——— ‘

Pane Is

Weekly Hournal of Politics, Literature, and Hews,

ooo

Vol XEL

le nt ‘ a

Valuable ‘Business Stand Por Sale.

TIL be Sold by AUCTION, on |

MONPAY, the It SEPTEMBEK next, en |

the prewiees, Chit valuable Business Stand, part of the preperty of the inte Janes CoLss, ia accordance wich hes tat Well and Testament the Corwee of Prince and Kent Streets, inel PWRLANG HOUSE, now occupied by Mrs VLontey as a Tavera.

uiug &

Also, that commodious TWO STOREY BUILD- |

ING, fronting on Keut street, lately oecupied by Mr. ‘Tomas Green as a Farnitare Store, comprising front saop, plastered and finished; aud a spacious back Store Room, and Cellar under the whole, stone watled; aud a targe Room floored over the whole in the secoud storey

The Land ie bounded as follows, viz: thirty ove (31) fronting ou Prince-street, and eighiy-four (5 feet on Kent-street, thence seuth from RKent-street forty eight and ene-half feet, thence East to Princ

street untilit meets the line fronting ou Prince-street, tl y-one feet from the corner en to the line of the house occupied by Mrs. Coaly, being part of Lot No. Eighty-nine in the 3 of Town Lots in Charlottetown

hundred «

Part of the purchase money may rewain secured on ihe premises for a term of three years

For further particulars apply to : GRORGE COLES, Executor. Charlottetown, Wth June, |862. inl

FOR IMMEDIATE SALE,

HAT DESIRABLE WATER LOT, ia GEORGELOWN, containing half an acre of LAND, with usual privileges, known as No.l, or Point Lor. Terms Cash or short time on security. Apply to the Hon. Joszru Hensiey, Chadinetentae, December 2, 1861. tf

~_—

wpraat desirable property, belonging to Jaure Witson, Esq., consisting of 36 acres of LAND, ina high state of cultivation, a very con- venieut DWELLING HOUSE and offices, a good GARDEN, and am extensive and valuable OR- CUARD.

This Property has a water frout, snd is distant from the City only a few minutes walk. Asa gen- tleman’s residence, Warblington is unrivalled by

any property in thelsland. Apply to Wx. DODD, | pay »

Auctioneer, or to the subscriber, THOMAS PETHICK. Charlottetown, April 28, 1562.

Valuable Property for Sale.

a re

itis mtmated on |

i fown |

** Warblington ”’ for Sale. |

;

= —= 7 = _——

Charlottetown.

_ —

* This is true Liberty, when Freeborn Men, having to advise the Public, may speak free.”=--Euripides,

Prince Edward Island, Monday, August 11, 1862.

New Series.---No. 21,

LITERATURE,

| PrN reer ers

' | ( From Blackwood’s Magazine for July.)

{ ’ i ,

|, STANZAS TO WORDSWORTH. Like solitary branch of oak or elm,

| ‘Torn off in early summer, when the year

Was greenest, orphaned in the forest realm, The whispered by-word of each sylvan peer;

| Which all despairingly, some few days’ length, | Whiie the sap dwindles to a scautiest tear,

| Feeds a dead life with its inherent sirength—

' Too soon, alas! the brittle blackening leaves Shrivel their veiny net-work, once eo fair;

No more that lost bough pleasant tune receives, But harsh and bollow, from the idling air;

And nerves once quick to pleasure and to pain

| Wholly forget the sunlight’s fostering care,

| Whelly the sweet dews and tho mellowing rain—

Such did I fondly deem myself, but thou

Hast taught me with new forms to over-write That fatal old imperious blank, and now

| Find I companionship a8 wide as light,

; True sympathetic rapture, which distilg

| There on the spirit’s most harmonious height

Rieh revelations from the stars aud hills.

| There that good Faculty doth build her nest,

A refuge “rom #elf-waste, and hourly reaps

| Whoiesome vicisaitude and boon nurest

| In other haunts than where the ross world sleeps ; | Whenee she discerns that Barth's dumb-seeming sphere

Heaves warm with pulses from its deepest deeps,

| And mighty voices large with love doth rear.

Each wind, its own majestic cadence pouring, Wanders articulate the realms of air; In the great zone of waters, hushed or warring Lives language that no centuries outwear;

| And, with peculiar poesies endued,

our eal auswer speculations rare

| With master-meanings culled in solitude.

| Thie thou hast taught me, this art teaching still.

| i

My new-found nature quaffs the piercing rain

se Sabseriber, intending to make alter- | 5'e4 from thee, and is moulded at thy will

ations in his business, offers FOR SALE his well knows and valuable BUSINESS STAND and | Property at Sommensipe, Priace Edward Island. | ‘This property is situate one hundred feet from | the Qaeea's Wharf, {where the Mail Mesmer comes | four times in each week during the time the uaviga tion ia open), fronting on the West side of the street jeading thereto, and ulso fronting on Water Btreet, formiug au angle of the two streets, upon which is built a wew, haudsowe and substauvtial Two Stoxey HOUSE and STORE, 40 fect by 30 feet. The) Store is neatly and most conveniently fitted up for | a general Day Goons and Grocery Business. The House is well finished, and sujtwble for a res- | pectable family, containing several Rooms and Bed- | rooms. There is also 4 Srst rate Cellar under the | whole buildiag seven feet deep, in one angle of | which is a splendid spring of Water. In the rear of the buildiag is & convenient WaxxHousr, new, and iu good repair Any person wishing to carry on a general business, | there is pe place ia P. E. Island moro desirable than ; the rapidly growiag tewa ef Bammerside, and the | position of the wbeve property being the best aud | most central im the place, it offers rare induceweuts | toe apy person wishing to inve \ : ! For particulars please apply e preniges to} the owner. i MARTIN ALLORAN. feramersidc, P. E. 1., Jaty 14, 1862. oi

VALUABLE FREEHOLD FARM. |

| R SALE, one hundred acres of free | land, with 12j acres of leasehold attached, | situated nears Mr. James Yeo's, Brown’s Creek. | 70 acres of the above are in « high state of cultiva tion aud the remainder covered wigp hard and soft | wood. There ia a good Dwelling-houte, larce Barn, and Outbouses on the premises, plenty of water, and a wil! in the immediate vicimty. Pos Session givey immediately after the crop is off. The } stock can be had, which is now on the farm, if re quired. Any quantity of fish can be had, as this roperty fronts on the shore, and muscle mud can bs procured on the premises.

i

4LSO-—— j One Hundred and Fifty Acres of Freehold Land, | 7 miles from Sammerside, Lounding on the sea

shore ou the Wifteen Point Road. Possession can | be givew immediately. For farther particulars please apply to the eub- |

acriber, ge JOUN SMITH, Distiller. Summerside, July 23, i862. 3w. pd.

Land for Sale. HE Subscriber has yet on hand three |

hundred acres of his property at Lot 4, Plot | 14, which he will seil on the most liberal terms, | taking horned cattle or other stock in exchange. | Tle warrants the Jand to be of the first quality, free r marshes, and well stocked with timber of all kinds. The Subscriber will be at Cos tin’s Mill, Mimiai h, on the 10th of August next, | to arrange with intending purchasers and eee | who have previcasly purchased land from him or his Solicitor, Charles Palmer, Esqr., as to terme and other particalars. : | N.B. On the payment of one instalment down, a credit of four years will be given for the remain- WALTER LANNEN

from swame

<r Ten Mile House, St- Peter's Road, July 14. 4w

GREAT CHANCE — To Farmers and others. | Mmue subseriber being about to make an |

alteration in his business, offers for sale 100 | Acres of FREE LAND, situated at Egmont Bay | Lot 15. Twenty acres of said Land js cleared, and | well fenced, and in high state of cultivation; the ; remainder is covered with hard and soft wood. It} freuts the shure at Egmont Bay by 17 chains, where | sea manure and mud can be got at all times and in | abundance. Also on the premises, a good Log House, well finished inside; a Barn 24 * 26, built

itd Cedar. k

= For further particulars apply to the subscriber, on

orn BENJAMIN BARREY. Egmont Bay, 25th July, 1862. 3w

~ FOR SALE. mpur leasehold interest io fifty-two acres

of land, situate on St. Peter's Poad, ten miles from Charlottetown, subject to the yearly rent of oue shilling per acre for 999 years,one-ninth added. The best recommendation is a view of the premises and the growing crop thereon. The above will be sold either with or without the crop. There is on the premises a good dwelling fraime house, S22 feet, together with barn and stable buildings lately erected. : an The purebaser may expect liberal terms. information ean be had on application to the owner

se ek JOHN MOONEY. Ten Mile House, St. Peter's Koad, Lot 3o, July 24, 1362. tf.

FOR SALE, ALUABLE FREEHOLD FARM,

in Brackley Point containing about 90 acres of Land, 70 clear and ina high state of cultivation, the remainder covered with a fine growth of longers. There is an abundance ef Salt Mud and Sea Manure on the property, with a good Cottage, 30 x 26 feet, and a Kite nen attached, 12 x 10 feet, well finished, and 4 goodechain Pump at the door, anda good Barn 46 feet long, with or without the Crop. For a sum- mer’s residence it is second to none in the country. Teums—One-half the purehase money down ; the remainder in twelve or Application to be made to the subscriber, on the mises. F ¢ JOSEPIL MACKINNON. June 16th, 1862.

ou DR. HAMMOND JOHNSON

Will VACCINATE at his Dispensary aise from 11 to 1 o'clock daily. uly L4, 1862.

Flour! Molasses! Sugar!

pet RECEIVED, from New York, 150 barrels Extra Superfine FLOUR.

———Also, from Halifax—— 12 puncheons Molasses,

6 bhds. Sugar. ; For Sale by the subscribers, low

To read high matter in a simple strain.

Thrice blest who owned thee early for their seer, Who, finding thy eweet fountains not in vain, Preached the remedial virtue far and near.

Well said the Greek that universal earth

Buries the brave, and ie their monnment;

Bat death to thee hath been an ampler birth, Whereby thy being with mankind is blent. Graved ov men’s hearts thine epitaph lasts long. Now are those hard lips learning to repent, Who scorned thee once, the Nazarene of song.

Even when we wept, a little while ago, Vufaithfal, that thy place knew thee.no more, The mental essence, moving to and fro, Flasbed in our eyes thy renovated lore

4nd filled ali corners with instinctive truth. He errs who tells us that thy life is o'er,

Nor reads all round him thine eternal youth.

Therefore to thee whose bones God's call await In that fair carth whereof thy poet-power

The lapsed significance did intimate,

And clothe each herb aad individual dower With music and thine own life's woblest part,

I, a weak proselyte, love's simple dower

Offer not worthless from a poor man’s heart—

Yea, thaitks and love for that serener code Whie

Teaches the hamble to interpret God,

, in a safe and stormless avenue,

Which even by exaltation can enbdue,

Chaaten, and thrill with light those evil dreams Which made life's heavier meaning seem the true, And change this desert to a land of streams.

O to what height advanced were wo, now low, Could we but once inform with that great light Our tyrant étrengthleesness—the ebb and flow Of objectless desire—yea, boldly smite

Custom, that old usnrper, who doth draw

All nations iu his net by lordly right,

Not by true service aud kind wiedom’s law!

We fail ; but thou, alike in youth and age, Calm-browed with patience, like a Phidiac god, Satst loftily withdrawn from vulgar rage,

Not faithless, though thy fellows left untrod Biairs of thy building. O large heart and brave, Stars are thy raiment, not this lowly sod.

| Gazing on heaven I gaze upon thy grave!

EARL CANNING.

Come home at last! From the half royal crown which whos owears~ Aches both in head and heart—the weight so vast; From seathing suns, and still more scathing cares; From that fur grave ao fresh, ‘tis still ungrass‘d, Where the bright lady of his love doth lie, Come home at last to die.

We bad scarce time To welcome him with sword and star of state, With voiceful banquet, and with lofty rhyme ; Yet not the blossoms make the forest great, Not the reward—the work makes man sublime. What matter now? Methinks 'twere overbold To give a martyr gold.

One gift we have, Not misbeseeming our much love, nor him Who saved the Indies for our sons—a grave! Bury him in the Abbey, in the dim Religious light among our wise and brave, Among our saints and senators, and men Of golden thought and pen.

Not like his sire, With torchlike words, with flowers and lights of speech, Hearts could he finely win, or greatly fire ; With drums and tramplings, through «he deadly breach He never marched ; or wrote and tuned the lyre, Like him, the gentlest of immortals,” who Sleeps next his Montagu.

O truer tongue Whose eloquence was that great word—forgive! O braver warrior by loud fame unsung, O nobler pages worthier far to live, Stamp'd with the rights of those who did us wrong! © England's calm uneanonized saint Enuskied by self-restraint.

At last come home. Welcome, high weleome with the organs grieving, Majestic through the glory and the gloom ; Welcome with tears that tell the undeceiving Of life-long dreams at last beside the tomb. Welcome, for here where England's mightiest rest There comes no nobler guest,

Come home at last! Childless and crownless, weary and heart wounded, ‘A better name than sons can give thou hast, And that deep weariness is aye surrounded By the sweet arms of Christ around thee cast, And from thy crown of thorns, and heartache freed, Thou art at home, indeed.

DODD “4 Dodd's Brick Store, Powyal struct, Ble

*Addizon.

HUGH MAYNE.

A STORY OF FRONTIER LIFE.

Pennsylvania two families, bearing respec- Though dwelling within a couple of miles of

tance from any other settlers, it so chanced that these families were on the terme. The heads, at least. of the two househelds were so, and the cause of their mutual dislike had reference to a distant period. Both had taken part in the war which gave independence to their country, but they had chosen opposite sides, liam Mayne had thought it bis duty to maintain his loyalty to the British Sovereign, while Waters had been one of the most ar- dent supporters of the revolutionary party.

adopted different sides would not have ex- cited the hostility alluded to had not Waters

contest. be but fulfilling the part of a true lover of his country in doing so, and declared himself free from all feelings of personal enmity. Mayne’s confinement had proved in the end rather a fortunate event than otherwise, for at the cloge of the war he was held to have incurred go little guilt that his liberty, as well as property, was restored to him, which

allewed to enter more largely into the contest. .

William Mayne, however, was far from considering himself as a debtor on this score to his countryman ; aud when the two acci- dently removed, after the war, to the same

vania, sentiments the reverse of friendly | existed between them. It must be owned | that the hostility lay chiefly on Mayne’s| part, for Waters felt the consciousness of | having been actuated by pure motives in the | transaetion at which Mayne took offence, | and was rether anxious to couciliate bis’ loyalist neighbor than to nourish any feeling of dislike towards him. Neither of them, being bad-hearted mer, it is probable that!

might have attained to a better knowledge | of each other's ebaracter and have become | good neighbors. But, near neighbors as they were, no intercourse was kept up be-| tween them. Their families, too, shared in | this estrangement, with tae exception of two meabers of these retired households. Mayne had one only son, Hugh, who had just reached the bloom of youthful manhood | at the period when the incidcuts we have to | relate took place. Hugh Mayne loved the | daughter of Waters with his whole heart | and soul. Often had this pair met ogsthe lonely mountain side, when no saa

wae at hand to listen to the outpouring of their simple affection. Mary Waters did | not conceal these meetings from her parents, | who, if they did not approve, at least did | not check or forbid them. On the other hand, kuowing well the dislike that rankled | in his father’s mind, liugh Mayne did not}

tachment that had sprung up in his breast. Blinded by the strength of bis passione, he |

at last yentured to speak on the subject to|

The astonishment of the elder Mayne at

anger.

and all that belong to him.

on you never to The son interrupted his father.

will be impossible—when it will destroy my |

but that of another will be rained by it.’

of that man and bis whole brood. Mary | of mine. instilled into the minds of that family from their cradle. It is our money they look to.’ * You are wrong, father,’ returned Hugh ; ‘ this is your prejudice that speaks.’ ‘ And have [ not cause to be prejudiced?’ said the father, warming with the recollec- tion of his wrong. ‘ Did not I suffer impri- sonment for years through his means? | have ever been a kind parent to you, Hugh, but I know that I would sooner see you wedded to a negro slave than a daughter of Heory Waters. Never will one of that man’s offspring be a good and loving wife to a son of mine.’ Though conscious in the depths of bis sou: of the erroneous pature of his father’s asser- tion, Hugh saw the necessity of giving up| the point, for the time at least, before his) father should be irritated into a more posi- | tive expreasion of anger or discouragement. | With a sigh he turned away to put on his, hunting gear, feeling that solitude woul: be| most congenial to his present state of wind. | Ere Jong he was ov bis way to the bills, | with his hunting belt across his sboulder,and | his rifle in his hand — a weapon which the half-farmers, half-huoters of the border sel- | dom went without. It was verging towards noon when Hugh | Mayne left his home. On the evening of the same day Mary Waters sat in her fa- ther’s cottage,with her knitting on her knee, working, and at the same time conversing with ber invalid mother, who lay upon a small bed in the apartment.

not your father taken them with him to the hills to-day? asked the old woman. ‘He thought, mother, that their noise might bring the Indians on his track, if the savages have really returned to this neigh- borhood, which I pray to heaven may not be the case.’ As the young woman made this reply, she rose from her seat, and say- ing—' The dogs know this hour—my father should be coming home now,’ she went to the door of the cottage. She returned in a minute or two with the information that her father was not yet visible, After an affec- tionate inquiry into the state of comfort of

{the form of ber returning parent. Towards the close of the last century there , third visit ber mother was greatly startled the young maiden’s mind a sense of the re- lived on the western frontier of the State of| by a wild shriek from her lips, followed by | ality of the dreadful scene that had passed,

tively the names of Mayne and Waters. | one another, and more than double that dis- |

worst of

Wile

hie father. | him for the time of oue pursuer. Panting and ye g exhausted, he reselved to make a stand | the disclosure was ouly equalled by his) against his own single foe, and terminate the | j contest, if possible, by a struggle hand to| ‘Again and again,’ he said, * have I told band, ere the prostrate savage could free | you of the cause I have to dislike that man | himself from the dog, and come to his com- | He inflicted | paniou’s aid. on me an injury for which he has not 'suddenly wheeled round, grasping the barrel | deigned ever to make an atonement, even in | of his musket with both hands, At this in-| words. You krow this, aud yet you have /Stant, the pursuing Lodian was not ten yards | Hugh Mayne, you have ever been | distant.

a dutiful son, and [ now lay my command, movement, the savage also made a sudden | stop, and assumed the same attitude.

‘Do not | equally fatigued, and with breasts heaving | pronounce a command,’ he said, ‘ which it 1 high with toil and excitement, the two ad. |

peace—to obey. And not my peace only,| Mutual cousent, to regain breath for the | deadly struggle. ‘ You are too simple, Hugh Mayne,’ re- | 0f tall stature, and with forms combining, plied his father ; ‘ you know not the temper | iv extraordinary degree,power with activity. |

Waters can have no true affection for a son the same moment to think of loading their | Hate to all of our name would be | guus as the preferrable mode of determining | ‘the contest, in the exhausted state in which

‘I bear the dogs barking,Mary ; why has

Hier anxiety did not permit ber to sit) you have snatched me from the brink of the | to only call to them when he should jadge

'long, ere she again weut to the door to look ialong the hill-side in front of the cottage for On her

|her hurried re-entrance into the cottage.

‘agony of alarm, ‘ Hugh Mayne is pursued ! |The savages are at his heels! © mother! | mother! what is to be done ??

The powerless invalid, to whom this vain appeal wus mude, fell back on her couch, | while the daughter rushed again to the door A dreadful sight was indeed before her eyes. Along the side of the hill already mention- ‘ed, her lover was seen making at full speed for the cottage, trusting, doubtless, to re- ceive assistance, or to affect a stand there ‘ut some advantage, against those who pur- jsued him. There were three in number, ‘dusky sons of the wild, terrible with their

| bounded, at short distanges from one ano- lther, like deer-bounds after their prey.

| of poor Mary. All parties were armed, the | Indians both with gun and tomahawk, and

| Hugh with his rifle only. But, as it ap-|

| peared, the fire-arms of the savages chanced not to have been Joaded when they first set /eyes on their victim. The weapon of the | White hunter, fortunately, was in a different |condition; and while he was still a censi-

might not have been the case had he been | derable way from the cottage, he turned

round, raised his rifle with an aim unerring, and the foremost of the pursuers tumbled on the sward a lifeless corpse.

Some time was lost by this act, rapidly executed as it was. In truth the loss seemed likely to be fatal to the white hunter, who

district on the western borders of Pennsyl- | recommenced his flight with the distance be-

tween him and his surviving foes alarmingly diminished. But help was at hand, and from an unexpected source. Being more than six miles distant from any other settlers, and neither her father nor any others of the family being at hand, Mary Waters had

spent some moments in maddening anxiety, : p “ y jaccompapied Mary Waters to her home,

— a one j Her mother had passcd the moments of!

Mary's absence in a state of great anxiety, | proportionate to which was her relief when

hopeless of all aid, until she bethought her | of one chance of help, such as it was. She |

flew to the place where her father’s two dogs,

had they conversed freely together they | for the reason noticed, had been temporarily |

shut up, freed them, und led them in the | direction of the chase, exerting all the speed | which her limbs were at the moment capable | of. The faithful creatures, of a powerful | breed, and accustomed to bear huntiog, | speedily recognised the approach of strangers |

and enemies, and needed not the cries of the | waiden to send them at full speed in the re- | quired direction. They reached the spot | just as the [remus seciied to be gaining and | elusing on Hugh, The wily savages bad not | seen the advaace of the dogs without some | preparation for theirreception, Poising his tomahawk with scarcely even a momentary abatement of his speed, the foremost of the two Indians tnrew the weapon at one of the advaacing animals, when a few feet from bim, and buried it in the creature’s body The other Indian was not so fortunate in a! similar aim at the other dog. The toma- | hawk missed its mark, and in an instant the |

}

|

’ ani 21 gy ¢ he thros f the i

venture for a long period to reveal the at- |animal had sprung at the throat of the sa-| |

vage and pulled him to the ground.

|

A single glance behind him told Hugh |

that the dogs had effected a change, and rid

{

he|

With this determination,

On seeing the white hunter’s|

Each

versaries stood gazing on each other, as if by |

Both of them were men

After a pause, the men appeared at one and |

i

they were. Their hands moved simultan- eously to their powder-horns, and a most momentous trial of quickness in loading be- | gan. Both of them bandied their arms with ; the dexterity of practised huuters. In the same second of time they rammed their cart- | ridges, and threw their ramrods on the) ground. With the quickness of lightning, | the Indian applied his powder-horn to the priming, and in that moment of fearful im- port it is not surprising that his hand ot bled, daring as he was. But Hugh did not | apply his horn to the same use; he staked | his life upon a chance. Striking the breach | of his rifle violently upon the ground, ne raised the weapon, aimed, and his bullet went through the beart of his enemy! By the plan he had adopted, he had trusted to his rifle priming itself, and the second of time he had gained, for, asthe Indian fell, the bullet from the mouth of his ascending rifle touched the very hairs on Hugh’s head!

All this had passed before the eyes of poor Mary, who had continued, in the un- thinking agony of fear and love, to fly in the direction in which her lover’s danger

| and bis father, at the desire of the latter,

| grave !” ) A glimpse of the dark body of the Indian did more than these words to bring back to

}and the remembrance go terrible, that for a

| Sensibility.

| While Hugh was endeavoring to restore | her to perfect consciousness and composure, |by the use of every endearing term that love and gratitude could suggest to him, a | third party, breathle:s and exhausted, came ‘to the spot. This was Hugh’s father, who bad seen from a distance the danger of his /son. The agitated parent’s first question |was, if Hugh was anhurt.

| *That [am alive at all, father,’ was the ireply, ‘“* you have to thank, after Heaven, this girl’s love for me, which made her re- _gardless of her own life when mine was in

Perhaps the mere circumstance of having | Wat-paint, and uttering fearful yells,as they | danger,’

| * I partly beheld what shedid, and I do | thank her,’ said the elder Mayne, with tears

been the inetrument of procuring the impri-) Hugh bad the advantage of them by not/in his eyes. * May God bless her for this sonment of Mayne at an early period of the |More than thirty yards, a distance that|day’s act! I have been unjust to her, and Waters had conceived himself to| seemed fearfully short to the straining eyes | for her sake I will be the first to drown all

uukioduess between her father and myself.’

Mary Waters was sufficiently recovered by this time to hear those words, and a | blush of pleasure suffused her cheek as she raised her head from the arm that had for a time sustained her.

Hugh had kept bis eye oecasionally on the spot where the dog and his adversary lay, and after the conversation with his father, the young man went up to the spot with steps rendered cautious by his know- ledge of the cunning of the savages. No motion appeared on the part of the Indian. In truth, he was dead. The dog also was lifeless, having been stabbed repeatedly with the long knife of the red man; yet even in death its teeth relaxed not their hold of ‘the bare throat of the savage, who had been choked, as appeared from the ground, only after the most violent struggles. On ascertaining this fact, which put an end to all danger for the moment, Hugh Mayne

|from the sounds they were about to pass |him. But while thus waiting, in a most | anxious silence, he was suddenly startled by the report of a pistol, followed by a deep | groan, and the sound as of some body falling to the earth. Then the horses stopped, with-

‘ Merciful Heaven !’ she exclaimed, in an | time she relapsed into a state almost of in-/ in apparently a hundred feet of him, and he

heard a quick, eager voice, in a low, excited tone, say >

‘No use of the knife—I reckon my shot has finished him—and 0 let’s be eareful and not get any blood on our clothes,’

‘Good!’ said another yoice; ‘now then |for the money, Here is the lantern—be | lively !”

There was some slight rustling of the bushes, the flashing of a light, and then the first speaker said hurriedly ;

‘Ah! here it is, Joe, and full at that. We've made a good haul this time.’

‘ And his watch, too !’ rejoined the other, fer there appeared to be but two speakers.

Then our friend could see the light flash as if from a dark lantern, and through the leaves and branches he could occasionally catch the shadowy movements of the two murderers, as they secured their borses and | conversed in tones too low for him te distin- | guish what they said. As may be supposed, , he was already terribly excited, and he knew | not what todo — whether to remain where he was, or attempt to steal away, get to the nearest settlement, and give the alarm. While he yet remained undecided, keeping his place in the tree, looking and listening, one = the —— said, in a louder tone :

‘ Now that we've got all we want, s we proceed to the burial.’ Daa

_‘ Ay, ay,’ replied the other, ‘let us pat him under ground, so deep that his body can’t be scented by man or beast, else we'll have some meddlesome fool inquiring into the case. Do you go abead with the lan- tern and spade, and 1’ll drag the body along in double quick time. Mind you pick a soft spot, for 1 don’t want to be bere all night on work that don’t pay.’

‘Why, I should think it did pay ! return- ed his companion; ‘at least I'd like to give

the happy result of the adventure was) made known to her. Her husband, as has! een said, was from home, but he returned | before the elder Mayne’s departure, and a. reconeiliation took place, which was a bliss- ful sight to the youthful pair, to whose happiness the previous estrangement had been so obstructive.

No loug time afterwards, Hugh Mayne was united to Mary Waters. To them, therefore, this perilous adventure with the red men became a still more memorable oc- currence than it would otherwise have been, aud was rendered a retrospect as much of joy as of terror.

i SE Os # A WAYSIDE MURDER.

Twenty years ago, a friend of ours met

with the following thrilling adventure in| they were for the time too eagerly engaged /to hear the rustling of the leaves as his From Houston he set out on horseback to | chilled body aud nervous trepidation shook makehis way to a settlementon the Brazos, | the limbs against which he rested and to and a large portion of his journey lay over | which he clung for support. ; 2 low, flat, swampy country, through which, They now said little and worked fast,each flowed numerous streams and erecks, some | using the spade by turn. Ina few minutes of which could be forded, and some of which | they had made in the soft earth an excava- One day, in attempting| tion sufficient for their purpose. Then the one of the latter kind, his horse became | body of the murdered man was thrown in as troublesome and threw him into the water, | if it were a dog, the earth shovelled back up- He succeeded, after a hard struggle, in get- | on it, stamped down, and levelled off.

Te xas.

he bad to swim.

ting to the opposite bank, up which he

crawled, more dead than alive, only to find| fr as he could into a thicket ahead of him,

that his beast had disappeared in the thick, fi

dark wood, and that he was thus left,

human habitation. with the hope of overtaking him, was out of | the question; and as the day was far de-

clined, he feared it would be impossible for |

him to find shelter for the night; and the| The man was a atranger in Texas, and it's not likely they'll ever be recognized. Get back as soon as you can.

idea of passing it in the forest — wet, cold and supperless, with no bed but the damp earth, and liable to be visited at any moment by wild beasts — was by no mvans & plea- sant one.

There was nothing to be done, however, but to put the best face he could upon the matter; and so, with only a knife for his remaining weapon—his holster-pistols hav- ing gone with his horse—with neither blan- ket nor overcoat for a covering, and no means of lighting a fire, he set forward, in sheer desperation, determined to walk till he should come to some habitation, even if he kept upon his feet till morning.

So long as light remained, he succeeded passably well in his new resolve; but when darkness set in,he found it no easy matter to keep the narrow horse-path for even an hour, and by the end of that time he found he bad lost it altogether, and knew not which way to shape his course to regain it.

As there was danger, sbould he continue on, that he might #0 lose himself as not to be able to find the path on the following day, he resolved to pass the night where he was, which was certainly @ most disagree- sbie alternative, and as he had no means for lighticg a fire aud drying his clothes, be | at once sought for a tree, into whose bran- | ches he could climb and rest securely from | ithe few wild beasts that were known to stil!

of the lantern rested upon them. Little did

down upon them, and well was it for our

afoot | let’s be of. Do you take the horse ever to and alone, in a dreary wilderness, afar from | Bagley’s, give him the sign, and tell him he

To pursue the animal, | may have half he ge:s for him at the Bay.’

the other.

og acool thousand for your half of the so

‘That we've got, Joe—don’t you see ? that we've got for killing him; but what I mean

is, the burying part don’t pay, you stupid !’

‘Hark! exclaimed Joe, in @ low, cau- tious tone. ‘I thought I heard a noise, If anybody should happen to come this way and discover us-——’

‘ Then we'd have to add another body to the same grave, Joe. But lead en quick, and only show light where it’s needed !’

The two men now came forward toward

our friend, the one carrffag a spade and

lantern, the other dragging the body of the 4

murdered man, ‘They stopped ata soft, moist spot, within ten feet of the tree ia which he was concealed, and within such plain view that more than once he could see their features distinctly, as the bright rays

they dream that a human eye was looking

friend that they bad no suspicion, and that

‘There !" said one, pitching the spade as

we've made a clean job of that, and now

‘Aod the bridle and saddle ?’ inquired

‘Oh, they may as well go with the horse.

I'll take the money along, and have it all counted and di- vided by the time you return.’

*And you won’t take more than half, Bill ?

‘What! do you take me for a —— thief, Joe?