The true Democrat., 1857-04-07
THE CHARGE OF MAY.
A Legend of Mexico.
BY GEORGE LIPPARD.

mansion, his spare but muscular figure resting on an arm chair, his hands clasped and his deep blue eyes gazing through the winter sky. The brow of the old man furrowed with wrin- kes his hair rising in straight masses, white as the driven snow, his sunken cheeks traversed oy marked lines, and thin lips, fixedly com. pressed, all announced long and stormy life All the marks of an iron will were written upon his face.
 Ills name l need not tell you was Andrew Jackson, and he sat alone in the White House.
 A visitor entered without being announced ana stood before the President in the form of a boy of nineteen, clad in coarse round jacket and trousers, and covered from head to foot With mud. As he stood before the President. cap in hand, the dark hair falling in damp clus- ters about his white forehead, the old man could not help surveying at rapid glance, the muscular beauty of his figure, the broad chest, the slneway arms, the head placed proudly on the firm shoulders.
 our business"' said the old man, in his short, abrupt way.
 "Ihere Is lieutenancy vacant in the dra- goons. Will you give it to mel"
 And dashlng back the dark hair which fell over hs tace the boy, if frightened at his boldness, bowed low before the President,
 The old man could not restrain that smile. It wreathed his firm lip and shone from his clear eyes.
 You enter my chamber unannounced, GOV. cred from head to foot with mud-you tell me that lieutenancy is vacant and ask me to give it to you. Who are you?"
 Charles May!'' The boy did not bow this tune, but with his right hand on his hp stood like wild young Indian erect, in the presence of the President
 W hat claims have you to a commission?" Again the hero surveyed him. and again he faintly smiled
 Such as you see! D exclaimed the boy, as his dark eyes shone with that dare devil light, while his form swelled in every muscle. as with the conscious pride of his manly strength and beauty. [" Would you''-he bent forward. sweeping aside his curls once more while smile began to break over his lips-"Would you like to see me ride? My horse is at the door. You see l came post haste for this com mission.''
 Silently the old man followed the boy, and together they went forth from the White House It was clear, cold winters day; the wind toss ed the Presidents white hairs, and the leaAess trees stood boldly out against the blue sky.- Before the portals of the White House, with the rein thrown loosely on his neck, stood a magnificent horse, his dark hide smoking foam. lie uttered shrlll neigh as his boy-m master sprang with bound into the saddle, and in flash was gone, skimming like a swallow down the road, h!s mane and tail streaming in the breeze.
 The old man looked after them, the horse and his rider, and knew not which to admire most the athletic beauty of the boy, or the tempestuous vigor of the horse
 Thrice thay threada6 f bo f,or4 oF z the White House, and at last stood panting be- fore the President the boy leaning over the neck of his steed, as he coolly exclaimed: Well-how do you like me?"
 Do you think you could kill an Indian?" the President said, taking him by the hand, as he leaped from his horse
 "Aye-and eat him afterwards" cried the boy, ringing out his fierce laugh, as he read his fate in the old mans eyes,
 You had better come in and get your com- misSion;' and the hero of New Orleans led the way into the White House.
 There came night, when an old man-Pre- sdent 10 longer--sat in the silent chamber of his Hermitage home, picture of age trembling on the verge of eternity. The light that stood upon the table revealed his shrunken form resting against the pillows which cushioned his armchair and the death-lke pallor of his venerable face. In that face, with it's white hair and massive forehead. everything seem- ed already dead, except the eyes. Their deep gray-blue shone with the fire of New Orleans, as the old man, with his long, white fingers, grasped letter post. marked " Wash ington."
 "They ask me to designate the man who shall lead our army, in case the annexation of Texas brings on with Mexico"-his voice, deep toned and thrilling even in that hour ot decreptude and decay, rung through the silence Of the chamber, there is only one man who can do it, and his name is Zachary Tayior.'"
 It was a dark hour when this boy and this General, both appointed at the suggestion or by the voice of the man of the Hermitage, met in the battle of Resaca de Ia Palma
 By the blaze of cannon, and beneath the canopy of battle smoke we will behold the meeting.
 Captain May, you must take that batteryn'
 As the old man uttered these words he pointed far across the ravine with his sword. L. It was like the glare of volcano-the steady blaze ot that battery, pouring from the dark ness of the chaparal.
 Before him, summoned from the rear by his command, rose the form of a splendid soldier whose hair, waving in long masses, swept his broad shoulders while his beard fell over his muscular chest. Hair and beard as dark as midnight, framed a determined face surmount- ed by small cap, glitterng with single gol. den tassel. The young warrior bestrode magnificent charger, broad in the chest, small in the head, delicate in each slender limb and with the nostrlls quivering as though they shot forth jets of hame That steed was black as death.
 Without a word the soldier turned to his men.
 Eighty-four forms, with throats and breasts bare, eighty-four battle horses. eighty-fo four sa. bres, that rose in the clutch of naked arms, and flashed their lightning over eightyf -four faces, knit in every feature with battle fire.
 Men, follow." shouted the young con- mander, who had been created soldier by the hand of Jackson, as his tall form rose in the stirrups, and the battle breeze played with his long black hair.
 There was no response in words, but you should have seen those horses quiver beneath the spur, and spring and launch away. Down upon the sod with one terrible beat came the sound of their hoofs, while through the air rose in nglittering circles those battle scimtars.
 Four yards in front rode May, himself and his horse the object of thousand eyes, so cer- tain was the death that loomed before him; proudly in his warrior beauty he rode that steed, his hair floating from beneath his cap in raven curls upon the wind.
 He turns his head-his men see his face with stern lip and knit brow; they feel the fire of his eyes; they hear-not Men, forward!" but "Men, follow!" and away, like an immense battle engine composed of eighty-four men and horses woven together by swords-away and on they dash.
 They near the ravine; old Taylor follows them with hushed breath aye, clutching his sword hit, he sees the golden tassel of May. gleaming in the cannon flash.
 They are on the verge of the ravine, May still in front, his charger fnging the earth from beneath him, with colossal leaps, when from among the cannon, starts up a half-clad figure, red with blood and begrimmed with powder
 :" It is Ridgely, who to-day has sworn to wear the mantle of Ringgold and to wear 1t