Decatur Eagle, Volume 1, Number 13, Decatur, Adams County, 8 May 1857 — Page 1

I II E 1) E0 A I I R I A G I 1..

VOL. 1.

THE DECATUR EAGLE. >UjndSHEP r oneS ’“ areN^oo &PCra tXs 1 erms of Subscripts.,,,. Terms of Subscription: For one year, $ I 50, in advance; $1 75, «ithin I jj,- No paper will be discontinued until all aKiiagesare paid, except at the option of the » blister. Terms of Advertising: MCne Square, thr »e insertions, $1 00 S&ach subsequent insertion, 25 i®ZN’o advertisement will be considered less tHo i one square; over one square will be coun♦Jl and charged as two; over two, as three, etc. JOB PRINTING. MlTc are prepared to do all kinds of JOB TURK, in a neat and workmanlike manner, on Mmost reasonable terms. Our material for the jompietion of Job-work, being new and of tltt latest styles, we are confident that satisfaction can be given. Law of Newspapers. J Subscribers who do not give express notice toilie contrary, are considered as wishing to continue their subscriptions. Jf subserrhers order the discontinuance of. Sir .papers, thepublisher may coiuiupe.to.send I m imt'ralfaiftufrages arelpaid:' ’• '' 1 . ; If subscribers neglect orrefuse to take their Kers from the office they'are held responsible till they have settled the bill and ordered the Ker discontinued. H If subscribers remove to other places without informing the publisher, and the paper is ! sent to the former direction,they are-held | Mpy'Tha Court have decided that refusing Qf '« tai ' a paper from tire office, or removed and ■ Xing it uncalled forisPßiM* FACiEevidence of. fraud. , | TO H AVE NO WORK TO DO. INSCRIBED TO THE LABORER. ilo' ye who at the anvil toil, I And strike the sounding blow, ■Where from the burning iron’s breast | The sparks fly to and fro, HlVhile answering to the hammer's ring, [ And fires intenser glow—- ■ 0! while we feel ’tis hard to toil And sweat the long day through. j„ JUnn mber it is harder still B To have no wo' kto do. allo! ye who till the stubborn soil, ' Whose hard hands guide the plough, ■Who bend beneath the summer sun,' | With burning cheek and brow—■Ye deem the curse still clings to earth I From olden time till now—- ■ But while ye feel’tis hard to toil [ And labor all day through, H]u*tnetnbc*r it is harder still To have no work to do. J n<>! ye who plough the sea’s blue fields [ Who ride the restless wave, Slteneathwhose gallant vessel s keel I There lies a yawning grave, whose bark the wintry winds | Like fiends of fury rave—'o! while ye feel ’tis hard to toil I And labor long hours through, Sleinember it is harder still | To have no work to do. gllo! yc upon whose cheeks—- ■ The hectic glow is bright, ■Whose me ntal toil wears out. the day I And half the weary night; 8 Who labor for souls of men—- | Companions of truth and.right; ■Although ye feel your toil is hard, Even with this glorious view, B Remember it is harder still l To have no work to do. ■ Ho! all who labor—all who strive — S Ye wield a lofty power; ■Do with your might do w ith your strength, j I Fill cyery golden hour; S’! he glorious privilege to do I Is man’s most noble dower—- * Oh! to your birthright, and to yourselves, fTo your own souls be true! A weary, wretched life is their’s i Who have no work to do. ■ FHE SORCERESS. — An Indian Tale. - >. B One midsummer evening, a year or ' wo subsequent to the final removal of the Cherokees to their new home in the far West, a singular scene occurred at the principal missionary school which had, been established there among the ‘Old Settlers,’ since the year 1820. A large ( addition of pupils, mostly females on the j verge of womanhood, and belonging to the higher classes, came flocking into the large hall, from every direction. Some of these, dressed richly in the latest fashions, and adorned wiih costly jewels, were whirled up to the door in superb carriages, driven by African slaves!— i For it is true, though not generally known that the tribe I have just named constitutes the most wealthy body politic in the World, according to numbers. I But what could be the cause of this iudden influx of scholars, this astonishing excitement moving the prettiest young girls to recommence their education? It Bould nut be religion, as there had not,

any recent indications of a revival, and the period of the flaming camp-meetings was still distant a couple of months. ° I am sorry to say it, but it was a com- . mon impulse which inspired the feminine part of Cherokee creation "with their fresh devotion to science, must beset down to- ! the account of curiosity—that characteristic and changeless virtue of the sex in general. The chief missionary had lately rested from his life-long labors, and a young preacher bad taken his place whose aspect and manners captivated every beholder at first sight. On the occasion in question, Raphael Ray stood behind his deck, bowing with an air of serene dignity and grace to each successive scholar, as one by one advanced to be classified, and referred to the proper teacher. He was a tall, yet rather slight figure, with what the ladies termed angelic features; a pale, transparent complexion, brilliant blue eyes, and a profusion of golden hair, which would Lave rendered his appearance altogeather too juvenile, and even'child-like; had it not been for the sweetly’ mournful smile ; beaming fortS'er in his -countenance,«imd .making him look, the yety jdval . uine saint, sad, ardent, loving and mystical. And yet withal, some latent sparks of earthly passion too, might have been detected in the liquid depth of those azure eyes, but the animal fire seemed so chasi tened and pure, as to forbid the possibility of future danger from that source, either to himself or others. In the meantime the classification of the j pupils was going on. Julia Rose, a proud handsome belle of sixteen stepped forwards, and presented her book, with a flash of lightning from her large black eyes full in the missionary’s face. ‘lt is French,’ he remarked, with a fitting blush. ‘I will ha v e to instruct you myself.’ Then, one after another of the most fascinating girls following, selecting the same study; while the inferior, or at least less aspiring learners, were assigned to the care of other tutors, and Raphael Ray remained alone in the centre of a galaxy of thirteen smiling creatures, all as radiantly beautiful as so many stars. It was a somewhat perilous situation for a comely person of twenty-two, not long since emerged from the quiet shades of the college, and more ignorant of the world than the very maidens he had to instruct. Nor did he seem utterly unconscious of the fact. The atmosphere oppressed his senses with the intoxicating perfume of a delicious breath, and the color of bis palid cheek heightened as with the flush of fever. However, by-and-by religious sentiment triumphed over the strong instincts of erring nature, and the youthful saint had become thoroughly mastei ol himself when a strange incident happened to disturb his composure. A young girl of fifteen glided into the room, and then paused suddenly, as if spell-bound, fixed on the teacher’s face a pair of the most vivid black eyes that ever beamed beneath the brows of virgin beauty. With the rich complexion and delicately-chisel-led features of the half-breed, she combined the tempting charms of a form developed to an exquisite and oriental voluptuousness, notwithstanding the immatuiity of her years, although her countenance betrayed no token of incipient passion, nothing but the poetry of innocent wonder and child-like simplicity, with intelligence far beyond her age. She gazed at the surprised missionary with a look of mingled admiration and boundless awe, as if he had been some celestial messenger descended from on high. ‘What do you wish, young miss?’ in- ' quired the preacher, essaying a wretched 'patois of the Indian tongue, as he suppossed from her wild air and cheap dress that she would not be able to comprehend any other. ‘1 desire to be a pupil,’ she answered in English, with a faultless accent, and in soft ringing tones that sounded like the strange melody of a dream, and she adi vanced with bashful hesitation, holding | out her books. The missionary glanced with amazeI ment at the titles of the two volumes, and j repeated, mechanically: ‘Algebra and Geometry! Do you know anythigof these?’ ‘I have been though the simple equations,’ she murmured, with a faint blush; ‘but I find Euclid difficult. Mother dees not well understand it.’ ‘Who has been your teacher?’ ‘No one but mother.’ ‘Have you learned the English Gram-, mar?’ ‘Yes; the English and the Latin.’ At this point the preacher observed an . unaccountable agitation among the other: members of the school. Several bf the ; o-irh glanced at the newcomer with looks , of fear and horror, and the rest with un-[ disguised wrath aud hatred. At length the proud beauty, Julia Ross, rose up, and said scornfully: ‘Mr. Ray, you will excuse my boldness, when I inform you that, if Aspasia Wolf

“Our Country’s Good shall ever be our Aim—Willing to Praise and not afraid to Blame.”

DECATUR, ADAMS COUNTY, INDIANA, MAY 8,1857.

be admittedTiito our class, it will brake I ' up the school.’ ‘ ‘And why so?’ demanded the bewil-! I dered teacher. j ‘Recuse her mother is a foul sorceress, 1 , that charms rifles and bewitches cattle!’ ■ responded the indignant belle. ‘lt is false!’ cried Aspasia, with eyes 1 j of lightning; ‘the charge is as false as itis I foolish.’ Raphael Ray smiled at the silly superstition, and endeavored to convince his ’ scholars of its txb.iuidity; but ull Ihm surguments fell powerless on their prejudi- , ced ears. They declared unanimously.'' that nothing could induce them to associate with the child of the imaginary witch. 1 ‘Then you may go as soon as you .like, said the irritated missionary; ‘for this young girl has more sense than all of you put together.’ ‘Not so, kind preacher 1 ’ sighed Aspasia, in a mournfully sweet voice; ‘it shall never be said that' I, or my* poor I slandered mother, was the’ cause of de-■ j stroyii.g a school of’so much promise.’! | And she glided away with a smile of tin’- ! ispea.ka-b.le.sadness., . v- , . But her brief-presence Iffid eSbcled an' extraordinary, impression on the young minister. That sweet sad smile haunted ' his brain like a spirit; the light of those 1 I black eyes lingered still in his heart; and he murmured nightly in his dreams the j name of the too enchanting Asnasia. By some indirect question he found out I the residence of the fictitious, as well as I the real sorceress, at the distance of only a mile from the mission. He walked out to gaze upon the cabin every evening, ■ yet, nevertheless, for several weeks dared not approach, or make himself known, i fearing to prejudice the holy interests of I the church, but fearing still more to peril . the salvation of his own immortal soul. At last, one splendid moonlight night, I !he had lingered until a late hour, within ; view of the cottage that now had become i so indiscribably dear to him; when sud- . denly a rich strain of vocal music arose 'on the air, and wrapped him in a trance ( |of delirious love and wonder. The voice ; ' was loud and clear as the tones of a trum- ; pet, yet sweeter than the notes of the, .nightingale, bi-r withal, s.i.l n« the sidlis ’of some broken heart. The dream-like ! melody drew him towards it, as the brili liant attracts the gilded wings of a noc- ■ ! tuinal insect; and ail unconsciously, > 'noiselessly, and with streaming eyes, he (glided onwards and entered the door. •Oh! God, is it you?’ cried Aspasia, ; springing to her feet, and clasping her hand convulsively across her bosom, as lif to still the audible throbbings of the agitated heart beneath. ‘I was wandering to enjoy the magnificent night,’ said the preacher, evasively, ‘when I heard your angel song. But the adventure may perhaps not prove disagreeable, as it has been my intention, for some time, to give you lessons at your own house, if it be desirable.’ ‘Certainly—be ovated,’ she faltered, in tremulous tones, and hastened to kindle a large lamp, and then closed the door. •Are you alone?’ he asked, turning in his chair restlessly, longing to pro-1 pound some questions, yet uncertain how j to begin. ‘She is sleeping—l will waken her if you wish,’ replied the girl, glancing to-{ wards a bed curtained from the view in ( the corner of the single room. ‘lt is unnecessary,’ he interposed with ' eager haste. ‘My mother,’ remarked Aspasia, with ! a glowing cheek, ‘has been basely slandI ered by the malice and ignorance of our ! numerous enemies. She is a white wo- , i man of New England: and when a mere child, in opposition to the will of her family, she married my father, who was an j Indian chief, and followed him into the wilderness of the Allegheny mountains.— But unfortunately, the very year after I was born, a powerful party of the tribe murdered him for signing some treaty with the United States. And that is the reason why they still hate his widow and ' orphan with such unforgiving bitterness.’ ‘But why did she not return to her relatives?’ interrupted the missionary. They’ bad cast her off on account of her 1 ill-starred love, and she disdained to become a beggar for their bounty,’ answer- ; ed Aspasia, with a faint gleam of indig- * nation, but immediately added, blushing : 1 to the very eyes: ‘There is some little ■ semblance ol excuse for the genera] charge t ‘ of sorcery. Mv mother is well skilled in the science of medicine and the kindred I arts, which she studied under her father, 1 an eminent physician of Boston, and hence 1 in former days, when the Indians were ] more superstitious than ever now, arose i the belief of her supernatural craft. Nor I did she take any pains to discourage the i notion, as it constituted almost her only ‘ protection and means of living ’ ‘One might have imagined the repu!a- I tion would be dangerous,’ suggested the missionary. 1 ‘Never until the present time,’ she re- I plied with an icy shudder, and growing I pallid as a corpse. <

‘And why now more than previously?’ I he interrogated, with a strange feeling of awe. ‘Because the Ross faction accuse her of charming the live of Stand Waitec, so that his body is impervious to lead and steel, while every blow or bullet from his own hand proves mortal as a stroke of lightning,’she said in a terrified whisper. . To change the unpleasant subject, the preacher asked: ‘Do you wish that I should come occaskilly and assist you in your studies?’ ‘Uli . I should be so ’ Claimed, earnestly, and slie proved the truth of her response by letting fall a pair of splendid tears. There can be nothing more powerful than the tears of a woman, especially if they flow from eyes all innocence, yet flaming with the light of youth and beauty ! Raphael Ray felt that it was so; or, ra- ( ther, he felt no conciousness al all; buc ( his heart opened'as to a rushing stream of splendor, brighter than the burst of stars ! —a whole radiant river of poetry and fashion, an ocean of magnetic fire, which bore, him If her feet, The mission, religion, : thfl' frrends at home, heaven, hell, all the angels and devils, were forgotten, unknown, annihilated, as he kissed that quivering hand, murmuring, ‘Beautiful one, I adore thee!’ She spoke not, but the tresses of her raven hair drooped around his face and bosom like a veil, as she wept aloud with 1 the wild emotions of a child. Suddenly a piercing shriek issued from the curtains of the bed: ‘They come! oh God, they come!’ And the mother with frantic features and dishevelled locks, darted to the dcor and secured it with bolt and bar; while Aspasiadropped I upon her knees, and raised her pallid vis- ! age towards heaven in speechless prayer. ! ‘What meansit? what means it?’ de- ' manded the stupefied missionary, j ‘They come! they come’’ gasped the mother, with livid lips. Instantly the thundering hoofs of many ( horses became ditinctly audible, and the minute afterwards a troop howling . ava- ■ ges environed the cottage, yelling with shouts infernal rage, or more infernal UugUto)-, ‘witoh-wolfof hell come forth to 'thy ’ athl’ ! The mother all at once displayed the ! most heroic bravery. Snatching a revolver from the holsters that hung above the door, and projecting the muzzle through I a small port hole in the shutter, she fired i twice in rapid succssion. A cry of blended pain and terror gave evidence that the shots had taken effect; while the horseman in front of the cabin galloped off out of pistol range, and then all was silent save the moans of the wounded man in the yard. ‘Thank Heaven! they are gone!’ cried the preacher devoutly. ‘No, they are not; and they will not go till they have drunk my blood? exclaim ed the innther, but you had better be off; if they recognize your person in the moonlight, you will not be harmed.’ ‘I will stay rather, and die with you and your beloved daughter?’ replied Rapheal Ray, with passionate firmness. ‘I heard the avowal of jour affection,’ she returned, ‘but if you love my sweet child, fly with her, save yourselves, and | leave me alone to perish!’ ‘Dearest mother, do not bid me desert you!’ implored the kneeling Aspasia. ‘What! would you render my List moments on earth miserable by a useless sacrifice? responded the woman, in re- j proving tones; ‘I care not for my own poor span of life, so long worthless and joyless, provided my daughter can escape and be happy!’ ‘Never! I will forsake you, my mother!’ affirmed the sobbing girl. ‘Perhaps the fiends will not come back,’ suggested the preacher. But scarcely had he spoke, when a pet’l as of deep toned thunder rolled on j the still night air, and a shower of balls ; and buckshot shook the wooden shutter ■ of the door, piercing it in twenty places, i ■Lie down behind the wall!’ ordered | the fearless mother. ‘They are firing under cover of the trees in the edge of the prarie!’ But her words could hardly be distinguished for the roar of rifles, musketry and revolvers continued incesanly during the quaiter of an hour, while the young Indian girl lay half dead with horror on > her lover’s bosom. Again, every sound was hushed but the moaning of the wounded man before , the cottage; and a gleam of hope twinkled through the brian of the previously des-1 pairing missionary; but it came and went as brief as a glimpse of lightning on the borders of the summer cloud. For all at once Aspasia cried, ‘Mother, there is smell of smoke in the room; where can it come from? I extinguished the lamp at the first alarm!’ There was no need of any answer, as the crackling laughterofthe lite fiend against the black wail of the cabin now explained to well the successful ruse of the assailants, some of whom had been heaping up

fagots behind the house, while the rest drew the attention of the inmates by rend-1 ing the door with a hail of hissing lead, i ‘Fly, my son and daughter—there is not an instant to lose.!’ entreated the doomed woman in accents of still unconquerable courage, as the flames ran up (the wall shrieking and roaring, or laughing wildly like living things, and wreathing the cottage roof with festoons of crimson flame. ‘Flylaway! I command it!’ exclaimed the mother, sternly. ‘Never? replied the daughter. ‘Then I will rush out to be riddled bv their bullets!’ said the determined woman, unbolting the door. But Aspasia clasped her around the waist, and with an effort as of supernatu- ’ ral strength, forced her back in the cen-, j tre of the room. Then again on high peeled that terrific i shout: ‘Witch-wolf of hel!! come forth to death! We have lead, too, for the whining missionary and his pretty mistress!’| i Then they felt that all was ovar, and ; bowed the three together . beneath the, burning rafters to murmur their last prayers. At the moment, however, the rolling of an American drum was heard, and the savages, uttering a frightful cry of disappointed rage, fled in the utmost eonsteri nation. Two companies of soldiers on ' their march to Fort Gibson, had encamp ed near the mission, had been alarmed by the furious firing, and hurried to see; ; what it meant. ‘We are saved!’ cried the preacher, rushingout with out with Aspasia in his arms, just as the blazing roof fell in with a crash that filled the air with a whirlwind of flying sparks. The mother reeled forth, too, but she , , instantly dropped upon the earth. The daughter and the missionary attempted to raise her, but she repelled them with a| I gesture, pointing to the blood streaming , 1 from her bosom. ‘I was struck at the first,’ she gasped, ( I hoarsely; ‘I only sought to save you. — I jße wedded to-mrrow —it is my dyiug ( 'wish!’ 1 j The dsrk shadows of the pale wings j passed over her features, and the suffering spirit parted from its clog of clay for ever more. I The lovers obeyed the last injunction , to the letter, draped their bridal bed in mourning, and steeped their earliest kiss in tears, notwithstanding the harsh remonstrances of the presiding elder, who happened, at the time, to arrived in the < neighborhood. The incident had an uufortunate effect on the clerical career of Raphael Ray. — i The saints afterwards shunned him, and ; I know not whflt malicioits tales we’ej whispered about to account for his pres- ! ence at the awful midnight scene, before recorded. He therefore left the ungraceful church, emigrated to a North-western I State, engaged in the profession of law, ! and soon acquired both fame and fortune. The adventure spoiled the missionary, I but made the man, and long may he be ( happy with that beautiful brunette wife, and the little circle of smiling faces and sparkling eyes, which cluster nrotiud their hearth, to renew perpetually their blended images in all the brightness of unfading love. A young woman alighted from a stage- j coach, when a piece of ribbon from her, bonnet tell into tiie coach. ‘You have left your bow behind,’ said j a lady passenger. ‘Oh, no, I haven’t—lie’s gone fishing! innocently rejoined the damsel, proceeding on her way. ‘ls your note good?’ asked a woodman, the other day, of a person who offered a note for a load of maple. ‘Well,’ replied the purchaser. ‘I should think it ought to be—everybody's got one.’ Some gentleman recently exploring in 'the neighborhood of the Chewalealime quarries, in Alabama, found a rock of some hundred tons weight so nicely bal-1 anced, that it could be moved by the hand i of a child, although no practical force I could be imagined which would throw it from its base. Its motion was about six ! inches of space. | Marvellous Longevity—Henry Jenkins, who died at Ellerton, Eng., on the I | Bth ol December, 1670, lived 169 years.; j In the last century of bis life he was a ! fisherman, and used to wade in the stream He frequently swam in the rivers after he was a hundred. ‘Roy,’said a visitor at the house of a friend to his little son, ‘step across the way and see how old Mrs. Brown is.’ The boy did the errend, and on his return reported that Mrs. Brown did not know how old she was. What we know thoroughly we can us- • urniy express clearly.

The Hard-Shelled Bedfellow. Sam Jenkins, in his younger days, [played so many jokes upon his venerable daddy, that the old gentleman at, last got wratliy, and Sam had to leave, which ac- ! counts for our finding him out West. He 1 was a great chap for a lark, and full of fun. Af'er residing in the woods for several years he got the Idea in his bead that be would like another taste of the glorious lobster, such as he tsed to get at his ; father's so he sent by express and impor- . ted some of the real articles, which arrived safe, ‘alive and kicking.’ SctUx I.oJ in io r.mjxl.-.j’ r»v» fri l>mnr» and his wife, who had k-ft the old country j when they were ‘children., and who had grown up in the western forest, as green and fresh as the leaves which shade their shanty. Kam, fully aware that they had ; a perfect horror of anything of creeping kind, resolved to play a trick upon thu | verdant pair. Accordingly, selecting onu of the liveliest lobsters, he obtained ah enterance to their shanty, nnd deliberaleIly pulling down the covering of the bed, stowed away the lobster: and with asmilu lof satisfaction made tracks, and selected 1 a good sitting position out si'de the shanty where he could hear every word that was spoken in the bedroom. The evening ' had far advanced, and Sam's eyes twinkled as he heard Budget and Pittrick I preparing for bed. Very soon the light ; was put out, and Sam, after strangling a noisy bull-dog, prepared to listen. . ‘Ah,‘ said Patrick, ‘I dreamed last night, darlint, that we were in old Ireland. Rut what makes your feet so eowld, my honey?’ said he abruptly, as ! something could touched bis legs, ‘lt’s your own feet thatarc eowld, so I they are,’ replied Bridget testily. ‘Would yc be afther telling me that it's ! my own feet that are eowld?’ said Pat deI precatingly; ‘don’t I feel your eowld feet I on my own warm legs?’ ‘Troth,’ said Bridget, and it’s me that feels that likes ov it too: and sure your I toe nails are afther making me nn’aisy, 'now ! But it bites ! Ab! ah! Och hone! isure, it has me by the leg!— Let go!— j Bloody murthers, but it’s a ghost! Let go with ye’s?’ Here Pat and Bridget dove out of bed, (crying, boody murtbcr;’“nnct'Sam choking i with laughter, rushed into the room j with a light to find Pat and hi lady both ion a table, one armed with a shovel and other a pair of tongs. ‘Oh, boss?’ cried Pat, ‘sure the devil is in the bed, and he has claws like a needle, so he has ! and will ye look at the i blood on my legs? Oh murther! how he | did bite me,' and its an ugly month he h:.sl The blessed Vargin preserve ye, boss, : but don’t go near it.’ ‘Shut up.’ roared Sam; ‘what the devil | arc you making such a fuss about?’ ami I pulling down the bed clothes, the lobster I was revealed to the astonished Pat and his better half. Undaunted Sam picked !it up, and finally succeded in calming I their fears. ‘Sure,’ said Bridget, ‘isn’t it an uucomi mon big spilher?’ •Spither!’ replied Pat; ‘devil a spither ! it is! sure, it’s the biggestof all bed bugs. • so it is? I A Most Singui \r and E::ru touDtXARf Case of Somnambulism.—A young lady, ;(Miss Mary Star,) a niece of A. Loomis, ; Esq., of Fulton, who is living with her uncle, and attending school, has of late been, and is the most singular and extra- | ordinary somnambulist of whom we ever ! heard. At night, after she has fallen I asleep, she gets up, lights a lamp, and taking a paper and pencil, writes several j stanzas of poetry. Her uncle, one night, I fearing that some accident might occur [ from a sleeping person having a burning ; lamp in her hand, took the precaution to remove the lamp from her room, and bei yond her reach. That night she arose in I perfect darkness, wrote another piece of poetry, which upon examination by dayi light was found to be well written, corI rectly spelled and punctuated, and the ruled lilies as acurately followed us they could have been by the ablest penman I with a good light. And this has been re'pe ate J from night to night, each time a J new piece being produced. Hie has no ; knowledge of the m atter herself —she cannot repeat a word of the poetry she produces, and insists that she does not write it. Her friends watch her clocely. They ; have interrupted kef while writing, when [she seems like one moused from a deep , slumber, and cannot finish the line or even the next word of tho stanza she !■ pp"ns Ito be writing. If her writing materials happen to be removed from her room, she arises and finding them missing, pro- ! ceeds to search the drawers, trunks, Jtc.’ j in the dark, with as much ease as another would do it by day. She has sometimes fallen into this condition in the day time, when her writing impulse comeson. The young ladj’s health is not very good, and since her somnambulic exerI cises, she seems to fail daily. Physicians . have been called, but as yet have afforded her no relief.— Fulton ( A*. Pair'd,

The Ilard-.Shelied Bedfellow.

NO. 13.