SAILTEL WRIGHT, Editor and Proprietor VOLUME XXIX, NUMBER 38.1 PUBLISHED EVERY SATURDAY MORNING Office in Carpct Hall, South-west corner of ~Front and Locust streeLl. Terms of Subscription. A' tie Copy per annutn.i f paidtti advance. If not paid within three wont linfrom coininenceine tit oi the year, 4r. CC/XS:CAS a CG:OID , S r '. 'No subscription steely cti for a le.- tittle than SIX *natal's; and to paper wilt be Lll.oollll l lued until all or.frearages are paid, unlebnat the opttonor the put, irt.her. ID - I'inney may bercmittcdb ymail utthepublki , er'n risk. Rates of Advextisin" k squarep lines) one •• three ...eel... twZi,,ill-equeulaUSettlOw t, [l.2:llLC.]otir 0 there Week:. 1 110 cm ettelt,uti-equentin,ertioni :25 Littgeradvertkentent-tn proportion A. liberal discount be inuOtt to quntlerly, half. early oryearly idVerliberr,Who are ntricti}coufitted otheir husinesn. gfitttirinz. A Gipsy King. Tho greatest weakness my poor aunt had was a passion for adoption, and irregular servants. To begin, she adopted me—her niece. Our boy, who was page and waiter .at table, was a transported burglar's orphan. •Our two maid-servants were work-house .castaways. Our late coachman and general ornan-servant was ticket-of-leave holder, who .did not turn out well; and, at last, we adopted in his place a tipsy king. Aunt, or Miss Granite, as I ought to call her—was a maiden lady between fifty and sixty, pos sessed of considerable property, great strength of character, and unflinching mor al courage. This was her very sensible, though somewhat eccentric idea of practical charity. Pci haps she was right; for, as a whole, her system worked well. She rose superior to the opinion of her neighbors, al though we lived in a small dull village, about fifteen miles on the highway from London to Dover; and. our 1, illa being next door to the rural station-house, the majesty of the law, if required, could have been turned on at any moment. The ticket•of-leave man had a brother in the village, who, in my opinion, was no better than the convict, only he had never been found out; and this brother, feeling ashamed of his relative's presence, was al ways urging him privately to go to Aus tralia. This unceasing family pressure at lust had its effect; and one night he disap peared, taking enough of Miss Granite's luose cash with him to defray the cost of his passage. It was getting late in the autumn; the weather was cold and chilly; the trees were standing under bare branches, the soil round the town was of a elayoy nature; there had been much rain fur many weeks, 1 . and the mists were damp and dispiriting.— About the middle of a very dismal day at this period, a dirty, ragged man, of the tramp species, was observed to walk to and fro for some little time, in the hope of at tracting the attention of inmates; but, as no one went to the gate, he at last ventured to ring the bell. Miss Granite was looking through the drawing-room window, and at once made amends for her neglect by order ing the unpromising stranger to be invited in. Although he had looked dirty, unpre possessing, and half-wild outside the house, when he entered our presence his appear ance was infinitely worse. His clothes were patched with rags, like a bed-quilt, and the patches were repatched with clay. His face was sharp, brown, and grizzly; and his bands were nearly the color of treacle. Ills object was to solicit the place left vacant by the absconded ticket-ufleave man. "Where have you lived before?" -asked my aunt. The visitor was silent. "I don't care where it was," continued my aunt, "so long as I know the truth: I'm above all vulgar prejudices." "Well, mum," he said slowly, "I 'av'n't lived anywhere to speak on, except in the woods. I'm a gipsy king." "A what?" exclaimed Mrs. Granite, in astonishment• gipsy king, mum," returned the stranger, timidly, "an a worry 'ard life it is, mum!" My aunt for some few minutes remained silent. The stranger waited for her to take up the conversation, and I felt very much disposed to laugh. "Is it possible," said Miss Granite, "that One of your ancient, wandering race, can think of settling down in the home of civil ization?" "Yes, mum," replied the gipsy king, ."that's hezactly what it is." "You aro not sincere,"asked Miss Gran rite, "in your desire to forsake your tribe?" .! , ,They didn't do the thing as %vas right by me," said the gipsy king, erasive!y; "they took a busurper; let 'ens keep 'ins." "You have no wish to be any longer con sidered a king?" asked Miss Granite; with some tone of respect in her voice. "Gipsy kings, mum, is all worry -well to sing about over a planer," lie added, turn ing to me; "but let 'em try it in the winter, that's all!" This last answer seemed satisfactory to aunt, and it explained to me pretty clearly the motives that had governed the stranger's application for the place. The weather was quite severe enough to drive every tribe of real or professed gipsies into comfortable winter quarters, except those who were con tent to be petrified with rheumatism and chilblains. The gipsy king retired to the apartment ,of his predecessor, the late ticket-of-leave man, and in the course of an sour he ac quired the appearance of another individual. Two buckets of water, several cakes of soap, and the half-livery of the last servant (the best suit he had left behind him,) turned the gipy king into a very presentable groom —even for a village. "What name shall we call you by?" asked Miss Granite, when he came into the sitting room fur orders. OM "Well, mum," he replied, "if it's all the same to ycu, I should like to drop my real name, which no one could make anythin' of, au' answer to the call of Sam." ma "We Shall call yuu Samuel," said Miss Granite, with some dignity, "we have no nicknames here." My owu impression is, that the gipsy king would, if properly treated, have sunk in time to a steady, commonplace servant. The influence of regular habits and regular meals was beginning to tell upon his frame, and while lie lost his hungry sharpness of face lie acquired a very respectable rotundity of body. The proverbial restlessness and ac tivity of his race was certainly becoming faded in him, for no one of the small kitch en household was so often found asleep be fore the tire. Ile was spoiled by his fellow servants. They told him wonderful stories of his people that he had never beard 'before, and they sang unto him the wild songs of his native tribes (as published by the music sellers.) They read to him (for he could not read himself) a cheap penny history of Itampfylde Moore Carew; and though he openly called the wandering gentleman an idiot and a foal, the poison sank into his soul. They would not let him alone, but taught him cheerful ballads of a gypsy's life, until his not very powerful mind began to give way, and he passed much of his time in dreaming of the lost poetry of the woods and golds. He was a tolerably steadyrnan, but a very unsteady coachman. His knowledge of wild horses might have been very great—as great as he said it was—but fur thefirst two months he could scarcely turn our old mare, Nancy, in the road, and he was quite unequal to backing her up a lane. Miss Granite seem ed perfectly satisfied with him, and there fore no one else could complain; and she al ways treated him with much ceremony, in consideration of the title he had given up on entering her service. The winter, which was a very severe one passed by, and the spring came in very warm and early. About the middle of March we were sitting with open windows; the grass was rich and full, and the birds were sing- ing in trees that were prematurely covered with le.ives. The songs which the gipsy king had learnt of the servants he sang mure loudly and more frequently about the house and stable yard: and fur the last two months he had claimed his periodical holidays, and • had spent them, as far as I could learn, in wanding about the country. Miss Granite had a custom of going to London twice a year—early in April and early in Octoho—to see her stockbroker, and transact a little city business. I never knew what she did on those occasions, toy duty being simply to accompany her in the carriage, to wait until she was ready to re turn, to dine with her at a particular pastry cook's, and afterwards to ride with her home. The coachman had always half-a-cruwo giv en him, and permission to spend it at a par ticularly old tavern near the Bank of Eng land. Of course these visits to the metropolis were always made in our own carriage, as it was exactly at that period when coaches bad ceased to run, and railways had not yet thor oughly taken their place. The vehicle was brought to our door about ten o'clock in the morning, and we drove leisurely to the city, (not to distress the horses,) arriving there about half-past one. At five o'clock—allowing time for rest and baiting—we again took our seats, and got home between eight and nine to tea or sup per. This is precisely what we had done, to my knowledge, eighteen times during the last nine years, and this is what Mrs. Gran ite, in the early part of the April et which I am writing, prepared to du again. One coach was old-fashioned, but comfort able; a yellow chariot that would have held six upon an emergency, but which (except when Miss Granite placed it at the disposal of a children's party) never held but our two selves. Miss Granite used to sit by herself on the broad cushion facing the driver, as she could not ride with her back to the horses; and I used to sit opposite, as she al : ways liked plenty of room. The two horses were bony and majestic, and we never knew what their full speed was, as it had never been tried. The mare, Nancy, was rather restive, but the other horse was easily man- aged. There was the equipage with which, on a bright spring mozning, like a summer's morning, we started fur London, the gipsy king being elevated upon his novel throne, t he coach box. Ile had driven us before , about the country, with more or less skill, 1 but this was his first metropolitan journey, I had my misgivings, but it was useless to express them. We went on very well, evert down Shoot- I er's Hill, until we got into the busy part of the Old Kent Road; and there I noticed the wheels of heavy wagons very close to our windows, and we received several severe Lumps. When we reachol the borough, these signs of bad coachmanship became more frequent; and we heard the sounds of loud, angry and laughing voices, the slashing "NO ENTERTAINMENT IS SO CHEAP AS READING, NOR ANY PLEASURE SO LASTING." COLUMBIA, PENNSYLVANIA., SATURDAY of whips across the top of our chariot, and saw the meaning gestures of many omni bus drivers and hackney-cabmen. The pas sage of L•)ndon Bridge and King William street was an agony of terror to me, though aunt seemed to bear it all very calmly. At length we drew up at our destination, the gipsy king received his half-a-crown and his instructions, and we went about our busi- CM Punctually at our usual time (five o'clock) we made our appearance to return, and we found the gipsy king in readiness with the vehicle. We took our seats ; our monarch mounted his throne; and, after considerable difficulty in turning the horses' heads, dur ing which a dozen people b 0-; em c d to volun teer their services, we were at last fairly started on the road home. The passage of the Bridge and borough seemed to have in creased tenfold in difficulty since the morn ing, and yet our driver, as if by inspiration, llew through all. Other drivers still looked at us, and once I heard a shout. and felt a bump, and saw a truck rolling ever in the gutter; but still we kept on our headlong course. Aunt, whose nerves are like iron, had gone fast asleep, and her body was.jump ing from side to side like a puppet in a Punch and Judy show. T: ^ horses had never been put upon their metal before, and they seem ed delighted and astonished at their speed. Hooked. through the window behind me, and saw the gipsy king 11Jurigring his whip above his head, and bumping up and down on his throne, like a jockey riding a race. We soon left the town far in the rear, and atill we kept on. Aunt had by this time be- come thoroughly aroused, and half persuad ed that something was wrong. All attempts ' to arrest the course of the gipsy king were unavailing, and Miss Granite was about to break the glass, and try to pull the wild driver from his seat, when a sudden collis ion with some roadside obstacle shook the vehicle like a jelly, cast us both into each other's arms, and threw both the horses on their haunches. We quickly recovered our selves, and seized the opportunity to jump out, and question the gipsy king upon such reckless behavior. He had got his horses on their legs again, and he was grinning with a stupid leer of satisfaction. '•Samuel," said Miss Granite, with at ern decision, "you're intoxie,tted; where are we?" "Mum," returned Samuel, and he was in toxicated, "you've done the—the—thing— 's—right—byme, an'—the gip's—'art's gra —grateful." "Where are we?" again asked Miss ; ran• ite, with extraordinary firmness, while I trembled nervously, fur we were on a bleak common, and it was now nearly dusk. "You know me," returned the gipsy king, confidentially, "my 'ome—sholly ole green 'god tree! Am I right?" "Samuel," returned Miss Granite, "my home is Bexley-town, and I insist upon be ing taken there." "•Muni," stammered the gipsy king, with much difficulty', and holding out his hand, "this 'and's—a—gip—'s 'and, hut's never bin stai—stained wi' crime." And then he proceeded very clum,ily to mount his coach box, singing all the while in a weak, shrill, uncertain vuiee, "Sa—a—a-11} . fol— low 'Jrn: _a—a—a—tly 'au," "This is the teaching of those foolish girls at home, aunt," I said, feeling that I must say something, or faint. "I don't know what it is, my dear," re turned Miss Granite, "but I'm determined we will not return home with that drunken idiot, if we wander about the country all night." The tipsy king had by this time seated himself upon the coach-Loa, with the reins in his hands. -You won't—mtnn—werry - well," he said, addressing my aunt in a little louder tone as he Eaw us meting away, "you'll 'ear from me, 11.111111— . CaS t will. Ito Wry the gip— scorns as he flies—tu's folast 'clue." Saying this, he tloarilted his whip; and, singing loudly some song about the pleas ures of a gipv's life, he drove madly across the common, and wa.‘ soon lust iu the dis tance, amorist the trees. That was the last we ever saw of the gip sy king, or of the carriage. We reached a laborer's cottage, where we passed the uight, and we reached our home the next evening by posting across the country. Miss Gran ite, in her usual way, would have no inquiry made about her loss, and she rather indulged the belief that the gipsy king had killed himself by driving Ipr a precipice. For myself, I could only suppose that the horses had been sold at a fair in the regular irreg ular way; and that the carriage, it' not turned into a shovr, was built up and disguked in the almost inaccessible depths of some for est, where it afforded is snug house of call for tramps, or a winter home for gipsies and gipsy babies. A Dreadful Situation "What a dreadful situation for a young girl to find herself in! Pzrfectly willing to be married, with a dear, kind father equally as anxious for her to eater the gloriom , state of matrimony, which would crown her with a hale of felicity—and not a lover to be met with!" Thus soliloquised a young girl of fifteen, as she eat looking over the wide domains of her father's chateau, apart from the world of Paris, and oh! most strange to add, in a part of the country as yet virgin of any thing like a railroad. All this sort of reverie. is delicious—all those dreams of the halo of felicity erovning marriage are beautiful at fifteen, but a few years later, and how rer3 like a crown of thorns the halo looks. Jenny d'llerbeeouTt Vas very much to be pitied. There was no inexorable father, no cruel guardian, nothing was wanting to complete her felicity but a mere trifle—the man, and the man sorely puzzledithe young lady's brains. Where was be to be found in that isolated spot, only visited by a lum bering diligence. The good fattier was going to be married again to a cousin of tier own, one Aglae—a nice, good creature—and she, too, was anxious fur Jenny to marry. Was ever anything si) PrOVOkillg as all these consents, without the assent of seine dear unknown? Aglae was staying at the chateau, and hard indeed mu-A be the heart which would not feel for Jenny, when she beheld the !charming 1 . 1011852a1l other future step-mother ME! "Some one shall appear," sighed Jenny, after a conversation with hat• cousin .Aglae, the sort of one to inflame a girl's head, if not her heart—all aboutlaces and cashmeres, orange flowers, &c. Most unfortunately there was not a young man in the neighbor hood - free and able," (Jenny reserved to herself to make him “willing,") blessings on minds given to speculatel—a company sent down a young engineer to survey the land, with the view of com mencing a railroad. Gustave Delvat was the son of an old friend of her father, who had met the young engineer in the country surveying the land, and discovering who he was, insisted upon his leaNing his hotel, and taking up his lodgings at tl.e chateau. A mouth had he been domiciled there, and assuredly if he was a first-class en gineer he was a third-class gallant. lie did'nt seem to know that there was a young girl within miles of him—his heart was as hard as the rails he was about to lay down, l and all this coldness made the iron enter into Jenny's soul. All day long he was making his calculations, while she was speculating about him, One day she pretended:to faint. Gustave flew to her rescue; he was furred to look into her faze, and discovered that site was charming, fresh, and bright as the land be. fore his horrid railroad cut it up. Still he vent on with his parchment. So Jenny went into his Ace and carried eLi all his instruments, ke.,, and looked them up. In vain he implored. "Ynu are looking very ill," she said, "and 1 sha/1 inNi.t 011 your only Irurking su many Imnrs a day.•, Again he looked in the face of one so anxious about him, and yielded. She kept the key of his of lee. This loft him several hours a day undis posed of. What could he do with them? Jenny solved the difficulty, and together they surveyed the surrounding country and its beautiful walks, as yet not cut up. One day the engineer furg:ut all the plans he had laid down on his own road of action —not to fall in love with Jenny, not to be led into a path which lie imaginel would be perhaps harder to cut throe:4h than a rook. If it were but that! llalf our lines rue through the like, but lie felt that her heart would be harder than any granite. and Jenny did nut like, in maiden modesty, to tell hint she knew butter. So oil' to her step mother she sped. "Gustavo loves me" she cried, "but would you believe it of a Parsiao he is Something must be dune to overcome that. So agreed her step mother, but a girl like herself. "1 have thought of something, Aglac," said Jenny at ',tit. • "Stay in the next room, and call papa there on sumo excuse. Gus tave is certain t , ) follow me hither; leave the rust to me." "Bac 'twill be a snare," exclaimed the other. "Ouc with which ho will taken, believe me." answered the wide-awake young lady. "And if it is for his happiness?" "True, I overlooked that." So Jenny remained alone, and soon, as she had foreseen, the wandering engineer, without the aid of his compass, discovered the clod of earth, called Jenny d'llerbe court. "I want the key of my office, mademoi selle," ho said, "I must work." "I want you to oblige mo first, Monsieur Gustave." mademoiselle•" "You see," continued Jenny, "I am to play a part next week in a charade. Will you rehearse it with me?" "I don't know it; but command me, I do my part." "A young man is to make me a declara tion of love. You may play that part." "Too willingly would I, but how in the charade?" "Go down on your knees." (lle does it.) "Now grasp my hand." (Fondly pressed.) "Excellent. Now attempt to kiss it. But I must draw it aw.q." (Accomplished Ito the letter.) "0! charming!" cried the young lady, clapping her hands, and at that in rushed Aglae, followed by the unconscious father. Gustave sprang to his feet. and in the et most confusion assured the indignant parent that it was only an innocent joke. Aglae and Jenny bad fled, but they were listening. At the word "joko" Monsieur d'llerbe court flew into a pas.ion, and to prove how little our theiry and practice ever agree he who had written a pamphlet against duel ling, challenged Gustave. lORNING, APRIL 9, 1559. At the idea, of fighting, the ladies thought it time to interpose. Agle followed Mon sieur d'Herhecourt, who had quitted the room to prepare his arms, and Jenny rush ing in loudly upbraided Gustave with wish ing to kill her papa. "Do not alarm yourself, mademoiselle," he said, "I will not raise an arm against your father; he may kill met" As if that was her purpose iu this little scheme! Of what earthly use would a dead lover be? She who had so much difficulty in discovering this living ono. "A. pretty egpedient," she erica, "as If there was uut another way of arranging the affair." "1 See but one," re3ponded the engineer. "one that would fill my heart with joy, but I dare scarcely name it fur fear of displeas- lug you. "Never mind—name it." ••To .solieit your hand in marriage." "Oh, that does not displea , e at all," she exclaimed. '• 'Tis far• better than killing or being killed. Go and ask papa." At that moment d'Herbecourt entered with an ontiuous-looking case of pistols un der his arm; be was frowning in a most de termined fashion. Agdae was following his footsteps, and. without a word she opened the ease and showed him his pamphlet against duelling, which she had placed in the ease iu lieu of the abstracted pistols.— The blood-thirsty d'llerbecourt looked rath er confused, and here Gustave stepped for . ward and solicited the honor of Jenny's hand In marriage D'llerbecourt, delighted with ri son-in-law whom he already esteemed, gladly grasped his hand; and that evening. as Jentiy sat at her window, looking at the moon, as all young ladies in lure do, she said to herself, smiling complacently. "When a young girl wills anything—" The re,t WaS Cuth:ludel by a significant uod of the head. The Chimpanze's Marriage. A St:RIO-COMICALITY rnou FRENCH If you have ever been at Nh-ones, at Beau aerie, at Tarascon, at Montpelier, iu short, any city of middle Ural oh! reader, you are certainly acquainted with Polito. ,econd or third of the mime we mean; for tl'e Pollan+ comAitute a dynasty in thentsgi s cs, as immortal in the annals of learned animals and menageries, as are tho Franconia in those of the ring and the fly ing cord. At the period of our tale's catumenen meta, Polito \V LS IlUt 11 , 1WeVer that he wa, dc.tined to become; that is, director of one of the mo,t briHiant menageries in the world—a cuilectio❑ of animals which, in fact, has made his fortune, and enabled him to purehtte a Sea-f4de, chateau where he nun- re-ides, completely retired from inter courte with lions and rhinoceri. Polito was then, only director of a troupe of itinerant acrobats, a property nmeh lc productive, and also much le,s expensive, than a troupe of wild beasts, inasmuch as, in a financial crisis, the actors can he managed very well by means of promises and kicks, while the lions, tigers and leopards demand a bill of fare rather more sub,tan tial. Polito, following the tradithns of his class, had enrolled among his "tirt artist.," several of his own children, and, with the rest, Mademoiselle Atala, his favorite daughter, (being his only one,) a pretty little brunate of sixteen, to whom he had given the most thorough education—in all the branches of tight rope dancing and pantomime. Now, it happened one day, that such a terrible clamor was heard in the interior of Polito's caravan, that folks thought the establishment must have taken fire, in all the points of the compass at once. But it was Thlito himself who made all the racket, in a fearful rage, and pale as chalk, because he has just caught Friseolo, his young clown, kissing Maim:elle Atakt in a corner, without much appearance of vigorous re sistance on that damsel's part. Polito's first act had been to box Mamzers cars soundly, and his next, to full upon the un fortunate Friscolo, and absolutely to drive him out of the place like a rogue caught in flagrank In 'rain the sage and prudent Sainte-Mur luche—quondam counsellor at laic, reduced by misfortune to the position of treasurer and brass-drum to tho troupe of Polito— endeavored to plead tho cause of the dis graced clown: "In the first place," said Sainte3lerluche, —Friscola is very young: besides, no one is so wonderful in tho double summersault, the di-loeation act, the india•rubber man. .ts he. He seems more, in fact, like a snakr., a squirrel, a frog or a kid, than a man. In short, Friscola is a most precious treasure to our company." But P.lito was hien:or:Ale. Paternal feeling.; outrage.h outweighed even the di rectorial interest, and the yulm2; clown Wat, stricken from the rulls Reader, pity p wor rrisoola, for not only did he lose his i.uoial ,n, but he 14 , t. above all, :11; iuzelle Atala—Mamzelle Atala, whom he loved to distraction, and will never ecan to adore: Ciao or two years hare passed since then, and now we find P.,lito at the bead of that 81,50 PER YEAR IN ADVANCE; $2,00 IF NOT IN 41WANOE, fine menagerie, which some of you must A small recedi.ig chin. , r a feeble jaw, have seen at the great Lirs. Polito realizes may be entirely concealed by a full beard, money rapidly; he dues a mmth better I and with great athanto.‘„re to the general business than the Provincial theatres, who physiognomy. So may the opposite defect; are obliged to pay tenors and prime donne of tun coarse a jaw-bone or tun long a ehiu. thirty or forty thousand francs a year. But I Too straight an upper lip can he improved thegreatest attraction of Polito's menagerie, by the curve of a well-trimmed ufskustaeile after all, is neither his royal tiger, nor his Su can an upper lip tl.at it is too limet, from elephant, nor his white bear, nor his giraffe, the nose down wo rd,, or ono that ie nor even his hippopotamus! mcd i 0 die 1 , , some of the upper teeth. Ni! the grand attraction, the real FIMIT,r; 114 the prime of life, suffered is a chimpanze—that eMraordinary ape. from niillotion. and (artistically almost as ugly as, and scarce less manly thau eeveral wen of your and our arquain- tanee, and who has been sz.: des,n-il.ed by M. de Bunn of the famous lace sleeves. Just look at him, the lovely beast, there in his cage, cutting all sorts of queer antics. winking at you, snaking horrible fief., drinking out or a bottle alter gravely (Iran - ing the cork, re-corking, and handimt it. t you empty, imitating all the gestures, in short, of a mischievous urchin. 11,,w natural, that, with such a prodigy as the incomparable Jacques, (the ape's name Jacques,) l'ohto's receipts :should be mag nificent! lint, alas! alas! how- fall the hopes and ambition Of poor humanity! Imagino the grief of Polito when, one day, he discover,- that his dear Jacques is ill and languid! Jaeves plays no more, but stretched so pine in his cage all day, refuses food of all sorts, even carrots, and when a Ciiimpatize refuse, carrots, you know the affair is set ions. Already the 'molter of spectators dimin ish, and the receipts begin to lessen very visibly. ".Malediction?" cries Polito; "to lose my Chimpanze at the very moment that I was beginning to make my fortune, and to think of retiring upon my income:" ITe is inconsolable. Ile will not even venture Dear the cage for fear of killing hiant.elf in despair ag.ain.t the bars. But, I.! a few clays:: fn•rwards the mentpf erie. is aWakellkell one 1110roinT. by b.) Thee cries are uttered by :^,titee lerluehe Wilt, is 1:111411i114 turd 1,1111,1,e1'11Z, in a breath, like one demented. Saved! sas ed! he ham he recovered!” yell, liu ;:t Polito the nz.tnent he .ve , in the dislttlice. Arid he drag , the threztor to the cage, where, pure enough, the Chin:- panie appears seated on his bind patvs as lively and joyous as ever and, as soon a, he sees his ma•ter, executes a act ic, Of %Vlll dernd le.tps and tumbles in proof of his renewed health. P , dito inblxieated with delight. Ile giveq instant elders to pro claim through: the town that Jacques is enm%alesceut, and, iu fact, wo,re nimbie than IME2 In truthYaeques seems to have improved during his siekuw