University of South Carolina Libraries
LEWlf,^;t?E^,,j \ An fnbtgtnktl /ainil^ iclns^cr: Jro % |ramirfitm of % $oMaI, jtei Aoricaliural aith Coinmttml $tfmsts of %? ?onl&. ^ ^ ^ -? : . : . _ ^ ..- ' 1 .' , ' " ' ' ',' * " ' . r: , ,. . '. >. " \!i jh J**,?' VOL, 15, ; _ TOBKYILLE, S. P., THTJRSDAY, S^PT3|Mj33ER'--By1839.~'yzi'~p:~ ?be ftorg itk ' { UNDER SENTENCE QF DEATH. \ It was three o'clock on. a fine warm affcornoon in r . the latter end of April; Tho garden,-at the rear J of the comfortable, whitewashed, thickly thatched j cabin, was abundantly stocked with early cabbage and-potatocs; everything bore the look of humble c prosperity; from the blue smoke curling; up from * the freshly made fire on the kitchen hearth, to the * green meadows where the cows were lying peace- 1 fully ruminating. A broad river, glistening in the sun's rays, rolled smoothly beside the boundary- 1 wall in their pasture. J Yet Kate Moran stood at her father's door, looking sadly across the river to the mass of shipping, 1 houses and spires which rose on the other side. f "Mother, honey, I can't keep my eyes off that 1 dreadfal place!" said she, turning as she spoke to an elderly woman who sat knitting on a bench near s the fire. ; "Musha, acushla, what good'll that do ye?" said she, rising and going over to the door also. 6 "Come in, now," she said putting her hand on her daughter's shoulder caressingly. "Oh I mither. ^ think of the poor fellow beh?~," Here she fairly broke down and burst ^ into a wail of distress. . "Whisht now!" cried her mother. "Here's your-lather coniin', and don't let him see ye cry- j iug.1" , ?ate san hastily into a bedroom, as her father entered the .kitchen, . . ^ - .. ! "View's noohanoe for the poor craythur, Fat ?" 1 ' g&ed his wife, as a broad-faced, good-humored looking man came forward and sat down on the 6 * "Chance 7" said he, roughly, while. his "face 1 chjudod. "Sorrow, chance! He'll be hung, as * swefsX've (his pipe in me hand." * "tord have mercy oh his sowl, the craythur!", 1 his wife. 1;*'c "Oh! IVIusHa, amin,".said her husband, sighing. a "Fru goin' in wid.the cowlt to the fair to-morra, ' and to see the last of him. It's nivcr I thought * to see poor Mick Welsh's$on on the gailus!" 4 The sun was setting over the opposite hill, where c the tall many storied houses rose in terraoes and c steep lanes, and was sbeddiug the last beams of its * radiance on the large dark stone building that ? crowned the height The red light seemed to bo concentrated on one part of the building, where , there was an iron gateway, spiked and doublelocked. Far above in the dark massive wall was a small black door.' And beneath the door and * ^ around this gateway, men were busy, putting up ^ strong1 timber tailings; while a crowd, talking ana gesticulating, constantly pressed in among the ^ workti/eB, and were driven back by officials in uniform, and a few soldiers ~ ' Iuafcte the massive walls, other workmen were , busy, but their Work was commonplace enongh. Something was wrong with the great main sewer ? of the jait. Masons and bricklayers had been labaring for some hours-, and now,- when the eity clocks and bells were striking six, they were taking -up their tools, putting on thoir coats, and leaving s tbeir work till next day. 1 There were bq rough jests among them. One * man laughed as his companion slipped down into the 8Kmy ditch whenoe they had emerged ; but his memmertt was checkedby an involuntary look 1 from the others towards the for side of the yard, 1 where a man, in a felon's dress and with manacled T handvwas Walking slowly up and down. "Lord have mercy on his sowl!" muttered an 0 old mason, compassionately. "Poor Tim Welsh! , As honest a boy, before he got into bad company, , as iver a fathor rared." . , Whether the prisoner had caught the sound of his name or not, he raised his head and looked sadly toward them. , j "Lord help him!" said two or three of the men, * "for makin' away with one poor sheep?what a rich man had plenty of!" An official came across the yard to look at the day's work, and after asking some questions, . walked away, saying : "Come along now, the gate . is open." ; So casting a backward glance at the manacled prisoner, the men passed through an arch into the 1 inner court, whence the great doors opened them ? out in tbo street. ( The manacled man gazed after their retreating ( figures with a sigh?almost a groan?as he thought . of their return to their homes, free and happy, from their honest labor, while he?the tcrap, rap, rap, tap, tap" of carpenters' hammers outside, { beat at the thought ho could not dwelt upon. I There was no one with him, no one near him, ^ but a turnkey passing up and down an angle of the building; for in those days there was far less vigilance than now. He was not oonfined to his cell on this, the lost day of his life, but was permitted | to walk about the quadrangles of the prison; apart i from the other criminals, however, and securely ( handcuffed. I Bitter and despairing were his thoughts. He ( thought of his gray-haired widowed mother, of j his stalwart young brothers, of the lads he had < played ball with, of Katie Moran, whom he had danced with at the fair only two months ago. Mechanically be walked across the square, to the plaec < where the bricklayers and masons had been busy; J thinking as he did so, half unconsciously, how large , the opening was, how long the great sewer was, j and where it emptied itself. Suddenly a thought occurred to him, making his pale, thin face flush, , and his fettered hands tremble with excitement. < He turned sharply away lest he should excite sua- j picion, and loitered with his former heavy, weary step toward the doorway of the inner court yard. < "Goin' in, are you?" said the turnkey. < "Tes," replied the prisoner. 1 The official stalked on before him into the adjoining square; then, opening a door, passed j through a long stone corridor, and, stopping before j a ceR door, unlocked it "If you want anything you.can call," he said, graciously, through the trap ! in the door, as he re-looked it 1 "Thank ye,'' answered the condemned man. If the official had been better skilled in reading faces, i ho might have looked to the fastening of the cell s door a little more carefully. < Tim Welsh had noticed that the bolt of the look was vftrv shakv. and be knew that a shaky bolt i could be forced bad. It would not be dusk for a long while yet, but he j could not wait; the one chance?desperate?hopeless as it seemed?must be tried quickly. While 1 the turnkey's steps re-ecbocd in his heariug, he, < still fettered, unscrewed the iron leg of his bed- 1 stead, and, stealing forward, waited until he heard f the great doore at the end of the oorridor clash ; then putting the leg of the bedstead between the I bolt and the wall, he strove with all his strength ] to force it back. But it resisted, and he dared not make a noise. In despair he replaced the leg, and sat down to < recover breath. Soon he heard another turnkey 1 coming. He went to the cell'door and called. 1 "What is it? What d'ye want?" "A drink of water, phse ; I'm very thirsty." ] When the turnkey had brought in the water and retired, Welsh, who had been watching the lock, 1 saw that, though it had gone to its place, it was < not half as far gone as before. He drank the water to cool his burning mouth aud parched throat, and seizing the iron kg again, listened as before until the doors dashed, when, placing the instru oont in tho old place, he?first gently shaking the >olt?gave it a vigorous blow, the souod of which vas lost jn the noisy echoes from the shotting loors. The bolt shot back, he pulled the door ipen, and peerod around; returning to his bed, be eplaoed the leg, and made up a bundle under the slothes, as well as he could, with the aid of the ulster; then closing the cell door softly after him, le ran lightly down tho gallery to tho door-that spencd into the yard. The key was in it, he turned he key, and glancing around for the second time, hut it after him and darted across to tho arched loorway, where a sentry paced. Plow to get post the soldier was the question, vhile he trembled in mingled horror at the sound >f tho "rap, rap, rap, tap, tap," coming freshly in lis ears, and the thought of probable* fteedom, and irobable re-capture. At this moment the sentry urned back on his beat, and the prisoner crouchng in tho doorway, stole swiftly along by the wall o the opposite side of the yard, and slunk in beside a buttress. The open sewer was on the same side, but further down. Trembling in every limb, ic lay huddled up, not daring to move, lest he t 11.. i!1it x x ' 1 iL - iOOUiu aitrace attention, untu mo sentry turuou mo hird time. Then lie fled along by the wall, and Iropping into the sower, crept into the darkness here. .... "5afo for a while, anyhow; glory be to Oodl" le gasped. - J . But as the poor creature pushed his way onward, hrough the foul air, in a stooping position, with lis fettered hands pushed out before him to feel lis way, a deadly sickness came oyer him. Still he faiutly glimmering prospect of escape kept lim up. ... . Fortunately there were but few rats. Five or is times ue felt them biting at bis feet, from whioh lis. coarse stockings had long since been cut to lieces, aud heard them squeaking as they scramiled up the dripping walla. "Will I iver smell a resh breeze again, Lord help me he groaned. Vs ho crawled along under the principal streets he tould hear the carriages rolling over his head, and it one gratiug to which he came, he heard the vords of a song chorussed by some men near a inblic house. At length, after he had been more ban eight hours on his way, he heard the rolling if the river, saw a faint gleam through the pitchy larkness, felt a faint fresh breeze from the flowing ide. A few more steps?falling inhis eagerness? ind the glimmer grew clearer, the breeze grew resher, and he reached the river-bank. ' ' ? .. j /t-!- iJ ! ii was just iour o ciock, zmu tuu ciear sumiuu ight of the dawn was shed over the sleeping city-; he gardens were fresh in early fruit and flowers ; he nobleriver rippling serenely on, and the cottages rees and m cadowsiay far on the other aide. Very ar off they looked, and the river?cold, broad and leep?lay between; yet the undaunted fugitive, ottered, aching, sick, exhausted, muttered anoth>r prayer and plunged in. - * The cold water gave him a temporary strength; :eeping his eyes fixed on the goal of his hopes, he warn on, almost entirely by the movement of his egs and feet, as his hands were nearly useless to tim. ' But the bracing effect of the cool shock waa toon followed by a distressing numbness. His uU nost efforts barely sufficed to keep his head above vater and propel him slowly onward. Slower and ainter became each stroke, and a wave of rising ide rushed over his head, when, with a gurgling noan, he made a last effort and his feet touched ho bottom. He now stood, upright, and slowly faded to the low, .muddy shore, where he sunk lown on the sedge and sea-pinks and swooned .way. "I must be stirrin' meself," said Pat Moran to ris wife about half past four o'clock that morning. 'I've a power to do; I've to take the cowlt to the air, an' the turnip field to plow afore I go." . Just as the first beams of the golden sunlight vere resting on the cabin ohimneys, and on the ligh buildings of the city hills opposite, he led his wo horses from their stable to the field by the rivir, where the plow lay, and having yoked them he ?gan turning up the furrows afresh. "It's a fine mornin', glory be to God!" ho soiloquized, "only for the poor sowl that's to see the astofit. Musha! What's that? Woa, thin," le cried, suddenly catching sight of something vhich looked like a heap of muddy clothes. "Lord ave us!" Aud without losing a moment, he rati lown to where tho unconscious man was lying, face lownward, on the sedge. Pat Moran's first impulse was to run for help; lis next to raise the body gently and drag it further up. The motion aroused the poor, half-dead jreature. "Who, in heaven's name, are ye, an' whal wought ye here?" inquired the fanner, looking in [error at the handcuffs. * "I'm?aren't you Pat Moran ?" ."Yes." . "Pat, ye know me poor father. I'm Tim Wekh; the poor fellow that's to he hanged to-day. Won'I pe thry and save me, for the love of God ? I've jome through tho sewer. I'm all night creeping through it, an' I swam the river, an1 I'm mosl jone. Won't ye thry and save me, Pat Moran, ind the Lord'll rcmimber it to you and your children foriver." "Tim Welsh! Lord be good to me. What am [ to do wud ye? I'm done for, if yon're found wud me, how can I save ye? What am I to do 1 Sure 'tisn't in the regard of sayin' that I wouldn't 3o a good turn for ye, Tim, but the counthry'll be roused afther ye, an' whero'll I hide ye, or what'li [ do at all?" Thus groaned the farmer as he ipened tho little gate and led him into the kitchen where Kate was baking a griddle cake for breakGist. Father, honey; 0 lor'! What's that?" she jried, as the tottering figure in the soaked discolired garments came into the cheerful light uf the turf fire. "Whisht, acushla! It's Tim Welsh," he whis pered. Kate sprang up from her knees and hei face grew white. "Kate, honey, what are we to do wud him?" said her father, trembling, as he recounted the lianner of Tim's escape. liTT! J_ 1!._ P* nttinr? rotfli <1 wnninn'i IJiUe ill ill) iUlUVl l SUE Wieu] nitu m nvwmi > mpulsive generosity. "The Lord pity you!" sht idded, bursting into tears at sight of the wretchec )bject before her. "I'll do what I can, Tim. Give him a. bit t( ite, Katie. I'll spake to some one I can thrust' "Pat, my life is in your hands," broke in the At ?itive. ^'Never fear, avick. I'll do me best for ye.' He hurried away a few hundred yards to the house )f his landlord, a Protestant minister; he kuockec iurfously at his front door, and was admitted by t sleepy maid servant. "Somethin' I want to spake to the masther a' Dout?I'm goin' to the fair this mornin'?tell hire ['m in a great hurry, af ye plase." After a minute's delay the gentleman appeared. "Somethin' very particular, sir," said the form >r in a low voice. "About that cow you were spa tin' to me, sir," he added, "for the maid servant1! !>enefit. "Come into my study here, Moran," said hi andlord. "By your lave, sir, I'll shut the door," said Mo ran. Then walking over to the table he put hit clasped hands upon it. "Misther Raymond, I can thrust you. I'm ii a great hobble, sir, an' I dunno what to do at all Misther Raymond, you was always a kind friend and a good friend, and you'll not betray me ? It'i i another man's saycret, an' yon muai give me your i word, sir, else I'd be afeard to Jet mortal man bear me."w .. "Moran, if you think I can promise as a man i and a christian, I will. You may trust me, whati ever it is," said Mr. Raymond. ( Thus assured, the farmer unfoldod his story, and begged his landlord's counsel. ; "I hardly know how to advise you, Moran," I said he, as soon as he could speak coherently, in his astonishment. "The poor fellow will be found out, I'm afraid, in spite Of all you can do, and you'll get into great trouble. Have his handcuffs filed off", at all events," he went on in a low tone. "Martin Leary will do it, and you can trust him, and may be the best you can do is to give the fugitive some of your clothes, and some food", and this." Ho took a guinea from the drawer. "Bury Hia nrienn ninth pa pnrefiillv in the manure Dit. and [ start him on the road to Wexford. That is all you can do safely, but be quick." The farmer left the house and ran on to the blacksmith's forge, where the smith and his son were 1 getting to work. , "Martin, I'm in a great hurry, goin' to the fair, and I want you to run over wud somethin' to cut a 1 chain for me; 'twont take you five minutes. Martin, you niver did a bethor day's work jn your life if you'll come as fast as your legs'll carry ycl" He said this is an under tone while the son's back was turned, "and whisht for all sakes!" ho added, clenching his hand and shaking it at the unconscious young Vulcan; then he rushed out, leaving the father grasping a bar of iron and starting after him. . The smith, with the freemasonry that exists among the Irish peasantry, perceived that there was secrecy and trouble in the way, and that his good faith was relied on. He picked up some tools, muttered an excuse to his son, and followed hastily. - . When Pat Moran reached home he was met at the door by Kate. "Is he safe?'.1 V", : "Yes, father, he's in the room atin a bib" * Her father went in, and going up to his strange guest, said; "I'm goin' to do what I can for you, Tim." Then they all began discussing eagerly the best way for the fugitive to take. * u - "Bat Lord! the whole counthryil be roused aftherhimi". broke in ..the farmer, dejectedly, as they suggested various lonely hill-paths and crosscuts. "Lord! they'll root up the ground afther hitu{" I "must thry though?I must thrj\ Heaven mend mc ! Aff I didn't lave.the horses al] this time, an' niver," he ejaoulated, catching sight of his forgotten team, who had dragged the-.plough after them to the adjoining'meadow, .and were grazing there. A sudden thought struck him, and he hastily returned to the house with his face flushed. As he entered the kitchen he ran against the smith, Martin Leary, who was staring about him. _ . . "Martin, you're thru au' honest, I kpow, an' you'd do a good turn as soon as any man I knowr" said Pat Moran, abruptly. "There's me band on it," returned the smith, banging down his Hack fist on the other's shoulder. In a few.Words he was told what was required of hu?, and also of the bright thought that had jqat oocurred to Pat Moran. ,.- . .. "Here?let me at it I"'cried the smith, enthusiastically grasping his chisel and hammer. Thereupon the.Tarmer led him intothe little room, where Kate was administering hot tea and smoking griddle cake to the poor fellow, who ate and drank'ah most mechanically, with his eyes fixed on- the pretty face and busy bands that ministered to him. "Here, Tim, 's some one to do you a good turn. Hold out your hands, me boy! Peggy," turning to his wife,, who was devoutly groaning and telling her beads in a corner, "go an' get me old olothes, an' Kitty,-run for that yellow clay in the kitchen garden! Hani". She did as she was bid, and when she returned with the clay, was desired to to keop ont of the room for a few minutes. "Mother, honey, what are they doing?" she inquired. "Sorra bit o' me knows, acushla. On'y your father has some plan in his head! Oh! Kitty, agra, I'm thrimbling to thinkTofthe throuble he j may be gittin into. Och, Pat, honey, what are yogoin' to do at all?" she cried, addressing her husband, who came out of the bedroom, dressed in his best blue swallow-tailed coat, corduroys, and new gray stockings. "I'm goin' to show this new sarvant boy where I ho's to plough, afore I go to the fair," said the fanner, with a wink to the two women, who stared . open-eyed at the change of the condemned man ' with the fatal prison garb dripping with mud and sand, and fettered wrists, into a careless easy-going looking young laborer, in a suit of well-worn and patched freize and corduroy, dirty and clayey, with lumps of clay sticking on his brogans, a ra. kish "eaubeen" slouched over his eyes, and a , block "dhudoen" between his lips, - "Now, come on I 'Tis time you were at your ; work ; his name's Maurice Slattery, Kate, an' he's wud us this month back!" "Oh, father, honey 1 Oh, Pat, acushla!" cried the wife and daughter with admiration, i The young man, taking the pipe from his mouth, | said solemnly, "May God for iver bless you, Pat > Moran, an' you, Mrs. Moran, and you, Kate, on' you, Martin Leary," and ho grasped their hands , all round. [ "Come,'tis six o'clock, "said the farmer. "You , know where the plough is, Maurice Slattery. You , have a new piece of iron to melt, Martin. An' . Kate, you've to bury them clothes. Come and I'll show you where." , Half an hour afterwards he was riding slowly to . the fair on his young horse which was to be sold, , casting cautious glances backward at the field by the river, where he could see his horses ploughing, . and his new servant boy toiling quietly after them. Hiiftli ennfiminn and excitement had not been known for years in the old cathedral town. Police, ' there were none in those days; but the whole gar> rison had turned out in search of the escaped felon. Groups of red-coats perambulated the ; streets, the roads leading to the country, and even i the lanes and meadows. Hundreds of country [ folks, who had come in to seo the execution, also crowded the town. The throng on the prison hill > was so dqpso that the farmer could scarcely pro' ceed a step. They were all talking vociferously in . Irish or Euglish, every one giving his version of the wonderful story. Some declared that the ' prisoner had not escaped, and that it was a device > of the authorities to oonceal some foul play. When [ Pat Moran had elbowed bis way with great diffii culty almost to the prison gates, be looked eagerly for the objects of bis searqfr, some of Tim's own . people, whom he discovered sitting and standing i together in an excited group. "Pat Moran, d'ye bleeve this?" said one of the , men, hoarsely, clutching the fanner's coat. "D'ye bleeve that poor Tim has got out of their cursed . trap?" 3 "John.Welsh, Tim.did got out!". "Whiahtl Lord save us!'-' they all brokoin with 3 one voice. - * -J '"Tisn't safe to say toore. I'm thrimbliu' that - some o' them fellows wid the brass buttons will 3 hear me," glanoing toward the turnkey, dimly visible behind the iron grating; "butyou, John i Welsh, an' you, Mick Power, come wud a car to. night at the cross-roads beyant the ferry, at 12 , o'clock, an' there'll be a friend to see you. Whisbt, s for your souls I" . J The prison wardens were not long in discovering by what means the captive had effected his escape, and from the opening the search was carried aboveground to the month of the sewer,-where it-emptied itself into the river. A vontnresome spirit even crept.up a few dozen yards of the black passage, but speedily returned, vowing that nothing oould livo half an hour io it. Nevertheless, they sought for foot-marks on the. river brink ; hut the Friendly tide had been before them. Still, on the supposition that he might have lived to reach the river, and swim across, a party of prison officials and soldiers were ferried over and marched in a body to Farmer Moron's house. Kate was busy feeding ohiokens, and her mother peeling potatoes, when they both caught sight of the gleam of scarlet and white cross-belts, and heard loud tones and footsteps. ' t "Lord, be good and merciful to us evermore, arnin! Protect and save nsl" muttered Peggy Moron, dropping the potato she was peeling, and turning with a face oflerror to her daughter, who mithmit Infnfflff Kpr IipdH TT UlOjTVIV/Uf VTAVIIUUV VUI . . ? # "Mother, darlin', don't pretend anything, for all sakes. Chucky, chucko! Chuck, chuck, chuck I" she went on raising hervolco gaily, as she scattered tho food.. . "Servant, sir," she said, wiping her hands and curteseying to a tail stoat officer, who strode ap to the door, scattering the chickens by the clanking i of his spurs and sword. ; . "Is this Fanner Moron's, my goqd girl ?" "Yes, sir.", , ... "Are you his daughter ?" _ ; "Yes, sir, and this is my mother-'! - , "Where's your husbaud^Mrs, Moron ?'' said the offioer, turuing.to the poor woman, who was endeavoripg to look calm. .^ "At the fair, sir?Oh, surs, 'tisn't got into any barm Pat has, sir ?,' > ,.- u . , j., . "Whathann shpuld he get into?about this runaway prisoner you mean?" said the officer trying to startle her ;nto an admission. "What man, sir ?" cried Kate. "Law, mother, honey I That's what the boy was telling usl" . "What boy?" said the officer, now off his guard. "A boy, sir?0^ 1 a ra'al little ehap?a gossoon ?run in here a while, ago an' saidjthe man that's to be hung's got out an' run away?and sure we didn't bleeve him 1" said Kate, with such aa air of self-postossion and inquisitiveness that the officer was completely deceived. A boy had come in as she had said," and told.the wonderful story, so she sppko the truth in that part of her assertion. "Welj, Mrs.- Moron," said tl\e officer, ."you've no objection to have your premises searched,.! suppose ? It is suspected that the prisoner is hidden somewhere about here." ..... . ... "Musha, what put that into yere beads?" said Peggy Moron, angrily. "Faith! it's something else we'd be tbinkin' of, an'not meddlin'wid the law;, but you're welcome to sarch away, sir, as long as yon like, on'y it's a quare thing.to have an Honest, man's house sarohed like a.rogue's I" "I must do my duty," said the.officer. . "Sure the. gintlemen won't do us any hurt, mother," said Kate. "Please don't let'em thrample, the potatoes, sir I " she called out as the men turned into the little garden. . Pat Mor&n's words were almost .fulfilled! that tho pursuers would..root up the ground in scorch of the fugitive. Not a bush or a hollow about the ground, not a loft or cranny in the house, or outbuilding, but was thoroughly investigated.At lapi, with a sickening feeling of apprehension, Kate saw.the hand disperse themselves over thdficfrj^ and three soldiers ran across the ploughed field-to question the man who was ploughing. Welsh's blood ran cold as he saw them coming; hut recollecting that they did not Jrnow his face, he glanced over his shoulder, and shouted in a feigned voice to the horses. The soldiers were young and careless. They merely asked two or three questions in an irrelevant way, staring up at the sky, and down at the clay, as if they expected to discover the prisoner transformed into a spirit of earth or air. Then they ran off again; and Welsh breathed freely until lie spied six other soldiers advancing.towardhim, with the officer in charge, and two others in dark frock coats with shining buttons and red collars. "God help me ! Sure I can only die " he muttered. . . . "How long have you been ploughing?" asked the officer. "Sence daybreak, sir. Woal An' hard work I have had, every ope runnin' to me sence breakfast, I axiu' me did I see the man that run away. Steady [ there 1" The laborer sulkily kept his back toward (the prison warders. "He is supposed to have swam tho river," said the officer; "and if so, and you have been here since daybreak, lie could not liave got over without your seeing him." "Sorra haporte I see sure, if he did; an' he must be a brave swimmer to come across that river this timo o'year, ain't the weather like ioe," said the ploughboy, with on incredulous grin, "sure he might land down farther, it'sagrad'&'al narrer, but anyhow I see nothin'. Conshume ye, straight!" he growled at tho horses, and bending double over the plough, furrowed on. The officer hurriedly called his men hack to the country road. The long day drew to a close, and when Kate came to call the ploogboy to his supper, whispered that there was no one in but her father and mother, he felt as if he had lived a lifetime in the past twenty-four hours. The father laughed heartily in telling some of the stories which were rife about the prisoner's disappearance. His body had been picked up four miles down the river, his clothes had been found by a turnkey under a bush, and his handcuffs had been picked up?half filed across?in a bog ten miles away. "Faith, I bursted laughing," said Pal Moran, "when I knew that Martin Leary had them welded into linchpins, an' that Katy had the clothes buried in last year's manure hape!" So they chatted pleasantly and securely, while the rescued man sat silent from thankfulness and gratitude, only casting side looks at Kate and sighing, heavily.' "Musha, man, don't be sighin' 1" cried the farmer, jocosely; "you'll be kickin1 up yer heels at your weddin* in Ameriky this time twelvemonths, pleaso God 1" "No, Misthur Moran, I'll never marry any one in Ameriky," answered Welsh. v . Kate got up to put on fresh fuel immediately. "Qch, niver fear, you will," replied the farmer, with good natured obtuseness. "--- "Musha, Misther Moran, 'tisn't every man 'ud give his daughter to one like me," said Welsh, in a low tone. "Arrah, Tim, agra, who'd think the worse o' you for havin' got into trouble an' got out again?" pursued the farmer. . "Ah, 'tisn't every one like you," said Welsh, sighing. "Oh, sure no one will know anything in Aweriky, Tin*; that's where you're goin' I suppose?" said Mrs. Moran, gravely and coldly. "Yes, ma'am," answered Welsh. I hope so." The good woman was far more acute than her husband, and disliking the turn the conversation was taking, began to introduoe other topics; bat with little success, as hor husband grew sleepy and stupid, Kate sat quite silent, and Welsh was sad. Thus they sat until twelve had struck, and then Welsh and the fanner rose to walk on to the cross roads, where the car was to be in readiness with his relatives as convoy and body guard. Welsh shook Mrs. Moran's hard hand and kissed it in the fullness of his .emotion, uttering broken words of gratitude and blessing. Then he turned to. Kate, who.was. weeping silently; he strove to speak, but words failed him, and he grasped her hand passionately and turned away. . "I'll shut the gate after ye," said Kate, following them out into the darkness. 'So she did, and Welsh delayed a moment, helping her to find the loop and staple,, probably ; though he strove to put a few words togethor, which had no reference (to the gate, .... .< >avX . ... ..-.r "Keep up your heart, Kate, agra," ho whispered ; "I'll send ye a lettber whin I get safe over, plaseGodl" -i Welsh sailed for England in a small coasting vessel, and thence from Liverpool, where he remained concealed for gome weeks.until tbo ardor of the pursuit after him had abated, when he embarked on board a fast sailing vessel?for there were nosteamers in those days?for America. -Wben.be. had landed, he sought the home of a relative who had been settled in the new coup tiyTor some years, and, by industry and strict honesty?for the dreadful lesson taught him was not' wasted?he very soon became independent of his- cousin, and had his. own snug houao and uinvjng larm. Ho wrote regularly to' tlio Morans; to the father first,-then to the mother, and lastly to the daughter. When he had amassed a little money,-he wrote again to the farmer, telling tlie astonished man his hopes and wishes concerning Kate, Peggy Moran angrily declared her husband to bare been blind all along?as there is no doubt he was ?but- she positivety refused to listen for a moment to the audacious suitor. However, .^"time works wonders." Her violent opposition died away gradually and Kate waited patiently. - At the end of.five years, her father being then dead, she and her mother departed . for .the land beyond thosea. -w. - -? This true story was related to the writer by a gray-haired widow, nn.Irish emigrant who h^d returned, after many years, from-America, to die at hornet Though her form, was bent by the weight of mere than seventy years, her memory was clear aud retentive, and her voice trembled and her dim blue eyes sparkled, as of yore,- jrith exoitement in. her recital of the perils undergone by Welsh, the lover of her youth, and the food and faithful husband whose joysand sorrows she had- shaped, for forty years. And now she 4iad cojne'hottfrfo die 1 in the littfe cottage-by the rivqr,;;where shri bad first known him, anil, where she had first succored j him in the hour bf his danger anddistress: v "On'y ' it's a poor thing to think -that I can't share his grave in the churchyard, where hit people lie," ; concluded the widow sadly, * "but bless God, we'll soon'meet agaiq,,r . ' " ; ^UscfUanco;!s MY XEWSPAPEB.1 - ? -11?* ? j Who can estimate , the .value .of a, newspaper % \ No one, nntil he has lost it-Mmtil the' pleasant periodical visits, like the face of a d^r -friend, bringing such a fund of wit, news and general in-: telligeuoe-tfyt-Ujn always greeted vgith a hearty welcome, are withdrawn- It is, in one sense, the i light of the world?without which the-omental aob " ? ? v ' \i ^ i 1 * . ,t _ -i _.. verse would .00 as muon m .aarK.ness. as tne terrea^iial^worid without the sun, . ^ ... . - ; There-lire books, it ia true, good, ,wise, instructive and entertaining; bat they do nottpH us what 1 we want to know of passing events, or direct us to the best places of business. Neither do they inform us who of our friends are passing away or getting married, or who haS sailed for the Eastern Continent, or who has returned from a tonr thither, eta I did not think of this until X had formed the foolish resolve not to take the paper another year. The pressure of the -times was severe, business dnU, my family expensive, and it really seemed necessary to retrench somewhere to make both ends meet at tho end of the year. So I thought, as I sat alone one evening, in dressing gown' and slippers, with my feet upon the fender.. X had my last paper iq my. hand, which I perused with a greater degree of interest than ever before; it may be beoause I had resolved to part with ft. , > "I tollyou," saidi to my wife, "It won't do; we must curtail our expenses i and X> will begin by withdrawing my advertisements from the newspaper and order it discontinued. .' Taxes will soon be due, which. must be paid'; wood. is enormously high, but we can't do. without it?nor groceries and provisions, nor lights nor clothing, or many other incidental expenses. We have plenty .of books and magazines, old to be sure, still they are readable, and we must do without the paper for the year to come. w-- > . "It's only two dollars a year," said W wife, quietly. J'I know it," I replied, "but every dollar counts now-a-days." "But do you not believe it will have a tendency to render business still more dull not to adyettise?" she asked; "Nonsense ! A place so well established needs not so questionable a lever to help it on. I do not suppose that it will make any difference, while the cost of advertising amounts to considerable," I replied, impatiently. _ . "But what-will you do for the news ?" she ventured again.,. ... . "Oh, I can get enough of that by intercourse with others, and occasionally buy or borrow a copy." i . . . . - "John Smyth," said my wife, now folly aroused, "I am ashamed of you. What! too poor to take a paper yourself, and willing to filoh information from others whose money is paid for what they learn, and at the same time defraud the honest publisher who is constantly laboring with head and ; hands for other's good. Talk about retrenchment i ?you had better stop your bills at tho saloons for i ale and segare?needless expenditures for yourself alone"; while your newspaper is a perpetual inteb lectual feast for the whole family, yourself not ex- i cepted, and it costs but tho mere trifle in comparison to the money you spend every week for tobacco and drink. You have not spoken of the in- i creased prices of these articles. Stop the paper 1 indeed !" And my wife jerked her chair around with not a very graceful movement, and set with her back toward mo in utter contempt of my "pen- i ny wise and pound foolish resolution." Now I make it a point never to yield to my Wife or any of my family, if I can help it, as in case I should, I would seem a secondary consideration in my own family?a position I by no means intend to occupy; so I said nothing, but sat and puffed my fragrant Havana, watching the graceful folds of smoke as it wound itself in- little wreaths about my head. I resolved that oome what would, I would not yield indulgence in the delicfous weed for the sake of a newspaper. The next day I called on my publisher, settled , my aocounts, and ordered iny paper discontinued. "On whnt ground ?" he asked, in some surprise. r "Nothing," I said, "I can't afford it," and I 1 walked awayr leaving him to his own reflection. 1 Time passed on ; tho day on which it was dne I could not feel quite contented at the non-appear- i anco of my newspaper. I missed the cheerful. '4 faco of the little carrier and tho interesting news -i he was wont to bring on the return of each week) i through fair weather and foul. There were other papers about, for I bought one occasionally, but < these were published in large .cities and contained no local news of jay own home. - : ?* .1 . At night, when I reached home, my eldest ; daughter, Mary,'met me in the hall. 1 <pWhere is the paper, paps 7" said sh^e, "Oh, 1 I am in sueh a hywy t# see & Mattie Trueworth's marriage is in jt, and-the. editor has pub- 1 Hahed snob an appropriate verse in connection, I i am told." - 1 But I pot her aside, saying, "The paper will i !>? narnti Ann mnvo > T kana if fA hft dig. I HW WUIUUUJ UlViV | 4. *14* V V * wv ?r? ? J continued.0 i .J-'.Wiiy, "Father 1'' .she exclaimed,, "how. can.we I do withoutjt?" v. . | V/ ' ^ J1 "'Wemastlearn to do without replied aih I passed oft to the supper room. * *1 After supper, instead of reading-to my family, < sometimes leading their minds 'a way off to other i scenes and distant regions, beautiful ooantricsthat ? others have explored at great-expenan and some i risk of life.; sometimes to the fierofc fields of blood < and carnage,; pictured so viyidly that they seemed < before us, while we were safe andjwtoforUble Hi I ouriitde home; or. single over the stray waifii of < real poetry which often find their way into the I newspaper, touching a tender chord iu every heart f ?us I was went to-do?I stretched myself upon the sofa and tried to sleep." * i "Tommy, raa over to Mr.'Wild's dad see if yon t cannot borrow die paper,'.' whispered Mary. - i But Tommy soon relumed with thennswer that 1 Mr. Wild, was reading it himself 1 'Then go <o Mr. Brown's, and if you oauuot get bis, go to Ma Gates'. .** ' > - - - ' ( * But Tommy was not. more suocesrful at any of j these places. ' Mr/ Brown had -taken "his paper < down town, and Mr. 6ates<tidn't-like4o]ei>dhisl j thought his father took it. A disappointed sigh j was Mary's only answer. "The particiiJah of'that murder affair axe in < the paper this week^" said my with, with a sHght t froWn upon her brow, 'hind I would really like titf < see it'J ? v ' j "And Minnie Milford's Sew story was to coaie ( out irf this week's, paper.' I wish 1 could borrow ' It somewhere,'' sard Maty. V i "Here, "Tommy," sai<H, taking fjvecents from ( mf pocket, "'ran down to the news ofice and toy ^ a copy, if it's not too lite, and the publishing-o? J (ice shut up." eAAn *olnKna^M/Mtf nf xuuiuijr owu tubuiuv|? wiv??vii. * Tv ?% ? enough after thai old uewapipe^" with juafc & 1 totiqb oPhis father's spunk, "and I^wtn'fdpit i again. The "publishing elfiodWas-cIoae^atKf lite | hews oSce'had not a number left, pwotild UkCto ] fmdtmt though, when that celebation" 19 to comO i off.' Nobody-knows for sure,"battkepape& 'IsHf j ififthat. Father?" Houdded. The tnitids oTafl, as t well as myself, were on the missing - paper, butT ] was thoroughly out of patience with myself)"aflfid f with them. "I tell you X don't knpw anything 1 about it," I replied," in a not "very amiabie tone, ! t fear. * "Seems to me yon lire ail verytmiclnnter- < osted id the confounded paper since "you jtnow Iris I stopped. I don't want to hear a word about ?" 1 This pat a quietus -on the subject?at Itost for a 1 time. v f? ;.r"^-rv; /1 However", as time passed on,. I'began to think I 1 had made 'very-little 'progress in bettering my 000*- 1 dition, andlhat "gathering Information tSf current \ events by intercourse wit^'ethere"" wisaverf utt- ^ reHuble source/ Every'one gave a coloHug peduff- ] arly his own^and every one,needs.read ft* hhnshJT \ to have a correct idea of what is otrironnd 1 him. ' - \ 7 j Besides-this, my business, finm duftheodtho ddff 1 er, and eventually dullest! while my'-neighbor 1 across the way, with qo bettcrquahficationror fee- j ulties than myself, seemed to be doing a thriving i business.; Could it be becausehe'advertised in the 1 local paper?that which nobody took the trohtte ] to road. Doubtful. <" 1 _ One day I met an old friend and customer whom I had often wondered what'had bqponieijf, as weR as some others of his neighbors, Who wefe onfie 1 good paying customers of mine. *'*' . I "How are you?"" said he, giving' me his hand; 1 "How do yoU prosper ? Goingdewn biR, eh?" - < Jll hope not" I replied, with a-feint smile. ~ < * -"I supposed yotthad closed out or smashed up; 1 and, as I am usually in a hurry when I come to town, go where they advertise to do work prompt- 1 fy and well. This is why I havedot seen ydpJate- < ly. Good by, "sir. . If you are still in the business ] lot "us see vour card, and know whai yod are < dbiog."' ' * '*> *> ;m i I begin to think better of advertising th&ol did 1 before, and on my way home I gate the publisher I of the paper a call. "* - i . '"I began to think, ay friend," said I, ^ began J in the wrong direction to curtail expenses, and 1 ' was indeed, 'penny wise and pound foolish,' when j I-withdrew my patronage. Our interests *re more i intimately connected than I -could hate believed, i ontH I made the experiment J Thereupon I was again enrolled on his list of i subscribers and a half column devoted to my boai- < ncss. And-I freely confess I have no reason tore* 1 gret the expenditures. My -old customers and i many new ones began to make their appearance? 1 bnsiness began to revive* and ere long I felt war* ranted in the expediency of securing an assistant. My family was' gra&fled at the appearance of their old friend, the newspaper, and Tain resolved that sooner ,than part with it, I will glvtf-up lia!e j and cigaw, which, for* me, would be quite a sio- ' rifice. " I prize more highly than'ever toy newspa- j per. \ - ' ?? *? ? 1 Burn's k Bonnie Jran Amour."?It is well 1 known that the fame of Burns sear troopaof ad* i mircrs" from-"*4'a' the airts the win' ^san blow" to I visit his widow, who continued to reside in the I house in which her husband died. A big, burly,' i open-hearted Englishman, one morning touched t the knocker that adorned-the door of the modest t house in Bnm9' street, being anxious to-see the I celebrated "Bonnie Jean." -The appeal was aH- t swercd by Mrs. Burns herself, who, happening to t be "elbow-ujfin her baking," was not in ft stato to e receive visitors. The stranger soon told his story, t and was courteously shown to the parlor by Mra. i Burns: Ever anxious to gratify the admirers of i her husband's genius, the good lady^ dofl& her i dusty apron, put on a tidy ca& and immediately i re-appeared iu the room where the stranger was I waiting. The Englishman seeing his old friend i who had opened the door to him, asked again to i see "Bonnie Jean." "Weel, sir," said Mrs. e Burns, "Bonnie Jan stands before ye, an^lRm c afraid by your looks that you're somewhat disap" "Ton thnnsnnd nardons. madam." said I pUtUMUl AVM " ? j , ? the stranger, rising, f,I thank .you for. your good- t ness in permitting me this distinguished.honorand 1 valued privilege." It is unnecessary to-detail the i usual common-place conversation that took place t ou such, an occasion. Just as the Englishman rose j to depart, bo expressed his delight with, the inter- i view, and proceeded?"I am, madam, a most On* < thusiastic admirer of your husband's nummary and t genius, and should value as pxioeieai the smallest i thing you have to give. I would wittingly pay for ? anything without giving ofience; hut the most < worthless thing in your eyes would be to me priee- i less; any scrap, or article, or relic, I would keep t as the apple of my eye 1" "Weel, sir," answered 1 Mrs. Burns, with a twinkle of fun in her eyes, "I \ (ear the hotee-oooteins very few of these relics of < the herd; indeed, so great has been the demand J for them during the by past years, that 1 begin to j think the only relic left is mysel', and doubtless \ you'll no take the gifVor that!" The KngKahmfw < doubtless made good bis retreat *1 : .Wh% DO |io*.Otm*Tttrpt Last* UmtBt ? That they are nam perfeot, if the right material* are famish od,, there cannot b^adoobt. Batm the neoessaiy dements frunube^ -to dhihlw ?s they are to tho-yonagnf Qtberaaimals? JMh ire noteutyeefc -our teeth, to ddeterioos infioewe from whicfrhnfaaakthafcobip thd/ualsiallnrtjinte art exempt? The forming young of otifltfcstatis, while dependent on the mother, get Bme, phooftttfrrn, potash, aflat, and alHhe other igWI of which the teeth.are composed, from the ttoed or milk of the mother, and. she gets them fromAhe food which .Natate provides omkmmng these etcneots in their nsttuml proportkm * But where elm the ohiH in its forming state; get heae necessary elements, whom mother Kre^|Mwripdly on -starch and hotter, oyiftagar, qeitWof rhidijtohtmosa ptftidnjQf lime, phesparu, fot> isb or rilex ? Nituroperfortnsno jnimelee,. She makes teeth as glass is made; by combining the dements which eompom thfiss-aeoolfrmg Jto her mm chemical principles. And t&s' ' H W, fc. v Jje more rerctoie, Because toe oomposiaoi] or we mameb of the teeth and of^dMgia'vwj aeaifrr idenioal; both, at least, roquiria^ tha somUnattoif of rilex with sohu alkaline^principle. If; then, the another .of anoaboea. a? avug Q&at iiTM.on white heete* add ^Uti, pitsp bad JOUi0CtKM)0iyf wfliOu MWT) Wfl Vw/ Jlf^ to of threiwaeoteteMoh own***? the teeth, wtehng short of a mucaote Mb give her a etulfT Vrtth 5tfcd teeth, and especially wkhieteh ehtoasls 1 But whet artiefejoCM wSj?altftSigl|j^ j^ood milk wiM make go*4 teetfcrfor to males tbsm 'or calves. Good meat will, also, ftrfesalm hem lbrhotu and wolwre. ' Qosd vagrtaUes'^bd fruit wfll make gfrjd teeth, for they make thdwfor aonkeys. . * Good com, oats, berieybwhte't, J*?,W indeed, iverything that grows will mdcs good teeth, if ftem in their datu^i state, do elements, bene taken >Wt i forei&y oooof then does maimi teeth for tersest <?w?i sheep abd other* animals.' BatShMh Edgar, laid xjr hotter ?BCMl make-jjbod t?pCh. rbvl tned them wjth yout ohUcDnfiret teeth, fid ailed; and your q^k^ots have, tei?d them* and he issoUis thai nmsp .or woman at Hasty with (ood aodod teeth is a very rara ?inefrfifln? Pitotophy of Health. ' J - *? ?1-: '? 0,,i . ? -; * '. ' iNoivnjty. ?Incivility hasndt opto- uftstfUkt naby a customer; but his,' through ^hatpne kMB, &&!* cept by the reported tfiacooclpay WWn in mm ishmenk In the^od, like crime, to awn Nemesis. Nor standi itbe-fbrgotton tirat t-foofah pride is often at the bottom^ dtanoinUgqt. < It-arises, perchance, frri? fcotoe "Whrnwe roil?" borfrof feeling, add thtis WOririagttaWn^bro the speeobuhb becomes dfeocimie&uhhhoj&t -ras at heart sclf-oonoeited and proud. In every ict ofcourtesy thaoe is 4c apkogwls^gmynt of the Jains .00. our attention- araTrrapnet ' rod hwe in virfc??thethror i trait irtmfdufr ?iBpBilrof if |s adaaft^amWeraSsompiWiiewt, u^tto sdeer'at It as^O&ofjb It taMSe) ;*?-*> pseudo-refinement Any study ottbe derange jrf voids, shows us courtesy au^ civility oomprepahd in jtheipselves the retafiooa. fteMm to Hbere;. -and those rotations, an not otfedfeMe-'ef xuymg-and seUing/ with another awti marital m Jecto oFHhe cpe^-fhey are aooral mfttaftmlws vfll, anfr include general bipptWta taMfdte ?puqo wepl. Thus it is that the erp&y ijdates to itp.a^mg wrftitfe' part assigned. is r* _ oitefeos, living iratns taolrted bbtags; indulging aqWhh lataoa, ind" looting only at ourselves, bnfcnat theaewrho feel themselves to be part of -the grewt common irealth of batons, interests aixFhopes, and as such Jesirons to minister, bjr edurtesy and civility, to the [>eace and joy of those around us in the world. k ^ Jfopultf $&VG6ltOr. , . ?-?* ? *..? T" 4LfrT'g lia^s.?An-^intflligsnt ycwfcg mother inquired some days time how shn oould best ^reservo heruhfldVInen clean -end swnoHrinv changed frequently during thedby. f dirratwFker sever to dry it by the fire, but in the sua anil open air if the weathejTpermitted, Yotffhus not only avoid saturating tire air of yopr rooms with -the roJatifeaod poisonous gases driven oat of the taraa, but the BUR's rays have' power* of alerairiQf and iirinffecting, which artificial-heat has not, nfi wiH purify and'preserve t^e linen. She Allowed my directions, but as is toe often the practice, dried ind aired ii in the ourra^.w?do^. Ijter&atidieus hiwhwnd fvp*rtft9t?atod in jmi nptarat dhra imbIt AznoRore. Bdmiiu thai if she.mr tar practice .aeotheresewkshewouH Mil) tie ?f directed their afteyoon v^as to bring the nursery lag linen %piai ooneptfMOOfbrinthg iwao, and isked aaroaetically: 4'My deu(iAat in that displayed from our window?" "Why," she proudly replied, "that is th? flag of oar onion r ,0mlaeredby thi^pongeot retort, he saluted the fern wiih'a swing of his-hM*. and pressing Ais wife's uro closer within his ova, sung M thsf mted homeward: ?. Jen j&niiusiU Phyticum t* Hearth and Jfmas. V - ? 1 ?.!* ? .^> ' . ' ? The Painless KNjy*^?The British Msdwal tasocinifon hie commenced he -annual sewwn hi retj i^igs ogical fact has been exhibited' by Dir. B. W. Kiohuodson, JF. & 8. It has long been know* to surgeoiis that an ipjmy rely rapidly inftoted is net ittepded with'safleriag, and owthls principle Br. RfchardtoU has oonstrncted what he calls a "painess knife." It consists^ a keen Mroulit Unrfe, ip eopneoted with watchwork that it can be made r reroha with very great rapidity. It iefeand hat, when a speed of tweaty-hve complete revontionrtn a second has been "Obtained, the edge of he knife may be applied to the animil "Body, and hat It Wfll ilivido the soft patfc without-pei? or ira eooaaoneneaa. The lower aaipafeWe need o display what can be done on man, and Dr. RiehirdsOn was able to oat threats of a rabbit into [tripe *hile the JUk ertMnie woe oontiaiWHj poaching gwen stuff, hi entire ignorance rfUl spy in which it was being beared. Unftsiunatey the knife, the only one of its kind at^reseut exsting, was accidentally thohat W seww one to vhom it was bandedfbriwpacriefi . atNUhns the [xporiments with it were wewgbt to a psematare onctorioi* * * ' * . .-.i. ' ? ? i; . - IBavx KoToa jO dnrDT.-r-1*6e idea about he want-of this time fpricia foood 1kmin.lHt ofdhifrJhW ~te dive nto ihs^ hidden veoess of aft- hkpfcftoephr, and o explore the udtrodden path of aeioBte The {tool lfetariok. with so empire at his dfoaotlunin 1^*?^ ftr on the era of batUes^wtehwere he charmsof philosophy, mi ioteBeeUal plessms.t Bonaparte, with batffiarope athirdbpoal, with kings in hia ante-chamber fcogpng for ? ant thrones, with thoosaads-of wtefe whOee destities were suspended on his axfcptmty jriMflgn, had ime to'oonvewe with books. Csesar, when he ud omehed the spirits of thwRnmig paepfa, and vasthraowed with visitor* from the re&e&st kingloms, found time for intellectual cupoauatioo. Every man has rima; if he is careful to improve it as well as he might, he can reap a three-fold reward. Let the young make use of the hours at heir disposal, if they want to obtain a proper inluence in society. / /