.: - '' .: 7:7: . '. 7 .'.- - . '. ''' , i:'i -.1 ' . i . ; ~ '-, •-•.''.-:,-,i., THE LANCASTER INTELLNENCER. rt7BLIFOIED, BYBRY WEDNE9DAY BY 11. O. SMITH & CO A. J. STEINSHAN 11. G. SMITH TERMS—Two Dollars per annum. ParaMe In all eases In advance. THIS LAIICASYBIt DAILY INTELLIGENGEB. published every evening, Sunday excepted, at Si per annum In advance.. OFFICE-ShETRWEST. CORNER OF CENTRE SQUARE. Voettp. DONNING THE MOTLEY nY A CONTRIBUTOR To ruN. Fond fathers talk to little boys Of life and Life's conditions, And ask what most of all employs Their juvenile ambitions. Some answer money, somo renown My own desires were humble ; I he'd n wish to lie a clown, To paint my face and tumble. I envied In my early day That rough but ready Joker, Who driven the world at large• away Before a reddened poker. With ouch a lot In Ilre, said I, Could mortal ever grumillw! What happiness, was all my •ry, To paint any fly. , and tumble! Out years have Oven me, I think, A 111(10 more discretion • If there's a trade from whfeli I shrink IL Is n clown's profession. The paths In Ilfe aro manifold, An d life Itself's a Jumble; I should not care, when growing oil. To paint lily face and tumble. And yet my own career, It seems • 11111 e more of clovrr I'm wait lag from Ambition's My lover's dreams arc over. My castles In tha air decay, Their walls begin to crumble, Fate says, Ile funny : write away. Come, paint your face and tumble =MEM Lon% Ili On henuttrul xnnu•tlnk.•, flurrying tlll,llgli Eno nir, Covering 1,111 and valley n mantle Pam lord nor llovvrlng (o'vr the tree-tnr:, Dmic•lng 411`.•, NI .0111 4 4 nt Innt In the bratulte, aill=l ! , hrnitrling will. sil.a Thr• frol.en gravvm of tit 4• tlowt•rs, Draping with Icathory I,IIMV-Wri• t It Th,• 141 , y forsnlcrtt T,•II 11, I1f•.0 (rill As VO hurry hy ‘% . 11,11 It Nvorlil cot huuuty, Ahoy. , Ow low Is. t'p n'h,•rr• Ilw l:twin;; nnnln ;l Are plarint; at hilla-atel-mwl; ; D trtln 'Phut r', r rlnpty CRT, yo• loavo 111 tt 5v0..1.1 of livighttli , 1'11,4111.1d with itt...nish cart , . 'rho germ lif our full., harvest, Fr.)111 ‘vint4, air? Snowital..s. Wl' St - 11,n Shall Ytt• 3 o I In other !briny I w..t•l‘ 111 nfowors sumo 11,1(1,4 (51 11.11 Oh rrhay wo all Ilko 1 h.• knowanko. .Jinn In a work of love, To reap tho glorlooa harvost la a bright , woral o. Let w: do lii work asslgt,,l tt'(•,lii lont :t stmwthtio,'Nslllk .1,411,41111x111 tw rl•rnrtli•cl fp' a watvlitill Father., c.lll-1.. I+lisrdlanrotts. IMIIIIM Preached In Si. J Ell - tug - client Lu theran Church. LIIIICIPfirr, onnuntlay Ecbrostry 20,' 1,470. by Hew. ==== 'Co the poor the onehott—r.tekr The inquiry sent by John the Baptist to the Saviour: " Art thou He that should come? Or look we for another.'" to which our text is an answer in ! part, may lie regarded as the question , of the world at that Unto. Ilunumity WILY ill a state of expectancy. Ages of: conjecture and speculation had only kierved to verify the declaration that Mall by searching cannot find out God, and ' as the t h ick pall of moral darkness con tinned to gather, the great sigh as of taw man constantly arose fur more light and ' truth, which woo felt to be ui itself . the earnest of their reception. Prophe ey and Oracle had done their utmost to satisfy these heart longings, hut failing to interpret aright the former, and to tally deceived by t,ln• littler, man was ever 10(1 forward to the future with an Indistinct and yet inextinguishable hope of del iverlowe from the mists of error and uncertainty which enshroud ed him. A solemn murmur in the soul spoke of a world to he, 7111,1 a confused ery oftimes arose, of multitudinous accents, which only infinite wisdom could interpret into a cry for heavenly. help. Philosophy also hail exerted her self to the utmost, but her greatest achievement was to point out the ne cessity of it teacher sent from (toil, with out any assurance of his coining. The first announcement of the ( los- ; pel was the awakening of 0 new life, of a spirit which in its Very esSellee Wits diffusive, and destined by its thorough adaptation to the great W1)1115 of annum-' ity, so long known And felt, to toe opera tive throughout the length and breadth of the world, until, in the language of its author, "the whole Thal] be leas- Altogether in keeping too with its declarations, but in striking eontrast with the spirit of the world, was tile manner of their promulgation. Not by the exercise of stupendous power Was it accomplished; not by the exhibition of magnificent display, the pomp and pageantry to which the great of the world had been so long:accustomed, and which was considered an essential to any successful achievement. An humble messenger is sent to prepare 'lie Saviour's way, who e xcites the h o p es and expectations of mon to a higher de gree than over before, and whilst the words which he has uttered are still ringing in their ears, Ile who has been so long desired comes. John, anxious that his truthfulness may be attested, sends to II ho the oft repeated question of hunionitv: "Art thou Ile that should, come? Or )00k we for another The Saviour, fully tilde to satisfy prophecy and promise, as well As this universal consciousness of need, is prepared with an answer. And what was that prepar ation? A company of the blind, the deaf, the leprous, the demoniacal, the dying—these were collected around Him and formed the materials on which He proposed to work. This was the mass of disease and death upon which he de signed to breathe new life, in token of that new ereatimi which He had voine to work in all. The messenger ap proached, but, almost before their in qui 'y could he proposed, they had their answers: He spoke, an t the deaf heard Ills voice; lie spoke 11 , g,;1111, and the blind opened their eyes; He put. forth His hand, and the crimson fever faded at Ills touch; Ile looked on the dying, and they arose and were strong • He calledon the frenzied demoniac, and madness itself fell down and worship ped Hint. Then answering, Ile said unto than: " lo your way and tell John what things ye have seen and heard; how that the blind see, the lame walk, the leprers are cleansed, the deaf hear, the dead my raised, to the poor the Gospel is pecriolarl !" declaring that the Kingdom of tied had come, a Kingdom of truth, not merely for some men, but for all—a mighty brotherhood which would leave out none—which would leave no mom to call any man eommon or unclean. _ . . The Saviour's message toJohn the Bap tist is the exponent of Christianity. This impress marks its character to be Divine, and baptized with this spirit the Ministry of Christ have gone forth to the conquest of Sin, regarding it as at once their charter of privileges anti their assurance of success; upon this, in a word, had depended, the influence of the MiniStrg ( hrise. Let its endeavor to consider briefly the extent of its in fluence by examining its objects, its theme and its results. " To the poor the( ;impel is preached." —We know full well the injurious dis tinctions made among all nations, at the time of the 11111110 W ermeut of the Gospel, by Wit:ell the poor were made to occupy the lowest positions and were excluded from all participation in what ever advantages might arise front the learning and refinement of the times. The granting or such privileg,es to them rarely., if ever, suggested itself to those who occupied the seats of learning and of power. The (;rick ever left out the barbarian ; the freeman, the slave ; the philosopher, the simple. And even after the idea was given by Christ they were long in making it their own. Celsus, one of the first bitter opponents of chris tianity, mocks at the madness of the Gospel,a4Plucing,, as evidence enough to convince its author of a shallow imprac ticable enthusiasm, that tie should have proposed such a dream as this that Greeks, and Barbarians, and Lyhians, and all men to the enu of the earth, should be united in the reception of one and the same doctrine. But this dream, destined so soon to become, to them a startling reality, is that which hi de clared in the words of our text, and as they have so long been cast off by all, he gives the poor the prominence, de signing no exclusion, but undoubtedly intending by Implication to convey, that the Gospel, which would henceforth be heralded to the world, would contain the moral feature of being fitted to the poor and the ignorant, as well as the rich and the worldly. He evidently .0 ,-- ' , ,).t :X4ittitMtkt.-.•--::T*t:dli-4/-ttet VOLUME 71 designs by It to convey thatallmankind Shall receive the Gospel ; that as by the offence,of one many were madesinners, and judgment came upon all men to condemnation ; even so by the right eousness of one the free gift might come upon all men unto Justification of life. Regarding the poor also as the repre sentatives of the human family, he could with all propriety give them this prom inenee, for the mass of mankind is poor. Yes, hear it; ye who spurn from your presence those who have not the treasures of this world, and are destitute of some of those graces which the world deems 'requisite ; and with Pharasaic ardor are ready to exclaim, "these people who know not the law are accursed," the great mass of your fellow-men are poor, and the scene, which this world presents to the All-Seeing Eye of God, is that of a world of poor, and yet he eareth for them; and the Redeemer of men not only prepared salvation for them, but stooped to a level with their circumstances, in order that they might the more readily appreciate and appro priate the salvation which he brought. Yes ! Jesus, the only name under Heav en whereby we can be saved, in assum ing the , farm of man became sopoor that no room could be found for Him, save In a manger in a stable at Bethle hem. Oh, what a commentary upon' human pride!. All the gradations of rank were open to If im, but Ile chose the poorest of them all, and whilst some, who lay much stress upon earthly gran deur, are disposed to be astonished at thißsslL:t us remember, to use the beautiful language of another: "that his dignity was of an order entirely distinct from earthly pomp, that to him who had already stooped front an infinite height in becoming man, the varieties of earthly rank were :is nothing, were only minute degrees of littleness." He brought nothing but the Uospel,that men might not have their attention divided or in the least drawn away from it. And all men to the ends of the earth were to be the subjects of it, for in this decl,ira tion, though less fully expressed, we have nothing less than the great commission of a departing Saviour to his disciples— Go ye therefore and fraoh all mitionx, baptizing them in the name of the Fath er, and the Son, and the holy Ghost. Fallen man, then, is the object to which all the energies of the ministry of Christ is to he directed, wherever he may be found and however circumstan ced. That (lospel which is to be pro claimed to Into, being as well adapted now as ever to its object, remaining amid All the shifting scenes of an ever changing world, immutably the same, is to be sent broadcast throughout the earth. There is henceforth neither Greek nor Jew, Barbarian, Scythian, bond nor free, but all are one in Christ Jesus • and whethe , upon Fuegia's rock boundi sterile shores, or in the midst of the enlightenment and privileges of our own or other Christian lands, there be a soul yet unredeemed, that soul is to be the object of its ellbrts; for that soul the Saviour died, and in the survey of the past as well as the present it cannot fail to be regarded as a cause for rejoiei lig that the sympathy of the Redeemer with his SerVall to and with mankind in general has ever been manifesting itself in the preparation of the world for the recep tion of the ( lospel ; so that with a great measure of truth it has been said that his servants like the children of Israel entered upon vineyards which they had not planted, that everywhere there have been vessels ready for the new Wine of truth, for those who like the Ethiopian chamberlain, find their consciousness of need an easy passport to the Saviour. Nations are thus being born unto God, and not until all shall have experienced the value of the life-giving truths which arc entrusted to it, not until all shall have experienced that the only friend of man, the only friend of the poor ,is Jesus of Nazareth. Can the friends of Christ desist from their undertaking, or can they in any degree lose their im portance. But we notice the character awl ex tent of its influence by means of the truths with which it has been entrusted. The Gospel is preached ; good news is proclaiined ; but what is thisgood news? Its great and characteristic feature is that the Gospel is in every way adapted to supply the spiritual wants of man. The great fact that amid all the errors and superstitions which have gained entrance into the world, the existence of a bond between earth and heaven, by means of which blessings of a higher character titan earth can afford, are to be bestowed upon man, has been every where believed, had been entirely dis regarded by those who had undertaken the reformation of man, and either fail ing to understand his need or totally unacquainted with a remedy, the ef fort in all ages had been to lop off one after another of the excrescences of sin, until a perfect man should be presented without spot or blemish—always keep ing out of the account the truths, which some would even now have us to regard as worn-out and exploded doctrines— that the heart is deceitful above all things, and desperately wieked,and that out of it are the issues of life. But the Gospel, designed to satisfy man's best desires, anti to put at rest forever that cry which has ascended to Heaven in all ages in terms more or less distinct, " 0 ! wretched man that I am, who shall deliver rite frontthe body of this death," at once proclaims a kingdom of right eousness and peace, and declares that Life and Immortality have been brought to light for all who will accept of them: that he who only knows the heart of man, its errors anti its tendencies, has promised a means whereby the dross of sin can be speedily and fully removed, "and though it be as scarlet" it shall be made white as snow. Christ, the great sacrifice, WllOlll the world had at best seen but darkly in their ntmierous obla tions, has wrought out an enduring sacrifice, and by ono Otft'rill4 has for ever perfected them that are sanctified. The realization of all antecedent ideas of a Redeemer of the Soul, he satisfied every want and quieted every doubt. Ile was God that he might save, and !Dan that he might fully sympathize with man, being tempted in all points as He. And here lies the strength of the Gospel, here it is found to be strikingly adapted to the wants of man. We are not led to cold, formulas and rule , , and bidden to drliw from them the peace and comfort which we need, but every where in this Gospel are we shown a living, acting. Saviour, attesting and re attesting the importance and truthful ness of his mission, and bidding all to come and cast themselves upon a sym pathizing heart. And this same life also it infuses into those wllO appropri ate its teachings as their own. Christi anity is a life and power; it transforms, it transfigures, it makes new creatures, it does for (ill what others promised to do for a few, and hence the early apolo gist for Christianity uttered no trifling assertion when in opposition to his heathen adversaries lie declared : we do not say great things, bid we firr. Chris tianity is a life—the life of Holiness, infuseff-into the soul of man, bringing God and man again in sympathy with each other, and re-enthroning him in his heart; tlius restoring the original relationship, and tilling up the void which Jewish seer and philosophic heathen lied so p long acknowledged to exist. Rut let us notice also the simplicity of the Gospel, and in order to put a proper estimate upon it in this respect we must remember, that it was not sent to merely intellectual beings, but was addressed to man in his moral capacity, as a fallen and depraved creature, and was de signed specifically to raise him up to newness of life ; and that for the accom plishment of this purpose it designedly omits everything which would lead the heart in any way from it. Many things there are which the inquisitive mind would love tq find in the Gospel, and which, being wanting, cause the unregenerate to stumble; but to the same, when quickened by the grace of God it cannot fail to be a cause of rejoicing as well as an evidence of wisdom, that everything which would cause delay in the ways of this world is carefully ex cluded and the one great point—salvation through a crucified Redeemer—is ever prominent. Christ gave us nothing but the Gospel in all Its simplicity, that to the ignorant as well as to the wise the means of salvation might be accessible. All by-paths are closed up In order that we may see clearly to travel in the way of life. And here again do we behold the glory of the Gospel. Its truths are too momentous In their character to al low our minds to be at all abstracted from them, or even to be conducted by circuitous paths whilst in the pursuit of them, and hence the Saviour constantly expresses his teachings in terms so plain, that he who runs may read. With such allesign and such complete adaptation to its design, can it possibly fail of success ? No ! The triumph of the Gospel Is sure. With such a com mission its Ministry have not failed of glorious results, and must continue to make achievement after achievement until the kingdoms of this world shall have become the kingdoms of the Lord and his Christ. Eighteen hundred years have passed since the Saviour's departure, marking a progress in the world before unknown; a new element has been infused Into it, and standing as we now do, looking back upon the past, all the mighty influences which are at work seem to concentrate in Christ. " The peer have the Gospel preached to them," and whilst It is mighty with the mightiest, its simplici ty adapts it to their comprehension and its benevolence moves their hearts.— From the time of the reception of its great commission the ministry of Christ , has continued, and when faithful has enjoyed ever increasing resources, and exhibiting, amidst all the opposition which It has encountered,the superiori ty of moral goodness over all titled priv lieges and earthly grandeur, has infused its principles into all the departments of , life. The preaching of the Gospel has ' elevated the domestic and social rela- Lions of man by making him cognigant of his higher powers and causing him to look beyond present good. Present ing the simple truth, that the Saviour died, the just for the unjust, to bring us to God, it is lifting man in principle I above the low and debasing scenes of ' vice, and thus giving the best pledge 1 for Its suppression. The universal in- 1 fusion of the truth ns it is in Jesus, thus arresting the influence of sin, has given a stimulus to the intellect, and chang ing man's tastes and desires, the degrad ing and inhuman practices which are a blot upon almost every page of the his tory of antiquity, have passed away, and in their stead, wherever the genial influence of a preached Gospel has been felt, upon the hill top and valley, stand the monuments Of the grace of God.— The heathen world never knew an : lum or a refuge for the poor and the dis tressed, for the widow and the orphan ; but to the ameliorating influences of the truth freely proclaimed, the blind man with his printed Bible and the deaf and the dumb by persevering benevolence led up to Christ, bear loud attestation.— Places for the subjects of misfortune are everywhere erected, and the criminal formerly yielded up to the sterner de mands of his fellow-man, and giving over to ignominy and neglect, Mis now every just means of defence presented to him and is regarded as possessed of an immortal soul. -0, the poor the Gospel it preached," and, by its incul cation of the wisdom of principle, it is accomplishing its appointed work, the elevation of humanity. The truth is being carried into the by-ways as Well as into the thoroughfare and destroying all unreasonable distinctions, is showing the true character of man and consti tuting all a brotherhood in Christ. It is publishing principles and not mere ideas, principles drawn front the great starting point of knowledge and is gathering from the masses not only menfitted for a social life but those also upon whom must depend the stability of our institutions. The Christian min istry has been the safe-guard of our country, and preaching the Gospel in its purity, laid the foundation of that sys tem which is our nation's pride. The declaration that all men are born free and equal, the great corner-stone of American freedom, sublime in theory but still more so in practice, had its ori gin in Christ and with this basis never dreamed of by the once proud republics of Athens and Rome it cannot fall. The problem of nations has been solved by the Gospel, and, teaching that material progress is impossible without the spread of enlightened ideas by means of an intelligent ministry, it is spreading that enlightenment. Infusing new life into man's Social relations, and giving stability to nation al policy it is at the same time establish ing a kingdom which shall be everlast ing and whose dominion shall endure throughout all generations. Adminis tering the Gospel to the poor and per forming man's noblest work,by teaching truth and goodness, it is bringing the creature into a union with the Creator; and treating With men as germs of heaven, it is advancing them to:become kings and priests onto God. The broad field ,or its influence is the exten sion of the Kingdom of God and the gathering in ,he outcasts of all nations iuto the Kingdom of the Redeemer. It is to preach the wisdom which is to salvation. which shall tell in eternity and remain operative forever,—wisdom which is not the labored effort of the schools, nor the offspring of reason, but which begins and ends with faith in God. The simple truth that upon one is laid the iniquity of us all, scattered broadcast through its instrumentality, is to restore a world cursed by sin, and cause its waste places to blossom the rose. The little one shall become athou sand and the small one a great nation, and earth's millions are to be gathered into one fold having Israel'stihepherd for its Keeper. Through its instrumentality, pressing onward with an open Bible, the song of praise is heard on India's ground from many 'an altar dedicated to the service of the living God, and the glad dening tones of the Sabbath hell arc mark ing the progress of the Kingdom of Christ throughout the countless isles of the sea. And when added to his many crowns the SaWICIUr shall receive the crown of all the earth, when her un numbered millions shall come to sit down in the Kingdom of God, amidst that mighty throng whom no man can number of all nations, and kindreds, and people, and tongues,will be found the seals of the ministry on earth. Such is the glorious work which has been accomplished and which yet re mails to be accomplished by the influ ence of a preached Gospel. These things too, although so glorious, are not in any degree the result of enthusiasm or the figments of the imagination, but the fulfilment of what ( has promised, and our highest antici pation cannot transcend the reality of that time when the ransomed of the Lord gathered from all nations, k indreds and tongues, shall see eye to eye, and unitedly lift up one song of exultation and praise. The Church of Christ, nur tured by its care, stands even now as a glorious monument to its efficiency and power. Its goodly proportions attract our attention ; but its beauty shall not be made to appear in its fullness until all the scaffolding of man's devising shall have been removed: and, every stone set in its place, the voice of Omni potence shall be heard to declare with more awful import than before, "It is finished." My brethren, let us take these things in trust for a little while ; they shall most certainly appear. Let us be content to await the fulfilment of this promise. ;Now confusion and dis cord may seem to prevail, hut then all the now disjointed stones will be seen to tit into their appointed places, giving unity and compactness and symmetry to tne whole. But let us gather some lessons of prae- [teal importance from what we have seen. In the consideration of this sub ject we cannot have failed to see the ful filment of time promise of the Saviour to His disciples: " Lo! I am with you al way—even unto the end of the world ;" and ought it not to inspirit us to worthier undertakings than we have ever hereto fore attempted? In terms which are not mistakable it declares to us, be like your Master; go preach the Gospel as fir as you are able ; preach it in your lanes and alleys ; preach it by your example ; preach it to make men better. But it presents to us a still more prom inent truth. That we should do all in our power to sustain, support and in crease the ministers of God's word.— Glorious as is the picture which is pre sented to us in the contemplation of the past influence which they have exerted, there is aspect in which it is fearful. It is capable of such results, but it is dependent upon the Church of Christ fur the perpetuity and enlargement of its influence; shall it increase, or through carelessness diminish, and thus its very success be a cause for condem nation" My brethren, we have all an interest in this matter, not so much as denominations of Christians as one united brotherhood. However widely we may differ on questions involving doctrines that are not fundamental, the great question of the conversion of the , •orld unto God ought to be the clasp, o bind us in one brotherhood: Upon this all our energies should be expended and we should gladly lay hold of every opportunity, of every thing which .romiaes to aid its consummation. An effort is now being made to form an alumni association of the graduates of Dickinson College. A temporary organization has already been made by the election of Rev. Dr. Durbin as Presi dent, and Col. Horatio C. King, of New York, as Seorgtary. LANCASTER, PA., WEDNESDAY MORNING, MARCH 2, 1870 A True Story of Frontier Life In Penn sylvania. The eollowiug curious paper we ex tract from a book, now extremely rare, tearing this title : " A Selection of Some of the most Inter esting Narratives of Outrages Om milted by the Indians in their Ware with the White People. By Archibald Loudon. CARLISLE: From the Press of A. - Loudon. 1811! The descendants of Richard Bard, we believe. still live in the county of Franklin. His wife, who shared his captivity, lived to an advanced age, but sufibred, to the last, cruel torments from disease contracted during her exposure among the Indians. The old frontier man's poetry, if not as artistic and mu sical as that of more cultivated bards, does honor to the tenderness of his do mestic affections, and although it is not distinguished by imagination, it can at least lay claim to close adherence to the homely truth. [En. Antics. AN ACCOUNT OF THE CAPTIVITY OF RICHARD BARD, ESQUIRE, LATE OF FRANKLIN COUNTY, DECEASED, WITH HIS WIFE AND FAMILY, AND OTHERS, COLLECTED FROM HIS PAPERS RV HIS SON, A lull - 11 - 1A.1,n BARD. My father, Richard Bard, lived in York county, now Adams, and owned the mill now called Marshall's mill, in I what is called Carroll's Tract, where in the morning of the 13th of April, 17:18, his house was invested by a-Tarty of nineteen Indians. They were diseov ered by a little girl called Hannah Mc- Bride, who was at the door, and on see ing them screamed, and ran in the' house. At this time, there were in the house, my father, mother, and Lieuten ant Thomas Potter, (brother of General Potter,; who had conic the evening be- ; fore (being a full cousin,) together with a child of about six months old, and a , bound boy. The Indians rushed into ' the house and one of them with a large cutlass in his hand made a blow at Pot ter, but he so managed it, as to wrest the sword from the Indian, and return the blow, which would have put an end to his existence, had not thepoint struck ; the ceiling, turning the sword so as to cut the Indian's hand. In the meantime Mr. Bard,! any father; laid hold of a horse man's pistol that hung on a nail, and snapped it at his breast of one of the Indians, but there being tow in the pan it did not go oil'; at this, the Indians seeing the pistol, ran out of the house. ! By this time one of the Indians art ; the door had shot at Potter, but the ball I took him only in the little finger. The door was now shut, and secured as well as possible; but finding the Indians to be very numerous, and having no pow- der or ball, and as the savages might I easily burn down the house by reason of I the thatched roof, and the quantity of mill wood piled at the back of the build ing, added to the declarations of the ! Indians, that they would not be put to death, determined them to surrender; on which a party of the Indians went to a field and made prisoners Samuel ! Hunter and Daniel M'Manimy. A lad ! of the name of 'William White coming to the mill, was also made a prisoner.— Having secured the prisoners, they took all the valuable effeets out of the house, and set fire to the mill. They then pro ceeded towards the mountain, and my mother enquiring of the Indians who had care of her, Wile informed that the 3 were of the 'Delaware nation. At the distance of about severity rods from the house contrary to all their promises they put to death Thomas Potter, and having proceeded on the mountain about three or four miles, one of the Indians sunk the sliear of his tomahawk into the breast of the small child, and after; repeated blows scalped it. After cross- ing tin; mountain, they passed the house of Mr. Halbert T , and seeing him out, shot at him, but without effect. Thence, passing late in the evening, M'Cord's old fort, they encamped about half a mile in the gap. The second day, having passed into the Path Valley, they discovered a party of white men in pur suit of them ; on which they ordered the prisoners to hasten, for should the whites come up with them, they should Ire all toinahawked. Having been thus hurried, they reached the top of the Tuskarora mountain, and all had sat down to rest, when an Indian, without any previous warning, sunk a toma hawk into the forehead of Samuel Hun ter, who was seated by my father, and by repeated blows put an end to his ex istence. lie was then scalped, and the Indians proceeding on their journey, encamped that evening some miles on the north of Sideling Hill. The next day they marched over the Allegheny mountain, through what is now called Blain's gap. On the fifth day whilst crossing Stoney ('reek, the wind blew a hat of my father's from the head of the Indian in whose custody he was. The Indian went down the stream some distance, before he recovered it. In the meantime my father had passed the creek, but when the Indian returned, he severely heat any father with the gull, and almost disabled tout from traveling any further. And now reflect ing that lie could not possibly travel much further, and that if this was the case, he would be immediately put to death, he determined to attempt his escape that night. Two days before this, the half of my father's head was painted red. This denoted that a council had been held, and that an equal number were for putting him to death, and for keeping him alive, and that another council was to have taker place to de termine the question. Being encamped, my parents, who before this had not lib erty to speak to one another, were per mitted to assist each other in plucking a turkey, and being thus iingaged the design of escaping was communicated to may mother. After some of the In dians had lain down, and one of them was amusing the others, with dressing himself with a gown of my mother, in;.• father was called to go fur water. He took a quart and emptying it of what water it contained, crept about six rods down to the spring. My mother per ceiving this, succeeded so well in con fining the attention of the Indians to the gown, that my father had got about one hundred yards, when the Indians from one fire, cried to those of another, your inns is gone. 'they ran after him, and one having brought back the quart said, here is the quart, but no man. They spent two days iu looking after him, while the prisoners were con fined in the camp ; but after an unsuc cessful search, they proceeded down the stream to the Allegheny river, thence to Fort Duquesne, now Fort Pitt. After remaining there one night arid a day, they went about twenty miles down the Ohio, to an Indian town, on entering which a squaw to,k a cap off my mo ther's head, and with many others, se verely beat her. Now, almost exhausted with fatigue, she requested leave to re main at this place, but was told she might, if she preferred being scalped, to proceeding. Thee then took her to a town called Cususkey. On arriving at this place, Danie, id'Manimy was de tained outside of the town, but my mo ther, the two boys and girls were taken into the town, at the same time having their ludr pulled, faces scratch ed, and beaten in an unmerciful manner. Here I shall extract from my father's papers the manner and ci r cumstancesof WManimy's death. This account appears to have been from my mother, shortly after her return, who received it from those who hart been eye witnesses of the tragical scene. The Indians formed themselves into a circle, round tine prisoner, and commenced by beating him ; some with sticks, and some with tomahawks. He was then tied to a post near a large fire, and after being tortured some time with burning coals, they scalped him, and put the scalp on a pole to bleed before his face. A gun barrel was then heated red hot, and passed over his body, and with a hot bayonet they pierced his body with many repetitions. In this manner they continued torturing him, singing and shouting, until' he expired. Short ly after this my mother set out from this place, leaving the two boys and girl, whom she never saw again, until they were liberated. She was now distressed beyond measure ; going she knew not where, without a comforter, without a companion, and expecting to share the fate of M'Manimy, in the next town she would reach. In this distress ed situation she met a number of In dians, among whom was a captive wo man. To her, my mother made known her fears, on which she was informed that her life was not in danger, for that belt of wampum, said she, about your neck, is a certain sign, that you are in tended for an adopted relation. They soon after arrived at a town, and being taken into the council house, twosquaws entered In and one stept up, and struck my mother on the side of the head. Per ceiving that the other was about to fol low this example, she tuned her head and received a second blow. The -war riors were highly displeased, such acts la a council house being contrary to usage. Here a chief took my mother by the hand, and delivered her to two In dian men, to be in the place of a deeeas ed sister. She was put in charge of a squaw in order to be cleanly clothed. She had remained here, with her adopted friends near a month, when her party began to think of remov ing to the head waters of Susquehanna, a journey of about two hundred miles. This was very painful to my mother, having already traveled over two hun dred miles over mountains and swamps until her feet and legs were extremely swollen and sore. Fortunately on the day of their setting out, a horse was given to her by her adopted brother; but before they had traveled far, one of the horses in company died, when she was obliged to surrender hers to supply its place. After proceeding on her jour ney some miles, they were met by a number of Indians, one of whom told her not to be discouraged, ass peace was about to take place shortly, when she would have leave to return home. To this Information she Nl' a .9 the more dis posed to give credit, as it came from one who was a chief councellor in the Dela ware nation, with whom she was a pris oner. Having arrived near the end of her journey, to her great surprise, she saw a captive dead by the road side, having been tomahawked and scalped. She was informed that he had endeav ored to escape but was overtaken at this place. On arriving at the place of destination, having in all, traveled near five hundred miles, the fatigue which she had under gone with cold and hunger, brought on a severe fit of sickness which lasted near two months. In this doleful situation, having no person to comfort, or sympa thize with her, a blanket washer only covering, and her bed was the cold earth, in a miserable cabin; boiled corn was her only food. She was reduced to so weak a.state as to consider herself as approaching the verge of dissolution.— But recovering from her sickness she met with a woman with whom she had been formerly acquainted. This woman had been in captivity some years, and had an Indian husband by whom she had one And. My mother reproved her for this, but received for answer, that before she had consented, they had tied her to a.stake in order to burn her. She added, that as soon as their captive ! women could speak the Indian tongue, ' they were obliged to marry some one of I them, or be put to death. This infor mation induced her to determine never to learn the Indian language, and she ; adhered to this determination all the time she remained with them, from the day of her captivity to that of her re ! 'easement, a space of two years and live months. She was treated during this time, by her adopted relations with much kindness; even more than she ' had reason to expect. I shall now return to the narration of I facts respecting my father after he had made his escape from the Indians, as before stated. It is perceived that the following verses were composed by Richard Bard shortly before his wife's I releasement, and were not intended for publication, but they contain the most correct statement that can at this day ! be procured on the subject, it has been I thought proper to publish them, omit ting all that has a relation to anything previous to his escape— Bare sit sore miles now we have illar Ft'. I fifty doth remain Between us and the bloody pine. Where standeth Fort Duquane At three rods distance from a run, Eneamp'd this night are we, But when for drink they do me .end No more they do me see. Alas! for me to gods hard, Whilst with them Is my wife, Yet 'tie the way that God ordained For me to save my life But after me they quickly run Not doubting of their prize; But God terns into foolishneNs The Nybdom of the wise. O cruel man! In vain you strive In vain you follow me, For since the Lord gainsalth I No longer captive be. God the device can dinappoint Of wicked men nald wlse. So to perform they can't alway Their cruel enterprise. But now although at liberty Through mercy 1 am set, Yet Iniserable Is my life For want of food to eat. O dreadful sore my sufferings wer,• Which force me to depart, Whilst no provisions I had got My life for to support. O'er hills that's high and swamps Ow .leer I now alone must go, Travelling on I suffer mueb From briers pojapn do. Linto n 11111, I now arrive, About four miles It's broad, All o'er this hill the snow doth lv Though elsewhere It Is thaw*d. Much laurel Is upon this hill, Its leaves are tilled with snow. So I upon my bands and knees Under the same must go. My hands thro' thlg excessive cold Extremely swelled are. Of sufferings I In this plan• Abundantly do share. Tint 'tis not only In the ,lay That hardships do abound, For in the night they also do Encompass me around. In hollow logs or 'mongst the leave, At night is mine abode; No better lodgings wet or dry. Throughout:this lonely road. Three days I've travelled since escape But there is three days more In which I have for to lay By, foot's so very sore. Amazingly my foot Is swell'd, With heat Is In rt flame, And though I'm In this desert land Can't scant I am so lame. Not wholly from my pained foot That causes pain to me, For by not having food to eat. My woes eneriAt.ed be. Almost five days I now have been Without the least supply. Except bark buds, which I did pull As I did pass them by. Though I'm not able nose to walk I creep upon my knees, To gather herbs that I 114113 - eat, My stomach to appease. lint whilst I'm roving thus about, A rattle-snake at speed. I view a running unto ma, This mercy Is indeed. For by this snake I'm supplied When kill the same I do, llow timeously this mercy came None but myself can know. This rattle-snake both flesh and bon All but the head I eat, And though 'tis raw, it seent'd to un Exceeding pleasant meat. Sow ripen'd is my heeling foot, Which mightily did site, I with althorn did pierce the smut. And thereby ease partake. And lest nty foot I further hurt My breeches tear I do, And round my feet I do them tye, That I along might go. But when to walk I do attempt Gives me excessive pain, Yet I must travel with sore loot Or die and here remain. • So when a few miles I did go, Unto a hill I come \F on the lofty top thereof I thought I heard a drum. And Judging people near to he On them I gave a call, But sure there Wlrs not one to hen r Being weak, conceit was all. Being now eight days since I e,ap'd Unto a river came, 'Whilst wading it I suffered much Being so very lame. But having Juniatta cross'd I to a mountain came, With cold I ne'er was so ilistress - d As I was on the same. For In is night that's Very cold I there my lodging take, And as my clothes were wlmily w. 4 I tremble did and shake. Me hand by this excessive cold Is so benumb'd that I Can't move, no, not a single Joint, Were It a world to buy., Then I although the night was dark Did homewards march away, Least I should perish with the cold Should I for day light stay. But on my Journey in this night With Joy a fire I see, This was the strangest providence That ever happened me. For when I by the same had staid Until the light appear, I see a road Just at my hand Which doth my spirit cheer. If I had not beheld this fire This Indian path I'd cross'il And then from all appearance I Forever had been lost. Along this path I went with haste As much as I could make, But twos not fast that I could go I was so very weak. Now having been nine days and ht Witt« In a most starving state, Not having food of any kind Except four snakes to eat. But on the evening of this day I met with Indians three, Surprised I was and really thought Them enemies to be; But they proved kind and - brought me to A place where English dwell, Fort Littleton, the place by me Was known exceeding well. The time since first I captive was This la the fourteenth day, Five with the Indiana and nine alma. From them I Mn away. Thanks to the Lord who did provide Food in the wilderness For Me, as much as did preserve My life whilst in distress. Thanks to the Lord because that he In deserts, pathless way, Directed me so that I did Al no time go astray. MIMI MMIMMI And now from bondage though I'm freed Yet she that's my belov'd, Is ton land that's far remote, By Indians remov'd. Alas! alas! for my poor wife That's gone to heathen land, There to obey their very hard And their unjust command , . Be thinking on your misers' 'lnenere.e I is my woe: Yea pained is my aking heart For what you undergo. Where all things of this spacious at. to ease my mind, Alas! all would abortive prom.• Whilst Kielty Is confined. The thoughts of you my loving wib Embitters unto m.t, The sweetest comforts that 1 • 11I1 n. A world produced be. Oh now I may like to a dove In her bewildered state. Bemoan the loss of my dear AV i My true and loving mate. Some time after my father's return home, he went to Fort Pitt which was then in the hands of the English, and a number of Indians beingon the oppo site side of the river, about to form a treaty he one evening went over, to make inquiry concerning my mother. My father observed among them several who were present when he was taken prisoner, to these he discovered himself. But they professed not to know him,on which he inquired of them, if they did not recollect having been at the taking of nine persons, referring them to the time and place. They then acknowl edged it, and inquired of him how he got home, dc., after which he made enquiry concerning my mother, but they said they knew nothing of her, but promised to give him some infor wation by the time of his return the next day. He then returned to the fort. Shortly after this, a young man, who had been taken by the Indians when a child, followed him, and advised him not to return, for that when lie had left them he had heard them say, that they . . never had a stronger desire for anythhig than to have sunk the tomahawk into his head, and that they had agreed to kill him on his return next day. After this man had requested my fattier not to mention anything of his having been with him or of the subject of their con versation, he returned to camp. I may here state that from the tone that my father was taken by the Indi- ans, until my mother was released, he did little else than wander from place to place in quest of information respect ing her, and after he was informed where she was, his whole mind bent upon contriving plans for her redemp lion. Desiring, with this view to go to Pittsburgh, he fell in with a brigade of wagons commanded by Mr Irvin.— With them he proceeded as far as Bed ford, but finding this a tedious way of travelling, he spoke to the command ing officer of the place to get Captain White Eyes, who commanded a party of Indians, to promise to accompany him to Pittsburgh. This was accord ingly done, and the Indians having agreed to take him safe to Pitt, my fath er set out with them, having a horse and a new rifle. They had proceeded but about two miles, when an Indian turn ed off the road and took up a scalp which that morning had been taken off one of the wagoners. This alarmed my father not a little; but having proceeded about ten miles further, the Indians again turned off the road, and brought several horses and a keg of whiskey which had been concealed. shortly after this, the Indians begun to drink so as to become intoxicated. White Eyes then signified to my father that as he ran off from them, he would then shoot him, and raised his gun to take aim ; but my father stepping behind a tree, ran round it while the Indian followed. This ,for a time gave great amusement to the bystanders, until a young Indian stept up, twisted the gun out of the hands of White Eyes, and hid it under 1 a log. The Indians became considera bly intoxicated, and scattered, leaving White Eyes with my father. White , Eyes then made at him with a large stick, aiming at his head, but my father threw up his arms, and received so severe a blow as to blacken it for weeks. At this time an Indian of another nation, who had been sent as an express to Bed ford, came by. Captain White Eves applied to him for his gun to shoot my father, but the Indian refused, as they were about making peace, and the killing of my father would bring on another war; (being of different mvtions they were obliged to speak in English.) By this time my father finding himsel I in a desperate situation, resolved at all events to attempt an escape; he said to captain White Eyes our horses are go ing away, and went towards them, ex .l ecting every minute to receive a ball in his back, but on corning up to his • horse he got on him, and took to the road; lie had gone but a short distance when he saw the Indian sleeping at a spring who had taken the gun out of White Eye's hand, and I have often heard him say, had it been any other of ' the Indians he would have shot him.— Fearing a pursuit he rode as fast as his horse could go, and having travelled all night he got to Pittsburg the next morn ingshortlyaf ter sun rise, and he was not there more than three hours, until the Indians were in after hint ; but from a fear of an injury being done my mother, in killing them he suppressed his anger, and passed the matter by. From here he had an opportunity of writing her a letter, requesting her to inform her adopted friends, that if they Nvould bring her in, he would pay tlienl forty pounds. But having waited for an an swer until he became impatient, he bar gained with an Indian to go and steal her away., But the night before he was ' to start he declined going, saying that he would he killed if he went. In this situation he resolved at all hazards to g himself and bring her ; for which pur pose he set out and went to a place on the Susquehanna, I think if . WILS called Shomoken, not far from what is called the Big Cherrytrees. Front here he set ' out on an Indian path, along which lie had travelled until evening when he was met by a party of Indians who were bringing in my mother; the Indians passed him by, and raising the war halloo, my mother felt distress ed at their situation, and my father per . eeiving the Indians not to be in a good humor, began to promise them their pay as he had promised by letter when they would come to the Shomoken, but the Indians told him that if he got them among the whites he would then refuse ; to pay them, and that they would then have no redress ; finding they were thus apprehensive, he told them to keep him as.a hostage out in the woods and send his wife into town, and lie would send !, an order for the money to be paid them. land that if it was not done they might do with him as they pleased. This had the desired effect: they got quite goon humored and brought them in, on do ing which the money was paid agreea ble to promise. Before my father and mother left Shomoken he requested an Indian who had been an adopted broth er of my mother, if ever lie came down amongst the white people to call and see tin. According/y, some time af terwards the Indian - paid him a visit, lie living then about tea miles from Chambersburg. The Indian having continued for some time with him, went to a tavern by the name of M'Cormacks, and there became some what intoxicated, when a certain N.e.w. gen ' (since executed in Carlisle for stealing of horses) having a large knife in his hand struck it into the Indian's neck, edge foremost, designing thereby to thrus lit in between the bone anti throat and by drawing it forward to cut his throat, but in part lie missed his aim, and only cut the forepart or the wind pipe. On this Newgan had to escape from justice; otherwise the law would have been put in force against him. And it has been remarked that ever after be continued to progress in vice until Ins death. A physician was brought to attend the Indian, the wound was sewed up, and he continued at my fa ther's until he had recovered ; when he returned to his own people who put him to death, on the pretext of his having as they said joined the white people. In August 1764, according to the best accounts of the time, my father and family from fear of the Indians having moved to my grandfather Thomas Poes, about three miles from his own place he took a black girl with him to his own place to make some hay, and being there at his work, a dog which he had with him began to bark and run towards and from a thicket of bushes. Observing these circumstances he became alarmed and taking up his gun, told the girl to run to the house, for he believed there were Indians near. So they made to wards the house and had not been there more than an hour, when from the loft of the house they saw a party commanded by,,Capt. Potter, late Glen. Potter, in pursuit of a party of In dians who had that morning mur dered a schoolmaster of the name of Brown, with ten small children, and MMJWiI scalped and left fordead one by the name of Archibald Al'Cullough who recovered and was living not long since. It was remarkable that with but few exceptions t ie scholars were, much averse to going to school that morning. And the ac count given by .111'Cullough is, that wheb the master and scholars met at the school, two of the scholars informed him that on their way they had seen Indians, but the information was not attended to by the master, who ordered them to their books ; soon afterwards two, old Indians and a boy, rushed up to the door. The master seeing them prayed them only to take his life and spare the children ; but unfeelingly the two old Indians stood at the door whilst the boy entered the house and with a piece of wood made in the form of an Indian mall, killed the master and scholars, after which the whole of them were scalped. I.‘ 4. rt. h. 1 .1 Story of the Great Fiats of Pototone. The Botanist was a curious fellow.— That was the verdict of all who had the pleasure—not to say amusement—of his acquaintance; and few there were who did not, among the permanent residents of Washington, in the neighborhood of which city my story is located. y I say m story, for it is Mine rather than his—so fai, as manner is concern ed, at any rate. You have no doubt no ticed, reader, how extremely difficult it is to reproduce, with any satisfaction to ourselves or others, the little oddities of phraseology, by which certain per sons seem to clothe their utterance with a singular degree of force. The impres sion made upon our minds may be deep and even lasting, but when we attemi to seize the forms themselves in order to apply them to our own purposes, they elude our grasp. And so, I fear, in what purports to be his utterances, that mine will be frequently encountered instead. I said he was a strange specimen; and so he was—strange as any in his herbarium. About thirty years of age, slightly over the middle height, thin in form, and somewhat careless in appar el; but, "nothing so very odd in all this," you will say. True, and yet there was something odd in his countenance, yellow as a pressed rose petal; his stiff, awkward gait, such as one might as cribe to a perambulating thorn-bush or gum tree ; his withered, wrinkling smile, and hands of the color of an oak leaf in autumn. Indeed, it seemed us if the very essence of the dried speci mens which It was his delight to gather, had, in revenge for the fate they had received at his hands, taken possession of him body and soul. That is, to a su perficial observer; for, when you came to hold closer communion with the heart that beat beneath that unprepos sessing exterior, you found it as royal a one its ever pulsed the life-blood leap ing and dancing through the veins of the most favored of the sons of earth.— And he was not weak, either, if he was lath-like in proportions. Those wiry sinews had borne the brunt of many a hard tussle with the intricacies of thick et and morass ; anti where more sturdi ly built limbs would have sunk exhaus ted on the ground, his had pressed per sevtiringly onward. He dressed with negligence, but he acted with determi nation ; he could not move with grace but lie could with celerity; he would not conform to other's prejudices, whether sanctioned by society or not, but he would sedulously seek to advance their interests or alleviate their distress. In short, if he was a singular, he was also ft clever fellow. Still, though I had long been acquainted with his valuable qualities of heart, I was hardly prepared to recognize in the hero of a love adven ture my friend of the " woeful figure" and moistureless flowers. "No," said he (on the occasion of a visit to my lodgings—not so far as they might be from the Capitol,) as though the same idea lied occurred to him, and he were merely continuing his thoughts aloud—"no, I don't sup pose you think I amituite the one for a love seraue ; but—yes, I knew you would be surprised—l have got into one and pretty deeply, too, as 1 think you will admit before I am done telling you about it. You see, I became acquaint ed last winter with a certain young lady of this city—never mind who, at pre sent. In fact— I suppose there's no use denying it—l fell "head and cars in love', with her, as they say, al most at our first meeting. And, wheth er it was because site saw I had some sense, if I u'asen'l handsome, or what ever was the reason, she did not scent very averse to my attentions, and they naturally came more decided as I began to grow a little in vanity and self-con fidence. Sometimes a stray glance or a slight mark of preference would con vince me that my atiactions was not altogether wasted. But after a while these were intermixed with indications of precisely the opposite kind, and a jocular hint front another of the party would often bring down showers of sa tire on my defenseless head, which seemed to me equally bewildering and unjustifiable.—Even alone, my delicate intimations of what I as yet dared not openly reveal were sometimes listened to with significant attention, sometimes noticed, if at all, by a momentary ex pression of scornful indifferenee, resting like a bird of ill omen upon her face, but gone before you could certainly seize or fix it. In short, Emma, for that was her name, was daily becoming more and more of an enigma to me, which I could neither comprehend nor relinquish, but waited on, longing and doubting, with many a muttered protest against the incomprehensible sex. " Well, this was the state of affairs when, about midsummer, an excursion was manned up the river. We were to ride on horseback to the neighborhood of the Great Falls, which are, as you know, some eighteen miles above here; cross to the Virginia side at the ferry, a mile or two lower down, and devote the day to a sort of picnic, for which the materials were all plentifully provided. In company with all concerned, I anticipatvd a glorious time, but luck was against me. Emma was in one of her unaccountable moods, and appeared plainly desirous of showing me that my company was not by any means Indis pensable. She had purposely avoided accepting me as her escort, alleging a prior engagement with a young man named Alsop, who was of the party, and whose surprise and pleasure at the announcement were equally con spicuous. Perhaps after this I ought to have declined going at all, but I. never was good at taking a hint, and besides, there being more gentle men than ladies of the company, I saw that several others were reduced to the same alternative with myself—of riding on the left side of the latter in lines three abreast, or making short guerrilla excursions on their own hook, in one direction or another. So I did not leave. But the pleasureof the ride, which was, and always will be, one of extraordi nary attractions, was almost spoilt for me uy her unreasonable conduct, till at last, on nearing the place where we were to cross, finding myself almost completely excluded from the conversa tion, I determined to break away, and strike out for myself. It was pretty hard, but I felt that self-respect demanded it. So I made some excuse of desiring to look up a rare plant on the Maryland side, and rode on to the falls As I did so, I thought I could see a momentary expression of regret and annoyance upon her features, but, like all evidences of feeling wi h her, it was merely momen tary, and her answer was given with a gay nonchalance, which it was not easy to penetrate. Ah, indeed said she. ' Well, I wish you success.' " For all that, I could not help gazing back to admire the graceful and upright figure that loitered, apparently inten tionally, behind the rest, with the coal black hair that glanced in the sunlight, the trim riding-habit, the full blooming cheek, and the eye that, turning back for an instant, met mine with a seeming presentiment in its earnest gaze for which I could not account. I little thought how nearly it had been the last time our eyes should meet in life. " But the day must be passed some how, for I was in no mood to return home, so I determined to carry out in reality my excuse, which at first had no more foundation than excuses usually have. I knew a species of cactus was said to grow on the bare, sunny rock In the neighborhood of the falls, which I had never been able to find nearer the city, and which is the only variety that is found so far to the northward. " A few moments' ride brought me to a small cluster of houses, one of which, a long, low-roofed affair, bore the name of hotel, but was known at large as Sam Davis's tavern. Mr. Davis, a jovial, intelligent specimen of his class, made me welcome in the most approved style, and, after a slight rest, I departed on The Ledge on the Cliff. NUMBER 9. foot toward the river, leaving my horse to he cared for at the tavern. "I was entering now upon one of the most remarkable tracts of eoun try (for its size) to be found, perhaps, on the conti nent. From the canal to the river is a distance of somewhat more than n mile, and this narrow belt is crowded full of the wildest and most grotesque contigur• ations of rock that human imagination can conceive, mountainous masses, rising here anskthere into bald peaks, washed clean and gray by the rains of centuries, worn and torn by the action of natural forces into ridges, and saddle backs, and sugar loafs, in many places nearly inaccessible ; deep chasms down whose beds brooks find their way, rip pling over the stones, or sparkling in cascades,miniature lakes completely en girdled by walls of rock, and undisturb ed by a.iy sound, except now and then the mournful cry of a solitary bittern, or the light splash of a drowsy fish, that now and then find sufficient energy t,• arouse themselves from their slumber • - along the margin, and luxuriate, likt their livelier brethren of the river, in thesunlight above ; and narrow, tangled thickets nestling high up in little hol lows with a dangling and climltimi wowth of poison ivy—all combine tt , make up a scene as totally different from anything that the surrounding culintry presents as are the fantastic combina tions of a dream from every-day reali ties.. " When you get nearer the river, you hear the hoarse, distantroar of the falls, rising with almost awful Impressiveness amid the silence that reigns on every side; and down the gullies ahead you catch short glimpses of the water hurry ing by, with here and there a fleck of foam upon its surface, and the bold Vrigi n hid iffs, crowned with the growth of woods, and stretching far up and down the river. At last you reach the bank, worn on this side into little semi circular basins, where the eddies keep whirling and whirling around, with huge buttresses of rock between, each of which presents a front of from twenty to several hundred feet. .-Snue distance above Is the great white, roaring mass, piling over the crags and between the and flinging the spray high into the air. It is a scene of genuine sub limity, if there is any such in existence. "Well, here at last I found myself, after a long, though successful search, completely tired out by clambering over rocks almost blistering hot, under an August sun, anti with every disadvan tage that nature, in her most crotchety mood, could devise. I had begun to feel the need of some refreshment—for even disappointed and jealous love is no match for a botanist's appetite—and, above all things, I needed rest. But in order to enjoy either, I must get into the shade somewhere, for my head was ach ing already, and the rocks on which I stood were positively painful to the touch. I was standing on the upper side of one of the little bays I mentioned where the wall of rock behind me left a small space between it and the water.— Just ahead, the eddy anti river joined ; and here I noticed that the corner of the cliff—for such it really sells—was worn round and irregular,.and hollowed out toward the bottom by the action of the river current. No doubt, I thought, the whole front was of similar shape. Now, if there were only room enough near its base, one might enjoy a little comfort after all, for the projecting rock would be an ample protection against the rays of the sun, darting, as they did, nearly overhead. I thought it was well worth the trouble of an examination, anyhow. But, at the first look, I saw the scheme was utterly impracticable. No—not utterly; for, if I could not find room enough at the base of the cliff, which I saw was washed by water if apparently considerable depth, a ledge running along its face, at pretty nearly two-thirds of its height, offered the accommoda tions I sought. A few seconds of climb ing, rendered easy by habit and recent practice, enabled me to attain it, and I was once more in tolerable comfort. My position was now somewhat novel. Tin rock projected at a sharp angle over head, and receded below, leaving me it, a sort of cave, a. 4 it were, and yet sus pended in the air above the water. "In sonic places there was almost room to stand erect, and platforms of some little extent for sitting or reclin ing; in others, one could barely crawl on hands and knees along a narrow ridge or belt of some twelve or fourteen inches in width. Here and there slight breaks ocourred in it, but with these trivial exceptions, Itextended some forty or fifty feet along the front of the rock— that is, to its upper extremity. As soon as I had got pretty well rested, and fin ished my lunch, I determined to pro ceed to this point, in order to obtain a better view of the falls than my pres ent position afforded (as foolish and thoughtless a resolution as one can well imag.neo and accordingly begun picking my way carefully along this rather ticklish route. At first, I went on fearlessly, not counting the danger, but soon began to perceive that I was engaged in a rather foolhardy procedure; still, I was determined not to back out then, though my advance was more timerous. The last fifteen feet was the most difficult part of the undertaking, for here the ledge was unusually narrow, and the arch quite abrupt overhead; besides a little moisture had oozed from the rock in one place, making dangerous footing—or rather kneeing—for I was on hands and knees. I reached the end safely, but was in no mood to lingerand gaze at prospects, now that I had accom plished my undertaking. " It was no easy matter to return, for, if it had been difficult to advance face foremost, it was much more so to recede feet foremost, and there was no room to effect a change of front. But there was no alternative, and so back I went, at first slowly, step by step, then, the sight of the waters below and the thought of my danger struck me with sudden force, and, in spite of all the resolution I could master, I found myself taken with a panic and hurrying violently backward. Before I well knew what I was about, the knee that bore my weight rested upon the slippery pot of the ledge, then shot quickly over. I writhed for a second to regain my position, but it was all useless ; first my body went ; then my head and hands followed, vainly grasping at the slippery rock. I felt myself shooting for an in stant through the air; then a sudden crash and splash, and down, down I went—and vet onward all the time, for even then could note the tremendous force of the river current that was rush ing me along with it. Some under sim ilar circumstances describe having seen the wholeof their past lives in panorama before them. I have no such experience to relate. What of consciousness there was remaining in me, after the concus sion or the fall, was principally occupied with thoughts of my own horrible and seemingly inevitable fate, which I contemplated with a strange sort of in difference, and the suffering it would occasion the loved ones at home ; and even her for whom I had parted so re cently in coldness, If not in anger—but all with a certain vagueness, as if they were things of another world. "Then I felt myself slowly rising, and life seemed to really return once more. No words of mine can express my joy on becoming assured that I was steadily drawing nearer to hope, even If hope as nearly hopeless' as almost to be twin-brother to despair. Soon my head broke the surface, and I struck out with desperate energy. By good luck I hart previously kept clear of the rock, and a little extra exertion enabled me to do so now. "This was at first my only aim; but presently I was swept past the point where the rock ended, out opposite the mouth of the eddy. Here was a chance of ultimate escape, and I strained every nerve and sinew to attain it, At first it was hard work, but soon the eddy caught me and swept me into the little bay. Then I struggled to gain the shore, but now the eddy drew too strongly the other way. There it lay right before me, al most within reach, like the apples of Tantalus, but I could not grasp it. I called and called again, shouting and shrieking for help, but only the echoes answered me from the hollow cliffs, and their grotesque forms seemed lifted up in mockery between me and the assist ance I could not hope to receive. Again I went around, again and again, each time growing weakbr ; then I felt my self drawn rapidly outward. The thought seemed to lend me new energy, and I struggled vigorously for a while, but at last went down, making feeble efforts, just as I felt myself caught again in the main stream, and hurried along by it. Of the moments of horror that followed I can recollect little, except an incessant pounding against some bard rough substance, a convulsive grasping, and a sensation of strangling. Then I rose again to the surface, one hand SATE.OF ADVERTISINO. ' 8V4171103 , ittoilurrzsidnnurs,' VT , a yeat pek liquare of tea Mule • aS per - year far earla• tionat equate. - - _ rtrai ESTATE ADVEETI9INO, 10 cents mine ;dr the Mat, and 5 cants for each subsequent In- Insortlon. GEN - ER.I4. AncEnTtaiso. 7 cents a line fur .the first, and 4 cents for cool, sonsofinent. %lon. SPVCIAL NOTICF4I In.orted fn Lncril Columns 15 cents per line. SPECIAL NOTICIN preeeding marriage. 01n1 deaths. 10 cents per lino for first Insertion, and 5 cent++ tot eyen , suirteguent Insertion. LRCAL AND 0111 ER NOTICES-- Executors' noLlooa- 2 CO ALlnnulstratorB' neuee 2. 60 Asalgrieca' not len) 1,2 bu Auditors' notices • 2 Oe Other "Notice.," ten lines, Or le,a, caught in a crevice of the ruck i .and held ; then I planted the other alongside of it, and clung with my head just. above water and all the tenacity of a dying mates clutch in my fingers. Soon I be gan to revive sufficiently to discern where I NKas, and then observed limn( dlately above me an irregular cooler motion of rock, accessible in my imme diate neighborhood to the height of five or six feet, and bulging out above; a little careful exertion suflle,d to place me beyond the reach of the water, bet my final escape was still very .doubtiol. " My only resource was, as soon as my recovered strength would allow, to t:..1 for assistance. 'Phis I proceeded to do, but for a long time my efibrts seemed to be unavailing; and I had almost begun o despair, when I heard a faint respente, uttl then a louder one, turd einerOug In a glade on the opposite side of the I saw some eight or nine equistrian 'orms—the party of the morning. Oh, now delighted I was at theirappearanct I sprang almost to my feet—nearly s A ping Mr the steep inclined plain on which I wits reelining—and yelled Ni nh tremendous energy. At first they evl dentiv did not know nom whence soullaAproceeded. But their ears soon directed their eyes, and I knew by the cry of surprise and horror which Wow ed that I, was seen and recognized. I recognized a voice that came In a tihrill scream over the waters, and s form tint tottered on beholding me; and it i ,gave n double zest to my anticipations ot escal o to think that I should recover hot it lily and love together. "Then a hurried consultation mid waving, of handkerchiefs ensued, and I saw them all disappear amid the under brush, but knew they had returned to :he ferry, and that I might look for aid as promptly as circumstances would . low. But slowly the minutes Mugge,' ! it seemed 144 though help would never come. At length, after one mortal hour had elapsed, I heard cheery voters above me, and a rope came dangling down. In it moment more I was sale among my friends again, but the suffer ing I had undergone, and suddon revul sion of feeling so affected me, that it was only a senseless body that they received into their hands. When I came to myself I was In a little room at the tavern, with a kiss yet warm on my forehead, and n woman's form bending over me ; and I knew then that I had, indeed, recovered both life anti love ; that a true woman's affection is able to Include even ungain liness of form and feature, and that there might yet be a future of happiness in store for me which I had hithertosearce ly dared to dream. " And now, as I see I have bored you sufficiently with this recital of my life- - and sufferings—there you needn't say n word; I know I have—l will say good ly." Which last sentence I endorse for the benefit of our reader.—Pleasant Hours. 1:11= Two Paris women rushed undor the guillotine to dip their handkerchiefs In Traupmann's blood. A lady physician in Lafayette, Ind., returns her income from her profession, last year, at 82,500. The deficiency bill has been finished by the Appropriation Committee. It appropriates about $7,000,000 - • Secretary Seward arrived at Balti more yesterday, in the steamer Cuba, h from avana. He is in good health. Minister Washburne speaks the purest Cincinnati French with a grunt, which is peculiarly effective in that elegant tongue. A New Orleans woman used kerosene to kindle a kitchen tire, and now her clothes fit her husband's second wife re markably well. A fund of 550,000 has been left by will for the establishment and maintenance of a free school for indigent white boys iu Georgetown, D. U. According to a ministerial estimate every fifth man above the age of 21 who has died in Connecticut during the past 10 years Way intemperate. A jeweler in Grand Rapids, Michigan, received, a few days since, a heavy gold rjng from the Catholic priest in that city, with the statement, "This belongs ,o you ; take it and ask no questions." The Virginia Legislature has adopted resolutions declaring it inexpedient to elect a United States Senator for 1871 term, and vacating the Judgeship of Appeals now held by Major Burnham, U. S. A. The Inman steamship City of Boston, which sailed from New York 20 days ago, has not been heard of since. She was provisioned for 80 days, and the agents in New York think she was ,oreed to seek a harbor at the Azores. It Is said that the Shaker Society at Alfred, Maine, con template selling their real estate at that place and uniting with one of the Societies in Michigan or Ohio. The Society at Alfred has be come greatly diminished in numbers. A girl in Chester, Vt., died a few days ago from tight lacing. For several months previous to her death, this poor victim had been obliged to sleep with corsets on and tightened to the last notch, for the loosening gave such pain internally, that she could not hear it, Madame 011ivier recently appeared at a bull at the Tuilieries In a high-bodied dress of white muslin. It was at first erroneously supposed that the lady had sore throat; but we are pleased to learn that her noble example of sweet simplicity tins made a mark in the gay world. A writer in the New London Sky:, who was once a member ot a committee to Invite riming Choate to deliver a Fourth of July oration in New London, declares that when his reply was a volved, it required two days to decipher it so as to tell whether he accepted the invitation or not. The delicate operation of transfusion of blood has just been successfully per formed in Chicago. The patient was a young lady almost hopelessly affected with consumption. Thirty six ounces of blood were taken from a sister and two brothers and injected into her veins and she Is now recovering. The deep soundings made in connec tion with the laying of submarine cables show the average depth of the Atlantic Ocean to be 12,000 feet. The deepest part of the ocean is on the American side, near the Newfoundland banks, where an immense basin exists, whose depth is supposed to excel the height of the Himalayan range. Mr. John Le Roy, of the Isle of Jer sey, recently enclosed his wife's face in an iron mask, fastened at the hack by a padlock,. to prevent her from indulging a taste fur alcoholic beverages. For a similar purpose he sometimes confined her in a cage. He seems to have been unsuccessful in his object, and was be sides fined ten shillings. State Treasurer Rhoads, of Nevada, died suddenly a few months ago, and recent investigations show that he was a defaulter to the amount of $199,000, part in gold and part currency. Extrav agant living and disastrous stock specu lations did the business. His bondsmen it is said, deny their accountability on the ground that the examiners neglect ed their duty to count the money in the Treasury monthly. In the Wisconsin Legislature the pages have been conducting themselves in a free and easy manner, throwing spit-balls at the Speaker and playing leap-frog and hop-scotch up and down the aisles. The members at last have determined to interfere in a most heartless manner with this joyous hi larity, and a bill has been Introduced forbidding "shinny" in the cluunber, making it a penitentiary oll'ence to play •' mumble-peg" on the members' desks, and a capital crime to stick crooked pins and carpet tacks, points upward, in the chairs. This, it is thought, will be an effective remedy. 'We think that sonic of these pages need turning over—ou the knee. The Army Register for 1870, just issu ed, contains the names of 3,099 officers in all, as compared with 3,123 in the Register of 1899. Of the calkers In the Register of this year, 17 colonels,lB lieu tenant-colonels, 20 majors, 177 captains, 210 first-lieutenants, 50 second-lieuten ants,and one chaplain are on the list of officers unassigned to regiments, who number 505 In all. Of these, 171 are not assigned to duty of any kind, being on the " Awaiting Orders" list. Tho new Register, in its list of casualties, has the names of G 8 officers resigned, 33 deceased, 6 wholly retired, 5 cashiered, and 14 dismissed, as compared with 28 resigned, 21 deceased, 1 wholly retired, 5 dismissed, and 5 cashiered last year. Four major-generals, 1 brigadier-gener al, 6 colonels, 2 lientenant-colonels; 3 majors, and 7 captalna-,23officers have been added to the retired list dur ing last year.
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers