which his victim recognised him. On his crossexamination, he reluctantly admitted that he had been the organizer of many illegal meetings and acts of violence-that he had been a convicted horse-stealer, perjurer, coiner, and, in short, that he had been either principal or accessary in the most atrocious crimes. Every instant, as the prisoner's counsel, by some ingenious homethrust, shook the validity of his testimony; or, by an unexpected "floorer," destroyed his credibility with the jury, a buzz of applause ran through the court, which the temperate dignity of the Chief Justice (Bushe) could scarcely repress. At length, weary of dragging further to light this disgusting spectacle of moral turpitude, the wretched man was permitted to leave the table, amid curses and execrations---" not loud, but deep."

The next witness who appeared, had been a farm servant of the deceased; his lounging gait and vacant stare, gave him a most unpromising air of stupidity. The Book was handed him"Neil Sossennaugh"-(no English,) said he, with an appealing look to the Judge. "He speaks English, my Lord!" said the opposing counseland, turning to the witness, asked him suddenly, if he never had spoken English? "Never, yer Onner," was the unguarded reply. "Then, my fine fellow, it is high time you should begin-take the Book, Sir!" Seeing he had fairly committed himself, he proceeded with that repugnance common to all the lower classes of the Irish, to give his evidence, in what he considered a foreign tongue. Little was elicited from his testimony, though he had seen the whole transaction from his flock-bed, which was placed in the corner of a kitchen; and he became so bewildered on his cross-examination, with the multitude of questions respecting the relative situation of the room, and the persons in it, that he floundered from one dilemma to another, until his entire evidence became a tissue of absurdities.

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The case for the prosecution having closed, a host of witnesses appeared, ready to prove an alibi for the prisoner; but his counsel, prudently contenting himself with one or two of the most respectable of these, endeavored to establish the point with the jury, but evidently with little effect; and the fact of the prisoner's guilt seemed so apparent to every person present, that there scarcely remained a shadow of doubt as to his conviction. But the struggle was not yet over; a busy hum of expectation arose-an eager pressing forward-and whisper of curiosity passed through the Court, as a jolly-looking colossal limb of the law, the counsel for the prisoner, stood up, with a good-humored carelessness in his manner and countenance, that, to a superficial observer, seemed to partake more of shrewd drollery, than an extraordinary intellectual power. He opened his lips-and the broad, unsophisticated tones of a native Hibernian, grated unmusically on my anglicised ear; but as he proceeded, his rich and powerful language riveted all my faculties. I heard him with delight pursue, with close and accurate perspicuity, his argument, through the tangled web of conflicting testimonies, bringing light out of darkness, and order out of confusion. I admir

every flaw in the prosecutor's case, and seized for his client upon every offensive and defensive point in the evidence from which he poured the irresistable flood of his eloquence into the very souls of his auditory. Yet, strange to say, his oratory was plain, I had almost said, unselect; but if it possessed not the polished elegance of Cicero's, it contained all the fiery energy of Demosthenes' harangues. The jury had leaned attentively forward in their box-every face gradually relaxing into an expression of acquiescence with the arguments of the eloquent counsel; even one dogmatical, atical, hanging-looking old fellow, who sat bolt upright during the entire business, was, by some droll but flattering compliment, tickled into attention-a smile played around his puckered mouth, and I could see plainly, by his gratified chuckle, that he was fast forsaking his strict matter of opinions. It was now evident that, though the sword still remained suspended over the prisoner's head, the chances for his safety were momentarily doubling, for, as he drew near the close of his vehement and splendid appeal to the heart, the feelings and sympathies of the Court and Jury, every breath suspended-all was silent as death, save that one deep, powerful, and impressive voice. The unfortunate criminal watched his deliverer with looks, in which a faint ray of hope seemed hovering on the brink of despair-while his agonized wife, (who, like a ministering angel, had stood near him in the side dock, during the day) wiped with her checked apron, the cold dews which overspread his pale brow.

The speaker at length concluded, and, flinging himself back exhaustedly on his seat, the loud hum of admiration spread through the Court, and I had an opportunity of inquiring from a gentleman who sat near me, who that eloquent pleader was-"Who?" replied he in a tone of amazement-"Who could it be but O'Connell?" I was petrified-for here I had been listening above an hour to this great Leviathan of law and politics without being aware of his presence. As I gazed on his portly figure-calm, good-humored face-rich smile, in which an indescribable comicality seemed to lurk, and quick piercing eye-I felt convinced, that of all men I had ever seen, he was the fittest for a popular leader..

The judge now summed up his charge coolly and impartially. A doubt, he said, had arisen, of which the prisoner ought to have the benefit; but he left to the Jury the consideration of it. They retired-and, after an hour's torturingsuspense, brought in a verdict of " Not Gualty."

The prisoner, who had never faultered in the hour of peril--who had borne up manfully against his impending fate-no sooner heard the verdict pronounced than his fortitude forsook him-the transition from a prison and an ignominous death, to liberty and life, was too muchhis spirits failed, and with a faint exclamation, he sunk forward, his face concealed in his hands, upon the bar of the dock; his wife sobbing loudly, clung wildly to his neck, holding up his infant boy to share his restored embraces. A few moments more beheld him a liberated man, exulting in the free, blessed air and light of Heaven, sur

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We trust the writer of the following just rebuke will not confine his pen to criticisms upon Album verses, which, seen by few, and by still fewer admired, have by common consent been voted the dullest of all verses. There is a vein of good sense running through these, combined with great felicity of expression; and we welcome the writer to our columns, hoping he will again favor us with more gems from the same mine.

The following original lines were addressed by a young lady to a gentleman, who on being requested to write in her album, (had instead) designed the human heart, and

sub-divided it by the various passions: the most predominant of which were Dress, Vanity, Frivolity and Scandal. And who art thou can thus portray The female heart?

I pity thee, unhappy youth,

Who e'er thou art.

For thee no pleasant memories paint
Domestic bowers,

No tender mother could have watched
Thy childhood hours.-

Oh! no, thou never could's forget

Her sacred love,

Her midnight watch, her ceaseless care, All praise above.

No gentle sister can have raised

Her trusting eyes, Fraught with the love and care, that says 'Tis thee I prize.

Alas! it never has been thine,

In life to tend

That gaze of love, which wins the smile Of dearer friend.

Of woman thou hast only known

The weaker part;

Else thou couldst never thus have drawn
The female heart.-

Have Love and Friendship such small share
In woman's heart?
Have Fortitude, and Hope, and Truth,
No little part?-

Have heavenly Charity and Faith

No resting place?

Alas! poor youth, if these are lost,

Heaven help thy race!

Is woman vain? tis man that lights

The spark of sin,

To praise the gilded case, nor care

For gems within.

Farewell! forgiveness kindly prompts

The fervent prayer,

That even thy life may yet be blessed
By woman's care.

For the Saturday Evening Post.

KINGSESSING.

The little township of Kingsessing, which forms the south-west corner of the county of Philadelphia, retains more of the primitive character of its early settlement than almost any other with which we are familiar. The law and lawyers are unknown in this happy district, where industry is wealth, and virtue nobility. The following statistical information in regard to it, will afford a pleasing picture to our readers, and may be depended on for its accuracy.

The greater part of this township is within the sound of the town clock, and the population amounts to about 1100. In it there is one church, and one meeting house for blacks, but no resident clergyman of any denomination. It cannot boast of either a judge, lawyer, sheriff, sheriff's officer, or clerk of any court. There is but one justice of the peace in the township, and he has held his commission, and performed the requisite duties of his office for eleven years, never having sent one case to court, nor has his judgment ever been appealed from. There is but one constable in Kingsessing, and he has other business to support him, or he would starve on the fees of his office. Notwithstanding this peaceable character of the inhabitants, there are five licensed taverns, and unhappily several tippling houses. There lives in this "happy valley," one sexton and grave digger, but no doctor, and there is very little business for either of the latter professions. In this township they have no temperance societies, and very few paupers, the poor tax being but about 200 dollars a year, or less than twenty cents for each resident! There are no manufactories except basket making, which is carried on by families after the fashion of the Connecticut silk raisers, the women and all hands turning to it of "rainy days," and when little else could be attended to.

The principal occupation, and source of independence of the inhabitants is in farming, grazing, dairying and gardening. The majority are descendants of the Swedes and Quakers, who settled here soon after the arrival of William Penn. There is not one person returned as "gentleman" by the assessors, though in this city several of that description of people are on our benefit list at the present moment.

Kingsessing has the best gravelled road in the state made at the expense of the township throughout its whole length. The greatest nuisance to which these good Arcadians are subject, is the depredation annually committed by cockney sportsmen from the city, who call themselves gunners, because they point their arms at the tom-tits and make a great noise and smoke, ending in nothing but frightening the small birds from the orchards and gardens, and ofttimes destroying and carrying off the poultry, and leaving the bars down and gates open.

In Kingsessing is situated Bartram's Botanic Garden, now under the care and owned by Colonel Carr, to call whom industrious, scientific, polite and accomplished, would only be bandying epithets which our citizens by common consent have agreed to attach to his name. He raises pine apples and cabbages, grapes in sufficient profusion to make wine, and has altogether just such a green house and establishment as we ourselves design to possess when we have fairly got paid for every newspaper we have published during the last eleven years!

DEATH.--It is doubtless hard to die; but it is agreeable to hope we shall not live here forever, and that a better life will put an end to the troubles of this. - If we were offered immortality on earth, who is there would accept so melancholy a gift? - What resource, what hope, what consolation would then be left us against the rigour of fortune, and the injustice of man?

A Tale of St. Domingo.

There seems to me to be a striking resemblance between slave-holding and volcanic countries. Though the inhabitants may be blessed with every enjoyment depending upon soil and climate, yet in the very bowels of the land there are constantly the elements of destruction. Even while we are most happy and secure, the volcano may be upon the point of bursting forth with overwhelming ruin, which no foresight can anticipate, and no prudence avert. Such was the state of St. Domingo, at the opening of my tale; on the eve of that fearful insurrection which consigned so many unsuspecting beings to premature death, or drove them from their homes and kindred, to struggle with want in the loneliness of a foreign land.

The hot glaring day had passed, and was succeeded by the soft splendor of a West Indian evening. Monsieur L-, a large proprietor of land and slaves, was sitting at a table in his saloon, looking over some newspapers, which he had just received from neighboring town. At

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the other end of the table his wife was engaged in preparations for the evening meal. Before an open window in the same apartment, sat their only daughter, Theresa, with her cousin and accepted lover, Eugene M-.

Eugene was an orphan. At the very beginning of his course through life, he had encountered misfortunes and difficulties, which only his own talents and energy had enabled him to surmount. He had met with wrongs and treachery enough from the world to make him prize, at their full value, the purity and single-minded love of Theresa. Young as he was, he had seen much of mankind. With an ardent disposition and a heart formed for universal love, the fraud and ingratitude of all whom he had trusted had changed his naturally frank bearing to one of haughty coldness. But to Theresa he looked as the only being whom he might love, without danger and reserve. His eyes were now fixed upon hers, with a mixture of pride and affection which was not very far removed from idolatry. The window at which they were seated, was covered with a luxuriant vine, trained under Theresa's direction. The checquered moonlight streamed through it, and the evening breeze rustled among its leaves. With all the congenial beauties of a tropical night around them, the lovers were enjoying that interchange of romantic feeling, which it is so much the fashion to ridicule in this matter of fact country of ours; but which I consider the single green spot, and single sparkling fountain, in the dreary waste of a sordid and selfish world. What they were talking of heaven only knows. Chance has once or twice made me an unintentional listener to the conversation of lovers. Much as I was interested at the time, I could not afterwards recollect a word that had passed. And I am inclined to think, that their intercourse consists in the exchange of kind words and tones rather than ideas.

It was usual for the negroes after their daily task was completed, to go to the dwelling house of their masters, and complain of any petty grievance, or ask for little privileges. There was, however, about this man an air of apprehension and uncertainty, which had just fixed Eugene's attention, when he rushed upon his master and buried in his bosom a large knife, which he had held unobserved in his hand. The unhappy L- fell from his chair without a groan, and the next instant Eugene was standing over his body. With his right hand he had caught a knife from the table, and in his left he held a chair, with which he parried a blow aimed at him by the slave. Afraid to contend singly against such resistance, and confounded perhaps by his own success in the attempt upon his master's life, the negro turned and retreated through the door at which he had entered. A single glance into the portico showed Eugene that it was filled with negroes, and the truth flashed at once upon his mind. To lock and barricade the door, to snatch a candle from the table, and hurry his aunt and cousin up the staircase which ascended from the saloon, was to Eugene but the work of a moment. There was a small closet at the heard of the stairs, which Mons. L had devoted to his collection of arms, for which he had a singular fondness. It was no time to search for keys. With the wild energy of despair, Eugene threw himself against the door. It gave way, and he was precipitated headlong into the closet among rattling pistols and fowling pieces, and flasks and bags of ammunition. He selected two double barrel guns, and a musket, which, by its large calibre, was peculiarly fitted for his purpose. He loaded them heavily with swan shot, and took a position from which he could command a view of the whole stairs.

The negroes in the mean time had not been idle. They had broken down the door with axes, and were now spreading themselves through the lower apartments of the building. Eugene could hear their muttered threats, which gradually swelled into oaths and shouts, as they met with no resistance, and were unable to find their victims. The light in the upper story at length caught their attention. "They are there! they are there!" was shouted from one to another, and immediately their heavy steps were heard upon the stairs. His heart throbbing with intense anxiety, but not with fear, Eugene watched their advance. He waited till they reached the first landing place; and then, while the foremost were crowded together by the turn of the stairs, he fired into the thick mass of woolly heads, with both barrels of his fowling piece. The deafening reverberations of the report, and the thick volumes of smoke, prevented Eugene from ascertaining at once the effect of his fire. Luckily there was an open window in front of the staircase, through which a fresh breeze was now blowing. The smoke dispersed almost immediately, and discovered the negroes crowded upon the stairs in the wildest disorder. Some were endeavoring to support and assist the wounded; some were struggling to force their way down ing upward, in a state of confusion and dismay,

The opening of a door, and the entrance of a for a moment the attention of all parties. The

down the stairs.

There was for some time a comparative stillness in the house. Some of the wounded were dragged from the stairs, and others were left to perish where they had fallen. Their groans were now almost the only noise that was heard. The spirit of the negroes seemed for the present to be completely quelled. They moved as if afraid of the noise of their own steps, and spoke only in whispers. They seemed at length to collect themselves into a room in which there was a case of liquors. A noise was heard, which Eugene conceived to be the wrenching open of locks. "The madness of intoxication" thought he, "will now be added to the brutal passions of these wretches."

We have said, that in his intercourse with the world, there was about Eugene an air of reserve, which might almost have been taken for listless indifference to what was passing around him. But his manner was now changed. The

latent enthusiasm of his character was completely roused. As the night wind blew aside the dark hair from his lofty forehead, its lines spoke of one whose element was danger. His eyes flashed from under his brow, but their fire was that of collectedness and resolution. He was fully alive to all the perils of his situation, and prepared to use every human means to avert them. There was a flush upon his cheek, and a proud curl upon his lips, which almost amounted to a smile. But for his anxious glances towards 'Theresa, it might have been supposed from his countenance alone, that he was in a state of positive enjoyment; far happier than when engaged in the rustic fetes of the island, silent and lonely and indifferent to the noisy folly and childish revelry of those around them.

In person as well as character, Theresa was strikingly alike her lover. Her mother had buried her face in the bed of the room in which Eugene had placed them, and was apparently stupified by terror. But Theresa stood near the open door and gazed upon Eugene. Her hands were clasped, and she was pale and motionless as a statue. But there was firmness and selfpossession in her countenance; and a proud

He ascended the stairs until he reached the first landing. "Stop," said Eugene, "you are near enough; let me hear what you have to propose." The negro was about half intoxicated. He had little to say, except reiterated threats of vengeance against Eugene, if he should persevere in his resistance. "We will fire the house," he added, finally, " if we cannot subdue you in any other way."

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"We are determined to perish in the flames," replied Eugene, rather than trust ourselves in your hands. And remember," he added, "that we are in sight of the town of -. A fire must alarm the inhabitants, and bring down a body of troops upon you."

The negro seemed struck by this reasoning, and was silent. "If you will give up the women," he at length resumed.

"I will fire upon the messenger who dares to name such terms to me again," interrupted Eugene, involuntarily raising his gun. The negro retreated hastily to his companions.

There was now an affectation of stillness and

secrecy in their movements, which led Eugene to apprehend some new mode of attack. He was not disappointed. In a few moments, their leader was seen springing up the stairs; the main body of the negroes following at a short distance. It was obviously their aim to distract Eugene's attention. "I must keep back the crowd," thought he, "and cope with the single negro as well as I may." What we have taken so long to explain, was conveyed to Eugene by a single glance and he fired both of single thought. ught. With the rapidity of lightning his double barrels into the main

body, and the next instant their leader was upon Eugene bad caught up his musket, but

him.

there was no time to fire. He succeeded in partly parrying a blow aimed at him by the slave, with a scythe. The weapon, however, entered his left side and glanced against his ribs. Before the stroke could be repeated, the negro received a heavy blow upon his head from the butt of Eugene's musket. He was stunned for an instant, and fell with his body across the balustrade of the staircase. He was struggling to recover himself, when Eugene, by another blow, hurled him from his precarious situation.

of fearful peril, she could sympathize with the spirit of her lover.

The negroes in the mean time had been preparing themselves, by intoxication, for another attack. Their silence had gradually yielded to a confused mixture of voices, which was now swelled into a riotous tumult. They were evidently again approaching, with imprecations of vengeance, upon Eugene. They paused a moment at the foot of the stairs, and were heard encouraging each other to be foremost in the attack. They again rushed forward in a tumultuous body, but they were only half reassured. They paused voluntarily before reaching the fatal landing place, and a single fire from Eugene was sufficient to drive them back. In this attempt, however, their loss was trifling, and they still remained assembled at the foot of the

out motion. The main body of the negroes had been driven back by Eugene's fire, and had patiently awaited the result of his single combat with their leader.

"I have broken my best gun," was the first thought of Eugene, as he looked at the fragment of the musket, which he still held in his hand. "1 am wounded, too," he added, as he now felt for the first time, the smartling pain of the gash in his side. "God grant that I may not be seriously hurt; I shall need all my strength to bear me through this fearful night."

"I must borrow your scarf, Theresa," he said, stepping into the room in which she stood. "Are you much hurt?" inquired Theresa, glancing at his bloody vest, and raising her eyes anxiously to his face.

"Very slightly," replied Eugene, drawing the