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A MESSAGE’ " est wind, that lightly stirs my hair, Go, bear this message to my friend ; T.ll her that ’tie my constant prayer That angel hands her life defend. If faithless friends her heart have wrung, Ur sorrow’s pall her path o’er cast, Tell hei to think whose love has clung Around her faithful to the last. Her sorrows he would gladly share, Would lift from her each burdening grief, And could he shield her, he would dare Even death to fly to her relief. Her image on his heart is traced In lines that time may not impair, Life’s record all may be effaced. Yet still her memory lingers there, And though he breast life's st jrmiesttide' The treasure of her friendship pure Shall shine like that one star that guides, The sailor safely to the shore. A LOST YEAR; -OR— A Young Girl’s Harvest. CHAPTER L THE BLOW AT THlt BRIDGE. As we have been friends from boyhood, it is my earnest request that you send my son E lgar to Myrtle Yale,” wrote John Ballan to his friend, Webster Clive. “I promise the young man the heartiest of welcomes, and a happy time during his slay with U6. My daughter, Olive—the little babe you saw in my arms, seventeen years ago—has just returned from school, and will prove a delightful companion to your son. Therefore, my dear Clive, we may both live to rejoice that E Igar visited Myrtle Vale; so send him by all means, and that without delay.” While th > father perused the letter of which the above is an abstract, the tones of a piano, accompanied by a bewitching voice, came to bis ears f‘oman adj lining room, and when Web ster Clive fiaished its perusal, ho turned to his son E Igar. “How would you like a sojourn at a romantic country spot for a few weeks? he asked the young man. “C ipitally, father, if I had a companion, was the reply. “My friend John Bellan has j ist written me to s nd yon to his elegant country home, for a short or long soj 'urn, as you may elect. “ •Is he the Mr. Bellan who was your comrade at Heidelberg?’ ‘The same. I am sure you will like him, and as he hints of society that is certain to prove agreeable, I know you will enjoy yourself at Slyrtle Vala‘ E lga- Clive did not reply, but a cloud passed oror hie face. •You will go? 1 said his father, growing impa tient. ‘If you wish it?‘ was the answer. ‘I most certainly do. To-morrow you will set out upon the j mrney.* ‘Well, then, I go.‘ With the las: w ird quivering on his lips, the youth passed from the room and left his father alsne. ‘This letter has proved most opportune, ‘ said Webster Clive, glancing at his friend's missive which he still held in his hand. ‘It will effec tually take his mind from the girl who is fpst leading him into the toils, and bids fair to unite the two houses. I was about to adopt the straight jacket for his infatuation; but this let ter suggfsis the milder cure of bright eyes and a vomau's heart.* E Igar Clive did not dream that knowledge of his love had reached his fatner‘s ears. He bad been rash enough—rash when one considers the station occupied by himself in the world of wealth—to fell in love with a young girl who stood behind his fether‘s counter, and attended to the ratv*-e of the customers' who £ /eked 10 the great palace of trade. He never stopped to .'uestioa the result of his amour; did not think that his father would shrink with horror from hisallianc > with Nerah Line; but loved the fair girl, neglected no s.cret opportunity to declare his aff rction. But there were those who broke the news to the merchant. Letters left by unknown parties on the desk, or seat to Webster Clive through the city post office, opened his eyes to the enor mity of his s in‘s love, Rnd he started at the thought, and shivered. What! his child form a life alliance with a girl on the pittance of a few dollars per month—a girl who crept every night to an attic, and sought a couch of straw? Tae thought crept to the proud mar ‘a heart, and chilled it to its very depths. If the letter from Myrtle Yale had not oppor tunely reached Webster Clive, it would have been difficult to guess what oourae be would have pursued in the m itter of E lgar‘s love. Ha resolved at once to send the youth to Myrtle Yale, and, in the bright eyes of O.ive Bellan, he would forget Norah Line--forget the penni less gi 1 who sold goods in his father's store. E igar offered no opposition when he discov ered that hie father had determined to send him to the country home of the Bellan‘s, and, on the day appointed, he left the city well burthened With baggage. A day’s journey brought him to his destina tion, and he was accorded a real ovation by the inmates of the Yale. John Bellan expressed himself delighted to gre it the son of his old friend, a id Olive, a beautiful young girl in her eighteenth year, seconded her father’s delight, with much apparent z st. She was fresh from the boarding school, and the lmense permitted there was seen in her manner, and heard in her heedless conversation. ........ Edgar wrote home delighted with his first lm- pres sions of Myrtle Vale, not omitting a rather enthusiastic description of Olive’s charms, and “ quirements. All this pleased Webster Clive; he s w in it the alliance upon which he had set his proud heart; and felt that this son would soon cease to think of the counter slave But he was to discover that E ‘ga still thought jf ner. Entering his 6tore earlier than usual one mor- ling, he saw a young girl reading a letter. A fiance told him that is was Is >ra L ine. Sue seemed depply interested in the missive, as, m- leed she was, , , .. . U he oassed he glanced over her shoulder, and law her gaze riveted upon the well known chi- •ography of his son. With white face and fl *sh- ng eyeshe passed to his private office, and ac- losted the head account. .. . . “Wuat do we owe Nora Line? he said almost iereely. - . The clerk examined the ledger and informed he merchant that the firm stood six dollars in he girl's debt. ., “Pay and discharge her ! he said. Twenty minutes later a cry ran through the room. Nora Lane had fainted. When she recovered, she found the merchant s private office closed to her and wrapping her shawl about her form, left the great place of ex- ffiange, and breasted the storm that howled through the thoroughfare. Discharged ! and for what’ She did not know. if Filoar at Myrtle Vale was informed of x’ 11 i u. Ldrten change of condition he did not U fn any of hie letters home, and his “the?did not deem it necessary to inform him -, The/outh appeared pleased with his visit, andj the merchant resolved that he should stay away until he had won the hand of Olive Bellan. Edgar at last thought that he saw through his parent’s designs, aid one night, as he entered his chamber, he gave vent to his thoughts. He said aloud that he hud not forgotten Nor »h Lane, and his words ‘old that he knew of her discharge. B :t he had not beard from her for two months, and could not think what made her so silent. F >r several months Olive had been playing fast and loose with'him. Now he believed that she loved him, and now again scarcely doubted that she had a lover who met her clandestinely on the es'ate. Intent upon discovering the truth of this, he left the house one night and glided toward the rustic bridge that spanned the creek. There upon several occasions after nightfall ho had heard voices, one ot which sounded very like O ive’s; the other was a man’s. It was a night well suited for tli9 observations which the youth wished to take, for dark clouds scurried across the heavens, and rend red the spy’s motions difficult to see. He felt that he would witnesi a clandestine meeting, lor cer tain thingR had told him that O ive intended to leave the h use. Ha reached the foot bridge and stood beneath the drooping williw that touched it when the wind b -nt its limbs. Forseve ;1 moments he stood there, seeing, hearing nothing, when al at once he heard a cat like step behind, and then a hiHsi.ig voice : ‘The third time, cowardly spy I’ said the un seen. ‘There, take that! E igar felt a sharp pang in his side, ai d with a wild cry staggered back and fell heavily to the earth. Before he lost his consciousness he heard a woman’s voice in a frightened tone. ‘Fly Charley ! for your lifj, fly ! Leave me with him.’ ’I—I watched over him. Charles ‘l’ou did? after telling me to put an end to his spying.' ‘Oh! no! no! do not say that.* ‘I will say it, for it is the truth !‘ ‘I wil! not remain here and listen to yon. • ‘Willnot?- and the haggard man laughed al most demoniacal v. ‘I am the strongest, and I vill make yen. You have got to listen t -> every hingl want to say. Olive Bellan, you made me believe that you loved me. I follow id you from Lecompton and met yon twenty times on this bridgr. I madly jealously, adored you, and be lieved eviry word yon said. You told me that yonj fa’her wApld not consent to our union,and informed me tn$t we were Watched. Y u know what followed y8(pr information, and the alvioe w :ich you gav . "I struck the bio r, that made me a fugitive from j istice and a man who saw ais victim in his sleep, and heard his wild cry al. through his waking hours! I struck him be cause you s lid yon loved me. What do yon say now? Did you lie then, Olive Bellan^ We-e von playing the coquette and drawing me on? Answer me!' Tae man’s face assumed an expression fright ful to behold, and Olive tried to shrink away, but his grip held her fast, ‘Tell me, foolish girl! he cried. ‘Or, by my sou', I will not let you go to-night.’ ‘Unhand me, sir, or I will alarm our house hold! she said, suddenly becoming bold. ‘Do so, and I wi'l accuse you before your father, even though I h mg myself! was the neartless answer. ‘Charlie Deale. I wil! answer you. I once thought I loved you. Indeed, I did not know my own heart. Will you let me go, now?’ ‘Yes,’ he cried. ‘H.ive'l les a year loving such a girl as yon, Olive Bella i? Have I steeped my hands in crime, believing that I was win- The Double Heart. BY MARY E BRYAN. (See Engraving on 1st page.) The division was under march; the band was playing ‘The G rl I L ft 'B ehind Me,’ women were w iving good-byes from windows and bal conies and the beys of the town w re shouting hurrahs as the troops, with banners flying, de filed through the streets. Y r et one soldier was not in his place. Wallace B ant was still saying good-bye to A’ico M ivfield, under the old beech in he* father’s grounds, where the • had often sat in ear'ier years, an 1 Wallace the blacksmith’s handsome sou, had hel, e ’ li tie A!lie the proud Judge’s only daughter, with the sums that puz zled her pretty head. Hard y mo e than a child vet was Alice. The war had broken in upon her finishing at the fashl nable northern seminary, and s' e had come back into the lines of Dixio where her lather’s 1 mded interests comnelled him to stay, tcough his hearfj as with the North ern army, and th > old flag, and this moment, from a window irom h s mansion, on the hill, ue was shaking his clinched hand at the gaily- streaming stars and ha s that preceded the little band of marching Rebels. What if he bad known that Alice, his darling, whom he propos d some day to marry to the irst in the land, wis at this moment pledging her young hea-t to a private soldier in the R bel aimy; but he did not know it; and Mrs. Marks and her daughter, staunch friends of Alice, stood watch at the gate, while he held her hand close locked in his, and talked of his love, and his plans for the f dure. Wallace had bean cutting deep lines with his knife into the smooth beech bark; and now Alice saw that it was a doable heart that was taking The twilight was too deep for her to discern his features well, but she would know that voice; ;he would feel the magnetism of that presenoe in the darkest midnight. ‘Alice, my darling, it is I; I was not killed; I ive to love you, aud to make you mine in sDite >f them. I heard what was to happen. I de led all dangers and ea ue to you; came to carry .mu away with me; thank G >d I am not too late, come, dearest, my friends here are true to me. there are fresh, fleet horses waiting for us. Gome! J here was no wedding at Mayfield mansion hat night. The feast was there,—the wine and he fl iwers and the lights. The guests were here, an! the grand bridegroom in his glitter- ng uniform, but ‘the bride herself was want- ■ng ; , uilo the soldiers on guard had relaxed their vigilance to drain a canteen in honor of their General’s wedding day, a daring R.-bel welf had Rolen in and carried off the lamb meant for the lacrifice. Two days afterwards, in a C mfeaerate camp, mrrouuded by the rugged, sympathetic feces of be men ir gray, sweet A'ice, the truant bride, stood up in truth to plight her vows; and an iriny chaplain, who could fi-ht as well as pray, laid the words that gave to Mij ir Wallace Brant .he bride he so well deserved, aud who had so oobly proved her devotion. A id the legend carved on the old beech proved prophetic, for the two hearts are still one, though he children of A ice aud Wallace Brant now play under the old tree, whose trunk yet bears the to cn of the young soldier’s love for the girl he left behind him. Did you love the man who struck mo at the bridge ?” he asked when they had come to a halt. ‘So it is he?’ said the man. ‘Well, I am not one whit sorry, O. ve Bellan.” Then the strieke a man swooned from loss of blood,and excruciating pain, and when he open ed his eyes again, he found himself in the man sion of Myrtle Yale, with a circle m' white and ».iir>us Vices over him. Ha caugh sight of O.ive standing at the foot of the bed, aud, when his gaz j met h its a shiv er passed over her frame, and, with a guilty countenance, s le crept from the room. By-and-by the surgeon concluded his ex uni nation, and gave the anxious ones few hopes of Edward’s recovery. “I did uot do it! ’ Olive cried when she reach ed her own room. “If he lives, I will atoDe for my share of the affair; but I shall keep the se cret of tha, blow! Cnaries is safe with me;but I may have to desert him for the man he struck to-night. ” CHAPTER II. Five months after the dark blow at the bridge, Elgar Clive still occupied his room in Myrtle Yale. Daring a greater part of the time just passed, his father had been constantly at his bed-si ie, and it wa i with unfeignel pleasure that he saw his boy changing for tae better, and slowly returning to health. Waen Edgar had so far recovered as to be able to ask questions and receive replies, h ) made enquiries concern ing his friends in the city, and his father an swered with pleasure. Tnere was a question which often struggled to his lips, but he was afraid to put it. Waat had become of Norah Lane? Hi felt that his father knew, and would truthfully tell him; but he could not nerve himself to ask about her, and the opportunity at last passed away for the merchant went back to the city. Almost every day Odve came to the room, and attended to his wants with growing devotion. But he could not dare to meet her gaze squarely; he remembered the words that succeeded the cruel blow, and felt that she could have avert ed it. Through much of his illness she had watched at his bedside; hut she was still the girl he had found her, though the events of the past few months had effected a slight change. Since E lgar's arrival Ooe year passed before his return to the city was seriously canvassed. He had promised his father that he would not talk ot going homeuutii he found himself strong enough to underta :e the j mrney. Tne rich hues of autumn were again on sky and 1 af.and the young man went out into the woods again. Oae year from that night which had burrowed itself in rhe memory of the inmates of Myrtle Vile, O.ive w.»s stopped by a voice on the fetal Dridge, and, turning, she beheld a tall young man whose face was white and haggard beyond description. Tne young girl was returning home from the overseer's lodge, and, as the distance was short, had not deemed an escort necessary. Therefore, she started when she beheld the wof'ul counteeance, aud might have fled, but a hand was laid upon her arm.’ ‘Charles Djale, what brings you back here?’ she cried, •Y m, O.ive Bellan, and you know it!* was the reply in desperate tones. ‘I did not send for you, ‘ she said: ‘I never took yon to come back. You are endangering your neck. ‘ He bit his white lips until they crimsoned, and his eyes flashed like a madman's, ‘He isn‘t dead?" he said half qnestioningly. and there was latent regret in his tone. ‘N o! ‘ ‘Was he ill, long?* ‘He was very near the grave for months,’ an swered Olive. ‘Ana what did you do?‘ ning your heart? God pity the wretch your silly heart has made! Never will I love woman again! Olive Bellan, may all your future 1 >vj8 ue blighted, and may the wrath * f the man you have wrecked fullow^yon to t'y ' Lka released her with the last vTord, and she fled like a person running for he> life, to the mansion, while the white-faced man walked slowly towards the village not far away. E Igar O.ive decided at last to depart f:om Myrtle Vale, and on the afternoon that was to •vitness his leave-taking, he and Olive rode do ,vn the by-road that led into the beautiful park at tached to the estate. Olive’s groom accompanied them, but at a re spectful di-tance, and the twain w-?re enabled to convjrse without the fear of being overh ard. ‘I want to know one thing btf ire I go away,’ Edgar said, watching the girl’s lace which was quite near, for they had come to a halt. ‘Gladly will I give the information if I can,’ was the reply. ‘I may be asking too much. (Did you really love the man who struck me at the br Jge? ) The ques.ion, wholly nnexpecied, starred the bea lty, and her face flashed, thou quickly be came pallid. ‘Pardon me, E Igar hastened to say, with a sinister smile. ‘You need not reply. But I wish to say that I oan never love the woman who knows such secrets and tells tnem not. Olive, vour folks have been very kind to me. You have planted, it seems to me, a terrible harvest. Charles Deale wrote ms a letter yesterday, in •vhieh he told me all. He met yon at the bridge night before last. I know you expected me to make an avowal of love before I leave M, rtle Vale hut I cannot love you. There is a knife between ns, and I must leave you t > garner your harvest alone, in pain and tears, though it be.’ She heard him through like a prisoner receiv ing his sentence, and then said only this: ‘G e! Let the person who sowed the wind as a school-girl, reap the whirlwind the remainder of her life. They rode b-ck to the house together and parted there. E igar Clive returned to th9 city, and told his father all. ‘And do you still love that girl—that N rah L ;ne?’ •YeS.’ ‘Where is she?’ ‘I do not know.’ The merchant’s face brightened. ‘Father, I see you working throughout the whole aff dr,’ cried the young man. ‘You sent me to Myrtle Vale that I might'forget her; you discharged her because she loved me; you ’ ‘Enough! Hunt her out and marry her; but never upbraid me if you rue your investment'’ Elgar did find Norah Line, and, finding her still true, led her to the alter, and s lie made him a wife who won the love of Webster Clive. There w«s something in Charles D .ale’s curse, for Olive Bellau never wedded; and over her grave the wild birds sing as if she hal loved to happiness, and not despair. Mrs. M rton, of Memphis, los‘a diamond cluster pin, valued at $700 The pin was ad vertised in tae Avalanche and found by Mr. It O Smith, who received $50 reward. In this instance advertising paid Mrs. Morton $050. The L9gisla‘ure of New York, recently con vened, will chocs a successor to Senator Conk lin, on the 21st of J .nuary. It is reasonably certain Mr. Conklin will be his own success or. A delegation of the principal chiefs and busi ness men of the Cherokees, Creeks and Chicka- saws, waited upon the President on the 9 h, aa d entered their protes s against the transfer of t ie Indians to the War Department shape under his keen blade; and presentlv he said to her: ‘Uader this tree you kissed me Alice when I tound vour pet squirrel and brought him b ink >a, _»v>u w'jrti a ifuie” m*itc oT a girl 'then; and under this tree you first tuld mo you loved me; md here \vj have met ofien and often. So the old tree is sacred to our love, aud I will mark it so. Here I have cutour hearts, linked together, dearest. It will remain there while the tree iives. L ok at it, beloved, and think of me when I am far from you; look at it and remem ber that you have promised to be tr ie to me - come what may—as I shall be true to you while a heart beats in my body.’ ‘I wil.,’ the girl answered, through the tears that were silontl falling as she watched the cutting of the double heart. F liutar sounded the shouting withont; fa'nter the music of the band playing ‘The Girl 1 Left Behind Me.’ ‘I must go,’ sighed the young soldier; aDd thrusting back into his belt the knife that had j i»t completed the rude carving, he clasped his girlish sweetheart to his breast, and the fere- well was murmur6i amid tears and prayerful in vocations. Three years later. Mayfield mansion is being brilliantly lighted up, for to-night Alice, the Judge's lovnly daughter, marries Gen. Wa son — the Federal Commandant of the post. The town is no longer in Confederate lines. Six months pr vio is i: was taken by N jrther i troops greatly t> the jov ot Judge Mayfield, whose home was at once thrown open to the Federal Oflijers. Soon it was known that the General was Miss Mayfield's ardent lover and that his suit wa backed by the sirong will and pursua- sive powers of her father. Aiiee held out against them long and stoutly but news came that Wallace was dead, an she felt that life had no further promise for her,and listless aud hopeless, yielded a passive acq li- escenoe to her father's will. But it was a sad heart, hidden nnder that foam of costly la e as she sat in h r bridal dress and looked at the little black gutter percha ring upon her finger—the ring her lover had earved from a button of his coat, as he crouched in a rifle pit with t ae storm of shot and shell going on above and around him, and had sent it in the last letter she had ever had from lrrn. She had worn it always, hidden lately under the heavy gem-oet band that was the General s troth pladgta. She must put it off now ! This cherished token of the brave, handsome, true lad who had won her girlish heart,‘and pressed the first love kiss upon her lips, She must put away his poor little pathetic token, she who was soon to wear the ring that bound her to a proud enemy, of the cau .e her brave boy fought, and died for, a starred and stately General, but oh ! how un like her own tender aad gallant boy. So thickly the memorits gathered about her that they a’most stifled her. She shrank from the eyes of those about her. ‘I am not well ; I am nervous, she said, “I am ready too early by an hour, I will walk in the garden and compose myselj, I need the iresh air and the quiet.’ G »essing tha‘ her thoughts were with her lead lover, they let her have her will, and loop ing up her silken train and enveloping her whole figure in a soft dark wrap, she left the uouse. Straight she went across the garden, the orchard, to the strip of woods and the old try- sting spot—the beech tree that bore the legend )f the double heart. Throwi ng her arms around it and pressing her cheek to the mossy trunk she moane I out her lover's name again and again in accents of despairing tenderness. ‘Alice.’ Who was it called her’ Who was it that knelt at her side? What arms were these around her? Iteiiii of Interest. Mr. Ma .in H.rv.sa citiz m of Folk county | vas ac.id ,'utai.y burned to death on the evening of the 10 a. Ac or ling to the lust census, there in Aus tria lt>3 men aid 2Jo womeu of 1JJ years aud ever. Colonel D H. Strother, ofV.rgiuii, better mown as ‘t’ore C ayoa,’ has been off ered the j consul-general ihip of Mexico. A'.abami cle..rs some thirty thousand do'.l trs j a year working out herconv.c.s. Oi the last | lay of D cjui nr there ware bat eighty-five in i ihe peniteatia y. Ben Butier C ilebrated the anniversary of the ; Ustile of N ;w U.leans by counting over his sil- | ver spoons. i A steamboat has been placed on Orange Lake, j Fla. Tne lake is twenty miies long and five ! wide. ! Fl >rida experienced throughout its length, ; aud breadth, so we bear, two distinct shocks ; of an earthq i die, on the 13 .ii inst. ! Es-Seaator Henderson, of M ssoiri. will ! more ibau likely be made minister te Germany, ( in roam of C .yard Taylor, deceased. ; Prince B smarck’s Parliamentary Funish- i mens bill is sud to meet with more opposition i in other c >untries than in G irmany iiself. ! There is a question of the constitutionality of j the bill. About twelve o'clock on Sunday night t ie 12 h j inst. a shock of an earthq lake was distinctly J felt throughout the city ot D .rien and on the | Ridge. While the harbors of Baltimore, Philadel phia, an i evsu N if Y irk, hive been much im- pededj|B to navigation by ice. that ot Bis on haa rem lined entirely free from such trouble. Capt. Bo,'ardus recently acoomplishel the U’ip irallele l feat, at Gilmore’s Girden, Niw York, of breaking with a rid j 6.000 balls with out a mis . A naval court-martial, of which Commodore C. H. B rid win is President, has been appointed for trial of Cimmandsr D W C. Kells, on charges preferred against that offi ier. It is op*/Identic expected that G >v. Hamp ton will attend the next c jlebration of Washing ton’s birt hday in Caarleston, and take part in r,he proceedings on the occasion. He will go as the guest of the famous Washington Light In fantry. Madame Andersen concluded her task of walking 2 700 q larter miles in as many quarter hours. Cousiilerable money is said to have changed hands on the result. She commenced the last quarter mile at 10: 15 aud made it in 2: 371. Mrs. Cobb has been sentence 1 to impris la ment for life at Wethersfi.dd Prism for the murder of her husband. Iu a card to the pub lic Mrs. C >bb says the verdic: was mistaken one and solemnly asseverates her innocence. Texas ranks third among the wool-producing States, having 3 671 OuO sheep, and so trea ling closely on the heels ot O lio. C Uifornia leads, of course. N uicas C maty, Tex., has more sheep in its limits than a ay other county in the U jion. Gainesville, Fiorida, a few days ago, had a beautiful pond thirty-five feet deep, and cover ing twelv > acres of ground—but it is gone. It went out of sight in a single night —sunk, van ished, disappeared, leaving only its bed be hind it. It is stated that the roa Is in the neigh borhood have a way of stepping out after a similar fashion. Augusta will soon put in a bid for the State Fair. It wants to share iu the benefits winch it allegts Macon and Atlanta derive from tke expositions of the State. Benjamin Hunter was hanged at Camden, New Jersey, on the lb;h of J muary, for the murder ot Armstrong, a former partner in bu siness, in January, 1678, The great bridge, in O aio, over the Cuyahoga river and flats has been recently completed. It was commenced in 1861, and is said to have cost $2,250,000. At the meeting of the Tennessee historical so cle y, in Nashville, Tues lay, it was resolved to arrange for an appropriate celebration of the battle of K ng’s mountain. A committee was appointed to memorialize the legislature to aid the society in advancing the objects for which it was orgauiz id. Some of those liberty-loving Russian stu- ’ dents, who insisted on the right of petition, are to be banished to Siberia for their imprudence in thinking they had rights the authorities should respect. Colonel J /rdan says cotton can be made to pay at the present prioe of meat and clothing even at eight cents per pound. He will be sat isfied to net that amount the present year. We learn that the R v. H. F- Hoyt who has been the worthy pastor of the First Presbyte rian Chureb, of Darien, for the past year, has sent in his resignation to take effect the firs, of June next. The daughters of Sir E iward Tuoruton, the English minister, made their first appearauce iu Washington society last week, bat as hey were wearing cour. mourning for the Frincoss Alice, their dresses were of black illusion over black silk, and their only ornaments strings of pearls around their necks and red roses. Niagara river below the Falls is spanned by a bridge of ice one mile long and sixty feet wide. The riv jr has been spanned in this way before, but seldom if ever so early as now. This unex pected appearance of the bridge it acc muted for by the vast quantities of snow and ice which passed into the river from Lake Erie after the late heavy s.orm.