then," said the man, " don't you remember landing at Dover at such a time?" To this the gentleman answered, "that he had landed at Dover, not long before, but that he could not tell whether it was on the day he mentioned or not." "Well," said he, "but don't you recollect that a person in a blue jacket and trowsers, carried your trunk to the inn?" To this he answered, "that of course some person had carried his trunk for him; but that he did not know what dress he wore." "But," said the prisoner, "don't you remember that the person who went with you from the boat, told you a story of his being in the service, that he thought himself an ill-used man, and that he showed you a scar he had on one side of his forehead?" During this last question, the countenance of the stranger underwent a considerable change; he said, "he certainly did recollect such a circumstance;" and, on the man's putting his hair aside, and showing the scar, he became quite sure that he was the same person. A buzz of satisfaction now ran through the court, for the day on which, according to the prisoner's account, this gentleman had met with him at Dover, was the same on which he was charged with the robbery in a remote county. The stranger, however, could not be certain of the time, but said, that he sometimes made memorandums of dates in his pocket book, and might possibly have done so on this occasion. On opening his pocket book, he found a memorandum of the time he landed from Calais, which corresponded with the prisoner's assertion. This being the only circumstance necessary to prove the alibi, the prisoner was immediately acquitted, amidst the applause and congratulations of the whole court. Within less than a month after this, the gentleman who recognized the prisoner, the servant in livery, who followed him, and the prisoner who had been acquitted, were all three brought back together to the same jail, for robbing the mail.

OUTRAGED NATURE AVENGED.

IN Queen Anne's reign, a soldier belonging to a marching regiment, that was quartered in the city of W was

taken up for desertion, and being tried by a court martial, was sentenced to be shot. The colonel and lieutenant-colonel being both in London, the command of the regiment had devolved in course on the major, who was accounted a very cruel and obdurate man. The day of execution being come, the regiment, as usual upon these occasions, was drawn up to witness it; but when every one present who knew the custom at these executions, expected to see the corporals cast lots for the ungracious office, they were surprised to find it fixed by the major on the prisoner's own brother, who was a soldier in the same regiment, and was at the moment taking his last leave of the unfortunate culprit.

On this inhuman order being announced to the brothers, they both fell down upon their knees; the one supplicated in the most affecting terms that he might be spared the horror of shedding a brother's blood, and the other brother, that he might receive his doom from any other hand than his. But all their tears and supplications were in vain; the major was not to be moved. He swore that the brother, and the brother only, should be the man, that the example might be the stronger, and the execution the more horrible. Several of the officers attempted to remonstrate with him, but to no purpose. The brother prepared to obey. The prisoner having gone through the usual service with the minister, kneeled down at the place appointed to receive the fatal shot. The major stood by, saw the afflicted brother load his instrument of death, and this being done ordered him to observe the third signal with his cane, and at the instant to do his office and despatch the prisoner. But, behold, the justice of Providence! When the major was dealing his fatal signals for the prisoner's death, at the motion of his cane, the soldier, inspired by some superior power, suddenly turned about his piece, and shot the tyrant through the heart. Then throwing down his piece, he exclaimed, "He that can show no mercy, no mercy let him receive. Now I submit; I had rather die this hour for his death, than live a hundred years, and give my brother his." At the unexpected event no body seemed to be sorry; and some of the chief citizens, who came to see the execution, and were witnesses of all that passed, prevailed with the

next commanding officer to carry both the brothers back to prison, and not to execute the first prisoner until further orders, promising to indemnify him for the consequences, as far as their whole interest could possibly go with the queen. This request being complied with, the city corporation, that very night, drew up a most pathetic and moving address to their sovereign, humbly setting forth the cruelty of the deceased, and praying her majesty's clemency towards the prisoners. The queen, upon the perusal of this petition, which was presented to her majesty by one of the city representatives, was pleased to promise that she would inquire into the matter. On doing so, she found the truth of the petition confirmed, and was graciously pleased to pardon both the offending brothers, and discharge them from her service. "For which good mercy in the queen," says a chronicle of that period, "she received a very grateful and most dutiful address of thanks from the loyal city."

WONDERFUL SAGACITY OF A GRAZIER'S DOG.

THE Cur Dog is a trusty and useful servant to the far mer or grazier; and, although it is not taken notice of by naturalists as a distinct race, yet it is now so generally used, that we consider it as a permanent kind. They are principally employed in driving cattle, in which they are extremely useful. They are mostly of a black and white color; their ears are half-pricked, and many of them are whelped with short tails, which seem as if they had been cut. Their sagacity is uncommonly great: they know their master's fields, and are singularly attentive to the cattle that are in them. A good dog watches, goes his rounds, and if any strange cattle happen to appear amongst the herd, although unbidden, he flies at them, and with keen bites obliges them to depart.

The following instance of sagacity and attachment in this valuable quadruped, was the means of preserving the life of its master, and deserves to be recorded in the pages of this work. Donald Archer, a grazier, near Paisley in Scotland, had long kept a fine dog for the purpose of attend

ing his cattle on the mountains, a service which he performed with the greatest vigilance. The grazier having a young puppy given him by a friend, brought it home to his house, and was remarkably fond of it; but whenever the puppy was caressed, the old cur dog would snarl and apdear greatly dissatisfied; and when at times it came to eat with old Brutus, a dislike was evident, which at last made him leave the house, and notwithstanding every search was made after him by his master, he was never able to discover his abode.

About four years after the dog had eloped, the grazier had been driving a herd of cattle to a neighboring fair, where he disposed of them, received money, and was bent on returning home. He had proceeded near ten miles on his journey, when he was overtaken by a tempest of wind and rain, that raged with such violence, as to cause him to look for a place of shelter; but not being able to perceive any house at hand, he struck out of the main road, and ran towards a wood that appeared at some distance, where he escaped the storm by crouching under the trees. It was thus he insensibly departed from the proper way he had to go, until he had actually lost himself, and knew not where he was. He travelled, however, according to the best of his judgment, though not without the fear of meeting danger from the attack of robbers, whose depredations had lately been the terror of the neighboring country. A smoke that came from some bushes, convinced him that he was near a house, to which he thought it prudent to go, in order that he might learn where he was, and procure refreshment; accordingly he crossed a path and came to the door, knocked, and demanded admission; the landlord, a surly looking fellow, gave him an invitation to enter and be seated, in a room that wore but an indifferent aspect. Our traveller was hardly seated before the fire, when he was saluted with equal surprise and kindness, by his former dog, old Brutus, who came wagging his tail, and demonstrating all the gladness he could express. Archer iminediately knew the animal, and was astonished at thus unexpectedly finding him so many miles from home; he did not, however, think proper to inquire of his host, at that time, how he came into his possession, as the appearance of every thing about him

rendered his situation unpleasant. By this time it was dark, the weather still continued rainy, and no opportunity presented itself to the unfortunate grazier, by which he might pursue his journey; he remembered, however, to learn of the landlord where he was, who informed him that he was fourteen miles from Paisley, and that if he ventured out again before day-light, it was almost impossible for him to find his way, as the night was so bad; but if he chose to remain where he was, every thing should be done to render his situation comfortable. The grazier was at a loss how to act; he did not like the house he was in, nor the suspicious looks of the host and family-but to go out in the wood during the dark, and to encounter the violence of the conflicting elements, might, in all probability, turn out more fatal than to remain where he was. He therefore resolved to wait the morning, let the event be what it would. After a short conversation with the landlord, he was conducted to a room and left to take his repose.

It is necesary to observe, that from the first moment of Archer's arrival, the dog had not left him an instant, but had even followed him into his chamber, where he placed himself under the bed, unperceived by the landlord. The door being shut, our traveller began to revolve in his mind the singular appearance of his old companion, his lonely situation, and the manners of those about the house; the whole of which tended to confirm his suspicion of being in a place of danger and uncertainty. His reflections were soon interrupted by the approach of his dog, who came fawning from under the bed, and, by several extraordinary gestures, endeavored to direct his attention to a particular corner of the room, where he proceeded, and saw a sight that called up every sentiment of horror: the floor was stained with blood, which seemed to flow from a closet, that was secured by a lock which he endeavored to explore, but could not open it. No longer doubting his situation, but considering himself as the next victim of the wretches into whose society he had fallen, he resolved to sell his life, as dear as possible, and to perish in the attempt, or effect his deliverance. With this determina tion, he pulled out his pistols, and softly opened the door, honest Brutus at his heels, with his shaggy hair, erect like the bristles of a boar bent on destruction. He reached the