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It is Coming. BYffH.OLAND BOURNE. In the ape of mythic vision. Years ugone, as years do fly, Poets dreamed of fields Elysian Where the glories never die. Painted they the bright delusion, Often called the Golden Age, And they lent the gay illusion Borrowed light from fancy’s page. Hut their strains rehearsed the story Of the ancient days of dream, When the wealds’ primeval glory Made the past enchanted seem. 1 It is coming! Sure and onward ! Coming from the realms of day ! While the spirit, looking sunward, Like an eagle, sees the ray. Earnest souls around ns labor, Yearning tor the c »ming lime. When the scimitar and sabre. Sheathed,shall cease their deed* ot crime. When the words of love shall waken World wide fires in hearts of men, When tisc spirit shall be shaken Till It finds its God again. Night's high priest, th’ Egyptian Phiroah, Bids the hastening time delay. Painting in the pathway narrow Stubble creeds that fear the day. Telling Faith’s bright earnest children, They that bear the oppressor’s chain— -Get ye to your tasks and burden, Get ye to your bonds again ! Yet a day shall end your sorrow, Ye shall serve the gods ye knew. On the morning of the m rrow Oat of Egypt ye shall go.” Long the world has heard the fable, Bought the sin procrastined day, Bn the towering walls of Babel Soon shall wed their native clay. Earth' old temple, dome and pillar, Like a charnel filled with death, Buililed by the brother .killer, Jliflileth what the si>irit eahb. In its shadow, pure and olden, Lieth freedom's corner-stone. Which we seek, while songs embolden He arts of giant trust alone. O tof darkness light is springing— Out of dumbness gloriaus speech; Prophets from the dead are bringing Living souls that boldly teach. Out of brass and out of iron Soon shall come the shining gold, While the beams shall then environ Realms whose splendor is untold. Then shall love spring forth unbidden; Then shall light spring forth uuboru; For their foes shall all be hidden la the unclouded Golden Morn. The Adventure of a Spanish Nobleman, and Legend of Arrow Eojk, Situa ted on the Missouri, Charles V., granson of Ferdinand and Isa bella. King and Queen of Castile and Aragon, whilst sealed upon the throne of Spain and (lermany, was the most powerful monarch in Kurope. He was a finished diplomatist, a skillful general, a liberal patron of the arts and science, but selfish, intriguing and revenge ful. History has recorded on her ample page all of his public acts, but has rarely ever lifted the domestic curtain, and given publicity to the events which transpired behind the scenes. The historians, during his reign, were either his own creatures, corrupted by his gold, or so restrained by his despotic power, that they would not. or dare not, exhibit to the public gaze any of the weakness which belong to frail humanity. It is necessary for the purpose of this narra tive that we should drag into light an event which has long been confined in the tomb ol oblivion. When in the warm glow of manhood, Charles, who was passionately fond of hunting, one day in the excitement of the chase, becam - estran ged from his party, and lost in the wilderness. In wandering through the thick tmucr-brush that skirted the mountain, became across a little path which wound a dig its craggy sides. He immediately followed it, thinking it led to some shepherd's cot, the occupants of which could direct him in what manner ho could again join his companions, who were then sounding their bugles in every direction, alarm ed at his absence. He was right in Ids con jecture, for he came in a few moments to an open space on the mountain side, where he sa v a flock of sheep attended by a shepherdess, while, some distance below, the smoke wreath ed from a little hamlet to which she probably belonged. The young shepherdess was seated upon a lock, so intently engaged in reading that she did not notice the advance of Charles, who. ■when within a short distance, stopped and gazed in admiration on her beauty. Though attired in a horaeiy garb, it could not conceal the beautiful outlines of her person, but rather by its tight fit, which was worn in that man mer to escape entanglement from the boshes, revealed more favorably its symmetry. Her hair was like the raven's wing, falling in a ma-< of cnrls over shoulders and bosom, and in such profusion that they effectually concealed her features from tboynonarch, who was most im patient for the view, but wished not to disturb her m her absorbing occupation. At length the girl gave way to a perfect hurricane of !»i.ghtor. Her whole frame shook with the excess, and she placed both of her hands to her sides, to keep them from falling apart, in her enjoyment. And then the sound etna a iing from that laughter, it was music to the .charmed ears of the Kmpcror, who was watch ing every movement, with all the intensity of youthful admiration, when the young girl turn ed towards him. still indulging in her mirth and putting back her wavy hair, revealed one of the most lovely countenances that ever look ed upon the world. Charles now advanced towards her. with all of the self-possession which characterizes the mau of the world, and after Ttnga 1 . buenos dia*. and a knightly compliment, stated his perplexity, and asked for a road that might conduct him to the other side of the mountain. The young maiden replied, with cheeks blush ing with contusion : "Senor, my father, who lives in you little hamlet, can inform you. I never wander far ther from my home than the adjoining pastures for my sheep, and know nothing of the passes of the mountains.” Whilst she was speaking. Charles had ad vanced towards her, and taking up the book which she had let fall in her confusion, was surprised, on looding at the title, to see that it was the ‘‘Life and Adventures of Don Quixote de la Mancha. "Ah', this accounts for your spells of laugh ing,'’ said he. "By my troth, this book would excite the risibles of a misautbrope. But tell me, how did you become so educated, living here in these secluded mountains? Who in structed you ?” THE WEEKLY BUTTE RECORD. ‘•My father, Senor,” replied she, was brought up for the church, aiul is a learned man. Whilst officiating in the province of Andalu sia, he saw my mother, and became so strong ly attached to her that, despite all of his ef forts, he fell deeply In love with her, which, you know, was a mortal sin for a man of God. Such was the excess of his love, that his health commenced to fail, and be made application to the Pope to get absolutions that he might marry my mother. His Holiness, refused even to listen* to his supplication, and my father, yielding to the promptings of affection, mar ried my mother, and retired to a small estate that she possessed. 1 was born of this union, and after my birth, ray mother’s health com menced to decline, and gradually she faded, and died five years fiom the date of her mar riage.’’ •My father was inconsolable for her loss, and looking upon the event as a retribution of heaven, for the breaking of his vows, retired to these mountains, where he spends most of his time in prayer aid penance for atonement of his sin=. Kvery day he devotes three hours to my education, and ihe remaining hours 1 spend with my flocks in the pastures, or in tire cul ture of some hardy plants, that cau live in these inclement mountains.” The beauty, the intelligence and naivctlc of the young shepherdess were irresistable. and the heart of Charles welcomed the romantic attachment which he felt was fast blinding him in its silken fetters. He had become satiated with the accomplish ed beauties of the Court, who owed so much of their attractions to the advantages of cos tume, the polish of manner, and the circum stance of birth. He had, by accident, dis covered one whose artless manner was more captivating, and whose superior beauty owed nothing to the adventitious aid of art or orna ment. He lingered as long as possible in her society, without wounding her delicacy, and bidding her adieu, was wending his way to where her father lived, when ho saw one of his cavaliers approaching him, who had made a circuitous route, and unexpectedly found him. Charles, then, as there was no necessity to visit the cot of the father of the shepherdess, after again bidding her adieu, under the gui dance of his attendant, started to join his re tinue, who were alarmed at bis absence. Af ter this period, the neighborhood where Mar cella. (for that was the name of the young shepherdess.) dwelt, becam ■ the favorite hunt ing ground of Charles, who would, on these occasions, absent himself awhil# from his at tendants, who were too well drilled in their duties to pry into his motives, and visit Mar cella, who would be alone on the mountain side with her flock. Alter the coyness, natural to a ycung maid en. had vanished from frequent interviews, it was not unnatural for Marcella, who had seen nothing of the sterner sex, except the rough goat-hLT'J: el the mountains, with the tender affections jet all her own. should become in terested in one possessed of such a gallant ex terior and accomplished manner: and finally to love him. She had been reared in the sim plicity of country life, and knew not that, the presence of royality were as deadly to the existence of beauty and innocence us the poison ous Upas tree. That Charles loved her there could not be the least doubt, for, though lie hud for years pursued the life (fa voluptuary, jet he had never met with a being whom alone his soul cfliild offer its worship, without leclingm ilbsTre' to bow to another shrine, but the principle implanted in him from bis birth, "that royal blood should not bend in wedlock but with royal blood,” retained so vividly its impression, that, though Marcella had the first offerings of his heart, he never dreamed of taking her in marriage. The royal blood of Castile and Arrago must be transmitted pure and unadul terated by peasant blood. He could oß’er to her wealth, station, power—everything but— the sacred title of wife. Marcella, from maiden reserve and timidity, had neglected to inform her father of her lirst interview with Charles, and as each succeed ing one widened the chasm and rendered it more difficult, she resolved to keep altogether a secret the new epoch which had marked her existence—this being very easy, as the inter views between the lovers always took place when Marcella tended her Hock upon the mountains. For more than a year. Charles, libertine as he was, made no attempt upon the virtue of Marcella. Though passion, like a boiling Suva, was seething in his veins, yet, in her presence, everv unchaste desire was quenched, as her -yes bent on him their flood of light, in which were blended the confidence of trusth’ g affec tion and the holiness of virgin innocence. At the expiration of this period her father died, and as -he had no protector to whom she could look to, in the hour of her desolation she ac cepted the offer of Charles, who placed her in a noble family, where she was treated with all the attention bestowed upon rank, during the year of her mourning, and after which time, she was introduced at court, where she became renowned for her beauty and the preference of the most powerful monarch of Europe. In t e glare of a dissipated court. Marcalla forgot the purity and innocence ot her former life, and yielding to the witching influence of the splendid vices which flourished in the sun shine of royal favor, became a follower and then a leader of the vicious crowd of beauties w deli adorned the court of Charles the Fifth. Emperor of Spain and Germany. For many years she was the favorite of the Emperor, and when taken with her last sickness, wrote to him a most affecting letter, in which, after rendering him thanks for his love and devotion, which, for years had never waned in its force, she commended to his care and affection her sou, men ten years of age. who hud been placed under the charge of careful and experi enced teachers. The young Garcia, (that was his name.) af ter completing his p eparalory studies, entered one of the most eminent universities of the kingdom. He knew the stain which rested upon his birth, and was very sensitive on the subject. The voung Garcia was always popular witli the students, but was far from being a favorite with the professors, for he looked on his stud iea with dislike, and the wholesome n-traiot to which he was subjected as slavish thraldom, lie was the leader of all the mischievous pranks played at the University, would elude the vig itence of the professors and with a baud of ins dare devil associates would visit the town at the midnight hour, and with their yells, tink ling of cymbals a.,d sounding of horns, would arouse the inhabitants irom their slumber, and frightened almost into convulsions all the ner vous old maids iu tlie neighborhood. If the police interferred, unless they were in large force, these scape graces would attack the guardians of the night—pummel them with out mercy, and threaten them with death if they dared eater a complaint in the halls of justice. The name of Garcia became such a terror to the town, and such a reproach to the Uni versity. that the professors, after a long period of forbearance, from the fact of his connexion with the Emperor, resolved to expel him. One of the officers of 'he institution bore the fiat which commanded Garcia to leave the halls of the University within twenty-four hours. On receiving this message, Garcia, whose passions at times were uncontrollable, drew his dagger and subbed him to the heart. He was then arrested by the authorities, after making a desperate resistance and wounding danger OIiOVIJLLE, SATURDAY MORNING, OCTOBEII 30, 1858. ously two of the officers of the law. He was tried for the murder of the professor, and >houlJ have been executed for the offence ac cording to the laws of the country, yet, being the son of the Emperor, though an illegitimate one. and probably by the secret instructions of the Emperor himself, he was sentenced to leave Spain forever. ft was on the eve of the departure of the expedition under He Soto that sentence was pronounced, and that renowned adventurer of tered him an honorable appointment in the army under his command, about to sail for America. The adventurous life to which he was sub jected on his arrival in the New World ap peared to be iu unison with the instincts of i iarcia, and he became one of the most daring of the daring officers under He Soto’s com mand. He was with the party of the Spanish soldiers who discovered Juan Ortez who had been left in Florida during the illl-fated expe dition under Narvaez, and listened with won der and admiration to his thrilling adventures, he being the only while man in the whole southern country, and amid suva:cs who re garded tne white man ns their feudal enemies. His romantic adventures find hair-breadth es capes made a deep impression upon the mind ot liaroia. and probably implanted in his mind a desire to adopt from choice a ravage life and amalgamate himself with the Indians where he could give an unbridled license to his appetite, which were the predominant characteristics of his nature. Hareia followed the fortunes of He Soto mi ld lie crossed the Mississippi and went iuto Ar kansas. and naturally thinking tl.al in a little time the whole army would he cut off by the hostile savages, after cultivating for some time the friendship ol a distinguished Cacique, while the Spaniards were in winter quarters, he went over to the tribe of the chief and married one of his swarthy daughters. \\ lieu de Soto returned to the Mississippi. Garcia, despite the remonstrances and com mands ol his general, remained with his savage father-in-law, apparently delighted with the manners customs and habits of his new rela tions. U hat was the ultimate fate of Garcia is led to conjecture, mid the wild legends which make the histone record of the Indians. It is more than probable (hat he left Arkansas, and after long wandering settled among the Paw nee Indians, which may acccunl for the known partiality which the tribe had for the Span jards, when all other savage nations held them in utter abliorencc. Thai this conjecture is based upon proba bility will appear from the following facts, and the legend that supports them: \\ hen Pulancutte G’liasscure, the founder of hit. Charles, somewhere iu the year 1772, was navigating the Misssoari, some miles above where Franklin now stands, for the purpose ol discovery, he came in the neighborhood of Ar row Rock, and there saw ‘,O his groat astonish ment a white man sitting at the base of the granite blull cooking a choice piece of venison which he had cut from the carcass of a deer that he had just slain. Chasseur was anxious to make the acquaintuce of this white man who had preceded him in the wilderness when be thought he would only see the Indian in his primitive wildness. He found him to be a Frenchman, w ho becoming fond ot a lonely sav age life, bad wandered from Canada and for years had lived with the barbarous tribes who %.habit the bnuSa of the- SHsstJbrh* .Among olh t singular things which this wanderer of the wilderness showed to Chasseur was a gold en crucifix, which he had obtained from a Paw nee chief, in whose family it had been for sev eral generations. He then told Chasseur that the little crucifix was connected with the rock where they then were, and which is now known as Arrow Rock by the voyager up the Mis souri. At the request of Chasseur the hunter then commenced and related the legend as fol lows : TUli INDIAN LEGEND OF ARROW ROCK SITUATED ON THE MISSOURI. Two great tribes have always lived here ad joining each other, but mortal foes. The Mis souris and Pawnees, as long as they have been in existence they have never buried the hatchet. Each tribe has produced great warriors, and many were the battles (ought between these nations when they were in their full power, be fore the dreadful small-pox came and swept them off by thousands. Many were killed in these conflicts, but so nearly was each tribe bailanoed in numbers, and the courage of their warriors so equal that there was uo advantage gained, and after lighting many years, their strength, as compared with each other, was the same as before. But once, when the Pawness and the Mis souris met in battle there were by far more of the latter slain than ever was before, and they were completely put to flight the arrows of the Pawnees were pointed with a hard and sharp material which cut the flesh and penetrated easily to the heart ; and there was a strange warrior who rushed foremost to the battle, and would not take shelter behind a tree when the bow was drawn upon him, but the arrows glanced from his body as from a rock, though they were sent by the arms of the stoutest war riors. The Pawnee Indians were proud of their suc cess. and advanced far in the Missouris coun try before the latter had courage to oppose them, so great was the terror with which the remembrance of the la-d battle inspired them. At length they collected in great force, their numbers far exceeding those of the Pawnees, and they advane 1 upon them confident of vic tory. At the first onset the Pawnees were frightened at the great number of the warriors of the Missouris. and would have fled from the country, but the strange warrior called to them in a strange tongue, and rushed against the Missouris with a bright sharp weapon, which glittered like a thing of light iu tbe sunbeams, | and with which lie swept the warriors down like dried grass before the fire. The arrows fell thick around him and struck his body in ; every direction, for the Missouris were anxious for fits d ath. and nearly all of their arrows were drawn against him, but they fell as if they j had struck upon a rock. The Pawnees then recovered from their i fright, as thev saw their champion making | headway against the whole army of their foes ; and then the Missouris fled, believing that some Manito in the human form was angry with them and assisting their enemies. In inis j battle the Missouris lost tbe flower of their warriors, and great was the rejoicings of the Pawnees, . *r the scalp-locks of their enemies hung in plenty from their girdles. After the victory, they took up their maich to their own ce ntry. singing the songs of victory and gar nering'in their hearts tbe delights which were still in store tor them when the prisoners they had with them would run the gauntlet, and writhe in torture at the stake. The Missouris had as much cause to mourn as their enemies 'o rejoice. Their great war riors had fallen in the battle field, and the great nation was almost left at tbe mercy of their enemies. Squaws were howling for their hus bands and sous, and cbildren crying for their fathers, while the countenances of the warriors wete fierce and gloomy. A council was called of the old warriors of the nation, whose wisdom might teach them what to do in this hour of sorrow, and still grcatei misfortune in the future, for they knew that their enemies would return again and again, until the whole nation of the Missouris would be in the spirit land. Accordingly old men met, and it was determined tliat the medicine men of the nation should pray to the Great Spirit to look with pity upon them, and preserve them from the power of their en emies, who had prevailed against them, and particulary to shield them from that wicked Manito who had taken a human form and was killing their greatest warriors. The medicine men then commenced mumbling their prayers, practising their gestures, and their writhing. They danced like demons in mazy circles, long feathers of birds sticking|from every part of their bodies and ornaments pending from their eyes and noses, while on their heels were at tached long pieces of elk horn, which in their movements struck against each other, emitting a loud, clattering noise.. In quick, lyrical numbers they chanted prayers, and after anoth er dance, and then twisting and contortions on the earth, the incantation was finished, and they declared the Great Spirit appeased. The Indians of all nations are the slaves of the marvelous, and after.lhc revelation of the medicine men, all felt assured of victory in their next encounter with their enemies. So confi dent were they of succesiUiat they wished for the time that the Pawned would airain invade the country that they might take ample ven geance upon them for past defeats. They had not long to wait. The Pawnees, confident of success,again invadad the country of their feu dal enemies, attended by the strange warrior from whose body the arrows fell to the ground with their points blunted. A bloody battle was fought and again the Missouris were de feated with immense loss, because of the feats of the warrior w hom they supposed was a spir it in human lorin. Whenever he moved in fight, the warriors shrunk with fear to the covert, for they knew no weapons could effect him. II is presence struck as much terror to the hearts ofthe Missouris as his deeds, and after a short conflict they fled bowling from the field, leaving many warriors to be scalped, and many prisoners to be taken to the Pawnee country and there to die by tbe torture. Among tbe Missouris was a youth who had been longing to take part in the contest, lie was the s m of the most distinguished chief of the nation, who hud been slain in the first bat tle with the Pawnees, by the strange warrior who was invulnerable. 'I he death ol Ins father sunk deep into the mind of the youth, and In- heart beat for re venge. For hours he would sit in the wigwam where still lived the aged father of the dead chief, who would tell him of the deeds of his youth before the frost of age had chilled the blood in his heart, and shrunk the sinews of hi- strength ; he then would tell him the deeds of his son, tho father of the youth, how while ho was in his first battle, when the warriors were flying before the gigantic Chief of the Pawnees, lie faced the warrior in single com bat, slew him, and dragged the scalp lock from his head. These recitals of his aged grandfather, ope rated like fuel upon the flame, already burning vividly in the bosom of the youth, until his whole spirit glowed and panted wi h the wish to perform some deed worthy of his illustrious strain. Jle last hoard of the eats performed by the strange warrior that arrows could not kill, and he resolved to find out whether he was a spirit or man. It wanted yet two moons of the time when his fast was to commence, too sec if some good spirit would c.me in his dreams and communicate something that would be a benefit to the natron a; i af rmpivtanee to* himself. The intervening time the fearless youth resolved to employ in visiting ilie Pawnee country, and if possible to walcn the habits and movements of the strange war rior, whom his nation thought to be a had Manito. He secretly prepared for bis undertaking, taking a few pieces of dried buffalo meat, a quiver of arrows, and a bow lie had just made from the antlers of a stag. He started, using every precaution to leave no impress of his trail, for fear he might be followed by the war riors of his tribe, and thereby his purpose be defeated. The journey was a wearisome one, but in a short time he arrived in the Pawnee country, and had to increase all of his precau tions. He traveled only during the night, wending his course by the stars, for it is a part of the education ol ati Indian youth to under stand the position and movements of some of the pleuetary orbs, so necessary to their habits of life. Manatee, for that was the name of the fearless youth, at length came in sight ol the Pawnee villages. He had now to call into action, all of the strategic lore ho possessed, lest his presence be discovered. It wanted some hours of day break. and he searched about lor a good hiding place during the day, and so situated that he could see what was passing in the village. He could see no place that suited. Determining to accomplish his purpose, for which he had already undergone so many privations and in curred many dangers, he ascended the top of the largest lodge, and after some difficulty suc ceeded in ensconcing himself iu the aperture on the top of the chimney. He reraainad there quite snug until the squaw commenced to cook breakfast, which was to broil a venison stake upon the coals. The fire commenced to kindle, but the smoke having no vent to escape by the chimney, all turned back and filled the lodge, besides almost smoth ering Manatee at the top of the chimney. The squaw was persevering, for she weil knew tliat her husband who had sallied out before day, alter deer, would soon arrive and she would re ceive a correction, the bare thought of which would make her shudder, if the breakfast was not ready. So she went out and gathered an arm full of dried slicks, determined in her mind to have a fire. She blew and enlivened tbe embers, but still the smoke, as fast as it ascended the chimney, came back; but still the squaw piled on tbe sticks and kept blowing, when 10l down came Mauutec, hivo could stand the smoke no longer, falling upon the head of the squaw, burning her nose and nearly frightening her to death. She rushed from tlm lodge, crying and yell ing, saying that the Thunder God had come down tier chimney, and had singed her nose with his lightning. 'When Manatee fell, he had dragged with him clay and stones of which the chimney was built, and finding there was no one to scalp him, tor he hud expected to be instantly killed by the occupants of the lodge, he took refuge beneath a huge pile of skins which opportune ly lay in a corner. His bow and arrows he had with him. and just fixed himself snugly in his hiding place, when in rushed a crowd of Indians to see what had so frightened thesquaw. When they saw the day and stones, the cause seemed apparent and they burst into roars of laughter at tbe simplicity of the squaw, who hail thought the Thunder God had come from the heavens. The squaw did not appear alto gether satisfied, but there, before her eyes, were the stones and clay, and it must have been they which had fallen. Manatee was in a critical position; the slight est examination ofthe skins would expose him; one warrior half advanced to the pile, but, probably fearing that be might be laughed at lor his suspicious, forbore to ex uni me it. Af ter rallying tbe squaw a good deal upon her fears of the Ybond-.-r God, the crowd departed. After the departure of her neighbors, the squaw looked cautiously again and again up the chimney, and perfectly satisfied that her fright, and the burn ou her nose were caused by the fall of the clay and the stones, she in dulged in a hearty laugh, and then commenced to baiid again tbe fire, with which she b-d a trouble, and soon the savory flavor of the steak was spread over the lodge, penetrating even under the pile of skins, and making the mouth of Manatee, despite his dangerous position, water for a chance at the delicious morsel. Hours passed by, and the worrier who own ed the lodge came not, though every now and then the squaw would go to the door and look wistfully for his appearance ; then, when near mid-day, she sat down to her solitary break fast. W hilst she was enjoying this meal with an appetite sharpened by her long last, in came a warrior of a slighter figure than usual among the Indians, and with different (natures and complexion. He was dressed in the costume of the Indians, but wore suspended at bis side a long sword, seeing the squaw enjoying a nice steak all alone, he took a seat beside her (which an Indian warrior would uot do,) aud the two soon despatched it. At the first sight of the warrior, Manutee felt confident that it was he. who struck such terror in the hearts of the Musouris. and had slain his father. All doubts on the subject was finally removed, when the warrior went away lor a lew hours, and brought into the lodge pieces of metal of different shapes ,which ho commenced cleaning, assisted by the wo man, aud then fitted thejiicces of metal to his person. Manutee scarcely daring to breathe, intent ly watched every movement, and particularly remarked the apertures that were left in the visor for the eyes, whose orbs he could see plainly moving. He was tempted to his bow, and try his arrow against this terror of his tribe, and murderer of his father, but he felt how futile would be the attempt, for the In dians were passing in crowds before the door at all times, which precluded all possibility of escape, and besides his arrow might fail ot its purpose, and his uatiou would be wholly de stroyed. lie restrained the impulse which urged him to the deed, aud listened that he might glean all that was of importance in their conversa tion. But he could hear very distinctly, and that little didn't instruct him. It was late in the afternoon that the husband of the squaw came home, loaded with the choice portions of a deer that he had killed The other warrior had departed, and w hen the squaw told her husband ot her fright in the morning, be laugh ed heartily and then stretched himself at the door of the lodge, for he had been much fati gued iu the chase. His squaw prepared his supper, aud he looked attentively at his pile of skins with much satisfaction, as it appeared of such respectable size. Jle took up one or two and examined them, and then turned away. Manutee escaped by a miracle. It had now become dark, and he leit that the night was be fore him. should he be discovered, and he was more hopeful of a happy termination of his ad venture. Soon the warrior lay down to sleep, aud then the squaw, but not in the corner where Manatee was concealed. They took a few skins from the pile to make their bed, and, unsuspicious, were soon asleep. When half of the night had passed and the village was buried in profound slumber, Manu tee cautiously came from Lis hiding-place, tit led an arrow to his bow string, and by the light ol the expiring embers, aimed the shaft at the head of the warrior. It penetrated Irs brain, and as he writhi 1 in his death agony, another sped to the heart of the squaw before she had sufficiently awakened to give the alarm. He then scalped them, that he might carry away some trophy of his victory, and. belore the morning’s dawn, was far on his way to the country of the Missouris. He knew di rectly the deed was discovered his enemies would bo upon his track, but he was fleet of foot, and had a good start ot his pursuers, and after a few days aud nights of almost con stant and rapid travel, he arrived safely in his own country, when he was welcomed as one arise:- from the dea l. When asked to relate his advcntuies, Mann tee asked of his grandfather to postpone his request until alter his fast, which was to com mence in throe days. The old man consented, for he had all confidence in the wisdom of his grandson, and the whole nation was loud in his praise, since they saw the two scalps that be Lad taken from their enemies. Manutee told the old men of the nation to prepare the young men for battle, for the Pawnees would soon be upon them in great force, and then it being time for his fast to commence, he retired to the wilderness, to wait, if he would be fortunate, to receive any di vine revelation. The season ol his fast was the commence ment of autumn, and the place w hich he chose for his lonely musings, at this very bluff. The first day and night past, and no angel-spirit visited him in his dreams. The second, third, fourth and fifth also passed by, and nothing supernatural cheered the drooping spirit of Manutee. He was weak and dreadfully ema ciated from hunger, and he was desponding in his heart, for ho thought no good Mauito took an interest in his welfare. On the sixth morning of his fast, his aged grandsire came with provisions and besought him to cat, as he tottered from weakness and had waned to a shadow. He begged and en treated him to cat, and Manutee, to obtain a little longer time, told him to come when the sun had sunk behind the prairies. After his departure, the yculh prayed fervently to the Great Spirit, that he would look with a pity ing eye upon him, who bad starved six days, waiting patiently for some sign or token ot Ids goodness. He then sunk into a sound sleep, and behold 1 Ins father, armed as he was wont, when he went on the war-path, came to him with a c iiiutenance smiling with pleasure. “My sou,” said he, "the Great Spirit has heard your prayer, and is pleased w.ih the pa tience with which you have endured your fast ; he has sent me to you to comfort and instruct you. You will be the great chief of the Mis souris, and save the great nation from destruc tion. Listen, that the strange warrior who has killed so mauy chiefs, may be slum. He is no Mauito, but ha» come from a far-off ua tiou, and wears hard pieces of metal to protect every part of Ids body from the arrows. Let all the Missouri warriors come here and take pieces of this rock for their arrows : for the Great Spirit lias hardened this rock above all others. When the battie commences, let them aim at the head of the strange warrior and an arrow will pierce his eye, and drink the blood of his brain, through ilieb-de which is left iu the bard metal, through which lie cau see. He will fall, and the arrows of the Missouris will be bloody that day iu the heart’s blood of their enemies. Farewell! Igo to the happy hunting fields, where 1 will rejoice iu the fame of Manutee, the great chief ol the Missouds.” The broad disc of an autumn sun was ust sinking below the horizon, when Manutee awoke. His aged grandsire was at bis side with a supply of templing eatables, and a smile was on the features of llie youth as he remem bered the apparition ot the trance. His mind was happy, but so reduced had he become from physical suffering, that he could scarcely rise to "bis feet. He eat sparingly of the food, and being strengthened by the nourishment, rela ted to his grandsire what he had seen in his dream. The grandsire listened attentively to the rev elation, and looking upon the bed of stone, found that its mouldering texture had been changed to the hardest material. A great council of the nation was called, aud Manutee related all that had passed during his fast, and the i, when it became known to the tribe, the warriors came to the rock and broke off pieces. hich they shared iaio pox:; for their arrows. Aaraiu the Pawnees came into th"* Missouri country, resolved, on this occasion, totally to exterminate them. The Missouris. encouraged liy Manutee, had lost all of their superstitious fears, and went forth in their full strength to meet their enemies. As usual, the strange warrior rushed in front of the Pawnees, but the arrows which had been formerlp aimed at his heart, now struck against his head, and one entered the brain, through one of the holes which had been left for his eyes. With a groan be fell dead upon the ground, and with his first war whoop of victory. Manatee sprang to the spot, tore off his hemlet and visor, and in a moment he shook his reeking scalp in the air. At the sight the Missouri warriors uttered a shout of triumph, and rushed again! the Pawnees, w ho. discour aged at the fall of the great warrior who bad come amongst them, and bad been their cham pion in so many battles, were so spiritless and paralyzed, that they made but little resistance, and lost the whole of their effective force in this battle. There was an universal jubilee among' the Missouris, who now in their turn had become conquerors, when so near the despairing hour, and bv universal acclamation Manutee was electee? .chief of the nation. When the battle was over, and the pursuit of the Pawnees fin ished, Manutee ordered the dead body of the strange warrior to t*e brought to the bluff of rocks where he had received the revelation. He laid it on a pile of wood and burnt it there as a sacrifice to the manes of his father. From that day to this, the mound of rocks has been called Arrow Rock, and has been visi ted by the Indians to obtain material for the point of their arrows, because of its durability. For many years the lodge of .Manutee con tained the coat of mail which the White War rior wore, and this gold crucifix which i now have. Years have passed away, and many generations have come and departed, yet one of the family of the Manatee ha.-, always been chief of the Missouris, and 1 married one of the descendants who was in possession o f this relic, and when she died. 1 have kept it care fully since, having been brought up iu the Catholic faith. Blanchette Chasseur, after the hunter had hushed his narrative, looked again at the cr and read distinctly engraved upon it the name of "Marcella." It is more than probable that the warrior whose body was burnt on Arrow Rock, and who was owner ol the cross, was Carcia, who lad deserted from De Soto, and who wa- Ihe son of Charles V, and Marcella, iheshephcrd .... Gen. Sutter and the Settlers. Gen. J. A. Sutter publishes the subj uned card in the Sacramento I uddres i;;g it ■‘To the Public’ ; Messrs. Editors: About the 1-t of Jan uary last, i was wailed upon by a commiitcc of the Settlers of Sacramt nto City and Ct -ci ty, for the purpose of procuring a relinquish ment from me, to the United Slates, for the benefit of the Settlers, of any title I might have to lands lying south of the junction of the Sacramento and Feather rivers. After reflecting upon the matter, 1 conclud ed to do so, prov ded they would relieve in to some extent of my great pecuniary wants, and pay me such a sum as would enable me, sin ; 'u the Supreme Court of the United States de cide according to their desirrs, to fully c m pensate those who had purchase 1 lauds, thro’ agents, under my title, in good faith paying for the same. As to that large class of persons who have procured my title for nothing—by fraud, etc. and to whom are justly attributed my misfor tunes, I desire to make no provision ; I pn 1.-r --red they should be punished. The committee agreed to pay me a sum which I considered sufficient for the above purpose, and satisiieU mo of their ability so to do, and of their good faith. I therefore gave a power of attorney, autboriz ng my attorney in Wash ngton t > dis claim for me a location of any lands that might be granted me south of Sacramento and Feath er rivers. Since which time the action of the settlers is such as to entirely convince me that if they ever did design the fulfilment of their under taking they have long since abandoned it. Having, therefore, resolved, upon taking the proper steps to nnlify the action taken for the benefit of the Settlers, it is due to myself th t the public, and a few v. h i have been real friends, a n d who have been estranged by said action, should know my objects and motives then and now, which is the object of this. What others may think it matters little. J. A. Sutter. Hock Farm, Oct. 19,1858. James Anderson.- —This unfortunate young man, whose case has caused so much pity and so much mention in the papers, was here, yes terday, in the station house. He had been sit ting out in front of the Western Hotel, where he became such an offensive sight to the pass ers-by, that he was removed to the station house by the police, where he was carefully provided for, and will be sent down to lean Francisco to-day. His case is truly a deplor able one. His lower jaw is in a state o' rot tenness, and has been for some time failing off piecemeal. The cause ol it was a blow lie re ceived some eighteen months ago, on board the whaling ship Parachute, from a brass knuckle on the band of the second mate, a brute named Creory. From want of attention, he t aught co'd in the wound and it soon r dueed l ira to a wretched condition. The U. S. Consul found him at the Sandwich Islands and ship ped him to San Francisco, where he was pm into the Marine Hospital, tie staid there some time, but it seems that the physicians there could do nothing for him. L)r. Cooper told him, he says, that, if he could get money enough to board himself somewhere for the re quisite length of time, be, the doctor, could cure him, and would do so for nothing. In the hope of raising the money, the poor fellow left the Hospital and came up here, but he pre sents sucli a spectacle that hotel-keepers and keepers ol restaurants, and others doing busi ness, do not want him about, and so he has been taken up, as an act of kindness, by the police, and will be sent back to the Marine Hospital, as stated above. He says, that he could easily raise the money necessary to board himself during the promised attendance on him of L>r. Cooper, if he could only be allowed to go around and beg for it, but that he is such an awful sight that people will uot allow him to do it. If it be true that Dr. Cooper can cure him, and the official physicians of the hos pital cannot, means ought to be taken by the benevolent citizens of San Francisco, where Dr. Cooper lives, to get him into the bands of that physician. —Marysville Democrat. Old Burton thus lets loose on tobacco; Tobacco, divine, rare, super-excellent tobacco, which goes far beyond all other panaceas, por table gold, and philosophers' stoues, sovereign remedy to ail diseases. A good vomit, I con fess, a”virtuous herb, if it be well qualified, o[e portunely taken, and medicinally used, but as it is commonly abased by most men, who take it as linkers do ale, it is a plague, a mischief, a violent purger of goods, lauds, and health ; hellish, develisb, and damned tobacco, the ruin and overthrow of body and soul. FrvNY —The w*at!v'*r-.ck t* r, r>r aV r 10 the highest tr.orai truth. fo: it -.hows man that it is u vane thing to a-iprre. The Close of the Washington War. The Fori land •taper?, coining down to t IGth inst., brought by the Cor ,-s. c t:.t t a news of interest, save i:i regard to ti; cl.- scenes of the Indian war. 1-BACK WITH TUB CIEL'II D'aI.KXK-i -.ND '-V BA' A correspondent of tin (Lecon..;;, v . • from camp on .-it-ptoe’s battlefiv.d, ui.-.'.r u. of September 'doth, says : You last heard of our movement a* t. ■ - d'Alene Mission. At that p -:..t t: ■ ti' n under Col. Wright tamed i r . the Cuear d’Alenes having sited for p. Colonel granted them their req:: t, .■ : prisoners and eleven Uos ages I -r ti. good behavior of their tribe. Moving that point on tke 18th instant, by the iv ern edge of (hear d'Alene Lake, and by Coear d’-ilene and St. Joseph rivers, we r, ac - ed the Xedwhunid creek n the -Co in where wc met a representation ot 107 I id Spokaus. lis-d—piorres, Siarp-uis, Nca Peri t iV-1 Others—uli.asking for pea’ e. A coe I wt»S held, when all government properly b p given tjp—four hi stages given fur the fttiutc go si behavior uf thepvoplo w ith their worn.-. , peace was granted them. QL’ALCIIIN HANGED. Just after the council the great leader in hostilities, Ouhi. made his appearance at or. camp, when bo was immediately arrested at d ironed, and is now our prisoner. On questto. - iug him he replied that his sen Qualchiu w: ■n the Jfipokan with his family and his broth • I'eias. immediately an express was sent fo. - ward to say to Qnalehiu that if be did not j»i Colonel Wright in five days. Ins father wui i i he hung. Put, yesterday, ('ualchin and h wife, well mounted - horses gaily caparisono . moved into our camp, when this flat-head devi who, by his acts has spread war on both side d the Columbia Ibr the last three years, an.. made this region one grand battle field, ti: taken prisoner. And truly the -strong mao was bumbled'’—a large, stalwart, strong i'rarn.. armed with rifle and revolver, he resisted els: strong men of tiie guard detailed to bind hi; and battled to the last, hint his fate was sealed. Fifteen minutes after his capture, p was determined that he should prowl the cum t y no longer—and a scaffold being create I 1. vas hung without a friend or sympathise: The whole Indian camp ret chord, “ins; • -just.” lie had bat bides .its. His wi. was let go free. EXPEDITION 10 STIIfTO;:',- BATTLE-OBOCX'D. Coh Wright, on reaching his camp on l! ■ Xtd-whaukl creek, -at Major Greer with three companies of dragoon-; to the battle iiel. of Coh titeptoe, to recover the two 12-1. howitzers theie lest, and to gather together th bones of those who fed in that ever memo rub: deieat, in order to give with proper forms an ceremonies a decent military burial, the lust u ;; lies of these gallant men who lost their val uable lives in the wilder::..-«, fighting a tmiel • erous faithless enemy, and acting as pioneer to a future hardy p pnlalion, who will nu ■; tiou with honor the names of Tayl. r and Ga- - ton, when the fame of manv shall have grow dim. Lici t. Mullen, with his party, v. wi i .Maj. Greer to determine the position of ti; battle-field, and inane a map and sketch ol Ih ground. Dr. Randolph and Lieut. Gr.y, wh . were in Steptoe's battle, w.-rc present, as, als . Lieutenant White, who, with his means a' hand, packed home the long lost gnus, and L; Ponder and Howard to assist in paying ih last respects to a place now hallowed in Lislc ry. At 12 m. they reached the battle-fid.: which now seemed truiy the city of the dead. The wolves had more than dune their duty, and the bones of met), whom their country should never forget, lay bleaching in the prairie lid. for mile; around. During tl.e heat of balli. their bodies could not be recovered, and as th retreat was made at uigfii. no lit e was had I • pay burial to any save Cupt. Taylor. Licit*. Gaston and two men and a hah-nieed. A scene of mad desolation met the eye on evei side—and as Lieu*. Gregg and Dr. If e.d ■ , would point to this an . that point a- b -ai ?. testimony to the brave acts of btrav- r i . those around listened and dropped the . tear for those so ruthlessly bulehe*cd. In ,- lenco and sadness they gathered the reman - the officers and men—recovered the two go which still remained buried as they were .■ . and taking a pair of shafts of one of g . the only thing remaining of ail that bad be i. left outlie battle In-ld, they tusliioucd a iramed it into a rude cross and eiei led it iq. the ground, as not only a ecu to ah I < travelers, who, either through curio.-.ly otherwise, should visit this | Hji.tt, but ie . Christian mark for the butchered dead. <u . planting around this cross the remnants w a I iiat was remaining, they It ft the .sail in moor; ful silence. Mr. Kaiecki and Mr. .-'ohoii. th . assistants of Lieut. M lien, in the me.mwlii made fine drawings and sketches of the spot and ground. PEACE WITH THE PEI.OfSE TP.IBE. The same correspondent of the Oregon to writing from Camp Taylor, on Snake river, un der date of Oct. lst,l3dS, says : The first column of the command under Coi Wright arrived at this point to-day, and wi . be followed by the second and last column n morrow, under the immediate supervision of th Colonel. You last heard of the general mov meat of (ho expedition on the -oulh fork the Spokan, whence the troops, marching southward in the direction of tlie Pelouse foi three days, halted, and wore met by a larg 1 and of Pelouse In bans suing for peace. Thes were accompanied by about twenty-five lodgi of renegade Xez Ptrecs, who had met an fought Cot. Steptoe, and who were engaged it. all the battles fought by Col. Wright. Here the Indians again met with condig punishment. The Colonel, assembling then demanded first the murderers of the miners op Pelouse. in early spring of the present year when they immediately surrendered, and in th presence of the assembled tribes, the Colon, ordered them to be hung. He next demanded the men who had stolen the Government cat lie during the month of July, from the Wui... Walla; and so perfectly subdued have llu now become, tiial they, too. without hc-dune. were given up, and they, too, meet with a lil. fate; and the Colonel pointing to these me.; thus hung, toid thorn that a similar fate await ed each and every transgression of the tribe i all time to come. He then demanded a m;m her of hostages and prisoners which bo in, willingly given, he told the remainder now t disperse to their hunting and fishing ground-, and that if they continued faithful to the many verbal promises they had already made that i’ the early spring a written treaty of peace won!., be made, and not before. OUUI SHOT. The Portland Standard of the 13th instant say - : After the troops had passed to this side <•' Snake river, on the morning of the 2d instate the Yakima chief Ouhi, father of having attempted to escape, was mortal:; wounded. Up to the timed hi. iutile attemp be had appeared contented with bis duress, bu, seized the occasion when momentarily par ted from the command and in charge alone * Lieut. Morgan, 3d \ Artillery. to make a da.-n through the bashes' Morgan, however, follow - ed him promptly, and with three shots seven ly wounded him and his horse At the -;m, time privi-.ic B'hn • L >. 1 p -UICJ *Lj w ./ i*C.-Urd. ZSTO. 51.