)t JJILAS ?£R AN UM, INVARIABLY IN ADVANCE.
TOWANDA:
gljarsban fUormnn. 23, 1857.
Sflrctfb Poctrrr.
THE SNOWDROP.
Sweet harbinger of lovely spring 1
We hail thv advent with delight,
For Lack to memory thou dost bring
Full many a balmy night,
When underneath the waving trees
Did sottly sigh the evening breeze.
Dear wintry hud ! there is a charm
Attends thy coming, calls the flowers,
A d spreads alar the sweet alarm.
That summer wakes amid the bowers ;
It tells us that the zephyr sighs
beneath the hlue and arching skies.
M st beautiful amid the sn.<w.
Thy 111 >det hud attracts the eye.
F T V hariuingly they let us know
The wish'd for summer now is nigh.
When Flora smiles upon the plain.
And bids awake the shepherd's strain.
And when at length the summer's come.
Thy lovely mission is n>t o'er :
Thy gentle voice is mute aud dumb
T :1 summer comes again as yore.
A: <i cheers the hearts of th"e who long
F T summer time, the fields to throng.
sflf rtf b Calf.
IKJOI will Fiiiil a Voice :
A TOURISTS STORY
T E story winch 1 am about to tell, is in
'am. so litem! a fact that it requires no
> r " EM'N'SII.SJINICIITS"— that's the word, I
< it my HANDS, than tin* wor |s i:I which
:HE it, those of course being the most for
witli which I CJW give this episode in
life the requsitc emphasis.
MV mania, if I have one, is that of ram'>-
WTH some it is a failing. Miueis of a
% *ig order ; being on one occasion speud
. - days with a hospitable friend in the
■ • • .VII of Neath. Glamorganshire, Wales.
:. ! opportunity of pursuing my fancy to
' of my bent.
1 fine moaning, while taking A long walk
side of the lovely valley of the Neath,
. A A ing. by SOME queer procedure or oth-
V -ridges, flood-gates, AMI the like, across
rvtr and the canal, until I was in the ro
aud noisy village of A'erdylais, 1 was
. :I- iby the sight of £ noble waterfall in
• ' "REUS action, and after a lengthened
1 -cgau to turn homeward, the sound
T RUSHING cataract still souuding iu nay
sight of the broad flowing river in the
witii the canal on one side and the
. I >ll the other, tiie fresh pungent smell
I.irth, the towering mountains on cither
—grey, brown, ami green — the verdure
mardies, the accessories of industrial
: -M. and the pretty farms aud cottages.
. T' iitervals around. couspin-d with the
•: tin- day t" put me on the best pos
r .I W .tn my-eif and tiie world gener
•• BY tlic-roids.dc tavern, into which
ier-.D to r -fresh my -elf w ith a g!A--
-LIT ale. I saw, a little further on, the
iresqoe old church, that of St CaJ-
Cadoxton. as it is generally called. —
-I'-. being open I entered the chureh-
C . it was with a sensation of real hor
' .at I saw. on the first object which met
—A tail grave-stone, towering far
e re-t, living some seven or eight feet
gi.T —the following dreadful legend.
" TO KF.COKD ML RPF.K !"
- apossible to describe the slnx-k of
-1 awe and astonishment with which I
■ : I? wor ls eigriv-1 beneath this siiii*-
'RO-hiction. There stoxl the memento
• -OUS domestic tragedy, which had once
it peaceful vale thrill with HORN*
■I to END I could not GET it out of
1 T:E few particulars which I gleati
--IE pul'lic iion-c. given with a shddering
I •.-•*. only served to w bet my curiosity
•*>* more.
fo 'K- at Glamorgan, and indeed of
• GENERAL!V. not without SOME show- of
" DE TFICIN^EIVES tin* very -nidi
' -' cr NIE — csjiectallv that of A darker
among th'-m It i> . cred.t
--t iat s. SJON nf *-r SESSION. the judge
- ' I with white gloves, emblem of tiie
nature of the calender, which makes
■■"* a mere sinecure It speaks well for
' - • etui and WELL conducted IJFE winch the
: and roysterers of the country
BEYOND iamor offence* ot assault and
,■ OVASIOIIED Fy the nanuih of Weiah
( • ITO an EXPLOS'VE ieiap lament. out
.'Cl>T life and projwriy are, as a gene
: KNOWN Still there are exceptions,
*<■ are so rare, that when they do oc
-y CAUSE an electric tlirill to run through
[ •* ft of the community.
"N of thirty YAR* ago \<>ath
• 'halt a -NI-I,'! iiaiii'et. I|* I of -ill
• :n*nT> a!i ill (.an iiuw • ho y
T •• rami! w:< IRN-HF, and the
."T Int of J'l*T in ?H- vlT:ty of
• LET.III chn-JH THERE APCEAD a WLE
g AMI IU R-TI land, interst cied by
! w IT.-r ? <G the PUQ<W of
\|> story :S -• to the iunne
• NCH lse* LE-s MAN luidway IR>-
- I cliurcli and tlm igarali in que**
*• * ope of thia luarshdaiiti, leading to
• X-R Neath — lteautiful in the NEB
• >U.'ll!iirr, luxuriant wa. the NACAD*
• - • PROLIFIC the utorons gardens, with
- and noktmg willows bending
•r-xiks. and the fair fringing wooil-
I '• T G ULL—IN LB* very heart of this
B *ry there stood, at the period I
- IOW-roofed, raoibiiitg old edifice,
half dwrliing-hotcie. H*RE one
THE BRADFORD REPORTER.
Shon (John) and his wife Nancy Richards,
dwelt, together with a son, some two or three
and twenty yenre of ape. Shon Richards
was half farmer and half miner ; that is to
say, that while his wife tended the dairy and
overlooked the produce of a few acres rented,
Shon, like his forefathers, was working awav,
deep in one of the pits. At that time wages
were good, and the old man steady and frugal,
so that the old couple were looked upon as be
ing very comfortably off in the world.
Roth were well spoken of, and liked by their
neighbors : but of the son, Llewellyn Rich
ards, there were many conflicting opinions
held, the majority contending that he was one
of those rural touts, who are the pest of tlie
place in which they dwell ; while others hehl
that it was only the period of that conven
tional sowing-time of his " wild-oats," which
would soon he over, when he would settle down
like Itis father into the quiet of dowestic life.
The former shftok their heads, and prophesied
very little good to he expeete-J who exhibited
every talent belonging to a thorough scamp
ami scapegrace.
His riotous conduct, at last, result" d in ranch
domestic contention, and his quarrels with his
father became loud and hitter, until the young
fellow obviated this by rarely coining across
him when at home. To make amends, he only
I visited the house in Slions absence, and by
dint of coaxing or bullying his mother by
turns, who loved him with that strong exhaust
less affection which is so often lavished ujvon
the prodigal, supplied hi in witli money, ami
whether for his necessities or his excesses mat
tered little. Idle ami desultory in his best
mood, his earnings were far from sufficing him.
.\l utters had i>cen going on thus for some time,
wlicit another |>erson appeared on the scene,
and very soon the aspect of affairs was chan- i
ged
To assist Nancy R chards. whose industry ■
was of an indefatigable order, in the heavier !
out-door work of the farm, was a stout bodied
loutish servant man. who lodged with a cottar i
a mile or so away, coming in the morning and j
departing at sundown. Living in tiie house j
with the old couple, however, and assisting'
her mistress in the dairy, about this time was i
a young comely servant girl, a native of I'aer
marthen, Margaret Williams by name, and
the heroine of this story. She soon proved
herself to be invaluable to the old woman, on
whom age and hard labor. added to the con
tinued fret caused by her son's wild courses, j
were beginning to tell alarmingly. Prostra
ted at last, upon a lied of sickness, the integ
rity and industry of Margaret were proved to
the satisfaction of even her captious mistress,
who liegan to grow greatly attached to her.
Margaret was reputed as lieing the very
perfection of Welsh lieauty. Dark eyed, with
black waving hair, a brunette coiuph-xioii,
with a tine mouth and dazzling teeth, a figure
at once tall, light and active—young, beauti- j
ful and tiie bede of the district—no wonder
that she drew the attention of the impression
able Liewvellyn to her charms. Had she j
been an astute and desiguiug gitl, her work
was done to her hands.
Rut modesty and uatire goodness made her
shrink from his advances. Resides that, in j
verity, she had an accepted suitor, one David
Morgan, otherwise David Dhu, or Rlack Da
vid, a pseudo-name common etwugh, and so,
bestowed because of the unusual ?warth of his
complexion. David had followed his sweet
heart from Caermarthen ; for, with the jeal
ousy of an Othello, ins love was as deep as
cetth. He soon found employment in a
neighboring stone quarry, where his remarka
ble strength, and stalwart limbs were render
ed conspicuous, and where his quiet obliging
demeanor soon placed him on friendly terras
with Ids rough companions.
Accustomed to vi>it the farm of John
Richards of an evening, to converse with Mar
garet when his work was done, ois quick eye
soon discovered that Lieweiivn was paying his
sweetheart those extravagant attentions which,
while they moved his siieut aug.r, oulv provo
ked the giri's light-hearted inirth. With his
usual phlegm. David manifested iittle or no
outward recognition of tiie arrogant youth's
growing advances. They were wasted on
Margaret, who soon grew tired of his impert
inences : tiut Llewellyn was far too self-conceit
ed to take her marked antipathy as real. As
he was a handsome fellew enough. j rh q>s
this consciousness hi nded liiin. P< rhaj>s lie
trusted in the jgovrl.iu! fickleness of women
and M) hated ir tune
O ic t yen ug, LI- wellyii, encouraged by Di
vid' 'ieaioaimr, though the dusky hhxi was
i-o.i'iig tt.tii.it a.m win! IU intliug .a Ins h eli.
paying lu> filswu. complement-, and car
rying them to tiie length o! seizing Margaret
around the wa,t to k.ss iter, when Dav.d rose,
and with a single blow set ins rival rolling to
the ground : raiding that the next tune he
presumed so far. his punishment would be re
membered for many a day.
T.ie servant-man, who was by at the time,
remarked that when Llewellyn rose, his stain
ed and pallid face wore a .-mile of such fiend
ish hatred as startled even hi- stolidity, and he
hurried from the sjxvt with clenched hands and
vaguely muttered threats. David,on the con
thiry, resumed his usual placidity and after a
wide quietly departed.
R t |,uor Margaret was not destined to be
it ft it: peace 11-T in.stress had so far recov
ei l a-, to l>e able to hobble al>out the house ;
und learning that David and her son had been
qua reding, felt all the irate blood ablaze in
I.H-r warm. Wel-b. motherly heart, when she
lu-ard ho Llewellyn had been chastised ; and
Iwedtess of his offence, visited Margaret with
a scolding as unmeasured as it war unmerited.
Unfortunately the two rivals met again that
evening near the town. It was a " Noswaitb
Ida wen," or night of merry making, when
numifens of both sexes meet together, and the
night is mirthfully spe t ; and though intoxi
cation is by no means uncommon, these assem
blages are seldom marked by drunken out
rages, while iu no inslauce do they ever degen
erate into license, the married elder folks keep
ing the youuger iu subjection, and by their
presence reudened the whole otherwise harm
t less.
PUBLISHED EVERY THURSDAY AT TOWANDA. BRADFORD COUNTY. PA., BY E. O'MEARA (iOODRICII.
" RESARDLESS OF DENUNCIATION FROM ANT QUARTER."
It so chanced that Llewellyn, smarting uu
der the pain and shame of his recent defeat,
had been drinking freely, and in the midst of
his younger companions, carried away his usu
; al braggadocio, was shaking in a slighting
! and boastful tone of Margaret, when the door
j opened, and the form of David Dhu filled the
I opening.
" Thoa art a liar, Lieweiivn" said he, in his
leep voice, his eyes emitting the fire of his
fully aroused nature. " Thou'rt slandering a
! young lass who scorns thee, aud thou knowest
i it."
It was an unlucky spot for both the asser
tion and the contradiction No one believed
Llewellyn, hut lie could not take the lie thus.
Armed in ale" lie with an oath repeated a
portion of his slander, and a moment after the
I two men were in the street fighting. Five
minutes settled the whole, Llewellyn, dread
fully beaten, was hel|ied awav ; this filled up
the mother's cup of fury against Margaret.—
The next day, eveu against her secret will,
Nancy Richards paid Margaret's wages and
dismissed her The weeping gill went to
Neath, and was domiciled with an old widow
er whom David knew, and for whom she kept
house, more frani the home and shelter found
there than from an especial choice in the mat
ter. Here she remained for the space of ten
weeks.
In the meantime Llewellyn disappeared, and
was stated to he working at Ilirvvain, a large i
coal and iron di.-tric some miles away in the
v ile. This, with recent occurrences,contribu
ted to break the heart of the jioor old mother,
whose hitherto indomitable courage was at
last fairly destroyed, She again took to her
bed, sickened and died, all within the limits .
of a tew weeks ; and tiie home of tSliou Rich
ards was now very louelv and desolate.
In this extremity, being by no means well
acquainted with the reasons of Margaret's dis
missal, or his son's absence, while tilings were*
going into sad coufusiou about him, lie prevail
ed upon tlie girl to return—a matter as it
turned out, of little difficulty. This was to
the displeasure of black David, who, for the
first time, had words with his mistress upon
the subject—words meaningless enough, hut
which were afterwards remembered. His vis
its, now >till fewer, ai.d his silent and sombre
manner, really began to throw a shadow over
Margaret's usually cheerful and happy ilisjvosi
tion tilie in tune became taciturn and absent
in manner—so much so that it began to be
commented upon.
It was in the month of June—that midsum
mer season of life aud nature, when the nights
vie with the day for beauty, and the glories of
the moonlit and starry eves are even more love
ly than those of any hour of the sunuv dav.
Oue night David was returning to his home,
past the end of the narrow cart-lane, branch
ing from the main road to Shou's house, when
the bright moonshine fell upon the forms and
faces of two jiersons, male and female, walk
ing up the embowered lane. David stood pe
trified. for the female uttered a suppressed cry
of alarm, aud hastily made for the house,
while the other—in whose debauched counte
nance he recognized the features of Llewellyn
—passed on the road with a light laugh, and
went in the direction of Neath. What David's
feelings were ou that uight we may very easi
ly imagine.
What now elapsed within the few days ere
the ghastlv crime was perpetrated, becomes
more complicated, nor is it likely that the ex
act truth will ever he known. It affears that
Dav.d seldom saw Margaret, whose depression
ami lowness of spirits were, and were only the
ominous forebodings of the dismal tragedv to
follow. 111 the meantime, it seeins Lieweiivn
had returned, and was staying at home a sec
ond time, on better terms with his father, aud
that his suit for the hand of Margaret—
whatever it was before—was now sanctioned
by the old man, Rob Parry, the serving man,
averred that, of late, the voun<r man seemed
to have obtained an nnauoountable ascendency
over the doomed girl. In what this ascenden
cy consisted he was unable to say, but the
character of Margaret came out iu which it
had been tested, without a stain, or even a
suspicion.
David, it was rcmarkd. had l>ecome more
silent and mournful than ever. Tiie mute sad
ness with which he was supposed to view the
alleged defection of Margaret, accounted for
this, and nilr gained the general sympathy in
his tiehalf. He was known to love her so truly
tlmt a feeling of pity for him was entertained
by all who knew liiin. .
Early one Saturday evening he called at
lionse of Shon Richards. He saw as Rob
Parry, who had the curiosity of a magpie, sta
ted > Margaret atone. His voice at first low
and per.oiiasjvß, Itecame stormy, and the poor
girl cried bitterly. He left her muttering ex
ecrations. and encountered Llewellyn in the
lane. Again they had some fierce words
together, again they parted with mutual men
ace.
On the following morning (Sunday. 14th of
June, Margeret Williams was found—
murdered !
Seine of the people dwelling at hand assert
ed that, far in the depths of night, a great,
wailing, shrieki g cry was heard—one of those
awful outbreaks UI*>II the almost solemn si
lence of the night, such as makes the flesh of
the listener creep, and goes far, many a time,
to confirm the creed of the suja-niaturalist.
The once blithe, beautiful girl was found
lying dead io one of the wide and deeply trench
ed brooklets running to the river, which even
at that season, had one-and-twenty inches of
water running through it Bob Parry (by all
accounts, am! especially his own i was the first
to discover the laxly ; aud when the corpse of
the nuhappy girl was lifted out, and borne
away to await au inquest, the question every
one uttered was, " Who was the murderer V
Iu no part of the kingdom, as any who have
visited Wales can testify, is the serene still
ness of the Sabbath more profound, or its
sanctity more expressive, and in the remoter
valley aud mountain district especially so.—
j The georgeoos richness of a midsummer morn
ing, with its rippling streams, odoroos rosea,
'orchard? ia bloeeotn, slumbering wood, aud
! dewy repose ; while men, who come forth co
inhale the balmy air, seem to step softer, to
speak lower—all uniting with nature herself
in that mute adoration of the Most High—
and to hare that holy peace broken in such an
appalling manner ! •
Judge, therefore, the terror and consterna
: fion which this barbarous rnuruer produced,
for it is quite impossible to describe it.
The hapless girl was proved to have been
dead for hours. There were the trampled
foot-prints of a ghastly struggle upon the bank
of the ditch. On her throat were the marks
of strangulation, and the body was completely
covered with water. "It was a sorry sight."
In the course of the day, Llewellyn Rich
ards, one of the two men on whom suspicion
fell, was taken into custody at a little tavern
not far from Resolven, a plnce now familiar to
all tourists who visit the Vale of Neath. He
exhibited the greatest astonishment at his sei
zure, mingled with horror at the crime ; but
his entire innocence, he said, could he proved.
In effect, at the inquest, held before the
coroner or magistrate of the district, though
admitting he had been with Margaret at his
father's and had even met David Morgan the
previous night, he proved an alibi otherwise so
complete in its particulars, as thoroughly ex
onerated him in the general sense,
j " Why had he, on that particular night, not
slept at his father's, as he had of late ?"
The answer to this was somewhat indirect,
if not vague. He accounted for it as a for
bearance on his part towards David Morgan,
as his (Llewellyn's) presence seemed to exas
perate the other, and he feared personal vio
lence.
Bob Parry deposed to having seen a figure
hovering about the house and lane in the later
twilight ; and that his motions, though suspi
cious, were not of a kind to create any parti
cular watchfulness. Rut he, too, had heard
the great thrilling cry, and with the earliest
dawn went forth into the marshes and discov
ered the body.
Meanwhile, by a strict examination of the
marshes, a bundle of old garments and of strong s
half-boots, easily recognisable as Black David's
working costaiue, wt-re found tied up, and
sunk with a stone beneath a clump of alders. ;
This was dreadfully circumstantial ; hut where
was David ? At present nowhere to be found,
and, oil inquiry, it was elicited that lie had
left his lodging early on the same morning,
with a bundle and a stick, intending to go to
Swansea, aud there put in effect a project for
emigrating he bad been known to entertaiu.
At Swansea, therefore, a constable found
him. He did not seem to lie hiding himself ; 1
and when he was told upon w hat plea he was !
wanted, his countenance became ashy pale, his j
lips trembled, his strong frame shook as in
ague, and his sobs, when tears did flow, were
frightful to behold. The burden of his moun,
was to exclaim, with wringing hands, " My
poor darling ! My heart—my heart ! lathe
water—in the water ! Murdered !—dead I
Oh ! white God !—My darling Margaret !"
So at intervals, a< they hastened to Neath
in a car, he mourned, and wept, ami murmur
ed. His anguish seemed to be unseating his
reason. j
But he also, on examination, proved, on
credible testimony, an alibi even more convinc
ing than that of Llewellyn ; and the cleverest
detective—unfortunately, no skilled hand iu
this department was employed—could not have
made anything of either. On both sides, eve
ry hour of tiie seemed to be completely
accounted for, and fully justified the magistrate
in giving the accused the benefit of the doubt
that arose.
Siqqxising that the poor girl had been won
by the artifices of the seducer, (which, how
ever, was not proved in any particular.) it
might have been said that remorse and shame
had induced her to commit suicide ; but there
were the marks of struggling feet, and the li
vid finger pressures on the throat to deny that.
The bundle of David's working clothes found
in the marsh required to be explained.
Blaek David, with an impressive but sim
ple solemnity, denied the horrid deed. He
loved her too well—lie would have given his
heart's blood for her ; and it was only iu his
dreary despair, aud amidst the wreck of all his
lioj>es, which he said were breaking his heart
that he had parted from her, resolved never
to see her more, and to put the Atlantic be
tween them ; and now a gulf still greater than
tiie whole hoik of tne world stood between—
the ghastly grave of murder !
But he. too. seemed astounded—at first it
was taken as the shock of conscious guilt—
when his old clothes, and the boots, identified
with the foot-marks on the bauk, were shown
Ijefore Lira iu court.
There was a still, dead pause. The man
seemed to be overwhelmed by this damning
testimony ; or else to be searching his memo
ry for some clae or other that he had lost. Fi
nally, he denied that they were Ids !
A smile of derision and contempt succeeded
that ; but it wore away as Le made his state
ment.
He wore his working clothes and strong
boots on then, (his best being in his bnndle,)
and a glance sufficed to show that such wa*
the eme ; that they were of the same make,
style and material, only newer, though soiled
with his late employment. He made this pur
chase, his old ones being taken in part ex
change at a clothier's in the town which was
corroborated by the clothier himself ; who ad
ded that he had sold the old garments, then
iu court, to a young, dark-faced tramper some
two or three weeks ago ; bur that he did not
know the man, and doabted whether he could
identify him again even if he saw him. It wa>
not LJewellyu, be could swear, aud David he
knew io jierson too well to make any mistake
upon the matter ; and thus both men were re
leased under the nominal recognizances to ap
pear when required.
The body of poor Margaret was borne to the
grave a Cadoxtou church, followed by hun
dreds ot the town follks and coantry-people—
David, with an air of awful sorrow and brood
ing absence, constituting himself in a manner
laa chie: mourner. Llewellyn Richards, how
' ever, was cot among them.
When the sessions came there was no trial.
There was no prosecutor, no prisoner ; and
the matter dropped. Instead of David beiug
the emigrant, it was now Llewellyn, who ere
this departed for Liverpool, and sailed thence
to America ; and it was believed that all trace
of him was lost. For a length of time David
also disappeared, though he was heard of in
Caermarthen ; and thus this appalling crime
was shrouded in impenetrable mystery. One
or the other of these two men must have done
it, arid yet the strong proofs of the alibi each
produced were not to he contested.
That ' murder will out," is a creed that
men hold to with an intensity proportioned to
the delay. Even the spirit of the doomed girl
seemed to be speaking with a terrible cmplia
, sis of menace, through the words cut deeply
into the stone at the head of her grave. " Al
though," the significant memorial goes, "the
savage murderer escaped for a season the de
tection of man, yet God hath set his mark up
on him, either for time or for eternity, and
will assuredly pursue him to a certain aud ter
rible, but righteous judgment !"
And what subsequently happened seems to
prove this. Some years had elapsed, when
there returned a native of the district, from
the bleak Canadian wilds, who had there es
tablished himself as a farmer. In the course
of conversation he stated that he was present
at the death bed of a man of bad and dissipat
ed character—no other than Llewellyn Rich
ards, whom he had known as a boy. He ap
peared to be tailoring under some strange ter
ror at his last moments, and spoke, though in
coherently, of purchasing a suit of old clothes
through the agency of some stranger or other
—of a dreadful struggle on the marshes—of
an appalliinr mnrder-cry—of a dying woman—
of fleeing from a pursuing Nemesis ; and in
the midst of this recital falling back dead with
a fearful groan, pointing fingers, and the sweat
of unutterable agony upon his brow. There
remained little difficulty then of putting the '
tangled meshes together. The murderer had
been pursued, and " God had set his mark up
on him, pursuing him to a certain and terrible
punishment."
Poor David wandered about the country—
especially haunting the marshes—a cowering,
gibbering idiot—harmless, hut moaning ever
more the burden of his great sorrow—" My
poor darling ! In the water ! Murdered—
dead !"
I was out on my accustomed ramble one un
inviting day, having a desire to make a stretch,
if possible, as far as Swansea, across a bleak
and lonely tract skirting the sea, and known
as " Crynilyn Burrows." On my way I pass
ed the beautiful old abbey ruins, then by the
iron works, anon by the shore of the canal, the
river turning sharply off into an estuary on my
left. The bleak, bare tract, with Swansea bay
gloomily opening out, an l the wild mountain
heights on inv right—the grey frowning sky
—the utter solitude—the lonely chapel of St
Margaret, and the brown, bare, blackening
desolation still ahead, made me lose heart.—
The long evening setting in decided me to
go back, ere I had gone much more than half
wav.
I turned, at last, fearful of lieing benighted
if I went too far. Shortly I beheld in the
distan e the dark figure of a man. looming
and coming towards me with hurried steps,
tossing his arms aloft, and gesticulating wild
ly. I confess to a slight touch of dread as he
came nearer and nearer. A more pitiable anu
shocking sigiit never crossed my vision.
His once tall figure was bent, and so hag-
Mprd and "peetral was his form and aspect,
that a shudder ran through tne. His eys
seemed burning in tlieir sockets, his cheeks sun
ken. his hair aud bward were long and matted,
his frame was flesliless as that of a skeleton,
and his ragged garments fluttered in the wind.
Glaring rather than looking i>efore him, mut
tering, clenching his hands, and borne onward
and supported by energies beyond that of his
hunger-wasted form—like a wretch pursued by
an evil spirit that left him no " rest for thp
sole of his foot " —he approached, passed, and
was gone. I looked after him in vagne fear
and deep pity, as he glided onwards into the
darkness of that sjM-ctra! region—the fitting
place for so troubled a spirit to wander iu.
"My little girl, mv loved one ! In the wa
ter ! Oft. white God ! Lost—drowned—
murdered !" So he moaned and mattered. I
th<-n knew that I had seen the wreck of poor
Black David, who for more than twenty years
had survived the dreadful shock ; bnt the de
privation of his reason ha 1 brought the unhap
py man no oblivion of the dreadful past.
He is since dead—his wasted body being
found on the stark Crymlyn Bog on a morn
ing as desolate as his own life had been.
That Comet.
Considerable excitement has lately beeu
created in l*ari<ian gossipping circles, on the
subject of a comet, which some star-gazer or
other has predicted, will, on the 13th day of
next June, cotue in collision with this peacea
ble earth of ours, thereby damaging it to an
unknown extent. Now there is nothing extra
ordinary in a report like this originating in
Paris, for there has been no revolution worth
speaking of there for some time, and the pub
lie mind, siiice the assassinatiou of the Arch
bishop, has grown quite stagnant, and been
really suffering for the want of a little stimu
lus of some kind. Indeed it would not sur
prise u.- much to hear that the whole affair
was got up at the instigation of " Louis le Pe
tit," that sagacious ruler, shrewdly iinaginiug
that the trail of a comet might be the me&us
of saving his own bead, for it is no easy mat
ter to predict with any degree of certaiuty, to
what little fancy job the " canaille" may be
inclined uext to turn their attention. Rut se
riously speaking, this theory of the possible
coil siun between our earth and some wander
ng heavenly body, and the prolrable effects of
-ix h au occurrence, is, to say the ieast of it. a
very interesting subject. That such an event
; may occur no one can deny, although it is a
possibility merely, and not a probability. Ia
1532. the "comet of Biela," as it is called.
■TTsed 'he orbit of the earth. abon a month
VOL. XVII. —NO. 40.
previous to the arrival of the latter at the
jioint of intersection. Though the miss in this
instance was as good as a very large number
of miles, yet the announcement that we had
been even thus near running into one of these
erratic bodies, created among some people
considerable excitement, and indeed alarm
Bnt from the fact that Sir J Hersehel saw
stars of the sixteenth magnitude through the
centre of this very comet, arid the comet of
1770 passed through the sattellites of Jupiter
without producing the least perceptible disar
rangement in those insignificant orbs, astrono
mers have come to the comfortable conclusion,
that these strangers are neither more nor less
! than luminous gas, and "gas," as we Ameri
| rans well know, is not so very terrible after
j all.— Philadelphia Evening Journal.
Aquafortis Operating on Old Joe.
In the pretty village of HaddonfieW, X. J.,
i some years ago, there resided an old fellow
I who was familiarly known to the town and
country round as " Old Joe," he had no par
: ticular occupation, except doing chores or er
rands—nor any particular location. lie ate
where he could get a bite, and slept where he
1 could find a lodging place. Joe was a regu
lar old toper, and Jersey ligntuing had no
more effect on his inside* than so much water.
He generally made his head quarters at the
lower tavern, for there were two in town.—
He would sleep and doze away the afternoon
on an old bench in one corner of the bar-roora
j but was always awake when there was auv
; drinking going on. When he was not asked
to drink he would slip to the bar, and drain
the glasses of the few drops left in them.
One afternoon, Dr. Bolus, the village physi
cian, was in the tavern, mixing up a prepara
tion He placed a tumbler half full of aqua~
fort is on the bar and turned around to mix
some other ingred'ents. A few moments af
terwards he had occasion to use the poison
ous drug, when he found to his dismay, that
the tumbler had beeu drained to the very last
drop.
" Mr. Wiggins," exclaimed the Doctor, in
affright, to the landlord, " what has become
of the aquafortis I put ou the bar a few mo
ments ago ?"
I don't know," replied the landlord, " un
less Old Joe slipped in and drank it."
In this suspicion they were both soon con
firmed, for the hostler said that he had seen
Old Joe take the fatal draught. The Doctor
knowing that he must certainly die, after such
a dose, iu<tituted a search at once. After
some hours spent in lookiug through the barns,
out houses and wood, for three or foar miles
around the village, he was abandoned to his
fate. It was a cold night, and as the village
topers assembled around the blazing hickory
fire of the bar-room, nothing was thought or
talked off but the unfortunate end of poor
Old Joe. Sotne four or five days having elap
sed and nothing having been heard from Old
Joe. they ail coine to the conclusion that he
was a goner. The Doctor, about this time,
had to vi>it a patient some eight miles distant.
W hat was his surprise wbeu about five miles
distant from the village, to see Old Joe iu
front of a farmer's house, splitting wood.
\\ iiv Joe," said the Doctor, riding up to
the fence, " I thought you were dead and bu
ried !>efore this."
" Why.what made you think that, Doctor ?'
said Joe, leaning on his axe handle.
" Didu't you drink that dose I left on Old
Wiggin's bar, a few days since?"
\ es," replied Joe, half ashamed to own
it.
" Do you know what it was?" asked the
Doctor.
" No," returned Joe.
" Why, it was aquafortis —enough to kill a
dozen men."
" Well, now Doctor, do you know I tho't
there wa something queer about that darned
stuff, for after I drank it. every time I bb-teed
my wot I burned a holt in my pocket-JLndker*
chut M
To You so MEN. —Young man! save that
penny—pick up that pin—let that account be
correct to a farthing—find out what t! at bit
of ribt>on costs, Indore you say you will take
it—pay that half dime your friend handed you
to make change with—in a word, be economi
cal, lie accurate, know what you are doiug—
l>e hone-t, and then be generous, for ail vou
have or acquire thus belongs to you by every
rule of right, and you may put it to auy good
use you j lease. It is not parsimony to be
economical. It is not miserly to save a pin
from loss. It is not selfi-h to be correct iu
your dealings. It is not small to know the
price of articles you are a!out to purchase, or
to remember the little debt you owe. What
if you do meet Bill Pride decked out iu a much
better suit than yours, the price of which he
has not yet learned from his tailor, and who
laughs at your faded dress and old-fashioned
notions of honesty and right, your day will
come. Franklin, who from a penny-saving
l>oy. walkuig the street* with a loaf of bread
under his arm, became the conqiauion of kings.
ANSWERED— The late Prince Bishop of
Wurzburg, in one of his hunting expeditions,
met a poor boy attending some swine. The
Prince, among other qnetions, asked him
what his wages were for a swineherd.
"A new suit and two pair of shoes every
year," was the reply.
"No more !" said the Prince. " Look at
me, I am a shepherd, too, but I wear better
clothes a- d look better."
That raav be, sir," said the boy in his sim
plicity. "but I dare say you have more swine
to keep than I have.
gaf A disease called scarlet rash is pre
vailing through several townships iu the lower
part of Luzerne Conuty. It carries its victims
| off. with a warning of only a day or two, gen
eraly attacking the head.
Kf Johnson used to gay that perfect litera
ry style w&g like the atmosphere—the medium
f?r ®eirg exactly. but tteelf icrisible.