66 a man Who stole the livery of the court of heaven, The sudden departure and long absence of Nancy Doolittle,-a pretty lass, who, as the reader has been informed in a preceding page of this narrative, was winged through the air by the necromancers one night, on the back of a goat-was explained in a few years afterwards, by her return on a visit, with two beautiful little flaxen-haired children. She was now the wife of the captain of a Boston coaster, with whom she had eloped when he first sailed to Menunkatuck-an active and handsome young sailor-boy. Some twenty years after the catastrophe of our story, as the younger son of the Rev. Mr. Whitman was making an overland-journey, from Menunkatuck through the wilderness to the valley of the Hudson, the sun and a pocket compass for his guide, he was surprised, on entering the valley of what proved to be the Ousatonic river, to find traces indicating his proximity to the white man's habitation, in a region where, as he supposed, the sullen silence of the forest had never been broken save by the scream of the panther, or the whoop of the savage. Proceeding forward with an accelerated pace, he speedily came upon a beautiful opening, within which were small but well cultivated fields, together with a dwelling-house and out-buildings, betokening comfort and prosperity. The spot was happily chosen, both for the fertility of the soil, and its picturesque situation. VOL. I.-G The sun was gathering up his rays for the night as our traveller descended a sloping hill, rejoicing at his good fortune in this chance discovery of a haunt of civilized man, of which he of course proposed to avail himself for the night. But how suddenly was his joy transformed into the yet higher emotion of delight, when on his arrival at the gateway, he found his own hand in the warm and friendly grasp of David Salisbury! There, too, by the hospitable door, stood the long-lost Mercy Disborough, surrounded by a group of healthy and fine looking children; while by the side of a large brindled cow she had been milking, stood a somewhat older damsel, whose mild eyes were directed with good-natured curiosity upon the stranger-a perfect fac-simile of her mother twenty years before. The children were all uncommonly interesting and intelligent, making due allowance for the seclusion in which they had been reared. But, as they say in Kentucky, having been "born in a cane-brake, and cradled in a sap-trough," it must be confessed that "their minds had not been much choked by the weeds of education." It was a happy meeting on all sides. As the stranger departed on his way in the morning, his attention I was directed to a little mound covered with wild roses, in one corner of the garden, as the spot where rested the bones of Mercy's father. The town here subsequently planted, has borne the name of SALISBURY to this day. One explanation more, and our whole mystery will be evolved. We allude to the unaccountable noises, and strange appearances, which certainly had been observed, though to a far less degree than the superstitious fears of the people would allow them to report, at the old store-house of the governor. About the middle of the last century, the haunted building was razed, and the walls of the cellar broken up. On the side of a block of freestone, rudely sculptured, was found in faint and irregular characters, the following inscription: “STRANGER, IF THOU ART A FRIEND OF UNPOLLUTED LIBERTY, OF TWO OF ITS HUMBLE, AND CONSTANT, BUT WHO, HAVING ASSISTED IN OPENLY AND FAIRLY ADJUDGING WERE AFTERWARDS COMPELLED, LIKE LOT, TO FLEE TO THE CAVES AND THE MOUNTAINS OF THIS HOWLING WILDERNESS, TO ESCAPE THE VENGEANCE OF THE TYRANT'S SON. BUT, EVEN IN THESE DISTANT ENDS OF THE EARTH, THE PHILISTINES WERE UPON THEM, AND THEY MUST HAVE PERISHED BUT FOR THE KINDNESS OF THE GOVERNOR, WHO PUT HIS LIFE IN HIS HAND, AND CHERISHED THEM FOR MANY MONTHS IN THIS DREARY ABODE. EDWARD WHALLEY. WILLIAM GOFFE. OPPOSITION TO TYRANTS IS OBEDIENCE TO GOD." A ROMANCE OF THE BORDER. "She had just arrived At life's best season; when the world seems all MORE than thirty years ago, there lived in the beautiful vale of one of the tributaries to the Susquehanna, whose waters wind their way among the hills of Otsego, a person of singular character and appearance. Without, as far as the writer knew, ever having lifted his finger against a human being, he was nevertheless a terror to the children and youth of the border settlement: and those even who had arrived at the age of manhood shook their heads mysteriously, and looked grave, when he was the subject of conversation. His cottage, at that time ancient and moss-grown, was situated at the foot of a hill descending with a gentle slope to the south, and fronting a beautiful meadow, skirted in part by the creek which murmured tranquilly by. On the opposite bank, the deep-tangled shrubs, |