choice and preferred Mowatoo, as he was the son of a brave. Kahlanno grew more facinating and beautiful each day of her life. She partook of all the Indian cunning and pale beauty which belonged to her parents Strange to say, the white man, Kahlanno's father, disappeared as mysteriously as he came, and many rude conjectures were surmised of what and who he was. Hochanno had often sat by the lake side pouring forth devotion into Kahlanno's willing ear, and both drank in the bewildering beauty and enchantment of the surrounding scenery. He told not his burning words of love, by the white light of noonday. But his loved tones were whispered long after the crimson weirdness of evening had passed away; when the harvest moon rode upon her silver car high up in the heavens, and the bright eyed stars were keeping their tireless watch above; Mowatoo grew enraged when Kahlanno refused his hand and pined and languished when away. One day when the lovers were hunting together on the hill side, a dispute arose, and with the rashness of an Alexander, Mowatoo drew a poisoned arrow from his quiver and pierced his rival's heart. Cold distrust crept down into Kahlanno's soul when she saw the hatred of her own tribe turned against her-and even her mother, once so tender, now despised her for the white blood that mingled with the red current of her heart. The love of Mowatoo could not fill the vacuum she felt at her heart's core; and one night when the sun had sunk down behind the bulwarks of the west, and queen Luna was shedding her silver halo over earth, Kahlanno, the wretched in heart, walked forth into the shadow of the mountain, and tread lightly the narrow path the deer had made among the rocks till she neared the lake-which slept as peaceful as an infant in the pale moonlight. There she shed her unavailing tears, which fell with the night dew among the sleeping flowers. She sank down where the wild thyme grew, and a fragrance of bruised flowers and of a bruised heart floated out upon the audible stillness of the evening. Stepping into her bright canoe, she moved out into water till the middle of the lake was gained, when she raised her proud form still higher till she stood on the prow of the boat. Nothing could enhance the beauty of the scene, as she stood gazing upward into the clear sky. She raised her beautiful form still higher, lifting her arms above her head and clasping a moonbeam to her aching bosom, disappeared down among the voiceless waves. Death rested on her soul, the feverish dream of life was over, and all was still! Then the moon was shrouded; a veil of mourning hung before the face of nature, and the stars hid their sparkling eyes behind a dark gloomy cloud. The same angel that delivered the message to the shepherds on the plains of Judea announcing the birth of Christ, in dazzling beauty was seen moving along the front of night. When hovering over the lake, he raised the spirit of the drowning girl in his arms and soared aloft. The hand that killed the Indian lover became palsied, and whenever Mowatoo came down to bathe his shrunken limbs in the pure water of the lake, a muttering was heard as dreadful as the thunders of Sinia. Then nature grew convulsed, for the Great Spirit was angry. The fearful heights grew dizzy, tottered and fell-and the tribes of Pyutts also fell. Their campfires went out, their councils were broken up, their lodges moved further and further in the wilderness. The grass and flowers were blighted; the chase failed and many died from hunger and want. When the sturdy oak refused to yield their acorns, they knew the curse of the Great Spirit rested upon them; and an air of faded pomp and decayed grandeur followed the waning glory of the red man. THE BLOODY HAND. BY G. T. SPROAT. He could not shut it out, Or drive it from his sight; 'Twas there through all the weary day, 'Twas burning on the sea; Fiery and red, it quivering hung, On every rock and tree. He sought his room at night; He shut his chamber door; He threw himself upon his couch'Twas burning on the floor. He cast his eyes above 'Twas on the wall o'erhead; not much to lose, and everything to gain, whom no danger could affright and no difficulty appall. What they accomplished let the records of California tell. But where are they now? The ships which brought them are dismantled and broken up; the beach where they landed is obliterated by the advancing streets of a populous city; the river, up which they toiled in their boats, or sailed in their storm-battered ships, is plowed by the keels of splendid steamers; the mines where many of them labored, are long since exhausted and abandoned, but where are they? The answer to my question has carried happiness and comfort, or sorrow and mourning to many It flickered through the dark, dark night, homes. Too many have shared the com Blazing and bloody red. Oh! bloody hand! Oh! heart! Crimsoned and dark with sin! mon fate of pioneers; they have fallen in the contest, and others have come after them to reap the benefit of their toil. How couldst thou scorn that fearful thing, Along the banks of the rushing rivers, in The voice of God within? It wakes the sheeted dead Their ghosts before it stand; Before the bloody hand! San Francisco, May 1, 1858. WHERE ARE THE FORTY-NINERS? When the first wonderful story of gold reached the eastern shore, the adventurous pioneers embarked on their long and tedious voyage for a nearly savage and almost unknown land. The "inducements" which influenced them were various. The young and sanguine easily enlisted in an adventure so promising and so romantic. That unsettled, forture-hunting, brave and adventurous class, embarked on the first wave of immigration which rolled to these golden shores. The dissatisfied of all classes, to whom the strange stories seemed to promise an opportunity of placing their fortunes on a sure foundation, flocked hither. They were men, most of them, of the true Anglo-Saxon blood, who had the wild cañons, in lonely ravines, or near old forsaken camps, you may find their neglected graves. No mourner's tear moistened the sod which covers their ashes; but their memory lives in the brave hearts of those whose toil-worn hands consigned them to their last repose, and a mother's tear, a sister's sigh be their memento. Though the dim eye that watched their fleeing sail fade on the far horizon may never rest upon them again, though no stone mark the spot of their interment, they are remembered. But many of the old 49-ers have met a different fate. Some returned with improved means, to lend usefulness to their manhood, and shed comfort on the years of declining age; while others, unsuccessful, have followed, preferring home with its associations, to a longer contest with the fickle goddess. Some have chosen this as the land of their choice, here to establish a new home of their own, many of whom have risen to stations of respectability and honor. But there are others still, who continue the weary hunt for gold, from whom fortune | So, boarding up the windows, (which, ever seems to flee; who seem unable to by the way, were as free from glass as abandon this, and embrace some other occupation, and who yet, are continually unsuccessful, but whom the dazzling dream of gold still allures. But there are a few whose fate is more, deplorable than that of those who sleep in their forgotten graves among the mountains. Disappointed in their hopes of retrieving their previously broken fortunes, heart-broken and hopeless, they have given up the strife, or thrown themselves away in the intoxicating draught. They remain in out of the way corners, and unfrequented portions of the mines, ashamed to return to their friends, despairing of all success, and losing all of life that is worth living for. How hopeless is their fate. FORTY-NINE. "A DIGGER IN THE CHIMNEY." A MINING INCIDENT OF EARLY DAYS. My story is concerning the Indian of the class usually denominated "Diggers," and who on this occasion was made to "scratch gravel"”—if I may be allowed the expression for other purpose than obtaining sustenance. Now, I hope I offend no oboriginal individual when I say, that Mr. Indian will steal, which statement I will prooged to substantiate. The "natives" were decidedly troublesome in the locality which we inhabited at an early period in California history; and while we were absent, had a habit of cleaning out our cabin of everything it contained in the way of provisions, blankets, and sometimes even the frying pan was missing, though of what use they put it to, I cannot conjecture, never having learned that their knowledge of the science of cooking extended so far as to cause them to fry anything. Well, after having our cabin sacked and pillaged several times while we we absent, we at last determined to secure the premises. we might suppose are those of heaven,) and applying a huge padlock to the door, we considered the place impregnable against Indian ingenuity, and proceeded to work our claim perfectly regardless of our stores. While at an early hour in the morning one of the company ascended the bank to adjust the hose, he cast a glance towards the cabin, and discovering unusual proceedings thereabouts, called out to us, and with rapid gathering up of revolvers we scrambled up the bank. The first glance discovered to us an Indian sitting on the chimney top. A rascally "appropriator" was inside passing our blankets to the "receiver" on the chimney, who quickly transferred them to the "purveyor on the ground. Then came our sack of flour pursuing the course of the blankets. Our goods were rapidly taking their departure, for in wake of the sack of flour came our frying-pan, afterwards our old clothes, and finally, the Indian came also. He, however, left in a hurry, the chimney's upper story having been warmed by a pistol shot. The scoundrel of a "purveyor" seized the flour and commenced making quick time for the mountains, closely pursued by him of the chimney bearing the blankets, followed by the villanous "appropriator" with the frying-pan and old clothes. Then came a race, in which those making the fastest time were to have the plunder. Three enraged miners were close on their heels, shooting straight ahead and at random. One ball took effect in the old clothes and they fell, and with them the cooking utensil, but the sneaking thief only made more rapid progress. We next stumbled over the blankets, and were rapidly overtaking the flour, when the savage concluded to drop it and save his bacon. The pursued being frightened out of their load soon gained the mountains, where it was less to follow. Sorry that we could not Why, we inverted the get out? I will not tell you any more ROCHESTER. and I presume you have heard of the circumstance: I was engaged to Charlie Watson, and through the influence of my parents was induced to break that engagement." "Do you not feel as though you could live happily with your intended husband, Mr. Matson?" "Oh, yes, I feel as though I should be happy, but I cannot banish from my mind the image of Charlie. Will, I loved him better than I can ever love another; but my parents forbid our marriage, and have encouraged the addresses of Mr. Matson, causing me to be in his society until at times I thought I might love him --and during one of those times I gave him the promise of my hand in marriage; but as the time draws near for the fulfil ADELAIDE - THE FEMALE GAM- ment of that promise, my heart begins to BLER. BY W. B. S. In the village where I was raised there lived a gentleman nameed James Thornton, who was possessed of considerable wealth and had an only daughter by the name of Adelaide, who was as fair as a new-born rose. For three long years we were school-mates. She was the favorite of the village, for she was so gay and full of life, and none became acquainted with her but to love her. At the age of fifteen she was sent off to a boarding-school, and during her absence we removed to an adjoining State, and I did not see her for over three years. My mother had a sister residing in the village, and we returned there on a visit, after an absence of three years, and on our arrival I learned that Adelaide was about to marry a gentleman of reputed wealth, who had been spending the summer months in the village. Adelaide invited me to the wedding, which was to come off on the following Thursday evening. The time came around, and as I was intimate with the family I went very early and had a long conversation with her. I soon learned she was not going to marry the choice of her heart. shrink. I feel I have done Charlie injustice, done injustice to my soul's future happiness in thus giving away to the influence of my parents, in marrying one whom my heart did not select. Will, say nothing of what I have told you, for perhaps I shall love him as well as Charlie when we are married, and then I shall have obeyed my parents' wishes; but oh! Charlie! Charlie! could I but banish your image from my heart, how much happier I should be!" 66 Adelaide, have no fear. I sincerely hope your life in future may be lighted by hope's lightest lamp, and that a tear of sorrow may never dim those eyes, or a sigh escape that bosom. Will, I do from my very heart thank you for the kind wishes you express. I feel as though I could open the floodgates of my soul and let loose the inmost thoughts therein caged from the world, and you would not laugh at my folly, or censure me for the indiscretion I have manifested in yielding to the will of my parents, who know not the heart of their child." She wiped away the tears that filled her eyes, and arose, saying she must go and prepare for the wedding. The guests began to arrive, and the house of Mr. Thornton was brilliantly lighted as soon as the sable curtain of night began to draw near. The conversation I had with Adelaide had thrown a melancholy shade over my feelings, and the pleasant time anticipated had all banished, and my heart was made sad by the thought that so beautiful a creature "I can only account for it in this wise, was to be sacrificed upon the matrimo "Will," she said, "there is a still small voice which whispers in my ear that I am not doing right, although obeying the wishes of my parents. Yet that voice still rings in my soul." "Why do you feel thus ?" nial altar to please the peculiar notions of her parents. As they came upon the floor they made a deep impression upon those around, for they were a handsome couple. After the ceremony was over, they crowded around them to wish them a happy future. When I went up to give them my best wishes there was a sweet smile playing upon Adelaide's countenance, but behind that smile I could see a glistening tear-drop lingering in her light blue eyes, as she looked me full in the face, and thanked me for my wishes concerning her future prosperity. The wedding passed off as well as could be expected, and the wedded couple next morning started on their bridal tour through the southern States. I returned home with fearful apprehensions that the match would prove an unhappy one. Uncle Lou, as we always called him, was a well known New Orleans merchant. It was his usual custom to go up to Kentucky to spend the summer months during the sickly season He went up during the summer of 184- and remained at our house about three weeks, and while there they prevailed upon me to return with him, which I consented to do. I pictured to my delighted imagination many pleasant scenes and romantic adventures I should experience during the coming winter. On the 12th day of October, a day long to be remembered by me, we left the wharf at Louisville for New Orleans, where we arrived after several days' pleasant travel in good health and fine spirits. I remained in the city about six weeks looking after the "elephant," before my departure on a collecting tour. It was a beautiful morning when I left New Orleans. We had a full complement of passengers, mingled with a variety of characters. There were some gamblers on board who were known by many of the passengers as desperadoes, and who followed the river for the purpose of fleecing the unsuspecting of their money. There was one among the passengers who is destined to have a prominent part in our story; therefore, an introduction is necessary, or at least a description. In the absence of any other name we shall call him Reiny Johnson. He was about five feet four inches high, very fair complexion, light blue eyes, hair rather dark. He kept aloof from all the passengers, having nothing to say, unless spoken to. There was something in his countenance which attracted the attention of all ob servers of human nature. The night after we left Orleans there was a game of poker" commenced between two of the gamblers and a young planter, whose name I learned was Stebbins. The game promised to be one of considerable interest, and many crowded around the table. The betting began to be as high as a thousand dollars on one hand. Johnson appeared to be deeply interested in the game, for he did not leave the table during the evening. I was standing immediately opposite to him, where I could see him and watch the color come and go on his cheeks, as the money changed hands, while the young planter, Stebbins, was loser to a large amount. I was standing behind him when I saw him raise his cards. He had three "kings" and two "queens," but "passed," and one of the gamblers bet one thousand dollars. Stebbins then "covered" it and "raised" him five hundred dollars, while the other gambler "passed out." The gambler "see" the five hundred and went a thousand dollars "better." Stebbins sat for a moment with his eyes riveted upon the "stakes," and then called to him a servant which he had, at the same time, and drawing a splendid gold watch from his pocket, and a diamond ring from his finger, he said: "Here is my servant, worth one thousand dollars in any southern market, my watch and chain, worth three hundred and fifty; and a diamond ring worth seven hundred, which I put up. See it,' if you like." The gambler "called" him, and Stebbins was a ruined man, for the other had four aces against him. All through the betting the passengers had crowded around the table, and everything was so still that you could hear a whisper anywhere in the room. The servant, who had changed masters, began to cry, saying: "Master, I cannot leave you, but must go with you;" and he started to follow his master out of the cabin, when the gambler called to him: "You black rascal, come back; you belong to me, now." The talked some of taking passengers up a collection to buy him, but the gambler asked fifteen hundred dollars for him. It was evident to all who witnessed the game that the cards had been "put up on Stebbins, who, consequently, had been swindled out of his money. Reiny Johnson, who was standing opposite to me and took such interest in the |