She SsUUigron) PDBLI3H3OXSVEBT WEDIHCSDATBT ii. o. saiiTn & go A. Jh STEIHMJIIT Jl. G. Smith. TERMS—Two Dollars per innum. payable In all oases Id advance. Tit* Lancaster Daily Intelligences la published every evening, Sunday excepted, at 5 per Annum In advance. OOBITEB Or CK2TC&S >FFICE-Boi UARB. ( '(<OOD *IIDIXGS.*’ GaM tidings! Good tiding l Ring otr, «> Calstmas b i!«t! Tun old familiar music mill O'er bill aud lowland awellß 1 Go twine with Ivy leaves and bay The holly's c ra! gem, And welcome, Cni 1 .tiau hearts to-Jay, The Babe or uotnlehem. Good tidings! Good tiding:! It Is the selfsame slruiu That once the holy angels sang To shepherds on the plain ; A song which brings the weary res?, And comforts those that mourn ; The ancient, anthem, ever blest— “To us aChlld Is born.” <Jr»od tidings! Good tidings! Tho world is old and i-aid; We need tbo blessed Christinas tide To make ns young»nd gild! To darkened eyes who saw through tears Taetr earth lights pale and dio This holy radiance appears— •* Tho day-spring Irum on hlg!j.” Good tidings ! Good Tidings ! O meek and lowly King! Teach overy faithful heart this day Thy praise aright to slug; Teach us to do Thy detda of love, Thy precious sued to sow; As angels work for Tine above, fco let us work bol .w.: Good tidings! Good tidings ! The in tisle shall not cense ; He came to guide our wayward f ct Into tho way ol peace; Chime, tuneful bulls, aud loudly ring To hull the Christmas morn ; Awake, a 1 Cht !s wu souls, and -s' og ••] o ls a Chi 1 l Is b. ru ” From the quickened worn b of the primal gloom Tue huh j oIU-d bi* ok aud bare, Till 1 wove him a v.\*>t for his Lthtop breast Of the threads of my golden hair; And when the lima I tent of the llrruum r nt, Arose on Its airy Bpar«q I penciled ttjo hue or Its matchless blue. Aud spangled l; round with siarj I painted the llowcrs of the Eden b rwtra, And their leaves o! living i-nen, And ml no were the dye»lu i h a hluU ss i yes Of Edeu’s virgin ipmeu ; And when the lleud’a ai l i.i Hie trust u! heart llad p.Htene l its m >ral sp»- 1, In the silvery sp iere ot . be II -v -barn l- nr TO|tho trembling earth I i :l. When the wives that burA o'c .i w.» 'd ac cursed Their work of wr.vh lmd sp •<), Aud tlie Ark’s Pure tew, ail tired and lr i-, Came forllt unions the d-a •, With tho won i ions gleam i of the bridal beams, I bade the terrors cease, As I wr-teon the toit.f lbc s’.arm's dark scroll, God's covenant of pea" \ Like a pall at rest on t.he senseless breast, Night’s fUU‘ ral shadow slept— Where Khephord sw ;i oon Bet hlchem's plains Their lonely vigils Ue; l ; When 1 11 isned on their si {it the hertlds bright Of Heaven’s re Icriii! g pi n, Am thev* chaired t i m j: oof a -i.i\ .:>.tr b »ru Joy, Joy, to ttie oulc i->t mar . Equal lavor I show to the lofty amt i .w, on the Just uud u i J ist 1 >Je ; E’en the blind, wii <so v;»l:i >pn.i.s toll lu darkness an ■ ti ar g , Feel iny smile the blest nnllo of a friend. Nay, the II >wer of ll.e waste by my love lu embraced As the rose of tin: gin- eu of kings ; At the chrysalis bier ot the woi m 1 appear, Aud lo ! tho gay but U t lly’s wings ! The desolate nmi n, like a mourner lor !< m. Conceals a<l ho pude ol hoi charms, Till I bid tho bright hour» cause Hie night from tier 1! *wers. And loud the young day to her arm l :; And when the g*y rover seek) E.e for Ills lovor, And sinks to her b Umy repo i\ I wrapt their soft test ny the zephyr-fanned west. In curtains of amber uud rose. From my sentinel st op by Lhe night-brooded deep, Igsziwitb nnslumborlng eye, When the cynosure star of the tnarlucr Is blotted out from thesky; And guld* d by me through the merciless s?a, 1 hough sped by tho bun 1 cane’s wings, Ills o mipaulonlu-'s, dark, lone, weltering bark, i o the imvtn home s ifedy ho hi lugs. I wiktu tlio fl}\v.*r.H hi tii) dew-spsinsled bow.is, ° The bi lls in 0 | green, Anti mounUlu-. nuil jiliin ” u>» mu. again. As Uiey bv-k Hi (heir inntinnt iliren. O, it bu.;li ill - gliid \v?nhof my i-rasenco on e H th. Tlio'iyti n:ful and (1 v I'.nij in WkU 141011'. h must r ■ t blest. Ever br.’ght ’* miillf'! M'm I ill Palmer, .a AIIF.I) I I.L 111 Falhdi oJ sud Tru(.t<, " upi n x time,’ Ono«lay In June h <J> Le.ou- tveaiuer ('Twtt* lu a dim mi l njm it ml mime,) Like BlK'.orh In >l-: a walk lorn tner. On, on. thtlr uicriy way llu y t ols, '1 To wlioio a beecii i o-1(1l- a brook Iu vltod re-il beu- ai li t ;S sstoudow. Ther , sluing lu tlio pleasant bind-.-, Up.tu tUe margin's gran y m itiing, (A. velvet cushion ready m ule ) The young cn rpi'iUms fo'.l to chilli:.y. Now, while In voluble discourse On this and t.hn' their tnn.-ues are ruunlnc, A*» habit bid*, each sj. a'-;s pir orec The out* U film*, the oih-*r eimnli g. Fti'Hcdiood, at h-ijjji h, 1m p .1 lent grown, With r-caudals >.I her owu creation, Fald i “Since we tw.> nr *i] illn alone And nicely s.u-.auvd lYoiu i b-orvull n. Suppoto. lu this dillghirul rill, Whi!o all arijund Is so popni tuo. Wo take u hath ?” SuUl 1 rut.u : “1 wil A bub, I’m .sure, will bo doLca/us!" At this bo- rc.bn ohe ca d. .‘.side, Ami lu Him mrenm Ui»i- ran In f i t p In r hhe plu ugod, like ocean ’h li tippy b. 1 do. Aa uako.l as her mother boro her. Falsehood at h lmiro uow undressed, Futoll' ho robt« her limbs that hump r, And having dom.i d Truth's snowy veal, Ran oil'as fad as aho cjiial scampi r, Since then, the simile maid, in sonili, Expert lu lies unit shrewd eviiKion*, II is buruo Urn houo>t name of Truth, Aud wears her 'dot lies on all oe* si w.s. While Truth, disdaining to aojx <ir In Falsehood's pett lco.it »md bod Ice, BUII braves all eyes, iruia y«*ar to j c.r, As naked as a marble goddess ! gjJlteceNiuuflUis. *,» Undertaker’s Wedding, There is ft 11 melancholy interest ” iu a little ailair that actually occurred not a thousaud miles from Boston, a short time since. A well kuown clergyman received oue morning an imperative summons to be in attendance to per form “ the ceremouy ” at the residence of an equally well-kuo.vn undertaker in the evening. He went, accordingly, supposing, of course, that he was to ac company the man of grief to a house of mourning, but was agreeably disap pointed ou liuding the house (over the shop) brilliantly lighted aud filled with guests, whom the uudertukerproceeded to introduce as follows: “ This is my intended wife, sir, Miss Crape. Ishall marry her To-night, if you’ll officiate,” “Certainly,” replied the clergymau, somewhat amuaia; “ami these are your friends to witness the ceremony ?” looked round at ihu crowded apart meut. *» Q, yea, yon know many of them— allow me—this is Mr. Boaes, Sexton of St. Charles Church.” Mr. Bones ro-«esolemnly, and heaved a hundred dollar funeral sigh as he bowed to the minister, ‘'Mr. Mould, sexton of the biick chapel.” Mould, who hid a low cut white vest, a large glassy wiiite shirt bosom aud collar, a pale face ami sunken eyes, which gave him the appearanoe of being •‘laid out,” replied to theclorgymen's greeting with the usual sad shake of the head he hud practiced at funerals the past twenty years. “ This,” said the UoM, as the individ ual approached ou tip toe, with down cast gaze, us if afraid of disturbing the silence of a grief stricken family sitting In the front parlor at a funeral “ this is Mr. Black, the undertaker; I believe you’ve met before.” Black bowed, and inclined his sideways, a* if he ex pected Ihb minister to whisper some directions to him before proceeding with the servioe. “Allow me to make you acquainted with Mr. Stone, the sculptor.” Stone griped the minister’s hand as he would a mallet; he was proprietor of Stone’s Monumental Workq. Then followed introductions to the superintendents of two cemeteries, a plate eugraver, and others more or less connected with the grim business of the host, who after finishing iu trod uctious.auuouuced him self ready for the marriage ceremony. “You don’t mind stauding here and usiDg this black walnut case for a table, do you?" said the bridegroom: “itwas too heavy to movp, besides it's full of □hrouds hud caps that we don’t want to tumble." The minister acquiesced, aud he twain were duly united, after which cake, wine and conversation pervaded the company. The clergyman congratulated the bridegroom on hio bride. “Yes,” re plied the happy man, “she's been my housekeeper some time, —nice woman— aint afraid of dead folks." “Ah, indeed," said the clergyman, getting a little chilly down along bis backbone in spite of himself, and wish' log to change the subject, he remarked “Anynews today, Mr. Tressells?" “News, no—that is, yes! You re- VOLUME 70 member Merker, who jumped overboard and drowned himself from a ferry boat last week? ” “Yes," “Well, they found him this morniDg in ten feet of water, and paving stones in his pockets." “Indeed!” nyes! We've got him up stairs, 1/ you'd lilce to see him /” Not knowing what might come next, the clergyman thought best to take his departure, which he did with a grave demeanor suited to the occasion. flow the Umbrella flan Away with Ellle. A CHRISTMAS STORY FOR THK CHIL- The old clock in the market place rang out the hourof three in tonessweet and tremulous with age. The children coming from school counted the strokes and rejoiced ; for when the black, spi dery pointers should have thrice again travelled around their dial, Christmas eve would be begun. The afternoon is crisp and cool. Jets of thin, bluish smoke curl from the chimneys like long fingers, ail pointing the same way—pointing to the flr-clad hill which rises beyond the town. If we followed their direction, we should find ourselves on the steep path which crosses its top, and, winding down the other side, luns close to the door of a small cottage —the cottage of Dime Ur sula and her little Ellie. A tiny place—so low, and brown, and hidden among the mossy rocks, that we might pass by without seeing it. In summer, there are bee*hives, and the bees buzz cheerfully among the wild thyme: but now their music is frozen into winter silence. Aod the porch, where Ellie sat at her spinning during the sweet, warm days, is empty. Only the faint gray curl from the chimney tells of life within. The door is on the latch. Lst us push it open. A few sticks on the hearth, the clock ticking—that is all. No, one other sound —a sigh from the bed in the corner. It is Dame Ursula lying there alone. Poor woman !—something very aud has happened. She has always been so strong and active that she forgot she was no longer young, and climed up a ladder to mend the thatch on her roof. And she fell, and twisted and bruised her back dread fully. It hurls her a great deal. She cannot move or work; and here is Christmas at hand, and all her plaus for giving Ellie a treat are spoiled. No wonder she sighs. We came in so softly that she did not hear us; but now the door is pushed open again aod she looks up. It is EN lie, all llushed and rosy, and dragging e great spruce-bough fresh from the forest. She claps her hands joyously as she cries : “ See, grandmother, here is our Christmas tree.” “ Poor child, thou hast nothing to put on it.” “ Ah ! but this is not all,” cries Ellie again clapping her hands. “I've thought of a plan—such a plan, grand mother !” “ And what is that, my Ellie ?” “Thou knowest the silver thaler in the stocking we said should go for the candles and the plums for the Christ mas fete, my grandmother?” “ Yes,’liebchen ; but I cannot go to town to buy them.” “Put I can, grandmother —that is my good plan ! I will trim the fire, ami set the soup beside thee, before I go. I know the way so well, and the shop with the great fir tree in the window, aod I shall say : ‘ I am Dame Ursula’s little Ellie, and thou must sell me a good measure of plums, because my grandmother has hurt her back.’ Aud wucn i will light the can dies aud hang the raisins aua on the bough, and it will be so gay. Dear grandmother, do say I may go.” She looked so eager that the Dame bad not the heart to refuse her. She thought of the long distance, and the lonely path; but she knew the little feet were light and active, aud the little head as wise a 3 a woman’s. So she kissed the bright cheek and answered : “ Yes, liebchen, thou mayest go. Put on thy Sunday kirtle, and thy red cap, and make thyself neat, as soon as may be, and do not linger upon the road, lest night overtake thee.” h jiiie of ibo Eilie was soon dressed. The fire was stirred, the broth prepared, the little basket reached from its nail. “And take the umbrella with thee, dear. The'winter days often cheat us with rain, and I would not have the wet,” said the grandmother, last of all. Now, to be trusted with the umbrella was counted by EiJieagreat honor. — She willingly obeyed. It had been her grandfather’s, and was very big and blue, with his name cut upon a horn shield on the handle. It was taller than she, and not easy to carry , but she felt proud of it, as, mounting the hill, basket in hand, she went, looking very like Red Riding-Hood, and full of iiappy thoughts. The town was safely reached, the er rands douo. Everyone was in holiday humor, and gave full measure to the bright-eyed little maid. Jan, the fruit merchant, even tucked a gift into her hand —a bright, rosy cheeked apple. The plums, the tapers, the bit of beef, the filberts, were all stored safely iu the basket; but time had fiown, aud it was nearly six before the heavy laden little messenger was ready to turn her steps toward home. The pleasant day was changing into a wild, gusty evening. Little dull, red fragments of sunset were scudding over the sky, and a atromr, chill wind piped through the mountain pass. It blew Eliie aloDg, and was of use in that way ; but her fingers grew cold and stiff, and she could hardly hold the basket. At last, she hung it ou her arm, and just then a few heavy drops fell, aud, miudful of grand mother’s order,sheputup theumbrella. Alas for Ellie! As well might a lamb have attempted to manage a balloon at full sail. The umbrella took matters into its own hands at once, [t pulled, it Mapped, it tore along with the wind, Eliie holding fast the handle. L raced down the hill at full speed as if be witched, carrying her with it. First her little cap blew off, then the ribbon that bound her hair. The long curls blew into her eyes. Blinded, confused, but never letting go, she lost her breath, and was just beginning to cry when, before she knew her danger, the um brella fiuished by twisting her sharply to one side, and over the edge of a low ravine full of trees. She felt herself falling—feltthe umbrellasnatched from her grasp, aud then she know no more. All the world grew dark, and sho lay as if aslec-p. It was long before she woke. When she did, her head and limbs felt heavy and ached. She did not know where were the basket and umbrella? Gone, quite gone, and it was dark, and the wind blew loudly in the trees overhead. Was not that enough to make a little girl feel frightened? She sat up after a while, aud theu she saw a light twinkling from a little hol low just below. Itwas bright and wink ing like a miliionof little tapers, or a whole room full of glow worms, and she thought she would creep forward and find out what it was Sbo did so. Such a wonderful sight she had never seen before. The hollow was lined like a nest with green and brown moss and soft yellow grasses. It was so light that she could see every blade, and the light fiery points of the cup mosses; and the light came from torches, each about the size of a pin, worn in the caps of myriads and myr rlads of tiny fays, who were flying to and fro, and shattering and clustering together like a swarm of bees. Thou sands and thousands of them, and every moment more came—from nowhere In particular that Ellie oould see They just appeared and took their part in the general hubbub. But by far the greatest stir was going on about a mossy nook a little distance where sat three old men. Great pine torches were stuck into the trees above their heads and showed them plainly. One bad a seat a little higher than the others, and was taller and more digni fied. His face was sweet and solemn, and looked at least a thousand years old, but his eyes had all the fire of youth, and seemed never to have been weary or ever shed a tear. The other two were stout and furry, with snow white beards, and faces pink and round like a schoolboy’s. One wore a queer Dutch roundabout, trimmed with lamb’s-wool. The other had a great fur-lined wrapper. Both carried point ed caps on their heads, from under which their little eyes twinkled bright ly. Around them on the ground lay heaps and|heaps of things; clothep,bcoks, sugar-plums, rocking horses, dolls, drums, whistles, great piles of coal, fat turkeys, smoking-hot pies with savory crusts —every kind of things that you can think of! All these they were packing away as hard as they could in to great bags, and as soon as one was filled, two or three thousand fays would seize and drag it off to a place behind the bushes, from which came now and then the tinkling of bells, and a sound as of animals stamping the ground.— Ellie looked very hard, and thought she could make out in the dim light a pair of horns above the bushes, but she was not sure. ~ , , But neither the fays nor the torches nor even the mysterious sounds attract ed her as did the face of the beautiful old man in the midst. It was so Bweet and kind that it seemed impossible to keep away from him. Almost before she knew it she had made a few timid steps forward, and was standing iD the middle of the hollow. The fays espied her first. With cries and shrieks of laughter like tipsy bells, they clustered about and drew her gently along till she was close to the larger group. A myriad tiny voices began explaining, but the grand old man held out his hand, and with a look commanded silence. “I know all, dear little one,” he said; “I heard thy steps in the wood path, and sent the elves but now to break thy fall. Thou knowest me not, but I know thee. Thou art one of my children. Dost thou not guess my name? I am Father Christmas.” “Oh! yes, dear Father Christmas, I know the well,” cried Ellle in rapture, and she kissed tbe hand so aged, yet so unwrinkled. Father Christmas smiled, well pleased. “And these are my sons,” he went on. “This Kris Kringle. Thou hast heard of him ? He takes my gifts toall the little beloved ones of German land and to the Hollanders. Once, a long time since, he used to carry toys across the sea to the children iu Manhattan, but it was far to go, and now m.v son Bauta Claus takes that business off his hands. They are good boys, both of them, but they are young—quite young.” “ Are they much younger than you?” asked Ellie. “Are you very old, dear Father Christmas?” “Going on two thousand,” replied Father Christmas with a genial laugh. “ But I feel young as ever. Hast thou not something in thy pack for this dear child Kris Kringle ?” “ Yes, indeed,” cried the old “ boy " at his Bide. “See, little one—this —and this—and this,” and he held up a doll, a book of beautiful pictures, aud a fat goose, with its legs tied ready for the spit. H And these stockings are for thy grandmother,” he went on, as he hud dled them into his bag, “but neither she nor you must have them before the time comes. I shall leave them on my way back from town. Many, many people are waiting for me there.” “And for me,” said Santa Claus, “they are getting ready even now in England. The stockings are hung up, aud the children have begged to go early to bed that they may wake tne sooner. The ringers are collecting in the church-towers and blowing upon their fingers that they may be warm to make the bells peal merrily. And the little American boys aud girls are wait ing. Soon they too will be tucked up. I must be off.” And have you done your work, my fays?” asked Father Christmas. “We have painted all the windows in tbe world with pictures,” answered some, “and they are all about Christ mas: “crosses and evergreeu-boughs and spires so delicate aud beautiful. Now, if people only were not stupid. They will wake up to morrow and see them, and never guess what is meant. There isafirboughon yourlittlepane,” nodding to Ellie. “ Ami r have been round and tucked the children up all over the world,” said another. “ And kissed the babjes so that they shall sleep like dormice while their mammas trim the nursery. Not one is awake in all the cradles, ex cept one little deformed boy who can not sleep, and for him I won such a pretty picture that he is laughing in stead of crying.” “And I,” said another, “have been to visit the crocuses, who are asleep in the cold ground. They roused a little and smiled when I told them what the season was; and I promised if they would be patient and slumber yet a while longer, that I would return and awaken them in the spring.” “ And I,” cried an elf, who seemed to brim over with frolic and mischief as a flower-cup withdew, “I have been tick ling the noses and pulling the wigs of the rich men who sent no turkeys to the poor. ‘ What, gnats so late in the season I’ cried one, and gave his ear a great slap, while another said, ‘ Phew ! it is indeed stinging cold! ’ “Ho!” cried the elf, “ stinging cold! ” “And I,” said a fifth, “ have been distributing the dreams. To the sad, sweet ones; to the sick, peaceful ones —bright and frolicsome ones to all the children. And to good boys and girls I gave the dream of Christmas.” “And I have visited all the poor,” whispered another, “aud trimmed their dull fires and put sugar in their cups, and above their doors aleafof the plaut called ‘Hope.’ Have I done well Omy Father ?” “All have done well,” said Father Christmas. “And now the clock strikes ten. We must be upon our journey, harness the reindeer, my elves, aud make all ready ; but first this dear child must be safely set upon her homward way.” The fays bustled about her brightly. Fifty-four of them brought each a rasin from the scattered parcel, others hunted for the basket, while a fatigue party of eight carefully rolled the big red apple into it. Myriads more pur sued and found the umbrella, which had stuck fast in a furze-bush. Father Christmas gave his blessing; and aided and helped, sho knew not how, by a million tiny fingers, she found herself again on the top of the bank whence she had fallen, her basket on her arm, and the big umbrella in her hand. The wiud had died away, and the moon shone clear. Lightly she tripped down the path and rattled at the latch of the cottage. Poor Dame Ursula had passed a wretched evening listening to the rain, fearing all sorts of evils for E.- lie, and weeping over the helplessness which kept her from going to her aid. She had just fallen into a troubled sleep when in danced Ellie, with cheeks like roses, and eyes bright with excitement. She threw herself into her grandmoth er’s arms. “O grandmother!” sho cried, “I have such things to tell thee! Such a wonderful story!” And granny listened to the tale with utter bewilderment. Of only one thing she felt sure, she had her darling safe at home again. That was enough to complete her wishes. It was too late for the Christmas tree, but they had it next day. The first thing in the morning Eliie looked at the pane. Yes, there was the fir bough, the fairy favor, drawn in lines of silvery frost. And at noon came the pastor’s wife. Sho bore in her arms a doll. Her little daughter bad sent it, Bhe said. There was a picture book, too. Ellie laughed with glee. She had seen them both before. Later in the day their neighbor, the farmer’s wife, who did so much for them, made her appearance. “I have brought you a goose, Dame,” shesaid. “[hopeitisagoodone. And these stockings are my own knitting. Don’t be discouraged about you fall. It’s a long lane that has no turning, you Udow, and soon you will be up again.” Eilie kissed the kind hand that Drought these good things. In her heart she knew that they were not her gift only, but the gift of Christmas. And that evening, when the spruce bough twinkled with its tapers, and the raisins and nuts qung beneath them, when the fire blazed its cheeriest, and grandmother In her new stockings was raised a little in bed, that she might see the savory goose hissing and bubbling in the pan, Eliie crept away into the cor ner of the kitchen and patted the big umbrella with a loving hand. “If you hadn’t run away with me,” shesaid, “I should never have seen it all." Lessou for Boys. Several little boys were amusing them selves by snowballing in the upper part of New York on Saturday, when one, named James Doody, aged six years, was struck on the head by a ball with a piece of ice in it. The little fellow was taken home and, complaining of illness, was put to bed. He grew worse rapidly, and died on Monday a fternoon from the effects of the iDjary re ceived. We hope this sad lesson will not be lost upon the youth of our city. LANCASTER PA. WEDNESDAY MORNING DECEMBER 29 1869 The Peril of the Ice. The broad bosom of one of oar north ern rivers was covered with a smooth sheet of ice; and at a point where the stream widens after passing through scenes rich in historical interest, King Winter seemed to have taken especial delight in spreading a table so attrac tive as to draw from out their houses nearly the whole population of a thriv ing village that stood upon its banks.— Men, women and children had turned out to participate in the delightful sport of skating, or to 'watch the evolutions of tbe skaters. It was, in truth, a grand sight to ob serve hundreds of both sexes, dressed in various costumes, and gliding rapid ly over the smooth, translucent surface, while shouts and peals of laughterrang mellow aDd merry on the still night air. A great bonfire, kindled on the ice, sent up its red flames, throwing their light far along the river, over the quiet village nestled near its bank, glistening from a frosted forest on the opposite side, and rendering the scene so wild and fanciful that the skaters, as they glided to and fro, might easily have been mistaken for the ghostly in habitants of seme supernatural world. “What splendid skaters!” was the exclamation passing through the crowd, as a young lady aud gentleman made their appearance upon the ice, comiDg up the river from below. They were skating hand in hand, now backward, now forward, now performing some dif ficult feat, or whirling around in wide, sweeping circles. “ Who are they?” was the question asked by many among the spectators. “ Kate Clinton and Frank Hill,” was the reply, pointing them out as belong ing to the most prominent families in the neighborhood, whose splendid man sions stood near the river’s bank a lit tle further down. The two skaters, who had thu3 unex pectedly made their appearance, at once became the objects of universal at traction, and an admiring crowd soon collected around them. Observing this, and not appearing to like such apublic exhibition, the young lady whispered some words in the ear of her companion, who, suddenly wheeling, so as to face down the river, and carrying her along with him, by a few forcible strokes shot clear of the crowd, and skated rapidly away from it. A murmur of disappointment follow ed their departure, whileglances some thing like disapproval were cast after them as they glided off under the gleam ing moonlight. “They appear vexed at our leaving them,” remarked the young gentle man. “They don’t often see such an accomplished skater as you are, Kate.” “As yourself, you mean, Frank. It was your performance that gave them pleasure. And now I think of it, it wasn’t graceful in me to have been the cause of disappointing them. Suppose you go back and show them a little more of your skill. Do, Frank; I can stay here till you return.” “Anything to please you, my dear Kate.” Aud so saying the young man releas ed the tiny gloved hand of his fair partner; and, after a few long shots, was again in the midst of the villagers, gratifying them with the display so much desired. More than five minutes were thus spent, during which time the accom plished skater was repeatedly cheered, and greeted witfeoraplimentary speech es. Then, bethinking him of the fair creature he had left waiting, aloße and m the cold, he was about to break off, when the eager spectators entreated him to remain a moment longer, and once more show them a figure thathad elicited their most enthusiastic ap plause. He consented; repeated the figure called for; and then, resisting all fur ther appeal, with one grand stroke he glided out from among the spectators, and on toward the spot where he had left the young lady on the ice. On nearing it, he saw that she was not ihere, nor anywhere in sight! Where could she have gone to ? It occurred to him that while he was entertaining the village crowd, she might have rejoined it, and become her self one of the spectators. With all speed he skated back again, and quartered the crowd in every direc tion, scattering the faces and figures. But among them he saw neither fea tures nor form bearing any resemblance to those of the beautiful Kate Clinton, “Oh!” thought he, “she’s baen play ing a little trick to surprise me. She has slipped in under the river bank; and while I am rushing to and fro in search of her, she is, nodoubt, standing in the shadow of a hemlock, and quiet ly laughing at me.” Yielding to his conjecture, he once more plied nis skates, and went rapidly back down the river—keeping close alongside the bank, andscanning every spot overshadowed by the dark fronds of the hemlocks. But no Kate Clinton was there, either in moonlight or shadow; nor was there any score made by skates upon the in shore ice. It now occurred to him that he might discover where she had gone by getting upon the track of hrr sliatea, and follow ing it up. With this intent, be hasten ed to the spot where he had left her standing. On reaching it a cold thrill shot through his frame, as if the blood had suddenly become frozen within his veins. In addition to the two sets of skate tracks, left by himself and the young lady in their up and down ex cursions, he now saw a third, whose bold scores upon the ice showed them to have been from the feet of a man ! There were confused curves and zigzaggings, as if there bad been a struggle, or some slight difficulty at starting; but beyond that point, there were two sets of straight continuous furrows, running parallel, and side by side, as if the skaters had gonejaway with joined hands! The direction was down the river— towards home. At a glance Frank Hill recoguized the thin, tiny score left by the slender steel blades on the feet of Miss Clinton. But the man who had gone skating so close by her side—who was he ? A painful suspicion shot through his brain. He remembered that, shortly after leaving the house, they had passed a man upon the ice, who was also on skates. They had brushed so near him a 3 to see who he was, and in the moon light had beheld a countenance bearing a most sinister cast. It was the face of Charles Lansing, whom Frank knew to be a rival suitor for the hand of Kate Clinton. This man had made his appearance in the neighborhood some three months before ; coming no one knew whence. In fact, there was nothing known of him, except his name ; and this might easily have been an assumed one. He put up at the principal hotel of the vil lage ; appeared to have money, and to be a gentleman of birth and education. Was Charles Lansing the man who had come to Miss Clinton upon the Ice and carried her away with him ? It could be no other; for Hill now remembered having heard the ring of skates behind, as they were coming up the river from the place where Lansing had been seen, and shortly after they had passed him. The first thought of Kate Clinton’s lover was one of a most painful nature. It was, in fact, a bitter pang of jealousy. Had the whole thiDg been pre-arranged, and bad she willingly gone away with this stranger, who, though a stranger to others, mightbebetterknowntoher? LansiDg, if not what might be called a handsome man, was good looking enough to give cause for jealousy. It was a fearful reflection for Frank Hill; but, fortunately, it did not loDg endure. It passed like a spasm; another, nearly as painful, taking Its place. He recalled a rumor that had been for some days current in the neighborhood—of a strangeness observed in the behavior of the hotel guest, that had caused doubts about his sanity. And more forcibly came back to Frank Hill’s mind what he had heard that very morning—how Lansing had presented himself at the house of Miss Clinton’s father, had act ed in such a strange manner—littering wild speeches and threats against the young lady—that it became necessary to use force in removing him from the premises. Could this be the explanation of the disappearance ? Was the maniac now in the act of carrying out the menace he had made—some terrible mode of ven geance under the wild promptings of insanity? Tfre thought came quick, for this whole series of surprises and conjec tures did not occupy three seconds of time. And with the last of these, Frank Hill threw all his strength into a pro- pulsive effort, and shot off like an ar* row down the river. A bend was soon passed, beyoad which there was a stretch of dear ice extending for more than a mile. Away at the farther end, two forms were dim ly discernible; and opon the still frosty air could be heard the faint ringing of skates, at intervals repeating their strokes. Frank Hill had no doubt about one of these being she of whom he was in Bearcb; and, nerved by the sight, he threw fresh vigor into his limbs and flew over the smooth surface like a bird upon the wing.. On, past rock, and tree, and hill, and farm houses sleeping in silence; on in long, sweeping strides; his eyes flash ing, but fixed upon the two forms, every moment getting more clearly dis cernible as the distance became lessened by his Bpeed. And now he was near enough to see that is was LaDsing. The latter glanced back over his shoulder, recognized his pursuer, and taking a fresh hold on the wrist of his apparent unwilling partner, he forced her onward with increased velocity. She had looked back, and saw who was coming after. The silver light of the moon, falling upon her face, showed an expression of sadness suddenly changing to hope; and raising her gloved hand in the air, she sent back a cry for help. It was not needed. That wan face; seen under the soft moonlight, appeal ing to Frank Hill for protection, was enough to nerve him to the last exer tion of his strength, and he kept on, without speaking a word, his whole thought and soul absorbed by the one great desire to overtake and rescue her. From what? From the grasp of a maniac, as the behavior of Lansing now proved him to be. Merciful Heavens! What is that sound heard ahead, and at no great dis tance? r Hill did not need to ask tbe question. He knew it was the roar of water —he knew that a cataract was below. And near below ; for, on sweeping around another curve of the .river, the black, smooth water could be seen rushing rapidly forth from under the field of ice, quick whitening into froth as it struck againßt the rocks cresting the cataract. The pursuedsaw it first, but soon after the pursuer. “My God !” gasped Hill, iu a voice choking with agony. “Can the man mean to carry her on—over? Stop, madman!” Lansing heard the call aud looked back. The moonlight, falling upon his face, revealed an expression horrible to behold. His eyes were no longer rolling, but fixed in a terrible stare of determi nation, while upon his features could be traced a smile of demoniac triumph. He spoke no word; but raising his un«* employed arm, pointed to the cataract. There could be no mistaking the ges tu re; but what followed made still clear erhis intent. Giving aloud Bhriek that ended in a prolonged peal of laughter, he faced once more toward the edge of the ice. Then, throwing all his mad energy into the effort, he shot straight for if, dragging the young lady with him. The crisis had now come. A moment more, and Kate Clinton, struggling in the arms of a madman, would be carried over the cataract down to certain de struction on the rocks below. With heart hot, as if on fire, her lover saw her peril, now proximate and ex treme. But his head was still cool, and at a glance be took in the situation. By bearingdirectuponthemhe would only increase the momentum of their speed, aud force both over tbe edge of the ice. His only hope lay in making one last vigorous effort ta get between them and the water. A grand sweep might do it; and without waiting to reflect farther, he threw his body for ward in the curve of a parabola. With his hands and teeth both tight ly clenched, with eyes fixed upon one point and thoughts concentrated into one great purpose, he passed over the smooth surface like an electric flash, ending in a shock as his body came in contact with that of LansiDg. A blow from one arm. already sent, sent the latter staggering off upon the ice, at the same time detaching his grasp from the wrist of hiß intended victim. Itwas instantly seized by her rescuer, who, continuingthe sweep thus Intercepted, succeeded in carrying her on to a place of safety. In vain the madman tried to recover himself. The momentum of his own previous speed, increased by the power ful blow from Hills’s clenched fist, sent him spinning on the extreme edge of tbe ice, where he fell flat upon his face. Perhaps he might still have been saved, but for hisown frenzied passion. As the skaters, following along the curve, swept close to where he lay, the skate of the young lady almost touching him, he made an effort to lay hold of her ankle, as if intending to drag her over the cataract along with him. For tunately he failed, but the movement was fatal to himself. A piece of rotten ice on which he rested, giving way un der his weight, brok off with a loud crash : and in another moment the de tached fragment, bearing his body along with it, swept over the falls, to be crushed to atoms, in the seething caul dron below. Tbe lovers, now safe from any dan ger, stood for a time silent, with arms crossed, and listening. But after one wild, appalling shriek that rose from the maniac’s lips, as for a moment his body balanced upon the combing of the cataract, they heard no more—only the hoarse monotone of the waters. Remarkable Memories Maglibecchi, the founder of the great library at Florence, had so wonderful a memory that Gibbon styled him “mem ory personified.” At one period of his life feeneca could repeat two thousand words precisely as they had been pro nounced. Gassendi had acquired by heart six thousand Latin verses, and in order to give his memory exercise he was in the habit of daily reciting six hundred verses from diflereD t languages. Siuuderaou, another mathematician, could repeat all Horace’s odes and a great part of Latin authors. La Croze, after listening to twelve verses in as many languages, could not only repeat them in the order In which he heard them but could also transpose them. Pope had an excellent memory, and many persons have amused themselves by looking through his writings and point ing out how often he had brought it into play. He was able to turn with great readiness to the precise place in a book where be had seen any passage that had struck him. John Lynden had a very peculiar faculty for getting things by rote, and be could repeat cor rectly any long, dry document, such as a deed or act of Parliament, after having heard it read; but if he wanted any single paragraph he was obliged to begin at the commencement, and pro ceed with his recital until he came to what he required. There was a French novelist, who, being a printer, compos ed a volume in type, and thus the book was printed without having being writ ten. Bishop Warburton had a prodig ious memory, which he taxed to an extraordinary degree. His “Divine Legation" would lead one to suppose that he had indefatigably collected and noted down the ennumerable facts and quotations there introduced; but the fact is that his only note-book was an old almanac, in which he occasionally jotted down a thought. Scaliger ob tained so perfect a knowledge of one Latin book, that he offered to repeat any passage with a dagger at his breast, to be used against him in case of a fail ure of memory. Old Age. “We say ‘declining years;’ but if heaven be onrtrue centre, thedeclineof our two-fold being is contemporaneous with its ascent. 800 l and body are in almost perpetual contradiction. In the failing of nature, it is not merely de struction which is hastening ou, but liberty and glory—the perfection of a soul which growß ever more radiant as the spiritual principleabsorbsall others. As the body sinks into decrepitude, the soul is tempered; and, by the sim ultaneous acceleration of these two processes, th 6 frame returns to the dast, and the spirit to heaven. Death for the one is immortal youth for the other. David was old when he called upon the God of his youth, but it was not the God of hia past whom he invoked, any more than the God of Jacob is the God of the dead. It was the God of the present to whom David appealed—the God of that youth which he felt flourishing and blossoming in the depths of his being. For if the children of light enjoy day in the midst of night, ftie children of immortality keep their youth amid thesnowsof age ” PMadame Bwetchine. The Crow. Pliny calls the crow a bird of ill omened garrulity, most inauspicious at the time of incubation, or just after the summer solstice. The appearance of a flight of crows upon tbe left of their ca »jP to cow the courage of the soldiers of old Rome, since they looked upon it as a certain sign of defeat, as certain as when the birds hovered or passed over their standards. So Shakes peare’s Cassias presages misfortune at Philippi: Ravens, crows ana kites FJy o cr onr beads, and downward look on us As we wero sickly prey, t hese shawdows stem A canopy most fatal, under which Our a:my lies, ready to give up ibo ghost. A shrewd Bcotch observer remarks that crows have a very keen and cor rect perception of changes in the weath er, aud that stormy winds may be pres aged when they feed greedily, and fly speedily along the lower edges of the glens: while, if they betake themselves to sheltered places when the tempest begins, it is a certain indication that it will increase to a hurricane. Still, their weather-wisdom does not suffice to save them from destruction. In 1839, thirty three thousand dead crows were count ed on the shores of a lake in West meath, after a violent storm; a few years ago, the beach of Crow Island, a favorite resort of the Ceylon crow was strewed with the remains of the birds killed by a thunderstorm; and when Pea Patch Island was inundated one night, the shores for miles were black ened by the bodies of thousands of un lucky crows, as the streets of Calcutta were filled with them after the last great cyclone swept the Indian continent. Our sable subject owes no little of his evil reputation to the fact, that nature has not cursed him with a fastidious palate; but if he can make a meal off what a bird of nicer taste would rather starve than touch, he only does so when nothing better is to be got. There is no doubt that when the choice is given him he prefers dining upon a tender leveret or young rabbit; aud he will work hard enough at unearthing grubs and worms where he c*»n earn fair wages for his labor. It must be admitted the crow has an unfortunate liking for poached eggs, combined with a blissful Igno rance of the aacredness of a partridge’s, or pneasant’s nest, while he will not hesitate at appropriating stray duck lings or chickens, if they come in his way. When stealing eggs, he gener ally impales them dextrouslyonhis bill, not always ; Mr. Weir frightened a fly ing crow into dropping his burden, and found it was a wild duck’s egg, perfectly whole. Another crime of which this bird is, upon very strong evidence, accused, is that of putting sickly sheep out of their misery; and, as Mr. Hogg puts it, of desceudiog to the most dishonorable dodges to maintaih himself in good con dition. That gentleman peisonally complains that while at other times his farm was only favored by the patronage of a single pair of crows, in the lambing season, the hills swarmed with them, ready to take advantage of the ewes in their hour of trouble, and destroy both them and their offspring. The crow fs by no means a one ideaed bird. Small feathered game he strikes as it flies; sheep, and such-like victims, he first disables by picking out their eyes; if he gets hold of a nut, he cracks the shell by dropping it again and again from a great height. One was seen to kill a young chicken by laying it upon the ground, aud then walking backwards and forwards over it until its life was trodden out of it; and the Roman naturalist tells us of a thirsty crow heaping stones in an urn contain ing rain water it could not reach, until it brought the draught to a convenient height. Somebody, however, has said a good word in behalf of the crow; Friar Glautvilledeposing ; “In Exameron, it is said the mildness of the crow is wonderful, for when the old crows in age be both naked and bare of covering, the young ones cover them with their feathers and feed them. And when they wax old and feeble, the young crows undersit them, and rear them up with their wings, and comfort them to use to fly, to bring their members that be diseased into state again.” Although : it is hard to believe In such filial affec tion on the part of the young crows, we may say that the old birds deserve every kindness from them, seeing they tend upon their offspring long after they can fly, instead of, like most other birds, leaving the youngsters to their own de vices at the earliest possible period. In deed, the cro svisa model parent. When Mr. Weir had deprived a lady crow of her liege lord, he was astonished by finding her provided with asecond mate before three days had elapsed. Deter mined to get rid of the family, he next shot the hen bird; but even her death did not suffice, for the male bird con tinued to feed the motherless brood, and persevered in performing his paternal duty until he paid for his constancy with his life. The note of the crow is said to have twenty-five modulations. He possesses the capacity of imitation in an extraor dinary degree. “At the momWfl am writiug this,” says Pliny,” “ tlrere is in the city of Rome a crow, whiuri belongs to a Roman of equestrian rank,)and was brought from Bretica, able to pronounce several connected words, and repeatedly learning fresh ones.” There is nothing very surprising in this, considering that the corvine family is famous for its pos session of the often worthless gift of the gab. This imitative faculty makes the crow an amusiDg pet. He is easily tamed, being of a sociable temperament, and may be taught many tricks, while he is-not incapable of attachment. Mr. Weir kept one time, which flew around about the neighborhood in the bay, and roosted at night in his shrubbery. The sound of his master’s voice was enough to bring him to him immediately to receive his careselng, but he sharply resented any stranger’s making free to stroke his back. This bird’s favorite amusement was to peck ib* heels of barefooted urchins. His memory was astonishing. One Monday morning, after being satiated with food, he picked up a mole in the orchard, and hopped with his prize into the garden, wnere he buried it so nicely that his master could not discover where he had put it. As his wings had been clipped, to prevent him flying over the garden wail, he was unable to get into the gar den again until Saturday evening, when seeing the door was open, he hopped at once tothevery spot where the mole lay hidden, and disinterred it in the twink ling of an eye. In 1807 a gentleman told the follow ing story in a magazine: “In spring, 1789, a boy brought a nestling crow to my house, where he remained until the harvest following and then disappeared. In June, 1790, I observed a crow ap proaching near the house, and suspected it might be my old bird. I threw a piece of bread to him which he imme diately picked up. From that time he paid regular visits, and is known by the name of Wattie. After pairing, he brings his mate with him; who waits for him at a distance until he returns with his allowance, when they eat very lovingly together. In breeding-time he comes very often, and when his young take wing, brings tnem to a little dis tance from the house. If he finds the door fast, he first caws, then thumps on the door with his bill, and if still un successful, utters a pretty loud sound like the barking of a little dog. If he meets me at a distance from the house, he comes up to me and if coming home, accompanies me all the way, either hopping or taking short flights. He once recognized me three mileß from home, and I was obliged to beg some bread to pacify him !” Some writers credit the corvine tribe with possessing an organization un heard of among any other members of the ornithological kingdom, actually averring that they hold regular assizes for the trial of offenders who have set at naught thelawßof the black community. Edmonstone declares the crows of Zea land seldom associate, except when they m eet together for the purpose of hold i ng a crows’ court, when numbers of them assemble on a particular hill or in a particular field. All the delegates having arrived, proceedings are opened by a general croaking, and after a while the whole body fall upon two or three indi viduals, and put tnem to death, dispers ' ing immediately afterwards, it would , seem the crow, like Coventry Patmore, ; believes 1 That Penalty is best to bear, ! "Which follows soonest upon crime. Landt not only corroborates Edmon stone’s story,bat pretends be was able to distlngnlsh the j udges, jary, council and accusers.— Chamber's Journal. OBSEQUIES OF A CHIXAHAN. The Ghost of Ah Poj Blown and Ban; Into the Rea'm of Spirits—Fuo erat— Baked Heats and Saered Tapers. From the San Francisco Bnlletln. Three days since In this city at his bouseon Jackson street, died Ah Poy, a Chinese merchant The disease which baffled the skill of Chinese doctors and carried him off was a lingering con sumption. Little could be learned of de ceased save that he was born at Canton, and at an early age entered opon mer cantile pursuits. He came to.this coun try and continued his native avocation. He died at the age of 50 years. At first the exhibitions of sorrow were in pri vate,by his nearest relatives and friends. The remains were placed in a metallic case for shipment to Canton—the only city In the world from which a China man can properly or safely ascend to the realm of spirits. It waa determined that as the malignant deities had man ifested peculiar activity in protracting Ah Poy’s sufferings, particular and ex traordinary means should be taken to appease them or frighten them away, and at the same time to propitiate the good gods. The rooms in Which the private exercises were had were too small, and the leaders of ceremonies obtaiued permission from Chief Crow ley to occupy a portion of the side walk on Jackson for a PUBLIC EXHIBITION. Accordingly at an early hour yester day, a man dressed in priestly robes came out of the house, holding in one hand a large ox horn. He applied it to his lips, aud elevating the instrument, blew shrill and sharp into all quarters of the heavens. This is supposed to have started the evil ones into a com prehension of the fact that some demon stration was about to be made against them. After blowing the horn for sev eral minutes, the priest was succeeded by other men with bells, and these were jingled and beaten till the din was hid eous. It was more than the infernals could stand,and they retreated pell-mell into every direction. Some ffew down Jackson street,some up the street, others into tbe adjacent alleys, and still others to the Headquarters of the Anti-Coolie Society. While the bells were ringing, and only good gods wero around in the air,the mourners came out in the street, Then the coffin was brought out and placed on the sidewalk, draped with red, white and green cloths. The mourners, of whom there were about a dozen—all women but one—were dressed in white robes, with white colws on their heads. The hair on the women’s heads was disheveled. Sev eral of them wept in a genuine man ner, but the rest howled in such a way as to justify the statement made by some in attendance that they were’ hired mourners. When the coffin wrs put down the mourners filed around it several times, weeping, wailing and throwing up their hands, and then all bowed themselves with their faces to the ground, and remained in that posi tion several hours. THE SACRIFICES. On the sidewalk, below the coffin, were ranged three or four wide tables, and on these were deposited the sacrifi cial offerings. There were five roasted hogs—full Blze —with tips of tinsel on their ears and wreathed about their snouts. Three sheep, skinned and laid on large pans, occupied prominent places. Then there were chickens roasted whole, with many colored can dies melted and run over them in imi tation of robes. They were set upright in edible chairs, with their necks straightened,and fantasticcovers placed on top of their heads. Their claws were bent up and made to grasp spears, darts, and exorcising wands. Several roosters had been baked till they were brown, and yet the feathers on their wings, the wattles on their necks and the crests on their heads were noteven wilted. These, too, were ornamented with tinsel and paper. Several largo crabs from Meiggs’ wharf lay in the centre of the table and were set off with ornameuts like ail the rest of the offerings. There were nu merous pyramids of fruit also—apples, pears, grapes and nuts; pyramids of high-coiored, greasy looking cakes; loaf imitations of lamb, goats, ducks, etc., covered with melted confectionery; piles of Josh! sticks aod sacred tapers, with rows of them burning, smoking and spluttering on the borders of the table ; strips of red, white and yellow paper beariug mysterious characters; doll looking images at several points; and everywhere tinsel, paper, smoke fumes and insufferable stench. The streets were blocked by the throng of Chinamen, negroes and “superiors” but in the crowd next the coffin and free lunch table of the gods women pre dominated. They were a degraded and diseased looking set for the most part, and seemed to be riveted in their tracks by idle curiosity. A line of hacks and a rank of badg*- ering hackmen occupied one side of the street waiting for their “ loads.” At 12 M. an old white headed woman came out of tbe house bearing in her skinny arms a huge load of tinseled paper. She threw it ou the pavement? aud taking a lighted Josh stick set the mass on fire. Then other women brought out some curious looking im ages, about two feet high, and supposed to be representations of several anti* coolieites. These they cast into the flames, evidently believing that posses sion of them would certainly appease the malignant gods, and give Ah Roy a safe entree into the land of the good. At 1 P. M., the coffin was placed in a hearse, the mourners got into the hacks, and the melancholy procession of pa gans and Christians proceeded to Lone Mountain, where the remains will be entombed till the sailing of tho next China steamer. A Touching Relic of i’ompeU. In digging out the ruins of Pompeii, every turn of the spade brings up some relic of the life, some witness of imper ial luxury. For far the greater part,the relics have a merely curious interest: they belong to archreology, and find appropriate resting places iu historical museums. But there are some exceptions. Here, for Instance, the excavator drops, an uninvited guests, upon a banquet; there he unexpectedly obtrudes himself into a tomb. In one place he finds a miser cowering ou his heap; another shows him bones of dancing girls and broken instruments of music lying on the mar ble floor. In the midst of the painted chambers, baths, halls, columns, foun tains, among the splendid evidences of material wealth, he sometimes stumbles on a simple incident, a touching human story such as strikes the imagination and suggests mournful interest of the great disaster, as the sudden sight of a wounded soldier conjures up the hor rors of the battle. Such to our mind, is the latest discov ery of the excavator in tfiis melancholy field. It is a group of skeletons in the act of flight, accompanied by a dog.— There are three human beings; one of them a young girl, with rings and jew els still on her fingers. The fugitives had a bag of gold and silver with them, snatched up, no doubt, in haste and darkness. But the fiery flood was on their track, and vain theirwealtb, their flight, the age of one, the youth of the other. The burning lava rolled above them and beyond, and the faithful dog turned back to share the fate of his mis tress, dying at her feet. Seen by the light of such an incident, how vividly that night of horror looms upon the sense. Does not the Imagina tion picture the little groupin theirown house, by the side of their fountain, languidly chattering over the day’s events and of the unusual heat? Doea it not hear with them the troubled swell of the waters in the bay—see as they do how the night comes down in sadden strangeness, how the sky opens over head , and flames break out wbLie scoriae, sand and molten rocks came pouring down? What movements, what emo tion, what surprise ! The scene grows darker every instant; the hollow mono tony of the bay is lifted into yells and shrieks; the air grows thick and hot with flames, and at the mountain's foot is heard the roll of the liquid lava. Jewels, household gods, gold and sil ver coins, are snatched up on the in stant. No time to say farewell. Dark ness In front and fire behind, theyrnsh into the Btreets, choked with falling houses and flying citizens. How find the way through passages which have no longer outlet ? Confusion, darkness, uproar every where; the shouts of parted friends, the agony of men struck down by falling columns; fear, -madness and despair unchanged : here penary clutoh.* | ing gold it cannot keep, there gluttony feeding on its final meal, and phrenzy NUMBER 52 striking in the dark to forestall death. Through all, fancy hears the young girl’s screams ; the lire is on her jeweled hand. No time for thought, no pause, the flood rolls on, and wisdom, beauty, age and youth, with all the stories of their love, their hopes, their rank, wealth and greatness, all the once afflu ent life, are gone forever. When nnearthed after many years, the nameless group has no other im portance to mankind than as it may serve to “point a moral or adorn a tale.” luterTlew with the Mother of Jfapo- icon 111. It was a fine autumn day, says a cel ebrated French writer, when I bad oc casion in the course of my wauderincs to pass through the town of Constauce. I was informed that the Chateau of Arenenberg, the residence of the Duch ess of Bt. Lece, the ex-Queen Hortense, was situated only half a league distant from tbia ancient city. I,felt desirous therefore, to place my homage at the feet of this fallen sovereign, to see this queen—this graceful daughter of Jo sephine—this sister of Prince Eugene —this once sparkling jewel of Napole on’s crown. I had ofteu heard Queen Hortense spoken of iu my youth as a sort of good fairy, very gracious, and very beautiful. I had been told of the young maidens she had dowered, the mothers whose sous she had bought off after conscription, aud the condemned culprits whose pardons she had obtain ed. Added to all this, I slill retained a vivid recollection of both the words and airs of various songs composed by her. I resolved, therefore, to gratify my long cherished desire of becoming ac quainted with [the ex-queen ; aud, though it was too early in the morning to present myself at the chateau, 1 left my card at the door, aud tlieu, spring ing into a boat, took a row on the lake to an adjacent island. On returning after this brief excursion to my tempo rary home, I found awaitiug me an invitation to dinner from Madame du Bt. Lece. The chateau of Arenenburg wears, by no means, the aspect of a royal resi dence; it is simply a pleasant looking home, such as might belong to any pri vate gentleman of wealth. The emo tion 1 felt on approachlug its precincts did not, therefore, arise from external circumstances, but from the thoughts which filled my miud ami stirred all the deeper feelings of my heart. I pro ceeded slowly ou my way, and more than once felt tempted to retrace my steps. I had an indistinct dread lest my illusions should be dispelled and tho dream of early years should lose Its en chantment. Suddenly, however, on entering a shady avenue, I perceived three ladies, accompanied by a young man, advancing towards me. Instinct ively I recognized In one amongst them the ex-Queen Hortense, and hastened towards her. Little could she have divined the nature of the emotions which at that moment filled my heart —emotions of mingled respect, pity and admiration. Had she been alone, I should have felt tempted to bend my knee before her. My countenance probably betrayed, in some degree, the conflicting feelings by which I was agi tated, for smiling sweetly, she held out her band to me, and said : “It is very good of you to come aud visit a poor exile like me.” As she thus expressed her gratitude for the trilling mark of respect I had shown, I could not help mentally ex claiming, “In this instance, atleast, the dreams of my youth have proved no deception ; this tone of voice, thisglauce exactly realize the ideal I had formed when thinkiug of the daughter of Jose phine.” The Queen placed her arm in mine and led me through the grounds. Time glided imperceptibly away, until at last she proposed to me toeuter thechateau. In the drawing-room the first object which arrested my attention was a magnificent portrait. “ How very beautiful!” I exclaimed. “ Yes, it is a beautiful painting,” re joined Madame de Bt. Lece ; “ it repre sents Napoleon at the bridge of Lodi.” “It is painted by Gros, is it noL?” “Yes, it is his, copied from nature, and marvelously like.” I stood for some moments absorbed in thought, and when I suddenly start ed, roused from my reverie, I perceived the eyes of Madame St. Lece fixed upon me with a smiling expression. She then arose and asked whether I should like to accompany her, and she would show me her imperial reliquary! I was only too happy to accept the offer, and she conducted me towards a piece of furniture in tbe form of a bookcase, fitted up with glass paues and on each shelf of which were ranged different objects which had belonged to Joseph ine or Napoleon. Firstinordercamea portfolio, marked with A. J. and ail N., aud containing the familiar correspondence of the Em peror and Empress. Every letter was autograph, and many amongst them were written from tho fieldß of Marengo, of Austerlltz, or of Jena, hastily scribbled at the cuuuon mouth, and eacti contain ing tidings of victory. Next followed the Talisman of Charlemagne, and to this relic a singular history was attached. When tbe tomb in which tho great monarch had Jaiu buried for well nigh a thousand years was opened at Aix la- Chapelie, hisskeleton wasfouud clad in hfs robes of state; the double crown of France and Germany rested on h is flesh less brow; by his side, together with his pilgrim’s purse, fiuug his good sword Joyeuse— this sword with w hich, as the Monk of Bt. Denis relates, he felled at one stroke a knight in full armor; his feet rested on the shield of massive gold given him by Pope Leo; andarouudhis neck hung an amulet, which secured to him victory in war. This amulet con sisted of what was said to he a piece of the true cross, sent to him by the Em press Irene. It was set in emeralds aud suspended by a chain of massive gold. The citizens of Aix-la Cbapelle present ed this talisman to Napoleon when he made his entry into their town; and Napoleon, in -1811, one day playfully threw this chain around the neck of Queen Hortense, owning to her at the same time that he bad worn it at the battles of Austerlitz and Wagram, even as Charlemagne had done a thousand years before. The next relics shown me by tho Duchess were the belt of Napoleon iu Egypt, the wedding ring he had him self placed on her mother's hand, and, last of all the portrait of the King of Rome, embroidered by Mark Louis—a portraiton which the eyes of the dyiug conqueror had rested at tbe latest mo ments of his existence, and which had been fondly pressed to his expiring lips. J I a3ked to see the sword which Marchand had brought back from Bt. Helena, and which the Duke of Reim stadthad bequeathed to Prince Louis Napoleon, but this dyiDg bequest had not yet been forwarded to the Queen, and she seemed to fear it might never reach her hands. At this moment tbe dinner bell rang. “So soon! ” I exclaimed. “You shall visit my reliquery again to-morrow,” she kindly replied. When dinner was concluded, we re turned to the drawingroom, and in a few moments Madam Recamier was announced. This lady, too, was, in her own way, a queen—a queen of beauty and of intellect; and Madame de St. Lace received her as a sister. I have often heard Madame Recamier’s age dlscussad. I only saw her, it is true, by candle light, dressed in black, and with a veil of that color falling over her neck and shoulders; bat Ishould certainly not have supposed her to bo more than flve and-twenty, judging from the youth ful freshness of voice, the beauty of her eyes, and herexquisitely moulded hand. It struck me, tnerefore, as somewhat singular to hear these two ladies con verse together about the Directory aud the Consulate, as of periods in which they had lived and with the eveuts of which they were familiar. After some time, Madame de St. Lece was earnestly requested to take her place at the piano. She acceded to our wishes, and sung several which she had lately set to music. “Might I venture to make one re quest? ’ lenquired. “ Aud what may your petition be?” rejoined the ex-queen. “That you would sing ouo of your old compositions.” “ Which of them?” she required. “ You leave me to march to glory." “ That was oneof the very first lever wrote," she exclaimed. 41 It dates from 1809. How do you happen to remember it? You could scarcely have been born when it was in vogue?” “ I was only five years and a half old; BATE OP ADVERTISING. Business Abvkbtibzxxxts, fia • 7 ea J PJ r quare of ten Cull; SO per year for eson ac« alUonal square. ri-it.estatb Ajdvextisino, 10cents a line lor tbe tlrst, and 5 cents for eaob snbsoqoent in sertion. General Advertising 7 cents a line for tbe flrBt,andlceDtsfor each subsequent inser tion. Special Notices inserted in Local Column 15 cents per lice. Special Notices preceding marriages and deaths, 10 cents per line for first Insertion* and 5 cents for every subsequent Insertion!* Legal and oth>.r notices— Executors’ -.otlces 2^o Administrators’ notices, 2.50 Assignees’ notices, 2.60 Auditors' noUccs,...-^.....—..2.0Q Other “Notices, 'ten lines, or less, three Mmna,,,,-,—„„ I AO but my sister, who wasaome years older than myself, used to sing to me, and this waa my favorite soug.” “ It is very unfortunate, then,” re plied the Duchess, “ that the words have altogether passed from my memory.” “ I remember them well, however,” I rejoined, and arisiDg from my seat, t Mood behind her at the piano, aud be gan to repeat to her the lines so familiar to my memory. “My poor mother; ” exclaimed Ma dame de Bt. Lece, with a deep sigh, when I had finished tho recital. “It is a mournful recollection,” I replied. “Mournful Indeed,’’said thoDucbess. “ It waa iu ISOS, as you must be aware, that the rumors concerning a divorce, began to ciiculate; they smote my poor mother to llio heart; aud hs the Em peror was on the point of set ting out for Wagram she requested M. de Legur to write a song on the subject of his de parture. The Conut brought her tho lines you have just repeated; my mo ther asked me to set them to music; and I sang them to the Euiperor on the eveuing preceding his departure. My poor mother! I could almost fancy I see her still—anxiously watching the Emperor’s careworn countenance, and seeking to dLcover the impression made upon his mind by tho words of the song, so admirably suited to the cir cumstances in which they both wero placed at that moment. The Emperor listened attentively uutil the last noto had ceased to vibrate, then turulug to ward my mother, he said in a tone which betrayed deep emotion : “ You are the best creature I havo ever known;” aud so saying, ho hast ened from the apartment. My mother burst into tears; and from that moment she felt that her fate was sealed. You can now readily understand what touch ing recollections are associated lu my memory with this air, and how vividly it transports me hack to by gone years.” “ Pardon me,” I exclaimed, “ I ought not to have recalled it to yourmlnd.” “ On the contrary,” replied Queen Hortense, as she again seated herself at the piano, “so many other sorrows have passed over me since then that I cau recall tboso days without bltter- Tho ex Queen then ran her fingers over the keys, and, after a plaintive prelude, sang the same touching words she had sung before Napoleon on the memorable occasion. Thus ended my eveniug at Areuen burg, aud it was with a heart filled with confiloting emotions that I quitted tho presence of Hortense, the ex-Queen of Holland—the daughter of Josephine uud the mother of Louis Napoleon, the presentEmperorof the French. Alaska and Its Inhabitants, The report of General Thomas con cerning the territory of Alaska and its inhabitants, human and phocan, con tains the following interesting facts : The Aleuts though strict members of the Greek Church, seem to have no con trol over their passion for ardent spirits, nor correct ideas In regard to chastity; consequently the effects of contact with the Americans are apparent, as diseases are common, and there are scarcely any male or female, who will not get intox icated if they have the opportunity; the first thiog they ask foris whisky. I believe much good might be done if one or two reliable persons could be ap pointed to live among them as superin tendents. Buch if of good character, would have great influence, as tho Aleuts have great respect for authority*— To the creditor the people of Kenny and the islands of St. George and Bt. Paul, I must say I saw no evidence of dissipation among them, duo no doubt to their isolation, though I was Inform ed they were liable to the frailty of their race If inducements were offered. They impressed me with their intelll genoeand honesty; many of themen are skilful mechanics, aud their skin boats are creditable as models of grace and strength. On Bt. Paul and Bt. George only are the fur-bearing seal found, and' are killed for their furs and oil. The habits of these animals are peculiar. About the last of April or early part of May the old male seals arrive, and go ou shore at the places frequented by them, called rookeries ; they make a thorough examination of the ground, then tho great body arrive, and iu a short time all have occupied their positions. The females come up on shore, and are col lected together in communities or fami lies by each one of the old seals, who possesses sufficient powers to maintain and guard his family ; the young miles and supernatural ones are forced to take their place outside of tho area occupied by the families, and if they attempt to interfere with domestic arrangements aro summa rily driven off. In these troubles terrible affrays occur. This arrange ment around the rookeries make It very easy for the hunters to place themselves between tho families and the young males, from whom only the skins aro taken, which, when they want to kill, they do in parties of -10 or 50, all armed with clubs. They get between the families and the young males, then drive them inland some two or three miles distant, letting all not wanted for slaughter drop out by the way ; theso return to the rookeries. After getting only as many a*» they can skin and salt iu one day to the proper places, they are killed by striking the noses of the aulmals with the clubs. The next day is devoted to pnckiDg. By this means the families are not disturbed, aud remaiu to rear their young. As far as I cau judge, the business of the old males is to compel tho females to take care of their youDg unlil they have grown suf ficiently to take care of themselves; they then appear to give up all control over the females, who are permitted to leave theiryouug and go into the water, the old male still guarding and over looking the youDg. In September all are permitted to go into the water, where they sport during the day, com ing on shore in the evening. At this period all move further inland and min gle together indiscriminately. If the Autumn continues mild, they remain on the islands till the latter part of October when they disappear very sudden)y,and have been seen going through the pass es between the Aleutian Islands, In a southerly direction. Nothing more of them is seen until next Bpring, neither is itknown where they pass the Winter. The number of seals on the Island can only be estimated. In the height of the season, after the young are born, ihey are estimated all the way from five to fifteen millions ; but they are count less, covering hundreds of acres, like sheep in a pen. The habits of theso animals are such that If permitted to be hunted at random they would be soon driven from the islands. This has been proved by the Russians, who totally destroyed some rookeries before they knew how to treat them. If It is desirable to perpetuate the fur-bear ing seal, one of two plans should be adopted. One is, to confine the killing to the natives, permitting none but authorized agents of the government to live on the islands, and permit traders to purchase only after the skins have been prepared and the seals have left for the south. This course would ne cessitate the stationing of an agent on each of the islands, to guard the inter ests of the Government and prevent the demoralization of the natives by such unscrupulous traders as would not hesi tate to furnish them with liquor for the purpose of cheating them. Tobacco an Exhaustive Crop. In speaking of tb« exhaustive effects of the tobacco plant, tbe Journal of Chemistry says: To tbe farmer that cultivates the plant It proves a robber of the first magnitude. It possesses capacity for plundering tbe soil greater than any other tree, shrub, or plant known. The amount of mineral constitu ents which it carries off can bejudged of by carefully examining the ash as it accumu lates a;>on tbe end of an ignited cigar. It often remains nfter the organic portion is removed, showing tbe full size and outliuo of rolled leaves, and to tho eye apparently nothing Is lost by combustion. Ii the wood burned in our stoves and upon our hearths was as rich in soil constituents, wo should need ttu services of extra servants to carry away tho ashes. Every hundred pounds of tho dried leaves which the sbH produoes robs it of at least twenty pounds of)ts most valuable mineral atoms. Tho comparative exhaustive effects of to bacco upon soils may be judged from the fact that fourteen tons of wheat, fifteen tons of eorn, and twelve tons of oats remove no more of the principal of fertility than a sin gle ton of tobacco. Mr. James Moon, living at Weatboro, Clinton county, Ohio, Is tbe father of fifteen children. He had in the army seven sons, three sons-in-law, and nine grandsons, who all went through the war without r. ccrttaa,
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers