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ATfIIr.L WRIGHT, .Elitor 'and Proprietor.
VOLUME XXXI, NUMBER 48.1
RUBLISYIED EYERY SATURDAY MORNING
Office in Carpet Hall, North-west corner of
-IFront and Locust streets.
forms of Subscription.
'Rue Copype ranzinm,i f paidin adviirice.
•• " if 1101 puid within three
_jnonihsfrom commeneemenioftlie year, 200
.
' Cleozilts; to cic:6l:• - 5 , '.
4404 übsenption received toir a less time than stx
pan the; and no paper will be discontinued until all
Ayroarugepa re paitiolutessat the optionotthe pub-
ij7P.lloneyatayt,e,emittedb althepublish
et* s risk
Rates of Advertising.
■ quer • [GI ines]one week , 80 38
three weeti, 75
eaelt.ubsequentinsertion, 10
ines]oneweek. 50
three weeks, 1 00
ettelt4ubsequentinsertion. 25
Largertdverti.ement.in proportion
A I tberulliscountwi I lbe mule 4.0 quarterly,half:
ea rl y . or:earlSr tdvertisers,who are strictly confined
°then* bUdilleSS.
DR. HOFFER, •
DENTIST.--OFFICE, Front Street 4th door
A., from Locust. over snylor &McDonald's Donk store
Columbia, Pa. 117'Eutrance, same no J0114.5, 2 i. Pho
tograph Gallery. , [August 21, 1858.
THOMAS WELSH,
ITSTICE OF THE PEACE, Columbia, Pa.
OPFME, in Whipper's New Building, below
.ISlock's Hotel, Front street.
E -Prompt uttention given to all business entrusted
40
November 28, 1857. .
11. 31. NORTH,
ATTORNEY AND COUNSELLOR AT LAW.
Colurnbia.Pa.
Collections .1. romptlymade;in Lancaster and York
counties.
Columbia, play 4,1950.
J. W. FISHER,
Attorney and Counsellor at Law,
caurtit.lbizt,
Colambut, September 6; 136-ti
S. Atlee B ckius, D. D. S.
PRACTICES the Operative, Surgical and Meehan
ical Deparunmna of Dentistry:
Orrice Loeusikt rem, between be Franklin Haase
and Post OlTice, Columbia, Pa"
May 7.
Harrison's Conmbian Ink
i, a superior article, permanently black.
IT and not corroding the pep, can be had in atiy
antity, at ilia Family Store, and blacker
jet IV that English iiool. Polish.
Columbia. Jam: 9, 1850
We Have Just Received
R. CUTTER'S Improved Nicol Expanding
Sutpender and Shoulder Braces for Gentlemen.
and Patent Skirt Supporter nod Bruce for Ladle.,
putt the article that is wanted of this time. Come
and bee them at Family Medicine Store, Odd l'e:lows ,
[April 9.18.59
Prof. Gardner's Soap
TNTE hove Cie New England Soap - fur those who die
I! not obtain it from the soap Mail; it is pleasant
to the skin, and wilt take grease spots from Woolen
Goods, it is therefore no burahug, for you get the
worth of your moneyje the Farmly Medicine Store.
Columbia, June lt, 1859.
or, Bond's Boston Crackers, for
Dpipeptlea, and Arrow Roof erneLevi, for:in
valid4 und caliche:l—new articles in Columbia, al
the Family Medicine Store,
April IG, ❑i3t).
QPALDING'S PREPARED GLUE.--The want of
such un article is felt in every family, and now
it cult lie supplied; for mending furniture, china
ware, ornamental work, toys. *c., there is nothing
superior. We truer,found It useful in repairing man)
'Articles which have been useless for 1110111116. You
Jan:Asia it at the '
sa.ounAs FM I LY MEDICINE STORE.
xitorr AND STEEL 1
Subberiliern have received u New ucd Lurge
Stuck of all kuel, and size. of
BAR IRON AND STEEL!
'They are coienantly eutioned with toek ludas branch
.of his an d can Punish it to customer. lit large
.or small quantities, ut the iOWCAL rates
J. RUM PLE & SON.
Locust street below Second, Columbia, Pa.
April:2.i. I z•GO
RiTjateomlotsJru?of
and
idcrryitoidscVET ;alea
he Coldest Mortar Dragtitore, Front M. lulY2
A YEIt'S Compound Concentrated Fatract
A
Sursaaarilla for the cure of Scrofula I King'a
Evil. and all scrofulous affections, a freM at, :le just
received and for mole Oy
IL WILLIAMS, From at , Columbia,
sent. ISO,
FOR SA LE.
n GROSS Friction Matches, very low for cash.
n
V .losse R. WILLIAMS
Dutch Herring!
ANY one fond of a good herring eau be ',applied at
S. F. EBERI.EIN'S
Grocery Store, No. 71 Loeain st.
Nov. 19. 1859
ir YON'S MR 01110 CATAWBA. BRANDY
and PURE WINES. especially for Medicines
lid Sacramental purpoec.. n t ehc• -
FAMILY MEDICIATSTOIII:.
NICE RAISINS for 8 as. per pound, are to
be had only at
Grocery Store,
March 10, IMO. No. :t I.ocust street.
4. ARDEN SEEDS.--Fresh Garden Seeds, war-
N../.1 muted pure, of ull load,, just 'teemed at
ELIERLEIN 'S r ry Store,
Alareb 10.18011 . N0 7 li l. ° ll4t4t meet.
POCKET BOOKS AND PURSES. "
A LARGE lot of Pine and Common Porter Books
uud Purses, at from 13 cents to two dollurs each
lit Idquartcrs and News Depot.
I 7olumbia, April 11.1,430.
A REW more of those beautiful Prints
lett, which will be Sold cheep, at
SAYLOR ac AIcDONALINS
Columbia. Pa.
OM
Just Received and For Sale.
1500 ARKS Ground Alum Sall, in large
orsmalt quanti at
A PPOLD'S
Warehowe • Canal Dania.
\l¢yu; GO.
COLD CREAM OF GLYCERINE.—For the cure
and prevention fee clumped bandit, the. For vale
at the GOLDENIIORTAR DRUG STORK,
Dee 3,18:i1t. Front ttireet. Co!within,
Turkish Prunes!
1,7„,• 1 0.11 a first rate IMACIC of Prunes you muq_go to
S. F. EUERLEINtS
' S ' °° * l9, 1944 . Grocery Store, No 7/L Locust at
GOL - 15717ENE, cO/..E PENS. -
limn ree.ived a large and fine essortment of Gold
.4) Perm. of Newton and Griswold's manufacture, at
SA TLOR & McDONALIYS Book Store,
agrit 34 Front street, above Loce-t.
FRESH GROCERIES.
lv F. continue to sell the lies t•• rosy* Syrup. whit
1 i and Brown :Sugursigood Coirees *nil chous Tel. ,
:
la be `aid in Columbia at the New Cornet Store. op
posill te OS 4 Fellows' Hall, and at tits old stand'adjoin
ang ia 'nit. H. C. FON DEES II rii•
Segars, Tobacco, &c.
LOT of first rite Segars. Tobacco and Snug
will
A. be found at the store of the eub‘Crlber. He keeps
only a Lr..t rate ■n,cte. C ult
S. F. EIIERI.EIN'S Grocery Store.
Locust et., Coluntbah,
Oct G,*t: o
CRA NBI ES,
niv Crop Pra nk s, New E Co RR
ro o.
I
Om 7U. leak
a. M. RAMBO'S,
SAR
SaYee., Refined C •
0a. , 4 e miu, d 14 ". 1 ° by $ 3. i'Mtttket
No. 71 LOr1II•1 $4.
e k t AS4 I EURILES.
;UST received Al fre.h tot air Cranberries an Nal , '
$.l Currant.. at No. II Lueutt Street.
Oct 21, It...titt.
tor.nuls.
gdettinuo.
Madame De Vermont.
Si 50
I bad brought old Sustteeintelligence of
the death of the mistress she served in her
youth, and never went on a more unwilling
mission. The deceased Countess had been
a benefactress to Susette and her family.—
The farm and cottage they owned on the
pleasant banks of the Seine, where it flows
down clear and narrow from the hills of Bur
gundy, were her gifts. Every New Year's
day, her steward had a standing order to
present the entire household with new dress
es; and Susette. herself had an annual pen
sion of a thousand francs from the Countess
ever since her marriage, which happened
some forty years before.
The pld woman sat spinning at her °A
tage-door, with white linen cap and hand
kerchief, russett glyn, and blue striped
apron, in which I had seen her arrayed
summer and winter for many a year. I told
my sad news with all the ceremony and cir
cumspection it seemed to require, but, to my
amazement, Susette made no demonstrations
of grief, heard me to an end tell how mad
ame had died almost suddenly, after a very
'short illness, at her residence at St. Peters
burg, without word or motion, except that
she turned the wheel more slowly, lookel
vacantly out on the soft spring evening,
which was now falling on the farm and vine
j a:d, as if the far past came with it, and
said with an expression of more bitterness
than sorrow: "She's gone at last, then."
I made no response; it was my firm con
viction that Susette's senses were leaving
her. Perhaps the old woman guessed my
thoughts. She continued to spin silently
for a few minutes, with her eyes fixed on
her apron, then stopped her wheel, looked
me full in the face, and said: "You have or
ten wanted to know why madame always
lived abroad, and why I didn't go with her;
I'll tell you, now that she's gone. You're a
friend of the family, and won't talk about
it; and I should like you to know why
wou't mourn fur the Countess.
"I was the first maid that ever the Coun•
teas had. My mother had been femme de
chambre to her mother, Madame Valere;
and when Mademoiselle Clarise went to the
convent of St. Ursula, where all the ladies
of her family got their education, she sent
me with her to be a good girl, and never
part from my young mistress till I got a good
husband. The convent of St. Ursula stood
in a valley shut in by low hills, in the heart
of the wine country; where grapes ripen
under the long summers of Champagne.—
The vineyards belonging to it stretched up
the hills as far as one could see. The nuns
were kindly, and not over-strict. I can tell
you there was little fasting or penance done
in that convent. They took few scholars,
and those only of the best families, gave
them the best teaching, kept all the fetes,
and made a feast more or less on every
saint's day. I had leave to play with my
young mistress, to keep her things in order,
and to pick up scraps of learning beyond
most girls of my station. Mademoiselle and
I grew'up almost like sisters; and she never
kept thought or act of hers from me; not
that she wanted advice, though I was the
eldest by three years. The nuns used to
wonder at the sense she had—never in a
scrape, never out of discretion; the rest of
the scholars called her nothing but Madame
le Saga.
"The years passed quickly away, as they
do when people are young. Ker education
was fifiiiihed; and we went home to Madame
Valero's house in Paris. The family had
been among the hest in France, and never
forgot their birth and station;' but the revo
lution had left them neither land nor for
tune. Madame Valere wais widow, with
a great old house in the nitibourg St. Ger
main, and a small pension allowed her by
the King, Louis Dix-fiuit, when he got back
to his throne; so Mademoiselle had no chance
but to get well married or become a nun, as
she often told me; and I used to say she was
sure to get a good husband, being so pretty.
I 1 thought my words like to turn out true be
fore we were three months at home, fur a
young officer, who happened to be the son
of an old friend of madame's, called to see
the ladies one morning, and never kept out
of the house after. Ilis name was Victor
Florian. Ile was just the man for her—
brave and handsome with such fine dark
eyes and hair. My young mistress thought I
so too. There were rings and letters be
tween them unknown to madame or anybody
but me. Victor was a great favorite with
the old lady; she used to tell his exploits.—
Elow he bad served in the last of the empire,
and how it was through giving most of his
pay to support an aged grandmotber.und
two aunts that ho was so poor, for Monsieur
Florian had no fortune but hie sword.. She
hind had a thousand more fine things to tell
of him. My poor mistress heard them all, i
and I suppose be told her the rest; bet, just
when tboy were so deep in love as two young
people could be, Count de Vermont saw
Aladel.poliella at .a ball. He could not be
called old, being liAle above forty; he could
I pot he called ugly, though his features were
large and his look. heavy. compared with
Victor, he was nobody at all; bat the count
!vas rich; he had lands in 4ar i ondr, a fine
house in Paris, and money In Alm
Well, he saw Madernbiselle, danced
her, asked leave to visit at the bouite, and
proposed foi liento Madame.. It was a cap
ital match; the oh; lady NT4t like to donee •
"NO ENTERTAINMENT IS SO CHEAP AS READING, NOR ANY PLEASURE SO LASTING."
COLUMBIA; PENNSYLVANIA, SATURDAY MORNING. JUNE 29, 1861.
fur joy, and expected Claris° to do the name.
Of course she did not; but the sense the nuns
used to admire in her coufouuded me when
I came into the dressing-room, and finding
her all in tears, began to cry too, saying that
Monsieur Florian would break his heart,
and that the best thing they could do was
to run away.
" 'No, no, Susette,' said she; 'he has no
fortune, neither have I; we could not live as
becomes our station. Waiting would do us
no good; he will never have more than his
pay. Aly mother expects me to marry the
count, and I won't get such an offer every
morning.'
"I could not think her hard-hearted, she
cried so much about it. Madame Valere
must have guessed something was wrong;
but high born ladies hr..‘e a great deal of dis
cretion, and she took no notice. I was sent
with all his gifts and letters to Monsieur
Florian one evening quietly, and I thought
the poor young man would have lost his
senses. However, the trousseau was got
ready, and my young mistress became Mad
ame do Vermont.
"I went home with her to the Count's fine
house, and must say he was not a bad hus
band. She wanted for nothing that a Coun
tess could or should wish for; of dress, jew
els, and company, she had enough and to
spare. The Count was kind to ,Madame
Valere, and would have had her to live with
them, but she stuck to her old house, think
ing it more independent. He was kind to
me as being his lady's confidential maid,
though I never liked him He was kind to
every friend of the family, and, above them
all, to Monsieur Florian. They had been
acquainted long before the marriage; the
Count's brother was colonel of the regiment
in which Florian served. Ile knew nothing
of the love between him and my mistress—
how wild lie? the thing was kept so secret;
so the poor Count was ahvays inviting the
young officer to his house. Monsieur Flor
ian was always coming, and I could not help
thinking no good would come of that; be
cause, for all the words said before prefect
and priest, the old love had not died in their
hearts. Wherever she went, his eyes fol
lowed the Countess; it was the work of all
his days to get near her. Of course she had
to be civil, but meant nothing wrong.—
'Never fear, Susette,' she used to say when
I warned her against him, 'Victor int man
of honor and I will never disgrace my fam
ily.'
"At last they began to write letters; I
suppose they must have been sad ones, for
one day I found them both weeping in mad
ame's boudoir, and afterwards she told me
that Monsieur Florian was going to join his
regiment in the south. That was about six
months after my mistress had got her new
name; and next week there was great news
among Florian's friends. An old uncle,
who had disowned him for serving the Em
peror, and promised to leave his estate to a
convent, died, and left a will making him
his sole heir. They say the monks were so
greatly disappointed that they refused to say
a single mass for him, and nobody could be
lieve the old man bad changed his mind till
a notary-public read tho will in a general
assembly of all his friends and relatives.
"It was the very next Wednesday; the
Count had gene to see his mother, who still
lived in the house she occupied before the
revolution, in Versailles. I don't think my
mistress expected anybody; she had been
out most of the day in shops and the gard
ens, for it was summer time, and she sent
me late in the evening for a new novel she
wanted from the book-seller. The house
was quiet, as generally happened when the
Count was absent; most of the servants had
got a holiday, and among them the porter;
but I had a key and could admit myself.—
My mistress' dressing-room was at the back
of the house, which, though it stood in the
Rue St. !tonere, was an old one. They said
it had been a country house belonging to
Queen Catharine de Medici, ages before the
street was built. There was a garden be
hind, but the high houses were so built round
it that there was no way out or in, except
by a sort of pavilion which communicated
with the dressing . room by a small door at ;
the one end, and with the garden by a stair
at the other. The door next the dressing
room was opened by a key which my mis
tress kept in the lock for her own conveni
ence; she liked the garden, and used to
prune the roses and do up the jessamine
there wish her own hands. lam telling you
all this to let you understand how the thing
happened. When I came back with the
novel, the house was as quiet as when I left
it, but„as I reached the dressing-room door
I heard voices within; It was not the Count I
returned, fur I peeped through the key-hole,
and there was Monsieur Fleibus on his
knees before my mistress, clasping both tier
hands, and praying her to fly with him.— ;
She was crying as if her heart would break
and saying: 'No, Victor, no, lam a married
woman.' A sound below made me start
from my peeping in an instant. Somebody
came quickly up stairs. The step was so
li:ht I took it for Julien, the valet, and was
coming out singing, that my mistress might
know there were people about, when the
Count himself walked past me, right into
the dressing-room. I ran in too, determined
to stand by my mistress. There was nobody
but herself now, my singing or his step
having given the alarm; but witbouta word
the Count walked straight to the payillion
door, jocked it and put , the key in his
pocket.
”Monsieur," said she with uncommon dig-
nity, as if no lady had ever been so insulted,
'what does this mean?'
"'That is for you to consider, madame,'
said he, and ran to his own room. We heard
him go and come as quick as lightning, and
before either of us could speak; he was there
with a loaded pistol in his hand.
" 'Husband!' cried my mistress, throwing
herself on her knees between him and the
pavilion door, 'for the love of God let him
go. Ile has never wronged you, neither
have I. But I will retire to a convent; I
will do anything you please; only let me
go. You would not shoot an unarmed
man."
"The Count made no answer, but flung
her out of his way. I cannot say whether
it was a push or a blow, whether the act
roused the southern blood of her family—
'they were from Marseilles—or whether she
saw that nothing better could be done, but,
springing up, oho snatched the pistol from
his hand before he could prevent her, turned
it on himself, drew the trigger, and being
to near to miss her aim, the Count received
the bullet in his breast, staggered back
against the door he had locked, swayed for
a moment and fell heavily to the
Before the smoke cleared away, I saw her
stoop over him, and take the key out of his
pocket: but the Count never moved more.
'"Susette,' said she, 'we must give the
alarm; remember he shot himself,' and she
dropped the pistol beside him, just as Ju
lien and the housemaid came rushing up to
see what had happened: I suppose such a
screaming was never heard in Rue St. Hon
ore as I made, and my mistress went into
hysterics wonderfully likb nature. The
Count had committed suicide in her dressing
room, fur no reason that we could guess.—
Such was the account furnished to the po
lice and the neighbors; and when opportu
nity served, two or three hours after, Mon
sieur Florian left the house, with my long
est dress and largest shawl on. Every body
pitied madame, and puzzed themselves to
make out why the Count shot himself.—
Some thought it was on account of a quar
rel with his mother—the old lady had a
reputation that way; some asserted it was
owing to an intrigue he had in Versailles;
seine, that he was mixed up in a conspiracy
againet the government; and all Paris talked
and wondered over his suicide till something
else happened for them to talk and wonder
about.- We bad a greater puzzle regarding
the Count. Ile bad never known never sus•
petted anything, to our knowledge, yet ho
left madame his mother three hours earlier
than usual, must have watched Monsieur
Florian seen him enter the house, admitted
himself with his own key and very little
noise, and guessed that he was in the dres
sing-room. People thought it was grief that
made madame grow so pale and thin; but I
knew that it was fear that he might have
had an informer, and that some end of the
story would come out. However, at last an
explanation was found, though not a very
clear one; among the Count's private keys
there was one that fitted madame's escru-
Wire, and Dennis, the locksmith, w'ho worked
for him, told me be made it to Monsieur's
order, some weeks before his death. So
much for heavy looking men. I never know
one of them who could not keep his owe
counsel and ferret out other people's.
"When the funeral was over and the will
read, we found that all his lauds in Burgun
dy and all his money in the bank had been
bequeathed to madame. His relations were
all rich but they did not dispute the will, as
rich people commonly do; and now I thought
after the weeds there would come a wedding
as my mistress and her lover had both for
tunes enough to please their families. I
said as much to her one day, when we were
alone in the great saloon. She never liked
the dressing-room after that evening; would
not see Monsieur Pierian, and kept herself
very lonely.
"'No, Sasette,' said she, 'I will never
marry or love more. To save him and my
own reputation I murdered my husband,
the man who loved, and married, and left
me all his possessions when I was a penni
less girl. Do you think that any lover
would keep his faith to a woman with such
blood on her hands? I will not give Viotor
the opportunity of changing. As soon as
my affairs are arranged, I will leave him
and France -forever. My house is already
bespoken in St. Petersburg, and there will I
live, far from all who ever knew me. Su-
Bette, you have been the tritest and most
trusty maid that ever mistress had; I have
settled an annuity of a thousand francs
upon you for life, besides a cottage and a
farm in Burgundy; it will do for Julien and
you. I know you have been engaged for
some time, and I'll see you married before I
go.'
"My mistress was right about Julien, yet
I meant what I said to her, every word.—
'Let me go with you, mistress, to Russia, or
the world's end. I don't care half so much
for Julien as I do for you.'
"'No, no, Snsette,' she said again, and
her look grew terribly wise and cold; 'you
know what has happened, and it don't do to
live with people who know .such things of
us. Neither you. nor I could stand that
trial. Be a good girl; marry Julien; and
remember me only in your prayers.'
"Madame kept her word—nothing could
tarn her from it. She left Monsieur Florian
and he never married, but rose to becolonel
in the room of the Count's brother, and fell
fighting in Africa. Before the Countess left
France, she executed a will, leaving her
fortune first to her mother; sod thou to her
hnsband's relations. But Madame Valero
never inherited; she's gone many a year
ago, and never could underitand why her
only daughter, who allowed her such a hand
some income, chose to live in the far north.
I am told the Countess only associated with
Russians, and took up a strange habit of
sleeping by day and waking by'night. She
has given me the thousand francs, the cot
tage and the farm, these forty years. I ac
cepted them on Julien's account; he was my
lover. Julien is an old man now; I am an
old woman. Oar two sons have grown up
and married; yonder are our grandchildren
playing by the river-side. But in my dreams
I have a grudge against her, fur the honest
faith and affection she flung back upon my
heart, as not likely to stand the test of time,
because I happened to be her maid, and
knew the gnesecret of her life. Now you'll
understand why I'll wear no mourning fur
Madame de Vermont."
A Strange Story.
The following remarkable and extraordi
nary narrative (Atha revivification of young
Joseph Taylor, who was supposed to harp
been hanged to death, (in company with
that notorious highwayman, pickpocket and
housebreaker, Archibald Taylor,) on 80:. , ti,n
Neck, on Thursday, the 18th of May, 1783
for a violent assault and robbery on the
highway, committed on the person and
property of hi:. Nathaniel Cunningham,
butcher, in 1787, is from the Vermont Jour
nal of November 4, 1789:
EGG EIARBaR, Mouth of the Delaware,
May 12, 1789. f
Mr Dena FRIESD: You will, no doubt, be
greatly astonished at receiving a Letter from
one whom you so lately saw, to all appear-
ances, numbered with the dead, with all the
ignominy of a public, and shameful execu
tion. But tho' strange - as it may appear,
it is no less strange than true, that, blessed
be God for his infinite goodness, I am now
among the living to praise him. It was
my fervent desire that you should have been
made acquainted with the steps which were
taken to recover me to life immediately af
ter my being hanged. But the doctor who
managed the affair would not admit of more
than five persons in the secret, as he feared
a discovery, and taid a crowd around me
would be fatal, and prevent the air getting
into my lunge, and O'D.mrtell and Tenter
had been told of it before I saw you, and
they, with the doctor, his young man, and
a person be brought with him made the five.
I therefore take this early opportunity to
let you know of my being alive, and in
health, blessed be God, as I hope these limes
may find you, as also the circumstances
which attend my execution and recovery to
life; as also my present frame of mind and
resolution, through the grace of' God to sin
no more, but endeavor after now obedience
You remember that you, among other
friends, had great hopes of my being par
doned on account of my youth, but when
their honors sat, I soon found I must be
made an example of, as they were deter
mined never •to pardon highwaymen. I
then began to prepare fur death, but must
need say, though I had many affecting con
'fereuces with the reverend parsons who vis
ited me in jail, I never, even after my con
demnation, realized that I vas suddenly to
die in so awful a manner, until a gentleman,
who I afterwards found was a doctor, came
and talked privately with the late unhappy
sufferer, and my fellow convict, Archibald
Taylor, who, when the gentleman was gone
came to me with money in his hand, and so
smiling a countenance, that I thought he
had received it in charity. But he soon un
deceived me, telling me with an air of gaiety
that it was the price of his'body, and then
added a shocking speech, which I sincerely
hope is blotted out of the book of God's re
membrane° against his poor soul.
This was the first time since my condem
nation that I thought what it was to die.—
The shock was terrible, and Taylor increased )
it, saying that the doctor had desired him
to bargain with me for my body also. The
thoughts of my bones not being permitted
to remain in the grave in peace, and my
body, wbieh my poor mother had so often I
caressed and dandled on her knee, and i
which had been so pampered by my friends
in any better days, being slashed and man- 1
gled by the doctors, was too much for me.
I had been deaf to the piotra exportation'of
the priests, bat now my conscience was
awakened, and hell seemed indeed to yawn
for me.
What a night of horror was the next
night! When the doctor came in the morn
ing to bargain for my body, I was in a cold
sweat; my knees smote together, and , in;
tongue seemed to cleave to the roof of my
mouth. Its perceived the agony of my
seal,- and asked me some questions as to the
state of my mind. I found utterance, and
poured out my heart to him. Ile seemed
affected at my distress, especially as my
conduct was so different from that of A.
Taylor's, and after passing. he left me
without mentioning the sale of my body,
and said he would call again the next day.
CU some and asked me privately whether I
bad two or three friends I could depend
upon to assist in anything far my benefit.
Ile communicated his design of attempting
to recover me to life if my body could be
carried, immediately after I was cut down.
to some convenient place, out of the reach
of the people, assuring me by all that was
sacred, that if be failed in his attempt he
would give my body a Christian burial.—
I closed with it without hesitation. The
$1,50 PER YEAR IN ADVACE; $2,00 IP NOT IN ADVANCE
doctor then left me, and soon after Tector
and O'Donnell came to see me, to whom I
communicated. the plan in confidence. The
doctor came back-to charge me not to trust
more persons than wore sufficient to carry
my body from the gallows to the place pro
vided. I to)d„him who the.pereons with me
were; and upon O'Donnell's engaging to
procure a number of his countrymen. to re
move my body to a private plane, who were
not to be let into the secret, but suppose it
was to secure my body from the doctors, he
seemed pleased With the plan, and made us
promise to admit no more persons into the
secret, upon pain of his not having to do in
the affair so soon as it should be discovered.
lie gave them money to hire a small boat to
be in readiness at the wharf, nearest to the
place tf execution, which boat I think was
hired of one Mr. Skinner or Skillings, near
Oliver's Dock. The doctor undertook to
find the place of execution, which was then
reported to he in several places, and to pro
cure a two-mast boat in which was the doc
tor, his friend and apprentice, with their
doctors' instruments, was moored up the
bay, near the gallows, tiro morning of the
execution day, but fell down with the tide,
about two hours before the execution, to
ward Dorchester Point, foi fear of being
grounded.
The state of my mind, after my conversa
tion with Alm doctor, until the day of execu
tion, it is impossible fur me to describe.—
This glimpse of hope—this mere chance of
escaping the jaws of death, and of avoiding
the eyes of an offended dodge, at whose bar
I was noways prepared to appear, seemed
to but render my mind more distracted. I
sometimes indulged myself with the thoughts
of being recovered to life; and as I had for
tunately concealed my real name, that I
might return like the Prodigal, to my pa
parents, and live a life devoted tp God and
their comfort, But I oftener feared the
means might fail to bring me to life, and
then I wished that this scheme had never
been mentioned, as the hopes of life seemed
to prevent my conversion, and then, to be
surprised into another world, totally unpre
pared, how terrible! Thus distracted, the
time flew, and the awful day arrived. In
the morning the reverend parsons visited
me. I was much st.ftened by their conver
sation, and really, at that time, wished I
had never seen the doctor, but by the near
and certain approach of death, bad been
prepared to lire in those blissful mansions
which are prepared in the world of glory
for the truly penitent.
Soon after they left us, the doctor's young
man came (under pretense of a message '
from Mrs. Ranger, who had shown me
much kindness in jail, the Lord reward her
for it,) to renew the doctor's directions how
to conduct my body so as not to suffer the
least shook. lle left me the following pa
per:
Thursday Morning, May Bth, 1789.
Taylor, everything depends ou your pres
ence of mind. Remember that the human
machine may be put in tune again if you
preserve the spinal muscle from. injury and
do not dislocate the vertebra)of the neck; as
the colli spinalis is deduced from the trans
verse process of the vertebra) of the throat,
and is laterally inserted into the vertebra) of
the neck, its connection with the whole hu
man frame is material, so that you must en
deavor to work that knot behind your neek,
and press your throat upon the halter, which
will prevent the neck's breaking, and like
wise the compressions of tho jugular, and
preserve the circulation in some degree.—
Keep up your spirits.
My hopes were now raised, and my firmer
terror did not return upon me; which I
doubt not was observed by the reverend par
son who attended me, by the officers of jus
tice, and the multitude, who doubtless com
pared my behavior with that of my fellow
sufferer. It is true when I mounted the
stage, I dreaarl the pain of hanging as I
should any other bodily pain, equally se
vere; but the fur greater distress of meet
ing an offended. inexorable Judge and being
consigned to endless misery, was done away:
for the newer the time of execution ap
proached, the more my reliance on the doc
tor increased.
You were present at the solemn parting
with and warning which was given to the
people—at the excellent prayer of the Bev.
Mr. Stamen, and the dropping of the traps,
which, to all appeaiances, launched me and
my poor unhappy fellow prisoner, Archibald
Taylor, into a bonrullees sternly.
But to return to my particular feelings, I
preserved my presence of mind; and when
the halter was fastened, remembered the
doctor's direction., and while the prayer
was making I kept gently turning my head
so as to bring the knot on the back of my
neck, nearly, as O'Donnell afterward in
formed, and as you and others observed.—
When the trap fell I had all my senses about
me; and though 1 have no remembrance of
hearing any sounds among the people, yet I
believe I did not lose toy senses till] some
minutes after. My first feelings after the
shock of falling was a violent strangling and
oppression for waist of breath; this soon gave
way to a burning pain in my eyes, which
seemed to be - burned by two balls of fire
which appeired before them, which seemed
to dart on and off like lightning; setting ever
and anon upon my shoulders as if they
weighed ten hundred tons; and after one
terrible flesh, in which the two balls seemed
to join in one, I sunk away without pain,
like one falling to sleep.
What followed after I was turned off you
know, as I was informed you kindly assist
ed my other friends in - taking the body dawn
as awn as you were permitted, and convey-
[WHOLE NUMBER 1,6 10.
ing it across the salt works to the email boat;
I was from thence carried on board the two
mast boat to the doctor, to altrippearance
dead; for O'Donnell, who was directed -Ly
the doctor to cut and loosen my eothes, and
rub me, throwing water, on me, could pm -
ceive no life in me, but told the ductorAt was
too Into. But the doctor was not disouur
aged; and in one hour and twenty-two min
utes after I was brought on hoard the boas.
making two hours and forty-three mioutee
after I was turned off, he perceived signs if
life in me,. by a small motion and warmth
in my bosom. In twenty minutes after I
gave a violent deep groan. litre tiescrir
thin fails! I cannot describe the intolerabls
agony of that moment. Ten thousand etre n
glings are trifling to it! The first confused
thouglas I had were, that it was the monieu t
of my dissolution; for I had no knowletl4.:
of my removal from the gallows, but wt.':
quite insensible from the tima I first I.
myself to that in which I recoveraa—eacte;-,t
some faint glimmerings of a scene, whieb - .
faint and confused as they were, I shall ne r.
or forget, but which I feel impressed upon
my heart I ought to communicate to no man
living.
I was aeon after this violent anguish nth&
sensible where I was; the doctor's stuff, am
eight of my friend.t, restored me in a great
measure to my senses. The doctor would
not allow me to talk much; but feeling fa:
tigued, he permitted me to lie down, having
two persons by me to rub me with abrul-b
while I slept, When I awoke it was-dark.
I felt somewhat light-beaded and confused
from the dreadful scene I had passed throne!,
All hands were now called, and a- solemn
oath was taken by all present - not tel t
anything which had happened until they
should know that I was safe out id - tltti court--
try; and then not to discover the 'dititOT, hie
friend, or apprentice. I was thita7pOren
shore, and went from thence on 'board-4bn
vessel which brought me here. -7,
I am engaged to go to Gottenburg,"in
Sweden; and shall sail to-morrow in ti t.h :F
which is coming down the river - from I'hiii
dolphin. I chat! take my family name. ntal
return to my parents a l'rodign: Sat indefa.
God grant, as I have severely eaten hnsktv,
that I may soon eat breaditt mp etirthl)
parents' house; and be -prepared Cr,: 0044 L
bread as the saints in glory lOoe, and "54 ,4 ,
as angels eat, in that house which is not rna , i,
with hands, eternal in the heavens: •
I remain. your assured friend,. uratil-death
shall indeed come.
Two Monne 01 1 ' DO/NO BENIINII3B.—As
instance of what is meat by conventions:
politeness, let us. give a descriptionr,:ot u
transaction between ashoetoakenitndalisb
monger in England, and then change•
scene to China. . .
The shoemaker had been•mendingthe fiso
monger's shoes; be brings. thstornp lend
enters his neighbor's 'with 4tis .can pa and
whistling. "Well," . says .the is/talon/or.
"what do you mean to charge, for this jut'?"
"One and twopence," replied the shoemaker.
The fishmonger unlocks his till. "Zeal!
theta good deal of money," he obeerver.
as he counts it out. "Couldn't takoless,"
replies the shoemaker, ta.king it.' 'Thanks c."
They wanted more doing to 'em than I ex
pected when I took them in hand. I say,
neighbor, how do you sell your red herrings?"
" Th reel for twopence," says the fish m °nip!,
"and as good as ever swam." c
mind if I take minis twopenny worth hams
for her supper." So saying ho bands Imk:L
the twopence, chooses three herrings. alz,l
the transaction being now concluded, b,"
fishmonger turns his bank ant limy* t,.
open oysters; the shoemaker good outwhis. -
ling.
Now lot the scene be trestered to Chiria,
A tuilor has brought home a new silk
petticoat for the master of ausatiogsbop.
The two Chinamen catch sight of , each
other at opposite ends-of the ehopii saleince
with gravity. stop three titnes.:end
time make profound bow,. "Whisetryour
honorable business with we?" sake .th..
master of the house. "Your inconsideratdd
servant having received your commends.
has don. himself the appreciated hop= t..
wait on you in your splendid shop. sent,
your new petticoat," replies the tailor:
The other man in receiving it. answers.
"In your handsome shop, work is done with
such punctuality and elegance that I, poor
man, can not fail to admire and envy it"
The two parties again bow to each:other
profoundly. "I/ow is, your bluodsotntrand
much-to-be-admired wife?" • inquires .th.,
tailor. "The homely women is we11..1 thank.
you humbly:" answers the China husband,
with the disparagement which politeness
demands of h . "Aod your industrious
and estimable sons. thecindergathcrer. and
the vender of roasted 'drab." proceeds the
tailor, 'tjoer servant trusts they are well?"
"The iusignitioatrtyoung bogs are well,"
replies the tither. "and• melons servants
ever. I hope your Wastrioue father is well:
your servant saw him Ireseerday looking mac
at the door of his magnificent mteat 7 pie whop.
in the splendid lane, which he honorees his
residence." "The poor man,- my father' is
well, your servant thanks you.'
The price of the work having ham previ
ously agreed upon, the owner now produces
it, and t prafersitwitAt Wound bows; bitthe
the rulorsetreatet, and . % his tarn bows,
making as ifihe could not think of takirg.ir.
and militating that the honor of woriui Sir
the illwi>ious master of the'eating-illop,
sufficient. onward; - The master * t h fret.
however, pursues him to tbndbotriritliffrest,
bows., the tailor at length takes Aix mural-.
and being eyeful not to turn .`•,,'..-. batik on L'.23
customer, the two part with gravity and tc
netted compliments and protestations.
This Ltulo *mole= the lust =age...re
, tal.—.fraalc.o. - 4.:.
6
=
JOSEPH Tart o&.