hunted outlaws were driven from place to place and found no rest. Turner left his familiar haunts in the woods and swamps, and took his departure for Florida. His mother lived to a great age, and was They immediately proceeded to the house of Mrs. Tarner, forced an entrance, and turning down the sheets of her bed, wiped upon them their gory swords. "This blood "--the murderers shouted in her ears-"is the blood of your young son!" and with fierce exultation | respected in the neighborhood, for the guilt of her sons at the mother's grief and horror, they left her to her search for the lad's mangled body. was not imputed to her. After her death, in 1810, Ned ventured back-a worn and aged man-to pay a visit to his kindred in South Carolina, and receive some share of his mother's estate. The sons of Stokely Towles were soon informed that unharmed among the scenes of his former violence and crime. "Blood for blood," was the cry of nature within them. They raised a party, resolute as themselves for vengeance; and marching at night, surrounded the house of Turner's niece, in which he was then staying as a guest. The news of this sacrifice quickly reached the two brothers who served with Cunningham, and they vowed a fearful vow of bloody vengeance. With one associate, they set out, as on one of their midnight their father's cruel murderer was walking free and excursions for plunder, and marched from the Saluda | River to Indian Creek. There, surprising the little settlement in the midst of peaceful slumber, they burst into the unprotected houses, dragged four Whig lads from their beds and from the presence of their mothers, heedless of shrieks and entreaties for mercy, and rushing with these prisoners into the forest, put them to death by hewing them in pieces with their swords, amid their piercing cries and supplications. This brutal retaliation was in its turn revenged; one of the murderers being afterwards killed by kinsmen of the victims. The thirst of blood was not yet slaked in the brothers Turner, after this horrible deed. In one house they found Stokely Towles-a man whom they knew for an active patriot-prostrated with the small-pox. Not even the fear of contact with this loathsome disease could turn them from their fell purpose. They dragged | him from the hole into which he had crept for concealment, and inhumanly butchered him. Could the imagination of a writer of romance picture scenes more terrible or revolting! We give the simple outline of truth, without a tint of coloring; the reader will not be at a loss to fill out the sketch. The fate of the violent and bloody man is foretold. One of the actors in this tragedy-Dick Turner-was captured by stratagem, not far from his mother's residence. He was brought before the commanding officer of the party. "Tell me," said the officer, "where are your comrades ?" The prisoner made no reply. "Tell me!" shouted the other, "tell-or-" and he presented a loaded pistol at Turner's breast-"I will shoot you!" "Shoot, and be d-d!" was the answer of the fearless ruffian. The officer pulled the trigger, and the robber and murderer fell expiring at his feet. His brother, Ned, remained in Cunningham's corps through the War, and after its close, was placed, with his associates, under the ban of the State. They were proclaimed outlaws by the governor, and a reward was offered for every man of them, dead or alive. The remaining members of this notorious band fled for refuge to the vast swamps, and the thickets on the banks of Saluda, Bush, and Little Rivers. In these wild fastnesses, impenetrable save to those who knew how to trace the labyrinths, they remained concealed; were called "outliers," and were the terror of the honest and industrious families of the settlements. Search for them, however, was not given up by those who had suffered from this ferocious gang, and the Colonel Towles, pistol in hand, took his position at the door. The old man within was soon made aware, by some means, that his enemies had surrounded him, and were determined to visit upon him a fearful retribution. His ancient fire and cunning revived with the pressure of danger, Seizing his clothes, he dressed himself hastily, and stood in readiness; and the instant the door was thrown open, he sprang through it like lightning. Colonel Towles, however, was quick and bold, and prepared for accidents. He fired as the old ruffian dashed past him; Ned Turner staggered forward a few steps, and fell in the yard, apparently lifeless. The ball had entered his neck. John Towles looked at the body; the man seemed to have breathed his last, but he was not certain, and he called out to his brother to "shoot the old rascal again." But the colonel refused, and forbade any of the others to do it; it was a shame, he said, to shoot a dead foe. The party quitted the place immediately. Presently, the mistress of the house walked slowly into the yard, to search for the body of her slaughtered uncle. She was weeping loudly, and invoking vengeance on those who had slain him. Her cries and lamentations were interrupted by a faint sound from the corner of the fence. The victim had crawled there to hide himself. As the startled woman ran to the spot, she was greeted by the words, uttered in a distinct and strong voice: "Don't be a fool! Bring me my horse. Old Ned ain't dead yet!" The horse was speedily brought. The old man meanwhile had arisen, and walked into the house. The bullet had inflicted only a flesh wound, and that an inconsiderable one. He lost no time in preparing to mount his horse, and commence his homeward journey; for he had good reason to fear pursuit from his enemies, should they learn that he was not killed. He reached his home in safety, and there died, having attained a great age. The adventures of Ned Turner would afford material for a novel; and the close of his career inculcates a moral as striking as that illustrated by any fiction. THE OUTLIER AND HANNAH GAUNT. HUBBS was one of Turner's companions, and an associate in the band of Cunningham; he also became an "outlier" after the War. One of his excursions, in which he had the company of Ned and another comrade, was for the purpose of robbing a sturdy old man -one Israel Gaunt who lived in the manner of the Quakers, and used their language, though not one of their society. Hubbs proposed an attack on his house, having heard that money was kept there. Israel Gaunt was a man of gigantic frame, of great strength, and indomitable courage. His house and kitchen, as was usual in the dwellings of the Quakers, were under the same roof. It was a comfortable abode, and rather inviting, in the view of the marauding "outliers." Some time after sunset, three men, who appeared to be travellers, rode up to the door, and requested lodging for the night. It was refused; the aspect of the visitors being not prepossessing enough to overcome the fear of strangers, natural enough among women in these troublous times. Hubbs then rode up close to the kitchen door, in which Mrs. Gaunt was standing, and asked her for a mug of water. As the matron turned back to get the water, Hubbs, who had dismounted, sprang into the kitchen after her. She handed the water to him, and at the same moment discovered the arms he wore concealed in his dress. She instantly communicated the fact to her husband, who lost no time in closing and securing the doors. Finding himself thus cut off from his companions, and in peril of capture, the outlaw drew his pistol, with an oath, and presented it at the breast of Gaunt. At that instant Hannah Gaunt, the old man's daughter -a young woman possessed of the powerful frame and unflinching courage of her father, sprang suddenly forward, and threw up the pistol; its contents entered the ceiling, and she closed in a desperate struggle with the intruder. Hannah succeeded in throwing Hubbs on the floor, where she held him with an iron gripe, notwithstanding his violent struggles to release himself, and his plunging his spurs again and again into her dress and her limbs. While the Amazonian damsel thus pinned him down, her father snapped two loaded muskets at his head; but both missing fire, he "clubbed " the last, and with it beat his foe till the stock was broken into fragments, and the barrel bent; then seizing a stone of fourteen pounds' weight, dashed it at his head. The party outside made a few unsuccessful attempts to force the doors, and, ruffianlike, unwilling to meet an armed man in full encounter, fired through the window and wounded the brave old man; breaking his arm and sending a ball into his side. Another ball grazed the temple of the heroic girl. The wounds Gaunt had received rendered him powerless, and supposing the outlaws intended to break into the house and murder him, he yielded to the entreaties of his wife and daughter, to lose not a moment in getting out of their reach. He succeeded in escaping unobserved from the rear of the house, and made his way to the barn, where he concealed himself. Hubbs was not killed, though when the stone struck him the blood had spouted up to the low ceiling. He scrambled to his feet in the confusion of Gaunt's escape, and leaped on a table under a window, through which he jumped or fell into the yard, striking upon his head in the descent. His associates carried him off. He recovered, and was, some time afterwards, hanged in Georgia. Gaunt recovered from his wounds, and in after years often spoke with astonishment of the hard head," he used to say; "as hard as any ram's hardness of the outlaw's head. "It was a violent head." ASSOCIATE OUTLIERS. One of Hubbs's associates, and another outlier, who also had served under Cunningham, was called Moultrie. On one occasion four of this gang determined on going to rob the house of Andrew Lee, who lived at Lee's Ferry, on the Saluda. Lee had several powerful dogs, that were his protectors at night; and to provide against any sudden emergency, he had given arms to his negro men. The party came to the house, and Moultrie, by some means, managed to effect an entrance. He found himself seized and grappled with by the strong arms of Lee; they struggled desperately, and fell together upon a bed. Lee had the mastery, and held his enemy down, while he cried to his wife to take the axe and knock the robber on the head. The trembling woman obeyed; but in her agitation, aiming the first blow, it fell upon the hand of her husband. He shrieked with pain, but did not relax his hold; the woman repeated the blow with more judgment and effect; the pole of the axe was driven into the outlaw's head, breaking his skull; and Lee always maintained that a portion of the brains flew out, and stuck to the headboard of the bedstead. He threw Moultrie on the floor, supposing him dead, sprang to his feet, called his negroes, and with them and his dogs, rushed upon the other marauders. They fled from the conflict, and Lee nearly succeeded in capturing Ned Turner. On his return from the chase he found Moultrie alive; and before day he had so far recovered his strength that his captor found it necessary to bind him. He was taken to Ninety-six, tried, condemned and hanged. It was stated that his skull was so badly fractured, "it moved up and down with every breath he drew." Hall Foster, one of the outlaws who went on this expedition, was the beau of the outliers. While running every day for his life, and skulking at night in the forest, he wooed and won the affections of a nymph of the woods, and married her. His career was closed by a long aim, and possibly a random ball. Foster sometimes presented himself at the house of Colonel Cleary, on account of old acquaintance. The colonel had figured as a loyalist at the battle of Musgrove's Mills, but after the peace, deporting himself as an honest man, he was allowed to return quietly to his plantation on the Saluda; his "delusion" being pitied | fence, where he laid hid. He seated himself deliberateand forgiven. At one time a patriot named Isaac Norrell was an inmate of Cleary's house, and ill with fever and ague. Foster heard that his old comrade had given shelter to this man, was very angry at it, and announced his resolution of riding up to the house to give Norrell "a cursing "-taking it for granted that the invalid was not able to harm him or defend himself. Norrell, however, who had heard of his intention, was able that day to walk about, and was prepared for his enemy with a good rifle. Cleary managed to send word to Foster of the danger he would incur by approaching his house. The ruffian had no desire to encounter an armed adversary, and accordingly halted, when about a hundred and fifty yards from the house, and began curvetting his horse, by way of showing his reckless courage. Norrell had warily observed his movements from a corner of the ly, while the robber dandy was wheeling and curvetting, and with a rifleman's rest took a rifleman's aim! He fired: the ball entered Foster's head between the eyes; he fell to the ground, and his charger fled without a rider! After lingering in pain a few hours, this favorite companion of Cunningham through peril and bloodshed, ceased to be numbered among the sons of men. Jesse Grey was the last of the outliers, and his life was often in danger from the rifles of pursuers. Careless of peril, and confident in the speed and strength of his gallant horse, he would often throw himself in their way, on purpose to show them, according to the slang of the day-" a clear pair of heels." The establishment of peace and good order at length drove him from his wild forest haunts. He went to Nova Scotia, and it was ascertained, to the astonishment of all who heard of it, that he there actually lived and died an honest man! A WALLACHIAN TRAGEDY. PEOPLE appear to live at Bucharest solely to amuse | gardens towards sunset, smoking a cigar, and listening themselves, and in this respect it reminded us very to a divine melody of Strauss, played gloriously well by much of Paris. The day begins with promenades and music in the delightful gardens belonging to the town, where an excellent band seems to be always playing, and where the Wallachian ladies love to exhibit the freshness of their foreign toilettes, and to dazzle with their native charms. The latter are by no means to be despised, and we should recommend armor of proof to any susceptible young gentleman who takes his airing in the afternoon through the fashionable resorts of Bucharest. The artillery brought into position is truly formidable-eyes of sparkling black, or, more dangerous still, the deepest and softest blue; masses of dark waving hair; rich, deep-toned complexions, and magnificent Juno-like forms, are ready to rout him utterly at a moment's notice. True, he has the option of surrendering at discretion; and to do these Latin ladies justice, they treat their prisoners with considerable clemency and kindness. All day long goes on fiddling, and flirting, and mischief-making, and then people dine and go to the Opera, and come to the gardens again; and the same agreeable but not very edifying process is practised far into the night. And this sort of thing, only changing the scene with the variations of the climate, week after week, month after month, and year after year. No wonder society is pretty well demoralised at Bucharest; no wonder the Wallachian boyards are sunk overhead in debt and steeped in profligacy. Pleasure is indeed a pleasant thing, but its effects are always the same, when it is made the chief business of life. an Austrian band. "Would you like to hear a romance heart.' "She drew her slight figure up, and looked as wicked 1 as she alone can look, whilst she replied-'No, no; a | how she made Adolphe give his word of honor that he thousand times, no. I will put my foot on his neck-I would never lift his hand against his brother's life-she will humble him. He said Baronne B was hand-made it the condition of her love; she told Adolphe somer and cleverer than me, did he? Baronne Bthat great foolish blonde. I will teach him to know me; and then let him break his heart, if he will be such a fool. Come to me to-morrow; I will show you how I manage him, you are all alike, you men.' she would be his-and his alone. The boy was wild with happiness; he was young, as I have already told you, my friend, and a sad fool. He raved about her all the evening; I was very tired of him, I assure you, by bedtime. He walked all night under her windows—it was fortunate he could not see inside-and next day she was driving out with Fritz, and distant as ever with my very ridiculous young friend. So she played brother against brother, and made each believe the other was the only obstacle to his own happiness; but more especially she delighted in her triumph over poor Adolphe, and, as she had vowed that she would do, when I remonstrated with her, she did indeed put her foot on the boy's neck. This could not go on. The brothers would have fought a hundred times, but for the word of honor they had passed. The Hungarian never forfeits his word. They were of the old Hun "I put Adolphe on his guard; I reasoned with him, and warned him. Sapristie, we must help each other; such women are the natural foes of our kind. But it was of no use; Adolphe would not believe a word I said to him. She had given him a rosebud and one of her gloves, and he was mad about them. Que voulez-vous? the boy loved her as a man loves only once-with all his heart and soul; not like you and me, mon cher, who are men of the world, but like a fool. Of course, if I couldn't save him, it was no use distressing myself about the affair. These things must take their course. I went with him to her house, and I watched her as one watches a cat playing with a mouse. Poor boy! Igarian noblesse; rich, handsome, gallant, and devoted. saw in two seconds it was all over with him, and that Must such men be sacrificed to a woman's momentary he was that woman's slave. How cleverly she did it; triumph? Must the noblest, truest heart break because first greeting him kindly, then talking about his brother a little devil in muslin chooses to play the fool? It is -his rival, mark you, and a devilish handsome one, no business of yours and mine. Our hearts don't break too-and so making him thoroughly angry and half quite so easily, and I, for one, never allow love-making wild; and lastly, pressing his hand at parting, and ask- to interfere with dinner; but Adolphe and his brother ing, with a glance at me (as if she hadn't begged me were très peu philosophes, and, would you believe it, in herself to come), 'why she never could see him alone?' their madness they threw the dice to decide which of The boy's Hungarian blood couldn't stand it; if Mar- the two should commit suicide. It must have been a guerite had told him to lie down and die at her feet, ghastly main, and although she does look very pretty he would have been fool enough to obey her, and she this evening, with the light of the setting sun behind would have laughed at him afterwards. As we walked her, I think you will agree with me that the stake was away, he raved about her to me. His features writhed hardly worth the hazard. I never knew of it till after when he mentioned her name; it was quite a study. all was over. It appears that the loser was to have a But, to tell the truth, I had rather it had been any one year's grace by consent, and during that year to be unthan Adolphe. So the affair went on, and she played molested in his love by his rival. I remarked that one brother against the other, till they were both mad Adolphe rushed suddenly into the deepest extravagance, with jealousy, and the younger was capable of any and appeared, what they call at Paris, to manger' his thing-anything. It was an ugly business, my friend, fortune very rapidly, also to have rid himself comI was present when they quarrelled, not about her, but pletely of his rival, but this I thought was owing to the a foolish dispute at cards. Blows passed; they were superior good sense or greater caprice of the elder mad; they must have been mad. A challenge was brother. I wonder whether he ever told Marguerite? given and accepted. Will you believe it, they went out I sometimes think that she knew it all the time. For to fight! these two brothers that had clung to the the first few months I verily believe Adolppe congratusame mother's breast. We managed the affair quietly; lated himself on his success. For one year of her we drew the ball from each of their pistols. Judge of society he was content to barter life-and more than their fury, especially of that of Adolphe, when the life, too, perhaps—but as time drew on, I remarked his fraud was discovered. Was I not right? I respect the cheek grow paler, and his brow more haggard day by laws of arms; I have been on the ground' myself day. Moreover, even then she could not resist the more than once; but brothers, you see, mon cher, c'était pleasure of making him unhappy. I tell you, my un peu trop fort. More and worse would have hap- friend, that woman has no more heart than a stone. pened, but I entreated Marguerite to interfere. Would One morning I knew it all. Adolphe had spent his to God I had let it alone! Forgive me-would I had last florin, and blown his brains out. He left a letter brought my handsome Adolphe home shot through the for me, and I learnt everything. He kept his word, heart' kismet' says our neighbor the Turk. I some- you see, and behaved quite like a gentleman. They times think there is such a thing as destiny. How she found her glove on his body. Fritz never came back. managed Fritz I know not. He was a cool, resolute I do not think she minded that very much. It is fellow, and fond as he was of her, not a man that any scarcely six months ago: do you think she looks very woman on earth could make a fool of; of course, she sorrowful now? Bah! my friend: let us smoke one liked him the better of the two. But Adolphe-I know | more cigar, and then go to the Opera." "There where I have garner'd up my heart; we are gravely informed that "garner'd up," means 66 trea In those tremendous lines which Constance heaps with such bitter vehemence upon Austria: —SHAKSPEARE has always been pursued by a pack of com- | where he exclaims: mentators, who have fastened upon him with hound-like tenacity and fierceness. Profound, indeed, must be the oblivion of the grave, if Shakspeare rests in peace. There isn't a learned man anywhere, that doesn't want to throw a stone at him; there isn't a vain man, or an ambitious one, that doesn't try to send his name floating down the stream of time with that of his. Some, even, audaciously attempt to go before, and show him the way to immortality. Some play the usher, and pit their own importance against that of his. To associate one's name with that of Shakspeare is an epidemic among a certain class. There is an itch, which might be known as the Shakspearean itch. Some want to hang their learning upon him-to sport in foot-notes, and amble along on the same page with the mighty one; others to slip their names along with his, by a Boswell sort of legerdemain. Think of going down to posterity in this wise: "Blair's Shakspeare," just as a certain reverend succeeded, by a dextrous trick, in slipping before, and bowing Gibbon down the ages as 66 Milman's Gibbon." But, indeed, we had hoped that the race of Shakspearean commentators was extinct. Not so, however. They spring up day by day. They come thickly, even now. If they keep on, they will eventually smother the Poet altogether. He already staggers under the mass of litter they accumulate upon him. It would crush out of being any other man. The tenacity and patience of his enemies, make up for their insignificance. Ant-like, they move mountains by infinitesimals, and may succeed even yet in "making Ossa like a wart." Centuries hence some industrious antiquarian will disembowel him to an astonished world, from the mountain of rubbish under which he now threatens to disappear. A new edition of Shakspeare, with a new annotator, has just appeared in London, which outdoes all that has gone before. The annotator is the most sanguinary and mendacious we ever read. He is so determined to thrust himself into the attention of the reader, that, at the slightest provocation, or with none at all, he slips before the text and flaps his fool's cap in your eyes. He can hardly let a line escape without putting his teeth in it. If there's nothing to explain, he explains all the same. He hangs vast stores of learning upon a preposition. If he wants to say anything, he is never at a loss for an excuse. He touches the most insignificant word, and out there flows a stream of erudition, in which he disports exultingly. We are stopped at "proper man," to be told that it means, "a tall, comely, or well-proportioned man;" "imperious," is annotated as "commanding, stately;" our fast intent," is gravely explained to mean, our determined resolution; "to let," is to "hinder;" "flourish," is " ornament;" and so on through the whole 66 work. In the passage from the lines on Dover Cliff, "I'll look no more Lest my brain turn, and the deficient sight "Thou slave, thou wretch, thou coward; Thou wear a lion's hide! Doff it for shame, we are absolutely referred to a note at the foot of the page, "Constance means to call him a coward; she tells him that the skin of the lion's prey would suit his recreant limbs better than that of a lion." We could multiply instances of Mr. Singer's astute editorship, like these, through pages. We will content ourself with one more example: "In law, what plea so tainted and corrupt, He One would suppose that the "meanest capacity" could comprehend this passage; not so believed the editor. takes pains to tell us that "gracious," means pleasing, winning favor," and that "approve" is in the sense of to "justify it." The book is called, "The Works of William Shakspeare, with Notes, by S. W. Singer." This is very modest. Mr. Singer might have reversed it, and said, "Essays of S. W. Singer, with Notes, by William Shakspeare." That would have been giving precedence where Mr. Singer evidently thinks precedence is due. We certainly expect to see some commentator follow out this idea yet-take for himself the body of the page, and give the foot to Shakspeare. "Oil Paintings, with RICH GILT FRAMES," is the sign that obtrudes upon the attention of the Broadway promenader, not a thousand yards from the St. Nicholas. The He knows how to put the vender is a shrewd fellow. It is not the wretched canvas attractive side foremost. which is to tempt the buyer-the Rich Gilt Frames are the inducement. People want ornaments for their walls. A showy frame is just the thing, and if a painting is incidentally thrown in, why well and good. And such outbursts of we are stopped to be told that "topple," means "tumble." ornament and elaboration as some of these same frames The familiar line: "I am nothing, if not critical," are! They dazzle with their gorgeousness, and no doubt, utterly captivate the many who lack "the delicate sense." As for the paintings that are attached to them, heaven save is explained: "critical, i. e., censorious or cynical." In the mark! one needs to see them in order to thoroughly Othello's touching speech: "Had it pleased Heaven to try me with affliction," comprehend how poor such attempts can really be. In the collection we have in view, there are copies of Cole's Voy |