Another is, that a man of giant intellect and profound erudition has selected as his life-partner a woman of sense; another, that a lady who has had an offer of marriage and rejected it, has kept it to herself; another, that an old bachelor has come to the conclusion that he is less captivating with the girls than he was when younger; another, that a young military officer has taken tea with his aunt without having on his regimentals; that a midshipman has entertained a lady fifteen minutes without a gale or disaster; that a sexton had been seen shedding a tear; that a Mormon has confessed Joe Smith’s Bible a little less authentic, from the absence of the original plates; that a Millerite has forgiven a debt, on account of the nearness of the last conflagration; that a mesmerite, on account of the death-intelligence conveyed by his clairvoyant, has gone into mourning; that an Englishman has been seen with a smile on his countenance without a plum-pudding in his stomach; that an American has said grace at his table without stopping to expectorate; that a Frenchman has stopped his prattle before death had stopped his breath; and, finally, that a new moon, with a drooping horn, has been followed by a dry month. While these incredible rumors were afloat, the public ear was startled with the intelligence that a large ship had been driven on the rocks, just behind Point Pinos. The whole population rushed at once in that direction,—the women to see her go to pieces, the men to seize her cargo, and a widow, who has a son at sea, to save the sailors. But the ship proved to be the “Flying Dutchman,” with phantom hull and masts, and sails through whose gossamer the setting sun poured its effulgent beam. Some laughed as the spectral fabric dissolved, some grieved in silence over their loss, and one old wrecker hung himself with disappointment. Thus ended the day of the Santos Innocentes.