The spirit of the age. [volume] (Woodstock, Vt.) 1840-1844, 1842-06-03


tial. Besides, that rout would take him by the
house of the Judge, and from him it wodd be nee
essay to procure an order to delay the proceedings.
We have seen the result But the chain Of eyi-
dence was not yet complete.
wild and dissipatcd young man, by the name
of Michael Davis, who had just returned up the
river, from New Orleans, entered the office OF the
clerk Of the county on his way back 10 the tavern,
from the place where the execution was to have
taken place, in order TO while away an hour until
the lime Tor dinner should arrive. The powder
flask, which was brought in evidence against our
hero, was ylng on the table, the craven side down
ward. There are restless kind of persons in the
world, who can never be easy, let them be sitting
where they will, without lingering and examining
whatever Is within their reach; and such Il one
was Michael Davis; he accordingly took up the
flask in careless manner and turning it over in his
hand, his eyes fell upon tho letters.
'Why, helloo, what the devil are you doingwith
my powder-nask !? asked he.
q wish the unucly article had been yours, or
any body S except the unfortunate DR. RvingtOn's,'
returned the clerk, who was II friend of our hero,
and deeply dcplored the circumstances that had
lately TRANSFERRED.
unfortunate dcyiIs!' reiterated Michael 81 tell
You t'smy flask, or article, as you prefer calling
! it, or rather it was mine and Gale Rumley's to-
gelhcr. We bought it when him and me went
down to Orleans lets see, that's three years come
spring, ! ought to know the cursed thing, for |
broke bran new knife in scratching them letters
on it,
The clerk started from his seat he snatchod the
| flask out of the hands of Davis; he gazed at it
moment mtently; then, the truth suddenly flashed
across his mind, he rushed out into the road for
] il hat lint .hn Lot
tiers on the flask. The magistrate, who grieved as
much as any one, at the supposed derelicotion of
their young friend, the physician, was amazed to
see the clerk enter his apartment in such plight,
'rhcre! crcdihe, as he threw down the flask on
the table, &C.. II. NJ. ID. spells something beside
! Riymston Send your servant out of the room.'--
As soon as he was gone, and the door carefully
closed, the clerk continued in a low confidential
tone, that flask is Caleb Rumlcy's, and Caleb
| Rumey is the murderer (no wonder he has kept
himself away all the whitley 1t belonged to him
and that imp OfSatan, Mich Davis together; and
Mich DAVIS told me so, with his own mouth, not
three minutes ago; and Charles Riyingon's an
homes, man; huzza! huzza! huzzah concluded he,
as he danced and skipped about the apartment,
with the dcIIrous joy true friendship inspired. The
magistrate vas man of middle age, and very
large and corpulcnt; but mountain of flesh could
not have kept hin down, when such thrilling news
,ingIed in his ears, and he too began to dance a
! jig, that shook the tenement to its foundation,
1t became the duty of our worthy magistrate to
commit in the course of that very day, our res
pecod friend Caleb Rumley, esq, deputy sheriff
of the county Of - to the same c0pncious tene-
mcnt which Doctor Rvington had lately inhabited;
he, with the consent of the Judge, being more
safely disposed in the prison orhi' own house.
A bill was Immediately found by the grand jury,
and the trial Of the real murderer came on shortly
after. Fora long time he obstmatcy denied any
lnowedgcd orthe death orSllyarsish ;hut as pools
after proofs were disclosed against him, he first
became doggcdly silent, then greatly intimidatcd,
and at last made fall disclosure of his crime He
was found guilty, AMI executed on the same gal
lows that had been erected for our calumniatcd
! hero.
! The sickness of Catherine Wentworth was long
and severe; but our friend CharIes was her phvsi-
elm, and the reader will not wonder that it Weld
ed at last to his skill. The Christian parent Of our
hero had been condemned, at different periods of
her life, to drink deeply of the cup of action and
she had bowed with noble humility 10 the decree
! Of heaven, it was thence she now derived support
in this most trying hOur of joy, Spring had gone
FORTH warbling with her thousand voices Of delight
over those wide extended prairics, and the flowers
had sprung into beautiful existence at her call /;
when the hand Of the blu,hng Catherine, herself
Il lOycliGr flower, was bestowed in marriage on the
transported Charles Riynelon. Never did there
stand before the holy man, happier more alice
Tomato pair. Their hearts had been ircd--Sevcrc-
" tried they had been weighed in the balance
and not found wanting, Tho house Of Mr. Went
worth was the scene of their union, and on the
same evening and by the hrnd TINT bound her
"dear Mr. Charles" to his blooming bride, our lit
lie Irish Judy was united TO the worthy Buckhom,
who had been prevailed upon, reluctantly, TO lay
aside his hunting shirt aud leather lcglms on the
Joyful occasion. The evening gIdcd rapidly away
urged along by tales of mirth, and song, ANA jest,
and it was observed that though Charles and
Catherine took but little share in the rafting con-
yersaiion Of the hour, they appeared 10 ENJOY the
scene with happiness that ndmmllted Of no i'll
crease. Indeed often did the tender blue eyes of
the beautiful bride become suiluscd with crystal
drops OF Joy, as she raised them up in thankluness
TO her Heavenly Father, who had conducted them
safely through all the perils Of the past, and ut
last brought them together under the shelter Of his
love.
"The whole trouble came of your being so
kind, Doctor Rivington," said the manly, though,
in his new suit rather awkward hooking Buckhorn.
- 1t was all of your kindness in offering to bring
out my paguy rifle. III hadn't been for that,
suspicion would Mt aIigh,ed on YOU at ALL"
Now hould your tongue, Jimmy, dear" an
swercd his oquacious little wife; 81 thought so
myself till Mr. Charles explained it to me, and
then | found out how twas the wisdom of the Al
mighty put it into his head to carry your gun; for
how would you ever got on the true scent, if the
big bullet hadn't toud ye for sartan that it was
niver the small bored rifle what kilt him. No