® fir * £*B****** PUOLMirKD XVXBT W*DIC*fIDAT BT 11. G. SMITH d CO. A. J. Stsinman 11. G Suit?. TERMS—Two Dollars per annum, payable in all oases In advance. TUB T.urnAHTBR DATLT IHTTBItIiIOSBdSB Is published every evening, Son day excepted, at 5 per Annum in advance. JFFlOE—Boumwjarr oobhxb or Cxhtbx UABE. -, - §)IMbMUOU& A Morass Adventure, In'the latter part of last summer, a scanty purse led me, in company with some relatives, to spend my holidays at a little village on the coast, out'of the ordinary beat of tourists, but otherwise remarkable for nothing but its general air of bleakness and sterility. The place was very quiet, aud the lodgings were cheap, and tolerably com fortable. These esseutiaiß being secured, we had to put up with the scenery, which was not very attract ive. A long low ii ne of beach, surmounted by a high pebble ridge lead ing on the one band to the foot of some bold jutting cliffs, and on the other losing itself in estuary; behind this, a black and dreary looking bog, stretch ing three or four miles inlaud, and in tersected in every direction by wide artificial ditches, and deep, natural fis sures connecting with inky pools. A small river flowing into the estuary divides the bog, its course being marked by mounds of peat, cut from the firmer grounds which forms its banks. Branch ing out at right angles to the river are other lines of peat stacks, following the courseof the lurger drains, which herald the attempt to cultivate the dreary waste. This was the view I beheld, as, stand ing one evening on the top of the stony ridge, I faced eastward. The sinking sun threw my shadow far over the bog, distinctly seen as it fell over the gilded rushes and the crimsoning pools. I had been strolllDg outwith my gun, in the hope-of adding specimens to my cabinet, and was thinking of-re turning homewards,when allong legged heron slowly sailed high overhead, in the direction of the river. I watched the bird till it lighted near one of the peat-stacks, and carefully noting the spot, I proceeded to a careful stalk, hoping to secure an acquisition. I con trived to get within seveaty yards of the heron, and as there was no cover of any kind nearer, I lay dowu behind the last mound I had reached and with finger on the trigger, watched patiently iu the hope that my quarry would feed towards me. I was not disappointed; It gradually approached some yards nearer my hiding place, and then either caught sight or scent of me, for it suddenly rose, but in so doing, come within range. Bang! went both barrels. Uttering a hoarse croak, the heron flew heavily away, keeping close to the ground, aud evidently hard hit. I sprang up and followed, jumping the ditches, and avoidiug the soft ground as best I could. During one particular long jump, I lost sight of the heron for a mouieut; I caught sight of it again just in time to . see it fall to the earth as softly asasnow flake, and lio still with wiugs outspread to their full stretch. Between the bird aud me, however, there was a crevasse wider than any I had yet leaped, aud a dozen yards bn the other side lay the object of my pursuit. The black slimy aides of the ditch overhung the water, which lay deep and still some six or seven feet below, and a few yards to the right connected with a large pool, hav ing equally high aud muddy banks. To the left was a labyriuth of similar ditches. Some distance in front, & broader aud straighter crack in the flat expanse showed where the river lay. The bank on which 1 stood was a foot or two higher than the opposite bank. I describe the situation thus minutely in order to make the reader understand what afterwards happened. Not liking to lose the prize so nearly in my grasp, I resolved to risk the jump. Laying down the gun, and tak lug my coat oil', I made the effort, and cleared the ditch, only, however, by a few inches. I secured the heron, and smoothing its beautiful plumage, but little injured by the shot, threw it back to the bank from w Inch I had just come. Then, ou looking around, I fouud my self iu a sort of cut de sac. The bit of firm ground on which I stood was an island, aud the only way of escape was the one by which I had arrived. Hav lug “ to take off” from a lower level, it was much harder to get back than it was to come ; but as there was no alter native, it had to be tried. I did not leap quite far enough, aud pitched with •Lands aud kuees together against the edge. There was no vegetation to catch hold of, and after haugiug on the bal ance for a few momeuts, vainly clutch ing at Iho mud, I fell backwards with a heavy splash into the water.— Fortuuately, I am a good swimmer, and at first, while treading water, the ludicrousuess of the affair aloue struck me; but when I began to see that it might be difficult to get up those slimy, overhanging banks, I must confess I felt rather frightened. It was impossi ble to get out at the spot where I had fallen in. I swam further up the ditch, aud 'tryiug to bottom it, felt my feet touch the soft tenacious mud, that gave no support, but was ten times more dangerous than the water. The water bccume shallower as I struggled on, but the muddy bottom refused to give me a standing place, and the muddy sides afforded no hold for my hands. It at last became so shallow that I had to turn on my back to avoid kicking the mud as I swam, and when in this posi tion, I could push my arms into it with almost as much ease as 1 could push them through tiie water; but to draw them out again was far from easy. With a horrid fear of being unable to extricate tnyself from the mud, and of a slow suffocation, I made a sudden dash back Into the deeper water, aud tried the other ditcht-B, only to be repulsedinthe name manner. I swam round aud round the pool, seeking for an outlet, and be ginning to feel my boots aud clothes very heavy, Even now I involuntarily smiled at the comparison which sud denly occurred tome between myself in this plight aud a mouse ewimmiog roundabucketof water; butthe thought Uiut I too, like it, might be swimming for uiy life soon drove all ludicrous thoughts out of my head. Mutters now begau to look very seri oub, when I saw a root or branch of some long buried tree projecting out of the bauk. I caught hold of it; but it wor not strong enough to enable me to lift myself out of the water. All that I could do was to support myself with my hands just sufficiently to keep my head above the surtace. I took this opportu nity of kicking off' my boots. Up to this time, I could scarcely real ize my position ; but uow the conviction begau to dawn upon me that I might never again see the mother and sisters I had left in the cottage a mile aud a half away. I looked up at the sky, in which the twilight was fast giving place to the moonlight, aud across which the clouds were merrily driving before the evening breeze ; and theu I looked at the black and siimy walls which hem med me in, and felt as though I was about to scream with terror. From my childhood, I have always had a horror of confinement of any kind. I have felt, strangely uncomfortable when I have been persuaded into exploring a cave, or when I have been shown through a prison. This feeliog I felt now more strongly than the fear of drowning. To die hemmed in by those gloomy walls would be terrible. To add to the weirdness, a hollow booming sound, almost amounting to a roar, ran through the quiveriDg bog, intensified to me, do doubt, by my im prisonment in the heart of the moss. This, though I had never heard it be fore, I knew to be the Dote of the bit tern. During the night, it was repeated several times, and anything more weird find dismal it would be hard to imagine. • I had not as yet thought of shoutiug, but I now did so till I was hoarse. The only answer was the eerie Bcream of the curlew. The improbability of any one being near enough to hear me so late, struck me, and I desisted from the use less labor. The stillness was intense, broken only at rare intervals.'by the bit tern or curlew. How long I clung to the branch I do not know. Fortunately the water was not cold. The clouds had cleared away, and the moon, near the full, shone brightly. Had it been dark, my courage must have given way, and I should most prabably have sunk. As it was, I cannot say that I quite des- ? aired of a rescue in some way or other. f I could only hold out till morning, some one might, I conjectured, come for the purpose of carrying away the turf soas, and might see my coat and gun, which would lead to a search. I had not much hope in any search from the village; I had started in the direction of the cliffs, my favorite evening haunt, and I fancied that would be the direction the search ers would take. As the night wore on —oh, so slowly—wii h the moon so calm ly gliding through the stars above me, I fell Into a kind of stupor, and I can distinctly remember repeating soraps of 21) c lancastcv fntclltgmm: VOLUME 70 verses totally unconnected with each other. From this state, I was aroused by the loud note of some night-bird, probably an owl, and found my arms were stiff from holding on to the root: while my legs felt like weights of lead suspended beneath me.. While trying to change my position I fancied I heard the gargling sound of running water, and that not far off. I listened intently, and found it was no fancy. Water was evidently running into the pool, and I sa w by -the root that I was clinging to that the water had risen some inches. A cheering hope sprang up within me as it flashed across my mind that the tide must be rising, and that tbe pool must have an outlet into the river. The thought infused new life into me, and I struck out into the direction of the sound. Then, to my intense joy, I saw diatinctly.in the clear moonlight, that the water was streaming in fast through several small inlets, and pour ing in quietly and steadily through one of the ditches I had swum up. I knew that if the tide rose another foot or eighteen inches, I could by treadiDg water fast, spring up so high as to be able to catch tbe top of the bank, and so awing myself up. I knew also that the water could not possibly begin to flow into the bog-pools until it was nearly high tide. Returning to my resting place I watched anxiously, the prospect of my speedy deliverance, ban ishing all weariness. The water contin ued to pour in steadily and iu greater volume. The dawn was uow breaking, and I had not much loßger to wait. The water had ceased flowing, and the bank in one place was barely five feet above the water. Taking a long breath, I let myself sink low, and then treading water as strongly and quickly a 9 possible, I threw half my body above the surface of the pool, and caught the top with one hand. Before the soft earth had time to crumble beneath my weight, I had obtained a firmer grasp with the other hand, and in another moment stood on the mo 98 —saved, drinking In with eager gasps the fresh air of the mornlDg. The whiter haze was rapidly clearing away, and though it I saw five or six men hurryiDg towards me. I have a confused idea of being helped to my lodgings, and of afterwards telling my adventure to many eager questioners. The soaking I had had, and the ex posure to the unhealthy mists which rise from the morass in the night, caus ed an illness for a time, but the effects soon wore off. The heron is stuffed, aud adorns my cabinet, unconscious of the revenge which overtook its destroyer. A Reminiscence of Niagara, In the very center of the seething, whirling cauldron of waters known as the American Rapids, lying equidistant between the American shore and the islands, and Bath Island bridge and the brink of the Falls, a rock projects two or three feet above the water. The eye rests upon it merely as upou a speck in the midst of this angry flood, with every dash of the torrent pouring down from the plateau above it is half submerged, and sometimes hidden from sight. At the time of this "casualty a log, about four feet in length, had been jammed in or under this rock, and protruded from It. The spot was one that was in the daily sight of hundreds, and iu the early hours of that memorable summer morning the first man who had occa sion to cross the bridge was startled and horrified to see a human form standing erect in the midst of the ragiDg, swirl ing flood, on this little point of rock, wildly wavinghisarms. He must have shouted, too, but his cries were drowned in the uproar of the rapids. It was David Avery, the sole Burvivor of the unfortunate boat’s crew. It was con jectured that the boat must have sped down to this point, unharmed by rucks or rapids, and that, striking here, Avery was thrown or sprang out, finding just room enough for a perilous foothold, while the other two with the boat, were swept on over the cataract. The alarm quickly spread. It is not difficult to draw a crowd at Niagara—for the ex citement seekers of the world are there —aud in half an hour the bridge and adjacent shores were thronged with horrified yet curious spectators. With them came some dozens of boatmen, laborers and others, who comprehended at once that there was a chance for res cue, aud immediately began to devise a plan. In the meantime the man had been recognized by some one, and while the preparations were beingmadealarge board was rudely lettered with the words in German, “We will save you!” and held up so that he could read it. He tossed his arms up and down several times, in token that he comprehended its meaning, aud the great crowd there awaited the result of the preparations, and watched the object of them with almost breathless interest. It was truly frightful to see him there amid the howling waste, almost inthejaw of the mighty cataract and apparently cut of!’ from all human aid. But as tbe day wore on, and the poor fellow became used to the situation, he seemed to bear it with composure. Sometimes, to change his position, he sat down upon tbe rock aud sometimes made gestures to the crowd, the meaning of which could not often be understood. His face, seen through a glass, looked eager almost beyond expression of human faces, but it was hopeful, too. As noon approached the first attempt was made for his rescue. A large raft had been constructed of heavy plank, bound together crosswise, and this was to be lowered down from tbe bridge, with strong ropes, to the castaway, when it was thought that he could be drawn up without great difficulty. The venture was a failure from the start.— The rapids seized and whirled it away before the men at the ropes could check it; the ropes became entangled, and the raft was carried far below the rock, and at last went helplessly over the Falls. It was a bitter, bitter disappointment —as well to tbe sympathizing, expect ant throng as to the imperilled man. But, nothing daunted, the stout hearts and ready hands immediately aetabout the making of another raft, while others were occupied in conveying food and drink to poor Avery. This was easily doue in tin cases, attached to stoutcords, which were floated down to him The castaway ate his solitary meal there upon thatinaccesBible pointof rock with keen relish, and then stood up and bowed his thanks. Again and again the cheering words, “ }Vc zvill save you,” were exhibited, and he was encouraged by other short sentences in his native language, which were in the same way painted in huge letters and held up to him. The afternoon slowly wore on—the long, hot, listless summer afternoon there at Niagara, usually devoted to idling over iced drinks in the shade of the hotel porches or parlors, but now cheerfully given up to the assistance of, or sympathy for, a fellow beiDg. There were hundreds in that crowd who, prompted by that spirit of American chivalry which is never wanting among us, would have cheerfully pluDged in to his rescue, could the act be any other than useless foolhardiness; and there were wealthy men there, who went through the crowd under the deepest sense of emotion, offered large rewards to whoever would rescue him. The telegraph had, by this time, carried the news far and wide; the afternoon pa pers in New York on this uay contain ed it; and the afternoon trains from Buffalo and Rochester came freighted with hundreds more to view the pefil of the poor German for themselves. The building of raft pro gressed ; but although everything was done to nasten it, darkness found it un finished, and the crowd unwillingly dispersed forthe night. The Omniscient alone can tell how that poor, forlorn soul passed the dark, dreary hours that intervened before morning—sleepless from necessity—weary, lonely, with the waters raging like unchained beasts all around him, and the great abyss of ter ror yawning almost at his feet. Some sweet hope must have sustained him in that trying time or the morning would have found him dead there upon the rock of his dreadful exile. Daylight came, and with it the eager crowdß hastened back to their points of Bight. The incoming trains all that day brought more and more spectators, and before noon the bridge was literally crowded with them, leaving but a small apace in the center for the workmen with the raft; and on either side the bank was lined—nay, packed—with spectators. There were thousands upon thousands present, all eager, curiouE, and yet sympathetic. Avery appeared as on the day before, Btill hopeful, eating and drinking what was sent down to him, motioning with his hands and arms, and watching all that was done on the the shore. The crisis of the excitement arrived when, about the middle of the second day, the second raft was launched from the bridge upon the harrying flqpd.— Strong and willing hands held the ropes, and it was cautiously lowered until it almost touched the Bpot where the castaway stood. With a bound he placed himself erect upon the raft; and then arose such a shout of rejoicing from the lips of the multitude that It was heard even above the roaring of the waters. It.was a short lived joy. Tbe ropes were manned by all the hands that could find place, and tbe craft struggled up a little way in the teeth of the rapids, and then a furious volume of water broke over and upon it, washing it from end to eDd, and hurling Avery bodily Into the rapids! One faint, desperate hope remained to him; as the irresisti ble current hurried him down he might by stout swimming, make the shore at Chapin’s Island, some rods below, and to the west of him. It was a furious, terrible struggle for life, and while the multitude held their breath and looked on, it seemed at first as though the man might still save himself. He almost reacbed the shore of the little island, but he never gained it. Some said that the bush upon which he laid bis hand broke in his,grasp, others thought that his strength left him when a few more strokes would have saved him. He yielded himself to the fury of the rapids, and an instant later his body was hurled over the fatal abyss, amid tbe shudders and groans of tbe heartsick spectators. Those who were nearest the spot where he went over were certain that his dying shriek, full of tbe horrow of despair, articulated the name Mary. All’s Well that End* Well. Some years ago, I knew a lapidary who gained a considerable fortune by a great njisfortune. An excellent work man honest as the day, Montin had but one fault—be was too fond of good wine, which caused him to neglect his work, sometimes for days together, to the greatdisatisfaction of hisemployer, who in all other respects valued and esteem ed him highly, both for bis skill and probity. One day MoDtin received from his master a diamond of the finest water to cut and polish, with strict recommen dations to keep sober until the work was finished. “I rely on your activity,” said the jeweler, on glviDg him the stone. “I must have it without fail on the 15th instant, and if you disappoint me this time, it will be the last you will have from me.” Montin promised exactitude, asked, as was usual with him, part of his pay in advance, and set himself courageous ly to work. Under his skilful hand the diamond soon [began to show forth its beauty; in a few hours it would have been finished, when, unfortunately for Montin’s resolutions, a friend called on him, an old comrade, who had been long absent from Paris; what could they do but take a glass together? Arrived at the cabaret, the time passed quickly away, and Montin thought no more of his unfinished work. During the morning his employer came to see how the polishing of the diamond proceeded. The concierge as sured him that Montin had only just gone out, and would not fail to return directly, as he had for some days been working steadily and unremittingly. Only half satisfied, the jeweler went away, to return in two hours, and to find Montin still absent. Convinced he was at the tavern, themaster charged one of his men to seek him and induce him to return to his work. This was done, and Montin, grumbling between his teeth, quitted his comrade and as cended to his workshop; but his head was no longer clear nor ilia Band steady. > To add to his trouble the diamond be came unfixed ; he Beized it hastily to replace it; his trembling fingers gave a jerk, and by a strange fatality, the pre cious stone flew ‘ut of the window ! Sobered in a moment by this terrible accident, Montin continued gazing out of the casement as if petrified, nis pale lips murmuriDg the words, “ lost! lost! lost!” ' For more than an hour he remained al most motionless, and was only roused from his lethargy by the entrance of his master. “Is it thus you work, Montin?” ex claimed he; “three times have I called for the diamond, and you spend your time at the tavern. Give me the stone; I must have it, finished or unfinished.” Montin looked wildly at him without uttering a word. “What isthematter with you?” asked thejeweller. “Why don’tyou answer? Have you drank all yourßenaes away ?” Tbe lapidary tried in vain to speak. His tODgue Beemed paralyzed. At last he rose, and hiding his face in his hands, murmured : “It—is—lost 1” “Explain yourself. What has hap> pened ?” “Out of the window.” “What! when?” “The stone.” “Well, well, well! tell me what has occurred.” “The stone flew out.” It was now the turn of the master to become silent with astonishment; then, furious with rage, he cried : “I don’t believe a word of your story; you have sold my diamond to pay for your dissi pation.” This accusation was a coup de grace for Montin. He fell fainting at the feet of his master; and it was not without difficulty that he was recalled to life, or rather to a despair which amounted al most to madness. The jeweller, who understood what was passing in his mind, tried to oonsole him, and at last succeeded in rendering him more calm. “It is a most unfortunate accident, no doubt,” said he, “but it is not irrepara ble.” “You do not. then, believe that I sold your diamond for drink ?” said Montin, eagerly. “No, no, Montin, you must forget what I said in the first moment of an ger, and let us try to find a remedy for the misfortune. *The diamond was worth £2OO ; you must endeavor to repay me the half of that sum out of your wages, which, when you work regularly, amount to £3 or £4 a week. With in dustry and sobriety you will soon get out of debt.” “From this time I will work steadi ly,” said Montin, with tears in his eyes. “ You shall see, sir, that though I have been a drunkard, I am not a thief.” “ I believe you,” replied the jeweller. “I have every confidence in you; you are a good workman; I will furnish you with plenty of work, and in a few years you will be right again. Well! will that suit you ? “ Oh yes sir ! only tell me once more that you do not think I sold the dia mond.” “ I repeat, on my honor, that I only said so in the first moment of anger. I am convinced you are an honest man— in fact I prove it by trusting you with more work.” “ Yes, sir, that is true, and I promise you I will not disappoint you. I will repair my fault; the lesson has been severe, but it will not be without its fruits. Montin kept his word —hKrose early and worked indefatigably; the lost stone was replaced by another, which was polished as if by enchantment.— Faithful to his promise, he went no more to the tavern, and became a model of steadiness *and industry. At the end of the year he had paid a considerable part of his debt. Sixteen months passed thus, when one fine morning in May. having finished his work, he placed himself at the window, and watched the boats passing and repassing on the river, which flowed close to the walls of the house. Suddenly his eye was attracted by something glittering on the extreme edge of an old chimney. What was his surprise to discover his half-polished diamond! It seemed as if a breath would precipitate it into the water be neath ; and yet there it had been for so many monthssuspended between heav en and earth! At this Bight his emotion became al most as great as on the day when he had seen it disappear out of the win dow ; he dared not remove his eyes, fearing to lose Bight of the almost re covered treasure. “It is—it is my diamond, which has cost me so many tears,” said he; “ but how shall I reach it 1 If it were to fall! But no, I will take every precaution ; not too fast! let me consider well!” At this moment his employer entered the room. “Oh. sir,” cried Montin, “it is there!” “ What?” said the jeweller. “ My diamond, or rather yours. Ah, 'CJiSJ. i J JL LANCASTER PA. WEDNESDAY MORNING OCTOBER 6 1869 donot touch it, we shall lose it forever.” “Itis true; it is certainly the dia mond that has so tormented ns, but the difficulty is bow to get it. Wait a mo ment, I know how to do it.” So saying he left tbe room, but quickly returned, bearing in bis band a net prepared for catching butterflies. With its aid, and that of a long stick, he proceeded care fully to try and get tbe precioos stone. Montin, hardly dariDg to breathe, watched all hiß movements with the greatest anxiety. At last bis efforts were crowned with success, and he cried, “Here it is, Montin! I congratu late you on its recovery.?lam now your debtor of nearly a hundred pounds.— what do you intend to do with the amount?” “Leave it into your hands, sir, if you will be hind enough to keep it for me.” “Most willingly ; 1 will pay you the interest, and if you continue to add to it you will soon have a nice little sum,” replied the jeweller. This was the beginning of Montin’s fortune. In a few years he became a partner with his master, whose daugh ter he married, and is now one of the principal jewellers in Paris. The Fall Fashions [From the Demores't Magazine for October. J The styles for October begin to show a decided change from the airy light ness of summer attire. In its best moods, it is one of those delightful months when moderate clothing suffi ces for warmth, and the most seosilive fabrics can be worn without suffering injury from oyer-warmth, or the neces sity for heavy wraps. It is the month of months for the wearing rich silk suits, and accordingly we find handsome black silk saits the most distinguished street wear. It is hardly necessary to say that suits areas fashionable as ever —they are more fashionable than ever; they are fast becomings national costume. There is a universal recognition of the excel lence and adaptability of such a dress for out-door wear, and the strong hold it is taking will, we hope and trust, render it a permanent institution. The new suits for fall and winter wear are very handsome, and extremely well adapted to the ihicker-materials now in vogue. Rich fringes, of the same shade as the material, have taken tbe place of the ruffles, and are headed with silk or satin pipings, or the edges of skirt, sash, and basque are vandyked, and then bound and piped with silk or satin, a shade darker than the material. Velvet is also largely used on all sorts of fabrics, and will probably be the most popuiar trimming of the season. It is principally used iu ribbon a 9 bands and bordering.as pendantends to which tassels are attached, and in conjunction with fringe upon basques, bodies, and the eDds of sashes. Wide ribbon velvet is also very effec tiveupon plain green or garnet reps and merino, arranged as braces, with bows upon the shoulders and bows, with or without ends at the back. To the basque or jackets, worn with dresses or complete suits, wide cuffs, sailor collars, or revers of velvet are sometimes added, with very novel and striking effect. Capes are still worn with suits, but they are round, and often made double and triple, with plain or vandyked edges. Very few are looped up, either at the back or upon the shoulders. The single skirt, with Polonaise and cape attached, is not a new, but a very useful and favorite style for ladies who care more for convenience than the lat est fashion. Made in a thick material, such a costume is sufficiently warm for all but the very coldest days of winter. Shawls are rather more worn than they have been of late years, arranged in all sorts of fanciful and picturesqe ways, over suits, or as outside wraps with short dresses. The “Arab” scarf is a very popular garment, and very useful; it can be worn either with dresses that are not complete suits, or over suits to give ad ditional warmth. It is generally made in striped orScotch plaid cloth,and fin ished with fringe and tassels containing the colors of the fabric. They can be bought from $7 to $25 ready made and trimmed. Shawls of all kinds are extremely reasonable in price. The finest “re versible” shawls can be bought for $lO to $l5, and excellent Scotch plaid wool en shawls from;s7 each. One of these, worn straight Highland fashion, over a suit, is more effective than a cloak costing four times its price. children’s fashions. Very pretty suits of Scotch plaid are made for little girls this season, consist ing of high dress trimmed with a plait ed ruffle cut on the bias, and edged with narrow black velvet, and a double cir cular cape scolloped out upon the edge, and trimmed with several rows of black velvet, which follow the lines of the scollops. The upper cape is caught up in a double fold, and ornamented with a round bow of black velvet ribbon, with short cuts. A very pretty party dres3 was just completed for a girl of ten years, made of blue silk trimmed with two narrow flounces of white organdy muslin. The upper skirt was of silk with double ruchings of organdy. The sash was of organdy, with blue fringed ends; the silk bodice was very Jow, cut square, surrounded with fringe, and had a low chemisette of organdy basted on tbe inside. Short cape sleeve, edged with fringe, over short puffed ones of clear musliD. Another very pretty and not expen sive dress for a child may be made in dead buff poplin, or willlook extremely jvell in all wool delaine. It consists of a plain skirt and an upper skirt, open in front and back, but turned back in re verses, lined with bright colored silk, blue or scarlet. The low bodice has cor ners turned back front, and back in the same way, and tbe sleeves also over short puffs of muslin; all of course, are faced with silk to match the skirt, and ornamented with square bows without ends, of black velvet ribbon. Highland dresses for girls and boys are very pretty and fashionable. Dressesof white merino trimmed with black velvets, coats with broad cuffs of black velveteen, and little black velvet hats, turned up with white feathers, are and considered as distingue as'any costumes that will be worn this winter. We advise Scotch plaids for school dresses for girls, above all others; they are so clean and durable. * NEW FALL BONNETS. There is no chaoge worth noting in the size of bonnets, and there is no longer any great distinction between hats and bonnets. Hats, which were formerly considered neglige, demi- toilet, and only fit for country wear, are now exhibited upon all occasions—are worn in the evening, for visiting, at recep tions, and upon the promenade, indis criminately, and are really more pro tective, and have more the appearance of a covering than bonnets themselves. In hats, the rage this season is for three-cornored toques, of black velvet corded with thick white satin, orna mented with a well corded plume of short black and white feathers. In bonnets, the highest distinction is achieved by a high Duchesse design in white or uncut velvet, trimmed with black fringe, instead of lace and black feathers. Black lace strings, tied on one side. Strings are no loDger fasten ed under the chic, nor are ornaments placed there ; they are tied high on the side. Bouquets de corsage are always so placed on the side of the bodice, in stead of in front. Violet toques will be very fashionable this season, turned up with feathers of the same shade of color os the velvet, and mounted with a white aigrette. The newest shape in bonnets is very peculiar. It looks like an archbishop’s mitre. It lies straight to the forehead, but is thrown up high at the back, form ing a groundwork for the plume of feathers, which is the principal orna ment. Feathers will be used largely this sea son, at which we rejoice. There is no other ornament as graceful or appro priate for a winter bonnet. Black lace strings are particularly be coming upon a bonnet of black velvet, but they should be composed of hand made lace. Tulle or imitation lace is of little or no service; it splits, or becomes “stringy ” after once or twice of using. FALL OUTSIDE GARMENTS. The large square Bhawls of black cashmere which have been revived, are laid in plaits at the back and heavily so as to form a very handsome mantle, and constitute a very distin guished finish to a plain black walking or visiting costume. Half squares of cashmere are also ooped up, but in a different way. They are taken np over tbe arms and fastened high npon the shoulders, with jet pins or square bows of thick black ribbon, three inches wide, the centreof the back being arranged in the form of a hood, or allowed to droop in folds. The edges may be finished with fringe or lace, but fringe is more fashionable. Black cashmere scarfs striped in the roman colors are bordered with a hand some woolen fringe containing the col ors of the stripes, and ornamented with black woolen tassels, capped with silk, in colors. These are draped at the back, “Arab” fashion, and are worn over Bhort dresses, or added to suits, when extra warmth is needed. Bmall mantelets of black velvet have been revived to some extent; but they are generally embroidered with plain black silk. Blue and scarlet flannel sacks for houe> wear are made in the plain sack form, simply and prettily trimmed with two bands of plain flannel of different widths, one black, the otber the color of t'he body part, but both notched out up oh the edges, and stitched through the centre with black silk. A pretty, but not particularly new, breakfast jacket is madeof white ribbed flannel bound with narrow striped satin, white and blue, or white and scarlet. The new water-proof cloaks are made with sleeves, a small round cape or hood, and are buttoned all the way down the front. The black velvet cloaksof the coming season seem inclined again to take the form of baaquinea. There is no other style, in fact, mo handsome or so well adapted to velvet, which does not adapt itself to folds, and is quickly spoiled if laid in plaits. Square and long shawls of Scotch plaid are in great abundance aud variety, of high quality and beauti ful coloring. MATERIALS FOR SUITS. Cloth is coming more and more into favor for winter suits, and, if of good quality, there is nothing that is half so satisfactory. A Jigbt all wool ribbed ladies’ cloth is among ibe new and admired fabrics of the season, and is especially adapted for serviceable suits. English water proof cloth achieved a high degree of popularity last season, and the favor accorded to it will un doubtedly be Increased this season. Velveteen is taking its place among tbe useful materials, and is especially employed for children’s outside gar ments. But the high style for the “girl of the period” this winter will be the gayest of clean tartans in suits trimmed with black velvet. TRIMMINGS, Flat trimmiuga promise to be very fashiouuble this winter, in the shape of broad ribbon velvet, heavy braids,cords, gimps, and bindings, but heavy corded braids principally, in addition to black velvet, and the galloons which are used so much for cloth suits. Fringes of the same color as the ma terial, or containing the colors of the material, are in high vogue, and trim a suit riehiy though somewhat expen sively. Oueof the sensations consists of .-rbite dresses, white grenadine or white mo hair, trimmed with black velvet and black knotted silk fringe. Cords, gimps, and narrow galoons striped In the Roman colors, are used to trim gray or black alpaca diesses with very good effect; and Roman striped silk or satin is also largely used, cat into narrow bias folds, which alternate with others of the material, or are em ployed as headings toa fringe trimming. These goods, striped on black or some more striking color, are also cur injo revers , sailor collars, and the broad mousquetaire cuffs now worn, and form a most effective finish to plain house dresses of merino, empress cloth or cash mere. Wlmt n Girl Can lio. 5 In the year of our Lord lSG2fate found us a student in the Normal University in this State. In common with about three hundred others, we patiently delved through the mysteries of learn ing how to teach, in order that we might teach how to learn. A queer set those three hundred were—and very naturally ; for, at that time, only the queer ones ever thought of becoming professional school teach ers. Those who did were either crip pled. poor, or, like ourself, both too poor and too lazy to think of doing anything else, or have an ambition above the spelling book aud ferule. Well, the profession has looked up since then, which may furnish a reason why we left it! There was in the school a he terogenous class, composed of those scholars who had been in the school long enough tograduate; but who, from inattention or inability, had not kept up to the average standard, and had been put back to go over the ground again. Some had been in the school three, some four, and some five years. They were looked upon by the regulars, i e., the students whohadkeptup with the regular course, with a feeling of mingled coutempt and pity, and even the >cboiarsin tbe lower classes patron ized them. If any mischief was done, this class of stupids were pretty sure to have a hand iu it; on which account they were not favorites with the faculty. One of the most notable of this class was a young girl named M . She was a fair mathematician, a tolerable scholar; a good-natured, rather quiet girl. She bad no trouble in the lower classes, aud it was not until she came to those rhetorical studies where composi tion is required that she stuck fast and hopelessly. She could not write. Every year she passed through the same ex aminations, failed exactly in the same place, was not allowed to graduate, and at the beginning of the next year, took herplace where she had commenced the year before, and, with a docile perse verance that was funny to think of, went over, and over, and over the same round of studies with sober, demure and painstaking method. Bhe bid fair to be what a great many other girls become —the ordinary wife of an ordinary man. More than once the faculty shook their heads and declared that M would never, they feared, become an earnest teacher. For five years she lived this purposeless, dull, aud objectless life, and then a change came. Her parents lived in Bloomington, where her father carried on a furniture store. He was stricken down by dis ease ; and, after a long and lingering illness, died, leaving M , the oldest girl, her mother, a younger sister, and two younger brothers, all of them de pendent upon their sister for a llvely hood. People sympathized with her— sympathy is so cheap—and came to the following charitable conclusions: Ist. That she would have a hard time of it. 2d. That the best thing she could do would be to get married. 3d. That if she couldn’t do that she might be able to teach school. And having thus settled her case, they left her to her fate. Then the girl’s nature asserted itself. Instead of selling off her stock which her father left for what she could get, and living on it until something turned up, she hired workmen, put the stock to rights, and sold it at retail. People pitied her—but they bought her goods. People sympathized with her, as it was a dreadful thing for a girl to do what in a boy would have been thought highly commendable. When her stock ran low, she aston ished her friends bygoingtoNew York City and buying a larger lot of furni ture than any one ever before had had the hardihood to bring to Bloomington —and, what is more, she sold it. For the first year the open sympathy and covert sneers of her friends were hard to bear. She succeeded, of course. The other day we saw her, after seven years of hard work. The same old fashioned, quiet, good-natured manner, the same M , unpretentious, oblig ing, demure. And yet, she owns a store worth $lB,- 000, in the upper story of which she be gan her labors, but whioh is filled from cellar to garret with her goods. She pur chased a house trme ago for $7,000, and can sell it now for $lO,OOO. She has $30,000 in real-estate, with a stock worth $20,000, and all paid up. This a work of a girl still young, who in school looked upon only as possessed of ordinary abilities. The Becret was, she bad persistence. She is unmarried, and—she is stron g minded; that is she* believes In women owning property, and not being tied down to what is called woman’s sphere. Who can blame her. Had she taken the advice of those who consider that they have settled the great question of the age, she wquld be now toiling in a schoolroom, wocn out, jaded and wretched, on a miserable salary of forty dollars a month. In stead of that she.is free and independent and rich, who were considered smart, are grinding along editing country-papers or starving. She is as unpretentious asever-!-for the exe cutive talent that could do so much is not one that blows its ownhoro. Finally, every word that we have written is true. The only reason we do not give her name in full is because we do not like to drag her name into pub lic notice without her consent. Resi dents in Bloomington will know whom We mean, and others curious can find out by addressing us personal ly. We only publish the case be cause it shows that there is no real bar to a woman’s doing business if she has bas the natural faculty and persistence. Highland Mary. One of the most beautiful songs in any language, says the Lexington Kentucky is Bums’ ‘Highland Mary.' It was inspired by the great tcotch Poet’s love for Mary Campbell, a High land lassie, whose beauty of form was only equalled by the sweetD&feof her nature and the purity of her heart.— Burns said of her that she was “fair and affectionate, and as guileless as she was beautiful.” The first time he saw her wa^during one of hismusing walks in £he woods of the “Castle of Mont gomery,” of which he wrote : “ Green be your woods, and fair your flowers, Your waters never drumliel Thera simmer first un/aulds her robes, And there the langest tarry ; For there I took my last lareweel O’ my sweet Highland Wary.” Mary Campbell, so pretty, so pure, so gentle, and so intelligent a lassie, could not but have many admirers among the gay laddies of the uplands of Scotland, and Burns found that he bad rivals in abundance for her love. But : the superior address of the Ayrshire poet was successful, and Mary Camp bell gave him her whole heart. She knew of Burns’ irregularities of life, that he had sinned grieviously against her own sex, but she knew in her own heart that her love for him was as pure as that which the holy angels feel, and she was equally confident that Bhe had inspired in his heart an affection that was superior to any selfish or sensual passion. Believing this she plighted her faith to him. determined to wed and lead him in the path of virtue as well as animate him with an ambition to do great ihi rigs worthy of hla genius, which she was undoubtedly capable of appreciating. Burns remained long enough in the Highlands to consum mate his engagement with the dear creature. He left her, expecting in a few short months to return and claim her as his bride. Of the hours he spent with her he sung: “The golden hours, on angol wings, Flew o’er me and my dearie ; For dear to me as light and uis Was my sweet Highland Mary.” Before parting they exchanged vows of eternal devotion of the most tender kind They stood with a running stream between them, and holding in their hands the Bibles which they had ex changed, they lifted up water in their hands and vowed to remain faithful and true to each other asloog as woods grew and waters ran. They parted, how, is told in the following words of this sweet sad song : *'Wi’ moaie a vow, and locked embrace, Our oil ling was in' tender ; And pledging aft to meet »gain, We tore ourselves aasundur.” But meet again they did not. She went her way to Caval to make prepar ation ror weaning, ana was soon seized with a burning fever which has tened her to an early grave. ‘‘But, oh! fell death's untimely frost, That nipt my flower sae ean.” It is said that Burns never heard of her death until he was on his way to meet her at the marriage altar. He never forgot her, never ceased to love and mourn for her. No one had ever before so filled the heart of this way ward, passionate poet, and no one ever afterwards was able to make him forget his “Highland Mary.” He once before took leave of her In a poem when he ex pected to go to the Indies, in this man ner: “I have sworn by tha Heavens to my Mary, f have sworn by the Heavens to be true ; And sae may the Heavens forget me, •‘lf I forget my vow.” He was faithful to this vow, find his poem of Highland Mary is one evidence of it. Perhaps the sweetest poem Burns ever wrote was composed in the memo ry of lovely Mary Campbell. Years af ter her death—after Burns had married and commenced housekeeping, and had children about him, upon an anniver sary of Mary Campbell’s death, he fell into a fit of melancholy, which remain ed uphank, John Hade and Mr. Crunkleton, a good farm containing 36 ACRES of choice limestone l*nd, all now under good fencing. Tbe Improvements consl-t of a iwo story LOG HOUeitS, containing 0 rooms; h good Log Barn, 60 feet long; Wash House, nmoke House, Hog Pen, and a Well of Water; also, a good Orchard of choice Emit Trees. Pariles desiring any Information In regard to tbe property, cm call on the Admlnlstiator at his store In Ureencaslle, or his brother, re siding on the farm. bale will commence at L o'clock, on said day, when terms will he made known by Samuel Bho Walter, sep 29-3LW-391 Administrator. Y AI.CABLE FARR AIVD HILL MEAT AT PUBLJOBALE.—On TUESDAY, OC TOBER 2Cth, A. D., 18G9, the undersigned will sell at public sate, at the public house of Jacob Kesh, in Drumore township, Lancaster county, Pa., all the valuable Tracts of Laud as herein described, to wit: Tract No. I, containing 129J4 ACRES, more or less, situate in Drumore township, Lancaster county. Pa., one-quarter of a mile from Drumore Centre, and about the same dis tance from the Lancaster and Port Deposit Hoad, upon which are erected a Large Two -tory Brick DWELLING HOUSE, Frame Barn, Large Carriage House, Smoke House. Spring House, Wagon Shed, Hog Hoase, and other-necessary outbuildings; there Is an Or chard of choice Apple Trees, in prime bearing condition. 110 Acres of this tract is good f-trm land, tbe balance In Woodland. The properly Is well watered, there being four streams, one of which is the conowlugo Creek, running through It. Fine water is carried to the door of the noose by a hydraulic ram. No. 2, a tract of wood and pasture land, con taining SEVEN AND A HALF ACRE 3, with the Conowlngo Creek running through It, This Is a good site for a Mill or other Ma chinery, tbe stream furnishing good andsteady min' power. Sale to commence at 1 o’clock, P. SL, of said day, when attendance will be given and terms of sale made known by _ sep 29-ltw-lO} WILLIAM W. STEELE, B. F. Rows, Auctioneer. g fl. SCHAEFFER* WHOLESALE AND RETAIL BADDLERJ NOS H AND 2 EAST KING,STREET | anllQJ coml floor, :tnd hm tbe third tloor. There Is cue if the duvet ln tbucjuuty. Also a stream running through the Meadow. Lavg.« *lono Bank B*rn, Waguu Hhed with iwo t'oru Cilb*, rnrrlugo she -, double Hog Pen, i«m -kp Hums*, Orcliurd >-f Fruit ApnUs, Peaches, Pears, three □ Ice grape vines. The Kulhllngs are in tho centre ot tho fa m, w Inch t» a great advantage. Stock i au be turned tuio :\uy tl U 1 i.u tho farm within three hundred yuds irotn the haru yard. There is a grist mill wlthlu l of » mi-e, 3 mills within 1 mile of the farm. For further Inform itlon address the subscriber, Qulucy. Franklin county, Pa. Sop t!) 3tw-39] JAMK4 A. COOK. BEAUTIFUL “ UREEN SPRINGS'’ FARM FOR SALE, IN CENTRAL VIRGINIA. At the request of \\ elilngt.in (Jordon, Esq., we will ofl'cr at public aiicilou, on the premi ses. on FH DAY, lh.* lMh day of OOTUHEC, l&jil, his beaul'fivl HXuto 'kunmuir," situa ted lu the fiitnotis *• (;rcm "pri; neighbor hood, in Lou.sa couuty, '■'a., -Hi mile*'.-y a level road f om 1 revlhlni/a-tdaflon, Chesa peake Auluo Hal I road. **■ The F.srm contains :> 7 acres of prime open pud 11X1 i-ero-. >*l good wood ihuU. Dwelling House, built le;i year* mm, of Improved eol tsge style, large and commodious, cuinmatid ing a lovely proipect. A due Orchard ami Ciardeu, aud every out building usually found un first-class estates, lu good re pa ir. Locution us hcullhy an auy ou earth ami neighborhood uoted for wtv.llh aod rellaemeuL At ihe same time, will bo nold ttio Crops. Stock aud Tools, Household and Kitchen hlluro. Terms made km wu on dnv ofsale, NULAND, t.MUKA CO., Iteul iv-l-tto AgCtll*, Charlottesville, Vi». At ehy Deni ic a h i. e r a rh Ul KKUKI) A f THIN’ A T K 8 A I, K . Tliis lluo Kurm of' ?s partly In Driunore nud partly hi Fulton wtißhlpH, I/moister oimuty, I’a., on tho road aulng from Penn 1111 l to Kulrttvid, 1?4 lullee eat nt the former pluro, ami I*4 miles north 3iu Peuchbatloin Kerry. Thu improvement# nsl.l of two substantial ‘-TON F UOIMR-t, wo Barns, Wauon Houses, Ac. There aro fit .ertw of superior CUestnut nmi Oak Timber' .ml two Orchards on the proper y, Thu pl»c« k finely watered, under yoed fence, aUaple-i lo all farming purposes uurhood, con venient to mills, MlorcH, cnim’iics aud Hcnuols. Tbe farm could, if desired, he conveniently divided Into two tracts with tmlldiugs timber and wii'cr on each. Tbe present owner having r* moved to the city Is determined lo sell ttio above property at a very reasonable price. Title Indisputable; terms made,easy tolsr.lt purchasers. For further Information address Lancaster. VAI.T’AKI.K FAR.TI ATl*ln SATUKHAY, O»T*>HKK Hlth, |Si», will bo exposed to sale, on the pruinlsiH, In Kphrata townsnl p, lai ncusti r coun l> , ulsjut >4 o( a mile west ol 1< pliiata Hnllroud Mutton, « u the Lancaster and heading Road, tbe follow* ing Real Ksiate, viz : A Farm containing 7d AUKKM AND II PF.RCHKH, adjoining lands of Aiu rj s onu Kitchen at tached ; Brick summer Mouse, lur«m>no ami a halfstory Frame Tenanl Uoum-, Bank Barn and Wagon Hhed attached; also, i Wagon Bliud with two Lorn frit*., llog rttshle-.-ml oi her uece-sary out building- Also (.-.vn the »n»rlh side of the aforesaid road, will be sold separate from the mum farm os may sull puna. Afters, Tbo above was late the property of Clms. Bauman, deceased. 8-1 00 of the purchase money can remain on te farm, If so desired, at 5 per ceut, per an- .sale th commence at 1 o'clock, I\ M. t when terms will be made known by seplD :itw ;>O«J BAR \ H BAUMAN. I,L'BI,K: NAU..-ON MDSDAT, OITO- I HER lint, istili, ihe undersigned oxo ulors of William h. Long, dic’d, will sell al .public Hu Ip , on the premises of No. I, the following desirable pror.ertte-: No. 1. A Valuable Farm containing NINETY ACRE J , moro or less, of well improved mid h ghly pro ductive land, sit ated on the ('ooowlnio Creek, In Uruinoru township, Lancaster coun ty, about 1 mile northeast of Chestnut Level, udjolnlug properl leu of Nathaniel Meyer, Joha N. Russel. Hamuel Charles nud others, six acres consist or Woodland, and the balance la dlvded Into eight convenient Quids, well fenced and wtll watered. The Irnpruvt'menbi consist of a large and convenient DWELLING HOUBE, partly stouu and partly Frame, with a never-falling Well nnd Dump I eridu at the door: a large KKAME BARN, a Wagon Hhwl, Hog Ilou-e, Carriage House, and other uices sary out-bulldlngH. There is u line OHI'U ABD OF CHOICE APPLES, wllli a variety (if other fruit on tho place, which is one of the most desirable In tills section n( couulry, anil Is convenient to Churches, Mills, and places of busluess of Minins' • very It mil. No. 2. Tho one undiv.h l half-part of a VALUABLE MILL PitOl’L iVT Y, adjoining the above, containing 1M ACRKB OF LAND more or less, live acres of w hlch Is good Tim ber Land. The Mill Is a largo Tnreo-Htory Frame Building has four run of stone—2 burr* and 2 of saudHtooe, end all iho nece-nAry ma chinery of all Ulniis—the po .ver being supplied from tho Couowiugo Creek by two water wheels, and the supply ol water and the fall being abundant for all needful purposes. The Mill has always enjoyed an excellent run Of country custom, and Is capable of d dug ex tensive merchant wor*, li desired. There la also a HAW M 1 LL attached, with a Two-Hlory Frumo DWELLING HOU E, with Pump a» the d>.or, Htable, Ac., and tho whole propefer Is In a thorough couUMon of repair. Theotbto undivided lulfof this property, belonging ty H. H. LONG, will also be sold by btmattb* same tlrn.'i mid place. ' No. H. The undivided half of a piece of WOODLAND, In said township, near No. 1, and adjoining lauds of James M. Hopkins and J. B. Jordan .containing THREE AOKEH more or less, of Chestnut HI’RGUT LAND, fll foi cutting. No. 4. Tho undivided half of a piece of WOODLAND, In raid township, adjoining lands of Jam»*H M. HnpUlos.J ., IKCU, 1q the case of Johu Hhafer. Bankrupt, the subscriber, an Assignee "i said Bankrupt, will oiler at Public Halo, on the preinlsts, situate near Avondale Mlallnu, on the line of the Western MaryUnd Railroad, In Carroll county, and distant from the city of Westminster about 3 mileM.''t>u W KDS the 21/rn ot OCTOBER 1-tiU, tbe following de scribed Real Estate, viz: A Valuable Farm containing 173 ACRiCH, 1 RtiOD AN U 3 HQ,UARE I'EHCHRH OF LAND, more or less, adjoining the lands of David siirlvc-r and otberN, and Unproved wltb a good FRAME D ICLLINCi, a large and excefleot BCNK BARN, covered wttb slate; also a Aprlng Houhc, Hmokc House, Hog ID'Use, Wagou House, Ac. All Hie buildings are In very graxl repair. There are upon the prem ises some of the choicest varieties ol apples, peaches and otoer fruit. This farm is In every reepeclono of the most desirable and product've In the couri'y. and lor wheat growing Is un-urpu- <•>! by n n* la the county. Jho soil Is n iturinl> of a very superior character, being an admixture of slate and limestone, and bav ing boon regularly limed and wed fanned, i- n<>w in a high state of cultivation. It is also well watered. There Is upon the premises at this time a lurge quan tity of straw and in >nuro which will bo sold with the farm. All the Interest and estate of the a*ld John Shafer la the .Marble (.quarries heretofore leased to Messrs Stewart, Wilson A Co , will be sold with the larm. Also, at the samo time and place will bo sold the very desirable MILL PROPERTY, nearly Adjoining the above di-scrl bed nreml«ee, and situate on the public road leaning from WestiuloMler to New Windsor, distant from tti* former üboul J mllea, from too latter about -i mtieH. The Mill has been rocently repaired am) ih In good running order. Thero Ik an ex cellent Duelling with the necessary outbuild ings, and also 4 A CRUM AND 21 SQUARE PERCHES of land, more or less. i>-*longlng to the Mill Property. There Is adjoining the m»ll an Ex cellent Distillery In repair, widen to gether with all tue Fixtures, will be sold with tne mill properly. Also at tli- same time and place will bo sold the following valuable WOOD LOTS, which are sttunL* within a short utstancoof the above described farm, and adjoining the land* of Timothy Lane, James Boactiaiuand others, viz: Lot No. 1, containing 1y s Acre:! of Land, more or lens. Lot No. 2 containing 8 Acres and 2 Perches of Land, more or less. Lot No. 3, containing Acres of Land, more or less. Lot No. 4. containing fl Acros, 1 Rood and T Perches of Land, more or less. Lot No. 5, containing fl V re*, 1 Rood and 4 Perches of Land, rnoro or less. Lot No. 6, contaiolngfl Acre*, l Rood and 9 Perches of Land, moro or leas. Lot No. 7, containing h) Acres, 1 Rood and II Perches of Lund, more or leas. Lot No. 8, containing Acres of Land, more or l#sa. Lot No. 9, containing XO'A Acros of Land, more or leas. Lot No, 10, containing 3% Acros of Land, more or less. Lot No. U, contaln'ng 4 Aores an«l 3 Torches of Land, irore or less. Tho above described property will bo itld free of all liens and encumbrances tberean, and upon purchasers oomplylng with t he terma of sale immediate possession will be given to all tho property, except a portion of the dwell lngat the Mill, which is leased until the flnl of next April. ... . . .. Terms uk SAI.S.— l One-third of the purchaao moiflwln cash, tho balance in twoequalpay. ments of one and two years, with interest from theday of sale, tho credit payment* cared to the satisfaction of the undersigned Sale to commence at 11 o’clock, A. M. CHARLES B. ROBERTS, Assignee * & 1 sep2J-3tw-391 Westminster, 17D ACRES, TMUB. .M. CM'LHON, Lancaster city, Fa.