THE LANCASTER INTELLIGENCER, PUBLISHED EVERY WEDNESDAY BY H. O. SMITH .t CO. H. G. SMITH. A. J. STEINMAN. TERMS-Two Dollars per annum payable In all cases In advance. THE LANCASTER DAILY INTELLIGENCER Is published every evening, Sunday excepted, at 83 per annum in advance. OFFlCESourawirar Column or Crarraa sULTARE. Vortrp. Dr. Aclillson Alrmander'x Moooxyllable • • The following curious 11l net rat lon of the powrr of short words In the English langaage has long been out of print : Think not that strong! h lies In the big, round word. Or that the brief and plain must needs be weak. T Th e hom can this be t ruo who "nee has heard cry for indp, the tongue that hII men speak, "When want, or Wee, or fear Is hi the throat, ho that each word la gasped out like a shriek Pressed front the sore heart, or a strange, wild note Sting by some fay or fiend ! There Is ft strength Wide!, dies if stretched too far or spun too nee. Which has more height than breadth, more depth than length Let but Ills force Of thought and speech be num., And he that 1011 may take the sleek, fat phrase, Which glows loot burns not, though It gleam and ',how; Light, but not heat—a flash wlthlut a blaze. Nor Is it more strength that the short word 110:01Ts, It serves of too, than light or storot to tell— The roar of (01101, Unit CII4OII uu ruck-I,lllld oltsts, The era , ll of tall ire, 1011101 OW Willi winds swell The roar Of guns, !Ile gr,(loli of corn that (Ile (In blood-stained gelds. It has a 0011,11, Well For them 113113 tar otl on their slelt •1431 s Fur them that weep, for 1,111031 that 0001r0 the dead. For them that laugh ;31111 clam, and clap the hand; To Joy's t.l et., a. Tell as grief's lot,. tread, • 1 . 110013 , 01, 1310.1 0 word; we learnt at 11,1 keep And though the theme he sad or gay, or l e , NVlllk I. 11,00 Okay 102 nolele to •, olute. In thought, or speee or 000 g or proso, rhyme. ~ tL LTElanrous The Drop of Blued Doctor N. - , one of the most emi nent surgeons of Pesti', was summoned at daybreak one morning to see it per son who pi essingly sought to he admit ted to hint NVId le waiting in the ante roolll the visitor desired the servant to add that every moment's delay was dangerTius, as he stood in need of in stant help. The surgeon, hastily throwing off his night-robe, gave orders for hint to be shown up at once. It was uu entire stranger, hut one whose dress proclaimed hint a 1111111 be longing to the best class of society.— His pallid cheeps spoke of some decp inward bodily and mental pain ; and his right irrin rested in a silken sling. Though he sueveviled perfectly in con trolling the expression of his counte nance, a low murmur of pain, in spite of all his efforts, broke forth repeatedly from his lips. " Have I the honor of addressing Doctor N --?'' he asked in a weak, ut most fainting voice, as he atiproached the surgeon. " Yes, sir." " Pardon the question. Ido not live in ; I catne from the country, and know you liy reputation only. 1 regret not to he tilde to wake your :toot:tint :lnce under happier circumstances." The surgeon, seeing his visitor could scarcely stand on his feet, begged hint to rest on his divan. " I UM weary ; fur a whole week I have not closed my eyes. I have been having a pain in my right hand to which I can give no name. In the be ginning I felt only a slight pang, but in a short time it commenced to burn with constantly increasing violence, grow ing to be a torture beyond the reach of the slightest alleviation. I have tried every obtainable remedy, far and near, but nothing relieves me—there remains the same piercing, cutting, deadly pain. Filially, I could hear no more; I got into a carriage, and hastened here to you, that you might free me from my torment by an operation—the knife or iron, fur I inn support it no longer." The surgeon here endeavored to en courage him, saying hissuilering might be overcome by milder means that the use of the knife. " Nn, tna•tnr ; neither a plaster nor yet any palliative can reliiive it. Whitt I need is the knife. For that alone did I come here." Doctor N asked In be permitted to look at his hand, on which the sufferer setting his teeth hard, held it forth.— The surgeon, using the greatest precau tion, began to loosen the bandage. Let toe entreat you, in advance, Doc tor, Ma to be overi ss ue by anything you will see. 11Iy pain is so strange, so extraordinary, that it will certainly take you unawares. llesitate at noth ing, I pray you.'' The surgeon assured the stranger that he was accustomed to everything in his profession, and pledged himself to hesitate at nothing. Nevertheless, when the hand appeared, he shrunk back involuntarily, letting it fall heav ily. 'Hie hand was apparently as sound, healthy-looking, and perfect as any other—not a spot, was to be seen 111/011 it. A sharp cry from the sufferer, as he lifted the dropped hand with the left, proved that he had smote in no jest, but that he sufrored cruelly. " Where does it pain you?" "Here, doctor," said the stranger, pointing to a place on the upper surface of his hand, where two veins parted from each other in faint blue lines. 'lite sit rgeon marked him shudder, as he touched that spot with his linger. "Yom feel it paining here?" " Frightfully!" ".And y d u stiffer from the pressure when I touch the place with my linger?" The stranger was not in the condition to answer. 'rears started to his eyes, so dreadful was the still'ering. " Wonderful ! I distinguish nothing here." "And yet I experience there so inex pressible a pain that I could dash my head against the wall." The surgeon took a mieroEcope, ex amined the place and shook his head. " The skin is clear and healthy; the blood courses freely in the veins; there is no inflammation, no apparent hurl. The place is precisely in its natural state." " I think it somewhat redder." " liere"" stranger took it pcncil fruit his pocket-book and drew a line round the spot the size ora hall-kreutzer. ' Here." The surgeon carefully looked at the spot, and began to think that his patient was insane. " Remain here," he Said ;. " may I be able to assist you a few days." " I cannot wait. Do you think, sir, that you have a mad man before you ? That is a misfortune of which you will have to cure are. The place I have in dicated causes me such agony that, I re peat it, I have only come here to have it cutout." " Which, however, I will nut do," said the surgeon. "Anti why not?" " liecause your hand is perfectly sound ; so far as I cart see, there is no more the matter with it than there is with my own hand." " You are, therefore, ready to decide that 1 am mad—you cannot believe me jesting," returned the stranger, taking a note for a thousand guilders out of his pocket-book, and laying it on the table. "There, see that this is no child's play, and that the service I ask at your hands is of the highest necessity and impcir lance to me. I entreat you, cut this spot front out of my hand!" " And I say to you, sir; that all the wealth of tire world would not induce me to look on a sound member us Ms eased, or make the slightest incision in such a one. To do it would be to do what my surgical knowledge condemns —in a word, my duty forbids it. The. whole world would maintain that you were a lunatic, but of MC they would say neither that I had been unprinci pled as to profit by your mania, or that was too ignorant to perceive the error into which you had led me." "So be it. At least you can accord me this favor. I will perform the ope ration myself. My left will, it Is true, be somewhat unskilful, but let that pass. I will soon finish; you will surely have the goodness to dress the wound for me." The surgeon marked with amazement beyond words that the strange being was In sad earnest, for he laid aside his coat, turned back his sleeves, and took his penknife In his left hand. And an other momen land he would'haveplung ed it deep into his right hand. " Hold l" cried the surgeon, alarmed lest the stranger should severe the ar tery, " if the operation be really Inevl• table, then, in the name of Heaven, let me perform it I" On which, taking his surgical instru ment lu his hand, he laid the patient's right straight out in 'his own, at the same time requesting: him to look an other way. "That Is not necessary. Allow me to show you Just how deep the knife shall 61)e 3,latti7Otet VOLUME 72 go." And truly, during the whole ope ration, the stranger's resolution did not fail him ; he himself directed the sur geon as to the depth of the incision ; his hand never moved until the spot repre sented as the seat of the pain was cut out, when, throwing back his chest, he heaved a great sigh of relief. "Do you feel no more burning ?" questioned the surgeon. "It is entirely gone," answered the stranger, smiling; "the torture has ceased. As for the slighter pain which the wound occasions me, it is to the first pain what a warm breeze is compared to insupportable heat." While the bandage was being applied the appearance of the stranger totally altered. A calm, pleasant expression met the surgeon's eye, instead of the former look of intense pain ; the brow grew clearer, the color lively, and a re turning look of life replaced the late cruel agitation—the whole 111811 seemed transformed. As the surgeon re-adjusted the strang er's hand in the sling, he felt his own seized by the left hand of the latter, who, pressing it warmly, said to him, in the most fervent tortes: "Receive for your masterly service my most sincere thanks. You have laid me under a real obligation to you—for the remuneration On my part is small, indeed, in compar ison with the mighty assistance which you have rendered me. I will be in debted to you all my life lung"' I3ut the surgeon's estimate of his ser vices was wholly diffewnt ; he aln-olute ly refused to accept the note fora thous and guilders, which still lay on the table. The stranger persisted in leaving it, and had passed out of the door, when, seeing the growing displeasure of the surgeon, he turned, and begged Idol at at all events to consent to expend a part of the suet for the benefit of some hos pital, and hastily took his departure. Dr. N— visited his patient for a few days at toe hotel, where he was remain ing until his wuuuil was completely This was rapidly biking place. During the course of this time the sur geon 11:1,1 an opportunity to make oh servatioes, which resulted in the Cllll. vietion that he had to deal with a re lined, necomplished man ; one who,o every word evinced not only extensive information, but that knowledge of the world so agreeable when united with superiority of mind. Not the slightest trace of any ailment, either bodily or mental, was to he remarked alter the operation. The stranger returned to Lis estates shortly afterward, perfectly re stored. 'Three weeks had passed, when the servant was again called upon to an nounce to the surgeon the arrival of his singular patient. The stranger, who was instantly admitted, appeared again with a bandaged arm ; and so great was his suffering, that, at first glance, his features were scarcely recognizable.— n king into a chair, before the surgeon had time to oiler him a seat, he stretch ed out his hand to hint, no longer suf ficiently master of himself to control his groans. What has happened sympathiz ingly inquired the surgeon. " The incision was not deep enough," groaned the stranger; "the pain has returned—burns more fiercely than be fore. I could not at first bring myself to trouble you again. I lingered, hop ing that death would come, and put an end to my existence. But what I longed fur came not. The p a in was, and still remains, concentrated in this one place. Look at me, and perhaps you will furor an idea of my sufferings." The coun tenance of the stranger was white with agony, and cold drops covered his brow. The surgeon unloosed the bandage.— The wound had closet!, everytning about the hand appeared health and sound as before, and the pulse beat even ly and naturally. This [(MUIR,/ CM the marvellous !" exclaimed Doctor N—. "It passes widely beyond everything in my past experience. Wonderful H "Yes. wonderful, terrible! Seek not now for the cause, doctor, but free me from this torture. Take your instru ment and insert it deeper than before; that alone will give me relief." The surgeon saw that he must grant this prayer. For the second time he performed the same operation ; again did he remark the astonishing altera tion in the countenance of the stranger. Again, as he replaced the bandage, a fresh color took the place of the patient's pallor, brightening the visage before so wan. But the smile returned not now as before. Sadly he thanked the sur geon Mr his assistance. " I thank you, doctor. Again the pain inns ceased. In a few days the wound will be Ikealed. Nevertheless, be not astonished if you see lire here in a month." " Be e+tsy on that score, sir; chase that thought out of your mind! " " I have an unerring conviction that that deadly pain will return at the end of a month," said the stranger dejected ly. " Besides, what is to happen to me will happen we meet again." The surgeon related to his colleaguas all the particulars of this unaccountable pain. They consulted together, but no one was able to oiler a theory, perfectly satisfactory, explanatory' of the ease so strange. Toward the end of the month, Doctor N— began to look forward, not with out sadness, to tip in seeing the stranger; but time passed on, and lie did not ay near. Thereupon several weeks elapsed, when the surgeon received a letter dat ed at his patient's place of residence. He opened it. By the first glance at the closelV•written pages within, lie saw that the stranger had written the letter with his own hand, and inferred from this that the pain, which as suredly would have prevented 'din from writing, had not returned. The contents of the letter were as fol lows : Dffk it Stu—l will not leave you long er in doubt concerning the fearfully strange malady which I ant about to carry into the grave. I will give you the origin of this terrible evil. For a third time within a week has the fright ful pain returned. no longer struggle with it. At this moment I am only enabled to use n pen by placing a piece of burning sponge on the back of my hand over the affected part; while this burns I feel only the smarting caused by its intense heat, and that is as nothing compared to the former pain. Six mouths ago I was a happy limit. I lived without a care upon lily income and was in peace and friendship with all the world, enjoying all of pleasure that a man of thirty-live finds to enjoy. A year ago I married— mi rri oh for love. My choice fell upon a beat.tifal, accom plished, warm-hearted girl, me protcyce of a countess in the neighborhood.— This portionless maiden loved me—not from gratitude alone, though through ate she had become mistress of any home and sharer of all I possessed— she had truly a child-like love for me. For half a year each succeeding day brought me more happiness than the last. When I went to the city for a day, my wife could scarcely rest; when I returned, she came out to meet me a mile from home; and once Wheu I had been belated, she never closed her eyes the whole night long. When I occa sionally prevailed upon her to pay a visit to the countess, who loved her ten ! derly, she always returned the same (lay—it seemed impossible for her to re muiu than half a day away from home and me. Her love for me even went so far that she gave up daneing rather titan rest her hand in the clasp of another. In a word, my wife was an innocent child, who had no other thought titan me I know not what demon one day whis pered tome, ' IVhat if this be Only amain edi"lhus man, in the midst of the great happiness, too often experiences au in sane desire to look for pain. My wife bad a little work-table, the drawer of which she kept invariably locked. I had often noticed that she had never left It open ; never, by any chance, had forgotten to take out the key. This thought began to trouble me; what had she to conceal from me? I was certainly beside myself. I be lieved in her Innocent countenance, her clear eyes, her kisses and embraces no more. What if these were but parts of the deception? One day the countess visited us. She came to take my wife home with her, overwhelming her with persuasions to go and stay the whole day with her.— Our estates lay not far distant from one another, and I gave my wife a promise to follow her soon. Scarcely had the carriage left my court-yard, when t collected together all the keys I could find, and with them sought to open the closed drawer. At length I found one. • A looker•on would have taken me, as I drew out the drawer, for one who for the first time in his life was about com mitting a theft. I was a thief, opening a lock to steal from a weak woman her secrets. My hands trembled as I came in con tact with the; different things in the drawer, but I carefully avoided creating any disorder that might betray my presence. Suddenly my breast seemed as it crushed by iron bands; I felt on the point of suflecating ! 'tinder a roll of lace lay a parcel of papers; quick as thought my heart whispered they were letters ; at the first glance one would have known them to be—lore letters. The package was bound together by a rose-colored ribbon, embroidered with silver. As I touched the ribbon I thought "Is this right? Is it not un worthy of au honorable man thus to steal the secrets of his wife—secrets which belong to her maidenhood alone? Is she answerable tome for her thoughts and feelings before she became my wife ? Should I be jealous of the time when she scarcely knew of my existence? But what if these letters date since I had a right to watch over all her thoughts—to be jealous even of her dreams—since she has been my wife"." I untied the ribbon. Is;o one was there; 110 mirror near to point out on my cheek the mounting flush of shame. I opened one letter after another, and read them through to the end. Oh, that was terrible! :-!hall I tell you what was in those let ters'."The most despicable treachery ever practiced against a man. My best friend h a d written them ; but in what tone! With what persuasive and pas sionate eloquence did he speak therein ! How he 1.1=1(01 and counselled the course a wife Wight take to deceive her husband ! And all these letters were dated since our marriage—while I had been so happy ! I hind ro words to pia• ture what I experienced on reading them. It was a feeling like the working of deadly poison. I drank the poison to the last drop. I read every one of those letters through by itself. Then I laid them in order, hound them together, covered them with the hiee, and locked the drawer. I was certain that toy wile, if I did hot go for her, would hasten home before evening. And so it was. How quickly she sprang from the carriage and ran toward toe; how she embraced nte, how she kissed me! How happy she was to be with me again I allowed her to see nothing of the revolution which had taken place with in me. We talked together, supped to gether, and retired as usual to our rooms, which were side by side. I did not close my eyelids ; awake I counted the hours. As the first quarter past midnight struck, I stood in her chamber! Like a little angel in the midst of snowy clouds, lay her lovely fair heal in peace ful slumber upon the dazzling white pillows. What a monstrous lie of na ture, to lend to si n features so innocent ! I was as determined, as inflexible, as a monomaniac in his fixed idea. The rag ing poison of jealousy had eaten into my soul. Softly I laid toy hands upon her throat, and sudilenl) I pressed them together. 'that moment she opened her large, dark-blue eyes, saw me with amaze, then closed them slowly. She was dead. She died without having time to utter a word in her own defence, peaceful as a dream. As 1 murdered her she felt no anger toward me. Only a single drop of blood, pressed out of her inouth, fell on the back of my hand; where, you know lint too well. She had no relations to enquire into the cause of her death ; and I purposely delayed sending out to my friends invi tations to her funeral until it was too late for them to reach my place in time. No one upon toy estates had any suspi cion of the truth. Besides. I was mas ter who had any right to question me': - When all Was over, and I was return ing to my home, my conscience Was not burdened in the least. She had de served her fate, I thought of her no more. On reaching my home I found the countess, my wife's only female friend, just arriving. Like others, she had come after the hour appointed for the funeral. She was painfully agitated.— Whether front sorrow or sympathy I know not, but the words of consolation which she essayed to address me were so confused that I could scarcely under stand theln. At last she clasped her hands, and said, in faltering tones, that she saw herself obliged to confide to me a secret, which she must entreat roe not to reveal. She had given my wife a packet of letters to keep for her—the contents were such that she dared not keep them by her—she had now to beg toe to return them to her. An icy shudder went through me as she spoke these words. With marked coldness I asked her what these letters contained. The countess shrunk back, and answer ed hastily : " Oh, sir, your wife was noire gener ous than you. When she took these let ters into her care she did not tick what they contained, but gave me her word to guard them well, and I ant sure she has kept her pledge. She had a noble soul ; it would have been impossible for ! her to break her solemn promise." "Very well," said I ; "how am I to know these letters "They are tied together with a rose colored ribbon, embroidered with sil ver." " With this I took my wife's keys in my hand, and began to search for the paeket. I knew but too well where to tied it." " Is this it.'' said 1, at last, bringing it to the countess. " Yes, yes. Only see, here is the same knot I made; your wife never untied it." I dared not lift up my eyes —I feared the countess would read in them that I had unloosed it—ah, that I had gone further, and committed a monstrous crime! I took brief leave of her, excusing myself as well as I could. I needed to be alone. The countess re turned home. Her husband was in all Iris actions mean and brutal ; Ins tastes were low and wholly thy of his rani:. Hail I been such a man, I would deserved to have had such a wife. But my wife was an innocent, spotless an gel, who loved me when I murdered her' remember nothing of what passed for hours; but this I know that when I returned to consciousness I was sitting on my wife's coffin, in the vault. I was not yet so insane as to be lieve that I could awake her. It seem ed to me she would hear my words : "By the true, upright love, with which you once loved one; by the love which you took with you for me down to the grave, I implore you to have mercy on me, and avenge yourself on me in this life! Leave not my punish ment to another world, but let me suf fer here on earth—torture me, kill toe! Wait not until I ant dead, but avenge yourself now !" Thus madly did I speak to the mortal remains of my wife; whereupon I slept or rather swooned. I begun to dream. Perhaps it was no dreani. I seemed to see the lid of the collie slowly open, and the form of toy dead wife,resting there in, as slowly arise. I was ou my knees before the call), my hand resting on the side. Her lips were pale, but a red drop stood (in them. Slowly she bent over one opened her eyes as she had ou that last time, and pressed a kiss upon my hand. The red drop which had i hung on her lips rested on my hand; she closed her eyes, laid herself back again on her cold pillow, and the coffin closed over her. Not long after.[ was awakened by a frightful pain, like the sting of a scor pion. I hastened home. It was still daylight; no one had noticed my ab sence or my return. The blood had dis appeared from off my hand, but in the spot where the blood had rested, it was burning as if a corrosive poison had penetrated therein. The pain increased from hour to hour without ever ceasing. Even in sleep I felt it. I said nothing of it to any one—no one would have be lieved it. You know, sir, what I must have suffered, and from what anguish your knife relieved me! Scarcely had the second wound healed, however, when the pain came anew. For the third time it now racks me, and I have not the strength to endure it longer. In an hour I will say farewell to earth ! Only the thought that since she has been avenged here on earth, she will forgive me on the other side, gives me a ray of consolation. I thank you for your heartfelt sym pathy and for your ald. God bless you! A few days later miglgt have been read in one of the journals:—" One of our richest patriots has shot himself. Grief for the loss of his wife is supposed to be the cause." LANCASTER, PA., WEDNESDAY MORNING JULY 5, 1871. A Detective's Story; or, How to Prove an Alibi On Sunday, about ten years ago, I found myself at Carlisle. I was consid erably acquainted there, and had been there pretty often on business • but my being there at this time was the result of an accident merely. I had been three hundred miles west of this, trying In vain to find a clue to the whereabouts of an absconding defaulter; and com• ing back to take a fresh start, I found that a flood had submerged the truck for several miles east of Carlisle, and that there would be no getting away till Monday, at the least. So I made a virtue of necessity, and telegraphing my detention and its cause to my fami ly, I went up town. After dinner at the hotel, I dropped in at the office of the District Attorney, with whom I was well acquainted. I found him arranging the details of a number of criminal cases which were to be tried at the court: which began on the following Monday. " Anything of importance r I asked rather carelessly. " One at least," he replied, " Joe Sli fer, a notorious scoundrel, is to be tried for highway robbery. The victim was dragged out of his buggy on a lonely road, beaten insensible, and robbed of a thousand dollars. He identifies Slifer positively as one of the ruffians." " What's the defense?" "I can't imagine. 1 don't think there is any in reality. " Maybe he'll prove an alibi," I jo cosely suggested. lie shook his head. They'll hardly try that," he said.— " The facts are too clear." A fter some more unimportant conver sation with him, I returned to the hotel where I spent the remainder of the day. The next day was Sunday. I awoke quite early, and found the promise of a beautiful summer day so good that I dressed myself and sallied out for a walk. Nobody was stirring yet about the hotel, and the streets were perfect ly still. I walked around several squares and returned to the hotel, meeting only one person on the way. That person was standing in the door way of a basement saloon as I passed. I looked around casually, and saw Idin standing there in his shirt sleeves. His hair was kinibled, and he was gaping, as if just awakened. I did not discover that he was doing anything particular there; I thought afterward that it was quite likely that lie had been left in a drunken tit on the floor or on the bench in the bar the night before, and that, waking tip at this early hour, he had taken the wrong door in seeking for his lodgings, and had gone out of doors in stead of going to bed. My look at him was merely a side glance, but that w i ts enough to photograph his face in my mind. It was a thin, bilious face, per fectly smooth, with a long nose, much twisted to one side, and a red sear over the left eye. I marked it instantly as the face of a rascal. Ilow I could do that I can't explain ; our business learns us to read faces as most men read books, and the glance I had at that face told me that the man was a lawless fellow. His actions con tinned the opinion. Sleepy as he look ed and acted, no sooner had he seen me passing than lie drove back through the door and slammed it to. I instantly understood him. " A scamp, on some lay' or other, and don't want to be seen," was my thought. And I walked on with his phorograph in my mind, but ceased to think any thing of him or the circumstances be fore I reached the hotel. The day passed, and bright and early Monday morning I took my satchel and went down to the depot. But it was to no purpose; the °Mee was closed, and a placard on the wall informed the pub lic that the road would not be opened before Tuesday. I went back to the hotel, too much out of sorts to enjoy my breakfast. 1 did not understand, till the day was some hours older, that I was needed more here at Carlisle than anywhere else, just then. I went from the breakfast-table into the reading-room, and after I had read an hour, 1 heard one say to another: " Let's go over to the court-house; they're trying Joe Slifer." They went out; and remembering my little talk with the district attorney, my curiosity was excited, and I followed them. When I entered the court-room the victim of the robbery Was on the stand. He was a plain. simple old man, and gave his evidence With apparent truth fulness. He testified that he was stop ped about sunset, some months before, while passing front Carlisle to his home with one thousand dollars he hadttdrawn that afternoon from the bank. It was a lonely spot, and there was not a house within half a mile of it. He was jogging leisurely along, when a light wagon drawn by two horses dashed up beside his buggy, and three of the four men in it jumped out, while the fourth held the reins. They were all masked One of them seized his horse by the bit and stopped him, the second snatched the lines from his hands, and the third climbing half into the buggy and taking hint by the arms, demanded his money. He said that he instantly shouted as loud as he could, when the ruffian dealt him a savage blow with a slung-shot which knocked him senseless ; anti when he came to himself again, both robbers and money were gone. Ile recognized only one of the four; the man that struck hint. As lie drew back to give the blow, his mask drop ped, and revealed the face of Joe Slifer, the prisoner at the bar. lie knew it, he was positive of it, and all the inge nuity of the cross-examination could not weaken or shake his evidence on this important point. No other witness was called for the prosecution; none seemed necessary. ' The prisoner's lawyer got up and made a plausible statement to the jury that the complainant was mistaken about recognizing Joe Slifer on the occasion referred to; that Slifer was not there at all, but that he was at Norcott, fifty miles north of Carlisle, at the very hour of that robbery, anti that be should prove it by at.least two witnesses. He sat down and called out " Caleb Wye," and everybody leaned forward exiwet untly. _ The witness came forward with a slow, limping gait, leaning on a cane. He was apparently a man of middle age, and dressed in a suit of sombre black, with a white clinker about his neck. His hair was silver-grey, and as lie mounted the stand, and leaning on his cane, turned placidly to the prison er's counsel, lie presented an appearance whish would attract attention and re spect anywhere. I saw him ; and though I (lid not be tray any surprise, 1 know that toy heart gave a tremendous thump. For I saw the bilious, thin face, the crooked nose and the scarred forehead of the dodger whom I bad seen twenty-four hours be fore in the doorway of the saloon. With this difference, however, the hair of that man was almost black, while this man's was silver-grey. I edged my chair quietly up beside that of the District-Attorney, and while the man was testifying I managed to whisper in the other's ear without at tracting the attention of the witness. The latter testified that he was a defi er in ready-made clothing at Norcott, and one of the firm of Wyse & Pleasants. That on the day testified to as the rob bery, both he and his partner were at the store in Norcott, and there was an unusual call for goods. Joe Slifer was then in town; they knew him well, and had often employed him to help in the store. On this particular day they sent for him ; he came immediately ; and he remained at the store, waiting on customers, from two o'clock till eight, without once leaving it. Mr. Pleasants was in Court, and could testify to the same facts. The first question of the District-At torney made the fellow start and shiver. " Are you in disguise, sir? " " Wh—what ?" stammered the man. "Have you a silver-grey wig over your dark hair?" The man looked amazed and then frightened, but said nothing; and be fore he could recover his self-possession, the District Attorney had stepped for ward and removed the wig, revealing a smoothly-brushed head of dark brown hair ! "What does this mean ?" he asked sternly. "Only a fancy !" was the surly an swer ; 'l've worn that wig for years." "Have you, indeed? Did you wear it all day yesterday?" "Yes, sir," was the confident re sponse. "Where?"' At.Norcott, to be sure." "All day?" "Certainly, I was there the whole da • ." "When did you arrive here at Car lise ?" 'At 7:20 this morning." The district attorney gave me a tri umphant wink; and when he stated to the court that he desired this witness to be detained till the close of the trial, the Sheriff was directed to take charge of him. Mr. Caleb Wye came down from the stand with his wig in his hand, and took a seat by the sheriff, looking de cidedly more bilious than I had yet seen him appear. Mr. Pleasants was now loudly called for by the defense, but no one came for ward. The unexpected reception which the last witness had met probably chill ed the ardor of his confederate, and he wisely chose to keep in the background. This, then, was all of the defense, and my evidence at once blew it to the winds I looked directly at Mr. Wye (sr.-called) when I was telling the jury when, wher • and under what circum stances I had seen him the previous day, and I saw him tremble like an aspen leaf. The jury convicted the prisoner without leaving their seats, and the witness was locked up for further consideration. I left Carlisle the next morning, and heard nothing more of this affair fur several weeks. Then a letter from the District Attorney, thanking rue for the assistance I had rendered him, convey ed more details. "The witness Wye," he wrote, "whose real name is Nicholas Bray,was indicted for perjury. A very slight investigation showed me that we could prove that he had no right to the name of Wye ; that neither he nor any man by the name of Pleasants ever kept a store in Norcott, and neither of them was known there at all. This, with your evidence, would have been sufficient to convict him, and, understanding it as well as anybOdy, he concluded to save trouble and plead guilty. So he and Slifer are both in the penitentiary, and will stay there for a term of years." Newfoundland Seal-Hunt Not less than 10,000 hardy, active men sail from the harbors of Newfoundland, about the first of March, every year, in pursuit of the seal. The vessels in which they embark vary in size from 00 to 150 tolls. Of late steamers have been introduced ; and, as in all other branches of industry, steam threatens to drive away all competitors. Last year there were ten steamers engaged in the seal fishery; and this year five additional steamers have been added to the tleet— a sufficient proof that this method of carrying-on the fishery is found more remunerative than the old system. The seal-hunters infinitely prefer a berth in a steamer to one in a sailing-vessel al though in the former the crewget but on e third the proceeds of the voyage divided among them, and in the latter one half. The steamer can make two, and at times even three trips to the ice fields, so that the probabilities of suc cess are vastly increased Iby the em ployment of steam. Last year the ten steamers averaged 10,000 seals each— valued at three dollars per seal. One steamer in two trips brought in :32,000 seals, thus earning, in two months, $OO,- 000. It is thus evident that, when suc cessful, there are few commercial ad ventures more profitable than seal hunting. But, then, there are many blanks to a prize; and, after battling for weeks with the billows, amid these ice covered seas, where over hundreds of square miles the seals are to be sought, the poor men often return to port, their vessel " clean," and their prospects dismal. The profits of the enterprise are, however, on the whole very large, when we take into account that the number of seals taken each Spring ranges from 350,000 to 500,000. The seal-hunters, or, as they are call ed in the vernacular, " soilers," like best to fall in with that species of seal called the "harp " It is so named from the old male animal Lacing ill addition to a number of spots, a broad curved line of connected blotches proceeding from each shoulder and meeting on the back above the tail, forming a figure something like an ancient harp or lyre. The female has not this harp; neither has the male till after his second year. The young, When born, are covered with thick, white fur, and are called by " the soilers" " whitecoats." When about six weeksold they shed this' white coat, and a smooth -potted skin appears. They are then young " harps " When twelve months old, the males are still scarcely distinguishable from the females; and duriue that season they are called " bed tamers." The next sea son the male has assumed his harp.— They are never seen on the coast of Newfoundland except during the breed ing season, and come from the Arctic solitudes for the purpose of bringing forth their young. The mothers leave their young on the ice and fish about in the neighborhood for their own subsist ence, returning occasionally to give r suck. The young ones are fattest when three weeks old. It is said to be a pitia ble sight when the mother seal returns for the purpose of suckling her young, , and nds her white-coateddarling gone, a mass of flesh which she fails to recog nize as her lost olnpring, being the only relic. tier signs of grief are then quite touching. In addition to the "harp," there are the "hooded seal," the "square flipper" and the "bay seal." The last is found only on the coast. Soon after a sealing vessel reached port with her fat cargo, the - skinners go to work and separate the fat and skins. The latter are then salted and exported to Eugland;where boots, shoes, harness, and portinanteausaremanufactured from them. The fat, after being weighed, is thrown into huge vats, where the oil is extracted by heat and pressure, then drawn oir and barreled for exportation. This is a tedious process; and of late years, the great innovator, steam, has been called on to quicken the extraction of oil. By steam-driven machinery the fat is rapidly cut into minute pieces, then steamed, stewed, pressed, arid the oil passed into stout casks. By this process the work of two months is completed in a fortnight. Not only so, but the dis agreeable smell of the oil is removed, the quality improved, and the quantity increased. The refuse, wn en mixed with earth and bog, makes a most fertilizing manure. 'l'lle average value of a ton of seal oil in Newfoundland is $1.53. It is used largely in lighthouses, for ma chinery, and in the manufacture of the liner kinds of soap A sailing vessel of the largest size carries usually from .50 to 70 men ; steamers from 1.50 to ISO. Should a sailing vessel bring hr 0,000 or 7,000 seals, it is considered a most successful voyage. The three largest steamers last year brought in 7.5,000 seals. The average value of the seal-fishery annu ally might be put down at 51,250,000. Of course this is the estimated value here; in foreign markets it is much greater. At a time when the inhabit ants of oilier northern countries are comparatively idle. bound in icy fetters, this source of wealth is open to the stout fishermen of Newfoundland. It is at an end before the first of May, so that it does not interfere with the cultivation of the soil or the prosecution of fisheries. Its importance as a productive industry is thus greatly enhanced. Whether the seal fishery will ever become exhausted by the extermination of the seal, time atone will tell. So far there are rip / signs of exhaustion, although the fishery has been carried on for centuries. Some, however, predict that the !Worst results will follow the employment of steamers in this fishery, and that, like the South Sea seals, ours will one 'day become things of the past. This much in favor of the continuance of the fishery—that the great breeding and feeding grounds of the seal are in those ice-bound Arctic solitudes whither the cupidity of man cannot follow them. Ouly small de tachments of them come within the reach of our hunters. A Queer Place to Carry Money. Ed. W— is one of the accommoda ting conductors on a road running north, not far from this city. On Sat urday last he had quite a heavy load coming in to Utica. All handed over their tickets promptly except one fat old lady, a resident of Trenton, who sat next the door and who seemed to be reaching down as if to get something she had dropped on the floor. When her time came to pay she raised her head and thus addressed the blushing conductor: " I fillers, when I travels, carry my money in my stookin' ; for, you sees, nothing can get at that thar, and I'd thank you young man, Just to reach it for me, as I'm so Jemmed in I can't get to it. I forgot to get a ticket at the depot.". • Ed. glanced at the other. passengers, some of whom were laughing at hls plight ,• one or two young . ladies among them blushed scarlet and he beat sittettig clt?)ct. hasty retreat, muttering something A Walls Over Desertedlnlng Tracts about not charging old ladies, etc. His '- cash was short that trip the fare of One passenger.— Utica Observer. The "Specials" at the Ctpltul Who are the Wrt‘bing . too Correspond The correspondent of the Charlestown (Mass.) Sunday Chronicle, in a recent letter to that journal, furnishes an interesting account of the leading ear respoutients at the Capital. He says : Having spoken of the different varie ties, it may be worth while telling who are the " specials." Most of them are young men, ranging from twenty-live to forty years of age. Some few are vet erans, like Major Poore, of the Journal, or Crounse, of the New York Timm— Quite a number of these gentlemen served during the civil war, and nearly all were under lire us army correspond ents. The New York papers are represented by the following gentlemen : The Tri bune is in charge of Mr. Z. L. White, a graduate, as a journalist, of the Home office. Mr. White is assisted by Mr. E. Z. Smalley, formerly au Ohio editor. He is now acting us Southern corres pondent, and is the writer of the Tri bunc's recent letter from South Caroli na. H. J. Ramsdell is one of Mr. White's aids. He is also telegraphic correspondent of the Cincinnati Coi,i nicrcial. The Herald office is in charge of Col. Anderson, who was one of Gen. Hancock's aids during the rebellion. He is a long-time attache of the paper, and was at the head of its European bureau a few years ago. The present managing editor of the Herald, Mr. T. B. Connery, had charge of the bureau for a long time. Anderson's assistants are Mr. J. McFarland, who is the cor respondent of Forney's Pre44, of young Bennett's afternoon tender, the Tel . - grain, and of the Cincinnati Chronalc and of the Chicago Post, both afternoon papers, receiving the same despatches. Mr. H A.Preston,who isconneeted with the Republican here, is also employed on the Herald. Geo. W. Adams, sends the special telegrams to the World, as he does to the Baltimore Sun and tire Chicago Times. The ll'or/d pays a lady a fixed salary for society letters and other gossip, and on any special occa sion sends some from the New York of fice. The TiIIICS bureau is under the direction of L. L. Crounse, an experi enced journalist, to say the least. The New York Evening Post is supplied by the same correspondent, W. Scott Smith, and receives the same despatch es the Boston Traveller. The Adver tiser is now furnished by Mr. Colburn, who is also Crounse's assistant on the Times. " Perky," of the Journal, is the Dean of the Correspondential Faculty. The Major's long and varied experience here, as well as large ability, makes him one of the strongest men in the corps. He works hard—too much so—for his years anti the service he has performed. As "Clerk of the Printing Records," he is the only journalist, as he sometimes humorously boasts, who reads all the public documents and laws all through. He has to, prepare an abridgement of the message and Secretary's report, and to index the laws, as well as other docu ments which are ordered published from time to time. Besides this lie prepares the "Congressional Directory,'' a very model of its class. Just now he is edit ing and compiling, a valuable volume ordered by the Senate, to be known as the Organic Laws of the United States and of the several States. The Post receives its despatches from Mr. \V. W. Warden, an able journalist, who was one of Andy Johnson's secre taries. The Transcript's despatches are sent by W. B. Shaw, one of the veter ans, who also sends afternoon despatch es to Philadelphia and Chicago. An other New England news combination consisting of the Springfield Repubti,•an Worcester Spy. and Hartford PoBt, is supplied during the session by W. D. Bartlett, who is also the Independent's regular Washington correspondent. Bartlett is clerk of the Committee on Elect.ons, and has held that position since 1561. Theie is no other New England newspaper supplied, so far as I know, with telegraphic specials, ex cept yourself and neighbor of the r old, who receives despatches and a weekly letter from George W. Adams. Philadelphia papers are supplied—the Picas by Mr. McFarland, and:the I)aj by Mr. Adams. I believe the Inquirer by - C. H. Painter, who also sends specials to the New York Sun. Shaw sends to the Evening Todeyrion; D. D. Cone to the Ledger,- Scott Smith sends to the Ecening Rulklin , and some other papers have occasional despatches and letters. General 11. V. Boynton has charge of the Cincinnati Oct.:ctir emnbination, in which the Chicago 'Tribune is represent ed by Iklr. J. W. Knowlton. Mr. Adams' despatches to -the Chicago Tinus are also distributed to the St. Louis Repub lican, Louisville Couri, r-Journal, and p2rhaps to other leading Democratic papers. Mr. Cone supplies despatches during the session to a combination, em bracing the Detroit PoNt, Indianapolis Journal, Milwaukie S,ntiart,the St. Paul Picss, and, 1 think, the Cleveland .11 , r aid. The Louisville Li dyer has special despatches sent by L. Q. Washington, who is also the American correspondent of the London Telegraph, and was, dur ing the war, Confederate Secretary of State, and one of the editors of the Rich mond Examiner. Mr. C. A. Pilsbury supplies despatches and letters 0, a number of Southern papers; and the oldest veteran of all, Mr. Kingman., for merly known as "Ion," of the Baltimore Sun, still writes for the Charleston IS. C.I Courier. • Among the gentlemen who are most widely known for their letters, George Allred Townsend and Don Piatt are generally first named. For years W hite law Reid, now managing editor of the Tribune, was considered the leading writer. His signature of "Agate" was famous in war days. Messrs. R3yn ten, Hinton, White, Crounse (Cymon, of the Times,) Smalley, (not G. W.,) Ramsdell and Knowlton have all acquired a wide reputation for their articles. Somme of the best known lady-journal ists of the day have gained their first and strongest vantage ground as Wash ington eorrespo mien ts. sotablyamong three is Mary Clem flier Ames, of the/n -th pciulf vi and Brooklyn 1:11i011; Grace Greenwood's (Mrs. Lippincott) Tribune sketches have been full of charming wit and vivacity. One of our most successful journalists here is a Miss Snead, known as the " Miss Grundy" of the Wm ld, Who, as a society reporter, etc., has earned a niche that is especially her own. Harriet Prescott Spollbrd makes her Winter Ironic in this city, and occasionally gives the news papers the benefit of her wonderful pen. Among the fresh lady-writers is a Mrs. Helen M. Barnard, "Shirley- Dare," Mrs. Calhoun Runkle, and even' Gail Hamilton," have added to their reputa tion by their Washington sketches, but they are hardly to be regarded as part on our corps. Mrs. Briggs (Olivia), of the Philadelphia Press, is one of the most attractive of regular letter-writers. Besides Whitelaw Reid, there are many prominent journalists whose inure valuable experience can be credit ed to their career here us correspon dents. Mr. Harvey, editor of the Wash ington Patriot, is an old correspondent; Horace White, of the Chicago Tribune, and MacCulloagh, of the Chicago Re publican, (the latter especially), acquired their reputation here. John Russel Young was principally trained in this school, and his brother James is a grad uate of the Tribune bureau. Shnon ton, general agent of the Associated Press, was a notorious correspondent. The Swintons, John and William, both won extended reputations in writing from here during the war. The late George Woods and Mr. Allen, of the Adverti ser, increased their reputations by la bors at this point. Thomas W. Knox, Henry Villard, G. W. Smalley, and others, have taken their turns here. Would not ''Pass" the President With !I= =r! We clip the following from Pomeroy's Democrat: President Grant and the balance of the Dent family had a little muss with a conductor on the Cumberland Valley Rail road, on the 6th of May—all because they had no passes, and the rules and regulations of the road made it incumbent upon the people to come down with their stamps or show cause. The President said it was against his interest to pay; when the con ductor said: Well, as you are in all respects the biggest dead-head in the country you can ride to the next station, when I will telegraph to Superintendent Lull for further instruc tions. The President and the Dents, the Mrs. President and all others of the fam ily then rode In peace and comfort, without compensation being paid to the railroad; "and all went merry as a mar• nags -bell," or two dozen of them, for that matter."—Ohambers ur, all E 1 irit. Correspondence of the N. V. Exening P. vf S tNORA, Tuolumne County, t . May 22, IS7I. This is the Land of Drowsy-head; Irving's Sleepy Hollow itself. As you journey from the Big Trees— the Calaveras Grove I mean—towards the Yo-Semite, after you leave Mur phy's, every foot almost of the soil,for utile atter mile, has been at some time turned over by the gold-seekers. River beds were laid bare, and the adjoining bottoms searched; the earth all the way to the foot-hills was removed ; and as you near Columbia, you see immense fields made up of nothing but rocks and boulders, sticking their barren water-worn heads into the landscape, with deep pits between, showing the water-eaten sides of the rocks, which the millers searched, scraped and pol ished, as a dentist does the teeth of Ills patient. It is a strange and wonderful sight this of the deserted lasts in which no small part of all the gold of California scat found. For along this route are placed niany;onow deserted or decaying lONVIIS and villages, once famous and busy. Along tel are Dutch Flat, Mokelunine 11111, ; which has the ac cent on the second syllable, , Murphy's, Columbia, Jamestown, Width is more conveniently called Jim Town,; not to speak of Table :‘lou Main, fatuous for the geological society what- violent dis solution Bret Harte made classic. In tins almost deserted mining tract, where now only small parties of Chi nese or Mexicans earn a precarious liv ing, or a lonely Digger Indian indolent ly pans out his tit's worth. of gold, squatted by the river bank, you see not olily the beds where lay millions of gold, but you haVe laid bare 3 part of that ancient pre-Adatnite river, which, millions of years ago, washed down front quartz veins, now lost, the gold which lay till our Americans came to dig it up. Yon see how the swift wa ters of this ancient river gnawed into the rocks, until now they seem gnarled and twisted like the roots of trees—and in every corner and hole it deposited the precious gold. You cannot realize how the country looked before our min ers came to disturb it; for an old resi dent who was with us, told toe that where the rocks now lay bare and on a level with the road, which also had been mined out, from fifteen to thirty feet of soil, and often fifty feet, were removed before the gold was reached. They washed away hills, they shoveled away broad elevated plains, dozens of square miles of soil disappeared and were driven oil' into lower valleys that they might exhume the gold. At in tervals you find a small field, a vine yard or a garden, planted in the midst of this desolation, surrounded on all sides by rocks. Your guide—if you are so fortunate as to meet with an old miner—will explain to you that here the "slum" fa , they call it,; the sedi ment of earth with which the water is eharged,which has been used in "placer mining," has been trapped, and caused to deposit itself. Men have made acres and even dozens of acres of land by catching, this slum. It is fine earth; all the flumes and water courses still run red with it, for they are mining above; and when it dries out it makes the most fertile of gardens and vine yards. In Sonora an ingenious citizen who had dug out his house lot to wash out the gold it bore, was just filling it up again with "slum," having first laid his cellar walls; and it was laugh able to see how easily he controlled the deposit. And thus you travel towards Sonora. The stage rattles you impetuously through the one long street which nntkes the principal part of the town, and you notice that the stores have iron shutters and iroadoors, fire-proof—but too many of them closed. You see the shops with wide open broad doors, which tell you that there is no cold weather to lie feared. You see two large rootny; hotels, which try to persuade you that Sonora is still a busy place. It was once the most important town of this region. It is still the county town ; and it has 'unity signs of former importance; four churches,for instance, " but two of them don't go," explained an old resident to me; a jail—but it is empty; a jail built of iron bars laid across each other and bolted together, forming both walls and flat roof, and afterwards built around with brick; and, as it seemed to me, with my east ern eyes, an endless vista of bar-rooms or "saloons" and restaurants; all, seemingly, like the jail, empty. . . The climate of sonora is delicious the people assure me it is the finest in the world ; the water i , goad; then:are I neither fevers nor mosquitoes; the nights, even inn midsummer, are always cool ; the vine grows luxuriantly on all the hillsides, and :is the railroad is ' thirty miles away, the grapes often rot in the vineyards; the orange and the oleander grow in the streets, and roses bloom all the year round. And the people, kind, gellefOUS, free, easily ap proachable, sit on their own donnr•steps, watching the passing stage—they grow 011 t, of doors all the year round too ; and do not grow rich. Business is carried on with extreme moderation. Ofeourse, as it is the coun ty-town, Sonora has inn fact a good deal of business and trade still. On i- , unday, too, the Chinese gather in from the stir rounding diggings, which they are go ing over for the second or third,or often the fourth time, to buy their supplies; other miners conic in also in troops or singly; the shops are open in this strange little place; the restaurants have their little tables set, With flowers 011 them ; the bar-rooms are open ; and yet so moderately is everything con ducted, that with all the temptations to indulge I did Ilia see a drunken person on the streets all day, our hear 11 noise louder than common conversation.— There was neither fiddling nor danc ing; and as the stage did not come in on that ninny it was a day of un broken stillness, in which, if anybody " took a horn " or" irrigated," to use line phrase of this region, he did it with, the decorum of a Dutch burgher of an cient New Amstordam. As I canie away from the Sunday-school which I visited in the morning, one of the most re spectable gentlemen of the place politely asked one to take a drink, and so com pletely was I overcome by or saturated with the local atmosphere. that though I do not " drink," I came very near going inn with the good man to see him take his whiskey. I ought to add that Sonora has an ex cellent graded public school, besides several private schools. The public school is held in a roomy brick build ing which is a credit to the town. "If you stay in Sonora two weeks, you'll come back ; and if you come back, you will stay all your life," they say ; and it seems to be true. The town con tains an astonishing number of bache lors and widowers; men wino came here, many of them, so long ago as 1849 ; most of them before 15:3:3, and who live on, with but little purpose, apparently, in their lives except to sun themselves and to enjoy the climate. The gold has gone. In the frenzy of the earlier days, when millions were taken out every week ; when the jail was as full as the mines; when on Sunday the miners found a queue half a mile long, waiting for their letters at the postoffice ; when every house in the place was a bar-room or gambling den ; wheu Wells-Fargo's strong box went down to "Frisco" dully with the ransom of an emperor—in the frenzy of those exciting days these elder ly men lost their energies. They came to make their fortunes. Those who suc ceeded went away to enjoy the prize; those who failed live on here, contented, thinking of the happy old days, with enough to eat; for living is cheap here, and no cold winters to dread, nor pros perous people to make them happy! The woful depreciation, of real estate shows both what Sonora once was, and what it now is. One citizen showed me hisstore, iron -shuttered, with iron doors, and irpn roof, solidly built of brick and stone. " It cost me six thousand dol lars to build, in the early days," said he; " and, if I had to sell it now, lot and all would not bring three hundred dollars." A farm ur " ranch " of three hundred acres, with a vineyard of some acres in bearing, is valued at $l,OOO. A well placed and well-made farm of 1(30 acres, with twenty acres of vines In good order, In sight of the town, could be bought for $1,1300. The gold has been the curse of the town,.and remains its curse still. Who ever came, came to get gold, and who ever got it, took what he got and tied. It was the single industry of the region, and it disabled men from following any other. It was strange to see how even the presence, the known existence, of :old in the soil seems to • aral • ze men's NUMBER 27 energies, and turn their thoughts from the active pursuits of other occupations than gold-seeking. Almost everybody I met in the little town owned a quartz-claim. I asked what business was followed by the head of acolored familv,whose pleasant home I noticed, and was told he was working, a quartz-lead, and having a very hard time. "If he had only a little capital, he would get through"—but unluckily the little capital would swallow up all his gains. "Does everybody in this town own a quartz-claim ?" I asked a citizm, and he laughingly replied: "Oh no, I (don't, for instance ;" adding after a pause "that is to say, I rio, but it is not worth anything." Before we carne to the town a mer chant, unable to get the price he wisshed for his store, pulled it down, and we saw, right in the main street orsonora, the singular spectacle of placer-mining for gold. The soil of his lot was taken out to the depth of fifteen Is , eighteen feet, and thrown into a sluice, where it was washed, and the gold—in little nug gets—taken out. lie had taken suit in a few weeks over four thousand worth, and was still busy. 'rise whole operatissn was conducted by four or live men very inexpensiver:y, and I believe his clerks and bookkeeper Were among the diggers. The approach of a circus and tinsnag- , eds. excited the bo), of (be town while we were there,and we saw little urchins going suit to the field , beyond the town with their mothers' tin-kitchen p u ns. They Were going, to 12,111 ore enough to pay the entrance-fee In lie circus. " What is the Use or horning, " said a stalwart fellow to use; ''a 1112111 call always make I . otir bits a slay with hi pan. and living is cheap." Thus therg,sslst is still a carve, a clog if it were all gone, wen, tvonn•n :old buys Would Cease to think of it, and the four bits and the circlet Money Would 120 earned by staine industry use ful to tine general public. lint now they live sui iu careless ease en joying their delicious climate: eat ing in the season the finest fruit of California ; careless of the future, for there is no Winter, and a miner can live coincortably to the hills for ten dollars a Month; ausl rs counting to each other the past and faslysl glssries nt Sonora, and their hopes that by the success of quartz mining and the devel opment of agriculture, its iffospesity may be revived. In view of the lit I• 111 tett Companies Works to the Pennsylvania Itailroitil, the thllowing shit i,ties relative to its operations may bo interesting: In ISO! this Company retinaieil a capital of *131,2'21,41+,, while or 1 , 7 , 1 its return is The several lines mviied :Mil It not' I by 1.110 itaiirtoad ;it lilt. close of 1 , 75 Were 11, 1.”111,WN: l'itt•htirgh I. , Pli phia 111,11111.0 shtl , , 7,6 Init•r , ' 'll,l 111.11alla 19.0 1/clawaro Exlct,t,•ll , 111 I I'y rope 111. W. 1•1111 n.. l') T. It It 1'01+111,01.. L. , . 111. \V. It, L. Ilrandywilit. awl W:',> '1.,- ' berg It. R. Ilurrishurg and r It. It. 5I milrs -- .Nlillllll and rt. Co. It. 1t... 12., Tyn.lP 1'1.1,11,111 It. It 11w1.1 Eaele Valley It. It Etlet.llrg CF, ,, en It. It 11 We,l Peens, leatila It. 1t. . . . ..r.1.7 1 Newry lir:Lurk It. It 1.1 111:1 ii on , l 1,1,101 lines ..w nut ..1.11.1 Total IratNetl I .•p'.. Total of all is, is this report... Sul The hital track Of the hill' of all the line+, 1,1:;i1.5 nthe+. The following lines are leased directly Jrf indirectly by the Pen lisy.vania Ciatipany, but neither their capital nor operating a, counts are inelnileil in returns: and , itulmry . F". l aud I.ittle Co)liltillm , art.! X. riki I ll.hattapolk :Lll.l V Erit.anil t , hun.r.ll i 7 niilro.l, ra! ,, l ml.l :1,,,.11111 ed for NlT:irately The total truck of the-e line, in '2,111 mile.. The Pennsylvania. Railroad Company also MVIIS a majority at the storks of the Cunil.ierlanil Valley and cif the Northern Central Railroad I:WU 111/011 M.' hiell dieiden,ls e,lnnliug eight in, tent. aro paid, aro held as a sinking . land for the redemption' of it own svooml mort gage bonds itild Hie bonds of Ilarris burg and lAnoaster Company. The Com pany also owns shares ul the I larris burg and Lancaster ; shares of the C•Frine.-iing striek ; slain, or the Philadelplii., and Erie t ompany's stook ; shares of the Pennsylvania Canal Company and aeonsiderahle amount of other railroad and no inneipal stooks and !raids. The total amount standing On tile books or tir as representing these ill uirnle Was, I, 1,711, , -, , , „1t1,11. - 6,7 II.:~J. When ;eneral Moltke was "tiered a vet) large sum of money 11 , 1 a reward 4,r. cetie [diluent for his services during the site war, he respectfully declined the gilt, say ing that, by his clevatien to the rank el (;re/for fount, no had la en sufficiently re warded, and that the neonls of his old age were adequately provided for by his 1,011.- .imi. NVlien the American general n;eerge 11. Thomas was "tiered houses and money rtd /./.lenm. by rich eitizens 11,1 a rowan] ler his services, though he hail received and could receive 110 I,r,h,e of nobility, he yet declined the gills offered, remarking that he had only done his duty and that his country did enough ler hit. 111111 his sillily li', paying hit,, his salary. Th.., it twitted with Id[eitke's magnanimity, Americans can refer to Theinas.—Pdt, bargh ( . 011111(1:1 . 1•ItIt. Precisely no, Rut there is another American General, who, when "the war drums clanged Inn longer," and WllOll he was about to have 010 highest helm, known to an American enures I . olll , reenl upon lie called to nit in 010 1•111 l, nil the great Father of tins Country, and govern his people under the beneficent Ceti stitution made sacred by the sign -manual of the immortal Washington--reached Mrtli his greenly hands in all directions and ac cepted gifts of houses, and lands, and !nurses, and dogs, and money, and jewelry, and gew-gaws, soil gin-craeks, and things of all conceivable and inconceivable kinds. Need we say that that General was Ulysses S. :rant? Von Alcltke thought to be made a Count was reward enough for all his brilliant strategy and mighty bat tles. Thomas wanted 110 other rens:ind for his patriotic services amt sacrifices upon the altar of his country, than to be looked upon as a soldier who had done his duty, Brant, after having received every honor that could 1,0 conferred by a grateful coun try, after having been made I;eneral or the Army and President, wa.s yet devoured by an insatiable greed, and enriched himself by accepting the ,lint ings of demagogues and politicians, who were hurrying their way to favor and official spoils—bribing him to surrender the pa p ttronage in to their hands. What a comment upon Grant. What a text Mr a sermon, and that, too, from one of the gift-taking President's leading or guns. When a threign General sets the 110bie and unselfish example of rejecting gift: bribes, how the cheek of every true American must tingle with shame to think, that even yet—plethoric with wealth as he is—Grant is still on the alert looking about him for still other cringing sycophants U. wore, Mrward with their filthy offerings and lay them In his distended palm, and put public virtue to shame by making the public offices a subject, of barter. We are glad that Von Moltke cannot put us wholly to shame. That, though we would have to turn with blushes trout Grant, We can proudly point to the honored grave of Thomas and say: "There lien a General who never took a gift."—Patsburgh Po.q. A Lndy'ot Drepni Picorrlied by Lightning ;From the Boston Traveller. June 20.] A member of the family of Captain Josh ua it ale, while walking out during a thun der storm the latter part of last week, felt a shock of electricity which momentarily numbed her, but, recovering almost in stantly, she continued her walk home. On arriving there she found that the lightning had actually struck a fold of her black alpaca dress near the ground, where it WILY wet by the shower, and had scorched the edge of the fold, and then leaped off to the wet ground.— The barned piece of the dress was cut out, and has been handed in to this °thee. It is a curiosity,the like of which is rarely seen, and It is well worth preservation. 'I he electric fluid burned a streak about eight Inches in length, and on Its edges the pe• culiar zigzag course of the flash Inas clearly defined—burned into the fabric—as It Is seen painted on a black cloud In a thunder storm. The surrounding cloth having been dry at the time of the occurrence, and consequently a non-conductor, is unharm ed. The lady's escape from death was very remarkable. At Erie, Pa., last week, while boring for gas near the Union depot, heavy lu bricating oil was struck, at the depth Not for Revenue We published, some time since, from a New York coteinporary, a list of nearly two hundred article's which produced a revenue to the government of only 5240,- 010.02 in 1870, and we now propose to ex amine this list more critically, and, for the purpose of illustration, will take a few of the articles and show the esianated amount used, the revenue derived therefrom, and the enormous amounts paid indirectly by consumers to the favored classes on account of unjust taxation. On brass, in pigs and old, the annual consumption is estimated at $10,000,000, the duty on which is 15 per cent., while the revenue actually collected in 1070 amounted to only 51,603.32, showing that nearly the whole amount of the tax of 13 per cent. levied by the government is paid by consumers into the pockets of a few monopolists, the treasury of the people re ceiving merely nothing. The enhancol cost of the amount consume , of tin. raw material, caused by the tax, would not probably be less than 51.500,010. Such a tax as this should not be allowed to stand for a moment, and would not but for the selfish operations of a few persons upon the pliable members of Congress. There is a duty 0120 per cent. on bricks and tiles, tipon which articles, in 1070, there was col lected only The consumption of these articles is estimated at upward of 31AG00.1/00. Can there be any good reason given for enhancing the cost of this con sumption a penny for such' a trilling revenue collected'! But the worst fea ture is in acids, all of which are essen • :tally raw material in manufactures, or in iirTarations for manufacturing purpo,es. rho annum cnuhu nl intim, or phosphor', avid is estimated at 20,010 pounds, and the duty 151.50 per pound) is prohibitory. There was only 532 of revenue collected therefrom. elearly showing . .that the eon smilers of tl .s article pay to the few nook factu rers of it a bounty of nearly ,030,000. '''hen there is sulphitriC of which the annual constlilliaion is hot less than 90,- 0110.0110 of pounds, and Upon which the dilly Is $I per pound. The roviimio volleeted uu this article inn is it amounted to Only $30.- I!), clearly illustrating that beeanse 01 this beautiful tax, which pays to the treasury,- so:o:ill ail aittotillt, eonstlnters have to 1.10,* 1., a re,' ittatitilacttirers nearly 51,01111.0(111 bounty so 4,1 tteetate of lead, the 0.11,11111111- 1.1011 of whiell in the country 11.1110111 as to up nt ol 2,01111,i1(10 pounds, the duty 'II [itch wa 120.. per pound, Irmo which tho revenlia In 1 , 70 was notillipz. 11l yourse this tax all tives ludo the pockets i 4 hi few manunietur ers, to (Ile extent mi $1141.1100, and is paid by t•.11,11olt•f. nil there is ,octal' of ,:lry[l,, of Whilt.l) Wl' 1,11.111110 300,- 11(II) I.lllltlM. 1110 duty on which is 411, ia•r --res emu., n. Tile Immity paid hy the people to (he makers of this art lido I. sl.2ll,toti :111111 1 / I HV. These are hut a thew .peril hen- of till, Wily Our taxes :ire levied. Toe whole :sysmin C oho of devised to en rich a S's :It lie. °Spell , . 111 the many. Mr. tillt•ritiatt's eottittittlee, !low ott Its Lrlty 'ls, lIRS the ,ilSimslliOri, lit, 11111,•11 tow ;lid corroc mug these evils. 'file people :LEO upon nag their eyes to a foll comprollen ,..nn of these gigaidn• robberies.- - Pict yea, :LW,,) Ihu A ineriean mini) tion• eral Slu rinan, tc tilt .e-horn on the Curran t'dld, Tlu• crew %yen. , caittnred and hor ribly treatt.d and tortured, some being put in rages :11,1 carried around and exhibited to the nab, es. tine of the Men t•sraprd, and reaching an Aniere,tii 11111,11-of-Wllr, Juutiitd lbtat at rt/t•iLit,. Admiral Bull, then in C , llllllalli I cd . 010 ASilltil,(111,111r011, -rut lht 1. • 111101 States s ea II cur, drink i 4, the cereal] Coast to inquire into the mailer, and demand redress. On NI -1.1.,,t01ung the l'“rean tho Shotutn hcth N% as tired I:II hr vhu ro illattnillS, - 111•41-by a hkre_:ll number of CorounN, but, a"; her ••••rninander hail nu ord era to return the lire, he It'll aunt rep,rted the trailer In .\ dmind Bell. 11 ere the matter ended until Adnund IteNitn, in the Dohtwitre, coloniad. lie left this country kith , rder, to Loth the Formosa and 11'holt 110 gclt . ,lll the token, 110 1,11111 that. the Vernmsa matter had he. n nettled, and hereto i•reeeedtog again,t the ( . 4irralis, the Department Fent want fir him le await further orders. N.• further orders were given 111111. and ‘OlOll .11toiral Jolts I:odgers said in the Cohn,- le, it uteler.tood, he had full authority cleniand redre.s from the Corean ttov- anti if it %vas roftiNcal, to go for hwn Icc lho extoot of his ability. Willi Ills ill Vi4,V, ho varricil in tho hold or the 'oloraihi a hat tory or livid pores, a battery f i talltng guns and other levelso of mrry rig the irar into Africa, having foil powers the matter. As the initial ,top taken by Admiral odgers has exeiteci clonsiderablo interest ,„0, lireeglieut the ceentry, :tea as there will ,rolmbly be ether 1111,1 greater difficulties Ih•emitered bete,. the litiestiort ie tinitilN . ettletl, It nlay net ho amiss to state 5(11110- hing about the country which our navy lay undertaken to eliastise. is a k ingtlont on the eastern coast. ,f Asia, northeast of China, comprising an lrea of about 91/.11111) square miles, 111111 numbering iron] 10,000,000 to .2,000,enn. It IS a peninsula, 400 miles long nut 1. - al miles bread, the adjacent islands and part of the neighboring continent. The oral length of entry from north to mol, is ...niesvlial less than 600 be wren MLILIMI/ ;I:S deg. 1:0 min., and 43 deg. mrth. The eons[ is rugged and barren, nitl the northern portion cull - 31111 ; bul 111 the western part the climate s tuner genial and the suit more fertile. =IIEI rilttitary 10) i•ltina and Japan, tho fret tloni ,t It. a,t14,11 i.. 1111, 1 ncr4,11 d. 'Filo army of •”rt, 11l 601,000 111011, 111111 tho tavy i. :11,1) c 1.,-.1'14 Wilr-jllllll, lnw hen In in rate gums each, 411i1 twtqaty ii.l thirty p.tirider, The 1 ,,,iiti,a1.) 04 .1- ,u,),. ,11111liir in that, c)1" Chi nu. Tilf• ar,•hilmhn;n el' l•nrra .is a group nl waif i.6wdv iu the Yrll4, v Nett, tin the vent rua.L of the 'W1111141113 or carea. The ',lands arc chiefly granite, and H,llllO 411 . Loon ri•r Ia a height ui '2,000 l'eet above Ito sea. Thu navigati,l in I . 4)rcati vatern i.n Loth Ii au! dailgr•rwis, unit I,miparativt•ly little i, I;il.,wn the. cluinn..ls. • ;in xli•ty IN felt In from 1t.,11,41.r5, ;is IL ,V 1 1 ,4 fully rx putted NSi.llltl 11p1)11 the ',,npans Ihr 111,1 ;Liter Lim (bit(' of lrn ile•pat,ll In lite Nevi Ilvintriment. It is thvlll,iill,ll el C.,IIIpOLItIIL nuvul 0111. er, lienu that ilni oulliirmed force “I'tl.o Etin,peati jx ,, vertilllent4 now mi that stab ,, ,, not , 11111 , •ielit tit meet mid piltibdi the ,pirit exhibited by the he xincartnity Defalcation. S, many noilicious things have been said wailed. the Vostillaster-11eileral and the Adiiiiii,tration in ,salseillienceof the M,te,trt Hey ease, Illat it May be well to put together in a Idler, consecutive story die i•xact facts, nothing extenuating and setting down ll:alight in malice. Allicartriey was a mein herul inekinsont'ollege, where he was graduated in Judy, 1418, and Was indent Inr his plinctillions sense or honor nod hi, unmeasured dentineiation or i•very violation of confidence or breach of trust. Alter leaving college lie Was nnifortmiate in, several newspaper mint bui.iness enterprises, and ultimately drllt ed to NV asitington, where he was living, in fading inialth :old reduced circumstances, when appointed Insbursing Clerk of the Post (NM, I n•partilientott a salary of $'2.,000. shortly after Mr. Creswell, who was an old elassinatn or his, and hail every confidence in 1,1.1 integrity, !termini Postmaster Gen eral, No stlef nvion old ishonesty attached to Min until .1 une 2, 0111,11 he presented, in the regular eau roe of ids duties, a requisition fur additional sums of Money, drawing tinning others upon a particular apprOpriatloll, which the I . ,stimtster-Gelieral knew bad not been eXfwialed This led to Inquiries nich proved that Macartney hail been Us ing the public, fidids in various specula tions, and a more thorough investigatkin has shown the deficiency to amount to about tO hUn. Niacartney's assets have been assigned to a trustee tor the benefit of the loverninent and his sureties, and it Is believed that the former will be able to re imburse 11,011 lefen the property thus trans ferred, if properly managed. The statement dial shortly after Macart ney's appointliient iii the Post-Dingo De partnieht he leased or lilt rchased a fashion able house in li-id., which he fitted up in luXiiriiitis style, arid then entered upon a reckless and extravagant life, spending something hke $i0,00) a year is entirely Miscartncy bias never hived on a fashionable street at all, but about two years :ago lie Imreliased a small neat house in a relied , ' part of tile city, and furnished it plainly. There he liaS lived ever niece,o except when absent from I.Va.shington under medical treatment. The house was bought on very lavorable terms and only about tt , ..sOU hits been paid on it. /Its household affairs Were marked by economy and simplicity, and those who know him best assert that there was noth ing in Iris habits or mode of life to excite the least suspicion that he was living be yond his salary. ,Miscartney's health is wretched. Ills Voice is gone, lie is fast yielding to the rav ages of einisumption, and is not expected to survive more than a month or two at farthest. His friends believe that his body and mind have been tit; weakened by din. ease that he has fitllen a victim to some of the scheming adventurers who abound in ‘S'itshington.—Cer.N. Y. Tribune. Father Hyacinthe nUli the Pope Father I Iyacinthe addressed the follow ing letter to Nlgr. de Alerode, the Parsl Ni Mister of War, a few days after his - rival in Some, asking to bo admitUd into the presence of the holy Father: To Mgr. de Merode, al the Vatican.— MonNeigneur—Tho recollection of the benevolence you once manifested towards [nu when under :different circumstances enCOU rages me to hor•e that you will ren der MO the important service I urn about to ask. I desire to nave a private audience with the holy Father in order to open my utmost soul to him. This soul of mine, which has suffered so much, belongs to the lold that has been confided to the charge of the Pope as supreme pastor. This fact !Lone entitles me to an interview with his ss. Beyond doubt, the line of con • duct I have thought best to pu mire amid the present crisis of the Church must have grieved the lady Father, but it could not have taken away from him all solicitude fur a man whom ho formally honored with many proofs of his benevolence, and whom I hope, will still regard as a mom Excuse the liberty I take, Monseigneur, iiIfACINTELE. Upon receiving the refusal of Monseig neur do Aimed:), Father Hyacinthe penned the following lines in reply: Formerly the good shepherd ran after the strayed sheep and brought it back tender ly placed upon his shoulders. To-day the strayed sheep (sinco.you reject me as such) seeks the shepherd and he rejects It. What a difference between tho Gospel and the
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