pathy at the time: Washington is said to have shed tears when he signed his death-warrant. It was on the 2d of October, 1780, that this young officer was executed. A year later, and Denis was to witness the trial and execution of one whom he knew better and was more deeply interested in, De la Motte. The courage and nobleness with which he met his fate moved the sympathy of Duval, whom he had injured, as well as of most of those who saw him die. Denis The next notes (in order of time) concern a certain very disinterested action of Duval's: Deal Riots, 1783. DEAL. Here has been a great scene of confusion, by a party of Colonel Douglas's Light Dragoons, sixty in number, who entered the town in the dead of the night in aid to the excise-officers, in order to break open the stores and make seizures; but the smugglers, who are never unprepared, having taken the alarm, mustered together, and a most desperate battle ensued. Now old Duval, the perruquier, as we know, has written concerning him: "Except my kind belonged to the great Mackerel party, or smugnamesake, the captain and admiral, this was the gling conspiracy, which extended all along the first gentleman I ever met in intimacy, a gentle-coast; and frequent allusion has been made to man with many a stain, nay, crime to reproach him, but not all lost, I hope and pray. I own to having a kindly feeling toward that fatal man." Lütterloh's time had not yet come; but besides that we find him disposed of with the Royal George in the first-quoted letter, an entry in the note-book unites the fate of the bad man with that of the good ship.* Meanwhile, the memorandum "Rodney's action, 1782," indicates that Duval was to take part in our victory over the French fleet commanded by the Count de Grasse, who was himself captured with the Ville de Paris and four other ships. "De Grasse with his suite landed on Southsea Common, Portsmouth. They were conducted in carriages to the George, where a most sumptuous dinner had been procured for the count and his suite, by Vice-Admiral Sir Peter Parker, who entertained him and his officers at his own expense. Here also was something for Denis to see; and in this same autumn came on the trial of the two Westons, when Denis was to be the means-unconsciously-of bringing his old enemy, Joseph Weston, to punishment. There are two notes to this effect: 1782-3. Jo. Weston, always savage against Blaise, fires on him in Cheapside. The Black Act is 9 George II., c. 22. The preamble says: Whereas several ill-designing and disorderly persons have associated themselves under the name of Blacks, and entered into confederacies to support and assist one another in stealing and destroying deer, robbing warrens and fish-ponds.... It then goes on to enact that if any person or persons shall willfully or maliciously shoot at any person in any dwelling-house or other place, he shall suffer death as in cases of felony without benefit of the clergy. A Joseph Weston was actually found guilty, under the Black Act, of firing at and wounding a man on Snow Hill, and was hanged with his brother. Mr. Thackeray's note-book refers him to "The Westons in Sessions Papers,' 1782, pp. 463, 470, 473," to the Gentleman's Magazine, 1782, to "Genuine Memoirs of George and Joseph Weston, 1782," and Notes and Queries, Series I. vol. x.t * Contemporary accounts of the foundering of the Royal George represent her crowded with people from the shore. We have seen how Lütterloh was among these, having come on board to receive the price of his treason. †These notes also appear in the same connection: "Horse-Stealers." One Saunders was committed to Oxford jail for horse-stealing, who appears to have belonged to a gang, part of whom stole horses in the north counties, and the other part in the south, and about the his secret stores, and to the profits of his socalled fishing expeditions. Remembering what has been written of this gentleman, we can easily imagine the falsehoods, tears, lying asseverations of poverty and innocence which old Duval must have uttered on the terrible night when the excise-officers visited him. But his exclamations were to no purpose, for it is a fact that when Denis saw what was going on, he burst out with the truth, and though he knew it was his own inheritance he was giving up, he led the officers right away to the hoards they were seeking. His conduct on this occasion Denis has already referred to where he says: "There were matters connected with this story regarding which I could not speak......Now they are secrets no more. That old society of smugglers is dissolved long ago: nay, I shall have to tell presently how I helped myself to break it up." And therewith all old Duval's earnings, all Denis's fortune that was to be, vanished; but of course Denis prospered in his profession, and had no need of unlawful gains.‡ But very sad times intervened between Denis and prosperity. He was to be taken prisoner by the French, and to fret many long years away in one of their arsenals. At last the Revolution broke out, and he may have been given up, or thanks to his foreign tongue and extractionfound means to, escape. Perhaps he went in search of Agnes, whom we know he never forgot, and whose great relations were now in trouble, for the Revolution which freed him was terrible to "aristocrats." This is nearly all the record we have of this part of Denis's life, and of the life which Agnes led while she was away from him.§ But perhaps midland counties they used to meet and exchange.—Gentleman's Magazine, 39, 165. 1783. Capital Convictions.-At the Spring Assizes, 1783, 119 prisoners received sentence of Death. to be found in vol. x. of Sussex Archaeological Collections, Notices of Sussex smuggling (says the note-book) are 69, 94. Reference is also made to the Gentleman's Magazine, vol. viii. pp. 292, 172. The following memoranda appear in the note-book: "Marie Antoinette was born on the 2d November, 1755, and her saint's day is the FETE DES MORTS. "In the Corsican expedition the Legion de Lorraine was under the Baron de Viomesnil. He emigrated at the commencement of the Revolution, took an active part in the army of Condé, and in the emigration, returned with Louis XVIII., followed him to Gand, and was made marshal and peer of France after '15. "Another Vi. went with Rochambeau to America in 1780." But some natures are so buoyant that they resist all depressing influences, and live in a sunlight of their own. My reader, therefore, need not expect a sorrowful story, because I narrate what took place at a time of national misgiving. In a pleasant room, into which the afternoon sun was shining, sat Miss Mary Brown and Miss Mary I. Brown, much alike in name, but quite unlike in some other respects. Miss Mary I. Brown was a young maiden, Miss Mary Brown was a maiden not young. The one was eighteen, the other forty-eight. One was looking forward to matrimony as a probable and desirable thing, the other looked upon matrimony as barely possible, and on the whole unadvisable. it was at this time that Duval saw Marie An- of knitting. Patriotism had armed the men toinette; perhaps he found Agnes, and helped with muskets and the women with needles. It her to get away; or had Agnes already escaped was the autumn following the sad reverse at the to England, and was it in the old familiar haunts battle of Bull Run; and while woman's fingers --Farmer Perreau's Columbarium, where the pig- were busy adding stitch to stitch, her thoughts eons were that Agnes loved; the rectory garden reverted to that fatal field as the forerunner of basking in the autumn evening; the old wall still greater calamities. and the pear-tree behind it; the plain from whence they could see the French lights across the Channel; the little twinkling window in a gable of the priory house, where the light used to be popped out at nine o'clock-that Denis and Agnes first met after their long separation? However that may have been, we come presently upon a note of "a tailor contracts to supply three superfine suits for £11 11s. (Gazetteer and Daily Advertiser);" and also of a villa at Beckenham, with "four parlors, eight bedrooms, stables, two acres of garden, and fourteen acres of meadow, let for £70 a year," which may have been the house the young people first lived in after they were married. Later, they moved to Fareport, where, as we read, the admiral is weighed along with his own pig. But he can not have given up the service for many years after his marriage; for he writes: "Tother day when we took over the King of France to Calais (H.R. H. the Duke of Clarence being in command), I must needs have a post-chaise from Dover to look at that old window in the priory house at Winchelsea. I went through the old wars, despairs, tragedies. I sighed as vehemently after forty years as though the infundi dolores were fresh upon me, as though I were the school-boy trudging back to his task, and taking a last look at his dearest joy." "And who, pray, was Agnes ?" he writes elsewhere. "To-day her name is Agnes Duval, and she sits at her work-table hard by. The lot of my life has been changed by knowing her; to win such a prize in life's lottery has been given but to very few. What I have done -of any worth-has been done by trying to deserve her."......" Monsieur mon fils-(this is to his boy)-if ever you marry, and have a son, I hope the little chap will have an honest man for a grandfather, and that you will be able to say, 'I loved him,' when the daisies cover me." Once more of Agnes he writes: "When my ink is run out, and my little tale is written, and yonder church that is ringing to seven o'clock prayers shall toll for a certain D.D., you will please, good neighbors, to remember that I never loved any but yonder lady, and keep a place by Darby for Joan when her turn shall arrive." Miss Mary I. Brown had been named for her aunt, Miss Mary Brown, by a kind brother, who devised this method of handing down his sister's name to posterity after having abandoned all hope that it would be preserved by direct descent. The niece, however, went by the name of Bell, a contraction of her middle name, Isabel. Miss Mary lived with her brother, and thus she and Bell were constantly together, the niece having in her aunt one of those agreeable companions as is sometimes found in the character of a maiden lady who has wasted none of her native sweetness upon a heartless lover or a selfish husband. These two were a part of the great knittingmachine that was turning out stockings by the hundreds and forwarding them to the Union army. Bell had just finished a pair, and was running the heels when she suddenly exclaimed, "Oh, aunt, I have thought of one way to get a husband!" "One way,” replied her aunt, showing no surprise at Bell's remark. "That is nothing wonderful. You would hardly be a woman if you have but one way. In my day girls of your age had many ways to set themselves about that business." "But they did not always succeed," said Bell, looking archly at her aunt. "No they did not always get married, for sometimes they made up their minds beforehand to turn their attention to taking care of their rattle-brained nieces." "That remark can not apply to me, for Uncle John told me that I haven't any brains. But I am rather glad you didn't get married, for every young lady like myself is greatly benefited by having a good aunt at hand who has no children of her own to look after." "There, my young lady had better not ventilate any more of her sage ideas just now." "No, aunt, not one word more after I have told you my plan for catching a husband.” "Well, what is it?" had worked his toes down to the angle where "Why you see, aunt, when I marry I mean the heel belongs, while the foot of the stocking to have a good, tall, brave husband." "Yes, I could guess that, for I never saw a little woman who did not prefer a tall man." "I am going to write an advertisement for a husband and put it into this pair of large stockings; and as the tallest men will pick out the biggest stockings I shall advertise myself to a regular grenadier." "You may as well advertise yourself in the New York Herald under the head of Matrimonial." "Oh no, aunt, I don't want any of the simpletons who read and answer such advertisements. I want a good, brave Union soldier, who is not afraid to accept these stockings with the conditions I shall impose upon him." So Bell, upon a bit of paper, wrote the following: "This pair of stockings was knit by Miss Mary Brown, who holds herself in readiness to marry the man who will wear them on the battle-field, and afterward return to claim her hand." looked very limp and empty. "I hope there are no guerrillas round," continued he; "for if they should surprise the camp before I get this stocking on, I should be in an awkward predicament. I could neither fight nor run, and should have to sit still and be shot." Dick watched him pulling and tugging, and then burst out laughing. "What are you laughing at? I don't see any thing so very queer about all this.” 66 'Well, I do. I think it is mighty queer that you should try to pull on that pair of stockings which will just fit me, while I have a pair that will just suit you." Tom dropped his foot to the floor. It struck him as a very happy thought on the part of Dick. It had not occurred to him, Yankee though he was, that there could be such a transaction as a "swop" in which both parties could be benefited. So Tom and Dick made an exchange; and Tom, seizing one of the large stockings, slipped "There, aunt, what do you think of that?" his foot down the long leg till his toes reached said Bell, after reading it aloud. "I don't like the idea of your using my name. Why not write it out in full- Mary Isabel Brown ?" "That would tell too much. I want it so that it may stand for either of us. Then, if the fellow should take me at my word and I did not fancy him, there will be a chance to retreat." "Such frolics are not very discreet, Bell, and I should object to your carrying out this one if I did not think you were safe. The man who finds either of us will have some hundreds of Mary Browns to pick from." "Well, aunt, I am not going to write any thing more. It must not be too definite. The fellow will have to hunt some if ever he finds me out." In due time the stockings from the Browns went into the same box with those from, the Smiths, and others whose posterity has not multiplied so rapidly as have the descendants of the original Mr. Brown and Mr. Smith, and started for the Union camp. In due time the stockings reached the Federal troops, and were distributed among the barefoot squads. Bell's stockings were handed over to a very small man, while a smaller pair had fallen to the lot of the only six-footer in the company, who was trying to put them on as the small man held his up, and, after taking in their dimensions with a mechanic's eye, exclaimed: "I say, Tom, I shall get lost in these stockings. I guess they were knit for Goliath of Gath." "They are quite different from mine, then. I have been at work upon these till I think I shall never be able to straighten my back again. See how far I have got them on," and Tom held up his foot to show his comrade his progress. He the farthest extremity. "That is a capital fit. If I could find the girl who knit that I would marry her as soon as the war is over," saying which, Tom pulled on the other stocking, and felt something in the toe of it. "I guess there is a mouse's nest in this one," said he, as he drew it off and found Bell's note. "No, it is a piece of writing, by Jove!" and Tom proceeded to open and read it. "That note is mine, Tom. Fair play. I didn't agree to let you have all there might be in that stocking when I exchanged." "Ah, my good fellow, you are not familiar with the law on this point. I hold the stocking and the stocking held the note, ergo I hold the note, and my good friend, Richard Smith, holds the other pair of stockings and all they contain. But hear it, and then perhaps you will withdraw your claim." Tom read and Dick listened. "Yes, Tom, I renounce all right to that document. I should not object to the first condition, for you know I am as valiant as Hec tor-" "Hecuba you probably mean," interrupted Tom, who was aware that his comrade's knowledge of the Grecian heroes was second-hand. "As valiant as Hecuba, then," continued Dick, accepting the correction. "But as to marrying Mary Brown, I would sooner go barefoot all my days. She is probably some old maid with more sentiment than sense." "Nonsense, Dick; that note was not written by an old maid. I will take up the gauntlet, and when I get a furlough I'll have a hunt for that girl. I rather like the spirit of this communication." "I should like to know how you are going to find her, unless her address is on the note." "No it is not, and all I know about it is that she signs her name Mary Brown, and that she probably lives somewhere on our side of the Potomac." "I think you'll find her then. You'll have a fine chance for a search! Brown is not a common name, and there can not be two Mary Browns north of Mason and Dixon's line." "Don't try to convince me that the thing is impossible, for I'll find her sooner or later as sure as I am a good fellow." Thereupon Tom instituted an inquiry to find out from which direction the stockings came. After a little search he ascertained that three boxes had just been emptied, but from which his had been taken he could not learn. One of the boxes came from New York, one from Boston, and one from Lowell. "There," thought Tom, "that is about as definite as though I had found out that they came from the country where the Americans live." But he took note of these three places for fu- | ture reference, leaving it for time and chance to settle the question. It was not a week after this circumstance before Tom found himself face to face with the foe on an obstinately-fought field, in which he received two wounds, one through the fleshy part of his leg, and the other in his shoulder. He was carried from the field on a stretcher. At first he was faint from loss of blood; but as soon as his wounds were dressed and consciousness had fully returned he beckoned Dick toward him. "What did they do with my stockings, Dick?" "Never mind your stockings now, Tom; you must keep quiet." "But I do mind about my stockings, and I can't have them lost. Those are the Mary Brown stockings, and must be found. One of them has two shot-holes in it." "I'll look them up, Tom, but you must keep quiet. You've lost so much blood now that you are pale as a ghost." After a few weeks spent in the hospital Tom came back to the camp to inquire for his stockings. "Here they are," said Dick, as he handed them to him. "I have had them washed and put in the best order." "Very much obliged to you, Dick," said Tom, as, in a group of soldiers, he examined the one containing the holes where the enemy's bullet had gone through. "Why, Tom, were you wounded in both legs?" asked a comrade, who had discovered two similar shot-holes in the other stocking. “No,” replied Tom; "I was shot in the leg and shoulder. But how the holes came in the other stocking I don't know. My leg was in this one when the ball went through, for there is a stain of blood yet on that white toe. How is this, Dick?" "I don't know, Tom. After they were washed I found that both of them had holes in them, and I supposed you had been shot in both legs. Are you sure you were not?" VOL. XXIX.--No. 171.-В B "Quite sure. But I am not so certain that some of my friends have not been playing at Falstaff's game." As Tom's wounds would not allow him to go on duty for some time he was promoted to the rank of captain, and sent off to recruit a company. "Now," thought he, as soon as his papers had been made out, "I'll find that Mary Brown." So he bought a valise, put up an extra shirt, and made himself ready. Tom was a Massachusetts officer, and was to recruit his company in that State. "New York, then, I must give up," thought he; "and it may be that she lives there, though I hardly think she does. The girl that got up that idea must be Yankee born, and probably lives in the Hub of the Universe. I'll try Boston first, at any rate." So, after a flying visit to his friends, Tom opened a recruiting-office in Boston, and set himself to work to fill up his company. But while he was hunting up recruits he kept on the look-out for the Browns. He consulted the city directory; he found whole pages of Browns, and among them five Miss Mary Browns-a milliner, a washer and ironer, a boarding-house keeper, an astrologist, and a doctress. He took the address of the milliner and the doctress, and made his first call upon the former. As he entered she was writing in her account-book, one glance at which convinced him that she was not the writer of the note in his possession. Having purchased some trifling article, he left to go in search of the doctress. Having found the place, he rang the bell, and was ushered into a waiting-room. In a few moments a middleaged woman entered. She looked a little surprised at Tom's stalwart proportions and regimentals. "Is this Miss Mary Brown?" asked he. "That is my name, Sir. Is there any thing I can do for you?" "I have not called upon you in your professional capacity. I only wish to know whether you are one of a society of ladies who, three months ago, sent a box of clothing to the Army of the Potomac." "I am sorry to say that I am not." "The name Mary Brown was in one of the stockings, and I did not know but you might be the one. Have you any relation of that name?" "None that I am aware of." And then Tom, thinking he should be safe, produced the note for Miss Brown's inspection. "Are you the man who has complied with the first condition?" asked the doctress, eying him from head to foot. "Yes," replied he, bent upon experimenting on this matron's heart. Afterward, in relating the circumstances to Dick, Tom said, "When I told her that, I never in my life saw a woman look so sorry that she had not knit a certain pair of stockings." "But what would you have done if she had been the right one?" asked Dick. "You would have been in a fine fix!" "Not quite so fast, my good fellow. Do you suppose that after having been shot through in two places I went into battle without a chance of retreat? If she had proved the real Mary Brown, I should have told her that a friend of mine, Richard Smith, had taken the stockings, and that I had called, with his compliments, requesting her to prepare for the wedding-day!" Tom spent some time with this female physician, who had many questions to ask of the returned soldier. Having thus failed to find the right Mary Brown, he again turned to the directory. "She must be the daughter of some of these Browns," said he, as his eye again ran over the long list. "But how I am to find her I don't know, unless fortune helps me. I have it!" he thought at last. "I'll go to the post-office and find out all the Browns in Boston." He made known his business to the obliging postmaster, who gave him the address of half a score of Mary Browns. Subsequent interviews with each of these, however, threw no light upon the matter. The next week, while looking over the newlyposted list of advertised letters, Tom came across the name Mary Brown. "Who knows but she may be the one? Very likely she is," thought he. "The postmaster does not know who she is, and that is why she was left out of the list he gave me. I'll see if I can find out who calls for that letter." So Tom bought the biggest morning paper he could find, and took his station within ear-shot of the place of delivery. would be, as he watched her graceful movements and thought of his own military air. She soon reached Washington Street, and here Tom's difficulties began. The street was crowded. Tom, keeping his eye fixed upon the head and shoulders of his enchantress, had no eyes left for any other purpose. He brushed by crinolines with a force that threatened to carry them away; and had the mouth of the infernal pit been before him he would have walked into it. After going a few blocks she entered a millinery shop. Tom stopped outside and looked at the bonnets in the show-case till she came out, and then followed on. A quarter of a mile farther, in the same direction, she entered a drygood store. Tom again lingered outside, and examined the wonderful patterns with their more wonderful names, and then took up the pursuit again. He followed for a long distance up Washington Street; but just as he was passing a large jewelry store he lost sight of her. He pushed on a block farther, doubled on his track, and looked into all the shop windows. At the jewelry store he came upon her, face to face, as she was coming out of the door. At a second sight of that queenly face Tom could hear his heart beat. He thought she must have heard it too. But as he was only one of a large number of human beings drifting the same way he escaped her notice. "Ah," said Tom, as soon as he had recovered from the shock, "to love is indeed a painful thrill!'" From the jewelry store she led Tom a long chase, to the end of Washington Street and up Cornhill into a book-store. Tom, growing bolder, went in too, and looked at the books and heard her inquire for Rollin's Ancient History. "She isn't one of the readers of 'yellow cov,'" thought Tom, as he heard the name. "She prefers solid reading. What a lucky fellow I am!" There were numerous calls for advertised letters, but none for Mary Brown. Tom was about abandoning his post when he observed a beauti-ers,' ful young lady coming into the door. "I wish that might be Mary Brown," thought he, as he looked at her over his paper. "Is there a letter here for Miss Mary Brown ?" she asked, in a rich, musical voice, as she looked in at the pigeon-hole. The beat of Tom's heart leaped up to two hundred a minute. "By Jove, her name is Mary Brown!" said Tom to himself, who, in his most excited moments, never swore by any thing more sacred than the old heathen deities. It would have been an easy matter for a business man to step up and settle the question of her identity, as Tom had done in several cases before. But his courage and presence of mind both forsook him the instant he found out that she might be the object of his search. It was not till he saw her passing out of the door that he recovered from his panic and bethought himself that his game must be followed. So off he started, keeping her in sight, though she walked away at a rapid rate. She was tall and stately, and Tom could not help thinking what a fine-looking couple they It never once occurred to him that though this lady's name was Mary Brown she might not be the one he was in search of. So strongly did he hope that she was the right one he could not rid himself of the conviction that she was the right one. Having made her purchases she came near Tom to look at the new books upon the showtable. Tom was spell-bound. The same thrill of which he had spoken crept over his frame, and he was as helpless as an animal fascinated by a snake. "What is the matter with me?" thought he, as she left the store. "I never felt so in the presence of any other woman." From the book-store Tom followed her back to Washington Street, where she started down on the other side. Instead of slackening her pace her step seemed more vigorous than ever. Tom was still somewhat weak from his wounds, and his lame leg began to complain. "I wonder if she is going to walk back at this rate the whole length of this street," thought he. |