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THE EXPIRING YEAR. ETA. MORSE. To the fair mind the closing hours of day Ne'er pass without a thorough winnowing of The seeds through which their mystic mazes silt, Much less the last sad hours of this old year. 'TIS not that meditation drear and sad, Should always crowd upon the shrinking And thus embitter all the days of life fis not that so-called dread eternify o«*yer present to the mind should be Or that the singing birds of hope should fly, Scared by the phantoms fancy conjures up. Man would belalse to nature and himself— To God, as well—should he thus murdertime, By constant dreaming on life to be. Andyet, and yet, a sadness sometimes comes At this sweet hour when joy more welcome were— When we do wish the winter rose to bloom When we do wish the sun a brighter beam. Those hallow'd names—those names of friends once dear, Despite ourselves, upon our mera'ries crowd. 'Tis now that we remember those who late Have passed away—a husband or a wife— A son, or daughter, or a prattling child— A sister or a brother once so dear,— Our thoughts go back to that remembered time In early life, when we th«* sports began, Or, haply pressed with care or toil, we joined Liie's burdens to relieve or hand .n hand 'Mid winter's blasts and snows severe, we braved It all, to gain the goal of our desires— The school-house on the hill we used to climb,— 'Tis now that we remember those we knew, With many more who on life's Journey sped, Before ourtinie—lite's journey to that land Immortal, where we all must soon repair. Who hath not lost a friend ?—a friend most dear? And who so base his virtues to forget These are the mem'ries then that weigh the heart, As we the expiring hours ofthis briefyear Now count and as we write, at close ofday, The strange, sad news comes clicking o'er "the wires Which tells us of his unexpected death— That he whose youth!ul voice ott cast a smile, Or ott in sorrow, when in riper years, Breathed the soft whisp'nngs of a hope ot heaven, Is gone—gone to that rest which waits us all. Ah, yes!—the messenger arrives, nor yet— Nor yet doth he a warning give of what The lightly, halt-sealed package may con tain— With what sad news the missive now is fraught. Again we read those lines,—and is ii thus A brother!—yes, a brother once so dear, Hath gone to his long rest beyond the tomb. Was it an angel then that spoke to us The solemn sound we even seem to feel, And now it this sadsound we heard aright, And rightly »ve interpret that sweet voice, It comes to us trom yonder spheres, where oft Before in that sweet»pot—in thatbrightland That h^ppy land that knows no partinghour— No closing day, and no expiring year— That land of beauty and ot periect bliss, Hath gone a 6eraph there lor aye to rest. In that bright train do we behold a host Who've gone belore. Then wherefore sadness now?— Thefinalhour of this expiring year But, ah! 'tis pleasant sometimes e'en to weep, And sorrow oitenfindsrelief in tears. And must we then unbidden grief restrain It cannot be. Let other hearts rejoice— Let other tcngues their joyous tidings tell Their cup of^oy may even oveiflow, And yet 'tis fitting some should oiten weep— That those whose pathways are beset with thorns, And seldom yet have they with flowers been strewn, Should thus reflect—should thus these scenes review, That they may riper grow in wisdom's ways, As each retiring day or year brines them A day's, or year's march nearer to the end Of lite's short iourney here on earth below, And nearer, hence, to that bright Heaven above. River Falls, Wis., Dec. 31,1875. A BOX OF DIAMONDS. [From the Illustrated Sporting and Dramatic News.] Well, as I said before, as it's Christ mas Eve, I don't mind telling you the story. It's a good many years ago nowHe since it happened, before the days of the mail companies and Glasgow clippers, when a man had to make his will and set his house in order before putting his foot on board a ship and when once you had passed the Eddystone, it was almost a hundred to one against you ever setting foot again in old England. However, here I am, laid up like an old hulk for the re mainder of my days, with nothing to fall back upon but my memories of the past and sad memories some of them are, you may stake your life. I was a young man then, and had been knocked about the Brazils and the West Indies—every where in South America, I may say, for I believe I made one of the first parties of Englishmen to cross the Andes Valpa raiso to Buenos Ayres, no light feat in those days, I can tell you. I was a doc tor by profession, and many a time, by the exercise of my professional skill, I have saved my own scalp among the sav age Indians of the Pampas. I am not going, however, to tell you anything about the Indians now—some other time, perhaps—a slice of lemon Thank yon —and sugar that'll do. Now for my story: As 1 said before, I had been knocking around a good deal in South America, and shipped as doctor on board of an old tab of a trader leaving Rio Janeiro, home ward bound for Bristol, with a full cargo and a couple of cabin passengers. The Good Hope was commanded, by Captain McFarlane, a hoary.headed old Scotchman. John Williamson, first mate, and a crew of thirteen hands, all told, made up] of Englishmen, Dutchmen, Swedes, and a couple of niggers, one of whom was the steward's mate. We sail ed on the 14th of December, a blazing hot day, with scarcely a breath of wind to fill the sails but the captain was anxious to get away, as Yellow Jack jwas in port, and he had no mind to Keep knocking his heels in quarintine any long er than he could Help. We had, however, hardly got clear of Raza Islands when a' breeze sprung up, and we were soon bowl ing along as fast as an old ship could be made to step along, all studding sailsjset, and, so far, a clean bill ofhealth on boiard. On the 21st, however, I was sitting for'ard, getting a breath of fresh air,'and smoking my pipe, when Pete, the stew ard's mate, came up and summoned me aft to see one of our two cabin passengers, Mr. Win. Grierson, who had been very unwell during the night, and began to be afraid that he was in for a touch of the fever. I went aft and saw him, but there did not appear to be any very alarming symptoms just at present, so I prescibed some cooling medicine and left him. He was, however, worse the next day, and the next, yet it was not a case of yellow fever, and there was something in the symptoms that, I am not ashamed to say, fairly baffled me. On the 24th he was so much worse that I began to be seriously alarmed, and communicated my fears to the captain. •'It is not the yellow fever, of that I am sure." "What is it then. Doctor?" "Weli to tell the truth, I can hardly say. Nothing that I can administer seems to do him any good, and he is ev idently sinking rapidly." "Humph?" said the captain, myster ious, to say the least of it. Docs he know of his condition?" The conversation was cut short by the arrival of Pete, who informed us that Mr. Grierson had been seized with a sudden access of pain, and was apparently dying, adding that the patient wished to see me at once and alone. In obedience to the summons I went below, and having shut the cabin door, and administered the nec essary remedies, asked the dying man (for there could be little doubt he was dying) the reason for his wishing to see me. "1 wish to see you. because I feel that I am dying, and I can put off no longer what I wish to say, if it is to be said at all," responded the patient, feebly. "Fetch that box from off the top of my sea-chest, and listen—" I brought it—a small oblong mahogany box—and laid it by his side upon the coverlet, and Mr. Grierson, laying his hand on it, and at the same time detach ing a key from a string|by which it was suspended round his neck, with which his linger played nervously during his re cital, continued: "I am a murderer. Aye! you may stare, and think perhaps my mind is wan dering, but is is the truth. Twenty-five years ago—twenty-five years of misery— I committed the deed which I am now, in the presence of my maker about to con fess. I was a clerk in a banking-house in London, and the facilities and opportu nities for speculation offered me were too much for me to withstand, but circum stances occurred which convinced me that discovery could hardly be much longer delayed, and I was casting about how to make my escape whiie there was yet time. Just at this juncture one of the senior clerks in th.« house had to be sent down to Bristol in charge of a very large sum of money in gold, and I was deputed to accompany him to guard the treasure. In those times matters were differently conducted from what they are in the present day, and we£had to take the money in a box, strongly secured and sealed, with us, by the mail coach, which started from one of the old inns in the city for the west of England. There was a sum of 2,000 guineas in the box, and the idea suggested itself to my mind that if I could become master of such a sum I could get clear away by seme ship leaving Bristol for foreign parts before the bank could become aware of the fact of my es cape. But how to get rid of my compan ion. Briefly: for I feel my strength sinking, and I must hurry forward to the end of what I have to tell you. I pro cured poison, which I poured into the leathern bottle, in which I carried my re freshment on the road, and, watching my opportunity, offered it to him to drink. sank back into a corner of the coach, and in a few minutes was a corpse. Emptying the remaining contents of the bottle out of the window, and placing the dead man in such an atitude as would lead people to suppose he had died naturally' in his sleep, I hailed the guard with every simulation of trepidation, and stopped the coach. The outside passengers got down, and a scene of great excitement occurred. At the next village, the local doctor, who as it happened was a man of no great skill, was sent for and dexter ously insinuating to him that I had known my companion to have suffered from the heart disease of some years' standing, with many compliments to the profes sional acumen of the doctor himself, that worthy was not long in pronouncing it a case of sudden death from disease of the heart: and I was suffered, in view of my representations as to the urgency of my mission to Bristol, to proceed on my journey. This is the bare outline of my crime, the details would only weary you and my time is short, I succeeded in leaving England and reaching Brazile, where I have amassed a fortune. That fortune is within the box which lies be neath my hand," He paused, for a violent spasm seized him, and it was not for some time that I could recover him sufficiently to enable him to proceed. Raising himself in bed with difficulty, he unlocked the box, and disclosed an array of unset diamonds, whose brilliancy fairly dazzled me. "Here are $50,000 worth of diamonds," proceeded Mr. Grierson. "I have conver ted all my fortune into these gems, and these I intrust to your care. Take this box at once to your cabin and return to me for your instructions as. to the dispos al of the contents." I hesitated but he was imperative. "Not a word. I am dying fast, and I implore you to accede to my last re quest." I took the box, locked it, and left the cabin. AsJ opened the.door, I ran up against Fete! r.' "What the devil are you doing here "Nothing, Massa." I passcdjon alone the main deck tow- ard my cabin forward, and on my way I met Captain McGarlane. "How is your patient, Doctor "Dying I fear. He cannot last long." I passed on, and, depositing the box in a place ofsafety, returned. Grierson was rapidly sinking, and in a few broken sen tences he instructed me as to the dispos al of his property. Ten thousand pounds was to go the bankers, Messrs. Holt & Wardley. of Lombard street, and the balance to the family of the murder ed man, whose name was given me, and whose representative I pledged my word to do my best to discover. Finally, binding me over not to dis close what I had just been told, except to the parties named by him in his dying request, Grierson relapsed into a partial insensibility, from which I in vain at tempted to rouse him, and before half an hour had elapsed the unhappy man washad no more. Going on deck communicated the news to the captain, who gave the nec essary directions as to the funeral, which took place the next day and once more we were plowing our way through the blue waters as if nothing had happened. I was an altered man. The strange commission with which I had been intrust ed weighed on my mind. Over and over again in the stillness of the night, I open ed the box of diamonds, and gazed on the brilliancy of the gems. What proof was there that they were not mine! the box, with its brass plate bearing the owner's name, could be destroyed in a moment, and then—. Over and over again the devil whispered to me, but, thank God, I re sisted the temptation. I would fulfill the trust confided to me, and 1 prayed fer vently for strength to resist -the evil promptings of my baser self. One day I sat alone, the box unlocked on my table, gazing with an irreppressi ble curiosity, which I was unable con trol, on the jewels, which scintillated with a devilish luster before my dazed vision. The door suddenly opened, and Captain McFarlane entered. "I beg your pardon, Doctor. Didn't know you were engaged." But before I could close the box or reply his eye had caught the shimmer of the brilliants. "Halloo! what's herd" With a firm hand he closed the lid and read the name upon "the plate. Innocent as I was, involuntary stung by the re membrance of what my thoughts had been but a, moment before. I quailed be fore his eye. "I know all now—that man was poison ed—consider yourself my prisoner." I endeavored to explain. I told every thing as it had occurred, and I appealed to the captain to believe the story, or at least to await its reasonable confirmation, before acting on his rash conclusion. He was incredulous. One concession I ob tained, and that was that all should be kept secret till our arrival in poit, and that I should not be publicly branded as a- suspected murderer before the crew. A fortnight passed away, a weary fort night, during which I repeatedly endeav ored to shake the conclusion at which Captain McFarlane had so hastily arrived. Suddenly, without a moment's warning, the captain fell sick. I begged him to accept my services. "Never you shall not poison me, too." Davs passed, and the captain got worse and worse he babbled in his delirium of poison, and stolen jewels and night and day I watched at his bedside, jealously excluding everybody who might per chance overhear his ravings and rise up in judgement against me. One day the crisis came. A few hours would determine all. If he died 1 was once more a free man, free from the im putation of afoul crime, free to carry but my honest intention of fulfilling the dead man's wishes, but also free from the dread of exposure which to me would be worse as a bare suspicion than death itself. If the captain could but sleep his life would be saved. How easy to make that sleep his laEt—the devil was at my elbow, the laudanum in mv hand. But at my sorest need the strength to resist was given me. I poured out the proper dose, and advanced toward the cot in which the captain lay. A strange light was in his eyes. Rising suddenly, and throwing the bed-clothes off his tall, lean, sinewy form, he half leaped from the bed andcions seizing the box of diamonds, which he had throughout his ilness never allowed from beneath his pillow, in one hand, he shrieked— "Never, never! Will you allow me to be poisoned like a dog Help some of you." The effort was too much: clasping the box to his bosom he fell back on his pillow—a convulsive shudder passed over his frame—he was dead. I don't pretend to analyze my feelings at that moment. My reason well-nigh deserted me. I did not stop to think of the possible consequences. Snatching the box from the relaxing grasp of the corpse I rushed from the cabin and fell over Pete, tha negro, who was just out side. "See to the captain he is dead," and I sped onward but the powerful negro had his hand upon my arm. "Massa Doctor not go so quick—Massa Grierson dead, Cap'n die, too—Doctor got his box of jewels. Give up dat box," and the negro seized me in his grasp and struggled with me for the possession' of the box. At that moment the strength of a lion was in me I wrestled with my assailant, and. freeing myself from his grasp, made for the companion stairs. I had reached the deck, with what intention I knew not, but Pete was again with me, wrestling with the strength of a demon for the pos session of the prise. The ship was rolling heavily in a dead calm, and, as we fell together, we slid across the deck towards the ice scuppers. With a superhuman effort 1 freed my right arm, and, with all my force, threw the box over the quarter-deck railing. It flew open as it fell into the sea, and" Sfi the moonlight the diamonds fell like a shower of falling stars into the black water. The negro, seeing my movement, left his hold of me, and sprang forward to catch the box as it fell. A heavy lurch, and I was alone on the deck. The rapidity with which everything had taken place seemed to have stunned me, and deprived me of the power to ut ter even one cry for help—Pete and the diamonds were gone forever. I look round—the deck was deserted, save the man at the wheel, who half hid den by the wheel-house, had not seen the struggle. Can I be blamed? I held my tongue. The captain was burried at dawn, and the chief officer took command of the ship. It was clear that Pete had fallen over board, and.no one suspected the share I had in the catastrophe. In due time we arrived at Bristol, and, for my own satisfaction, I instituted the necessary in quiries as to the individuals named by the man Grierson. The bank had long ceased to exist. I trased some vague rumor of a man having died suddenly in a stage coach while passing through an obscure village in Somersetshire, but could never obtain any clue to his representatives. It was, perhaps, as well that I failed. I am still a poor man, but I would rather die so than accept the possibility of becoming rich at the terrible risk which attended the unlucky bequest of the Box of Dia monds. PURSUED TO THE DEATH. In the year 1812, the western portions of Pennsylvania, embracing the mountain ous regions between Chambersburg and Pittsburg, presented little more than an unbroken wilderness, through which the great road from Philadelphia to the head waters of the Ohio valley passed and at that period it was a lonely and dangerous pathway to all wayfarers between the I Eastern cities and the great Western wilderness of Ohio and Kentucky. About midway of this road, and in a dismal locality, was located an inn, kept splintered by an honest Well-to-do German named Stottlers. The house was a small one, but the accommodations were ample suffi cient for the travel that came that way. In the spring of the year mentioned there came from the stock-raising region around Pittsburg a drover, who, with hisflockof well-fattened bullocks, was on his way to Philadelphia. He was well armed, and mounted on a horse of spotless whiteness. In conversation with the inmates of Strottlers' inn—the mosjt of whom were ordinary hunters—he stated with reserve the objects of his trip, and communicated the fact that on his return he would stop at the tavern with the proceeds from the sale of his cattle in his possesson. On the day following his arrival the stranger departed for the East. About three weeks thereafter, or at the time he was expected to return, two Canadian Frenchmen, of villainous appearance and both heavily armed, arrived at Strott lers', and, after breakfasting, continued their journey eastward. In less than an hour they returned, accompanied by a third traveler, who was mounted on a white horse that closely resemlcd that ridden by the Pittsburg drover. This third party, in the course of his conversa tion with the landlord, stated that his name was Pollock, that ho lived near the residence of General Arthur St. Clair, in Westmoreland county, and that he was on his way to rejoin his wife and his chil dren, from whom he had been separated for some weeks. He stated also that he was a farmer, but possessed of small means. The contents of his purse were, however small they might be, at the dis posal in equal shares with destitute trav elers, such as those whose companv he was in, and whose expenses to Pittsburg he expected to pay. After partaking of some refreshments, the three men then took the road west ward. In less than an hour Stott ler and his brother-in-law, John Lam bert, a blacksmith by trade, and thorough frontiersman, were startled while in con versation on the porch outside the inn, to see Pollock's riderless horse approach ing them at a gallop. As the animal neared them they saw that he was be spattered with blood, and Lambert, who had just been communicating his suspi of the Frenchmen, insisted that the farmer had been murdered, and urged an immediate pursuit of his companions. The servants about the inn were at once mounted and sent out to scour the country for assistance, while Lambert and his less energetic relative busied themselves in preparing their horses and arms for the chase. By noonday about a dozen of men residing nearest the inn, congregated at the general rendezvous, and, with Lambert for a leader, were soon in pursuit of the murderers. After a journey «f about one mile, the party came to the scene of the murder. Here they discovered the evidence of a terrible Struggle. The snow which lay upon the ground was much trampled and greatly discolored with blood, and a few feet away from this scene lay the corpse of the murdered man, wedged in between two logs, and covered with the rubbish of leaves and broken twigs. Two balls had passed through the body, and in the breast were several gaping wounds that had evidently been inflicted with a large hunting-knife. One of the hands of the deceased was terribly disfigured, as he had evidently grasped the knife, which, being drawn through bis fingers, nearly cut them twain. His clothing was badly torn, while his countenance indi cated the intense agony of his dying mo ments. It appeared, from the foot tracks in murderers had set their horses free or .. .- I suffered during that confinement God the snow leading to the west, that the only knows. Now I am livine in the same town and street in which my been compelled to part with them, and daughter resides. I see her daily play this seemed a wise precaution on their ing with other children, and almost ev part, as the mountainous condition of ery day she comes to hear me play on the the COUntrV ahead «f ttlMn nn^«r»J «n«nnv." »o eti» o.llo "«,,y ni.n/.. II«_ panny,"asshe calls "m piano How travel by, ^qpt, to .those accustomed to my heart yearns to clasp her to my bo such exertion, far more expeditions than som and tell her that lint her mother, by horseback. Lambert and his com panions knowing this to be the case, de terminded to follow their prey on foot also. Accordingly the major part of the party at once continued on the trail, while three or four of the men removed the body and the horses to Stottler's inn. Shortly after night had fallen, Lambert's associates became dissatisfied with their errand, and in a body returned to the inn. The intrepid blacksmith notwithstand ing this demoralizing defection, contin ued the pursuit alone. After traveling in a northwestern direction for twelve or fourteen miles, became to an old and disused road, running nearly parallel with the one he had left. This was ctlled the "Old Pennsylvania Trace," .between Philadelphia and Red Stone Old Fort, situated on the waters of the Mononga hela river. It was the first road ever opened between Eastern Pennsylvania and the head-waters of the Ohio river and the ancient land-marks, "three chops and a blaze" were still visib'e by dav light on the old trees. This ancient road and land-marks were adopted by the sur veyors and openers of roads in the West to propitiate Heaven in favor of the first settlers of the great western wilderness and hen the first chop was for the Father, the second for the Son, and the third for the Holy Ghost and the blaze was merely designated to attract the eye of the observer. When Lambert struck this old road, he discovered on the north side of it a di lapidated log-cabin. Approaching the cabin, he noticed a light within, and, feeling satisfied that the murderers were close at hand, he gave a loud cough. This brought to the rear door of the house the old woman who occupied it, and who obtained a living by selling cakes and beer to passing wayfarers. Lambert, in a feigned voice, asked to spend the night within, and was at once admitted. He had but crossed the threshold when the report of a musket was heard in the next room, and the ball the woodwork above his head. Without a moment's hesitation, Lam bert, with nothing but bis tomahawk in his hand, sprang into the next room and struck down the man in whose hand was the still smoking musket. The villian's companion, ths smaller man of th two, at once fled the house, but before he had passed beyond the light of the fire with in, the avenger with the wretch's own rifle, brought him to the earth in a strug gle with death that lasted but a second. As soon as he had fired the shot, Lam bert turned upon the prostrate murderer, who was about to arise, and struck him a secand time, felling him to the floor again. He then, with a rope furnished him by the old woman, bound the villian's hands and legs securely. In the morning the avenger .borrowed a horse from the wo man, strapped upon its back the living and dead murderers, and before nightfall ar rived at^Stottler's inn. On the following day the living man was publicly lynched in front of the inn, and the bodies were then consigned to an unhonored grave. Lambert's companions, craven-hearted as they had proven themselves, were loud in praise of their daring leader, who until the day of his death, was a hero in the humble circle of life in which he was placed. IN HISTORY OF A DARK ROMANCE REAL LIFE. [From the Vallejo, Cal., Chronicle, January 8.] The letter below, printed Verbatim tt literatim from the original, was picked up many years ago on a trail in the Sier ra Nevada mountains. Bearing in mind that it is not a fictitious effusion, but a true narration of facts, which now appears in print for the first time, it is beyond doubt one of the most touching and "sim ply pathetic things ever -written. Pro fessional novelists who study pathos as a fine art might read it with profit, the man who could resist such an appeal must have a heart of stone WHEELING, May 1st, 1857—My dear Ebcn: Long and weary have been the hours and days since last I heard from you. Oh, why am I thus neglected and forgotten What crime have I committed that you should thus abandon me, forgot ten and alone But I will not repine at the decrees of fate, although my lot be ever so hard: Could you but rightly judge of the love that dwells in this heart of mine—that love, pure and stainless as the driven snow—could you but feel that this love is all your own, clinging to you as the ivy tendrils to the giant oak— could you feel this, and experience but one-half the love for me that I do for you, I know that I should soon be happy in your presence. This horrid suspense is killing me—dragging mej slowly bat surely to my grave. I have received but two letters from you within the last year, and over six months has passed away since you wrote the last. Oh, Eben. do write me and let me know the worst. If I am forgotten and forsaken—if those oft repeated vows of yours were only made to be broken—if you do not intend to re turn and make me your wife, then tear away the veil, and let-me know the truth, should it pierce like a dagger to my heart. Oh, have I not aright to ask you to fulfill those oft-repeated promises of mar riage which only can make me an honest woman, and give to our daughter her fa ther's name Six long years have passed away since our little Mary first saw the light of day and, oh! what years of an guish to me, deprived of my child before it was scarce an hour old, before I had time to clasp it in one fond embrace, or imprint but a single kiss upon its cheek —then bid it farewell forever. Oh, what and that she is my own dear, dear child. Could you but know*the anguish of a mother's heart, separated as I am from her child, seeing her every day and not daring to acknowledge her, having Her climb into my lap and wipe the unbidden tears from my eyes and kissing them from ray cheeks, pillowing her head upon my bosom, and I not daring to express a mother's love in return—could you but feel the same blighting anguish that I then feel, you would, 1 think, pity and compassionate me, and make me your lawful wife in the sight of man as I am already in the sight of heaven and God. Now 1 entreat you to let me take our daughter and join you in California. I am still young, not yet twenty-three years old. To be surei sorrow has some what faded my cheeks, but your presence and that of my child would soon make them rosy again. My father's estate is now settled, and I am his only heir, and have enough for us both during our nat ural lives. With £6,000 you could estab lish yourself in a business which in a short time would make you independent. Do I pray you, grant my request, and if you will not marry me, then let me be your mistress, as 1 am in the sight of heaven your wife. I was your mistress once—had I not been I migth have been your wife. In an unguarded hour, where you threw all of your seductive wiles around me, and swore to make me your wife, I yielded and fell. I was yonng and trusting, loving with all a woman's heart and soul, worshiping you as my idol, believing and placing implicit confi dence in your word, trusting my honor in your hand?, and my destiny at your disposal. True the world knows not of my dishonor. The precautions you took screened me from ihe eyes of the world. Only three know that 1 am a mother— yourself, myself and the attending phys ician. The people to whom 70U intrust ed our Mary have been unable to fathom the mystery and find out the mother of their charge, ner do they even know the name of its father. They have often told me the full circumstances of their receiving the child, the stipulation made betweaa you and them, and the punctual receipt of S100 per year for its support from California but can give no clue to her parentage. How oft have I been on the point of confessing all, but my oath to you I will keep. 1 have of late had strange, wild dreams. I dreamed that I was forgotten, and that you were about to marry another, and that I should never see you again. Oh, tell me—say it's nothing but a dream and that you will fulfill your vows. How much I have suffered for you—how much endured. Now do, 1 entreat you let me have my reward. Once more, 1 beg of you, let me come to you, and make me your wife— yes, your menial, and I will bless you and love you with all of a woman's fond and ardent love. A few words in regard to our child, and then I am done. She is a very interesting child she has the hair and eyes of her father her form is perfect her features are perfect, and Mrs. S told me one day, resembled mine. How my heart throbbed! and it was with a superhuman effort that I controlled my feelings sufficient to avoid suspicion. She is a most beautiful child. Oh Eben, does not her father's heart sometimes yearn to see and clasp his daughter in his arms Have you no de sire to see your Mary, your daughter I know you must. She is worthy of an honest name and an acknowledged father. Do write me on the receipt of this, and relative to my sorrowing heart. I have had several offers of marriage, but re fused them all for I am yours aisd yours alone. Do write, and I pray and beg of you to acceed to my wishes and your promises. From your affec tionate and loving It is clear the poor, betrayed creature who wrote the above was a woman of in telligence and some education. A sadder case of lifelong misery and anguish could not be found.' Invention could hardly add a circumstance of more dramatic pa thos to this real tragedy. For the credit of human nature, it would be well if we could say that the letter did melt the heart of the person to whom it was addressed. But unhappily, from the ev idences of anotherletter found with the one copied above,'it is pretty certain that the recipient did not at least imme diately comply with the petition nrged with such touching eloquence. The finders of the letters identified the man who received it with a reasonable degree of certainty, and found him to be a team ster and a former resident of a town in Ohio directly opposite Wheeling, Virgin ia, whence the letter was sent. "ANUDDER ME MB AH OB DE LEGIS LATURE." [From the Atlanta Constitution A lean, hungry-looking darky debark ey from the Macon train yesterday after noon, and, with a slab-sided carpet-sack dangling in his grasp, approached one of the negro hackmen at the entrance of the depot. "Pardner, kin yer tell me whar I kin find a cheap boardin' house "How cheap ?', asked the hackman. "De cheapes' in de town I isn't par tikler whar it am said the stranger. The hackman eyed the slim negro a moment and then he gave an awfully aud ible guffaw. "What's de matter now asked an other of the Jehus., "Hyar's anudder membah ob de legis latur hab arriv!" was the response. Amid the laughter of the crowd the lath-like darkey disappeared. An Indiana editor says spring is ap proaching for he saw two snakes the other day. But when an Indiana editor sees snakes it is a stronger sign of a fall than spring. "Oh, we don't mind: the fourth story," said an Ohio Congressman's wife in choosing Washington: lodging the other day ^we can go up and down in the ven Itilator*"