Her love of beauty, and exquisite sense
Of hidden intellect in every form;

Thou art all like her, child.

When pain and wretchedness are met by thee,
Thou art as eager to relieve and bless;
And not a wounded floweret canst thou see,
But thou wilt stoop to it with soft caress;
In this thou 'rt like her, child.

Thou hast my deep and never-faltering love,
My sleepless and forever trembling care:
I ask for thee rich blessings from above,
And plead thy wants in many a fervent prayer:
Here art thou like her, child.

And wilt thou ever be, as she has been,
Faithful and tender to my trustful love?
And wilt thou turn aside from pride and sin,
And lift thy spirit undefiled above?

Be like her HERE, my child!

THE DARK CHRISTMAS.

A TALE OF THE SUSQUEHANNA.

BY A. B. GROSH.

INNUMERABLE are the instances in which the weaker sex have proved themselves in possession of the stronger minds; in which, when the courage of man has changed to cowardice, and his strength to weakness, woman's cheering fortitude has infused animation into his pulseless heart, and her energy awakened his powers to strength and activity. I wish to record one of these instances, though I must regret that it has not found an abler historian, or one more conversant with its thrilling events; for mine is not a tale of fiction, however imperfectly it may loom up in the dim vista of the past, or be faintly pictured on the retina of my memory. But it is time that it should be recorded, for the traces of it are fading from the legends of the aged, and mists and shadows are fast gathering over the few details which the more youthful received

from the lips of the departed who witnessed, or shared in, the perils of the adventure. Even the scenery around the theatre where it occurred is undergoing so many changes, that soon the rugged walks, and cragged peaks, and deep ravines, which added difficulties to the perilous rescue, will have vanished before the leveling improvements and increased facilities introduced in this busy, restless generation. Let me, then, endeavor to fix them on paper while yet my own memory retains a faint glimpse of their former wild and savage features.

On the northern bank of the Susquehanna river, about sixty miles from the Chesapeak bay, a small village, or rather two united villages, were just emerging into being, about thirty-five years ago. So recent, indeed, were the twin villages of Waterford and New Haven, that the place was yet most commonly known by its more ancient name, "Anderson's Ferry." The site of these villages rises from the river's brink in three successive slopes, each terminated by a narrow esplanade; after which a beautifully rolling and gradually rising country succeeds, admirably adapted for farming, and agreeably diversified by hill and dale, farm and woodland. A few miles to the west the river comes winding down from the northwest, and, after passing one

mile east of the place, it bears away again to the southeast, seeking the ocean's bosom for repose. The southern and western bank of the river, which bounds the sight from the village, is surmounted by a steep mountain, forest-clad to its craggy summit, leaving only a small opening, opposite the upper end of the village, through which the ferry road winds upward to the south. Where the river turns toward the southeast, both banks of the river were thus crowned with mountains, covered with huge masses of rock, interspersed among the trees and bushes, down to the water's edge. I say were, for since then a beautiful Macadamized road has been constructed along the river's edge, and outside of it the state has walled up the waters for her canal, while within it approaches have been made toward the suspension of a rail-road on the mountain's side! Just below the village, on the northern side of the river, the Chicquesalungo creeks pour their united tribute into the Susquehanna. These creeks are bounded along their course, on the eastern bank, by similar lofty hills, which terminate at their debouchure in an abrupt, perpendicular rock, about two hundred and fifty feet in height, whose chalky front almost faces the lower end of the villages so often named, and now best known as the Borough of

Marietta. Opposite Chicques' Rock, on the southern side of the river, is another, called the Point Rock-its counterpart in appearance, and nearly in size-which geologists suppose was united to the former, and hence have inferred that, at some distant date, the valley above was a vast lake, which here poured its thundering floods. over the rocky barrier, another Niagara.

The Susquehanna, opposite Marietta, is more than half a mile wide; for several miles above the village, it is a smooth, glassy sheet; but immediately below, opposite Chicques' Rock, it begins to break up into a succession of falls and rapids, which continue, with a few exceptions, the rest of its course. The first and principal exception is about four miles below the ferry, at what was then another ferry, in the then small village of Columbia. The intercourse between these two ferries was rather infrequent, as none but a foot passenger could possibly clamber the hills and rocks which then intervened, on both sides the river, between the two places.

Such were the ordinary features of the scenery, such the difficulties of direct intercourse between the two ferries. Let them be borne in mind while I proceed with my narrative, in which they form prominent objects.