. . ._ . r . (____., 1 iti . .. . . ~:r , . . . . . , ~ .. _• . ::._., . _\ _ ... k i t . . ..,.. . . i i l- ' , - .. ...... . -,via'-jl,--Ut . ._,.. . _ , .., , . . . . . ..•.,. ~ . SAMUEL WRIGHT, Editor and Propricitorr, VOLUME XXX., NIJIYIRER 4L3 'PREMED EVERY SITURDAY MORNING o,ffice in—Carpet Hall, lfortle-wesic6rner df 'P r one and Loeust streets: Ter ms of ribserip' tion. ae Copy perannum.i f paidin advance, •• " if not paid within three month giro= commencement ofthe year, 000 Ata- Ceaa.toss tie (V COVS'Y's Islo subscription received for a Ica time titan six months; and no paper will be discontinued until all earrearage sure paid,unlessut the optionof the pub 11:7•'Ioneytnay buemittedbynsall atthep üblislt er's Rates of Advertising. square[alines] one week, ' *O3B three weeks, 75 dueltidlisequenrinsertion, 10 [l2' intg]otieweek, 50 three weekS, t b 0 t eachsubsequentidsettibn. 1.1'5 barge radverlisementiin proportion. AlibernidiscouniWifilie made to quorterly,half early.oryearly Int v ertisets,who are strict )}confined *their business. nth HOFFER, ENTIS7 t ,'-01/FICE, Front Street 4th door trom Locust, over Saylor & ftieDonald's Book store Columbia, Pa. irrEntrunee, between the Book and Dr. Heres Drug Store. ugust.ll, 1858 Tumulus wELstf, TOSTICE OF TUB PEACE, Columbia, Pa. by OFFICE, in Whipper's New Building, below Black's Hotel, Rent street. 117 - Prompt attention giVelt to all business entrusted to his care. November 23, 1857. B. M. NORTH., ATTORNEY ND COUNSEOR AT 61W. Columbia, Pa. Collectione,r rompily made,' nLanensierand York 75ountieg, Columbia .hTny 4,1950. J. W. FISHER, Attorney and Counsellor at Law, Coimbra, September 6, totititi - - S. Atlee Bockius, D. D. S. -DRACTICI•.S the Operative, Surgical and Meehan Zeal Departments of Dentistry: °riles -I.ocimi street, lietamea be Fro nklialloitie 'land Po=t Office, Columbia, Pa \layi list. TOMATO PILLS.--Extract of Tomatoes; a _lll_ cutliartic and Tonic. For sole nt DEUX:TT & CO'S Golden Mortar Dreg Store. Dec 3,,59 1. 1 M PO RTI.11) n I.o t (icon's Double Extracts, for the handkercidef, at HARRY ORF.F.N , S. Oppoeite Coln. Bridge, Prom St. =I I_llloolllB.---100 Doz. Brooms, at Wholesa 1.) or Retnil, PFA MEWS, Dee. 12, 1857. Locust street. SINE'S Compound of Syrup of Tar, Wild Cherry and ilostrhound r ior thc_co e of Coughs, I.;uals, Whooping CouMgh eC . OILKL Croup. E &c. F 'ro sale at hET '3 Family Medicine Store, Odd Fellows , Hall October zt, i+s±. Patent Steam Wash 11301143r14. fp 111-ISr. well known lioilerQ pre kept con.lnolly ou Imild'at HIS\ilV PrA 1161' , W. I.newtt PI reel. opposite the Vruukllu Howse. July Is, ip.57. O ats for sale by the bushel or larger quan• D. F. A l'i.(11.1). C ir Dcc 13, 1935. C..p al 13.1-in. TOBACCO and Segars or the best brands, and retail, at .11.:11 TGP I' ta7:47irti - ice , lt lot of fireitog & I roofiottrx celehrai et! Vegette:le Cattle Po lt der. :Intl for b aie by - ‘VII,LIA Front ,trret. Culnnt'na MEE Soap• Itoxeni ol'lntiftey Brown Sto rp en hand and for -Or low at lie cornier of Third and Union Sta. ,4 Dui"! 6.1956. Suffer no longer with Corns. ivr the Goble. :,101 . 1nr Drug More you can procure no article which is warranted to remove Corns in 4: 4 hour, without pain or soreness. Ply Pape. • A surnranli ankle et Fty Paper, for the ttertruc- II lion 01 Flies, dm, has just been received at the Drug Store or R %VI LLTAIIIS, From street. Celumbia,July 20,1859. Harrison's Columbian Ink 'Millen it , a iune ri or article, permanently black, 1 and not corroding the pen, can ha had in any •punntitq. at the ramily A7edictge Store, and blacker yet to that English Root Potted,. Columbia. Jose 9,18:41 On Hand. lit Rs. vturqst.ow•s Soothing Syrup, which will .1.1 l greatly facilitate the prates. of teething by re 'clueing intimation. uthayillft pain. epatmodie action, •dcc., in very sbort time. For sale b•: R. VIIILLIA MS, Sept.l7,lPso. Front street, Columlea. EDDING This ex tremely popular remedy for the cure of external ailments is now In; vale by R. WILLIAMS. Front st., Columbia. sept. $l, 1959. - ALT by the Sark or Bushel, and Petatocs S in large or .mall quantities, for stile at the Corner , ofTkiid and %Ilion streen. 8.'59 ' b. tracts an Seam wl everlarding perfume-. al HARRY GREEN'S, Feb. 19. VD. Opposite Cola. Bridge. from St. CISTERN PUMPS. TIME subscriber hoe a large stock of Cistern rumps .1. and Rams, to which he calls the attention of the public. He is prepared to put them up for use in n substantial and enduring manner. 11. PFAIII.ER, Locust street. December 12.1957. FANCY TOILET SOAPS MITE finest assortment of Fancy Toilet Soar", ever 1 offered to Columbiana, at rerrnl"crrsin: , s. Feb Lo. onno.ite Cola. Bridge, From St. rOLOGIS 0 WATER by the piritogeert or gitiloo "t.l. Glenn's Extracts ior the handkerchief by die . ouneeorgicoied, or in any Aitrantit y torah porch:l6W* oat. Ham ti REVS% I Feb.lo, 'O. O pposite Cole. Bridge, Prom. SL :Just Received nod For Sole, 200 ltblP. Ground Plosion SO 111. 1 *. Extrn Family Howl IN 1.1 - .10. No.l 'Lard 011 or Lett quality; MU bus. Ground Alum Salt, by n. F. APPOLT), No I and 11 Canal liogui March 26,'59 • ENRIN'S Cdcbmted Black and Green Teas, pp, HokePo Corm and Cilocoloto, at Comer of Third ~- Rod Union attreem. [Nov. taMSS. /Gnu" 'or, lees 5 91141 a titulars, for Dyspeptics, and Arrow Root Crackers, for in valid* and childien—new articles in Co/amain, at alle Family Medicine Store, Antall% lea. NEW CROP SEEDLESS RAISINS. -41111 E best for Pies, Padding, La.—o .freaksapply at tl SCYDAM'd Grocery Store, Corner Eroinand Union at.; N0v.10.1850. Seedless Raisins! ALoT'ir *my choice Secaleee - Raiwiert. Jrtel receive*. at S.F. FAKEITLFIN'S Nov.lo, '5O. Grocery Store, No. 71, Locust Cl. ARAILER CORN. _, TUST receiretiot &rat rate let of Shaker Corn. Grocery Store, corner-Wont and Union at. Nov. 9;1, IWO. • - QPALDRIPS PRE'PAIIED 6DUE.:-The want' of suchinarticle la It in:irrery 61_11'04. and now It tan . be supplied; for wo r d ,eg fornnere, china. Wart, omataenial work, toga. Scr,.. there It nothing importer. We have Mond it awsruf in repaineg ininny artieleo which' have 4.peert useless for month!. roe lan Votrat Ai doe ta.oanA: - Y►III.YAi ENGINE STORIL Love's Young Dream—Nowadays Oh tell me not that distant seas Roll wide between me and my lover; For he, sure. is at Inc ease— And I'm In clover. 81 50 And don't tell me that foreign Part• Will ever make me, dear, forget him; Nor will he take to breaking hearts, Unless I let him. He writos to me by every post. And every post takes buck my nni.wer; Ile writes of -muffins," sleighs, and frost- , I of my dancer. So don't tell me that I must mope. While he's in Canada recruit' iiit; Ile's neither Bishop,"dmitit, nor Pope, And fond of shooting. • I wish you'd Write' to Itlm same day, How very badly I'm behaving. He'd send hark word at once to say Ile thought you raving. Ile tikes ray going to u ball, And trilksig German will, Lord Ito Wan. D'you Mink out at Montreal, lie flirts with no one? Ah! you don't know him. I must own I've Been you flirt. my pretty cousin, But %Vdly EOO/1 would flirt you down, And tev'ral dozen. Don't talk such sentimental stuff; Von breath as if 1 were a bah); As Willy says, not firma," Nor he ••u gaby." I know lies very fond of me— I know Pm very fond of Willy; And as to doubts and jealousy, We're not so silly. We bath intend to have nur fun, And then to marry one another; And, es the ma•ic is begun ; Pray nu more bother. [Blackwoods Magazine Al,! Pyrrha—tell me, whose the happy lot Too wuo thee on a couch of lavish roses— Who, bath, d in odorous dews. in his fond a rms encloses Thee, to tome happy grot ? For whom those nets of golden-gloried hair Dour thou entwine in cunallig carelessness? Alas. poor boy! NVIto thee. in fond belief, caresses, Deemnig thee wholly fair How oft shall he thy fickleness bemoan, When fair to;ioul shall change—and he, unskillful In pilotage, behold u—with tempests wildly wnlml— Flit nappy colic o'erthown ! Ile, who now hope. that thou wilt over prove All void of C., re, and full of fond endearing. Known nut that varies more limn zephyrs ever-veering The fickle breath of love. Ah ! hapless he, to whom. like mast untried, Thou seeiviest lair ! That my seu•going'n ended My votive tablet proves, to .one disik gods suspended Who o'er the waves p e-ide. [Cornhill Map,azine. Rose Elmer; OR, A DIVIDED HEART AND A DIVIDED LIFE It was early on the morning of a lovely day iu June, A. D. ISM, that a rather large group of idlers gathered in front of the Etheridge Arms, a quaint oil tavern, in the ancient little town of Swiuburne, in the west of England. By their looks and conversation it was evident that some event of unusual impor tance was expected to come off. They were, in fact, awaiting the arrival of the mail coach, which was to bring down Colonel Hastings, and his son Albert. who was the bridegroom elect of Lady Ether idg,e,l3itroness of Swinburne, the last of her race, and sole heiress of the immense wealth and vast estates of her lot dly ancestors. The nuptials were to be celebrated on the following day ; and the retainers and neigh bors of the noble bride, who. almost wor shipped her for her goodness of heart, were anxious to see the man who was to be their beloved "lady's" husband. They had not long to wait. The coach soon came thundering up to the door; and as boon as the steps were let down by the obsequious landlord, Colonel hustings, is sue forth. He was an elderly gentleman, tall, spare, and stooping; was clothed in a suit of clerical black; and his pale, thin, long face was surrounded by hair and whis kers prematurely gray. Ile was closely at tended by his secretary—Ferdinand Cassi nove—an Italian, of such graceful mien and dignified bearing, that he might have been taken for it prince of the blood attended by an old gentleman in waiting. Next came forth a young gentleman, whose handsome person and haughty man ner at once attracted general attention.— Ilis form was tall, and finely proportioned, crowned by a haughty head and face, with high aquiline features, fair and fresh com plexion, light blue eyes, and very light, flax en hair. kis expression of countenance, in keeping with his whole manner, was stern almost to repellant severity. Great beauty of person, with great dignity of manner, forms a combination very attractive to most young women, and perimps it was this that fascinated the young heiress of Swinburne Castle, for this was Albert Hastings, the bridegroom elect. lie was followed into the house by his valet, bearing his dressing ease. flI IT Zs: After a slight repast, Colonel Basting?, attended by Cassinove, drove off to the castle to bare a preliminary interview with Lady Etheridge, (who was his word.) and arrange the marriage settlements. On ar riving at the lordly castle, Cassinove was 1 shown into a sitting-room, while the col onel proceeded to the library, whither hie ward was requested to come to meet him. As the young. Italian paced up and down the room, occasionally pausing before a full length mirror, which reflected the spacious window (reaching from ceiling to floor) and the picturesque landscape beyond, suddenly, among the roses outside, glided a purple draped female figure, that immediately riv etted hie attention. It was a woman in the earliest bloom of p.uth. As young Cassi nove gazed upon her reflected image, as he never gazed upon her, lie felt as though a goddess had suddenly-descended among the flowers. Her form was ahove the medium light, and well rounded. Her head was finely formed, and covered with a profusion of jet black, glittering hair, that was plainly. parted over her broad, expansive forehead, and swept around the temples, and wound into a rich and massive knot at the back of the head. Her eyes were large, luminous, dark, gray orbs, that seemed, whenever the long veil of lashes was lifted, to throw a light wherever they glanced. Iler nose was straight and well formed, her lips rounded, and, like all the rest, full of character. /o the carriage of her bead and neck, and in her stately_ footsteps, there was a certain natural majesty that, even in a peasant's dress, would have proved her one of Na ture's queens. The impression made upon the enthusias• tic heart of Ferdinaiul Cassinove was at once vivid, deep, and strong—quick as son painting. 'permanent as sculpture. lie saw Ipttris. To Goldenhair FROM ILOILACE I= "NO ENTERTAINMENT IS SO CHEAP AS READING,• NOR ANY PLEASURE• SO LASTING." COLUMBIA, PE this goddess of the intellutual brow and stately step open the window and advance into the room, and as sheapproached him he felt his whole frame thrill with a strange emotion of blended pain and delight. lle dreaded to move, yet, as the needle turns to the magnet, he felt himself uniting from the reflected image to face the original.,-- Ile stood before that queenly form, and met those largo, luminous, dark eyes fixed upon him in royal graciousness, as she said— " You are Colonel Ilasting's secretary, I believe, sir. Pray sit down. -You will find the London papers on that table."-- And with a graceful bow, the lady - passed him, and seated herself on a sofa at the ex tremity of the room, took 'up a portfolio, and was soon deeply engaged with its con tents. After the profound 'bow with which he had returned her courtesy, Ferdinand Cassi nove remained motionless where she had left him. But ten minutes had elapsed since she had glided in among the flowers, and passed him like a vision seen in some beautiful dream. But ten minutes, and life, the world, himself, were all changed fur Ferdinand Cassinove. He felt, front that moment, that his fate must take its character for good or evil front the will of that royal looking woman. In the midst of the pleasing pain of his dream the door opened, and a gray-haired servant entered softly, and stepping across the room to where the lady sat, cad speak. ing in the low, subdued tone in which royal personages are addressed said— "My Lady, Colonel Hasting's respects, and he awaits your ladyship in the library." "Very well, Williams; go and say to Col onel Hastings that I will attend him im mediately," answered the lady, rising. This queenly woman, then, was Laura, Baroness Etheridge of Swinburne! For ever and for ever unattainaLle by him! Oh, despair! His castle in the air tumbled all about him, and buried all his hopes and as pirations in its fall. "After greeting Colonel It stings, on her entering the library, Lady Ethel idge took a parchment from a drawer in the centre table, and handed it to her gaurdian. On examining the document, the colonel found it to be a deed of gift, absolute, of her entire magnificent estate, to Albert Hastings, her intended husband. The colonel pretended much surprise, and refused to accept the deed, alleging that such an act might give rise to unpleasant criticism. "Oh, colonel Hastings! there can be no question of mine and thine between me and Albert. The deed of gift that transfers all my possessions to my future husband is made out; let it be executed. Ile shall then never be jealous of his wife's riches, for she will come to him as poor as a cot tage girl," exclaimed Lady Etheridge, with a pure devotion of love flushing her cheek and lighting her eyes. • After protesting somewhat farther against such noble generosity, the colonel allowed himself to be persuaded to accept the deed, and called in Cassinove to witness its ex ecution in duo form. The poor secretnry could scarcely hold the pen which - the col• onel handed him, so great was his agitation. His employer could not help remarking upon the unusually poor signature which the Italian affixed, as witness, to the deed; but lytle did the colonel or baroness know the terrible passions that were seething so the secretary's soul, or the important 2 esults that they were destined to L. my about. We will now return to the bridegroom elect, whom we left at the Swinburne Arms. Colonel Hastings had scarcely left the room ere Mr. Albert Hastings arose, stretch. ed himself with n weary yawn, and began to pace thoughtfully up and down the fluor, murmuring,— "Mon think mo a very fortunate and happy mari; and, doubtless, an unusual number of good gifts have been showered upon me by the favor of the blind goddess— not the least among them would be esteem ed the hand of this wealthy young baro ness, my bride expectant. Well, we cannot have everything we want in this world, else, sweet Rose Elmer only should be the wife of Albert Hastings. Poor girl! she little dreams that the man who has wooed her, under the name of William Level, is really Albert Hastings, the envied bridegroom, of the high-born Lady Etheridge of swinburne. It cannot be helped. I cannot pause for lady's right, or maiden's honor. Here, then, for a divided Life; my hand to the hay of Swinburno—my heart to the lovely cottage girl; only Lady Etheridge must never know of Rose Elmer and William Love!, nor most Rose Elmer know Lady Etheridge and Al bert Hastings. And now to persuade Rose to go before me into Wales, where myself and my lady-bride are to spend our honey moon." And so saying,, ho took his hat, and strolled out into the street. Taking a course opposite to that which led to tSwinhurne Castle, Albert Hastings soon came to a cross•country real, which he followed for some two miles, and then turning into a by-path, he went on until he came to a secluded and lovely cottage.— Opening the door of this elegant retreat with a latch-key, lie passed in. It was a lovely abode, fit for the borne of a fairy. And for a fairy Albert Hastings had had it furnished. The fairy's name was Ruse Elmer, and she was the daughter of the village latindre4s.— Albert had accidentally met her on one of his visits to the castle, and, as his soliloquy, given above, shows, had fallen desperately in love with her ; and, under the assumed name 3f William Level , bad won the beauti ful and innocent maiden's heart. lie had had' the cottage furnished, and was that morning to meet Rose there, where they had so often met, by appointment.— Rose came at last; and as soon as the first joyous greetings were over, tho intriguing lover set to work to persuade her to consent LO nil secret tuartiAge , as he well knew, by a thousand tests of character, that he could never gain his purpose unless Rose believed herself to be his wife. His task was a hard one ;- but he finally succeeded, by promis ing, that she should stay with her mother just the same, as long as she lived. This was not at all that Mr. Hastings wished, but neither logic nor eloquence could convinee'or persuade Ruse Elmer to desert her ailing mother ; and upon no other condition than that of being allowed to re main with her would she consent to the secret marriage. And, fiaally, be obtained a promise from Rose that she would meet him at the cottage that same night, where, by previous ar rangement, his confidential servant, disguis ed ns a clergyman, was to be in attendance to preform the marriage ceremony. After which Rose should astern to her mother, to remain during tbefew weeks of bis absence in Wales, whither, he said, important busi- NSYLVNIA, SATURDAY MORNING, MAY 19, 15e0. Iness forced him. This agreed upon, • they took leave of eaelt other for a few' hours, and returned to the village by different routes. Mr. Hastings went to his 'inn, and I summoned his confidential servant to his presence. And Rose Elmer, full of hope and joy, turned down the street leading to her mother's cottage. ' When Roseentered the house, therewas a smoldering fire in the grate, and beside this fire, in an old arm chair, sat a female, whom no one would have passed without a second I look. She-was a woman of commanding presence. , , Her 'form was tall, and must once have' been finely . rounded ; but now it was worn thin, .almost 'to skeleton meagre ness. Her features were nobly chiselled, and might once have been grandly beauti ful, but now they were sunken and emaciat ed as those of death. Under her broad and prominent forehead, and heavy black eye brows, shone a pair of large, dark-gray eyes, that burned fiercely with the fires of fever or of frenzy. Her jet black hair, slightly streaked with silver, was half covered with a rod handkerchief, tied beneath her chin, and partly fallen in elf locks down one side of her face. A rusty black gown and shawl completed her dress. As the door opened, admitting Rose, she turned quickly in her chair, fixing her eyes with a look of fierce inquiry upon the in truder: "llow ore you now, mother dear? I hope you feel in better spirits?" said Rose lay ing MI her bonnet, and coming to the wo man's side. "Better. Where have you been ? I have wanted you. "I have been—taking a walk through the woods, dear mother ; and see, here are some wild strawberries I picked for you on my return. Will you eat them ?" said Rose, offering her little basket. "No ; I want none of them. You care little for me." "Mother, don't say that. You do not know how much I love you." "Crush, girl, you have little cause—oh I And the woman suddenly struck her hand upon her heart, dropped her head upon her breast, and seemed convulsed by some great agony. Her features worked frightfully, her frame shuddered. "Mother 1 mother! what is the matter ?" exclaimed Rose, throwing her arum around the woman in greet alarm. "It is—past," grasped the woman, breath ing with great difficulty. "What was it, dear r" "A spasm. It is gone." "Oh, mother, will it return P" "Perhaps." • "Let me run fur a neighbor, or the doc tor." "Nay, you must run somewhere else 1— To-morrow, Laura—Lady Etheridge of Swinburne. weds with Albert Hastings, of Hastings Hall. It is so, is it not. "Surely, dear mother, the village is full of the wedding, and talks of nothing cite.— The village children have been employed all day in bearing flowers to deenrate the castle church, and to strew in the path of the Lride as she comes—the . " , love tier so well." "Yes, she is a high and mighty lady; yet, sweet and g racious its hecomes nine so exalt ed. Come hither, girl, kneel dawn before me, so that I may take your face between may hands!" said the woman, growing more strange in her talk. Hose obeyed, and her mother, bowing her own stern, dark face, shut that of the girl between her hands, and gazed upon it wist fully, critically, murmuring "Fair face, delicate features, complexion pure as the inside of a conch-shell, white, and flushed with red; hair like fine yellow silk, and eves blue and clear as those of infancy ; hands, small and elegant. I have not let poverty , spoil yourbeauty, hare I my child?' "No, dear mother, you ha-e let kindness more likely spoil said Rose, in simple wonder, at her words. "I have not let your person , grow coarse with hard work, have I dear 2" "No, mother; notwithstanding that I ought to have worked with you, and for you.' , "Your hands have never hoes roughened by helping me in the laundry!" "No,mother; though they ought to 'have been." "Nor Imre you r sweet eyes been spoiled by needle-work?" "No, good mother; I hare been as use- less 113 a tine lady, to my shame." "And I have worked hard to save you from work, and to pay fur your schooling, have I not ?" ^Dear mother, you have! You have been the best mother in the world, and only too good to me. But I will try to repay you. ' "Think of all that to-morrow, child: and when all the country around shudders at my crime, when all Me people call down impreca tions upon my name, do not you curse one who bus nourished you at her bosom, when that bosom is cold in death," said the wo man, silemnly. "0111 she is mad I mad!" exclaimed Rose, in dismay. at hearing these words ; then lowering her voice, she said, "Mother! mother! try to collect yourself! It is I your poor dnnghter Ruse, that kneels be fore you. Do you not know me 2" "Av, I know you well, and I know what Irv." repeated the woman, solemnly. "Mother I oh, why do you talk so wildly? It is very dreadful! But you are not well! —let me go for some one." "Yes, you must go for some one. You must go to the castle this afternoon," said the woman in the same toneof deep gravity. "Tu the castle 1 I, mother 1" exelaimed Rose, in surprise. "Yes, you must go to the castle ; and when you get their, ask to see her who calls herself Lady Etheridge." "The baroness 1 Dear mother, why does your thoughts so run 'upon the baroness? What is she to us? Besides, is it likely that she will see rue, a poor girl, a perfect stranger, this day of all others, when she sees on one?" "Hush, Rose 1 and for once obey one idiom you have so long looked upon as your mother. It will be the last time I will ask you to do so. Demand to be admitted to the presence of the baroness. Say that you have come upon a matter of life arid death, that nearly concerns her ladyship ; and she will not venture to refuse you.— When you stand before Lady Etheridge, say that her old nurse, 'Magdalene Elmer—" "Her nurse, mother! Yon Lady Ethe- ridge's nurse i I never knew that before I" interropted Rose, in surprise. "There are many things that you never knew, my child. Bat Attend 1 ' Say to the barones' that Magdalene Elmer is dying!" "Dying 1 Oh, mother, do not say so! it is very cruel! You are not sick in bed—you are sitting up ! You are not old either, but have many years of life before your "Child, hear my words, but do not judge them I Say to Lady Etheridge that Magda- lene Elmer, her dying nurse, prays—nay, demands—to see her this night 1_ Tell her that I have a confession to make that she must hear to-night or never! Conjure her by all she holds dear on earth ! by all her hopes of Heaven I by all her fears of hell ! to come to me to-night! Tell her if she would escape the heaviest curse that could dark en a' woman's life, to come to me to-night to come to me at once! There; get on your bonnet, and go I" The above is all of this storythat will be published in our columns. The continua tion of it from where it leaves off here can be found only in the New York Ledger, the great family paper, which is fur sale at all the stores throughout the city and country, where papers aro sold. Remember and ask fur the New York Ledger of May 26, and in it you will find the continuation of the story from where it leaves off here. The Ledger is mailed to subscribers at $2 a year, or two copies for $3. Address your letters to Robert Bonner, publisher, 40 Park Row, New York. It is the hand somest and best family paper in the country, elegantly illustrated, and characterized by a high moral tone. getertituto. Seventeen• Year Looust. Dr. Asa Fitch, of New York, who has made Entomology a profession, gives the following description of the seventeen-year locust in the Country Gentleman: It is already circulating in the newspapers that this is the year for the appearance of the seventeen year locusts. And the terms in which this announcement is currently made, designating it as "unpleasant news," `the lo cust plague," "this curse of the farmer," &c., forcibly illustrate the misapprehensions which inevitably result front having a thing incorrectly named. Most intelligent persons are aware that the locust proper is an insect which in this coun try would be termed a grasshopper. The two names, locust and grasshopper, are perfectly ' synonymous. And the most common kinds of these insects, in various parts of the world, are liable to become excessively multiplied in particular years, whereby their food in their native districts is so much consumed that they are in danger of perishing from starvation.— To avoid this, as aeon as their wingsare grown, they arc accustomed to gather themselves to gether in docks or swarms, and after exerets ing themselves in short flights for a few days, they take wing in a body, and migrate to dis. tant countries. When thus on the wing, a swarm of locusts appears like a cloud passing over the face of the sky; and their numbers have sometimes been so immense as to darken the sun at noonday so totally that trees or buildings at the distance of a stone's throw could not be discerned. And wo to the spot where they alight: Every vestige of vegeta tion there is speedily devoured, insomuch that a landscape which one day is arrayed in all the rich verdure of summer, is the next day a blackened, dismal waste, appearing as though fire had passed over it. History records in stances in which whole provinces have been suddenly depopulated from this cause, the only alternative of the inhabitants to escape perish ing from famine, having been to instantly for sake their homes, and scatter themselves into the surrounding countries. In all ages of the world, the invasion of a swarm of locusts has justly been regarded as one of the most direful calamities which could possibly befall a country. It is easy to perceive bow this terrific name locust came to be given these comparatively innocent and innocuous insects which are now to revisit us within a few weeks. The first European settlers of this country, some years after they arrived there, were no doubt great ly surprised and alarmed on discovering that the woods all around them were of a sudden thronged with these insects, the din of their notes resounding on every side so loud and discordant as to drown the human voice. As no such insects 'bad been seen, and no such I song had been beard in any previous year, it might well be inferred that they had never keen In the neighborhood before, consequently that they were a swarm of locusts, of a kind I ,pecuiiar, perhaps, to this country, which had come from some other part of the continent and alighted there, was the most intelltgent and ,plausible opinion which could be formed in the premises. And in further confirmation of this opinion was the fact that these insects were edible, the Indians gathering and slightly roast ing them for this purpose. Thus, in the first account of them which is extant, written its 1715, by Rev. Andrew Sandel„ of Philadelphia, we are told: "The Indians also did eat them after a previous slight roastin g . From this it is probable that they are of the same kind with those eaten by John the Baptist." - Now that we know they ate not locusts, but belong to a wholly different order of in. sects, it is certainly desirable that this name should be discarded as it will always continue to give the erroneous idea which we see it occasioning at the present time. As we have no English word for designating insects of ibis kind, their /atm and scientific term, cicada, is the most suitable and convenient term we can give thein. - That name definitely distinguishes insects of this kind ; hence there can be no mistake as to what is meant when we use it, as there always will be if we continue to call them locusts. But though its introduction would obviously be an improvement in our language, we can have no confidence it will be adopted and become current, we in this coun try are so perfectly capricious is matters of this kind, sometimes pertinaciously clinging to a name which Is universally known to be erroneous, and at other times exchanging a most appropriate name for one less suitable-- Thus, in common conversation, we continue to hear the wheat midge called the weevil, whilst another insect, which was formerly and most appropriately designated the plum weevil, is now called the curcalio. Of these insects there are several genera tions annually, whilst of others there are only a epilog and a fall brood. Most species, how ever, come forth but. once each year. Some of the borers in our fruit and forest trees, on the other hand are two or three years in get ting their growth, they being the longest lived of any insects we customarily meet with. Our American cicada; therefore, is most remarks. ble in the class of animals to which it belong., in that it requires seventeen years to COM plate its growth. To one who is conversant with insects, and is thus familiarized To the fact that they almost invariably mature and perish within a twelvemonth or less, it sp. pears passing strange that one of these crea tures should have its life prolonged to nearly a score of years. The thought appears al most incredible, that the infant born this present year will grow lop to the verge - of manhood before one of the insects that is coe. vat with him in its birth, will mature and come abroad for him to behold it. The genius of Lionaus was assuredly, under a cloud when this species first came before biro, else, in his $1,50 PER-YEAR IN:ADVANCE; 42,00 IF NOT IN ADVANCE accustomed felicitous vein, we should have had, it termed the Cicada Methuselah. The perfect regularity, too, is wonderful, with which these insects all reach maturity at the end of such a long period, whereby the whole brood, numbering many millions of in dividuals, issue from the ground simultane ously when a particular day arrives, very few of them varying more than twenty-four hours from this time. Thus tie woodlands of the whole country side suddenly become vocal, as though , the gongs of a company of Chinese musicians were being played in concert there in. It is the males only in this group of in sects, that eing—as most readers ure aware from the oft-quoted couplet of an ancient poet —the unfortunate husband of a lady, it would appear, from whom the Mrs. Caudle of our own day is a descendant. Happy are die eicidas , I yes, Because they ail have voiceicAs wives. The northernmost limit to which these it,- ' sects extend, as I ascertained when they last visited us, in 1834, is at Schuylerville and the vicinity of Fort Miller bridge. From thence, they occur south along the whole valley of the Hudson to its mouth. Along the sea coast, east, they reach to New Haven and ten miles or more beyond that city. West, they extend over New Jersey and the southeastern section of Pennsylvania, and from thence they are reii ported to reach onward, chiefly along the east ern side of the Blue Ridge mountains, through Maryland, Virginia, and the northern part of North Carolina. And what appears to be two detached colonies of this same brood, are said to come abroad, the one at Kalamazoo. in Michigan, the other in Dearbcrn, the south. eastein county of Indinana. Our information respecting the exact boun daries and extent of the geographical range of these insects is by no means so definite and authentic as is desirable. Wherever they ap pear this year they will doubtless continue to reappear regularly for centuries to come; hence any statement specifying the localities where they will appear and defining the line to which they reach, will hereafter be recurred to with deep interest by those who come alter us.— And as the opportunity will now soon occur for acquiring full information on this subject, earnestly hope that additions or corrections, which the preceding paragraph may require, will be communicated to the Country Gentle man, or to me by letter. Especially am 1 de sirous of information as to the extent of these insects in our own State, and how far they reach from the Hudson river at different points. They are reported to occur at Amsterdam in Fulton county. But in the year Me Prof. Eaton's Rensselaer Institute expedition, re turning from Lake Erie, did not meet with I these insects anywhere along the Mohawk, untill it reached Coboes and West Troy, June 10th. There the groves had been thronged with them for some days. Notwithstanding this, they might - have been present lartber west, in some of the woodlands not adjacent to the city. Other broods of these insects come out in other years in different parts of the United States. Thus they will occur in 1863 along the Ohio and Mississippi rivers; in 1864 in Western New York. and Pennsylvania, and Eastern Olio; in 1868 from Pennsylvania to Georgia, in 1872 on Long Island and the ad jacent coast, and along the 'Ohio and Missis sippi rivers. I have only space to add briefly that the sev enteen-year cicada (Cicada septendicron of Linna-us), is a stout, tbiek-bo'died, black kind' of fly, an inch and a half long, or more, with red eyes, and four transparent or glass-like wings, the veins and rib of which are bright orange yellow. It must not be confounded with the Dogday cicada, (C. Trpicen, pruinosa, Say—canicularis, Harris), which ap pears every year in Harvest time, and bas green ribs to its wings. The cicada makes a slit lengthwise in the small limbs of the oak, apple, and other trees, into which it crowds its eggs. They complete their work and all she and disappear in about a fortnight. 'The twigs which are wounded by them also perish. The young larval which batch from the eggs in those twigs, drop them selves to the ground, in which they penetrate, and for their food puncture and suck the juices of the roots, probably of grasses and her baceous plants as well as of trees, hereby in juring and perhaps destroying them, when the true cause of their decline remains wholly un suspected, from being concealed as it is from view. Should the reader desire further information respecting these insects, he is referred to the account of them which I have given in the Transactions of our State Agricultural Society for the year 1854, page 742. A Modern Vendetta. Within the last six months a strange tale has come to the ears of the authorities of Cadiz, an Spain, which if true, is replete with all the gloomy horrors of "the Three Spaniards," and proves conclusively that what is sometimes considered an evil passion, is often in reality a second, if not a primary nature. "The Ven detta, or revenge to the Death," is a peculiar ly Corsican phrase. It is the war which fre quently rages between two, or even a larger number of families, often growing out of dis torted notions of honor, and sometimes the re vival of old family feuds, which for a time have been extinguished by the almost total ex termination of the one; or even both factions, and which, after slumbering perhaps for a cen tury. breaks out with redoubted fury and un. relaxing intensity. it is the same 'Vendetta which, between the years 1359 and 1729, caus ed 665,000 Corsicans to fall by the assamn's hand; and of these, a moiety absolutely slain —the whole number being over twice that of the present inhabitants, which is computed at about 250, 000. These statistics, which are well vouched for by Fillippini and other Cor, sican historians, are only given that some idea may be formed of what the Vendetta really is in its primal birth-place. In the year 1832, in the city of Cadiz, a Cor sican goatherd, who fled his country,Ca charge of insurrectionary and sedition, cabal having been lodged in the Perfecture against him,) kept a little shop, from which be peddled the cheaper kinds of laces and ladies' trinkets.— Giacomo was poor, but, it seems, from what littte was known of him, strictly honest. He bad a son, then some ten years of age, who tended the store, whsle his father hawked bis wares about the city streets. Matters seem to have gone on swimmingly, when rumor' inti mated that Giacomo—who, it• may be added, was Ma young and handsome—sold too many of his gewgaws at the house of the Don Vel 8—; and, moreover, communed more time than. is generally necessary in there financial operations. In other words, the Don Vel S— bad the fortune, or misfortune, as it may be, to own a wife who had been the pride of her native city, in a physiological way, when the Don first raw and wooed her. Of course Tel was as jealous as the old Estramadorinn who bad done the same thing before him, as Miguel Cervantes tells us ; and this inexorable rumor as plainly intimated that Giacomo was no especial friend between man and wife. But whether Gismo was proud and stern in bis own virtue, or whether be possessed the regulate amount Of Impudence, be sold htstrinkets as freely and prolonged his visits at the senora'a bootie just as be had al ways done, and notwithstanding that his neighbors bads him beware of the DIM. af sus [WHOLE NUMBER 1,552. A ' sospieions should happen to culminate to any positive conclusion. Still the Corsican only shook his bead, with perhaps a smile on his handsome features, and still sold his trinkets, and took bis time in so doing. At length, one morning when his little son was tending the store, a lady walked hastily in, and closing.the door behind her, dropped a note before him, and then passed as hastily out again. It was addressed to the Senor Giacomo neriventiglo; and bore the rarnpnant gran of the Vel house ens the seal. When the ' hawker of gewgaws returned, he found an in vitation to the evening testatia, which was to be celebrated on the housetop, as is the usual custom. lie hesitated, however, befois ac cepting; yet when he.remembered that the se nora was realty the most lovely woman in all Cadiz, be locked his doors and taking his boy by the hand, was soon in the presence of the company. Ye be sure their garments were coarse and well-worn; but there is a - certain bold, wild penciling about the Corsican lace, which needs none of the more delicate adorn ments to render it pleasing to the general eye. Why he should be an invited guest to a /amity gathering, hitherto Conservative, he did not wait to conjecture, and so, when the Don in person bade them sit, he did so expecting noth ing else then an immediate order for all the trinkets he possessed, with, perhaps, a few doubloons for his trouble. The sequel, however, probably disappointed him. The wife of Vel S— commenced with a rather ornate account of the various rumors with which Cadiz had been lately rife, which she requested him to disprove in the presence of her nearest kin, who were there assembled. With this Giacomo complied to the best of his ability. The lady looked with a senile toward her husband; but Vcl S—frowned. It was a dull writhing of the black , busy brows—a feverish closing of the eyes beneath, but he neither moved nor spoke. "You see," said the donna, gioominly, "you see, Signor Giacomo, that your trinkets, and my charity, have wrought my ruin!" "How," asked the Corsican; "does your hus band disbelieve us both/ What further can I say or do?" "Take yoUr boy to the room beneath and 1 will tell you." Giacomo did as requested, and when he re. turned, the donna had drawn a stool to the very eaves, and bade him seat himself upon it. "My husband insists that. I love you more than he," sho says, slowly, with her dark eyes fixed on his own; "but 1 shall satisfy him." The boy in the room below was startled by the sound of a struggle, and a quick stamping of feet. His mind drank in the instantane ous thought that his father was in peril; and with true Corsican spirit, he wrenched open the door and sped up to the roof. He was in time to witness all! The Pytho ness had fixed her, tngers with a giant clutch ou his father's throat, and burled him bcadlong to a certain and fearful death upon the testate.. ted pavement or the court below. It was truly a Spanish mode of regaining * the love of a husband, who, throughout • the entire struggle, which had lasted for momenta, had stood by, with folded arms;a witnesi of the deed which was to heal his wounded honor. The young Giacomo fled, with the groans of the crushed and broken man still ringing in his ears. One week from that night, the Carnival was celebrated in Cadiz. Among the group of ogres and harlequins thronging the broad Alemanda, a man, in rich, -melodramatic costume, stood pelting the balconied ladies with egg shells, tilled with fragrant waters. In the height of feverish excitement and pleasure, a ■hot is beard; the caballero fells shot through 'the brain, and just beyond the market place, with a smoking carbine nearly of his own size clasp ed in his tiny hands, a boy is seen stealing away towards the city gates. They raise the fallen man, and tear of the mask. It is the Don Vel S---. Ile is dead. Through the following six and twenty years, the same red hand appears to have slain no less than fourteen of the immediate kin of the Don ; and the assassin, notwithstanding the efforts of the authorities, still eludes their vig ilance. The Donna seems to have entertained frequent fears for her own safety, and offered an almost fabulous reward for his detection and punishment. The authorities seem to have gone so far as to pronounce the civil ban of outlawry upon the murderer, giving all men authority to slay num at sight ; but until within some six months since, their efforts seem to have been unavailing. During all thin period, the unhappy Donna gave way to paroxsynis,of fury described as of the most fearful nature. In her ravings, she called upon heaven to avenge the deaths of her kindred, and to have heaped the most In solent of all indignities upon the grave at the elder Giacomo. Early in the past year, she left her house in the night time, and all traces were lost of her whereabouts until quite re cently. "One evening," to use the words of the translator,, as Usherman hurried into the city, and besought t bathe might be attended brthe watchman (serene.) to a clump of trees beyond the limits, where, as be represented, he bad seen the missing ady struggling with an un known man. He described this latter person age as of most terrible semblance, with unclipt hair and whiskers, and his clothing in rents and tatters. He gave as a reason for not in. terfering in the lady's behalf, that he was afraid least his life might have been lost in an unarmed •uruggle with this demoniacal being. 00n repairing to the spot indicated, • they found traces of recent struggling, and bits of silk here and there still banging to the bram bles. And for some time, although the sounds of groans and sobbings were plainly precepti ble, they were unable to Mel sight of either. Making, however, a vigilant search, they found the onlortunate woman buried nearly to I.er mouth in s mass of loose earth and stones--a mere skeleton of what she had been—arid with her shoulders lacerated in a fearful manner by , the thorny bushes through which she bad been dragged to this living tomb. While conveying her to the city, they were attacked by the same being described by the peasant, who with un exampled ferocity, had half reached the insen sible form of the Donna, before he could be speared by the lances of the watchmen." The Donna has since died, and conjecture can alone supply the key to this terrible mys tery. The wholesale slaughter of the Vel S-- y is laid at the door of the young Giscornb; and that, too, with seeming probability, to those who understand the revengeful character of the Corsicans. It is presumed that he, In some manner, bad enticed the lady from her home, and then forced her into the far intr. rim', to endure starvation, and perhaps frequent and torturous flagellation at Ars hands. It is quite probable that abe was overtaken by bins in an attempt to escape hi. dweller—irons [too fact of being found so near the limits—and in a mad frenzy of hatred sought to doom her to the most terrible of deaths—that of being en. tombed alive. Asa FITCU We would not be considered as indorsing the truthfulness • r the above story, which seems to us to partake of the melodramatic element in no small qnantity ; nor, indeed, are willing to say Abet such things might not have occur red. But be that re it :my, it certainly glow to inve as an insight to the terrible mysteries of the Corsican heart, when drawee to that desperate pitch of frenzy which the history of the Trenireig shows to be go easily excited. end so bard to allay.
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