Huntingdon journal. (Huntingdon, Pa.) 1843-1859, July 11, 1848, Image 1

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BY JAS. CLARK.
POETICAL
FOURTOI OF JULY.
ARRANGED Tel' NAPOLEON'S GRAVE.
Hark! Hark ! Sons of Freemen ; the canons now
rattle,
The Star Spangled, Banner's unfurled to the eye,
But the clarion's shrill sound does not call us to
- , battle,
'Tis a call to rejoice on the 4th of July.
Tlys day is devoted in commemoration
1.35 t those who have sworn to be free or to die,
Of .the day when our fathers proclaimed this a
nation— •
'Twas in '7 6, on the 4th of July.
Come! Come ! quit all business and !et us as•
semble
To reverence these Heroes, who dared to defy
All the armies of Britain, and taught Kings to
tremble
At the bold Declaration, on the 4th of July.
Come ! join us, ye emigrants, Erin's descend•
ants,
Obliged to this land from oppression to fly;
You have tasted the blessings of our independ•
ance,
And should celebrate with us the 4th of July.
Come I all ye who've chosen this land as your
station,
Where none can the blessings of freedom deny;
Come, and heartily join us in this celebration
Of our Nation's birth-day, 'tis the 4th of July.
The spirit of freedom to valor uniting,
Has spread to the South bidding tyranny fly,
Where a sister Republic, the thought how de.
lighting,
Has an epoch equal to the 4th of July.
Then let us rejoice in the downfall of error,
And hope that the glorious era is nigh,
When the world shall be freed from the crown
reign of terror,
And hail the blest epoch, the 4th of July,
Oar fathers before us in the great Revolution—
Where have they gone ? 0 ! ask me not why
They fought, bled and died, for this free consti
tution—
And
gained her birth-day on the 4th of July !
MISCELLANEOUS.
THE POOR. LINEN WEAVER.
Know then the truth of Government divine,
And let those scruples be no longer thine."'
In one of the retired streets of a pop
olous country town, lived a young linen
weaver, of an upright and pious charac
ter, but exceedingly poor. Himself and
his affectionate partner were distinguish
ed in the place for their extraordinary
piety. Often, for weeks together, they
had nothing to eat but potatoes and salt.
They ardently loved each other, and were
cheerful and happy. Whoever visited
this worthy couple, was delighted with
their agreeable society;' many gladly
partook of their humble fare, on pur
pose to enjoy their sweet religious con
versation.
Once, on a fine summer evening, a
well dressed man called at the door of
their humble cottage, who, after an af
fectionate salutation, informed the young
weaver that he was travelling to a dis
tant village, but had missed his way,
and that if he would be kind enough to
accompany him n mile or two, he would
compensate him for the trouble. The
weaver sprang from his seat, and, put
ting on his well worn but decently patch
ed garment, undertook to guide the stran
ger on his way. They discoursed on
various matters, entertaining each other
and continued until it began to grow
dark, when suddenly the stranger drew
a whistle from his pocket and sounded
it so loud, that it sent a cold chill through
the frame of the linen weaver. In nn in-
stant, ten stout, terrible looking men
leaped from an adjoining hedge, and en
tered into conversation with the stran
ger, who appeared to he their chief, re.
specting the robbery of n neighboring
mill. The captain of the band introdu
ced tine linen weaver to them ns a new
ly favored comrade, yet not inured to
their business. Tine unhappy man fell
on his knees, and begged with the most
earnest entreaty to be released ; but the
robber held a pistol to his breast, threat.
ening him with instant death if he re
fused to comply—whereupon two of the
stoutest took hold of his arms, and walk
ed away with him. They arrived at
the mill about midnight, and broke it
open, while the captain, in company with
several robbers, remained at a distance
to watch. But they had been tracked;
the measure of their iniquity was now
full. The captain and some of the rob
bers, together with the linen weaver,
were apprehended and imprisoned, but
the rest escaped.
Meantime the wife of the weaver .be
gan to be alarmed and distressed ; her
husband remained out, and when she
found that he did not teturn, in the morn
ing, her distress of mind became over
whelming. Her kind neighbors went
in search of him, but could hear no ti
dings of him. About evening, the news
came that the mill had been robbed and
the weaver apprehended with the rob
bers. Her distress now arose to its
height. She left her children in the care
of a neighbor, and proceeded with all
possible haste to the prison. She-up
plied to a magistrate, and gave him as
circumstantial an account of the matter
as she knew how, while on her bended
knees she begged and implored his as
sistance for the liberation of her unfor
tunate husband. The magistrate, who
felt a deep sympathy for the unfortunate
woman, could do nothing in behalf of
her husband, though he gave her per
mission to see him.
The meeting which took place is in
describable. They raised together their
imploring hands to the Judge of the in
nocent. The weaver encouraged his
wife to mantain unshaken coufidence in
God, who, he assured her, would never
abandon them in the extremity of their
trial. They parted, mutually streugth
ened, and humbly resolved to plead with
God for a happy issue.
The government, in consequence of
the frequent robberies that had recently
followed in in quick succession, was
obliged to enforce the laws with rigor;
the poor weaver, therefore, had no rea
son to hope for a dispensation in his
favor, especially as he had been appre
hended in company witlr the robbers.
But a still worse feature in the ease was
the dreadful fact, that the Captain of the
band had concerted a plan with his fel
lows to bring the weaver to the scaffold
let the consequences be what they might.
On trial, they all affirmed that the wea
ver had been with them on other expe
ditions, naming the times, places and
circumstances. When the weaver plead
ed his innocence, they were so daring
as to look him in the face, arid ask him
if he were not afraid, in he presence of
God, to utter such falsehoods. Thus
matters went from one court to another
the poor weaver having no advocate but
his unavailing tears.
At length the trial was concluded, and
all were condemned to die. It was de
cided that the linen weaver should be
hanged first ; and the rest, after witness
ing his execution, were to undergo the
same sentence, only with this cliff-.
erence, that their bodies were to be
quartered. The verdict had been sign
ed by the prince, and the execution was
to take place in three days.—A deep and
universal sympathy was excited in be
half of the weaver—every one regarding
him as innocent. Tho clergyman of
the place who well knew his innocence,
administered all the consolation in his
power, to support him in the trying cri
sis. The pious man summoned all his
strength, and committed his wife and
children to his heavenly Father. His
wife cried incessantly and fervently to
the ALL IVlsaciFut for deliverance. The
day previous to his execution she ap
appeared the piteous object of distress
before the prince's mansion, desiring an
audience. It providentially happened
that, while at dinner, the history of a
poor father of a family was related, who'
had been executed innocently. This
gave occasion to speak of the linen wea
ver ; and when her request for an audi
ence was presented, it was cheerfully
granted. Her respectable and prepos
sessing appearance, in addition to her
deep distress, spoke so loud a language,
that the cheeks of the princess were cov
ered with tears. She conducted her to
the prince, who was so much affected,
that lie instantly despatched a messen•
ger with his pardon. Arid it was now
time—for it was evening, and the next
day at nine o'clock the weaver was to
be led to execution. The messenger
had ten leagues to travel.
The princess ordered refreshment for
the weaver's wife, who, after she had
partaken, also hastened with all possi
ble speed, to the place of execution, im
pelled with heartfelt joy and gratitude
to God. But when she had travelled
about two leagues her system failed
through fatigue, and the strong excite
ment of her feelings. She was, there
fore, obliged to rest a few hours, which
prevented her from arriving till ten
o'clock the next morning.
The messenger who had been sent,
likewise met with an accident on the
way—his horse fell with him and sprain
ed his ankle. Providentially it was near
a post-house. He committed the par
don to the Postmaster, who forwarded
it by a postillion. But it was near too
late. Of all that had transpired, the
weaver yet knew nothing and the mag
istrate as little. The clock struck nine,
the knell of execution sent forth its aw
ful peal. The children, as was the cus
tom, came with their teacher and hymn
books, in the procession ; then the weav
er and his pastor ; next the captain and
his band of robbers ; and last of all, the
executioner and assistants. A multi-
tude had assembled from the country
around about, who followed the proces
sion, attended with a regiment of armed
soldiers who marched with slow and
measured step to the place of execu
tion. The weaver spoke not a word—
HUNTINGDON, PA,, TUESDAY, JULY Tl, 1848,
his distress was too deep for either tears
or language; the people, however, ob
served that he was intently watched by
the keen eye of the hardened robber
captain.
The procession at length arrived near
the scaffold ; the linen weaver was con
ducted up the ladder—but that instant
the postillion came riding in full gallop;
he hastily handed the letter of pardon
to the magistrate, who hastily broke
the seal, and proclaimed aloud.," Par
don ! Pardon! for the Linen Weaver .'
A shout of joy then rose up from the
assembled thousands, that seemed to
know no end. In the midst of the ex
citement, the robber-captain rose apd
begged permission to speak : when gran
ted, he stepped forward on the scaffold,
and beckoned for silence.
All were,instantly silent. The rob
ber then exclaimed aloud—' There is a
God, and that God is a God of justice !
This I never believed till this moment—
therefore I never feared him, and gave
myself up to crime. Sometimes in the
midst of my guilty course, things have
occurred which led me to suppose there
was a God who governs the world, but
1 wished to be sure of it—and to be so,
I thought if I could bring an innocent,
pious man into my society, and compel
him to take part in our crimes, that this
God could not be righteous, if he suffer
ed him to full in the same punishment
as ourselves. He must deliver him as
he has done to-day. For I declare be
fore this assembly, that the linen weav
er is perfectly innocent—he is a pious
and upright man. I have made a fair
trial with him, and God has delivered
him. Yes, there is a God, and that God
is a God of righteousness." He now
begged to be remanded to prison, alle
ging that he had some important disci°.
sureslo make. His request was again
granted, and his promise fulfilled.
In the meantime they had revived the
weaver, who had fainted under the ex
citement of the sudden transition of feel
ing. A circle was formed round the
scaffold, when a number of young men,
rushing in arid taking hold of him, rais
ed him on their shoulders, and convey
ed him around the streets in triumph;
others raised a contribution for him
amounting to several hundred guilders.
Just as they were bearing him through
the streets, his wife arrived from her
long and painful journey. She heard
the shouting and saw the concourse of
people. "Pardon for the linen weaver!"
resounded in every direction—and with
sobbings of transport she followed the
procession to the public house. The
meeting of husband and wife was most
deeply affecting— a e•cene of joy inde
scribable. They were conveyed home
in a coach which their friends had kind
ly provided for the occasion. The me
' lie), which he received raised his con
dition in life, and the rich experience he
had acquired from his assured and sim
ple confidence in God, produced a still
more elevating effect on his Christian
character. The blessing of God contin
ued with him ; and if he still lives, he
mkst be a gray•haired man of seventy.
Tim event occurred in the year 1798.
Gen. Taylor's Position
lion. Jolla J. CRITTENDEN in his Pittsburg
speech, made the following forcible remarks in
regard to ti en. Taylor's position :
Some object, said Mr. Crittenden, to
General Taylor, because he is from the
South, and is a slave holder. Are we
not one people? Do we not love the
.Union 1 Have I not the same right - as.
a Kentuckian, to all the benefits of our
glorious Union, that you have as Penn
sylvanians 1 e are one people from
the Atlantic to the Pacific; from our
most Northren Line to the Rio Grande,
we are one people—it is all my country
—it is all yours. There is no country,
there never was a country, like this.
Rome, in her mightiest days, never pos
sessed so vast and splendid a country
us this—so great, so glorious. Our
destiny is as glorious as our country, if
we hold together, and do not suffer sec
tional prejudices to divide us. We speak
ono language—our indentity is the same
—we are one consolidated people—and
our success has hitherto been glorious
and unprecedented. Shall we, then, di
vide in feeling 1 No! no! No matter
where our man is from, if he is an Amer
icon. Gen. Taylor in his feelings, knows
no South , no North, no East, no West.
He is an ..dinerican ! Where has he Hy',
ed 1 In his tent for forty years. His
home, for forty years has been under ilto.
American flag!—the flag of his whole
country. He is a national man—he bee
lived everywhere, wherever the flag
waves ! He is not a Southren man—he
an American! He proscribes no on'e
either of the North or South ; and will
you proscribe him for the accident of
birth and home 1 He condemns no man
for the institutions of his State. Will
you condemn himl He isa kind, gene
rous, noble old man—a true American
in heart.
MARIA LOUISA.
ever seemingly prosperous for a time, it
promoted final disaster and woe. A ;
pique originating in this marriage, alien- 1
A darker day never enveloped in its ated Alexander of Russia fro the'
gloom the Austrian monarchy,than when French Emperor, and hence tie tam
the beleaguering hosts of Napoleon en- paign of Moscow, and the imprisonment
compassed Vienna, and from their en- of Napoleon upon the rock of St. Hole
circling batteries were showering shots na. When the design of Napoleon was
and shells upon the doomed city. The
known, every court of Europe was emu- I
armies of Austria, in repented conflicts,
, bus of the honor of such an alliance.—
had been mown down and scattered by'
The Bourbons, in their exile, would glad
the
resistless conqueror. As the eagles ' 1Y furnish a princess of the royal blood,
of Napoleon glittered upon the hills !..B.la bride . for the mighty conqueror.- . I
which overlooked the city, the royal T.' Russian Court proffers ally of its 1
high-born maidens to the acceptance of ,
family, with the " hot haste * " which ter- I
rot inspires, had fled far off into the ' the master spirit, at whose frown all
wilds of Hungary. It is midnight.—
Europe trembles. And the Austrian
y.
The sky is streaked with the fiery pro-
monarchy, the proudest of all earthl d
jectiles which, like meteors of death, dynasties, eagerly seeks alliance with
are descending into the thronged and I the soldier of fortune, who has twice
entered its capital in triumph , and
. rep . o-
dismayed metropolis. Flames are burst
ing forth in every part of the city. All se a d ia , so lt;it with his.plebian marshals , in its
inch deliberation,Na
hearts are frozen with terror.
no place of refuge. Red hot balTsheerruesihs, p . P o o le s oi! d . ecide te d r t i o accept . thealli f a o n r c!_ o of
their way through dwellings of brick A n Yi
ja: Proposals were made
_ a l .
and stone. Shells explode in the cradle ri Lo isa, nail eagerly accepted , 11l aria
of the infant, and upheaving the most was then nineteen years ofage, o and
massy dwellings, bury their mangled wir most happy to he I nored le
bride of one who had filled the world
inmates beneath the ruins. The clam
with his renown. Napoleon was forty
ors of two hundred thousand combatants
fill the midnight air, and mingle with two. On the 12th day of March, 1810,
the thunders of one of the most awful apparently without emotion, she left the
bombardments earth has ever witnessed. palaces of her fathers, surrounded by
all the pomp the Austrian monarchy
In one of the chambers of the royal could confer, to meet her future has
palace there lies a maiden, sixteen band. As the long train of carriages
years of age, the daughter of the king. left Vienna, the people gazed mourn-
Her father and her mother, in the con- fully upon the scene. Maria Antoinette,
sternation of their flight, were compel- the last princess Austria had furnished
led to leave behind them their sick for the throne of France, but a few
child. Her cheek is flut.hed with fever I years before, had perished miserably
and again paled with terror as the up. I
upon the scaffold. The populace were
roar of the assault, like angry thunder,' only prevented by the soldiers from cut
fills the air. The glare of bursting shells ' ting the traces of the carriages, and pre
and the flames of the spreading confla- 1 venting the departure. The gorgeous
gration, portentously gleam through the procession moved on its way towards
windows, upon the eye of the sick and the frontiers of France. Napoleon had
terrified sufferer. She in vain buries
her head beneath the bed-clothes to shut never
y et seen the bride who was corn
inn- to meethim. 4, She is not bcouti
out the horrid cries of the assailants and ftii," he said, as he gazed upon her min
the shrieks of the wounded. ' iature, "but she is a daughter of the C re-
In the midst of this most dreadful sums !"
scene the gates of the city are sudden- ' When Maria arrived at the Rhine, her
ly thrown open, and a small party 1 Austrian attendants left her, and she was
emerge, and with a flag of truce pass' ' , received by the French nation, and con
through the embattling hosts' till they : ducted towards Paris with die highest
approach the presence of Napoleon.— possible accompainments of imperial
They inform him of the situation and, splendour. The bells rang their morn
the peril of the princess. He instantly , est peals of congratulation. The Aus
orders the direction of every gun to be, trian an d ttholored flagflonted in 'friendly
changed, which might endanger her , embrace from every tower. Triumphal
person. The flag of truce again retires' arches, illuminated cities, and civic and
within the walls, and the awful bombard- ! and military processions greeted her
ment continues. For ten long hours this ' progress , while the horses of her chariot
terrific storm of iron descends upon the , buried their hoofs in beds of roses which
city, till three thousand shells have fill
ed its streets with ruin and with blood. were spread over her path. France,
then in the zenith of its pride, and in-
But Maria Louisa remains upon her bed toxicated with glory, from the Rhine to
unharmed, thought other parts of her the Pyrenees, resounded with all the ex
father's palace are blown from their pressions and demonstrations of rejoi
foundations. Little did she imagine, in eing, Napoleon met her near the Corn
the consternation of that dreadful night,peigne. Springing from his own car
that it was her future husband who was riage, he eagerly leaped into that of the
thus raining down destruction upon her i Empress, and, entirely regardless of
father's capital. And little did the pie- • all the restraints and etiquette of courts,
bian conqueror imagine, as lie compas- folded her in his embrace with the most
sionately changed the direction of his youthful impetuosity. The postillions
guns, that this maiden was to be the were ordered to drive upon the gallop to
Queen olFrance, and that by this born- the palace of Compeigne. This unex
bardment he was wooing and winning pected ardor was not at all unwelcome
for his bride a daughter of the Ca-sars. t o Maria, and a few hours in the society
A datighter of the Ciesars ! What a of her imperial husband invested her
mysterious influence there is in tutees- with a queenly ease and affability, that
•
tral renown. Napoleon even, the crea- she could hardly be recognised by her
for of his crown, the fabricator of his former attendants. The marriage cere
own glory, was dazzled by its glare ! I mony was celebrated with the utmost
Maria Louisa was a lineal descendent of I splendour, at St. Cloud, and never, be
etle of the proudest monarchs of Rome.
%he blood which circulated in her veins fore or since, has Paris resounded with
such an uproar of rejoicing, as when Na
had passed to her from the Cirsars, and I poleon led his youthful bride into those
through the heroic heart of Maria 'Flier- apartments of the Tuileries, from which
esa. She had been cradled and nurtured
amid scenes of moral sublimity and re- Josephine, but three months before, hind
been so cruelly rejected. Four queens
gal magnificence, which, one would
think, would give an impress of gran- held the bridal train of Maria Louisa and
the ambassadors of all the courts of Eu
deur to the meanest soul. Surely, then,
rope revolved around her as their cen
her spirit must be animated with all
tral luminary. But who can tell how
that is lofty and ennobling in human
dismally these rejoicings fell upon the
character. Alas, it was not so! She
ear of Josephine, as site sat weeping in
was nothing more than a m ild, amiable, her deserted chamber.
pretty girl, utterly incapable of cherish- In one year from that time, Maria was
ing en idea of magnanimity or of hero- placed upon that mysterious couch of
ism. She was endowed, by nature, only so ff erc i ng
with, those qualities which were most splendourfrom which no real wealth or
can purchase exemption, Her
common place and earthly, and was en
tirely:unqualifid to act a noble part in pains were long protracted, and her an
e guish dreadful. The attendant physi
the lofty drama through which she was
clans,in the utmost trepidation, inform
destined to move.
ed apoleon that the life of the mother
Napoleon, despairing of offspring from of the child must be sacrificed. " Save
Josephine, and consumed with the most the mother," said Napoleon ;but, percei
intense desire to have an heir who vino that iey had lost their presence of
shoUld inherit his glory and perpetuate mind in view oftheperil of so illustriousa
his .name, resolved to sever the ties I patient he immediately added, "Do as
which bound him to Josephine, the wife you would with the wife of the humblest
Of his youth, and to obtain a more youth- tradesmen in the Rue St. Dennis."—
ful bride from the subseaient moiler- The physicia9s , reassured, returned to
BY REV. J. S. C. ABBOTT
chieS around him. He hoped thus to their duty, and the crisis was passed.
secure an heir in whose person should The birth of this child was an event
be allied all that was glorious in his which had been anticipated by all France
own achievements, and all that is illus. with the most sincere interest. It had
trious in exalted descent. The repudin- been previously announced that the can
tion of Josephine, strong as were the non of the invalids should proclaim the
poligcal motives which led to it, is the advent of the expected heir to the throne.
darkest stain upon the character of Na- If the child were a princess, twenty-one
pol Eon. And, like all wrong doing, how- guns were to be fired; if a prince, one
N 4° OntitatTi
VOL, XITT, NO, 2R
hundred. At six o'clock in the morning
of the 20th March, 1810, all Paris was
aroused, by the deep' booming of those
heavy guns, reverberating over the city
in annunciation of the arrival of the wet- -
come stranger. Every window was in-*
stantanously thrown open. Every ear
was on the alert. The slumberers were
aroused from their pillows, and silence'
prevailed all the streets of the busy me
tropolis, as the vast throngs stood mo
tionless, to count the tidings which those
explosiOns Were thundering in their ears:
The heart of the great capital ceased to
beat, and in all her glowing veins the
current of life. stood still. When the
twenty-first gun had been fired, the in
(crest was intense beyond all conception.
The gunners delayed for a moment the
next discharge, and all Paris stood
breat bless in suspense. The next too
-1 ment the guns, double loaded, pealed
forth the most welcome announcement,.
and from the entire city one universal
roar of acclamation rose and blended
with their thunders. Never was an
earthly monarch greeted with a more af
fecting demonstration of a nation's love
and homage. The birth of the King of
Rome, how illustrious! The thought
ful mind will pause and muse upon
the striking contrast furnished by his
death. Who could then have immagin
,
ea that his renound father would perish
a prisoner in a dilapidated stable in St.
Helena, and that this child, a nation's
idol, would linger through a few short
years of neglect and sorrow, and sink
into a forgotten grave.
[From the Cincinnati Signal.]
PEN AND INK SKETCHES OF THE
BARNBITIINERS.
John an Buren, of New York.
John Van Buren is the incarnation of
the sr hit of the radical Democracy ;-
witty, elequent, severe, honest, and
brave, he fitly represents that great par
ty. Among literary men, a scholar; a
lawyer at one bar; a b'hoy at another;
before the people an orator ; in the par
lor, a dandy, he is all things to all men,
and has well learned to act at Rome as
the Romans act ; to do in Turkey as the.
Turk ies do.
' John is mentally omnivorous, an In
tellectual cormorant. His mind con
sumes greedily, and with pleasure, all
things; from Coke upon Littleton, and
Edwards upon the will, down to Dom
bey and Son, and the Albany Argus.—
In this respect, he is like the late Judge
Story, of whom an eminent Rhode island
lawyer remarked, " that all his law he
knew by intuition, as he appeared never
to have read anything but Cicero de
and the Pickwick Papers !"_
John is the second son of Martin Van
Buren. In England, the property of a
family all goes to the oldest son, and as
the second son has nothing but his wits
to live on, he is supposed to engross all
the talent of the family ; a supposition
which is strikingly borne out in the case
of the Van Buren family. The oldest
son, Major Abraham Van Buren, is a
Paymaster in the army, and married a
rich wife, and beyond this he can never
go. The younger sons are simply wor
thy young men.
John must be now nearly forty years'
of age. He graduated at Yale College,
some twenty years ago, with a high rep
utation for genius, wit, idleness, and .
deviltry ; he was loved by all the school'
girls, bated by all the orderly, and en
vied by all the mischievous spirits in
New Haven. He was a worker of mis
chief, confusion and disorder, but he
possessed too much ingenuity to bo
caught, and in great tribulation, we
doubt not, at sending forth so unquiet a
spirit, the Faculty granted him a degree.
He studied law under "Stated Preach
, ing," [Hon. B. F. Butler,] at Albany,
and Judge Vanderpool, the Kinderhook
Roarer, in New York, and the perfection
with which he can both preach and roar
now, attests the ability of his instruct
ors.
Shortly after his admission to the bar,
he went to England with his father, who
had just been appointed Minister at the
Court of Saint James, and in 1832, af
ter his father's rejection by the Senate,
they returned together.
John then went, quietly to work at his
profession, at Albany, and succeeded in
getting fame and clients. His course of
life was unruffled, save by an occasion
al speculation in stocks, and a spicy
correspondence with Jesse Hoyt, not
remarkable for elegance of language.—
John proves the truth of the new defini
tion of man—" an animal that swears."
In 1838, John went to England again,
and by the use he made of the fact tkat
he was the President's son gained the
soubriquet of " Prince John." It is not
an appropriate title, however, for John•
is a trump card, a good deal higher than
the king. The hunters call him the
Knave of Trumps. He bears some ra
semblance however, to Shakspeare's