Cctvieiou>n oa?ettc, Vol XXXVI—WhoIe Wo. I8S. Rates of Advertising. One square, 18 lines, 1 time 50 •' 2 times 75 3 •' 1.00 44 1 mo. 1.25 3 " 2.50 6 4.00 " 1 year 6.00 2 squares, 3 times 2.00 " 3 mos. 3.50 Communications recommending persons for office, must be paid in advance at the rate of 25 cents per square. Grindstones. FOR sale, a good stock, by a P I 2 F. J. HOFFMAN. Cedar Ware. BUCKETS, Tubbs, Churns, &c., for sale by a P I 2 F. J. HOFFMAN. Steel Springs. a LARGE STOCK of first rate quality for A sale at F. J. HOFFMAN'S a pl2 Hardware Store. "Tobacco, Snuff and Segars OF every description at the Diamond Drug and Variety Store of aps A. A. BANKS. PLAIN and Faney Envelopes, Note Paper, Letter and Writing Paper, Quills, Steel Pens, &.C., &c., for sale at the Diamond Drug and Variety Store of A. A. BANKS. Confectionaries. V[UTS, Crackers, Raisins, &.C., at the Dia -Ixl mond Drug and Variety Store of aps A. A. BANKS. Nails. A LARGE STOCK low for cash at A F. I. HOFFMAN'S apl2 Hardware Stoie. Salt and Fish. A GOOD STOCK on hand at very light profits for cash, by apl2 F. J. HOFFMAN. Looking Glasses. LARGE and small sizes, of beautiful pat terns, at unusually low prices for cash, by apl2 F. J. HOFFMAN. Tin, Sheet Iron, Wire, Ac. ON hand, always, at very low prices for cash, at F. J. HOFFMAN'S ap!2 Hardware Store. Groceries. * LWAYS an extensive assortment oo hind. /1L Salt at $1.50 per sack, or 42 ceDts per bushel, by the Quantity. apl2 F. J. HOFFMAN. Leather and Shoe Findings. SOLEand UPPER LEATHER. Mo rlj roceoa. Lining Skins. leasts, Boot Trees, Shoe Kit, &.C., SLC., for sale by apl2 F. J. HOFFMAN. GREEN'S Celebrated Vermifuge. —This Vermifuge, so justly celebrated, is too well known to publish anything in its praise. For sale at A. A. BANKS' apl2 Diamond Drug Store. DR. JAYNETS EXPECTORANT, " " Hair Tonic, •• M Carminative, for sale by J. B. MITCHELL. Lewistown, march 22, 1650. DR. GREEN'S LINIMENT, for Rheumat ism, Swellings, Bruises, &x., &c.—one oi the best remedies now in use for beast as well as man. Price 37J cts. per bottle, for saie at A. A. BANKS' apl2 Diamond Drug Store. FANCY SOAPS.—Almond soap, Marsh Mallow soap, Amandine soap, Transpa rent soap, Military soap, Tooth Balls, Almond Shaving Cream, Rose do. do., Amandine for chapped hands, SLC., Sic., for sale by J. B. MITCHELL. I/ewistown, march 22, 1850. TAANCY GOODS —Port Monnaies, Pocket F Books, Cigar Cases, Shaving Boxee, Note Paper, superior Sealing Wax, Steel Pens, Pen Haiders. Stamps, superior Percussion Caps, Snuff Boxes, Motto Wafers, superior white Envelopes, do. brown do., redding and pocket Lorn be, superior Shaving Brushes, do. Hairdo , Tooth and Nail do., Sic., Sic., for sale by J. B. MITCHELL. I-ewistown, march 22, 1850. [T WILL CURE.—When you have a cough or breast complaint, get a bottle of Dr. S. P. Green's Sarmpurilla, Tar and Cherry Pectoral. It has cured persons in Lewistown and vicinity, which can be testified to. It dd in- T - Tk tends keeping on hand a large if stock of H A M H, feHGUL DEKS and FLITCH, of prime Vtthiy, to sell low for cash. Api 2 F J. HOFFMAN* 2 squares, 6 mos. $5.00 " 1 year 8.00 A column, 3 mos. 6.00 6 " 10.00 " 1 year 15.00 1 column, 3 mos. 10.00 6 44 15.00 44 l year 25.00 Notices before mar riages, &c. sl2. jransnnHß ©jsomsa iß , 2 , SESs'®igs a HEQHHHISJ ©amnfiFSa THE PEOPLE Know their Interests, and know ing will maintain them ; ilence when tney want goods at Piriform Prices, and ae low as can be bought in the State, they go to MM, BROTHERS, because every man, woman and child in the six counties by this time knows that no one can sell lower and live. They have, with their usual enterprise, brought up a large lot ol' IJIW-BM2M 3D DM, and opened them to the gaze of admiring thou sands while most of their competitors were sleeping over the piles of Calicoes, Ginghams, and a hundred other articles remaining unsold lrom last year's purchases. These goods were a!! selected with an eye to Beauty, FineneM, antl Dura bility, and bought at prices that throw twenty per cent, men into the shades of oblivion. We therefore invite our old costomers and about CL)C&CQ CE>OD.Q6S3, (being a'l that we have room for at present) to give us a call, and if we don't please ninety nine out of every hundred in Beauty, Quality and Price, there is no longer any virtue in Cheap and Elegant Good*. There is no need of recapitulating what we have, either in the Dry Goods, Grocery, or any other Line, as it is well known that we havp everything anybody else has, and a considerable sprink ling ot neat, useful and pretty matters that Oilier* have uot. So let there be no delay among those who want the first pick—we are ABJKED AND EQUIPPED with an elegant yardstick, which measures true, and in conjunction with our clerks, are ready to wait on ail the ladies and gentlemen, whether old or young, ugly or handsome, and make them look better than they ever did be fore after being rigged out in the splendid goods we have provided for their gratification. Lewistown, March 29, ISSO. IT IS EVIDENT To all discerning minds thai ELY MY Eli has the must splendid assortment of SPRING & SUMMER GOODS ripIIAT has been brought to Lewijtown this JL season, and withal so cheap that he who would undersell it must wake up a little earlier than he ever did before, 'i he stock comprises m great variety, Cloths, Cassi nitres, Satinets, Vestings, Croton Cloths, Cashmeres, and Cash meretta; Tweeds, Mohair Cords, Drillings, Velvet Cords, French Cassirneres, Dne Skin do., white and fancy Marseilles,&c. A splen did assortment of ftaOfrfl' ZJrrnis . Grode Naps, Satin du Chenea, an elegant as sortment of striped, figured and plan Silks, Bareges, Challey, Muslin de Laines, Alpacas, Lustres, Ginghams, Lawns, Mulls, Jaconets, Bombazines, striped and plaid Muslins, Sic. tie has also an extensive variety of the CHEAPEST CARPETING that has yet been brought to this place; to gether with a never-ending assortment of READY MADE CLOTHING, which will be sold at prices to suit purchasers Besides this, he has Queen* ware, Cllakkwarr, and an unparalleled supply of GROCERIES. Ladies and gentlemen who wish to clothe themselves in a becoming dress, such as is called for in the course of human events by fashion and public opinion, are invited to take a look at his stock before purcharing at other places. His clerks are ever ready and willing to exhibit to all, and if price and quality don't suit, there will be no grumbling. GEORGE BLYMYER April 12, 1850. WALTER EI EEI V RESPECTFULLY announces to his old friends, and as many new ones as can make it convenient to call, thqt he lias just re ceived his Fall and Winter Stock of Goods, which he is prepared to dispose of at as reason able prices as Mr Johnston Thomas, and he sells about twenty per cent, lower than any Store in the East Ward. My stock consists of a general assortment of S E A S O N A II L E GOODS, viz: DRY GOODS, GROCERIES, Queen aware, Glassware and Hardware, nm MB 83H)i3, TOBACCOS A .HO SEGAKS, and Spies of the purest kind, Together with all the articles usually found in a country store. As we do not feel able to oc cupy the newspapers with an advertisement of two or three columns, we just say to our friends to call and aee us, and if' you don't purchase from us we will not grumble. Dec. 22, 1849 tf Pure Cider Vinegar. OR rale at the Diamond Drug Store of < apft A. A. BANKS. FRIDAY EVENING, MAY 3, * 850. lioetrfi. LIKE ASD DISLIKE. Ve who know the reason tell me How it is that instinct still Prompts the heart to like—or like not— At its own capricious will! Tell me by what hidden magic Our impressions first are led Into liking—or disliking— Oft before a word be said. Why should smiles sometimes repel us? Bright eyes turn our feelings cold - What is that which comes to tell us All that glitters is not gold ? Oh—no feature, plain or striking, But a power we cannot shun, Prompts our liking, or disliking, Ere acquaintance hath begun ! Is it instinct—or some spirit Which protects us—and controls Every impulse we inherit By some sympathy of souls ! Is it instinct ?—is it nature? Or some freak or fault of chance, Which our liking—or disliking— Limits to a single glance ? Like presentiment of dauger, Though the sky no shadow ilings ; Or that inner sense still stranger, Of unseen—unutter'd things ? Is it—oh, can no one tell me, No one show sufficient cause Why our likings—and dislikings— Have their own instructive law 6 ! isf fll ail rou s * THE LYNCHERS. CHAPTER I. HI'BLIC ALARMS AND PRIVATE QUARRELS. THE ACCUSATION. During the troubles with the famous and daring Chief Black Hawk, when the inhabitants on our western frontier were never safe from the depredations of his tribe and allies, American citizens dwel ling even at a distance from the seat of war, were frequently annoyed by unfriend ly visits from the red men of the forest; consequently, many families in the eastern and northern parts of Illinois, were led to desert their homes, and seek safety by banding together and retiring to fortified places. Few, however, at so great a distance from the disputed territory, suf fered from the attacks of the Indians ; af ter their panic had in a degree subsided, even when struggling bands of plunderers were scouring the country, the inhabitants, for the most part, returned to their deserted homes. Stephen Moxon was a brave, resolute settler, whom nothing could intimidate. While many of his neighbors fled to forts for security, he calmly went to work to fortify his own house, which he was de termined not to leave. He knew that such flying parties of savages never stop ped to lay siege to a place, and that if he and his son, a bold young man of twenty five, could, wi.h the assistance ol his wife and daughter, keep the Indians at bay for a season, there would be nothing to fear. ' With wife and Mary,' he used to say 1 ' to load our rifles, George and 1 can pick t off a few red-skins, 1 am thinking, before they can do much harm to us.' So Moxon and his family remained at home, while all his neighbors fled. To these, however, there was an exception. There was a young man living close hv w ho could not think of deserting the neigh borhood and leaving Mary Moxon behind. Accordingly, he resolved to remain, and would have made the house of Moxon his home for the time, had he been on good terms with Mary's family. As it was, there having been a quarrel between him and George Moxon, the brother of her he loved, he chose rather to shut himself up in the house alone, than form any compact i with the family. Notwithstanding this difference between 1 Richard Watts ami George Moxon, Ricli • aid and Mary were betrothed ; for their I love and confidence in each other were un j hounded. After the first panic, occasioned by the , red men, had subsided, many who had , left their homes in the neighborhood, learn ing thai Stephen Moxon's family had not | been molested, rseolved to return and fol i low his example. It was then that Richard Watts would have made Mary his wife notwithstanding ; her brother's opposition ; but she prevailed i upon him to delay his claims until George I could be brought to give his consent. YVnh regard to Stephen Moxon himself, he was neither for or against Richard, but ' left the two young men to adjust their own dilFerenccs, and Mary to do as she chose. Thus time passed on, until, one day, it ! chanced that George and Richard were hunting in the same piece of woods, and I met near the banks of a stream, close to | a large and deep mill-pond. We will not describe the interview, nor dwell upon its consequences ; suffice it to i say tliut George did not return home that i night, and that Richard, although he was seen by several of the inhabitants without ! game of any description, was spotted with blood, and that he had received a knife ■ wound in a shoulder. On the following morning the neigh ; horhood was alarmed, and search was made for George Moxon. It being in the autumn, there were many leaves upon the ground, which enabled the young man's friends to discover, near the mill-pond, a spot where a struggle had taken place ; and where some dead body had evidently been dragged away, and thrown into the water. Added to this, the hunting knife which Richard Watts was known to possess, was found near the spot, crusted over with blood. 4 This,' said Stephen Moxon, turning to the friends who accompanied him—and as he spoke his eye Hashed revengefully, his features were pale, and his firm lips com pressed—4 This, gentlemen, smells of mur der ! My son lias been killed !' 4 And Richard Watts,' added his friends with one accord, 4 is the murderer ! Re venge !' At the time of which we write, and in that portion of the country in which the scene of our story is laid, but little law existed, except the law of force ; and indi viduals were but too apt to take upon themselves the revenge of their own pri vate wrongs. The Moxons had powerful friends throughout the settlement, many of whom were ready to consider the quarrels of that family as their own, and to act according ly. In consequence of this, as soon as it was known that George Moxon had been killed, and that Richard Watts was his murderer, there was a consultation among the friends of the deceased, to decide upon the course which should be pursued. An old hunter named Ford, a shrewd, rough, impetuous character, put himself at the head ol George's friends, deter mined, as he said, to see that the right thing was done, and vengeance was taken when due. It was rightly deemed that it would be a dilfieult task to capture Richard in his own house; and Ford ha\ing given his accomplices all necessary instructions, proceeded to Richard's residence alone. The young man met him at the door, and greeted Ford as he had always done. The latter rough as he was, could play the hypocrite, and did so, not desiring that Richard should suspect the object of his visit. 4 Have you heard the news. Dick ?' asked Ford. 4 What news ?' 4 That's it ; what news ? It is hard to say it, but I must confess I believe it—' • What V interrupted Richard. 4 That George Moxon has been mur dered,' said Ford, looking his companion full in the faee. Richard turned deathly pale, but soon recovered himself and answered calmly : - llow—and when ? 1 had not heard of it.' Ford described the spot, and added that the murderer had evidently tied some heavy object to the body and thrown it in to the mill-pond. * Richard's perturbation was visible.' * I am sorrv to say,' replied Ford, • that some have thought you—' ' 1 !' echoed Richard, with a start. 4 Thp fact is,' pursued the hunter, 4 cir cumstances are against you, and it will be necessary for you to explain where you were last night, what has become of your hunting knife, and itow these spots of blood came on your dress, considering you brought home no game.' 4 This is a dark piece of business,' said Richard turning pale. * I am innocent, but there may be some difficulty in ex plaining these things to the satisfaction of all. 1 believe you are my friend —what would you advise tne to do ?' 4 1 would say go at once with me to Moxon's house, and give what explanation you can on the subject. If you are inno cent, which 1 should be sorry to doubt, it will be easy to prove yourself so.' Decided by this appearance of friend ship in his visiter, Richard resolved to follow his advice, and set out to accompany him to Moxon's house. On arriving there, he was surprised to find some half a dozen stout, resolute men assembled, apparently awaiting his arrival, while neither Alary nor Mrs. Moxon were in the room. 4 Here,' said Ford, 4 is the place to give explanations, and recollect that your life depends upon your words. We believe you killed George Moxon, and we arc his avengers.' 4 Villain !' muttered Richard, turning fiercely upon his betrayer, and seizing him by the throat ; 4 take that for your treachery !' In an instant the young man was borne down by the friends of George, and bound like a culprit. Finding resistance vain, he submitted patiently to his fate. 4 Now,' said Ford, 4 if you have any thing to say, we will hear it—but be brief.' 4 1 have nothing to say before a mob like this,' replied Richard indignantly ; take me before some acknowledged authority, and I will tell you all about the matter. Lot ine Warn you, however, to beware how you treat me, for 1 am an innocent man.' 4 You murdered George Moxon!' said Ford ; 4 we his friends, are his avengers. We will give you until to-morrow morn ing to prove your innocence ; when, if you fail to do so, you must suffer the penalty.' Richard eyed his accusers sternly and in silence, but opened not his mouth as thev led him awav to a close, narrow ! apartment, which was chosen as his place of confinement. CHAPTER 11. i IMPENDING FATE THE PLACE OP EXECU TION. Under the same roof with Mary Mox on, Richard was not permitted to see her face. 4 Does she know I am here ?' he said to . himself. 4 Does she know that lam ac i cused of taking ht:r brother's life—and am 1 a murderer in her eyes ? Would 1 could speak with her V From this the prisoner fell to reflecting | on his probable fate. 4 That cursed mob ! they will lynch me , before I am proved guilty.' Richard was spirited, and had little fear ! of death ; yet the thought of the horrible destiny that threatened him, caused hiin to shudder. He could only hope for some ' escape. He was alone in a distant room, the window of which was fastened on the out side as well as within, and the door of which was guarded by two of the 4 aven gers of blood.' Richard could therefore ' thing of nothing but submission to his j fate. \\ hen the prisoner \t as least expecting it he had a visiter. It was Mary Moxon ! The friends of George had given her permission to see him, hoping that she might induce him to j confess, in order that their proposed deed j of blood might ' ~ar more the appearance of justice. Mary was scarce eighteen, tall, well formed and beautiful. On the present oc casion she was very pale, and her eyes and fair cheeks showed the traces of re cent weeping. Richard advanced and would have taken her hand, hut she repulsed him, not angri ly nor harshly, but with an appearance of : solicitude and sorrow. 4 Touch me not,' said she, 4 until I know whether you arc innocent of this horrid crime or guilty. Tell me now truly, Richard,' she continued, fixing her dark eyes upon his own, 4 tell me before God —did you kill my brother ?' 4 Mary,' replied Richard, folding his arms and regarding her with a look of ten derness and pity, 4 if you do believe that I took your brother's life, you do right to spurn me—l blame you not if you shud der and grow sick at the sisrht of me ! Hut have you so mean an opinion of me as to credit the false reports vou have heard ?' 4 Then you arc innocent?' said Alary eagerly. 4 As innocent as yourself!' j 4 1 knew it, 1 felt it!' sobbed the girl, hiding her face in her hands. Was it the strength of love that over came every other feeling, or knew she not what she did ? She who shunned the prisoner a moment before, now sank into his arms and dropped her head upon his bosom. And Richard strained her to his heart forgetting, for the moment, that he was charged with shedding her brother's blood ! Hut the transport was soon passed, and Alary recovering her self-possession, asked him it he knew nothing of her brother. • Nothing !' replied Richard more than this. •We met in the woods at the spot where they say I killed him, high words passed between us and blows ensued !' • O, Richard !' groaned the young girl. 4 ln the struggle 1 dropped my knife from my belt. He seized it, and gave me this slight wound on my shoulder. I had not thought this of your brother, Alary, ! and with a feeling of deep sorrow, 1 bared my bosom, and bade him strike, if I had ever given him cause to hate me to death. He seemed touched, and flung the knife upon the ground, but was too proud to ac knowledge lus error. I would not stoop to tous'h the blade that had been used to wound, but turned away, leaving him there. This, Alary, is all I know of the matter, as I swear before the all-seeing eye of heaven !' 4 Richard,' murmured Alary. 1 cannot but believe you—but—can't you bring some proof of your innocence ! They \ will not credit your words, but unless you | can prove what you say—O, Richard ! I shudder to think of the result!' At this moment one of the self-styled ! avengers came in and informed Mary that her time was up, and led her away rc- j gardless of her tears and distress. 4 What did he say to you ?' asked her , father in the presence of Ford and two of his companions. 4 That he is innocent!' 4 What more V AVith tears and frequent sobs the poor girl went on to tell all Richard had said. • Ila !* cried Ford, he owns, then, that they quarrelled ! What a lame evasion to j say George struck him with a knife, and ; that lie did not return the blow ! What say you, friends V 4 lie must die !' was the response of all save Moxon, who regarded his agonized daughter in silence. Alary passed a night of unspeakable ac guish, and Richard one of anxiety and hopeless Yet he was calm, and slept several hours before the morning 1 stole through his window. Breakfast was brought into him bv Ford. !%'ew Seriev —Vol. 4—l\*. 28. who at the same time informed him that he had but two hours longer to live. Such is the rash merciless haste of the lyncher ! Two hours passed away. It was a beautiful autumn morning, al though there was a pervading melancholy breathing in the drowsy, smoky air far different from the brightness of a summer day. It seemed a morning heaven never designed to witness a deed of deliberate bloody vengeance ! Yet Richard was led out to suffer pun ishment for a crime he was charged with having committed, and it was by the light of the morning's sun that he beheld the preparations of his execution. It was on the borders of a grove. On the one side was a beautiful woodland, and on the other a broad expanse of prairie, undulating like a troubled sea fixed with all its billows, and stretching as far away as the eye could penetrate the hazy air. Mary, with wild desp'air, and crushed by sorrow remained at home while her lover was led to execution, and her father stern and stoical, was with her, choosing rather to witness her grief than the death of George's murderer. The execution was to take place under the direction of the blood-thirsty Ford. Richard was to be hung. Alreadv a strong rope was attached to the lowest limb of a stunted oak that stood out from the rest of the forest trees, and a tempora ry staging was erected for the devoted youth to stand upon while the cord was adjusted to his neck. • Now Dick,' said Ford,' let us see vour agility—-jump upon the block." ' Untie his hands,* said another, 4 so that he can die decent like a man.' • As you say,' returned Ford. And Richard's hands were accordingly set at liberty. He then stepped boldly up on the staging, and looked around his ex ecutioners. Ford would have mounted with him to adjust the rope. • Nay, be not at that trouble,' said Rich ard, with an air of dignified authority, which awed the old hunter; "I will tie the rope myself. But just hear me say a few words for the benefit of your consciences after you have murdered me. I know you will hang me, and that in half an hour I shall be a corpse ; but even now on the point of dropping into eternity, I swear that you are murdering an innocent man. My blood is on your heads !' •That is a bold lie!' said Ford with a grim smile. 4 Insolent villain !' exclaimed Richard ; • to insult a dying man ! But know I can ! resent an insult still!' ! The words had scarce escaped his lips : when he leaped like a tiger upon Ford and hurled him to the ground. Then, before his companions could recover from their surprise, he dashed through them, and bounded down the declivity like a deer. CHAPTER 111. THE DOUBLE RACE. | Shoot him down ! shoot him down !' ■ cried Ford, springing to his feat in a rage. But two of the company had rifles with them, and as it would appear, neither of them chose to take the individual respon sibility of Richard's death : for while the I fugitive was in full view, they fired their i pieces, with no more effect than if they had been loaded with dust. With a curse upon their unskilful hands, Ford dashed down the hill in hot pursuit of Richard. The woodland was between Richard and his would-be executioner, and not daring to attempt reaching it, he shot boldly out upon the prairie. Ford and two of his companions followed him, while the remainder stood upon the declivity watching with intense interest the pursu ers and pursued. Richard was fleet of foot, but the grass of the prairie, all drv and loose, was so long that it impeded his progress ; vet he did not give his pursuers the advantage, lie was sometimes lost to sight in the ravines and hollows, and then he would again appear on the summit of a bold el evation stretching away towards the hazy, indistinct outlines of the distant hills. The fugitive gamed ground upon his pursuers, but they seemed loth to give up the race. Richard approached a squat ter's hut far out on the prairie. The spectators of the strife watched him clos •, but soou another object attracted their at tention. A horseman ! He was approaching the same hut, but he was far beyond it, and as he spurred his charger to its utmost speed, it seemed that it was his object to reach the hut before Richard. But he had ten times the distance to compass, and Richard was already surmounting the ac clivity upon which the cottage stood. What could be the meaning of that horseman's terrible speed ? He well might lash his horse, for in hot pursuit of him were two dariug savages mounted on animals fleeter than his own ! Seeing the danger of the horseman, Richard forgot the peril he himself was in. Swift as he had run, he now quickened his pace, not to save himself, but to rescue his fellow-man. He dashed up the lull, burst unceremo nious! v in'o the cottage, snatched a burning