221118 & r ILIEDart IB,loArtsol .2fLitco.N4Y 4 o% 92)0 Office of the Star & Banner COUNTY BUILDINO, ABOVE TIIII OFFICE OF THE REGISTER AND RECORDER. I. The Stu & REPUBLICAN BANNILI is published at TWO DOLLARS per annum (or Yol umo of 52 numbers,) payable half -yearly in advance: or TWO DOLLARS & FIFTY OS NTS, if not paid until after the expiration of the year. 11. No subscription will be received for a short er period than six months; nor will the paper be discontinued until all arrearages are paid, un less at the option of the Editor. A failure to notify a discontinuance will be considered a new en gagement and the paper forwarded accordingly. 111. ADVEBTISENENTS not exceeding a square will be inserted Timex times for $l, and 25 cents for each subsequent insertion—the number of in sertion to be marked,or they will be published till forbid and charged accordingly; longer ones in the same proportion. A roasonabledoduction will be made to those who advertise by the year. IV. All Loiters and Communications addressed to the Editor by mail mustbe post-paid, or they will not be attended to. THE GARLAND. ---" With sweetest flowerseurieb'd From various gardens eull'd with care." TEE PRINTER'S SONG. Print, comrados, print; a noblo task Is the one we gaily ply; 'Tts OUTS fa tell to all who ask, The wonders of earth and miry; We catch the thought all glowing warm, As it leaves the Student's brain; And place the stamp of enduring form On Poets airy strain. Then let us sing, es we nimbly fling The slender letters round; A' glorious thing, is our laboring, Oh where may its likobs found I Print, comrades, print; the fairest though► Ever limned in Painter's dream, The rarest form e'er Sculptor wrought; By the light of beauty's gleam, Though lovely, may not match tho paws, Which our own proud art can claim; That links the past with the present hour, And its breath—the voice of fame. Then let us sing, as we nimbly fling The slender letters round; A glorious thing, is our laboring, Oh where may its like be found Print, comrades, print; God hath ordained That man by his toil should live; Then spurn the charge, that wa disdained The labor that God would give! We envy not the sons awe, Nor the lord in princely hall; But bow before the wise decrees In kindness meant for us all. Then let us sing, as we nimbly lag • The slender letters round; A glorious thing, is our laboring. Oh where may its like be found I 1141IIEVOMU.112Z.Viril ( DTC30 GENTILITY. Mr T. e. ARTHUR. "Didn't I see you walking up the street with a young lady yesterday, William?" said Anna Enfield to her brother, who had but a few days before returned from New York, after an absence of some months. "Perhaps you did; I was in company with a young lady in the afternoon," re plied the brother. "Well, who was she? I did not see you until after you had passed the store I was in, and then I could not see her face." "It was Caroline Murry; you know her, I suppose!" "Caroline Murry! Why brother! what wore you doing in her company!" and Anna's face expressed unfeigned astonish ment. "Why, really, ye.' surprise me, sister; I hope there is no blemish on her character. But what is the matter? I feel concerned to know." "There's nothing much the matter, brother; but, then, Caroline Murry is not genteel. We dont think of keeping her company." "Indeed! and you dont associate with her because she is not genteel. Well, Anna, if I am any judge of gentility, Caroline Murry Is about as genteel and lady like as any girl I know—always excepting, of course, my own dear sister." "Why, brother, how you talkl You don't certainly pretend to compare her with Ernestine Eberly and Zepherine Fitzwilliams, whom you have seen bore several timesl" "No, I do not," replied the brother "Well, they're what I call genteel: and Caroline Murry wuuld'ni be tolerated in the ooeiet.) , whore they visit." "And why not, sisterV 4 , "llav'nt I told you? - Because she is not considered genteel; that is the reason." "But 1 don't understand - what you con• shier genteel, Anna. If 1 know what gen tility means, as far as that is concerned, Caroline is in every way superior to Ernes tine Eberly or Zepherine Enzwilliams." that is too bad! If any other man had said that to me, I would never hevo spoken to him again as long as 1 lived." "But seriously, Anna, what do you mean by gentility?" asked the brother. "That's a question more easily asked than answered, but you know as well as I do, what is meant by gentility. Every body knows." "1 know what I mean by it, Anna. But it seems that we don't agree on the subject, for I call Caroline Murry genteel, and you don't; so you see that different things may be called by the same name. "Now, what I wish to know is, what precise meaning you attach to the word? or, why you do not think Caroline genteel?" "Why, in the first place, she don't go in• to genteel company. People of the first rank won't associate with her." Here ensued a pause, and the brother said— " Well, why won't they associate with her, Anna? I hope she has not been guilty of improper or immoral conduct." "Oh, no! nothing of that. I never beard the slightest reflection .on her character," replied the sister. "But, then, genteel young ladies don't work in the kitchen,like hired servants; and she does. And, beside this, call on her when you may, and she is always doing something. Why I am told that she has even been seen at the chamber window fronting on the public street, with her head tied up, sweeping, and making beds! And Clarrissa Sprig glee says that she saw her once, with rho parlor windows open, sweeping and dusting like a servant! Nobody is going to associate, or be seen in the street with any one who hae'nt the spirit to be above the condition of a hireling. And, beside this, when she was invited to balls, or parties, she never would stay later than ten or eleven o'clock, which every body knows to be vulgar. Somebody had to go home with her, of course; and the choicest beau in the company was almost sure to have his good nature and his politeness taxed for this purpose. Once I heard her say, that she considered the theatre an unfit place for any young lady; she offended the whole company, and has never been invited to a party among genteel people sioce." "And is that all?" said William Enfield, taking a long breath. ' "Yes, and I should think that was enough in all conscience," replied the sister. "So should 1, Anna—to make ;no 're spect her." "Why, William!" "Why, Anna!" "But seriously, William, you cannot be in earnest?" "And, seriously, Anna, are you in ear• nest?" "Of course I am." "Well, sister, lam afraid my old fash ioned notions, for such I suppose you will call them, and your new tangled notions, for such I must call them, will not chime well together. All that I have heard you allege against Caroline Murry raises, instead of lowering her in my estimation. So far as a gentle, and truly lady-like de. portment is concerned, I think her greatly superior to the two friends you have named as pinks of gentility." Anna looked into the face of her brother for some moments, her countenance ex• hibiting a mingled expression of surprise and disappointment. "But you are not going to walk with her in the street any more, I hope'!" she at length said. "And why not, Anna 7" "Because, as I have said before she is not gen—" "Genteel, you were going to say. But . that allegation, you perceive, Anna, has no weight with me; I do not consider it a true one. "Well, we won't talk any more about it just now, for it would be of no use," said the sister, changing her voice and manner; "and so I will change the subject. I want you to make a call or two with me this morning." "On whom?" "On Miss Eberly and Miss Fitzwil liams." "It would'nt be right for me to do so, would it? You know 1 don't consider them genteel," said the brother, with affec ted gravity. "Oh, nonsense, brother! why will you trifle so?" "But, seriously, Anna, I do not consider that those young ladies have any very strong claims to gentility; and, like you, I have no wish to associate with those who are not genteel." "If you talk in that way, William,' shall get angry with you. I cannot hear my most intimate friends spoken of so lightly; and at the same time accused of a want of gentility. You must remember that you are reflecting upon your sister's associates." "You must not, and I know you will not, get angry with me, sister, for speaking plainly; and you must do roe the justice to behove that in speaking as I do I am in earnest. And you must also 'remember, that, in saying what you did of Caroline Murry, you spoke of one with whom your brother has associated and with whom ho is still, willing to associate." Anna looked very serious at this, nor could she frame in her own mind a reply that was satisfactory to her. At last she said— "But seriously. Brother William,won' you call on those young ladies with we! "Yes, on one coration." "Well, what is their "Why, on condition.that you will after ward call with mu, and' see Caroline blur ry. o "I cannot do that, William," she replie in a positive tone. "And why not, Anna?" G. WASHINGTON EvrEN, EDITOR & PROPRIETOR.. ic The liberty to know, to utter, and to argue, freely, is above all other liberties.”—MiLTon ItZeifieUllral2tlP.26o zPacle revaarbarre _ciatorstpaut lice agaa,, "I have already told you." "Lcannot perceive the force of that rea son, Anna. But if you will not go with me I must decline going with you. The socie ty of Miss Murry cannot bo more repulsive to you, than is that of Misses Eberly and Fitzwilliams to me." "You don't know what you are talking about, William." "That is my impression about you. But come now, sister, let us both be rational to each other, I am willing to go with you if you will go with me." "Yes, but W illiam, you don't reflect that, in doing as you desire me, I will be in danger of losing my present position in so ciety. Caroline Murry is not esteemed genteel in the circle in which 1 move, and if it should be known that 1 visit her, I will be considered on a level with her. .1 would do any thing to oblige you, but, in deed, I would be risking too much here." "You would only be breaking loose j " replied the brother, "from the slavery you are now in to false notions of what is truly genteel. If any one esteems you less for being kind, attentive, and courteous to one against whom suspicion has never dared to breathe a word, and whose whole life is a bright example of the pure and high-toned principles that govern her, that one is un worthy of your regard. True gentility does not exist, my sister, merely in a stud died and artificial elegance of behavior, but in inward purity and taste, and a trim sense of what is right, all exhibiting them selves in their natural external expression. The real lady judges of others from what they are, and neglects none but the wilful ly depraved. True, there are distinctions in society, and there are lines of social de marcation, and all this is right. But we should be careful in what social sphere we aro drawn, and how we suffer ourselves to I les influenced by the false notions of real worth which prevail in some circles that profess a high degree of gentility. 1 hold that every one, no matter what may be his or her condition in life, fails to act a true part if not engaged in doing some thing that is useful. Let ine put it to your natural good sense, which do you think most deserving of praise, Caroline Murry, who spends her time in doing something useful to her whole family; or your friends the Misses Eberly and Fitzwilliams. and those constituting their particular circle, who expect services from others, but never think of rendering any, and who carry their prejudices so far as to despise those who work?" Anna did not reply, and her brother said— "l am in earnest, sister, when 1 say, that you cannot confer a greater favor upon your brother, than to go with him to see Caroline Murry. Cannot 1 induce you to comply with my wishes?" "I will go," she replied to this appeal, and then hurried away, evidently no little disturbed in her feelings. In half an hsur she was ready, and, taking her brother's arm, wee soon on the way to Miss Ernestine Eberly's residence. The young lady received them with all the graces and fashionable airs she could as some, and entertained them with the idle gossip of the day, interspersed with an occasional spice of envious and ill-natured remark. Knowing that her brother was a close discriminator, and that he was by no means prepossessed in her friend's favor, Anna herself observed her more narrowly, and, as it were, with his eyes. It seemed to her that Miss Eberly never was so main teresting, or so malapropos in what she said. The call on Zepherine Fitzwilliame came next in turn. Scanning her also with other eyes than her own, Anna was disap pointed in her very dear friend. She look ed through her and was pained to see that there was a hollowness and want of any thing like a true strength or excellence of character about her. Particularly was she displeased at a gratuitous sneer thrown out at the expense of Caroline Murry. I And now, with a reluctance that she I could not overcome, Anna turned with her brother towards the residence of the young lady who had lost caste, because she had good sense and was industrious. "I know my sister's lady.like character will prompt her to right action, in our next call," said the brother, looking into Anna's face with an encouraging smile. She did not reply, yet she felt somehow or other pleased with the remark. A few minutes' walk brought them to the door, and they were presently ushered into a neat parlor in which was the young lady they were seeking. She sat near a window,and was sewing. She was plainly dressed in comparison with the young ladies just called upon; but in neatness, and in all that ccnstitutes the lady in air and appearance in every way their superior. "I believe you know my sister," said Enfield, on presenting Anna. "We have met a few times," she replied, with a pleasant unembarrassed smile, at the same time extending her hand. Miss Enfield took the proffered hand,with less reluctance than she had imagined she could but a few hours before. Somehow or other, Caroline seemed to her to be very .much changed for the better in manner and_ appearance. And she could not help. during all the visit, drawing contrasts be tween her and the two very dear friends she had just called upon; and the contrast was in no way favorable to the latter. The convqsation was on topics of ordinary . in terest, \butllitl not once degenerate tnto frivolity or censoriousness. Good sense manifested itself in almost every sentence that Caroline uttered, end this was so tip- parent to Anna, that she could not help frequently noticing and involuntarily appro. ving it. "What a pity," Anna once or twice remarked to herself, "that she will be so singular." The call was but a brief ono. Anna parted with Caroline under a different im• pression of her character than she had ever before entertained. After her return with her brother, he asked her this abrupt question. "Which of the young ladies, Anna, of the three we called upon this morning, would you prefer to call your sisterl" Anna looked up bewildered and surprised, into the face of her brother, for a few mo ments, and then said: "I don't understand you, brother Wil liam." "Why, I thought I asked a very plain question. But I will make it plainer.— Which one of the three young ladies we called upon this morning, would you advise me to marry?" "Neither," replied Anna, promptly. "That is only jumping the question," he said, smiling. "But to corner you so that there can ho no escape, I will confess that I have made up my mind to marry one of the three. Now tell me which you would rather it would be." "Caroline Murry," said Anna emphati cally, while her cheeks burned and her oyes became slightly suffused. William Enfield did not reply to the hoped for, though rather unexpected ad mission, but stooping down. he kissed her glowing cheek, and whispered in her ear— "Then she shall be your sister, end I know you will love one another." He said truly. In a few months he claimed Caroline Murry as his bride, and her good sense and winning gentleness of character, influenced Anna; and effectual. ly counteracted the false notions which were beginning to corrupt a good heart, and to overshadow a sound judgment. It was not long before she was fully sensible of the real difference which there was be• tween the characters of her two friends,and that of her brother's wife; and also between true and false gentility. Although Caro line Murry had been proscribed by a cer tain circle in which false pride, instead of principle, was the governing motive, she had still been esteemed among those who knew how to look beyond the surface. As the wife of Enfield, she at once took a posi tion in circles where those who had passed her by as unworthy, would have sought in vain for an admission, and ►n those circles she shone as a bright particular star. AN INCIDENT AT A WATERING PLACE. SOCIETY.—We happened to be at a fash ionable Watering Place, a year or two ago, when a friend, who was familiar with all the lions of the place, directed our atten tion to a group of ladies and gentlemen, who were engaged in lively conversation, a few yards from the balcony under which we were seated. 'You observe,' said he, 'that fair young creature leaning upon the arm of that tall, handsome and 'mustachioed' beau! The lady is here with her brother, and is scarcely sixteen. This is her first visit to a place of public fashion; and any one who is in the habit of studying human nature, or who is familiar with fashionable society and the out door world, will soon perceive on watching her movements minutely, that she is a novice, and knows but little of the arts of her own, or the subtle villanies of the other sex. Her very position at this moment is conclusive upon this point, to my mind. She is the only daughter of a gen. tleman of Philadelphia; of considerable wealth and unsullied character, who deals upon her, and whose whole existence from this time forward, may be said to centre in the prosperity of this favourite child. He has watched her for years, as a young girl watches and nurses a favorite flower—has instilled into her,mind the purest morals, and has kept her till now, from the impu dent gaze of the world, fearful that the rude looks and coarse voices of men, might sully or profane a soul, that he conceives as un touched by guile or vice, as that of a child of a few summers. But you see that she has budded, and expanded into full and per fect womanhood; and although only sixteen, is tall and more rounded in her form than many beings several years her senior.— Her health, too, has suffered somewhat within the last year, from her constant ap plication to study, and the fastidious notions ' of her father, with regard to her mingling in society. Thus, on consulting the family Physician, and becoming alarmed, lest the jewel that he prised so dearly, should lose some of its lustre, from the very excess of hie care—he was induced, with much retuc• time,- to permit her to accompany her brothee - to this scene of giddy mirth, Higi ene and fashion. She has been here some thing like a week, and is delighted—too much delighted—and yet it is quite natural• She is young—a beauty—with rich expec. tations—a free and happy heart, and all tharehe hears and sees is calculated to please—to enchant her. Her brother is as watchful and attentive as brothers general ly are. But be cannot be with her at every moment, and therefore she is often for hours beyond the reach of his eye, and away from the admonitions of his counsel. Such is her position at this moment. Her companion is one of the most agreeable men of the day. He dresses well—talks wen— n; easy and graceful in his manners—is the son of a merchant of Philadelphia, recently deceased, and has connections apd relatives who mingle in the very first walks of soci- ety. But he is nevertheless a cool, calm, subtle and polished villain. He is a epend thrift, a gambler, and a libertine. As such, however, he is known to but few; and through the agency of his fine appearance,. his family, his skill in dress, and his tact ih conversation, he contrives, before the'genei• al world, to disguise his real character, and to mingle, as you see him, in the soci ety, of reputable and beautiful females.— But what a dangerous companion for a girl of sixteen—for such a being as Cecilia all youth, hope, innocence, and impulse!" The description arrested our attention, and our eyes were riveted upon the two just described. They were indeed, as fine a pair in all the elements of life, health, bouyancy and beauty, as we ever gazed upon on any occaeion. The young spend. thrift never looked better. It seemed one of the happiest moments of his life. The e oice of his companion rang out in peals of joyous laughter, but occasionally she turned her eye with a more steady gaze than or dinary upon the youth who stood heside her, as if anxious to catch the deeper mean ing of his words. We had not lingered more than a few minutes, when the brother made his appearance, cast en inquiring look around the group for his sister, and seeing in whose companionship she was, immediately placed her arm within his, and drew her aside. A moment more and be addressed to her a few words in a low voice. The blood mounted to the cheeks and fore head of his fair girl, and for a moment she seemed paralysed. The nature of the few words we are of course unable to state.— But our knowledge of the parties authorizes the belief that the brother had briefly and emphatically described the character of the libertine, and warned his sister to shun him for the future, as she would a serpent. But the first impression had been made; and the brother finding it impossible to keep one of such polished exterior and apparent respectability altogether from the society of his sister, speedily made up his mind and returned to the city. It is probable that the acquaintance thus briefly commenced, was as briefly termina ted. But the incident struck us aPthe time as one of a forcible character. and well calcu lated as a text for a chapter of comments on society. It is a great error on the part of many parents, to permit their daughters to associate so indiscriminately with the dissolute and depraved. And yet there are hundreds in our own city, who permit to young-and unsullied femekty, the attentions of the known and sometimes acknowledged libertine—of young men who do not pretend to disguise their evil habits, but rather ex ult in midnight revels, and similar scenes of vice and disorder. The eagerness Of the young and inexperienced to be admired, to attract around a coterie of fashionable beaux, to become the centre of a group of flatter. era is too often attended with most fatal consequences. This is especially the case in the middle walks of life, and among fe males who ore attractive either for beauty, wit or dress. They draw around them the butterflies of the other sex, the beings of mere tinsel and foppery, to the exclusion of the meritorious and deserving, who seek for companions for life, and not for the play • things of an hour. N o inquiries are made as to the morals and habits of these flatter. ere; and thus, many of our females discov er,when it is too late, and when their charms begin to perish, that they have devoted to the idle and profligate, the most valuable portion of their existence. It should be a settled conviction with every well-regula ted head of a family, to avoid as the asso ciate of his child. a man--be he fool, fop, gambler,or libertine—in whom he would not rejoice as her husband and companion for life. This is the only true course, and if adopted generally, would prevent much ruin and wretchedness.—Philad. Inquirer. GOING. TO TEXAS.—Not long since, might have been seen on the Vicksburg road, a staid looking old gentleman on horseback, with his coat buttoned tight a round him, and an umbrella hoisted over his head, protecting him from a drizzling rain that had that evening "set in," with every indication of a continuance. His horse moved sluggishly along as though jaded by a long journey. The rider seemed anxiously looking for a whereabouts to pass the night, when a fire a short distance from the road attracted his attention.— He rode to the spot, and beheld what is very common in this section of the country, an encampment of a family "a moving." By the Are, with logs of wood for pillows, and each wrapped in a blanket, was lying two females—near them a small child.— Leaning against the forewheel of the wagon, was a lad of about 10 or 11 years ofage,— he wore a pair of linsey-woolsey trowsers, too short for him—a roundabout that reach ed down half way from his shoulders to his waist—no hat—and possessing one of those tow heads of hair so frequently to be met with among the piney wood nondescripts of Alabama. There he stood crying most vociferOusly. Bat it,-a,a,—Bal•ara, - a, roared the little I piney wood. The old gentleman rode up to him, and in Vona of voice calculated to soothe the lads' distress, addressed him:—• "What's the matter my eon)" "Matter! Fire, and d—n, stranger, Don't you see mammy there shakin with the egerl Daddy's gone a fishin! —Jim's got every cent - of money there is, playin poker at a bit anteel"—.Bob Stokes is gone on a head with Nance)—Sal's so corned she don't know that stick of wood from Weal 4DC6,Le a' COQ ZOOG gavendolfarstod a half! Every one of the horses is loose!—There io no meal in the waOril-- The skillet's broke!—The baby's ixf,h "bad fix , " and its half a mile to the creek!! and I don't care a o, if I neier , see Texas!! l—Bal a,B -a Be , - P , 11;41: Ihe old gentleman gave spur to hit horse and again moved forward, not having any desire to prolong his chance visit to a family going to Texas.—Yazoo Whig. ORIGIN or TUH WOW) LADY.—In en old work, the date of 1762, is the following ac count of the term Lady:—"As 1 have stu-. died more what appertain, to' the ladies than gentleman, 1 will satisfy you how it came to pass that women of fortune were called ladies, even before their husbands had any title 'to convey that mark' of dis tinction to them. You must know, that heretofore it was the fashion of a lady of affluence, once a week or oftener. to distn bate a certain quantity of bread to her poor neighbors, with her own /iands, and sbe was called by them the /of day, i. e. the bread giver. Those two words were in time corrupted, and the meaning is now 'as little known as the practice which gave rise to it." finuevn IT.—The Cincinnati Microscope says that an artist in that city lately painted upon Canvass a locomotive steam engine, which as he gave the finish ing stroke, burst through the wall, run down the street, over the hills, and has not since been heard of Poou EMIOBANTB.—At the sheds erected near Montreal for the use of poor emigrants. over 8997 have been received there this season. Over 1400 have arrived within • fortnight, and large quantities of oatmeal have been distributed among them. A Frrin BAno.am.—'Well Polly. 1 made a monstrous fine trade this morning—l sold our , dog for fifty, dollars.' 'Why man alive, how you talk! and where's the mo ney?' 'Oh, I was'ot paid in money—hut l've got two pups worth 4,25 a piece. A ascot:Loa's finis ors W1J1110..-A wife should have eight qualifications, which begin with the lame P.—Piety, Perms ranre, Patience, Prudence, Patriotism,. Politeness, Penetration, Portion. That which should be fret of al!, and most in consideration, /which is piety, iu now a days, the least of all; and last °fall, and with many not at all. That which should be the last of all and least of all in consideration, which is portion, is now be come first of all, most of all, and with some all in a11...--American Magazine. THIS ize MS OWN AVENGER.-.—A man having stolen from a stoat Andruic, in the Pas de Calais, a pig weighing 125 pounds, _ was in the act of carying off his booty, dreaming of polonies, black puddings, and other dainties of the grunting tribe, when, overcome by fatigue, he stopped to rest, leaning his load on the top bar of a gate. But what a mishap! The swine, which be had swung, cravat-like, about his neck (having previously tied the tour feet togeth er with a strong cord,) slid back on its glossy bristles over the gate, and its unwa ry bearer, unable to recover his balance was drawn down so tight against the bar, that he was strangled; and the next mor ning was found in that position by some neighboring peasants. CAFE MAT is overflowing fun of enders, anxious to enjoy the delights of sea•bathing. The Philadelphia North American soya that "the crowd is so great that much in convenience is experienced, both for food and lodgings. Some are obliged to travel a mile to the farm houses to sleep. Those who lodge in the Hotel, often are piled up in layers, while others loan against posts or hang themselves on bat. pegs. Husbands are separate& from their wives, (not a severe dispensation always) while ladies with children aro crowded by downs into narrow and sultry apartments. But there is some fun and frolic left there for the pee• ple after all. The sea -beach is extensive the roads are hard, and the surf rolls alike over plebian and patrician heads." AN Ac-r.—The Legislature of Rhode Island at the last. session past an act, which gives to a married woman, atter a residence in the State of six montbs, without any op position from her husband, the parties dur ing the period living seperate--•the absolute control of her children. And after a resi dence of two years, she also acquires con trol over her property, and the right to con vey real estate without the consent of her husband. This will have an etrect upon the celebrated D'Heutville case. A VORACIOUS Irtaxcr--We witnessed yesterday the most extraordinary case of gluttony in an insect which has ever come under our observation:. A dragoon fly, or as it is generally called, "Musquito hawk," three and a quarter inches long, was Ganglia' and being hold by the wings, flies Ws presented to it, which it swallowed with the greatest greediness. In order UP IWeet lain what amount of food would be requi red to satisfy its eipetite, a largemnaberat the common house flies were ategbkimd placed neer its mouth Oneby sue, sad its the course of ten minutes• it devoured thirty six, without apparently impairing he appe tite in the least. It is impossibk to say what number it would have swallowed, if they bed been °filmed te it —Houstonian.
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