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Mr? W ill bo published every TimivdaV at I'-^idec. Yates Co , New York, by BOOTH Sc BUTM A N PROPRIETORS AND PUBLISHERS. T erms — ®t 50 cash in advance, #1 75 at the end o f three months ; or $ 2 if paid within the yeur. Village subscribers, and those supplied by carriers, Will be clturged $ 2 25, or $ 2 in advance. No paper discontinued until a!' at the option of the publisher. Advertisements,dvertisements, off a squareuare or or SI; and 25 con's for each subsequent insertion. A libe al discount made to those who advertise 1>y the year. inquiring1 as to the sfate ofhis wounds, £*c., he took from his {Ajckc^the letter 8tuLi*t*wim&A$6-’. sion of Crokcr. “ I am aware,” said he, “ my honored sir, that the manuscript here before me is of so interesting a nature to yourself, that it would be injustice in me, longer to withhold the contents from you. f have first, however, to know if you are the gentleman whose signature No paper discontinued until all arrearages are paid, unless ' is attached to this communication,” handing him 1 the option of the publisher. I ,i lp ipftpr vvhirh F.Hivarrl h id r^pivprl A o a sq o under,'inserted three weeks llle ie, r *» , c , •CiCIHaru nhu received. ‘ “ 1 hate the honor of bearing that name, re plied Montano, castingbis eyes upon it, and somewhat surprised at ^.e abruptness of the Hollander; butrecoverecfnimself, instantly pro ceeded to,inform him of the brief history of his life, which our readers already have been made acquainted with, in the eleventh chapter of oar tale. The Hollander then related to him the event of the prolific basket, and the singular events connected with the children. When he came to mention that they were both under the same roof with him, it was too much for the weak and feeble father to sustain; be was approaching a consummation of happi ness, which his feeble state could not bear, and he fainted with joy. Suddenly called into action, every parental feeling ofhis heart rushed irre sistibly upon his mind, and caused nature for a moment to suspend her animated powers. But he soon revived, to a recollection of the happi ness that was in store for him; and he longed now, impatiently, to clasp to his bosom the long lost pledges cf his departed Louisa’s affection. The Hollander intreated of Montano to com pose himself, while he informed Edward and Cornelia of the happiness that awaited them, and immediately left the room. Soon after the Hollander’s visit to Montano, and while they were together, Edward with the girls were walking in the garden attached to the mansion house, when suddenly a noble buck dashed past them, with tail erect, and tossing his antleis high, bounded along into the thick THE SUMMER MIDNIGHT^ .4* m— mmmm BY THE LATE REV. JAMES WALLIS EA6TBURN. The breeze of night has sunk to reet, Upon the river’s tranquil breast; And every bird has sought her nest, Where silent is her minstrelsy; The queen of heaven i6 sailing high, A pale bark on the azure sky, Where not a breath is heard to sigh— So deep the soft tranquility. Forgotten now the beat of day That on the burning waters lay, The noon of night her mantle gray spreads, for the sun’s high blazonry; But glittering in that gentle night There gleams a line of silvery light, As tremulous on the shores of white It hovers sweet and playfully. At peace the distant shallop rides; Not as when dashing o’er her sides The roaring bay’s unruly tides Were beating round her gloriously; But every sail is furled and still; •Silent the seaman’s whistle shrill, While dreamy slumbers seem to thrill With parted hours of ecstacy. Stars of the many-spangled heaven! Faintly this night your beams are given, Though proudly where your hosts are driven Ye rear your dazzling galaxy; Since far and wide a softer hue 16 spread across the plains of blue, Where in bright chorus, ever true, Forever swells your harmony. O for some sadly dying note Upon this silent hour to float, Where from the bustling world remote The lyre might wake its melody; One feeble strain is all can swell From mine almost deserted shell, In mournful accents yet to tell That slumbers not its minstrelsy. There is an hour of deep repose That yet upon my heart shall close, When all that nature dreads and knows Shall burst upon me wondrously; O may I then awake forever My heart to rapture’s high endeavor, And os from earth’s vain scene I sever, Be lost in Immortality! HOPE FOR THE BEST. Oh, why should we ever be shading Moments of pleasure with pain t Though the rose we have cherished be fading, Time will bring other roses again! Though Fate may our destinies sever— Though for a brief season deprest— Trusting in Providence ever, Still —let us hope for the best. There's a star ever burning above us, Still shining for happier day?; There’s a spirit that ever will love us, Beaming beyond that star’s rays! Though for a time we may suffer, Clasp this deep truth to thy breast— Trusting in Providence ever— Come what there may — it is b e s t ! From the Auburn Fiee Press.—(By request.) T H E T W I N ' S . A WESTERN TALE. CHAPTER XIII. *• My pen is at the bottom o f the page, Anil hi re the story ends; Some may have wish’d it had been sooner done, Bui stories somewhat lengthen when begun.” A nonymous . Early the next morning after the wonderful disclosure made by the Hollander, Edward and Cornelia arose from their beds with impatient feelings, to know what this day was going to bring forth of so much importance. Edward had a vague opinion, that the letter which he had received, and the wounded man whom he had rescued from the ruffians, were what the Hollander alluded to; but as he had heard no thing of the chain of events concerning Croker and Montano, he was at a loss to think what it might be. Cornelia, on the other hand, knew nothing, but that she had found a brother; and in reverting back to the scene of the sudden death of tier supposed father, his last words, which he, gasping, uttered to her, that she had a brother, now rushed with force upon her re- colleelion “ Thanks to thee, thou God of the universe, I am no longer the desolate orphan of the mountain!” said she, as she closed her short morning prayer, which 6he never forgot to per form, and descended to the breakfast room, the flush of health and the mildness of innocence arraying her countenance in loveliness. Edward and Isabella were in the room as Cor nelia entered, saluting them both with a be witching smile. “ Happy morning of our exis tence,” said Edward, rising, and imprinting a forest at one end of the garden. “ See! see!” said Cornelia, “ a dog is in pur suit of the deer—let us run and call him off.”— By this time they were both in the woods; but Cornelia darted like an arrow iii the direction in which they disappeared, and in a moment after, the loud report of a rifle echoed through the forest, and the distant barking of the dog came floating on the breeze. “ It is Hong.!” said she, as Edward and the girls Came up with her; “ Strongarm must be near.” While they stood talking, the Indian came up with his prize on his broad shoulders. On seeing Cornelia, he threw the dead buck upon the ground, and advanced towards her, presenting his brawny hands, saying, “ The In dian has come to see thee, daughter.” “ And he is welcome,” said the delighted girl, seizing the extended hand of the native. “ Yes, ever welcome, noble chieftian!” said Edward, also advancing towards the Indian, and shaking him by the hand. Even Hong, the dog, on seeing Cornelia, as he emerged from the woods, bounded towards her in joy, licking her delicate, white hand as if he would devour her with hi? a flection. At this moment black Harry came up, and in formed Edward and the girls, that his master wished to see them at the house. As they walked along, the Indian was made acquainted with the wonderful events that had transpired. He seemed pleased, and as he entered the house with them, he said “ This makes the Indian’s heart glad—let the Mighty Spirit now summon me where he will—1 go content—the daughter and the youth are happy—thanks to the great and good Father!” Edward pressed the hard hand of the Indian, as this burst of feeling escaped him, and they all entered the dwelling. In a few moments Edward and Cornelia were summoned to attend the Hollander, and they arose, leaving the Indian with Adeline and Isa bella. It was nearly an hour ere they again made their appearance; when suddenly the hall door was thrown open, and Adeline and Isabel la beheld the wounded stranger leaning upon Edward and Cornelia, preceded by the Hollan der, entering the room. At a sight so unexpected, Strongarm rose from his 6eat, while his piercing eyes sparkled with a youthful fire. Silence, for a moment, perva ded the room, until Montano was seated in a large easy chair; when Cornelia and Edward ad vanced towards their Indian preserver, led him up, and presented him to Montano, saying— “ Father, in this generous native, behold the man who rescued your children from death!” and turning to Slrongarm they continued— “ Noble Indian, behold our father, this day re stored to us.” Montano half rose from his chair, as the noble Indian gazed upon him in doubt at what he saw, who instantly turning towards Cornelia, “Daugh ter,” said he, “ is this thy father ?” and his eye seemed to pierce the inmost recesses of her heart. A flush of crimson dyed the polished white ness of her neck and forehead, as she' laid her hand upon his arm, and solemnly pronouncing it true. “ Now I believe thee, daughter,” quickly re plied he, extending his hand to Montano. A tear glistened in his eye, and he took the hands of Edward and Cornelia, joining them together, solemnly saying, “ Live for him—you are wor thy the happiness you have given the outcast Indim!—Speed me now, God of my fathers— let me go to the spirit of Scandanah! live daugh ter, thou hast gilded some of the last days of the Indian with joy—he will now die content ” “ Thou shalt not die, my good protector,” said Cornelia, pressing his hand which she held in her’s, and casting a look upon him, which start ed the floodgates of his compassionate heart, and caused the tears to gush from his eyes. In vain he tried to conceal his emotion:—“ It is as He wills it,” said he, turning and again seating himself. - Our readers will pardon us for dropping the- curtain upon the hour’s absence of Edward and Cornelia, when summoned by the Hollander: suffice it to say, they were, during that time, restored to the arms of a long lost father;—the reader may conceive the scene that must have mountain, hall beOn so ir- >Ml. to be Edward’s sistu, Sc a me moru reserved in her disposition towards him, while, at the same time, she was almost the insepara ble companion of his sister; and it required no discerning eye in the Hollander, or Montano, to perceive the marked attention, which Edward now paid to Isabella. In fact, the whole fami ly observed the growing partiality, and inwardly rejoiced, in anticipating the result. Edward had now entirely recovered from his encounter with the wolf, and Montano was so far well, that he felt little, or no inconvenience from his wound; and he proposed to his chil dren to accompany him to New York. “ Or are yon, my son,” said he, “ so much attached to & certain glittering gem, that like a loadstone it attracts you to the mansion-house of your foster father ?” Isabella was in bearing when this pointed question from.Montano was addressed to Ed ward, and saw the direction of his eyes, as he archly threw them towards her, apd coloring left the room. In the evening, a frank acknowledg ment was made by Edward to hi s father and the Hollander, of his intentiohS%8fcpecting Isabel a, in which they willingly acceded. In about a week from this time, Edward led the charming Isabella to the altar of Hymen, where they were united in silken chains of wed lock; and every thing being prepared, on the morning after, the happy counle, accompanied by Montano, Cornelia and Adeline started for New York. Montano had a splendid establishment fitted up for the new married couple, with whom they all took up their residence, in that city. The beauty of Cornelia, and the interesting appearance of Adeline, attracted a train of ad mirers, in whatever circle they moved in this metropolis; and a Dutch ship with a number of passengers arriving about this time, chance threw two of them, who were brothers, in the the company of Edward. They were as a mat ter of course invited to the house, where Cor nelia beheld two gentlemen, natives of Holland, whose residence had been in the same place when she moved in the gay circles, which crow ded the hou e of her foster father previous to her arrival in this country. They were old ac quaintances, and one of whom, notwithstanding her youth, at that period, seemed to live only in her smiles: but Cornelia was then insensible to that tender passion, which now for the first time thrilled in her bosom, on again beholding one whom in' days past and gone she had looked upon only as a gay gallant. These brothers, whose names were Vosburgh, were descendants of an illustrious family of that name in Holland; and were visiting America, the land of freedom, whose fame had reached the distant dominions of their native land. The elder, Francis Vosburgh, too soon found the company of Adeline, an attraction which it was difficult for him to avoid; while the younger brother, Charles, seemed arrived at the haven of his hopes in again beholding Cornelia. Born to princely fortunes, and sole heirs of the im mense possessions of their parents, who a year .before .find dipit-., ipni’i'irr^iiinjri orphans, the^ were under no restraint; but free to act for themselves. •discovered comeback,” replied Strongarm quickly moving1 with her. „ As they descended life hill, and crbsi.J the lake, Cornelia informed the native of the visi tors and of the preparations that were making at the house for the nuptials of Adeline. The Indian understood the object of his visit, and, smiling as he looked upon her, replied—“ the daughter will be happy with her at the same time. The Indian now understands—it is all very good.” Cornelia colored at the allusion of the Indian; and nodding assent to his remarks, continued to relate all the transactions during her absence in the city until they reached the house. The evening at length arrived, on which our mountain maid was to be united to Charles Vos- burgli. The solemn ceremony was witnessed by Strongarm with feelings of wonder and as tonishment, mingled with those of heart-felt pleasure. He saw befoie him, the delicate, helpless female, whom he found friendless, de solate and insane, in the newly erected building by the mountain, now, by his timely aid and protection, surrounded by a father, brother and a l>usbu::J. The inscrutable ways of Omnipo tence in bringing this happy event about, rush ed upon his recollection: and he rejoiced with them in the consummation of all the vicissitudes which both Edward and Cornelia had experien ced up to that lime of general mirth and fes tivity. Francis Vosburgh and Adeline, after their nuptials, took up their residence at the mansion- house, and Charles with Cornelia and Montano, Edward and Isabella, started f »r New York, and shoitly after embarked for Europe, the native country of Louisa and Augustus Montano, the parents of t h e t w i n s . In conclusion, we have only to add, that the generous Indian, after a few more years resi dence on the mountain, finally took up his abode at the mansion-house of the Hollander, where, with old age, he died, and was buried near the spot of his residence on the hill The other parties teturned to America, and took up their residence in the vicinity, where, it is mentioned, at the close of our old, defaced manuscript, that Montano almost forgot all his former troubles, in the enjoyment of alternately living with his children, ********* brother’s kiss on the ruby lips of Cornelia, “ it j taken place. It was no wonder that Montano is the first that greets me with a sister’s love.” j thought he saw, when Cornelia hovered around The breakfast was now soon brought in, and a his sick bed, the spirit of his departed Louisa: happier circle never surrounded the domestic table of the Hollander, than on this morning. As Montano hed been pronounced out of dan ger, and Was fast recovering from his wounds; after breakfast, the Hollander went to the room of his guest, to break the subject of the twins, for she was then, what her sainted mother ap peared, when they first left the shores of Albion, for America. Montano, from this time, recovered fast; for Cornelia and Edward hovered round him like guardian angels, anticipating all the wants and of presenting to-the arms of a father his long which his wounded, feeble situation required, lost children. | Neither was Isabella nor Adeline behind the Montano was sealed in a large easy-chair^and twins, in bestowing every attention upon the gazing upon a chain, when the Hollander enter-j happy father. ed the room. Alter seating himself, and kindly j It was now, since Cornelia, the maid oft the The winter was spent in New York by this happy circle of friends, and the life-giving days of spring had arrived, when Adeline was to re turn to the mansion of Holenbrook. Edward and the interesting Isabella, with Montano and Cornelia, were to accompany her home; and Francis and Charles Vosburg had joyfully ac cepted an invitation to be of the party; for now to part with those, in whose presence they could ever linger, caused a pang hitherto unfelt —and besides, Francis was anxious to see the parents of his adored Adeline. It was with no small surprise, therefore, on a fine morning in April, that black Harry saw two carriages rolling up the avenue that led to the mansion-house. “ Misses have come!” exclai med he, bursting into the room of Holenbrook. “ Massa Edward and lady Isabella be now com ing into' the house.” The Hollander immediately hurried to the door to receive the welcome visitors, and was met by them m the hall. The young Vosburghs were introduced, the parents of whom, were well known to the Hollander when in his own country. Thh mansion-house of Holenbrook now assu med an appearance of joy and festivity, seldom witnessed in the new country, and preparations were made, for an event which was to unite our heroine and Adeline to the brothers: for Charles and Francis had only awaited the sanction of Montano and the Hollander to lead those bloom ing objects of their choice to the altar of Hy men. On the morning of the day in which the nup tial ceremony was to take place, Cornelia arose early, and, unaccompanied, started for the lake shore, resolving once mote to visit the residence of her Indian protector. She found a canoe, and soon transported herself to the opposite shore. Landing at the base of the hill, Bhe pro ceeded to the grave of her foster father. A grey marble tombstone had been placed over the rising hillock, beneath which was inhumed the fond and indulgent protector of her infant days; and she lingered a few moments near the sacred spot: memory brought to her mind the virtues of the deceased, as she surveyed with teayful eyes the tomb of her departed benefactor.— “ Adieu, sacred spot,” at length murmured she, wiping her bright eyes, as she turned from the hallowed place, and began to ascend the well known path that led to the summit of the moun tain. She soon reached the eminence where the rude hut of her Indian preserver stood soli tary and lonely, and she swiftly approached the entrance. Her light, airy tread scarcely could be heard, as she softly glided through the open door. The Indian lay asleep, with Hong slum bering by his side. “ Sweet is the sleep of the innocent,” softly uttered she to herself, as she contemplated his noble, frank countenance; it was calm and placid, with an apparent smile of conscious rectitude playing over its contour.— “ 1 will not disturb thee, gsyiernus native,” con tinued she, turning to leave the spot; but as she moved to the door, the dog roused and bounded towards her. “ Hong!” said she, patting the delighted animal, “ Hong, be still, you will wake him.” The Indian, as if he rather slumbered than slept, heard the well known voice. “ Daugh ter!” exclaimed he, springing Up, “ welcome! I dreamed thou wouldst corne again. Art thou alone ?” “ Yes, 1 came alone, for you, my good father —come, wtty must go to the mansion-house with me,” answered Cornelia, taking his extended hand—“ let us hasten across the lake — the youth is there.” “ I follow thee, daughter—the youth.is wel COME OUT TO THE WEST. Come forth from your cities,— Come out to the west; Ye have hearts, ye have hands; Leave to Nature the rest. The prairie, the forest, The stream at command— “ The world is too crowded,”—pshaw! Come and take land. Not only that labor Reward may not find; ’Tis the curse of distinctions That curbeth the mind; ’Tia the-lack of the sunriee, The breeze of the hill; The glorious thought— “ ’Tis my own land I till.” Disease in its garret, Dim cellars of crime; Corruption’s foul alleys, Theft, famine and slime; Oh, linger not, poor man— Fly swiftly and far; Oh, caves of the desert, Thrice happy ye are! Come travel the mountain, And paddle the stream; The cabin shall smile, and The corn-patch shall gleam; “ A wife and six children”— ’Tis wealth in your hand! Your axe and your rifle—out West and take land. ly a 6Woon. As his countenance met my view, I started back with horror; his eyes frightfully distended, exhibited so yiuch of the white, that my mood-curdled ss /'gazed upon him. His lips were drawn upwards and down wards showing his ivory-like-teeth, which chat tered in fearful insanity; and as he struggled with those who attempted to lift him up, as he strove hard again to throw himself on the corpse before him, I beheld with horror for the first time in my life what the faculty, I believe entitle the Risus Sardonicus , working on the lower part of the face, whose fierce and glaring eye denoted raving and agonizing madness.— The frantic gestures, and ••ending screams, the menacing threats, alternated feeble 6ighs, pite ous entreaties for mercy, uttered by the poor fellow before us, whom I well knew, and whom I had seen in perfect health only a few hours before, shocked me to a degree I cannot des cribe and almost deprived me of the presence of mind, it required to make instant inquiry into the cause of the scene before us. The unhap py maniac led away, I instantly set about in vestigating the circumstance, which turned out to be as follows:—Jesseree, the poor fel low I have mentioned, had been posted on sen try about an hour before midnight, with strict orders to fire on any one who might approach without giving the password, scarcely had two- thi.ds of his allotted time to remain on this du ty elapsed, when a foot step was heard stealth ily approaching. The sentinel challenged: but instead of receiving a reply, the Intruder only seemed to advance quicker: a third, and Je69e- ree, leveling his musket, fired at the individual, now seen within twenty yards, by the uncer tain light of a more than usually obscure night. The report had not yet died away, when Jesse- ree heard a cry of agony, and the well known voice of his old father called out in the name of his beloved son. He threw down his musket, and madly rushed up to his victim, but it was too late, the unintentional parricide had but too effectually taken aim; and with that cry of af fection which had caused the child to recog nize his parent, life had fled forever from the breast of the old Indian, who had traveled on foot through dangerous woods, and swam the most rapid river, once more to behold, as he had hoped, his darling offspring. Nearly six hundred miles hod he travelled, through difficul ties innumerable, to embrace once more the life of his declining age. lie had heard his loved voice, when in English (as is customary) he had challenged, and not understanding the meaning of the demand; had rushed forward to press to his fond heart that son whose fatal aim had in an instant deprived the author of his being of life. He had fallen dead, attempting to utter his name. The next morning I fer vently uttered an exclamation of thanksgiving, when I heard that death hnd relieved the mani ac from his sufferings.—“ The Native Sentinel,” in Bentley's Magazine. GREEN CORN PUDDING. An article in season. A Louisville paper says one of the very finest things ever brought on the table, in the pudding line, is green corn pudding, prepared according to the following receipt: “ Let every wife, who would like to surprise her husband by a rare delicacy—try it. Take of green corn twelve ears, and grate it. To this add a quart of sweet milk, a quarter of a pound of fresh butter, four eggs, §vell beaten, pepper and salt, as much as you please; stir all well together, and bake four hours in a buttered dish. Some add to the other ingredients a quarter of a pound of sugar and eat the pudding with sauce. It is good cold or warm, with meat or sauce; but epicures of the most exquisite taste declare for it, we believe, hot, with the first service. FATAL MIS TA K E -A SCENE AT DELHI. I remember, when quartered at Delhi, that many things had been stolen from (he officer’s quarters ; a series of petty thefts had put us all on the qui vive. These depredations were evidently committed by some stianger, who after nightfall, managed to get into canton ments ; every avenue to our lines was care fully watched by sentries with strict orders that any one approaching and refusing to give the countersign was immediately to be fired on. These orders were fulfilled in the baazar, and throughout the neighorhood, to prevent any outward accident arising out of their strict fulfilment. One evening I had strolled into Maj. M’Pherson’s quarters, and was enjoying a hookah with that distinguished officer (than whom a braver or better never lived,) when we were suddenly aroused from our sleepy employ ment by the sharp report of a musket. We both started up and rushed out to enquire the cause; for I need not add for the information of the military portion of my readers, that nothing but a cause of importance can justify the dis charge of fire-arms in a garrison-town; and finding that the sound proceeded from a central fort about two hundred yards off, we started at full speed to inquire into the circumstance.— When we came up, we beheld by the light of torches, carried by persons who, like ourselves, had been attracted to the spot by the report, a dead body stretched on the ground, while across it lay the soldier, apparently insensible. The blood was still streaming from the wound of the man who had been shot, and stained the white troweers of the sepoy. I instantly gave orders that he should be raised up in order to ascertain whether he was really dead, or mere- CIRCASSIA AND THE RUSSIANS. Caucassus and its intrepid mountaineers, struggling with Russia and its formidable for ces, presents a noble spectacle. For fifteen years the autocrat has annually led armies into the mountain fastnesses of th’s brave people, and yet he has made no impression, or but lit tle, upon them. The whole line of the Cau casus from the Black sea to the Caspian, is in arms against Russia. The last accounts say that 200,000 men are to assemble in the Cau casian provinces; and. the Emperor of Rusia himself is to appear among them to compel submission. It is even staled that for ten years past there has been no time when lees than 100,000 men have not been emoloyed on this dragoon service. In 1837 an official report to the emperor acknowledges 70,167 men em ployed on the northern side of the mountains, with 146 pieces of artillery, and on the south ern side the force has been even larger yet. Among the tribes that have most successfully resisted Russia, are the Circassians. We find in the London Hereld the following description of this country:— “ It is difficult to say how far Circassia pro per may be considered to extend towards the east, where the Circassians mingle gradully with the neighboring nations: but the general rule is to assume Mount Eibiouz as the east ern limit of their country, though some extend it to the Kazbek. The Kanban and Terek riv ers form at present the northern boundary of Circassia; for the level country to the north of these rivers lias long been occupied by the Russians, and the owners of the land have in general submitted to their conquorers, or been driven into the mountains. Into these princi pal rivers fall a number of tributary streams, each of which has in its course fertilized some mountain valley. It is at the entrance of these valleys that the Russians have generally erect ed their small forts, from which, at various times, armed parties are sent up the valleys to lay waste the harvests and drive away the cat tle; a species of warfare not perhaps more in human than that, of the French razzias in Al giers, and certainly not opposed to the habits of the mountaineers themselves; still it is of fensive to all our better feelingB to know that such a system of warfare lias been persevered in for years, in order to reduce to servitude a gallant nation, who only demand to be allowed to live in the same freedom and independence which their ancestors have enjoyed from the re motest periods of history. Mighty empires have arisen, flourished, and decayed in Asia, but not one of them has ever been able to exer cise any real sovereignty over the Caucasus. These incursions into the valleys have often caused fearful sufferings to the inhabitants, but have made not the least impression on the Circassians as a nation, except by exciting the rage of the people against the detached forts, which haye often been attacked and taken at a greater sacrifice than they are worth.” Their population is 696,700. They have no king or prince—in fact but little government of a general nature. “ Each valley has its chief, and the chief, his clan with patriarchal authority. Since the war the chiefs have felt the necessity of meeting together to deliberate on their common interests, and thus has been laid the first foundation of a general government.— Some of the chiefs, distinguished by their mili tary prowess, have during the war acquired great influence over their countrymen, but this influence is sure to awaken jealousy, and must therefore be exercised with extreme caution.” Married, in Watertown, Mass., Mr. N. H. Felton to Miss Eliza J. Hooker. Eliza was a buxom lass, As ever poet dwelt on; Yet could not be content, alas!' Until she had been Felton.
