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amounting to the sum of two hundred and eighty thousand dollars. To which, undisputed titles will be given. Your repentant, 1 JULIA ARDEN. New York, April, IS~ CHAPTER VII. It was Chrisrnas eve, and in a sumptuously fur nished chamber, which appeared as if it lately had been festively occupied, from the many chairs and refreshments still visible, might be seen yet unseparated, six persons variously grouped. — Two young couples, whose happy looks seemed too deep for the mere merriment of the season were sitting on the ottomans at each side of the fire-place, against which, with one elbow leaning on the mantle, stood a middle aged gentleman, on whose arm hung a matronly yet youthful lady, who at the moment we regard them was remark ing, whilst she ran her fingers playfully through the clustering curls of the young gentleman nearest her. “Poor Ira, I wish she had lived. Dy ing so soon after her mother, and just as she had recovered herreason —but a truce to sorrow ing reflections. I sav, Albert! you little thought as this night a year ago you pursued the pooi seamstress that it was a love chase.” “And one that took me a whole year before 1 caught my game,” responded he, drawing the lady by his side closer by the arm he had passed around her waist, and tenderly imprinting a kiss upon her blushing cheek. “Nor you mv young couple there, that seem to think tHere’s nobody worth a thought but your selves,” said the gentleman who was Standing, “ihatyou were going on your first courting expedi tion, when you so humanely braved the inclement weather to pay a midnight visit to a suffering woman. But my dear Miss Linton (l beg pardon, you’ve Deen married such a few hours that I have not yet got mv tongue fashioned to say Mrs. Ham ilton) we must not,” and he glanced at the mag nificent time-piece on the mantle, which pointed out the hour to be half past eleven, “keep you a watcher, nor the Doctor either again to night; but before you retire 1 beg your acceptance of this paper, as my wedding present; nay —l will not he denied, itsvour husband’s fee ! And you, whom 1 am now proud to call my son! who so generously offered your hand to the, as you supposed, poor sewing girl, receive this from your bride as her dowry. Here Caroline,” con tinued he, handing her a similar enclosure, “ take this; but promise me girls before you retire that you will not give them to your husbands until to morrow at sunrise. They will be your Christmas presents.” “ We have already in their hands received our most valued ones to-night,” responded the happy grooms. ()n the morrow when the envelopes were opened, each fair lady found simply written on the inside “ Love one another,” but on picking up the slips that fell out they were found to be checks, signed by Charles Arden, and payable to the bearers each, for fifty thousand dollars. mIS9Eft & A H Y , A KISS. There is n charming naivette and ingeniousness about the following, which must coimueud itself to every lover of inno cent simplicity: There’s something in a k ; ss—though I cannot reveal it; It never comes amiss—not even when you steal it. You cannot taste a kiss, and sure you cannot view it— But still there is a bliss communicated through it. I am well convinced there is a certain something in it; Though but a simple kiss—we w s?ly strive to win it. There’s pleasure in a kiss—if nothing else would prove it, It may be proved alone, by tint—ll honest people love it. My mamma scoldths, 1 give so many kithes; But thshe had better hold her noitliy clack; Tlishe don’t contliider that we brisk young mitheths, Wkeu’er we pleathe, can get our kithes back. BETSEY BLAKE AND THE OPERA. There is a vast deal of cleverness in the fol lowing letter of Betsey Blake which, we find in the last Home Journal. We are glad to find room for the greater part of the Letter, the pur purpose of which we applaud: Boston March S, 1 S4f*. Gentlemen —I was very sorry for the people who had their seats marked “taken” at the opera last night, and were not there. I know that the prima donna never felt better natured, because she sung as if she meant to please every body, and forgot that she was going to have anything for it. And that young lady they call Patti. Oh! Ido think that some of her notes are as much like our cana ry’s as if they’d taken lessons together under the same skv. I only wished I had my plants here when I saw them throwing bouquets to her, be cause l thought she deserved even the very best. 1 couldn’t help clapping m v own white kid gloves when she sung the beautiful duet with her poor Robert, and was sorry that it always came just before the curtain dropped, because they couldn't sing it again. It really appears to me as if religious people had the most unreligious ideas that I ever knew ! Somebody here that really means to be very pious, asked the other day how I could go to the opera every night, and next dav bring mv mind back to God. As it we had to go away from God everv time we amused ourselves, and only was bv Him when we said our prayers and went to church ! I don’t see how any one can sit and be played and sung to the whole evening, without making up their minds to ha ve the strings of their hearts all in order and bright, so there wouldn't be one bio ken or tarnished, one that couldn t answer to t ic beautiful sounds. People that won’t go to the op era because its wicked, lose a sight of comfort )t ----sides a good deal of feeling as it Heaven must >e very perfect, because there is nothing in its air but music from good hearts and pure thoughts. There is a good deal said about operas and heatres tiere, but it appears to me as it minister i hem selves might doa good deal of good, it they would trv to make the common people love music, so they would enjoy it better than the low talk ot saloons where they like to meet, l wouldn t a word against sermons and ministers tor the world, but 1 can’t help thinking that if good, pious people would go more to the opera and theatre, their being there would raise the scenes and words a. great deal higher than they are now, when man agers have to keep things low to please those that will come. Just imagine, Mr. Morris and Willis, lhat all the ministers and pious people in New York and Boston, should agree to go to the opeia and theatre. Don’t you think there would be a great time among the managers, to see that then was nothing wrong in the pieces to bo played and suno’ ? Wouldn’t they pick out the very purest and most sensible plays they could find ? And wouldn’t people go to work and write just such as would be fit for ministers and good people to see and hear; not allowing themselves to bring in a sin gle common idea, or insinuation, as there are so manv of now-a-days ? And then wouldn’t the people that tv ill go to the theatre now, whether it’s good or bad, wouldn’t they have to raise their minds up to those of the ministers to understand and enjoy what they saw acted out ? And wouldn’t those who sit now in the pit and eat peanuts, be more likely to be made fit to sit in the boxes and taste cardomums, by this way, than to have the ministers anil pious people stay at home and talk against such places, without trying by going themselves to raise them to something better’/ 1 believe Mr. Fry means to make us love the opera, and I’m sure for one I’m much obliged for the pains lie takes. 1 know that people say that the opera singers only think of what pay they get and don’t really love the music they give ; so they can’t bear to listen to the beautiful notes that are so bargained for. But perhaps there are some ministers that have preuy good salaries, and change even their churches when a little more is offered somewhere else, showing that they think something of what they’re paid ; but yet it wouldn’t be right on that account to talk against them, and refuse to listen to the pure and precious things they tell. So 1 don’t think'we ought to stay away from tne opera because it isn’t perfect ly pure ; for one of these days perhaps it will be so encouraged that good amiable people will sing in it from their heart, and will think the bouquets thrown to die music as much as to them. 1 couldn’t help writing this, because I wanted everybody to go to the opera, and find out how delightful it is. Not by going once, and say, just as most everybody does about the first olive they eat ; “ 1 never shall like it! ” but go, and go, and go, and go, until the delightful taste comes. If any ministers, or pious people that think it wicked to go to the operaand theatre, and all such places should read this, I hope they won’t be put out at what is said by anybody that thinks so much of them as Betsy Blake. SENSATIONS WHILE IN THE ACT OF DROWN ING, BY ADMIRAL BEAUFORT. Dear Dr. Wollaston —The following circum stances, which attended my being drowned, have been drawn up at your desire; they had not struck me as being so curious as you consider them, because, from two or three persons who. like myself, had been recovered from a similar state, I have heard a detail of their feelings, which resembled mine as nearly as was consistent with our different cons itutions and dispositions. Many years ago, when 1 was a youngster on board one of his Majesty’s ships in Portsmouth harbor, after sculling about in a very small boat, I was endeavoring to fasten her alongside the ship to one of the scuttlings; in foolish eagerness 1 stepped upon the gunwale, the boat of course upset, and l fell into the water, and not knowing how to swim, all mv efforts to lay hold either of the boat or of the floating sculls were fruitless. The transaction had not been observed bv the sentinel on the gangway, and therefore it was not till the tide had drifted me some distance astern of the ship that a man in the foretop saw me splash ing in the water, and gave the alarm. The first lieutenant instantly and gallantly jumped over board, the carpenter followed his example, and the gunner hastened into a boat and pulled after them. With the violent, but vain, attempts to make mvself heard, I had swallowed much water; I was soon exhausted by my struggles, and before any relief reached me 1 had sunk below the sur face—all hope had fled—all exertion ceased— and I felt that 1 was drowning. So far these facts were either partially remem bered after mv recovery, or supplied by those who had latterly witnessed the scene ; for during an interval of such agitation a drowning person is too much occupied in catching at every passing straw, or too much absorbed by alternate hope and despair, to mark the succession of events very accurately. Not so, however, with the facts which immediately ensued ; my mind had then undergone the sudden revolution which appealed to you so remarkable —and all the circumstances of which are now as vividly fresh in my memory as if they had occurred but yesterday. From” the moment all exertions had ceased— which 1 imagine was the immediate consequen ces of suffbcauon —a calm feeling of the most per fect tranquility superseded the previous tumul tuous sensations —it might be called apathy, cer tainly not resignation, tor drowning no longer ap peared to be an evil —I no longer thought ot being rescued, nor was lin any bodily pain. On the contrary, mv sensations were now ot rather a pleasurable cast, partaking of that dull but con tented sort of feeling which precedes the sleep produced bv fatigue. Though the senses were ihus deadened, not so the mind; its activity seem ed to be invigoiated, in a ratio which defies all de scription —for thought rose after thought with a rapidity of succession that is not only indescriba ble, but probably inconceivable by any one who has not himself been in a similar situation. The course of those thoughts 1 can even now in a great measure retrace —the event which had just taken place —the awkwardness lhat had produced it— the bustle it must have occasioned (for I had ob served two persons jump from the chains) —the effect it would have on a most affectionate father —the manner be would disclose it to the rest of ihe family—and a thousand oilier circumstances minutely associated with home, were the first'se ries of reflections that occurred. They took then a wider range—our last cruise—a former voyage, and shipwreck —my school—the progress 1 had made there, and time I h id mis-spent —and even all my boyish pursuits and adventures. Thus ravelling backwards, every past incident of my life seemed to glance across my recollection in retrograde succession ; not, however, in mere out line, as here stated, but the picture filled up wish every minute and collateral feature; in short, the whole period of my existence seemed to be placed before me in a kind of panoramic review, and each act of it seemed to be accompanied by a consciousness of right or wrong, or by some re flection on its cause or its consequences ; indeed, many trifling events which had been long forgot ten then crowded into mv imagination, and with the character of recent familiarity. May not all this be some indication of the almost infinite power of memory with which we may awaken in another world, and thus be compelled to contemplate our past lives'/ Or might it not in some degree warrant the inference, that death is onlv a change or modification of our existence, in C # which there is no real pause or interruption'/ But, however that maybe, one circumstance was highlv remarkable; that the innumerable ideas which flashed into my mind were all retrospec tive; yet l had been religiously brought up—my hopes and tears of the next world had lost nothing of their early strength, and at any other period in tense interest and awful anxiety would have been excited by the mere probability that I was float ing on the threshold of eternity; vet at that inex plicable moment when I had a full conviction that I had already crossed that threshold, not a single thought wandered into the future —1 was wrapt entirely in the past. The length of time that was occupied by this deluge of ideas, or rather the shortness of time into which they were condensed, I cannot now state with precision, yet certainly two minutes could not have elapsed from the moment of suffo cation to that of mv being hauled up. The strength of the flood-tide made it expe dient to pull the boat at once to another ship, where 1 underwent the usual vulgar process of emptying the water by letting my head hang downwards, then bleeding, chafing, and even ad ministering gin ; but my submersion had been real ly so brief, that according to the accounts of the lookers-on, I was very quickly restored to ani mation. My feelings while life was returning were the reverse in every point of those which have been described above. One single but confused idea —a miserable belief that 1 was drowning—dwelt upon my mind, instead of the multitude of clear and definite ideas which had rushed through it— a helpless anxiety—a kind of continuous night mare seemed to press heavily on every sense, and to prevent the formation of any one distinct thought—and it was with difficulty that 1 became convinced lhat I was really alive. Again, instead of being absolutely free from bodily pain, as in mv drowning state, I was now tortured by pain all over me ; and though 1 have been since wound ed in several places, and have often submitted to severe surgical discipline, yet m v sufferings were at that time far greater, at least in general distress. On one occasion I was shot in the lungs, and after lying on the deck at night for some hours bleeding from other wounds, lat length fainted. Now as l felt sure that the wound in the lungs was mortal, it will appear obvious that, the overwhelming sensation which accompanies fainting must have produced a perfect conviction that I was in the act of dying. Yet nothing in the least resembling the operations of my mind when drowning then took place , and when I began to recover l re turned to a clear conception of mv real state. If these involuntary experiments on the opera tion of death afford any satisfaction or interest to you, they will uot have been suffered in vain by Yours, very truly, F. Beaufort. A FRIEND OF THE FAMILY. SAVANNAH, THURSDAY APRIL 19,1849. PREMIUMS. The following premiums will be awarded on the first of May to the successful competitors. To the Masonic Lodge having the greatest number of sub. senbers to our paper at that time, ten copies will bo gi Ves gratuitously for one year. To the Odd Fellows Lodge, the same. To the Division of Sons of Temperance, the samo. tF Mr. J. M. Boardman is our Agent for Macon. JACK FROST. The fifteenth of April wdl be remembered by the gardnen in this vicinity for many years to come. On Saturday last w, saw squashes in the market, grown in Mr. Woolf’s, and Irish Potatoes in Mr. Ilmen’s gardens; and the day before saw water melons in bloom. But now, alas ! “ our hopes are nip. ped in the bud,” a killing frost has come and laid them | o \v._ We apprehend much damage has been done to the cotton and corn crops in the interior. THE SAVANNAH BRASS BAND. On Monday afternoon this Band performed for about two hours in Monument Square, where, we understand, it is their intention, if properly supported, to play every Monday and Thursday. This will bo delightful jjj the summer months, and w:ll afford to those who have not the means and inclination to jgo to the interior or north for recreation, a taste of enjoyment at home. We hope that our City Council will provide seat* in the Square, and that some enterprising citizen will establish an ice cream depot in the neighborhood, so that the taste &a well as the ear may be gratified. TEMPERANCE. An address will be delivered in the Mariners’ Church, on Friday evening, by the Rev. L. L. Allen, of St. Louis, Mo. See Advertisement. The Sons on the occasion of the anni versary of the introduction of the order into this Stato, (the 13th inst.) made a large turn out. Wes are happy to state that the order is in a prosperous condition at this time. NEW PUBLICATIONS. “ The Gold Mines of the Gila.” a Sequel to Old Hicks the Guide, by Charles W. Webber —2 vote.. Brno., New York, Dewitt &: Davenport, Tribune Buildings. Through the politeness of Mr. John M. Cooper, who has it for sale, and the publishers, we are in possession of a copy. If the work is equal to Old H.cks, and for our own enjoyment we hope it is, we shall cull some of its sweets for the ed.fication of our readers, next week. STOCKWELL'S PANORAMA OF THE MISSISSIPPI RIVER. In the absence of a sight of ties great work we append i notice from the “ New Orleans Son of Temperance"' — “ We v s ted this mammoth painting on Tuesday evening lastand s > much were we gratified with the view we 1m l of it, that no cons deration could prevent us from visiting it again.— Indeed, it is a truthful and beautiful representation of all it purports to sketch. There is little left for the imagination to supply. So faithful is every wreck, tree, house, plantation and bend pourtrayed, that one would almost imagine himself floating down tile “great Father of Waters.” The N. O. Picayune says, “as a test of its faithfulness, when at the point where the burning of the steamer Clarkes v lie is depicted, Professor Shaw, who was one of the parsen* iters saved from the wreck, rose quite unexpectedly and testi fied to the accuracy of the scene.” For our own part we are convinced by the multiplicity of testimony of the press that has come under our observation, that it is a correct delineation, and a work of great merit. SODA WATER AND ORATORY. We’ve a friend, rather of the genius “odd-fish” by the way —who relieves himself occasionally of quaint fancies, decided ly original, here's one of them : Upon confessing ourselves stultified as to the mode soda water taught Elocution, he replied, “Why Ned, aint it pal pable that an Oration should, at its introduction, catch the fancy—should be graceful, sparkling, tittilating, but air—all airy—like the foam on the water, only tempting us into the substantial. Then coines tlie sol and, the refreshing, the satis fying substance, and wind up, Ned! wth the poetry, the syrup at the bottom, the exqu s tely del clous portion that lingers on the tongue so ravishingly sweet —so, soda water teaches oratory.* ” We publish, with much pleasure, by request of the passengers who came over frim the Green Isle in the noble ship United Kingdom, (which, by the h}-, we believe is the largest vessel ever in our port, being over 1300 tons burthen.) the following card, wh ch is an expression of gratitude to her estimable commander for his kindness on their passage out: A CARD: We, the undersigned, Irish I migrants, beg leave through the medium of your paper, to inform our friends of out safe arrival, after a passage of fifty-three days. We encountered head winds and severe gales with very little interm ssion du ring tli:; passage, mmy of us, through fear of being drowned, sea-sickness, &c., were in a deplorable state; but Captain McMullain always took the earliest opportunity to console ui and to administer something for our good. We take this op portunity thus publicly to convey to him our most sincere thanks for his kindness, and to testify to his skdl in the management of his ship, and to the promptness with which his orders were obeyed by those under his command. We also return him our thanks for his generosity in supplying our wants when our stores were exhausted. We also return our thanks to the other officers and men for the many acts of kind ness for wh'ch we are indebted. We commend to all our friends in Ireland who wish to imigrate, Capt. McMulW® and the good ship United Kingdom, of Belfast: Charles O’Neill, Andrew Deteny, Francis Anderson, Daniel Ryan, M’chael Darcy, Michael O’Brien, W iliam Corcoran, Patrick Mera, John Adams, Moses Foley, Thomas Foley, Edmard Cloney, Nathan Cloney, Andy Gearing, Silverty Roach, N cholas Talbert, John Coy leu