the American Volunteer EVKRY THURSDAY MORNING John B. Bratton, OFFICE-^ 0 UTS MARKE&6Q UARB. rKßiis.'tTffo dollars per year if paid strictly ..trance. Two UOUats *“ d d w lthln three months, Three mUars will be ohorgqd. These; yna will be idiy adhered to in every inah ;«ce. No sub- dlscontlneed tmtll are S jd unless at the option ,of th&Editor. . , . PEOPLE WILL TALK. You way get through the world, but ’twill be very slow, If you listen to all that Is said oa you go; you’ll be worried and fretted, and kept In a stew, For-meddlesomo tongues will have something to do, For people will talk. K quiet and modest you’ll have It presumed Tbat your humble position Is only assumed; You’re a wolf in sheep’s clothing, or else you’re afool; But don’t be excited—keep perfectly cool— For people will talk. And then, if you show the' least boldness' of heart, oro alight Inclination to take your own part They will call you an upstart, conceited and vain; gut keep'-straight ahead—don’t stop .to - ex* plhlu*- For people will talk, if threadbare your-dross, old-fashioned your hat, Some one will surely toko notice of that, And hint rather ■ strong that yon can’t pay ; yonr way; Hot don’t got excited, whatever they say. . For people will talk. I f y OU dress in the fashion, don't thing to es cape, ' For they criticise then Ih a different shape; you’re ahead of your means, and your tailor’s unpaid, put mind your own business—there’s naught to he made— For people will talk. Now, the best way to do, Is to do as you please, For your mind, if you have one, Is sure to be at ease, *■ Of course, you will meet with all sorts of abuse; But don’t think to stop them—it ain’t any use— ' For people will talk. ||Ksallaiiem ON THE WINGS OF THE WIND. i do uut think I ever felt prouder my life tliau I did one morning when iltr. JOl) IT* uui looonanttvtt accosted mo as I was making ready the JlUwauklo to take the through train westward — “ Well, George,, my boy, heard the uews?” “ Guess not, eh? You ain’t got to run this route again !” I turned pale, fearing that I hud got myself lute some scrape. But X only said— _____ "Why, sir?” " Why,” he replied, smlllug at my scared looks-, " because you are put up in Abe’s place.' You feel • kinder spry, I reckon.” I did not teel " kinder spry,” for Abe, u first-rate hand, had just been prompted, with a handsome douceur, for gallant i conduct upon a certain occasion. I was uia companion on that occasion, and as its adventure Was the cause of my being made an engine driver, I will, with your permission, proceed to relate it without furthAs^uraface.’ Booh after pay arrival in the Htatea, i succeeded in obtaining a situation ns fire man on one nftho trunk lines. After a time I became; associated with Abel Storer, who had the reputation of a first class engine driver, though , he was to my taste a little too and when In liquor nothing daunted him. From Abel I heard many tales respect ing the' encounters he had with the “ white Injuns” as he denominated cer tain filibustering gentlemen ,who had a playful habit of disguising themselves as Indians, and carrying off any species of ammunition,centalned in the wagons. At timel, indeed, I believe they did not hesitate to commit the moat dreadful out rages under the guise of the, war paint. , One morning, about two mouths after my having been appointed fireman, we got orders to take a train ’ down to Lah derville. Abel was accordingly in great hope o( shooting some “Injuns” and provided himself wiih'a quantity of am munition for: a six shooter. I, more skeptical, neglected this precaution. We started, however, having a quantity of specie in boxes,some valuable stores, and a mixed.cargo of notions in our charge. We had received instructions to wait at Bunker city lor a faster’ train with pas sengers, and then, if it had not previous ly run into us, to assist it up the steep incline at that place, our train being sub sequently helped by another locomo tive. We arrived at Bunkum siding in safe ty about five o’clock, and then proceeded to look out for some food for ourselves.— We pitched upon aamallstore, where we managed to procure food and some of tho most flery stuff, (miscalled whiskey) that I ever tasted. Abel drank- it greedily, while I devoted myself to the food. We were on.the'eve of departure, as two rough fellows entered, and demand ed liquor, “ taking stock” of us as they swaggered about. Seeing that Abel was becoming more Intoxicated, and recollecting . that , the passenger train iniist .be due, I attempted to remove him; .hut-one of the strangers,- stepping forward, requested, us to “liquor him” before we.started. 1 Abel grunted a drunken assent, and Tj not dating to re fuse, sat down,-while the drink was be ing prepared. During the concoction of the “ reviver” Abel kept wandering aimlessly about; swaggering recklessly against the tables, and when the glass was at length pre sented for my abceptan ce, ho lurched heavily against the stranger.,Crash went the tumbler upon the-floor -while amid a Tolley of curses, 1 dragged the. offender from the house, and inauaged to regain the engine unmolested. Anticipating we should be followed, I kept Abel's revolver in readiness, but af ter a time I noticed two figures proceed ing in the direction of some log huts, which lay some distance doWn the line on the left. As'the strangers disappear ed over the brow ofcthehll, I turned roy attention to Abel. To my astonishment, he responded to my first adjurations by saying, as he gained a sitting position : “Darn them cusses! They' have got right away 1” For a moment. I stared at him In speechless surprise. “ Why, I thought you were drunk," I crUd at length. “Drunkl" he echoed ; “ those fellows would-have had you on your back in a coon’s jump, but for mo. I know them, the Injun thieves, they're after our spe cie, my boy, as sure as shootln' j but I’ll tall ’em, the vermins. Which In thespe- L *l» wagon ?" the V 1 ■ . • :n ■ ■ ’ '•< ■ .•••'!; ■. ; BY JOHN B. BRATTON. “Number eight,” T replied, wonder- Ingly. ■ " Off With it, and tackle it on the pas senger train,” orled Abel, excitedly; we’ll flx their flints yet, by gosh!" So we set to work with a will, but while we are uncoupling the wagon, the other train arrived. Abel communicated bis suspicion to the conductor, and in a few momenta the specie’ was safely inclu ded among the passenger oars. By this time the evening was closing in, and we bad placed the train on the siding at the top of the incline, to clear the track for the passengers. I began to hope that our fears of an attack were groundless. We ran down again with steam on to get in the rear of the passenger train, and the other engine followed at a little dis tance, As our engine neared the point, just below the log huts I have mention ed, several figures rose from their con cealment- Without warning of any kind they deliberately fired at the engines as they passed. * Surprise, more than fear, kept us for a moment Inactive,.but Abel quickly recovered himself. Hbouting to me to lie down, he discharged two bar rels at our nearest assailant. With a groan, he fell dead in bis tracks. In a few seconds we had run out of range, but those upon theother engine were less for tunate. Unarmed as.tbey were, the driver and fireman could make no resistance, and we, as well as the passengers, who were now turning out their, assistance, were obliged to remain passive spectators. The poor fellows were tumbled off the engine, and the intention to seize the specie was now evident. But in this way they were foiled. Some of the passengers, having got within ranee, had by this tline com menced a pretty hot fire on the filibus ters, who now found themselves In u fix, us Abel reversing bis engine, returned to the attack. Their position thus be coming untenable, they started their en gine, and ran quickly out of the rangeof the passengers’ fire. But Nemesis was behind them, Abel seeiug.tbeir manoeu vre, turned on full pressure, uuu'snruiu he'd shoot them ere be slept. NoW commenced the most extraordi nary chase I ever heard of. The engine in front bad a start of about half a mile, but Wo had the great power, and under stood the management of the machine.— Both locomotives were well supplied with wood and water. One of our oppo nents attempted to jump off, and the speed was for a moment slackened, but be was hurled upon the line a bleeding mass. His terrible fate deterred bis com panions, who increased their distance and disappeared oyer the brow of the ■hll). ! We followed, going, at a terrible rate.tbunjping'aud oscillating to such a degVOe'dpon the uneven track that I fan cied We shout'd run off the line. We kept our.ilpurse, however, gaining lightly for atlnie. Abel taking every opportunity of sending a bullet through, the weather boaid of the retreating engine. . As; the excitement cooled a little, .1, for the first time, discovered that I had been hit. A tickling of blood froia a wound In my arm, and a numb sensation, were everything but agreeable. Although a bandage stopped the bleeding and, we weie then at liberty to observe the chase once more. Darkness came on, yet there, was no token of any abatement of speed, nor any apparent change in our relative positions. Occasionally a definite whis tle was borne back to us, but still we swept through the night. Suddenly the red glow upon the track in front of us seemed to stop. We neared it rapidly. ” Dive!” roared Abel, just in time. As he spoke two allots came whizzing thto’ the class in front, and fell harmless from the Iron plate behind ns. • < A shave, that!” laughed my compan ion, " but I'll be quits.” As he sporkehe got out upon the frame, and told me to lie down. '■ What on earth are you about ?” His reply made me shudder. " I’m going to kill them on that en gin’, good-bye, friend." He was gone— creeping over the wheel casings to the buffer beam. Now determined to win, I employed every means to do so. We were surely gaining. Another log upon the already roaring furnace. The valves disohareeda cloud of hissing team, but bn X went hurrying to destruction. In a few moments more the engines were almost touching; another shot; bul no harm was done- We bumped! a grinding noise was heard, then another bump. “Hurrah,” I cried, or rather tried to cry, for my thrqat was so parched that I could scarcely utter a sound, and re. gar .Hess of risk, was about to join Abel, when a shrill noise rose beneath us, and the other engine shot off into the dark ness ahead of us. With ah oath I shutoff the steam, (further progress T kiiewlt was impossible,with heated- maohinery,) and shouted to-AtJel. Assobn aa-I obiild pull up I jumped off and ran to the front. Abel had disappeared 1 Gracious-heaven! had he fallen when the engines touched? I began to fear the worst, and to call wildly in the vain hope that ho might hear, but the whisper of the wind was the only reply. It was, impossible that he could have gained the foot plate of the • other locomotive, and escaped in stant death ; had he fallen, the engine would have killed him. Thus I argued, and after a tlifao mechanically filled a pipe, and took the lamp behind to oil the cranks. Looking at my watch, 1 found we had been running 30 minutes, and at such a pace I knew the up mall was not far distant, and that Landerviile was only a few miles off. So I ran gen tly ahead again, and had not proceeded far when a sudden “ lift” of the euglhe nearly threw mo down. I stopped and descended. At the side of the track lay a body horribly disfigured. The cow ■ catcher had struck him, and dragged diim along. An Indefinite sensation of Tear took possession of me. Was this Abel after all ? It was too awful; I managed, however, to turn the corpse upon its back. The features were Indistinguishable, but all doubt was speedily set at rest; for by my lantern’s light I recognized Abel’s cap tightly clasped in the dead man s band. I staggered against the engine, and now the excitement was all over, sobbed like a child. The passengers in the train we had left, the up mall, all were forgot ten, until X bad reverently plaoed the boby on the engine. The silence was terrible. I persevered until I bad cover ed the remains of my poor mate ns well gs possible, and as 1 sat down upon the engine rail, Ifancied I heard tlle distant' nettle of an approaching train. I rose and listened . intently. After a panse, a whistle long, though very lalrit, broke the stillness, I stood rready to tan if oc casion demanded It, when again the whistle rose, this time loud and.clear;, and aiter dying away into a long, wail ing sound,suddenly ended in three sharp, quick notes. My heart leaped to my throat—this was Abel Storer’a signal. With trembling fingers I replied. In a few moments a dark object loomed up in front, and Abel's “ hallo" was ringing In iny ears. In two seconds more I was beside him. ; “ Don't ring a man's arm off," he re plied, “I’m rather done.” “ Good heavens 1 bow did you escape?” I said, “I'd a toughisb 'bout of it,” Abel re plied, “ but by gosh, I’ve won." “ I fancied you were shot," said X.— “ Book here," taking him to his own en gine I showed him the body which still lay there In ail.its, ghastly reality. . “Shot,” he laughed, in no way affect ed by the sight, “ no sir ; that's the coon I piped in the skull;, be grabbed my cap, too, I may as well have it again, I guess.” So saying, be released the dusty head covering from his late antagonist’s grasp, and calmly brushing it, continued —“ Yes, you see, when thedlglues closed I leaped on the step, and spotted this fel low at once—didn't you hear the shot I 1 !’ I said I had heard a uoise, but fancied that it was a steam pipe that had given way. “ No,” he sold, “ that was my first fire. These Injuns had but one “ derrick" be tween them, and. this fellow was about to use it in my favor, but I luckily stop ped that. The other tried a knife on my sklu, but be was soon plugged. Then I bad to go to iauderville to give informa- tion, and was returning for you when I saw your bead lamp and whistled accor dingly—that’s all I” < “Is the unfortunate man dead ?” I asked. "Not he,” replied Abel, “ l only shot uo‘ll“wac "lila' arm, I reckon. We’d better be going and seeing about the passengers now.” We then coupled the engines, and leav ing the dead undisturbed on one, moun ted the other. On, arriving at Buukum city we told our tale, to which'the man gled body of the filibuster bore addition al testimony, and after a detention of rather mote than an hour, the passengers were dispatched upon their journey. Upon oiir return. to headquarters we were specially thanked, and otherwise more substantially rewarded. Abel was promoted to a more comfortable and per manent berth In Now York city, while I was made an engine driver, with the Ulghest-Boale of pay, In his stead. What befel me in my new appoint ment, my. readers may perhaps bo in formed upon a future opportunity. FOE LIFE AND LOVE. Harrie Van Gelder was the most’pro voking, ’ pretty, altogether charming little coquette that ever drove a devo ted lover distracted with her capricious ways. Fair-headed, blue-eyed Florian Courtland was handsome and winning enough to have enslaved some other woman, but his heart was bound up in the brunette beauty who daily destroy ed his peace. She loved him for all that, but he tried iu vain to make her confess it. It was in the springtime of the year, and had rained almost incessantly for nearly two weeks. Harrie Van Qeld er resided with her aunt, Miss Hannah Llnwood, in Thornway, a village about eight miles from the city where Florian dourtland practiced law; and Florian grew impatient for fair weather and a chance to visit his refractory beloved. There was little immediate prospect of a cessation of the rain, anyone morn* ing the ardent lover resolved to set the weather at defiance; and accordingly he sent out for a horse, and prepared for his stormy ride. He came down from his. room, arrayed in a watsr proof coat, thick boots' and coarse gloves ; a glaced cap covering his curl ing golden hair, and a riding'whip in l his hand. On any other errand it would have been an exceedingly despairing ride and if he had been bound for any other destination, he would certainly have tamed back; but the thought of meet ing Harrie stirred him forward. The way grew worse with every mile; his horse plodded slowly through the mud, stumbling now and then, in some’of the many ruts and pitfalls ; the rain poured steadily down, beating into his face and running in streams from his cap; and he was very thankful when at last he came within the vicinity of “ Llnwood,” as the estate of Harrle’s aunt was named; He hud taken a seldom used by-road to shorten the distance to Llnwood, where the road was divided by a-small stream, which bounded one side of the estate, and was crossed by fording.— But now, the long rains had swollen the waters to a flood, and the streams lashed into foam and tossed into bil lows by its own velocity, rushed on ward at a rate that mode tho thought of fording it a wild insanity. With a mental anathema against his own stu pidity in not thinking of this Court land turned to retrace his way to the main road, two miles back, where the little river was spanned by a bridge.— Opposite him, across the stream, he could see the gray walls of Linwood, and In his anxiety to be within them, the two miles seemed like twenty. • But the bridge was reached at last and crossed. Florian had noticed, as he approached tho bridge, that the land, at ’a little distance below it, which was low and flat, was completely flooded, the river overflowing here, having submerged it to a great extent.) A point or knoll of land, close upon the river’s bank, remained dry, form ing a iittle Island in the midst of tho whirling muddy flood; and upon the Island stood a small u’npainted wooden house, which as Florian perceived with concern, was evidently occupied, for a thin blue wreath of smoke was ascend ing from the chimney. If there were people in that dwelling their situation was most perilous, a? Iho water xyas CARLISLE. PA., THU? rialnt tost, and-threatened-sooh to' cove? ’ the land and sweep away the 1 housp. Florian ttirned aside from the high way and rode down to the edge‘of the flooded lowland; as he approached the water’s edge he saw a female form at the window of the threatened dwelling, and a handkerchief was waved implor ingly toward him. Unhesitatingly he rode into the wa ter, which, for some distance, was not over his horse’s back; but it soon grew deeper, forcing the animal to swim.— Florian urged him forward, and draw ing near the bouse, the door was thrown open, and he cried out in affrighted surprise, for there stood Miss Llnwood and Harrie Van Gelder 1 “ Harrie I” cried Florian, “ for heav: en’s sake, how came you here ?” . “ We came to see a sick woman,” re plied Harrie, with prompt coolness, “ and the water rose before we—” “It is rising now, and tost,”, he in terrupted, excitedly, “and there is no time to waste, i My horse will carry two. Which of you shall I take flrst?” “ The sick woman flrst,” said Har rie, quietly. Flirt, coquette, as she was called, and not without cause, yet the element of heroism was in her nature. She was as calm and cool, now, as she had eyer been in her life, while her aunt stood trembling, and Florian was pale with excitement. Florian trembled too, as he looked at the feeble old woman,, whom Miss Linwood was assisting from her chair to the door, and whom he had not noticed, until Harrie called his attention to her. He trembled with the appalling fear that there would not be time to go and return twice, before the. swiftly-rising waters,.should have torn the frail structure from its founda tions, for there was already an inch of water on the floor.. But he only cast one. glance at Hwria’a_calraface, and stoop.ed to. lift the sick woman up,belbre him.' Without a word he turned, ms horse toward the shore, and the good; beast, with its double burden, struggled back through tho flood. Harrie and her aunt waited shiver ing as they watched the water growing deeper and deeper upon tho floor and heard the waves wash, with an ever louder sound, against the frail four walls that stood between them and death. They saw Florian reach the shore, place the sick woman upon the ground, 'throw off the heaviest of his clothing, and turn his now unwilling steed toward the house again. They were standing knee deep in water when he once more approached she already shaking building. He did not speak a word, bnt looked silently from Harrie to her aunt, his white face growing whiter yet, as Harrie said, in steady tones: ■“ Aunt. Hanna flcatJ’ s f commenced Mias' Lin- “ Harrie—’ wood. “Go, aurit Hanna !” “ Harrie, I won’t 1” “ You must,” said Harrie firmly. “Harrie! Harrie! for pity’s sake—” “You are delaying her, Miss Han nah,” exclaimed Florian, hoarsely.— “Come—she will not yield, if she dies." With a groan Miss Linwood gave up, and he lifted her upon his.horse. The turbulent waters rushed into the room, and Harrie staggered and clung to the wall for support. Florian’s face was ghastly, and he bent forward and placed his hand upon her shoulder whispering in a choked voice : ; “ Kiss me Harrie.” She put her arms around his neck and kissed him, a long, passionate kiss, which was their first, and might be their' last. He strained her to him, saying: ’ “ Harrie, you do love me ?” “ Yes, Florian.” Then she leaned against tho wall again, as he went, and hid her face, trying to shut out the sight of those yellow waters, creeping up the side of the room, higher and higher with every wave that rolled in-through the door. As Florian reached the shore, a car riage was approaching in the distance rocking from side to side with the fu rious speed to which the driver was' lashing the horses. “It is the carriage from Linwood,” said Miss Hannah, “we have been afraid of a freshet, and they have taken alarm, and come to look for us.” Florian did not hear her ; he was urging his exhausted horse into the flood again. The poor beast trembled anji hesitated, but Fofian spurred him flerdely on, smiting him with his clenched fist, and shouting at him in lus -‘frantic excitement, He was half mad with agony, as he looked across the turbid waters to the half submerg ed house, and saw that they had risen above the top of Its door, and Harrie had’climbed up through the loft to the roof, where she clung in momentary peril of death. When the hurrying carriage reached the spot, and Miss Linwood’s coach man leaped to the ground, Florian was half way back to Harrie. Mistress and man stood with pallid faces and hearta that hardly beat, silently watching the beautiful girl, as she. clung to her frail support: and the young man, with his white fade, and his golden hair blowing back,'as he dashed madly through tho flood to her rescue. 4 While they watched a great billow came roiling in from -the river, roaring fearfully-, and tossing ita yellow water, as it dashed upon IJarfio’s refuge. Alisa Llnwood screamed, and her servant ut- terdd a hoarse cry, for where the house bad Been was a whirling wreck of boards and timbers, and Florian’s horse was struggling riderless toward the shore I . .. But another moment, and they saw that Harrie yet clung to the floating roof and Forlan was beside her upon it. Seizing a long board, as the waters whirled it within reach, he guided tho frail raft with it to tho shore. As he neared tho land, tho coachman from Linwood leaped into the water and came to his assistance; and In a few jim , r . moments they were -all standing; mpoui the' land,' 'dripping, but pro-' foundiy thankftil party. They proceeded as fast as the carriage could carry them, to. Lin wood, where they all 1 found plenty of employment for the remainder 6f the day in gOttlng rid of the effects, of their perilous a’dventure—so far as they could do so. ,SMY, JULY 4=*, 1812. It transpired that, the sick woman had 1 not received; any injury; Mias Hannah, hadcaught a slight cold; Har-, rio had, caught a severe one, and Pieri an caught^Harrie. THE PLOT AGAINST HA¥LEY. CHAPTER I. HOW THE PLOT ORIGINATED. Near noon, the sth of September, 1852, a'mah laboring under great ex citement wd4 Walking hurriedly up Broadway i "New York. ,His features were Unshed and convulsed, his glances wild nnd restless, his whole mein in dieativp'of keen anguish. Turning to the‘right into Bleeoker, street, he soon reached a plain three story hud basement brick house, do Which he gave himself admittance. ‘ Are you there, Ruth?’ he called from 1 the hall. A step was heard overhead, followed by tlie.rastling of a dress, and a young lady descended the front stairs. Des pite several points of marked contrast, there was a family likeness about the couple; that proclaimed them to be brother and sister. ‘Why, what’s the .matter, Luke?’ cried the latter,starting at sight of the disturbed countenance 'that met 1 her view. ‘ Are ymi'ijl?’ , , ‘ I’ve just received'bah replied the brother, leading the way into the parlor— 1 news which has given me' a iterribie shook.’ ; • Shocked ? You ! Whpt has happen ed?’ ._!■ ■■■-■ . lu-a word. Clara Aymar is marri ed I’ ' * Married !’ echoed', the sister, recoil*, ingi ‘ Clara Aymar married! Is it possible?’ ‘Yes, married 1 ! the girl I’ve been laying siege to for years past—the only girl 1 ever cared, a pin for. Imagine the shoqk this event gives me. I’m nearly crazy.’ . • Then you really idved her?’ . ‘ Loved her ! I must have worshipp ed her, or pise this thing' would not have so completely upset me.’ ‘ Oh, as' tb that,'the loss'of a thing al ways gives us an exaggerated notion of it value,’ said the sister philosophically as she sank languidly into an easy chair, and smoothed out a fold in her showy morning robh, ‘ You are sim ply shocked, as you: sky. But by to morrow you will laugh afcsthe whole matter.’ - I jjon’t'. Ruth.',’ iiuplored the pr&iheA, -sinking heavily Intr/ the /nearest ch’abfi ‘ Clara Aymer la more to me.than.myj life! 1 My love for her is ; a delirium l :! It’s no such passing fancy as you sup pose, but an everlasting passion—a rage.—a good of molien. lava! And I’ve counted all along upon marrying her. 1 True, she has rejected me twice, but I thought she’d change her mind—’ ‘ She was in no way committed to you ?’ ‘No, of course not. She has never given me any encouragement. But I am nope the less surprised. I supposed that every thing was favorable enough to niy wishes. I knew that she was young to marry—an orphan—without money and without friends—presuma bly without suitors; and. I, flattered myself that she couldn’t’' always re main insensible to my attentions.’ ‘"You reasoned wisely enough, of course, Luke; but reason never decides these matters,’ declared the sister, with a sort of contemptous compassion. ‘ A 'whim—a chahce'meeting—a smile or a word—a moment’s weakness— any trifle—these areathe things by which marriages are brought about. But' who isthe bridegroom ?’ ■ ‘ Ah! that’s a point that will touch youti little; I think, Can’t you guess who he is?’ 11 ‘ I haven’t; the .least'idea.’ • Well, then; he’s Will. Hawley.’ The sister'sprang abruptly‘to her. feet, clasping . both hands to heart.— The chaiiging colors of lier brother, agitation, hia anguish, all passed to her own featlires. 1 ■ ■. ‘Will. Hawley?’ she gasped. ‘Oh you don’t mean it* Luke !’' ‘ But I do though-.- It’s God’s truth.. Clara Aymer and Will. Hawley -aroi husband and wife.’ ‘ A heavy fall succeeded. The sister' iuul. fainted. Sho lay upon the floor ps' onodead. . ‘ Did sho think that much of Haw*' ley muttered the (brother astonished;,' ‘ I didn’t suppose—’ He hastened to bring a pitcher of 'water and bathe the white features,, and then set himself to chaffing the clenched* bands.- Capt. Luke Pedder was twenty-seven years of age, with an originally light complexion, which had reddened vtdth generous living and bronzed with ex posure to wind and sun. His form .was of the average size and height, and his features of the most Ordinary type.— He was singularly selfish and unscru pulous, but of gentlemanly manners, being well educated: and used to good society. His ability 'as a navigator was fair for a man'bi his age and ex riehce, but he" ' i a'» au ...»v fw «rdo~jT6o“taob Sioo Voo SiJ oo taiw l i 1100 400 600 000 MOO aioo rim 400 600 000 UOO 10 OO 00 00 2. 25) 470 576 OCS WOO L W OO TQM J 2 m 560 0607 60 MOO 20 00 Oi 00 5 “ 2 m 060 760 iw 15 60 ffl6o 07 00 2 m 2 m 7 50" WOO 4®m 14800 25* *59 IS a m 10 CO 20 00 60 00 60 00 I;, j§ si 00. ■!&SSS&eWSMm jf** ■ ■ F?r Yearly Cards, npt exoeodlM six linos, 7 00 , ror Announcements live ceUwpGrlme nn * loss contracted for by thayeor.- • . ;t For Business anil Special Noticed, 10 conta , per line. ./tsu/ih .u .i v | 1 - J Double column rulVortlHcmenui extra, with a rippling lough. ‘I know, tee thing Was feasible. Aui}pp.lUf {wo we jbypore oiir fond bridegroom trill be, (he sea again—’ •In two weeks more, Roth ? We shall be off In six oreigfctfdayS. 1 ’ Tile cargo is fairly tumbling .aboard .Uie dcra, to say nothing of a fair list of pas sengers. The honeymoon of our loving doves will be abridged to six short days more, you may be certain.’ CHAPTER 11. A GREAT STEP TAKEN. In the midst of the Autartlo ocean, a little off the route from New York to Australia, tbere lies a large Island named Kergulen’s Land, or—as Captain *Conk called it—the Island of Desolation. It was discovered Just a hundred years ago, (in 1772), by the French naval offl cer whose name if bears. It was uniu-’. habited then, and Is 10-day as deserted as ever. The smallest school boy among our readies can flnd .lt upon his map of Die,. worlll, about midway between the. south euit |>f Africa and Australia, well up lo ward the Bouth Pole. It is a hundred miles In length by fifty in breadth, and 1s consequently three or •' four times as large as Rhode Island.- 1 Its coasts are so wild and dangerous that-its discoverer, during the two expe ditions that he made to it, did not once bring bis ships to anchor in any of its bays and harbors. Its shape is very irregular, but some thing like that of an hour glass, it being neatly out in two by a couple of large bays ; but these two divisions are une qual in size, the northern peninsula be ing much larger than the southern, . Its coast line is wildly broken and . jugged, its innumerable gnlfs being,long, and'narrow, and its promontories are . correspondingly sharp and slender, reach ing out into the ocean like fingera. ' Tile body of the Island Indeed resent blea-that of gome huge monster of .the iinTefllluvlan world, evfn as its capes and headlands.resemble anoh a monster's.urn sightly limbs.and,clawed; •; . ... ■ Ajmoro terrific solitude than this Jslp of 'Desolation does not exist upon our wrecked planet. , . Neither the snows of Himalaya nor the tends of Sahara cgn outvie its ter rors. No Inhabitant is there, not even a savage—no house, no tree, no shrub, ho dog—not even a snake or a wolf. lione, blasted and barren, it looks like the skeleton of a land that has per ished. It may Indeed be that Desolation lb the relic—the surviving fragment—of a continent that went down here count less ages .ago, with hosts of inhabitants, in some yast cony ulsion of nature. ■lt; has, certainly undergone dreadful visitations; been rent by earthquakes, pulverized by frosts, lashed and wasted by fierce tempests. Its mountains are only of moderate height, but'are capped eternally with snow. His vegetdtion S limited to a few dwtirfish 1 plants, including some mosses, a species of lichen, a coarse grass, a plant resembling a small cabbage, and a sort of cross. Ite winds are raw and piercing, its . winters those of the Polar Circles. The interior of the island is occupied . by immense boggy swamps, where the ground sinks at every step. The rains in Desolation are almost incessant, in their season, and the is land is accordingly veined with numer ous; torrents of fresh water, some of which have worn out of the solid rock tremendous’ cavities and gullies. The only other season than that of the rains is one of almost constant snow. , The fogs of that ghastly region are , well worthy of the rains, being; of a cloiid-like density, and hovering almost continually over the whole face of the islahd. The sun of Desolation is usually bid der) by a canopy oif lead coioredrClonds, and appears, on the mre-pccaslbns when, it is visible, scarcely brighter than yie. moon in other latitudes. As to the moon itself, and, the stars, the clouds and fogs rarelyvpermu them to betray thew existence. , No fish worthy of note, hot even Ash es of prey, abound in the! adjacent wa ter), 1 by reason, perhaps, of their con tainibg poisonous minerals, or deadly ; exhalations from thevblcanie fires 'be-- neath them. “ 4 ‘ . Yet thp'dark grim sea inclosing Des olation lias done something to-repair the stertilify of the island. ' ‘ Penguins, ducks,' gnila, 'cormorants ana other marine birds ate plentiful in’ some of its harbors. deals also abound. ,; .. 1 Strange and terrible land I . , ’ , , Not e single human belhg so far as is kiibwn has evbr lived there, saV6 as’is to be recorded in these pages. : -Neat the middle pf a dpli, dismal af ternoon, some eleven] .weeks later than the ditto * of‘ the* ptodcdlng events, the good ship Flying' OKilders dfew rioar to the island;of Desolation.'shaplng her coarse toward its northermost bay, called by Captain Cook Christmas Har bor. A‘ fair breeze was blowing from the north, and the ship was carrying every stitch of her canvass, including stud ding-sail. Her crew—both watches—were busy about the deck, and her passengers—a score in number—had gathered in groups, mostly forward, and were gaz ing 'with* great interest upon the wll®* rugged shores before them, so far as the fog suspended upon those shores per mitted them to become visible. The Chip had come here for water, nearly All her water casks having Been stpve 'a'r started during-a squall ton days previously, and every soul aboard of> her having been since that date up on short allowance. * ; Upon the quarter-deck stood Capti Luke Peddler, looking unusually hap py, with Will Hawley beside him. '• 1 meau to get our water aboard be fore dark," Captain Poddor, find' so 'avoid' losing "a- night here,"’ said- the. young exfeoutlvei totally unconscious of the plot to leave him alone on the. flea olato Island, and of the extraordinary adventures which were before him. — The strange events that happened there, and Indeed the whole of this thrilling story, will be found only In the Now York Ledger, which is now ready and for sale at all tho book-stores and news depots. Ask for the number dated July 18, and In it you will get the con tinuation pi the story from tho place where it leaves off here. 4 3 ,o