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well calculated for the purposes to which it was adapted by those whose history we are to relate-being environed by many rocky eminences, whose bases were but the summit of a lofty and almost inaccessible mountain.

In this gloomy retreat, assembled in the early part of our revolutionary war, an association of desperate individuals, avowedly united for the support of the royal cause, but whose subsequent deeds, manifested them rather, "By bold ambition led, and bolder thirst "Of gold-"

bited districts, about that dismal hour. when night is "just at odds with day." Their victims, surprized and unprepared, could offer no resistance; and the ready relinquishment of their most valuable articles, generally secured them from further annoyance. The barns and stables were never forgotten; and no steed that could himself "carry his slow length along," failed accompanying them, with the "moveables" of his master. Their very careful attention to this department of their vocation, gained them the distinguishing epithet which was in that day prefixed to their professional ap

In the common language of the day, they were designated (however in-pellation. Sometimes, the banditti

gloriously) "the horse thieves"; but as their actions excited much more terror than contempt, we shall be excused in awarding them the more dignified title of the "Rock-House Banditti." Their chosen leader was a native of the contiguous country, and in every respect was well qualified for the station to which he had been called. His name was Claudius; and his whole life wanted nothing but political importance, to have rendered it a fit parallel for the Roman despot whose cognominal attribute had been commemorated. Next in power was Rovelines; he too was a native of the bordering country, and in no wise unworthy of the confidence reposed in him. Of the other individuals of this band of marauders, little is known, and even their names are now no longer remembered.

would amuse themselves with throwing the looking-glasses and china out of the windows, or with scattering the contents of the feather beds in the air; but to the persons of the plundered, they rarely offered molestation. Growing bolder however, by repeated success, they commenced a more vigorous system of measures; and on one occasion they hung an honest old Scotchman to the door post, because he was a little tardy in disclosing the place of his secreted treasures; but as he soon made satisfactory signs of having recovered his communicativeness, he was taken down, after suffering little other inconvenience than a short strangulation, and a very considerable fright. A proceeding, somewhat similar, soon after succeeded; but without the slight justification which attended the other, and with a result far more tragical. Having ravaged a house in one of their excursions, they with wanton cruelty led its tenant to the orchard, where "on the first tree, he was hung alive," while the banditti, mounting their stolen animals, returned to the cavern in the mountains. The inhabitants of the country, who had hitherto borne these outrages with stoical resignation, now became aroused, and called loudly on the authorities for protection; while old Governor Clinton issued procla

To detail the numerous robberies of this mountain horde, would require a volume; and we shall therefore only give a description of their general mode of operations, with a brief notice of a few of their most prominent actions. A dark night was usually selected, when Claudius and Rovelines, at the head of their clan, descended the rugged declivities which surrounded their rocky abode, and winding their way along the gloomy valley which leads through the mountains, they sallied forth into the inha-mation for the apprehension of Clau

dius and his associates, "dead or alive!" But the wary banditti of the Rock-house, evaded all pursuit: when it became too close, they retired with in the enemy's lines, at New-York, (the usual market for their spoils): and were less frequent in their visits to their favourite cavern, and consequent excursions to the villages "beyond the high hills of the Highlands;" as an old land patent hath designated || these regions.

ground, which he occupied when alive:" "Quem quisque vivus pugnando locum ceperot, cum, amissa anima, corpore tegebat."

Their remains lay for many years exposed, on the side of the mountain where they fell; but at a later period their bones were collected, and received those sepulchral rites, which the exasperated feelings of the community had so long denied them.

Claudius, with the remnant of his band, reached New-York in safety. Sometime afterwards he passed over to Long-Island: but his movements were closely watched; and a party of enterprizing islanders, whose patriotism had exiled them to the shores of New England, resolved to secure his person. They accordingly crossed the Sound, in a whale-boat, during the night, and after marching several miles, reached the habitation where he lodged. They were admitted without hesitation, and a fire-brand from the hearth, lighted them to the cham

The marauding career of the band was now near its close. Having surrounded a house one night, they surprized a sergeant and his guard who had been in quest of a deserter. He was paroled however, on condition of his raising no alarm, until they had secured their retreat. The scrupulous "man of blood" kept his word; but "a quaker sly" upon whom they imposed a similar restriction, preserved "no faith with heretics," and without delay gave information to the garrison, at the block-house near the confines of the mountains. A pursuitber of Claudius; the door was forced,

was immediately commenced, and the band over taken; they fought with desperate valour, but were routed in all directions.

and before he could seize the pistols, upon which he always slept, a dozen bayonets were at his breast. Resistance would have been in vain; and he was bound hand and foot, transported to the boat, and thence across the Sound, to Connecticut. Eventu

Claudius with a few others escaped by plunging down a precipice, and following a bye path which led to the Hudson river. Rovelines, while dis-ally, he was carried on a horse, with

playing a resolution and conduct worthy of the leader of armies, was shot through the head by a sharp-sighted militia man of Shawangunk. The remainder of the band experienced a similar fate; each man, after the example of the Roman conspirators, covering with his body the same

† This antiquated but poetical quotation, was the subject of a long investigation, in a celebrated law-suit, which occurred in that country, about thirty years ago. The plhrase had been used in defining a boundary of an extensive tract of land, and as the decision involved a large amount of property, the counsel on either side, used every exertion in support of an interpretation that suited their respective interests.

his feet chained under the body of the animal, to the country which had been the scene of his depredations. Of his innumerable crimes, the proof was superabundant, and Claudius was doomed to undergo the extreme sentence of the law.

At the gallows he evinced the same utter disregard of all moral restrictions that had been manifested in every action of his life; and his last exploit, (like that of Jonathan Wild) was the kicking off his shoes, in order to falsify a jocular prediction of his mother. The last dire signal was given, and the celebrated chieftain of the mountain horde, was numbered with the

CLAUDINE.

AN INTERESTING SWISS TALE.

(Continued from page 228.)

"The curate allowed him to weep for some time without saying a word; at length he wished to consult with him relative to the measures it was necessary to take, in order to save the honour of Claudine; but Simon interrupted him: "Master curate," said he, "it is impossible to save that which is lost; every means we could take would render us more culpable, by obliging us to tell lies. The unhappy wretch must no longer remain here; she would be the scandal of us all, and the punishment of her father! let her be gone, master curate; let her live, since infamy can live; but let me die far distant from her. Let her depart this very day; she must leave this country, and never let her again present herself before my gray hairs, which she has dishonoured."

"The curate tried to soften Simon, but his efforts were in vain. Simon repeated the positive order for the departure of Claudine. Our good old curate was going away in sadness, when the old man ran after him, brought him back into his apartment, and shut the door; then putting into his hand an old purse of leather, containing fifty crowns. 'Master curate,' said he, this wretch will be in want of every thing. Give her these fifty crowns, not as from me, but as a charity from yourself: tell her it is the goods of the poor, which compassion induces you to bestow on her; and if you could write to any one in her favour, or give her a letter of recommendation-I know your goodness; and I neither wish to hear, or to speak any more about her."

"The currate answered him by a squeeze of the hand, then ran to meet Nanette, who was waiting for him in the street, more dead than alive. Go instantly, said he, 'and pack up all your sister's clothes, and bring them to my house. She obeyed with tears

in her eyes, being but too sure of
what had happened, and put into
Claudine's bundle the little money she
was mistress of. She then returned
to the curate, who related to her the
conversation he had with Simon, and
gave her a long letter for the curate of
Salenches, and said to her, 'My dear
child, you must this very day conduct
your sister to Salenches; give her this
purse, and this letter to my good bro-
ther. Accompany her to the village,
and then return to your father, who has
occasion for your wisdom and virtue,
to lessen the chagrin produced by the
conduct of your sister." Nanette, sigh-
ing, went in quest of her sister on
Montanverd. She found Claudine
stretched weeping on the ground; but
when she heard that her departure
must be immediate, she screamed, and
tore her hair, repeating continually,
I am banished with my father's
curse! Kill me! my sister, kill me!
or I will throw myself over this pre-
cipice. Gradually she became more
calm, by promising that things might
still be made up. At length Claudine
resolved to set out; and at night-fall
they took the road to Salenches, avoid-
ing our village, where, notwithstand-
ing the darkness, poor Claudine would
have thought that every one saw her
crime painted in her face.

"It was a melancholy journey, as you may easily imagine; nor did they arrive till break of day. Nanette took her leave of Claudine before they entered the village, and, after pressing her a long while to her bosom, left her, being nearly as miserable as her unhappy sister.

"As soon as Claudine found herself alone, all her courage deserted her: she hid herself in the mountain, and passed the whole day without taking any nourishment; but when the night drew on, her fears forced her towards the village, where she inquired for the house of the curate, and knocked softly at the door, which was opened by an old housekeeper. "Claudine said she came from M.

the curate of Prieure. The housekeeper led her directly to her master, who was then alone, eating his supper by the corner of his fire. Without uttering a word, or lifting her eyes, Claudine, with a trembling hand, delivered the letter; and, while the curate drew near the light, in order to read it, the poor girl covered her face with her hands, and dropped on her knees near the door. The curate of Salenches is a good and a worthy man, and is respected as a parent by his whole parish. When he had finished the letter, and turning his head saw this young girl on her knees, and bathed with tears, he also wept. raised her, praised the sincerity of her repentance, gave her hopes of a pardon for a fault that had cost her so many tears, and obliged her to eat in spite of her refusal; then calling his governess, desired her to prepare a bed for Claudine.

He

"Claudine, surprised to find any one who did not despise her, kissed his hands without saying a word. He spoke to her in the most friendly manner, and inquired after his good brother the curate. He dwelt with pleasure on the good deeds of that worthy man, and observed, that one of the most pleasing duties of their ministry was to console the unhappy, and heal the broken hearted. Claudine listened with respectful gratitude. He appeared to her as an angel sent from heaven to comfort her. After supper she retired to bed in a calmer state of mind; and if she did not sleep, she

at least rested.

"On the morrow the good curate searched through Salenches for a little chamber where Claudine might lie in. An old woman, called Madame Felix, offered an apartment, and promised

tion of mind that Claudine had sustained, brought on the premature birth of a fine boy, beautiful as the day, whom Madame Felix caused to be baptized by the name of Benjamin.

"The curate was desirous of immediately putting the child out to nurse; but Claudine declared with tears in

her eyes, that she would rather die than be separated from Benjamin. She was allowed to keep him for the first few days; at the end of which time her maternal fondness had increased. The curate reasoned with her; represented to her, that such conduct deprived her of all hopes of ever returning to Chamouny, or of being reconciled to her father. Claudine's only answer was to embrace Benjamin. The time slipped on; Claudine nursed her child, and remained with Madame Felix, who loved her with all her heart.

"The fifty crowns from her father, and the little money Nanette had put into her bundle, had hitherto paid her expenses. Nanette did not dare to come to see her; but she sent her all she could spare, and thus Claudine wanted for nothing. She employed her time in learning to read and write of the old lady, who had formerly kept a school at Bonville, and in taking care of Benjamin, Claudine was not unhappy, and little Benjamin grew charmingly; but such happiness could not last. One morning the curate of Salenches came to pay her a visit.

"My dear girl," said he, "when I received you under my protection, when I covered your fault with the mantle of charity, my design was to take care of your child, to enable him to gain his bread; and I hoped, during that interval, to have appeased the anger of your father; to have prevailed on him to receive you once Claudine re more into his house, where your rein the evening; the curate paid three months' rent in advance; the old lady pentance, your modesty, your love of passed her for a niece lately married virtue, and of labour, might gradually have induced him to forget the distresat Chambery; and every thing was ses of which you have been the source. settled. Indeed it was high time, for the fatiguing journey, and the agita- || But this plan you have yourself op

repaired

thither