'■■•vr'^rr^l - ' ,;" -- i “ •--^-.■~r°i — t .^._-- irtt ... fr -. v^.>:j ...^.. , j: ,„! ,i rr> , r -, yi i,_ , LrjlL - n . < . iiT[rtiy:i _ Publication. * . 1 * '■TT-rTH’ A fITT A T AT? • Aul l Al Uil r remittance be received. By this ar- rr ~-" ——■■ 1 ----- —■-- —— ' no man can be brought in debt to tho , . i 4TOB jb the Official Paper of the County* *c and steadily increasing circulation reach- I^J 1 wr * r 7 neighborhood in the County. . It is seat C t tJ9t to any Post Office -irithin the connty t:>* i ■*. w bnso most convenient post office may be Cooney gji-- card®, not exceeding 5 lines* paper inclu- - ■ RfiKESS DIRECTORY. hL LO vrKE#«.s. F/misox, 4 COtTNSEIXORS AT liAW, will * ~I‘d the Coart of Tioga, Pottor and McKean pYeßs^ ol-0 *! 1853.} Bp" s b B B OOHS, « COUNSELLOR AT LAW T-LKLAXD. TIOGA CO. PA. gp thc j-ukitufie of Counselors there is safety.”—.KM*. * H * !^'pu ' «. ‘ «•' webS ~ K . vpr (Tone’s Law Office, first door below k : Ap ’« HotelJ Rights he will bo found at his »’l/ tarr v door above iho bridge on Main Street, I i f J 'rissr.>u.elD.ckinsonV : I C. RI>VUTT, »extist, E - XyyiCE at his residence near the P SdgggLl I Academy. .All work pertaining to t of business done promptly and' ! ‘ , [April 22, 1858.] ; k =— HOliSfl N. T. : 4, Proprietor. ■ ' ; 3 ken to and from the Depot free of ehttge. ;> p'jg R JSUf A* IA MOUSE 5 1 IVKLLSBOBO’, PA. \ I, 0. tavlor, proprietor. I- „ . teti-reJlv popular house is centrally located, and I P-tjJa u-cir to the patronage ol the travelling public. H ‘j L "' a- wa i.' AMERICAS HOTEL COKNIXG, N.T., E FKEEM6N, - - - - Proprietor. : »j c t< Lodgings. 25 ots. Board, V 5 ots. per day. fOTi» S , March 31. 1859. (ly.)_ ft J. C. WHITTAKER, Hydropathic Phyeician and Surgeon. EhKLASD, TIOGA CO., PESKA „ jrjjinsit patients in all parts of the County, or re' P ~t t iietn fur treatment at his house. [June 14,] I = ; «. O. COLE, URRCK JLXD BAIR-DRBSSBR. SHOP in the rear of the Post Office. Everything in li,.- lice will be done as well and promptly as it Bijole’ime in the eity saloons. Preparations for ro landrail, and heautifying the hair, for sale Jjj,' ° Hair and whiskers dyed any color.- Call and ~ vleUaboro, Sept. 22, ISO 9 f ~ GAIffES HOTEt. EC. YEKiriLYEA, PROPRIETOR . Gaines. Tioga County, Pa. Tips n fii inmwu hotel is located within easy access V thobest fidiing and hunting grounds in North'rn V Xe pains nill be 6 P ,irea6oTl * oB » Dahlias, Phloxes. Tnlipa, lits,i c Kwcisaisj Joaqnils, Lil OrCw.* w H»ut-bol» Strawberry, 4 do*.plants,s6. GraOias,' Budding or Pruning vrin bo H.B. PESOS!}, W»Ufboto,P». 53 p hotto to tfce of tfce arts of if rcrOom anU tfct Sprtah of l&ealt&g Btform. • WHILE THEBE SHALL BE A WEONG UNBIGHTED, AND UNTIL "MAN’S INHUMANITY TO MAN” SHALL CEASE, AGITATION MUST CONTINUE. VOL. VI. THE PRESENT IS THE GOOD TIME. i BT w. a. KILLS. ' Xtate the frhiad of discontent That mark? the age wfrlive in. That spooks of olden times well spent, To our forefathers given; Bom p bids their wealth and competence, And some their worth are hamming; While some despise their taste and sense. And sing “The good time’s coming.” What though the future may ho great. Or past were good and pleasant, We have no share in eitber.state, Our duty's in the present I They'll have their wants and trials too; Their light is not still shining; And we've enough within our view * To keep us from repining. The landscape’s lovely to the eye, When we from distance view it; Tet there are faults we may descry Where'er we ramble through it; But while the scenes before, hbhind, .. With beauty are abounding, WC may be able here to view I Some charms onr steps surroadieg. The times we have, with some regret, To onr seed will be “olden And they with unborn poets yet, Will call this a period golden I Ana they may chant their graceful lays, Tbcir future bliss up-summing, Just as we sing of by-gone days. And long for hotter coming. Then let such ‘mourning feelings die, That long for other-ages; The blessings that we now-enjoy Will shine on history’s pages;-^ The best philosophy for man, j' Life'# prf.scnt care enduring, ' * Is now t 6 do the best be can, ] Thus futtre bliss securing. TBS RETURNED CALIFORNIAN. A TRUE story “Just twenty years ago this night,” said the old man to his wife, as she sat dozing in the corner of a large old-fashioned fire-place, ‘‘just twenty years ago, my Mena, since Kupert loft us, determined to seek the means to support us comfortably in our old age. and to place our Ella in the position she should occupy, which she is fitted to adorn, and of which our misfor tunes have robbed her. But our only sop has never come back to us ; we are poorer than ever, with a deeper, deeper sorrow tanklSig here, (and he laid his withered hand upon lais heaving breast,) that he has been cut off in Che bloom of his young manhood—we know not how or when 1” and the full, round tears rolled heav ily down his furrowed cheeks, whilst the good Mena wept and sobbed aloud.- Thus they sat for a long time, and thus we leave them with the mournful memory of all he had been and all he now was to them. Ella, their only daughter, whs very beautiful. I mean by that, that she was gentle, intelligent and graceful; she had always been gay and happy for she loved nature and her simple hearted companions, and was too young when her brother left their rural home, to feel reverses of fortune, or to suffer, like her sorrow-aged parents, his loss arid society. The neighbors talked to her of the promising young Rupert of former years, extolled over and over again his amiable temper, his kindness to the aged, the sick, and the poor of their little village, aud the old “folk” seemo'd to love him as a son, the yopng people as a brother, and everybody re membered his sparkling black eyes, his fine ex pressive mouth, his lofty though effeminately white, smooth forehead, and everybody pro nounced him handsome and good, when, at the age of sixteen, he left his humble home, deter mined to revive his father’s fallen fortunes, or make one less to be provided for from their scanty stove. Of course, Ella loved the picture, and often sighed that it was not real to her. Rupert Ellsworth’s father, very soon after bis misfortunes, turned his pretty dwelling into an inri, bung up a sign with a peculiar device upon it—a device not to be forgotten by any one who lived twenty years previously any where within fifty miles of the city of New York—but I must not paint it over'again, lest one phrenzied eye should chance to glance too earnestly over those pages to engulf the mind and heart in still deeper and ray only object is to relate, as nearly as I can recollect, the incidents of a transaction that was so thrilling and so fearful in its effects, and which so many of our citizens rethember is too true* The old man was not very successful, for he was as proud and austere as he was ambitious, and he could not stoop to the mean cajolery and impertinent obtrusiveness now practiced in our day to secure the “almighty dollar/’ and the coneequeece was he remained very pom*. The day had been stormy, and the heavy black clouds hung in dense masses dose to the earth, only here and there a streak of atmos,- phere which seemed struggling in sullen prid6 to blear them upward ter their native element, there to dissolve themselves in gentle dew, or rain, or beautiful white, fleecy flakes of snow, to be finally—like humanity—embosomed in the all-receiving silent earth. But I digress. A horseman broke through the narrow passage between earth and clouds, immediately in front of a cottage about two miles from our incongruous sign ; he was very tall aud slender, with the most luxuriant beard and moustache, of rich, brown, expressive hair; his eyes were clear as stars, his skin of singular paleness for a man, and with a face altogether as pleasing and interesting as a young and beautiful girl’s, though you could not guess his age, (he might have been twenty-live, or he might have been forty,) still there was a fire lurking in his eye, and the spirit of bravery and manliness written on his brow. You could imagine that sorrow, and struggle, and contest had been his lot, though every lineament be spoke a heart at peace with the whole world* Our rider seemed to be lost in thought, for his horse had halted before the door of the cottage, whose owner was gazing quietly upon him from' his door steps, wondering, I suppose, who he was or what he wanted. Suddenly ho looked up from hie rerery, and with a slight embarrasment, asked if there was a public house at hand. “By the way/-' said he, “is there not a Mr. Ellsworth keeping an inn somewhere near here ? He had a daugh ter named Ella, and once,” and he drew a long breath, “a son Rupert." “You know him, then, air,” eaid Mr. Clayton, (the man of the cottage, WELLSBORO, TIOGA COUNTY, PA., THURSDAY MORNING. APRIL 12, 1860: who was none other than the village pastor,) “a relative, perhaps ?” pursued he, like a man thinking aloud, for he had not waited an answer to his first interrogation. “And now I look at you more closely, you do resemble the family ; would you like to see his daughter? Every one who ever saw her sweet gentle face feels’ an interest in her at once ; she is here, paying a visit to roy girls," and Mr. Clayton, in his ardor of friendship for Ella, and his hospitality toward the intersting stranger, absolutely dragged the bewildered horseman from his sad dle, and very unceremoniously into the pres ence of three lovely girls, who were knitting and chatting away before a cheerful hickory fire. Knitting and a hickory fire ! round which in merry mood are drawn out truthful band of friends 1 Ob, what glorious opportunity for the culture of the flowers planted in our youth-time in the sunny gardens of our hearts, to be green and bright when the selfish, sordid world has shut in all the joyousness, the music and the lights, the love and trust, that once so fully made up a happy existence—or when relent less death has driven our fondest affections back upon the tablet of our memory, a living .page for the records of eternity. But while I have been indulging In these desultory thoughts, the party in the little par lor are standing in agitation and surprise, the stranger often glancing at the other two young ladies, stood for a moment confronting the now trembling Ella. One beam of joy shot fro'm his eye as he cried out, “It is my sister 1” and clasped her in his arms. One, look on his part and one electric thrill on hers, had been enough to tell them of the ties of consanguinity which bound them, and the long separated brother and sister—even though Ella was a child when Rupert left home T-knew and loved each other in an instant. 1 Ella was very happy, and too much absorbed in her wonderment to ask her, brother a single question; she was dreaming of her parents* transports of joy when they should learn their long-lost son was living, and planning in* her mind some one more pleasing stratagem than another by which she could make known to them his return. Rupert divined her thoughts, as she sat so silently, and gazing fondly upon him ; and immediately-after he had ascertained that his parents were alive and well, ho glanced at hia'histoy since his departure, reserving for their own happy fireside the details of his self sacrifising efforts and exile for twenty years. Of course, after the first salutations were over, the whole party at the cottage were acquainted and familiar, and anxious to hear his story. Rupert had left bis home with but one change of apparel, and but one shilling in his pocket; he had worked his passage out west, and had travelled from town to town, and village to village, teaching here aud there, for one year in one place, and farther on npother year in another, gaining instruction while he was im parting it, and thereby procuring the means to carry him wherever he wished to go. At length, soon after the discovery of gold at Sutter’s mill, at Coloma, he reached the great El Dorado, and by untiring industry in the mines, followed by a most successful professional practice, amassed a “pile” sufficient to accomplish his long-cherished object—the securing a comfort able competence fur his aged parents and now grown-up sister. Ever surrounded mjall this lonely wandering by the holy halo of maternal teaching and influence, ho had not only avoided fashionable, vices of the times, “kept the whiteness of hja soul unstained,” but had im proved himself in learning, and become a mas ter of the Spanish, French, and German lan guages : for, although but sixteen when he left home, he had been a student at Union College, (as one of his classmates, \V. W , now re siding at No. Ciay street, will well remem ber) and was even then a scholar and a gentle man; and though there was many a reckless and passionate boy at the college, there was not one so mean and selfish as not to feel his enno bling influence, and acknowledge his high vtoned, honorable deportment. For a time he wrote to his parents, regularly, ! hut receiving no answer, he supposed they must have removed from the £ld homestead, and as lit was necessary to his high purpose, and to carry out his plans for their final good, and as it might interfere with the sacrifices he felt must be made to train his mind to acquire by his profession a fortune, he persuaded himself that they were all well and happy ; and year by year he struggled on to gain—what? Goldl with the vain expectation of securing happiness thereby. But we will not moralize here, for Rupert’s had been a noble aim, and it now promised a most happy result. Old Mr. Ellsworth bad never at any time, received a line from bis son since he left home; by some means his letters had been miscarried, and Mr. and Mrs. Ellsworth believed Rupert to | be dead, and were still, after twenty long years*; mourning over his untimely end; they even found a luxury in their sorrow, whenever they could indulge in Ella’s absence. They loved the sweet girl too well to let her be a witness of their grief; it bad turned inward, and was worn deeply on their souls. Had Ella known of this, she would have been very wretched, and I am quite sure her brother would not have found her visiting at the good pastor’s cottage; no, not even the society of her dearest friends could have won her from the pleasing duty of being a constant solace and a joy to them. ‘‘Dear brother,” said Ella, “I thought you were dead, but how I have cherished your memory and loved the semblance our friends had drawn, who were older than I when you left us; hut never, never-dared I hope for this joyful, happy meeting. I am so happy,” and she wept upon his bosom. ‘‘lt’s growing late, Rupert,” she said, dashing the tears from her face; let us plan a pleasant surprise for onr parents. lam to spend the night here. I will remain, and be home early in the morning to take breakfast with you. Go now, and pretend yon are a stranger, travelling further eastward; engage a room for the night, and plead fatigue for retiring so early to bed, and he' 'sure that you do hot come down until I come and break to our parents the happy intelligence that Ru pert, the long-lamented Rupert, is under their own roof-tree, never more to leave it again, 0, I shall see my mother’s eyes beam again with hope and joy, and my father grow ydnng again in the society of hie cherished son. Oh, I shall be so happy 1” And she clasped her little hands close over her throbbing bosom, ns though sh» was afraid her happy heart would leap in ecsta sy from thence. "Yes, I will, my sister,” and he eaid "my sister” over again ; the Pame las music in his ears. “Yes, I will; but first tell me ail about yourself, my, home, how my, mother bore my absence, how my father has been situated, and if my dear little Ella is happy,” and he pressed her again to his breast, for she was all he had loved and imagined her—his ideal sister. “Well, I have lived with ofar parents con stantly, requiring no greater happiness than to be a happiness to them. I have seldom or never been from home, save when my parents send me to visit our good friends here. We have no society, no visitors, save a former class mate of yours;” and Ella paused, for the warm blood was mantling her cheeks. “Yon remem ber Clarence Fenton? Ho is always at our bouse, and my father always worships him, and 1 do believe it is for nothing else in the world only because he talks of you, and praises you half the time he is at our house; while my father is scarcely civil to any body else. Ido believe he loves him only because he was your dear friend,” and again she blushed and hesi tated. “Ho, ho 1 roy little Ella, and is that the rea son you almost worship him too?” and he gated in her soft violet-colored eyes so fondly and gently that she became .reassured in a mo ment, and replied with that ingeniousness so lovely in a young and truthful girl— “ Yes, brother, I do believe it is.” “My blessed sister and friend 1” cried Ru pert ; “I have at last found a fortune worth pos sessing—the love and confiding tenderness of a true-hearted sister I Ella, you shall marry Clarence, and wo shall all be very happy.— Why do you look so sad, Ella?” “Alas, Rupert, Clarence is too poor; he is ambitious; but, like ourselves, be has been un fortunate. His father died a bankrupt nearly ten years ago ; he settled here to practice med icine, but there is little or no sickness in our village ; he does not like the profession jt was his father’s desire be should follow and—and as it is impossible”—and she raised her eyes timidly to his kind face, and he saw that they were brim-full of tears. Rupert started as though a new idea had struck him- He went to his horse, lifted thej heavy saddle-bags from its back, and returned in a minute to his sister’s side. ‘^lmpossiblel” said he: “behold the means to make it possible, then,” and he dropped them with a heavy chink at her feet. “There, Ella, is fifty thousand dollars in gold—all gold!” said he, with the generous warmth of his na- is one portion which shall make you and my old friend and sobool-feliow, Clar ence, happy;” and he presented her with a package containing ten thousand dollars, while his cheeks were glowing, and Ins eyes flashing, with love, and pride, anqbhappiness. Just then, another flashing eye and flushed face appeared at the window. He saw Rupert kiss Ella, in a transport of feeling; saw him place around her neck a miniature of himself, attached to a mas sive gold chain, and he supposed he was a lover of Ella’s, and a successful one, too, for he had ; seen Rupert carry the heavy saddle-bngs in, and reached the door just in time to hear his expression. He staggered from the window ; he had seen enough ; for an instant he seemed rooted to the spot, then be rushed around to the back of the bouse into the kitchen, seized a large carving-knife that was lying on the table, and pressing the blade to his white Ups, he ut tered a low, deep moan, as though relieved of a weight of distress. He then pressed his white teeth close together, and again rushed out into the open air. Just at this moment, Rupert placed his saddle-bags on his horse, slooped to say some pleasant adieus to Ella— “ Good night, dear Ella; you will be there early ?” “Yes, yes I” and he was gone. Like a wounded wild beast, the man who had looked in at the window sprang back* darted down a by 4 path> across a field or two—on, on he,went towards the inn, and stopped behind a clump of trees, .crowded densely together. It was late twilight, and as our horsc'man was absorbed amid his pleasant thoughts, he did not see the man’s singular movements, or notice that he was watched by him. On came our horseman with a pleasant smile I lighting up his face, talking low to himself, seemingly to add to his happiness ; “Yes, yes; fifty thousand will do ; it will make us all very comfortable, and I shall resume ray profession after a few months ot real transports of joy and gay revel, for I mean to make the old folks happy, the old house like a palace, and dear, sweet* gentle Ella shall be the queen of domes l tic bliss I” Ob, if he had but said “sister,” “dear* sweet, gentle sister”—changed only "one word. But ere the hissing sound of the “s” had died upon the solemn stillness of evening, Rupert’s head was nearly severed from his body, and hisflife less corpse dragged into the thicket, which! was situated about a mile from the inn. Clarence buried the body with his own blood stained hands; and late, very late, in that dark and horrid place, goaded the poor horse to madness, and sent him adrift with all save the gold. The next morning, the cleat 1 , bright sunlight had scarcely tinted the tops of the gorgeous foliage of autumn, when Ella sprang with a light bound from the door-step, bounded over the stile by the cottage gate, in such happy haste that her feet scarcely seemed to touch the earth over which she glided; the mile seemed endless—she had never felt such ecatacy before; and well Clarence, who pas watching for her, marked the glowing cheek arid bounding step of the once qaiet„dignificd Ella, and he at tributed it to a far different cause. These two people loved each other. But how different the faces, how different the hearts—one was dark and troubled, the other like sunshine.' She had not noticed him before, but just as she laid her hand upon the door of her own home, he grasped’ it--she started. “Oh, Clarence, gdod morning: how is it that you are here so early this morning? I hope nothing wrong has hap pened, for 1 am so happy 1 You look sad; come in, come in, you shall be with, us—you shall soon see why Ella's heart flutters like a frightened bird’s.’’ And she, for the first time, passed her hand lovingly through his arm. Her parents met her. at the door, glad that she had. returned, though they could not un derstand why she came so early, '' “Well,” said she, after looking anxiously about the room, “well, father, who had you ■here last night,?” and she smiled. “No one, my child.” “Had yon not a man here last night, tall—” and went on describing Rupert so eloquently, that her parents gazed in her excited - face, in silent wonder, trying to cypher out the cause of all this animation in one usually mild and quiet. But the eyes of Clarence glared like a demon when-the old man tnrned to him, shak ing his hand warmly, “Why, Ella is wild, I do think. No', no, my daughter; no traveler was here last night.” “Not here! not stop here 1” and Ella, sud denly thinking that they were playing a ruse off on her, put out both her hands to Clarence, and turning partly away from her parents, said, laughing, “Why, that is my brother 1 that is Rupert 1 Mother, it is—-it is your long-lost son 1” 5 “Great God I” screamed Clarence, throwing bis arms and hands upwards. “Great God 2 1 have murdered Rupert Ellsworth, xny Ella’s brother—my first, best, and kindest friend I” and he rushed out towards the fatal clump of trees, followed by the now wretched family,— When they reached him, he had already, in bis frenzy, dragged- the body of Rupert to the light, and was peering into his face. I cannot picture this dreadful scene, so will hasten: to a closet The poor parents reconized their son at once, for the eye of love is keen ; Clarence sat weeping like a child over the corpse of his once beloved friend; and Ella, who had not spoken sirice she gave that one low shriek of despair and anguish, stood apart, gazing with a vacant stare, and with cheeks paler than her dead brother's, was a hopeless maniac! Clarence, after havingjgiven himself up freely to the hand of justice, contrived to place the fatal cord around his own neck, and thus avoid ed the ignominy of a public execution. The father and mother died broken-hearted. And Ella, the once gay and lovely Ella, fined at this very moment ifa the Rloomingdale Asylum, a maniac fur life. Oh ! who will not acknowledge that truth is stranger than fiction ? ; Lumbermen's Camps. The editor of the Elseworth American , hav ing recently visited the Maine lumhermqn in their backwoods camps, gives the following de scription of their winter habitations: , “The camps of these hardy and laborious men are made of logs, and covered with ‘splints, which are long shingles, made of cedar and, rived and shaved. These are again covered with houghs. In the centre of the camp is the fire, extending half its length, with an open apace just as large in the roof, for the escape of the smoke. A modern improvement has been in troduced—the fire dogs, or andirons. These are made from three to four feet long, with a font in the centre, and large enough to hold ajlarge quantity of wood. They are really a pair of these indispensable articles welded together, with one foot in the centre’to strengthen the double-headed ‘fire-dog.’ One of the luxuries of camp-life is to sit on the ‘deacon seat’ and watch the flames as they issue forth from the hard wood fire, the product of numberless long and large sticks of wood, big enough for an old fashioned ‘back log.’ Xhe‘ deacon seats’ arc sticks of timber, hewn and squared, and placed ! parallel with the fire, and on each side of it for seats*—Back, of these seats, are the dormitory apartments, A good foundation is made with cedar or spruce boughs, on which are spread, as covering, a number of ‘comforts’made thick and warm with cotton batting. One of the curiosities of these habitations, is the ‘bean oven.’ This is a hole excavated at one end of the fire, and near the fire-dog, in which, after being sufficiently well heated with coals. Is placed -a large iron pot filled with beans having a sheet iron covering jutting over the outer rim, covered all over with coals and hot embers, and left to cook through the night while the men are sleeping. In the morning the ‘pot of beans’ is taken from its bed, and the beans are on the table for breakfast, steam ing and inviting enough to tempt an epicure. One of these camps had a dining and cooking room, in addition to the usual accommodations, and also a good sized cook stove. There are, generally, from fifteen to twenty men to each camp. In all that we visited, quietness, order, industry, and the best of feeling, existed among the inmates. The Religion of Paying Debts. —One of the religious papers has the following strong re marks on the subject'. They drive the nail up :to the head and clinch it: “Men may sophiscate as they please. They can never make it right, and all the bankrupt laws in the universe cannot make it right, for them not to pay their dedts. There is a sin in this neglect as clear and deserving of church discipline as in stealing or false swearing. He who violates his promise to pay, or withholds payment of a debt, when it is in bis power to meet his engagement, ought to be made to feel that in the sight of all honest men he is a swin dler. Religion may be a very comfortable cloak under which to bide ! but if religion does not make a man deal justly, it is not worth having,’ Mrs. Partington says she can’t understand these “ere market -reports.” She can’t under stand how cheese can be lively, and pork can be active, and feathers drooping—that is, if it’s raining ; but how whiskey can be steady, or hops quiet, or spirits dull, she can’t see; either bow lard can be firm in warm.weather, nor po tatoes depressed, nor flour rising—unless there had been yeast put.in it, and sometimes it would not rise then. Laziness travels so slow that poverty scon overtakes her-, Advertisements will be charged $1 per square of 19 lines, one or three insertions; And 26 cent# fo# ever* * subsequent insertion. Advertisement! of lest than 11*, lines considered &a a square. Thesnbjoined rates will be charged for Quarterly, Half-Yearly and Yearly ad* ! vertisementiT Square, - 2 do. 3 do. £ column, • k do. Column, - Advertisements sot haying the number of Idi&Uoi 4 desired marked upon them, will be published until or dered oat and charged accordingly. Posters, Handbills, Bill-Heads* Letter-Head* asde 1 kinds of Jobbing done in country establishments, ex ecuted neatly and promptly. Justices’, Constable*’, and other BLANKS constantly on band. NO. 37. lij my native village lived an old man faamed Beauchamp. He was a Frenchman by birth,' but had come to America when a child. When the Mexican war commenced, he enlisted under our banner, and daring the whole of that brief but sanguinary struggle fought with the ardor, andj bravery which cbaractames his race, la the long winter evenings, I was in the habit of repairing to his bumble cot, for the purpose of hearing him narrate the principal events of his stormy career. On one occasion he related the fbHowing incident i - “Ton mast know said he, “that after the capture of Chepaltepeo, General Soott deter mined to follow up the advantage thus obtained ,by marching at once upon the Mexican capital. It was necessary, however, that a portion of the troops should remain and keep possession of the captured fortress. The company to which I belonged was among those selected for this purpose. This duty, however, we consid ered a very unpleasant one, inasmuch as wo were allowed to remain inactive, while our companions were winning laurels benciuh tbs walls of the fated city. “We had taken a great many Mexican pris oners. So numerous were they that ire hod scarcely room for them in the garrison . Tho enemy had placed a mine of powder beneath the fort, for the purpose of destroying it should it fall into our possession. When, therefore, they saw that we were going to carry the placet they attempted to ignite the mine, but wows prevented by the prompt arrival of Pillow's column. The mine was placed beneath a room in the western wing of the fort. This apart ment was guarded .by a sentinel, for the pur pose of preventing any one from entering it.— No prisoners were confined there, for fear they might succeed in igniting the mine. "That afternoon, about an hour after the department of the others, I heard a strange noise, which seemed to proceed from the direc tion of the mine. Having mentioned the cir cumstance to three of my companions, we all proceeded to the spot to ascertain the cause.— On oar arrival, a Spectacle met our gn4e that was truly appalling. Lying at the entrance, we saw the sentinel, his bosom covered with wounds. While we were still gazing with hor ror on the mutilated corps, we heard a noise in the room. Bursting open the door, we were about to spring forward, but the spectacle Wo witnessed rooted us to the spot. The trap-door above the mine was open, and standing over it, with a burning torch in his hand, was a Mexi can. A moment’s inspection served to prove the fearful fact that he was insane. His eyes dilated and gleamed with a demoniac light, his face was pale, and a ghastly smile played around his mouth. At his feet lay a small poniard, covered with our comrade's blood.— After a moment’s hesitation, two of Us started forward to seize him, while a third started to alarm the garni son. But before-either of these objects could be accomplished, the maniic Cried out, ‘Hold!’ | We involuntarily paused. Hav ing gazed upon us'for a moment, the Mexican stooped down and placed the burning torch within one foot of the powder. You may im agine what my feelings were when I witnessed this action. A simultaneous exclamation of horror burst from us. As tbe Mexican wit nessed our terror, be laughed wildly, and still holding the torch in the same position, said;— ‘You Americans, I am going to revenge myself on you; if of you move or speak, I will drop this fire on the powder.”' “After this, his speech became wild and dis connected. W e had beard enough, however, to convince us that we were in a critical situation. Retreat we dare not, for it was evident that the Mexican would light the mine should we make the attempt. It would be equally dangerous for us to remain inactive, for the maniac held the torch so near the powder, that had the least spark dropped, we would have been destroyed. “This apartment was entirely isolated from the others, and was never visited save by the sentinels. Our only hope, then, was either to interest the Mexican until, the arrival of the other sentinel, or extinguish the torch. I sug gested the latter to my companions. But how was this to be accomplished? We had pistols, but dare not fire, for fear he might drop the torch into the mine. Our only resort, then, was to strategy. There was a yonng American among us named Halseley. He informed ns that he thought he could succeed in extinguish ing the torch. Having requested us not to move from the spot, he prepared to execute his plan. Our conversation had been maintained in English, so that the Mexican was unable to understand us. During the time occupied by our deliberation, he had stood motionless, look ing upon us in a semi-triumphant manner.— Halseley had a small flask of brandy suspended from his belt. This bo drew forth, and having taken a draught, asked the Mexican to join him. The latter wistfully glanced at it, and hesita ted. -We now thought we discovered our com rade's plan, and awaited with intense anxiety the result. At length the maniac nodded an affirmative. Halseley walked slowly up to tha spot in a confident and friendly manner. "When he had approached within a yard of him, he paused for a moment, as though un willing to advance farther without his permis sion ; the Mexican did not seem to suspect him, but when Halseley again stepped forward, he apparently began to doubt, and glanced fiercely upon him; but he, assumed a look so innocent as to quiet his' incipient feary. The maniac extented his hand for the flask. Halseley han ded it to him, at the same time firmly fixing the cork in tbo bot tle. Tbe Mexican could have opened it, however, by using both hands, hot he was too wary to relinquish the torch, and finding he could not otherwise withdraw it, ha handed it to Halseley, saying, ‘Open !’ Daring nil this time, he still held the torch in the same .position. As soon as Halseley had received tbs flask, and when he had nearly withdrawn the stopper, he suddenly exclaimed in Spanish, ‘Lyk quick at your torch T The maniac tamed, but no sooner was his head averted, than Halseley opened the flask like lightning, and enipted its entire content* on tha torch. The maniac saw the flame flicker, bnt with a demo -1 niacal laugh ho dr- ppsd the torch. It fall upon Rates of Advertising. J itostss. t iftnrrßs. 1J *wtw# $3,00 . s<,so $O,OO 5,00 0,50 0,00 *,OO - 8,50 10,00 ~ - - O,i»V lUjV -8.00 9,50 ’ 12,50 16.00 20,80 ; SO,OO ■<* 25,00 85,00 M,O( The Powder Mine* BT W4NDSBXB*