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A Decalogue of Canons for observation in practical life. 1. Never put off till to-morrow what you can do to-day.

2. Never trouble another for what you can do yourself.

3. Never spend your money before you have it. 4. Never buy what you do not want, because it is cheap; it will be dear to you.

5. Pride costs us more than hunger, thirst, and cold.

6. We never repent of having eaten too little. 7. Nothing is troublesome that we do willingly. 8. How much pain have cost us the evils that have never happened.

9. Take things always by their smooth handle. 10. When angry, count ten before you speak; if very angry, an hundred.

NATHANAEL EMMONS

WAS a native of Connecticut, born in the town of East Haddam, county of Hartford, May 1, 1745. In his Autobiography, written towards the close of his life, he tells us that his parents, finding him of "a volatile, trifling spirit," as a schoolboy, altered their purpose of sending him to college, and determined to make a farmer of him; a resolution which put him upon his mettle for study. He bought a Latin accidence and grammar with his own money, before he attended a grammar-school. In 1763, he entered Yale, where he was a classmate of the poet Trumbull, and found himself, on the completion of his course, by the loss of his parents, without money or a home. School-keeping was the obvious and uniform resource in such cases, and Emmons taught school for some months, till he entered the family of the Rev. Nathan Strong, of Coventry, Conn., teaching his children, and himself acquiring

theology. He also placed himself under the instruction of the Rev. Dr. Smalley.*

In 1769, he was licensed by the South Association in Hartford county. In 1773, he was ordained to the pastoral care of the Second church, in Wrentham, Mass., the name of the district from which the town of Franklin was subsequently organized in 1778, receiving its name in honor of the philosopher.

After having sustained a pastoral relation with his congregation of more than fifty years, he retired from his ministry at the first decided warning of the loss of his powers, in May, 1827. He still, however, though fully relinquishing his office, retained a connexion with its new ministry, and at the time of his death had been for seventy years, in all, connected with the church at that place.

Emmons was thrice married; to the first wife, Miss Deliverance French, the daughter of Moses French, of Braintree, Mass., who died three years after, in 1775; in less than two years after, he married the daughter of the Rev. Chester Williams, of Hadley, Mass., who was his partner till 1829, for a period of nearly fifty years; and in 1831, in his eighty-seventh year, he was married (her third ministerial husband) to Mrs. Abigail M. Mills, the widow of a clergyman of Sutton. The loss of several children in advanced life caused him much affliction, and drew from him, on the death of a favorite daughter, one of the most touching passages of his discourses. His death occurred September 23d, 1840, in his ninety-sixth year. While his memory and personal vivacity and activity were somewhat impaired, in the few latter years of his life, he was still a great reader. he was ninety years of age," says his biographer, the Rev. A. R. Baker, "and often found it difficult to remember the name of yesterday's visitor, he would relate the contents of the last book he read with surprising accuracy, and would make extemporaneous criticisms upon it which would have ornamented the pages of a quarterly."†

"When

The writings of Emmons are numerous. He published, Prof. Park tells us, "more than seven thousand copies of nearly two hundred sermons, besides four labored dissertations and numerous essays for periodicals." The collection of his works, by his son-in-law, Dr. Ide, containing two hundred and twenty-two sermons, fills six large octavo volumes; and the editor remarks, that he has the material for ten more in his hands, as valuable as those which he has published. Besides these sermons, Emmons's uncollected writings include more than a hundred articles, mostly on religious topics, in the New England Ecclesiastical reviews and periodicals, the Massachusetts Missionary Magazine, the Connecticut Evangelical Magazine, the Hopkinsian Magazine, and the Christian Magazine.

The style of Eminons as a writer is clear and

*This divine was born at Lebanon, Conn., in 1784, and died in 1820. He was minister at Berlin, Conn.; published sermors on Natural and Moral Inability, 1760: sermons on Connected Subjects, 1863, with other sermons and occasional publications. Memoir, Am. Quar. Reg. xv. 121.

The Works of Nathanael Emmons, D.D., late Pastor of the Church in Franklin, Mass., with a Memoir of his Life. Edited by Jacob Ide, D.D. 6 vols. 8vo. Boston: Crocker & Brewster, 1842.

plain, direct and forcible, without richness or ornament. His own theory on the subject is expressed in one of his aphorisms,-"Style is only the frame to hold our thoughts. It is like the sash of a window; a heavy sash will obscure the light. The object is to have as little sash as will hold the lights, that we may not think of the frame, but have the most light." This is true in some respects, though genuine ornament is part of the substance, and when the sash is provided, much depends upon the purity of the glass and the force of the sun.

With respect to Emmons's theological views, as the author of his memoirs remarks, "A perusal of his works is that only which can give the reader a full and accurate knowledge of his opinions." They involve many niceties of metaphysical and polemical discussion on the freedom of the will and the work of conversion. Dr. Ide has arranged two volumes of the discourses under the title, Systematic Theology, though the author himself never prepared a professed system. He appears to have engrafted on the doctrine of total depravity a theory of "the free, voluntary, selfish affections," and he held that "men are active and not passive in regeneration." When once asked, "What is the difference between natural depravity and original sin?" he replied, in his quick way, "Natural depravity is the truth; original sin is a lie."

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His Jeroboam sermon, on the annual fast of April 9th, 1801,† shortly after the inauguration of Jefferson, has been generally understood to have been levelled at the new President. It could hardly be mistaken, as it plays off Solomon against the infidel Rehoboam with artful parallelism to the new nineteenth century. It is long drawn, solemn, and withering. Reading it with the substitution of Washington, Adams, and Jefferson for their scriptural prototypes, and taking the federal politics of the time into view, it is a curious analogy-for example:

Jefferson as Secretary of State.—And Solomon, seeing the young man that he was industrious, made him ruler over all the charge of the house of Joseph. His appointment to such an office, by such a penetrating prince, is an infallible evidence of his popular talents and pleasing address. These excellent and amiable accomplishments, had they been properly directed to the public good, would have rendered him a great benefit to the nation.

Jefferson in Paris.-His flight into Egypt seems to have been the most fatal period in Jeroboam's life.

He could not have lived among a more dangerous people than the Egyptians, who were then the most noted nation in the world for learning, magnificence, superstition, and the grossest idolatry. Hence his residence in Egypt prepared him to return to his native country a more bitter enemy to the God of Israel, and a more malignant opposer of all his sacred rites and institutions than any pagan priest or Egyptian philosopher. Such was the ominous character of Jeroboam the son of Nebat before he reached the object of his wishes, and was placed in the first seat of Government.

Jeroboam's new appointments to office.-He was resolved to shake every sacred as well as civil officer

Schedule of doctrines found among his papers.-Ide's Memoir, lxxvii. ↑ Works, ii. 184.

We are

from his seat rather than to lose his own. not, indeed, informed whom he appointed to stand around his person and assist him in the administration of government; but who can doubt whether he did not display the same corruption of heart in appointing the officers of state which he had displayed in appointing the officers of religion?

His powers of conversation.-It appears from his character and conduct in early life, that he possessed in a high degree the art of captivating and corrupting all sorts of people with whom he conversed. And when he was clothed with the ensigns of royalty his power and opportunity of corrupting his subjects greatly increased. He became the standard

of taste and model of imitation. His sentiments and manners became a living law to his subjects. In his familiar intercourse with all around him he undoubt edly seized those soft moments which were the most favorable to his malignant design of seduction. This he could do without departing from the dignity of

his station.

If terms and phrases like these needed any "improvement," they had it in the sequel of the doctor's discourse:

It is more than possible that our nation may find themselves in the hands of a Jeroboam, who will drive them from following the Lord, and whenever they do they will rue the day, and detest the folly, delusion, and intrigue which raised him to the head of the United States.

And he asks the pertinent question—

Who can say that men in power may not catch the spirit of the times, and follow the example of Jeroboam, or rather that of the late apostates in Europe? We are becoming more and more connected with those infidel nations, whose politicians and philosophers are the bold patrons and preachers of infidelity. This mutual intercourse affords a peculiar opportunity to try the whole force of their infatuating philosophy upon us in America. And it is beyond a doubt that our rulers are the most exposed to their fatal delusions.

Emmons's federal politics were clearly anJuly 5, 1802, in which he claims not only all the nounced in his sermon on American Independence, sound principles of government for his friends, but also the right of celebration of the National Jubilee. "It is presumption," he said from the pulpit, “in republicans to claim this day as their own."*

There is a well drawn and interesting account of Emmons, entitled Miscellaneous Reflections of a Visiter upon the character of Dr. Emmons, in "a familiar lecture" to the senior class in Andover Theological Seminary, by Prof. Edwards A. Park. It is prefixed to the collection of the works, where it forms forty-five closely printed octavo pages. We may best gather from this the memorabilia of this extraordinary man. "In person he was not more than five feet and seven inches high, but he stood erect, and was in all senses upright. When he appeared in the streets of a New England city, in his latter days, with his three-cornered hat, the bright buckles on his shoe and knee, his white locks flowing down his shoulders, the boys flocked after him, as after a military general. System characterized his movements. His guests would

* Works, ii, 229.

always find his hat hanging on the same nail in the study. Every chair was in its place; every book on its shelf, save the one he was reading; and that was put into the book-case as soon as a visitor arrived. His style of writing was neat as his white locks. He was always attentive to his chirography, and wrote a better hand at the age of seventy-five than at thirty-five."

The doctor was an odd man, but there was method in his oddity, and his wit was not always to be encountered. "A certain divine," Prof. Park tells the story, "the junior of Dr. Emmons by several years, unequal to him in acumen and theological knowledge, and under some peculiar obligation to treat him with deference, was fond, although doubtless a very good man, of appearing like a metropolitan before the minister of Franklin, and as he was physically at least a great man, much superior in altitude to the doctor, he was inclined to look down on the country parson, as the smaller of the two. This domineering treatment was endured with patience until patience ceased to be a virtue. Having read Dr. Emmons's sermon on the Atonement, a sermon which was encountering at that time some opposition, he sent to the Franklin minister the following epistle: May 1st. MY DEAR BROTHER, -I have read your sermon on the Atonement, and have wept over it. Yours affectionately, A. B. C. These admonitory words were no sooner read than the following was written and sent to the post-office: May 3d. DEAR SIR,-I have read your letter and laughed at it. Yours, NATHANAEL EMMONS.' To a young preacher he said, "Your sermon was too much like Seekonk plain, long and level." A drunken sceptic asked him, "What is understood by the soul of man?" "No," said the doctor, "I can't tell a man that hasn't got any." Conversing once with a lapsing theological opponent, whom he had pressed hard, when the victim took refuge in the assertion, "Well, every tub must stand upon its own bottom "—"Yes, yes," said the doctor, "but what shall those tubs do that haven't any bottoms?"

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His shrewd, vigorous sense is exhibited in many a dogmatic utterance. On being asked what was the best system of rhetoric for a clergyman, he gave these two rules:-"First, have something to say; second, say it." Many of his terse conversational aphorisms have been preserved. "Of the two Edwardses," he said, "the father had more reason than his son, but the son was a greater reasoner than his father." "Great men,' was one of his maxims, "always committed great errors." Of the pulpit, it was his remark, "Preach with animation enough to produce a great excitement of the natural sympathies, which will make persons think they have some native goodness;" and, "Be short in all religious exercises. Better leave the people longing than loathing. No conversions after the hour is out." "A man must not only know the truth, but know that he knows it." The worst books," he said, "were the best: they compel us to think." The doctor kept a jealous eye upon his flock, sedulously guarding them from sectarian wolves. That we do not use the last word unadvisedly may be learnt from an anecdote illustrating Emmons's downright brusque manner, preserved in the memoir of Ide. "A very respectable clergy

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man of another denomination was solicited by a gentleman in Franklin to come and preach at his house, and, as Dr. Emmons thought, with a view to make an impression upon his people in favor of the peculiarities of that denomination. Shortly after receiving the invitation, this clergyman met Dr. Emmons in Boston, and told him that he had been invited to come and give his people a sermon. The doctor very pleasantly replied, 'You have a very important sphere of labor assigned you where you are. You need not take the trouble to come to Franklin. I can take care of

my own flock.' 'But,' said the clergyman, you will not object to my coming?' The doctor, understanding by this that he was still inclined to come, notwithstanding the hint which had been given him, made the following characteristic reply: 'I do object, and if you come to Franklin in our present circumstances I'll consider and treat you as a wolf in sheep's clothing.' This clergyman never came."

There are some interesting observations by Prof. Park in his notes on Emmons, with respect to the habits of study, and longevity of the clergy of New England. "We read of the two Edwardses, Hopkins, Smalley, Stiles, Chauncy, and Dwight, as at their books thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, and sometimes eighteen hours of the day. Dr. Emmons, in this respect, equalled any of them. Mr. Stoddard of Northampton died at eighty-six; Dr. Increase Mather at eighty-four; Dr. Cotton Mather at sixty-five; Dr. Stiles at sixty-eight; Dr. Johnson at seventy-six; Dr. Hopkins at eighty-three; Dr. Bellamy at seventy-two; Dr. Hart at sixty-nine; President Chauncy, of Harvard, and Dr. Chauncy, of Boston, at eighty-two; Dr. Smalley at eightysix; Dr. West* at eighty-four; Dr. Strong at sixtyeight; Dr. Lothrop at ninety. These divines lived abstemiously, but neglected physical exercise. 'I do not ascribe my long continued health,' said Dr. Emmons, 'to any whimsical care of my diet; what has hurt me I have not eaten. I have avoided stimulating liquids, have seldom drunk coffee unless it were half milk and half sugar, have been always temperate in the use of simple food, and have secured good sleep.'" There

There were three Wests of repute in the old New England churches: Samuel, the minister of New Bedford, who died in 1807, at the age of seventy-seven. He published, among other doctrinal writings, "Essays on Liberty and Necessity," in two parts, in 1793 and 1795, in which he reviewed the arguments of Edwards. Another Samuel West, born at Martha's Vineyard, in 1788, was minister at Needham and in Boston. He died in 1808, having published a number of sermons and the Essays, in the Columbian Centinel, of an Old Man," in 1806 and 7. Stephen West, the minister of Stockbridge, published an Essay on Moral Agency in 1772, and was also the author of a Treatise on the Atonement. He was born in Tolland, Conn., 1786, and died in 1819. Joseph Bellamy was a native of Connecticut, born at New Cheshire, in 1719. He was fifty years minister of the church at Bethlem. He died in 1790. His works were collected in three volumes, in 1811, and were reprinted in two volumes octavo, in 1858, by the Doctrinal Tract and Book Society, Boston. His True Religion Delineated was published in 1750.

+ Emmons sat in the same study chair more than half a century, and when about ninety years of age he relaxed the severity of his mental toil, he fitly consented to abandon the old arm chair for a new and easier one. "I should like well enough to travel," he said in his latter days of leisure, "if I could take my study with me. Habits are stubborn things; and I have become so accustomed to this room, to this desk, to this chair, and to this spot where I sit, that I do not feel at home any where else. I cannot talk anywhere else." He had a regular hour for conversation with his students and friends; and a pe culiar movement of his body towards the study table was equal to a sheriff's order that the room should be cleared, and he be left alone.-Prof. Park's Notices.

was much, too, in the assurance of a settled position, and the absorption of care in "the quiet and still air of delightful studies."

JAMES MOODY,

A LOYALIST of the American war, whom the outbreaking of the Revolution found at his farm in New Jersey, has left a well written account of his celebrated partisan warfare, which gave much trouble to the movements of Washington, in a pamphlet published in London in 1783, entitled Lieut. James Moody's Narrative of his Exertions and Sufferings in the Cause of Government, since the year 1776, with certificates from Gov. Wm. Franklin, of New Jersey, the Rev. Dr. Inglis of New York, and others. He went through many perilous, hair-breadth adventures, preserving his life in extraordinary emergencies by his self-possession and bravery. As his pamphlet is now very scarce, we present one or two of these scenes in his well written narrative.* Here is

an anecdote of his ubiquitous presence; for like the true partisan, he was everywhere, at least to the imagination of his enemies; with an affecting story of a true man, who deserved a better fate:

Returning again into Sussex county, he now heard that several prisoners were confined, on various suspicions and charges of loyalty, in the jail of that county; and that one of them was actually under sentence of death. This poor fellow was one of Burgoyne's soldiers, charged with crimes of a civil nature, of which, however, he was generally be lieve to be innocent. But when a clergyman of the Church of England interposed with his unrelenting prosecutor, and warmly urged this plea of innocence, he was sharply told, that, though he might not perhaps deserve to die for the crime for which he had been committed, there could be no doubt of his deserving to die, as an enemy to America. There was something so piteous, as well as shameful, in the case of this ill-fated victim to republican resentment, that it was determined, if possible, to release both him and his fellow-prisoners. For this purpose, Mr. Moody took with him six men; and, late at night, entered the country town, about seventy miles from New York. The inhabitants of the town were but too generally disaffected. This suggested the necessity of stratagem. Coming to the jail, the keeper called out from the window of an upper room, and demanded what their business was? The Ensign instantly replied, He had a prisoner to deliver into his custody. "What! one of Moody's fellows?" said the jailor. "Yes," said the Ensign. On his inquiring what the name of this supposed prisoner was, one of the party, who was well known by the inhabitants of that place to be with Mr. Moody, personated the character of a prisoner, and spoke for himself. The jailor gave him a little ill language; but, notwithstanding, seemed highly pleased with the idea of his having so notorious a Tory in his custody. On the Ensign's urging him to come down, and take charge of the man, he peremptorily refused; alleging, that in consequence of Moody's being out, he had received strict orders to open his doors to no man after sunset; and that therefore he must wait till morning. Finding that this tale would not take, the Ensign now changed his note; and, in a stern tone, told him, "Sirrah, the man who now speaks to you is

We are indebted for a copy of this work to the courtesy of Mr. W. J. Davis, of this city.

Moody: I have a strong party with me, and if you do not this moment deliver up your keys, I will instantly pull down your house about your ears." The jailor vanished in a moment. On this Mr. Moody's men, who were well skilled in the Indian war-whoop, made the air resound with such a variety of hideous yells, as soon left them nothing to fear from the inhabitants of New Town, which, though the county town, consists only of twenty or thirty houses. "The Indians! the Indians are come," said the panic-struck people; and happy were they who could soonest escape into the woods. While these things were thus going on, the Ensigu had made his way through a casement, and was met by a prisoner, whom he immediately employed to procure him a light. The vanquished jailor was now again produced, and most obsequiously conducted Mr. Moody to the dungeon of the poor wretch under sentence of death.

It may seem incredible, but it is an undoubted fact, that, notwithstanding all the horrors and awfulness of his situation, this poor, forlorn, condemned British soldier was found fast asleep, and had slept so sound as to have heard nothing of the uproar or alarm. There is no possibility of describing the agony of this man, when, on being thus suddenly aroused, he saw before him a man in arms, attended by persons, whom, though they were familiarly known to him, so agitated were his spirits, he was utterly at a loss then to recognise. The first, and the only idea that occurred to him was, that, as many of the friends of Government had been privately executed in prison, the person he saw was his executioner. On Mr. Moody's repeatedly informing him of his mistake, and that he was come to release him in the name of King George, the transition from such an abyss of wretchedness to so extravagant a pitch of joy had well nigh overcome him. Never before had the writer been present at so affecting a scene. The image of the poor soldier, alternately agitated with the extremes of despair and rapture, is, at this moment, present to his ímagination, as strong almost as if the object were still before him; and he has often thought, there are few subjects on which a painter of taste and sensibility could more happily employ his pencil. The man looked wild, and undoubtedly was wild, and hardly in his senses; and yet he labored, and was big with some of the noblest sentiments and most powerful passions by which the human mind is ever actuated. In such circumstances it was with some diffi

culty that the English got him away. At length, however, his clothes were got on; and he, with all the rest who chose to avail themselves of the opportunity, were conducted into safety, notwithstanding a warm pursuit of several days.

The humane reader, Mr. Moody persuades himself, will not be less affected than he himself was, at the mournful sequel of this poor soldier's tale. In the course of war he was again taken, and again conducted to the dungeon, and afterwards actually executed on the same sentence on which he had been before convicted; though he left the world with the most solemn asseverations of his innocence as to any crime of which he had been accused, excepting only an unshaken allegiance to his sovereign.

A few other particulars respecting this poor man, who, though but a common soldier in a marching regiment, was, in all the essential and best parts of the character, an hero, the writer cannot excuse himself from the relation of. His situation and circumstances in the rebel country being peculiar, Mr. Moody not thinking it proper himself to return thither so soon, took the earliest means he could to

have him conveyed safe to New York. But no arguments, no entreaties could prevail with him to leave his deliverer. "To you," said he, "I owe my life; to you and in your service let me devote it. You have found me in circumstances of ignominy; I wish for an opportunity to convince you that you have not been mistaken in thinking me innocent. I am, and you shall find me, a good soldier." It was to this fatal but fixed determination that he soon after owed the loss of his life.

When he was brought to the place of execution, the persons who had charge of him told him they had authority to promise him a reprieve; and they did most solemnly promise it to him, on condition only that he would tell them who the loyalists in the country were, that had assisted Moody. His reply was most manly and noble; and proves that real nobility and dignity of sentiment are appropriated to no particular rank or condition of life. "I love life," he said, "and there is nothing which a man of honor can do, that I would not do to save it; but I cannot pay this price for it. The men you wish me to betray must be good men, because they have assisted a good man in a good cause. Innocent as I am, I feel this an awful moment. How far it becomes you to tempt me to make it terrible, by overwhelming me in the basest guilt, yourselves must judge. My life is in your power; my conscience, I thank God, is still my own."

Another extraordinary circumstance is said to have befallen him, which, as well as the preceding, Mr. Moody relates, on the testimony of an eye-witness, yet living. Though he was a small and light man, yet the rope with which he was suspended broke. Even still this poor man's admirable presence of mind and dignity of conscious innocence did not forsake him. He instantly addressed himself to the surrounding multitude, in the following words: "Gentlemen, I cannot but hope that this very extraordinary event will convince you of what I again solemnly protest to you, that I am innocent of the crime for which you have adjudged me to die." But he still protested in vain.

The supposed crime for which he suffered was, the plundering and robbing the house of a certain furious and powerful rebel. But it would be unjust to his memory not to certify, as Mr. Moody does, that he has since learned, from the voluntary confession of a less conscientious loyalist, that this honest man was charged wrongfully, inasmuch as he himself, without the knowledge of the other, on the principles of retaliation and revenge, had committed the crime. The name of the above-mentioned honest soldier and martyr was Robert Maxwell, a Scotsman, who had had a good education.

He made a famous attempt to secure the person of Gov. Livingston, of New Jersey, in which he failed from information given by one of his comrades. His favorite exploit was to cut off the American despatches, which he frequently brought into New York. He was taken and imprisoned at West Point, where he found General Arnold a rigorous jailor. Writing some time after Arnold's treason, he naively says, "Under new masters, it is hoped, General Arnold has learned new maxims. Compelled by truth, however, Mr. Moody must bear him testimony, that he was then faithful to his employers, and abated not an iota in fulfilling both the letter and the spirit of their general orders and instructions." His subsequent escape is thus told :—

The ways of Providence are often mysterious,

frequently bringing about its ends by the most unlikely means. To this inhuman treatment in General Arnold's camp, Mr. Moody owed his future safety. On the 1st of September, he was carried to Washington's camp, and there confined near their Liberty pole. Colonel Skammel, the Adjutant General, came to see him put in irons. When they had handcuffed him, he remonstrated with the Colonel, desiring that his legs, which were indeed in a worse situation than even his wrists, might be examined; farther adding only, that death would be infinitely preferable to a repetition of the torments he had just undergone. The Colonel did examine his legs; and on seeing them, he also acknowledged that his treatment had indeed been too bad; and asked if General Arnold had been made acquainted with his situation. Mr. Moody feels a sincere pleasure in thus publicly acknowledging his obligations and his gratitude to Colonel Skammel, who humanely gave orders to the Provost Marshal to take good care of him, and by no means to suffer any irons to be put on his legs, till they were likely to prove less distressing.

Mr. Moody attended the rebel army in its march over the New Bridge; and had an opportunity of observing their whole line, and counting their artillery. Everything seemed smooth and fair; and he felt himself much at ease, in the prospect of being soon exchanged; when, very unexpectedly, he was visited by an old acquaintance, one of their Colonels, who informed him that he was in two days' time to be brought to trial; that Livingston was to be his prosecutor, and that the Court Martial was carefully picked for the purpose. He subjoined that he would do well to prepare for eternity, since, from the evidence which he knew would be produced, there was but one issue of the business to be expected. Mr. Moody requested to be informed, what it was the purpose of this evidence to prove? It was, his well-wisher told him, that he had assassinated a Captain Shaddock and a Lieutenant Hendrickson. These were the two officers who had fallen fairly in battle near Black Point, as has been already related. The Ensign replied, that he felt himself much at ease on that account, as it could be sufficiently cleared up by their own people, who had been in, and had survived the action, as well as by some of their officers, who were at the time prisoners to him, and spectators of the whole affair. "All this," said his friend, "will be of little avail; you are so obnoxious; you have been, and are likely to be, so mischievous to us, that, be assured, we are resolved to get rid of you at any rate. Besides, you cannot deny, and it can be proved by incontestable evidence, that you have enlisted men, in this state, for the King's service, and this, by our laws, is death."

Ensign Moody affected an air of unconcern at this information; but it was too serious and important to him to be really disregarded; he resolved, therefore, from that moment, to effect his escape, or to perish in the attempt.

Every precaution had been taken to secure the place in which he was confined. It was nearly in the centre of the rebel camp. A sentinel was placed within the door of his prison, and another without, besides four others close round, and within a few yards of the place. The time now came on when he must either make his escape, or lose the opportunity forever. On the night, therefore, of the 17th of September, busy in ruminating on his project, he had, on the pretence of being cold, got a watch-coat thrown across his shoulders, that he might better conceal, from his unpleasant companion, the operations which he meditated against his handcuffs,

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