Huntingdon journal. (Huntingdon, Pa.) 1843-1859, September 13, 1843, Image 1
_ ‘ rj tj T p t j g, 1 1 -1\ :t • , 0 pc Detioteri to etnerat ihattltnence, abtxtlititng,a3oltttco,Etteratitre, Mloralitg, nrto, *rititcrti, famitittture, Rintmcn ciit, scc., &r. N9hcollo `QrtaZIUD 1.17111198,11 D IT THEODORE 11, CREMER, wcE)Enu&:3., "Jotinwax" will •be published every Wed nesday morning, at $2 00 a year, if paid in advance, and if not paid within six months, $2 50. No eubscriptien received for a shorter period than ex months, nor any paper discontinued till all ar rearages are paid. Advertisements not exceeding one square, will he inserted three times for $1 00, and for every subse quent insertion 25 cents. If no definite orders are given as to the time an advertisement is to be continu ed, it will be kept in till ordered out, and charged ac cordingly. W. 11. IVIoRmq, .It, M. KIRKERIDE WILLIAM H. MORRIS&CO. tnia)IWEIVA S A a/WV:PAM@ AND Commission Merchants, HAVRE DE GRACE, MARYLAND ztAVIN G taken the large and commodi ous Wharf and Warehouse situated di rectly on the Canal Basin, are now prepared to receive consignments of goods fo r tran shipment or sale. A general assortment of Groceries, &c., coasisting of Loaf and Brown Sugars, Molasses, Sperm Oil and Candles. White, 14ellow and Brown Soaps, Fish, Salt, Plaster, &c., together with all kinds of Spices and Faints—and alas ready made Clothing will be kept constantly on hand and disposrd of on city terms or exchanged for country pro duce, Coal, &c. April 19. 1543.-3 m. THE GIRARD LIFE INSURANCE, asrannauv aluo tantaTe VIDEITAITT 0 P ILa D lb 11.11.1. Office No. 159 Chesnut Street. Make insurances of lives, grant anninuities and Endowments, and receive and execute Trusts. Rates for insuring $lOO, on a single life. Age. Ycir 1 year. Fur 7 years. For life. annu :11y. au .wally. 20 60 91 90 95 $1 77 30 1 31 1 36 2 36 40 1 69 1 83 3 20 50 196 209 460 • 60 4 35 4 91 7 00 ExAmPLx i—A person aged SO years, by paying the company 81 31 would secure to his family or heirs *lOO, should he clit in cu~ year—se for.A...n..snsh.,,years, tie se cures to them 91000 should he die during the 7 years—or fur 923 60 paid annually du ring life lie provides for th:m 1000 dollars whenever he dies— for 865 SO they would re ceive 5000 dollars, should lie die in one year. - Further particulars respecting Life Insur ance, Trnsts, or management of Estates and property confided to them, may be had at the office. _ B W. RICHARDS. Pi esident. INO. F. JAMES, Actuary. PhWa. April 19, 1843.-6 m. DAY, GERRISH 86 CO. GENERA L PRODUCE, Commission mul Forwardin g alerchlllllll. Granite Stores, lower aide of Race sired, on the Delaware, Philadelphta. inuEsPECTFULLY inform their friends giaa and the merchants generally, that they have taken the large Wharf and Granite Front Stores, known as Ridgeway's Stores, immediately below Race street, in addition to their old wharf, where they will con tinue the Produce commission business, as also to receive.and forward goods to all points on the Juniata, and North and West branches 'of, the Susquehanna Rivers. via. the Tide %Miter, grid Pennsylvania, and Schuylkill and Union canals. This establishment has many advantages over any other in the city in point of room and convenience for the accommodation of boats and produce. Being one of the largest wharves on the Delaware, and the stores extending from Water street to Delaware Front. Five or six boats may at the s•one time be loading and discharging, The usual facilities will be given on all consignments entrusted to their charge, which will be thank fully received and meet with prompt atten eon. Salt, Fish and Plaster, constantly . on band and for sale at the lowost market price References, Philadelphia. J. Ridgway,Esq. J Brock, son & Co Jacob Lex & Son Waterman & Osbourn Mulford & Alter Scull & Thompson Wilson, Seiger & Bro E Etting & Bro bray, Barcrott & C o Morris, Patterson Sc co Lower & Barrow. Lewidown. & I Milliken A & G Blimyer ' Patterson & Horner J McCoy, Esq. . , iVateratreet. Stewart & Horrell E W VVike, Esq, February 8,1843.-6 n). BOOTS AND SHOES, Leghorn mut Straw Bonnets, PALDILEAF AND LEGHORN HATS, Merchants and others from Huntingdon and adjacent places, are respectfully reques ted to call and examine the stock of the above kinds of goods, which is full and extensive. and which will be sold at prices that will give satisfaction to purchasers, at No. 168 Market, street south-east corner of sth street, Philadelphia. GEO. W. & LEWIS B. TAYLOR. Pila. Feb. 6,1843.-6 mo. Job Printing. N EATLY EXECUTED .11' THIS 11,110 E. r.t`t".. c Aa'UM.I2f)C.EDSZV E) UPeo.. 0 6...WLP: - .PUEISX2LI3=IZILI a.a341€33. zonTnT. A Noon Scene, • PUZE POEM-Br W. C. DRIANT. TiOkuiet A ugita noon is come, A sin:ill...rota, And mark you soft white clouds, that rest Above our vale, a moveless throng; The cattle on the mountain's breast, Enjoy the grateful shadow long. Oh how unlike those merry hours In sunny June, when earth laughs out, When the fresh winds make love to flowers, And woodlands sing and waters shout. When in the grass sweet voices talk, And strains of tiny music swell From every moss cup of the rock, From every nameless blossom's bell. But now, a joy too deep for sound, A peace no other season knows, Hushes the heavens, and wraps the ground—. The blessing of supreme repose. Away ! I will not be to-day, The only slate of toil and care ! Away from desk and dust away! I'll be as idle as the air. Beneath the open sky abroad, Among the plants and breathing things, The sinless, peaceful works of God, I'll share the calm the season brings. Come then, in whose soft eyes I see The gentle cleaning of the heart, One day amidst the woods with thee, From men and all their cares apart. And where upon the meadow's breast, The shadow of the thicket lies, The blue wild flowers thou gatherest Shall glow yet deeper near thine eyes. Come—when amid the calm profound I turn those gentle eyes to seek, They, like the lovely landscape round, Innocence and peace shall speak. Rest here, beneath the unmoving shade, And on the silent valleys gaze, Winding and widening till they fads In yon soft ring of summer gaze. Th 7et g rtli ir lingr47: .agre Z A; circled from the lifeless rock. One tranquil mount the scene o'erlooks— There the hush'd winds their Sabbath keep, While a near hum from bees and brooks, Come faintly like the breath of sleep. Well might the gazer dream, that when, Worn with the struggle and the strife, And heart-sick at the wrongs of men, The good forsake the scenes of life. Like this deep quiet, that awhile Lingers the lovely landscape o'er, Shall he the peace whose holy smile, Welcomes him to a happier shore. MICICELLANMOI7I3. Mesmerism and Niggerism. We are rejoiced (says the N. 0. Picayune) to be able to give at last the true elucidation of Mes- merism. Hello, nigger!' suddenly exclaimed Sam Jon sing, calling after another dark gentleman who was turning a distant corner. ' Hello you!' shouted Pete Gumbo in reply. Wu, how is you, Sam l' said Pete, when the two met and shook hands. all right,' said Sam. Look heals, Pete: yous heard ob dis Mesermerism Well I has, Sam,'--and Pete immediately look- ed wise. .Wa—well, mat's it all aboutl' . Sam,' said Pete, very seriously, we must all be cautious in 'proaching de confused sciences.— Mesermerism is a science as yet in do infant stage of conalvalescence. Now—now—e'pose I putyou to sleep an you tell me whar a boz ob spice is hid in the ground .Wal. 'Dot's Mesermerism 'Del.'s it .Dat's Mesermerism .Wal, l'ete,' said Sam, .s'pose I seen abox ob gold in do ground an don't toll you a single word 'bout it I' .Wal.' 'Know wet dat is l' 'No.' 'Dot's Niggerism!' CABBAGES vs. CAPS,..' Old woman' said a drun ken fellow who had staggered to the closet for a cold supper, where did you get those cabbages. They are so tarnal stringy, I can't eat them.' 0, my gracious!' exclaimed the lady, if that stupid fellow aint eating all my caps that I put in starch in the clout!' Love.—. , What is love Clara 1" said Frank the other night, as he sat by the side of his sweet-heart. "Love! Frank, I hardly know what it is; but suppose it must be getting married, and kissing little babies." Frank fainted.. A woman's heart is like a Addle—it requires a beau to pis}• upon it. ` _ Selected by a LADY, for the 4, HUNTINGDON JOURNAL," and published at her request. CM CI) Za 05 Li_ Ca '2...W man.u7-. PART I. The interest recently excited upon the subject of mental affection, and more especially in reference to a lamentible event, which has deprived society of an active and valuable member, induced The writer to search for some notes of a singular story which was related to him several years ago, and in which a peculiar phase of insanity was illustrated by its most painful results. He has endeavored, in the following pages, to bring a tale before the reader.— It is right that he should mention that all who could possess any personal knowledge of its details (the original narrator included) having long since ceased from among us.' You have lived under four English sovereigns, and the number of your fellow-subjects who can add another king to the list is small. lam one of that small number, for I was born in the year 1757, and am now eighty-three. You need not on that account hesitate at passing me the bottle. I'll tell you something which was brought to my mind by this straggling old inn, with its long gloo- my passage and terrible staircase. lam not at all sorry we decided on sleeping here, for it seems a naughty night to swim in, but there is a place near the top of the house which I wish I had not seen. Help yourself, and stir the fire into a blaze ; I don't like even to think of the story in the dark. When I was sixteen, I believed myself intensely in love with a very pretty cousin of mine, whose Christian name was Emily. She was exactly that sort of a cousin with who'll I suppose, all boys fall in love—she was three years older than myself, and not only very pretty, but very merry and very kind hearted, und, in spite of all my endeavors, her laugh ing face, with a quantity of black curls falling about it, MS perpetually coming between my eye and the Delphin Juvenal, the fact of her being miles away from my school not at all interfering with her perti nacious hauntings. I was exceedingly outra geous when I was informed of her intended mar riage to a country clergyman, about ten Yeats her senior, and I thought Mrs. Algernon Parke, (that was the name she took, poor thing *rote me lec her in her married state, +a bed become a mother and I had bi.;Ciibitre that I could make up my mind to visit her. journey was then accidental, but when I entered her house she gave me such a sunshiny welcome, and, in spite of the child crawling about upon the rug, she looked so like the Emily of other days, that I reproached myself for my delay, and determined to make up for it by spending as much of my time as possible at Rectory. Her husband, the Reverend Algernon Parke, was ono of those men whom you cannot help liking, and yet with whom it is impossible to be very intimate, He was tall, handsome, and aristocratic in appear ance; he was an accomplished scholar, and had travelled much, and his general information was, or seemed to a youth of nineteen very extensive. But he was an extraordinary proud man, and though nothing could bo kinder or more hospitable than his manner, I was forced to feel that ho rather endured that sought conversation with me. Indeed, I have often thought that I may have attributed this neglect on his part to wrong causes, for the talk of a person of my age and character must in all proba bility have been rubbishing enough, especially in those days, when young gentlemen were not fur nished with a smattering of every kind of knowl edge. However, Mr. Parke always gave me a cor dial welcome to his house, and while I remained there, we saw little of each other except at social hours. There was excellent sporting of two or three kinds in the neighborhood, and though I do voted a great deal of time to my cousin, I reserved a tolerable proportion for my dogs, and guns, and fishing tackle. Altogether I found the Rectory a delightful place. The house itself had little to recommend it be- yond its size and its situation, for it was one of those ungainly structures which were reared when every thing requisite for building was cheap—architectu ral skill excepted. I told you that this inn remin ded me of the the place. The Rectory was a very tall and a very spacious house, full of winding stair cases and intricate passages, doors opening where they were least expected, and long galleries without an opening except at each end. The rooms were chiefly lofty and airy, yet there was a sensation of dulness, and even desolation, connected with them, which often became oppressive, especially on bleak afternoons. The inmates of the house had of course , by practice, acquired a tolerable acquaintance with the apartments in use, which constituted about a third of the mansion,—a stranger gradually ascer tained the nearest way from his bed-room to the dining-parlor and drawing-room,—but of the rela tive situations of the unoccupied chambers, I doubt if any person wore aware. Two or three servants had their respective and different ways of proceed ing on the rare occasion of having to explore those regions, and I myself, who had the pride of geomet rical knowledge volunteered to map out the various stories, was finally balled, and forced to relinquish the task, by the multiplicity of enormous closets which crossed the landing-places, and isolated rooms upon which one came by accident, and failed to discover a second time. I revenged myself upon the edifice by defining it en 111 Noble grociermi of IntnicatO Ankitseture. You may think I am dealing lighly with a narra tive which I have described as a painful one, but am rather endeavoring to give you an idea of the successive effects which the scene and the incidents produced upon myself. They have receded far enough from me to allow me to detail them with much more clearness than I can bring to the des cription of events of the last ten years. I returned to the Rectory as often as my college life would permit, and it was upon my third visit there that I perceived a strange change in Algernon Parke. His manner to mo was warm and cordial as be fore, but the alteration was in his conduct to Emily. Did I mention to you that his behaviour to her had previously been marked by the most sedulous atten tion, but that there was an absence of fondness of affection which I had expected to see, and which her youth and extreme beauty, coupled with her admi ring devotion to him, naight.kave elicited from even a prouder and colder man* Parke t In short, I hardly knew whether to be vexed or pleased at not ,finding Algernon adoring the lovely girl whom I thought rerfection. We are curious creatures, and the feelings alternated in my heart until I was almost ashamed of my exertions to define, and so to fix, my sentiments upon the subject. But new all was al tered, and in the place of the calm attentive regard which Algernon had hitherto manifested towards his wife, there had arisen a lover-like ardour of anxie ty and tenderness, which kept him constantly at her side—a perpetual watch for every word she uttered, over ever: , nfovement she made—an untiring, un ceasing homage, which, as it appeared to me, would have better suited the brief glowing courtship of some young Italian musician, inspired by his love, his art, and his skies, than the married state of an English clergyman of mature age and reserved hab its. The phenomenon puzzled me beyond measure. I sought for ordinary reasons for it, in vain. I had, of course, been favored, in my time, with explana tions of the curious influence over the husband with which the honors of maternity invested the wife.— Itis true, had a second time added to her family, and two more beautiful childreh, than the little Louisa and Henry I'orke I have never men; but the dr votion &Algernon to his wife was so un reremabl: intense that even the mysterious agency in questiol, taxed to its fullest extem, was Mau& cient te ,beruing tonerds her. In esdiita./k‘med to seek ;traelninced, ,kept that ho pqrt_m an self, with amiable self-complacency of youth;Taltri bated this to my own enlarged and edifying habits of discussion. One thing I observed—he spoke with far more rapidity than upon former visits. The children were very lovely. Louisa, the el der, whom I had seen crawling on the rug on my first visit to the Rectory, was now a merry little sylph of four years old, an infantile copy of her beautiful mother's features, but with a profusion of golden hair, and with deep blue eyes. Her ringing laugh was always ready to welcome me—l was her decided favorite, friend, and confident. She loved me, I believe very sincerely, but she worshipped the dogs which were invariably my companions. There affectionate attention to her were her delight, and the figure of the wild little fairy, tugging laugh ingly at the cars or tail of the wistful but uncom plaining Ponto or Sancho, is fresh as if sixty years had not divided us. Henry, the boy, was a year younger than his sis ter, and a contrast to her in everything but beauty. His grave-eyed meekness suited his appearance well; and his tranquillity, especially when taken under the patronage of the high spirits of Louisa, was very winning. He, too, was a great ally of the dogs; but whereas Miss Louisa's pleasure was in exciting them into frolics kindred with her own, ber brother loved to lie for hours with one animal for a pillow, while the head of the other rested in his lap. You are at my mercy here, and must bear with my miniature painting—it is all part of the picture. The fondness of my cousin for her beautiful chil dren was excessive, and rivalled that of Algernon for herself ; but it was so natural and graceful that I, who was at an ago when to the foolish eye of a boy the earnestness of affection is not always pleasing, not could but be charmed with the love manifested to- wards them by Emily. Algernon's conduct to the children was, however, inexplicable. He would stand gazing at them for long periods, with looks of affection and delight; but he invariably recoiled from their contact or approach, and in a marked manner shunned the morning and evening kiss with . which they had been accustomed to salute him.— Once, when Emily suddenly pressed the face of her boy to that of its father, he turned deadly pale, and hastily left the room. She never repeated the ex periment—its failure was perhaps the only thing in which for many months Algernon had crossed her wishes: his devotion continued unabated. PART 11. My fourth visit—it was my lasi—was prefaced by a slight circumstance, to which I paid no atten tion until subsequent events caused me to reconsider every link in their chain. I wrote from Oxford to announce my coming; and, as I had often done be fore, I addressed my letter to my little friend Louisa, who could not, of course, trace even a syllable of its contents, but in whose name her mother had some times been accustomed to reply. I thought no more of the trifling playfulness, until the answer came, written by Algernon himself. His invitation was warm as usual, but, to my surmise, the follow lag postcript was added "Why do you write to one in every respect so far beneath you ?" I was much amused with this curious piece of didactic remonstrance, and was soon at the door of the Rectory. Algernon came out to meet nie, and seemed anxious to speak to me before any of the servants should approach. He gave hasty orders for the care of my travelling boxes, and then. taking my arm, begged me to walk with him into the gar den. I pleaded that I ought first speak to Emily, but lie made some plausible excuse, and led me through a shrubbery. Suddenly turning upon me, he said in a strange, harsh voice— This is an odd atrair—is it not 'l' What is 'l—what do you mean V Alt !—true, true—you haven't heard !—Why, we've lost Miss Parke.' Good heavens! you don't mean—you can't mean Louisa?' I said. , Ay, I mean her !' he replied, contorting his mouth into a dreadful smile. bleat!—dead! I am—why not have told me —why did you allow nie to intrude on you I gasped out, hardly knowing whether to express as tonishment or sympathy, so—strange was his man• No intrusion—no intrusion !' ho cried, in a high, but husky voice,—. no intrusion at all. No—and she's not dead either—that's tho beat of it, as it seems to me. Lost, and not dead, Mr. Parke ! For Heaven's sake, tell me what all this means !' / tell you :—/P said he, very coldly, but, in stantly altering his manner, said, am wrong-- you are my guest. At dinner, then, if you please, I shall have much pleasure in answering any question you may ask.' He turned upon his heel, and nem ally ran from me. I was too much stupified to fol low him for some moments, but when I did I believe my paco was as rapid as his own. A domestic, however, appeared at the end of the shrubbery, and stopped me. Oh sir! we suppose master has told you come. thing.' Yes, yes, Anderson ; Miss Louisa—he says she is lost. What is it all ?—quick !' It's all true, sir—she is lost, and the grief has turned master's head.' Grief?' I repeated, in much perplexity. I pro ceeded to question the servant, who told me that, about five days betbre, and in the middle of the af rgfltrkliekliekelifeiTeuseTiittee-fftitri of course supposed that she had strayed into some of the unused apartments, access to which, however had been usually prevented since the children had been old enough to wander. 0n examination, it wits found that to one floor only could the child have gained admission, the doors leading to the other floors being all locked, and the keys being actually hanging in Algernon's study. That floor had been searched until the searchers were weary; shouting, calling, and even firing a pistol, had been cove r; tried, on the chance of Louisa's having fallen as- We were standing in a large and low-roofed room, leep in some mysterious corner. All was in vain. lighted by a single window, and entirely empty.— The researches outside the house had been equally It was th e last room, es we believed on the upper useless. Gates, neither over nor under which ri flaw. 1 have said the house was a very lofty one ; child could climb nor crawl, cut off all egress front and as I stood at the window I was struck by its the garden, and it was proved that they had not been distance from the ground below. I turned away, opened. No gipsies or other suspicious persons and the next moment one of my dogs came leaping had approached the house ; and the agonizing con- into the room, manifesting the utmost joy at seeing elusion to all exertions was, that Louisa was lost. me. It suddenly occurred to me to pitt him in quest I found upon questioning Anderson further, that of a scent—and wild as was the idea, in the excited Mr. Parke had led the servants on their quest, and state of my feelings, I made hiM the necessary sig nal. -In an instant ha was at work, sniffling in all had been as energetic in his pursuit as became a the delighted energy of his race. Mice he crossed father to be in so dreadful an emergency. Had the the room, and twice recrossed it, and returned to my domestics no conjectures of any kind ? Anderson said they had none. And Mrs. Parke ? feet, as if wondering at the new task I had set him. I entered the house, and in the drawing-room I saw that he could discover nothing, and was about found Emily—but how changed from the sunshiny to retire, when the dog uttered a cry, and clung to me in manifest terror. What he saw or felt, I know being I hod left her a few weeks before ! She was pale as ashes, and her beautiful black hair hung not to this hour; but I believe there are secrete, wildly about her face. She was obviously under dreadful secrets in stature, which should make the the influence of extreme terror. In her arms she wisest and best of us tremble. I gazed in wonder, held her son, of whom oho appeared resolved not to when the good hound, disengaging himself front relinquish her hold for a moment. On my entrance, me, rushed with a furious yell towards the opposite she glanced nervously round, and Instead of rising wall. It was of boards, and I could trace no sign or speaking, she clasped the child convulsively to of a door or opening; but what Was that to me ? her breast, and looked in my face with such a pile- I desired Anderson to fetch me a chisel and hammer, sue expression that I turned in pain from her gaze. while I ran fdr a crow-bar, which I had seen in one lam so glad that you have come ! she murmur- of the lower apartment. ed' the tears rolling from her eyes. In a fbw-minutes I re-entered the room—but A terrible thought Caine odor me at that momeht, ghastly tenants were there before me. If the silty but I indignantly rejected it. Algernon entered years which have followed that hideous moment hastily, and again I saw that convulsive clasping of could be made six hundred, it could not pass from the child by the mother. He spoke with his usual my recollection. A large and gaping chasm ap cordiality, and invited me to retire for the purpose i peered in the wall, opening as it scented, into a black of dressing. I assented; and he conducted me to abyss which the eye could not fathom. But eyes my apartment,—apparently resolved not to leave had fathomed it, and in that gm their intelligence me for a moment. This constant attendance he was lost for ever. Emily Parke had been dragged pursued for the remainder of the day, vigilantly pre from her bed to the edge of that hideous pit, and the venting my holding conversation with Emily, who fierce grasp of her husband was upon her wrist, indeed sat through the long hours in a state of coin while his other hand pointed down the dreadful well; parative stupor, but never for one instant parting into which he had flung some blazing substance.— with the child. As night drew on that tenable The mother's eye had followed its fiery career down thought returned : and at length its pressure became down—down, until it rested, glaring brightly. unbearable. I pleaded indisposition, and begged At the bottom of that pit Omni then an untold leave to go early to rest. Algernon followed me to . . mystery of that strange house) lay two little corpses. my room ; and no I went in, I observed that the key One had lain there for days--the other had newly was outside the door. I took it quietly from the lock, and into the room. Parke watched my =commit, been hurled thither—both the children hod gone but made no remark, and loft me to solitude and down alive, as their father afterwards exultingly d. that thought. dared. There lay Louisa and her brother, eighty I had now leisure to weigh the occurrences of feet below the chamber where an Idiot was staring the day ; and as I did so my mind underwent alter- ateMaaulel nate visitations of etupifying bewilderment and her- Why is a guide-board like a hypocritical preach. rowing excitement. But I will not trouble you with er ? Because he points out the road for other folks stele tban a rapid detail of what followed. I fir to go, but never takes in hini-elf. .c.attaDa. syc.ll). cEi®® tened until I heard the door of Algernon's bed-room close, and the lock turn. Knowing that he Lad then retired for the night, I stole softly down to the apartment occupied by Anderson. In reply to my whisper, he opened the door, and seemed relieved by finding that I was his visitor. Anderson,' said I get me those key. which you said hung iu your master's study.' He looked startled; but promised to do so, and bring them to my room. I returned as softly as possible, and waited his arrival. In a few minutes he came to the door. .Sir, they are not there now.' My sensations now became maddening; I paced the room furiously, and at length sat down on the bed is a state of positive fever. Thu home was still as the tomb, and the only sound I heard wus the deep tone of the church clock, which struck at long intervals. My frenzied restlessness finally urged me to go and seek for the keys myself, and taking the candle, I stepped stealthily forth fur that purpose. As I reached the foot of the stairs, and was peering through the darkness in quest of the study-door, one long and frightful scream rang through the upper part of the house. I rushed up stairs like a guilty thing, and at the first turning I suddenly encoun tered Algernon. He was half-dressed, and held a In God's name, toll me whose scream was that ! I exclaimed. It was nothing,' he Gold. 11-, do you over rend the Bible?' , Somethues—sometimen; but that scream !' 'Have you ever read,' he asked very sternly, the fearful book with which it ends--tho Book of the Revelations 1' 'I have,' said I; but Mr. Parka I insist an know. ins--• .Do you remember what is said there about the Dorromuss PIT being opened for a little while? —the Bottomless Pit—ha! ha!' And he rushed from me, and entered hie own room, double locking the door. I, too, returned to my own apartment;and watch ed intently. But there was no further alarm, and at least the blessed morning came ; never was it ed welcome. As the light began to render objects half visible, there came a low tap at my door. It was Anderson. Sir,' said he in faltering accents, I thought I would go again and search fs 7 I snatched them from him, and motioned him to follow me. The light was now come upaa us, as I unlocked the door leading to the unused apartments on the floor on which I stood. Need I weary you by spying, that perhaps such a search, was never made for concealed gold or escaped captive as that I made through those dreary rooms, and those above them. There was yet a third floor to search ; and through that I searched in like manner, and in vain I hardly know, ideed, what I wds expecting to dia..