment and sor-
row, and bury in the tomb of oblivion the sad re-
collection of the severed tie of friendship and love.-.
The calamity was too grettt-—shc sunk into a state-
of melancholy wretchedness, in which she linger-
ed until a few days previous to the return of her
long lamented friend--and at the close of her
"mortal career, with a firm and full reliance upon
her God, she calmly bade adieu to the fleeting
joys and ever occurring sorrows of this life, and
stretching forth her hands towards the portals of
heaven, she gladly welcomed death as the harbin-
ger of endless happiness.
Her emaciated body, beautiful even in deat
niow rcposes in tranquil silence in yonder clay te -
ement, which is daily decked by sympathizing
ftiends, with evergreen and wild flowers from the
adjacent cliff, and over which her disconsolate lov-
er has just been pouring forth his sighs and la-
mentations.’ _ ‘
O 1 short be his sufferings, and light the clay
which presses her delicate form,
——-<u-'-':'.’.--i>B-—-
The folldwing affecting cit"t:urnstance is stated
in an article from St. Petersburgh :——Three per.
sons, who had been exiled to Siberia, were obli-
ged to gain their subsistence by hunting. In this
pursuit they were one day led so far as to be una-
ble to regain their road. or to find any vestige of
human habitation. Overcome by fatigue, and ex-
hausted by hunger, they were at length reduced
,0 the necessity of casting lots, in order that be
upon whom it should fall, might serve to support
the lives of the others. To aggravate their dis-
tress, these unfortunate persons were a father, his
son, and his nephew. _ The last was tltefirst vic-
tim ; the father next immolatcd himself to pro-
long the life of his only son,tvlto—.ultimately owed
his preservation to a hunter, whom chance con-
ducted to the spot. On his return, be related the
particulars of the melancholy ‘affair, and the gov.-
ernment of.Si‘netia not daring to punish what was
produced by ur_r;cnt necessity alone, sent the
criminal with a representation of the affa'tr to St.
Petersburgh, where he was pardoned by the Jim-
peror.
Fatal C"asrzalzy.--During the week est, a Mr.
\Veeks, in Bergen, Gennessee county, descended
into a deep well, for the purpose of clearing it
out. VVhen within about ten feet of the bottom,
he suddenly fell into the water, which came nearly
over his head. A Mr. Guthrie immediately de-
scended, and also fell into the water, as soon as he
came in contact with the carbonic acid gas. A
third person then descended, with a rope fastened
around his body, by which he was drawn up when
it was perceived by those above that he was in a
state of suffocation. Means were now taken for
the expulsion of the gas, when a fourth, person
descended, and the bodies of Mr. Guthrie and
VVeeks were drawn up. M1‘. Cu W35 dead: but
Mr. W'ee‘ks, the first person who went in to well,
survived, after having been nearly two hours in
the water.--Raclzestcr Telcgrafzlt.
VVe hear that two lads were providcntially res-
cued from death a few days since in Amcsbury.
Five boys, it seems, had agreed to /zlay/zang. A
gallows was prepared, and two of them were ac-
tually strung up by the neck; the other three
acting as e3tccuti0ners—and either from {right or
a disposition to carry the joke a little too far, they
were left so long in their perilous situation, that
.had not the father of one of them happened to
discover the lads, and flew to-their relief, they
probably would not have lived many minutes.
./Vi:-wbury/tort Herald.
——g—- . -*-
At the Cork Criminal Court, on the 8th of Au-
gust, Mary Brien, an unfortunate female, was in-
dicted for stealing money from the purse of Da-
vid Gallaghan. After much incoherent testimo-
ny on the part of the prosecutor, the Judge said
to him, ‘ Now after all, tell what ground did you
charge theiprisoner ?’ Witnessiaftltapsome delay,
.0!’ .
fior don fzcfier.
Norwalk Chronicler