thr.gannoter 'Noilitgenctr, PUBLISHED EVERY WEDNESDAY BY U. G. SMITH & bO. H. G. SMITH TERMS—Two Dollars per annum, payable all oases In advance. OFFICE—Bourn - wIsT 001011CII Or CENTRE SQUARE. 4SrAII letters on business should be ad dressed to H. G. Salmi & Co. Nottriti. The following beautiful poem by Mrs. Howe the gifted authoress of "Passion Flowers," seems thegenutne utterance of a woman's soul —earnest, tender, sadly sweet. There Is truth in it that many wives and mothers will feel as their heart goes buck with their memory to the radiant day s when the poetry of their life was lived; when a voice was lu their ear, whose Singular, never-forgotten music echoes and re echoes the love it spoke of In long ago, to their holiest thought', and fairest dreams—Rocking- Jam Register. When lirtit we love, you know we seldom wed; Time rules us all. And life, Indeed, Is not The thing to • planned It out, ere hope WIU4 deed; And then, we women cannot ch. olio our lot. Much roust be borue which It Is hard to bear, Much given way which It were sweet to keep• thid help us all I who need, indeed his care; And yet I know the Shepherd loves Hhisheep. My little in , I, egins to bubble now Upon my knee 111/4 OW 110141 Infant prayer; Ile 1004 11114 141 , 110C/4 11111401' eyes, I know, And they may, too, 111/4 mother's sunny hair. But whoa he sleeps and smiles upon my knee, And I VIII/ 11.01 his light breath uoinoand go, 1 thlnk of one, lie/Weil 11011/11)1,1 pity 710.1 WllO 110/0/1 till), Mal WllOllll loved long ago; Who might have en—all, what I dare not think, We lire ell changed. Clod Judges for us hest. Clod help 11, do our duty 11uo 1114 shrink, And teem In II euvkai mby Mr the rust. But bi 11.11113 uH wuma, noL, It Home appear Too cold at Wove and Home toe gay and hght; House grlcln gnaw deep, Huwe woes are hard to war. Who huowei the part? And who can Judge out right'? All, were we Judged by what wo might have been, And not by what we are; too apt to full! My little child—be sleeps and stones between "hese thoughts cud too. la,lleaven we shall know tat. littraq. For the haulligeneur " Remlniscenceti or Venice." N DER I. Though sad thy history still beauteous In thy decay ! Oft us I have wandered bdek in fancy to dwell upon the scenes Of this deeply Interesting city, I sighed for a poet's genius to do Justice Lu the theme, that I might, bring to the mind of ~Lifers in inure vivid lines the fallen grandeur of Lhe queen of the Adriatic. "ris true her history has been oft, re written, and by able hands. Lofty minds have surveyed her beauties, ex tolled her famousposition among the cities of the Old World, and mourned her tall. Both in song and prose, she has been .made familiar to every stu dent of history. Yet each individual writer has merely penned nisown pecu liar impressions, wnich although agree ing in the most essential points, still differ in some of the minor details. It _ is Fluid that "experience is the best schoolmaster;" with as muuh ibree may It be said too that actual observation is the best guide to history. May 1 not be pardoned then, when 1 attempt the (to me) rather arduous task of giving my experienee of a sixteen mouths resi• deuce in the city, and intercourse with the inhabitants. if iu this humble (Allot to cater to your enjoyments, I should fail, you will at least pardon my seeming vanity 111 presuming to do so, and have the chari ty not to attribute it to egotism. Trust ing to your klml indulgence, then, I shall proceed to give you my first im pressions of Venice. It was a cold November day as' cross ed the Tyrolean Alps in the " Dilli gence," on my way from Insbruek to tile Valley of the Etsch, on the Italian slope. The bright morning sun kissed the snow-capped peaks of the " Bren ner". range, while. the silvery rivulets coursed Wildly down the mountain sides With ripples dancing like diamonds, re flecting hack his glorious rays; A ride of fourteen hours brought us to the 111111111 i Old town of Balzano, or 13otzen, where we exchanged the coach for the (p.n.s, and are on our way down the val ley toward Lhe Adriatic. My purpose is to speak of Venice, and I shall there fore not tire you with a description of my passage there, except to say that af ter passing it number of dilapidated villages lorsaken hamlets, and the world-renowned cities of Verona, Padua and Pescheira, we arrive at 10 o'clock A. M., at the depot of the Strada " For ratta" (It. It.) at Venice. I cannot attempt to give au idea of my feelings, when, for the first thee, my eyes rested upon the surroundings. felt as if transplanted to some fairy laud, and could hardly realize the peculiarity of my situation; water where streets should be, and yet an inhabited place. A population bent upon their respective pursuits as they exist in every other city. Yet each particular avocation peculiar to the place. We wonder whether we can ever become accustomed to live here. Fancy paints in variegated colors the difficulties which are likely to arise iu the way of becoming habituated and ac climated to all the ways and manners, the Changes and temperatures of so novel, so fantastic; a situation. Strange forms with strange voices uttering a still more strange tongue surround us; una Barka" bout).resounds from twenty basso voices. Importuning beg gars meet us on our first steps, as they follow like phantoms during our stay, demanding in piteous tones " uua pic colo core" (a small gift). We are hustled on board a rocking unsteady "gyndola." the peculiar and only means of convey ance in Venice, and while we wonder and gaze, and gaze and wonder, feel ourselves gently gliding along the smooth blue green waters of the Grand Canal. Are we dreaming or are we waking'? Majestic palaces rise on either side, fol lowing close upon each other. Grand monuments to the skill of architects long since dead, but who still live in their works. Bewildered with amaze ment as each successive mansion rises to our view, we almost forget that we are approaching the grand square of St. Mark. Here our senses awake to re alize the grandeur of Venice. Before us, on lauding (I say landing because there are a few dry spots in Venice, among these the " I'iazzo San Marko" is the largest) we behold the two celebrated columns which, incredi ble as it may appear, were brought from the East in the time of the Republic, measuring about 60 feet in height, each a solid block of granite. The apex of one supporting the figure au winged lion, the other the statue of St. Theo dore, the patron saint of the city. A little to the right we behold the Loge's Palace, one of the grandest buildings of the world. Immediately adjoining this, the great Church or Cathedral of St. Mark. This structure is so wonderful that it deserves a little more than a mere passing notice. You will there fore indulge me a few moments while I give a brief description. This church, commonly called Basilica, was founded in the year 977, and finished under "Dominic° Selvo," in the year 1071, being 94 years in course of erec tion. This extraordinary period of time does not appear so lone when we regard the magnitude of the undertaking In that age. Mosaics on a ground of gold grace the live grand portals which form the entrances to the interior, while the five distinct domes rising In lofty grandeur above the tes _ related pavealeilt are, if possible, 81 more rielly inlaid In the ;erne style of art. The altars dazzle with gold and precious stones. The most delicate carvings and sculpture meet the eye .on every hand, forming a feast of the beautiful, of which the mind can never tire nor the vision become surfeited. And yet history tells us that San Marco is now but the remnant of a former glory ! The devastations of war, and the ruthless hand of time, have left their indelible traces behind. Sacrilegious bands have despoiled her of much of her pristine wealth, and we look with avve upon what remains. The Square of San Marco is in the heart of the city. From here diverge ail the little arteries which give life and animation to the place. A labyrinth of narrow footways extending over the entire city have their only outlet here. Some of these are but eight or ten feet wide, . and yet are the " Broadwayeli ,and "Chestnut" streets of Venice, lAtied with; lofty , buildings on either side, The, lower 'door is almost in- A. J. STEINISSAN VOLUME 68. variably occupied as a store and the upper packed with human beings. The sun seldom send a ray of warmth into most of them, into some of them never.! And thus are accommodated at least 80,000 living souls! The lower stories of Venetian houses are all damp and hence unfit for dwell ings. A peculiar sea-water humidness continually exists, and the sensation experienced on entering one of these dwellings is similar to that felt on de scending into the hold of a vessel. Not a pleasant feeling you will admit. The walls are often covered with a clammy dampness such as renders any place un desirable to dwell in. This is especially the case during the winter mouths, which continue from December to the beginning of March. This season, although not so severe as In a more northern latitude, yet issuffi ciently so to make it extremely un pleasant. This is mainly owing to the absence of many of those little comforts which are deemed indispensiblein other countries, viz: among others stoves Venetian ladyhearths. I have seen a lady of a cold winter day, sitting in her large parlor ensconced in furs, cloak or shawl, shivering in every limb, while she vainly endeavored to give warmth to her body by the heat from a small portable furnace filled with live coals and ashes, and in this ludicrous position receiving visitors, and entertaining her guests. You ask ; have they no stoves, I answer they have not stoves such as you see in this enlight ened land, however, but generally con sisting of an oblong piece of unburnt brick work, or cylindrical perpendicular drumlike flue, placed in the corner of a large room. Theme do not appear to be regarded as necessaries, as is the case with us, but rather as luxuries and more for ornament than for use. Thus it will be perceived that Venice Is not the 111081, desirable place to live in during the cold season; yet it may, perhaps, astonish some when they are informed that hundreds of foreigners suffering frompulmomary diseases, visit here and spend the winter, almost invariably finding relief, if not effecting a perma nent cure during- their stay. "There's a glorluns city In the sea. The sea is In the broad and narrow streets, ebbing and Mowing; uud the salt sea•wued clings to the, narbie of her palaces." As the bright morning sun casts hie soothing and warming rays over the la goon front, or Riva, of the city in the sea, hundreds of poor suffering mortals, barely able to walk, may be seen prom enading the paved footways, inhaling the salt sea air, for the advice of the physician runs to the effect that the air inhaled is beneficial to health. It is a lively scene! A surging, ever-moving crowd ; never ceasing, and all bent upon one object—to benefit their health. Even the most healthy portion of the population find relief when they can emerge from the dark passages of the built up city to breathe the bracing winds of the Adriatic, as they are waft ed in towards the "Riva del Schlavon- M." Here the lazy Gondolier lies stretched upon the granite pavement, waiting to be called from his slumbers, to be seen the next moment flying like an arrow from the bow out upon the smooth waters, with his light and grace ful bark. Hand organ men, pedlers, loafers, and beggers, high and low, rich and poor, all combine to make tne scene a truly lively and picturesque one. There does not exist a place where the poorer classes are more illy-provided against the Inclemency of a winter than they are here. Fuel is an article of luxury, being sold in small quantities at retail, as we in America sell tea and coffee, and it is not an uncommon thing to see a poor housewife, early in the morning, carrying under her arm, the very small bundle of faggots with which she Intends to boil her coffee. and make her dinner the same day, Charcoal is also extensively used in the kitchen and this Is sold by the pound, and at a very high figure, so that it is also purchased in very small quantities by that class of people who live, as we in America say, " from hand to mouth." Water is retailed upon the streets as we do milk. Besides this, however, there are spread over the city a great many cisterns where, at a fixed hour each day, the people are permitted to get their supply of water for family use. It may beproper here to add, that there are no wells in Venice. All the water used is either rain or river water—the - _ latter brought to the place, from a dis tance of 30 miles, in boats or barges, and filtered by being run through layers of sand into those cisterns. The drinking water of Venice is sweet, clear, and pleasant to the taste, and appears to be a most healthful beverage. We will now turn to the statistical part of our subject, which by the way is one which appears to be entirely ne glected by most of those who write of Venice, either in Poetry or Prose. This is pardonable to a certain extent, from the fact that there is so much of the beautiful,. so much of the "peculi arly Venetian," In art, architecture, manners and customs, that it forms au inexhaustible topic without resorting to actual statistical researches. Our aim being more to instruct than to amuse, we shall take up every sub ject which could in any degree tend to that purpose. The population of the City of Venice in 1860 was, in round numbers, 113,127 souls, which number (taking the cen sus of 1857, since which time things have changed greatly for the worse) were classified as follows, viz: Clergy, 967; Artists, 2,212; Government em ployees, 3,396; Lawyers, 972; Med ical met, 436; Manufacturers' em ployees, 5,387; Merchants, 2,121; Fish ermen, 3,931; Agriculturists, 173; Mechanics, 12,432; engaged in Com- Inera, 3,356; Servants, 4,899, and Laborers, 6,593; making a total of 46,- 878, and leaving a balance of 66,249 to be accounted for as being mendicants, or persons without any visible avocation ; women and children. We are safe In saying that among this latter number there are at least 10,000 who live in abject poverty, and are de pendent upon the charity of the better class of citizens. Thdusands of them are half-clothed and less than half-fed ; many not knowing when they awake in the - morning from their miserable straw pallets, where the means to pro cure a breakfast are to come from, much less where they are to procure a dinner. And thus depending from day to day upon chance jobs of work, or the charity of others, drag out a toilsome existence till death relieves them, and the municipality gives them a free in terment away out in the sand-flats of the Lagoons. Everything appears to be approach ing decay. Look upon the hundreds of stately palaces rising in architectural grandeur from the bed of the sea • once the abode of the wealthy Signori , now mutely reminding us of what Venice once was, and what she now is. They are desolate and forsaken now. No more the soft lute of the enamoured troubadour is heard under the window of the dark eyed Signoritta. The music in those' gorgeous halls is hushed. Venice is in a state of torpor, from which nothing short of a new "national" life can ever awake her. Who can look upon the sad picture, and compare the past with the present of this great city, without being most forcibly struck with the magnitude of the change. Nor is it in neglected palaces alone that the decay of Venice is presented to the eye. A general stag nation in business, the limited com merce of her port, and, above all, the idle, unemployed copulation, all bear testimony to the tact, while the die,• affection of the better classes, with the peculiar system of government under which they are forced to live, tends to throw every imaginable obstacle in the way of improvement and amelioration. Like a smouldering volcano, deep and dangerous, lies this popular dis content, ready at any moment to break forth in all•its fury and violence. An insurmountable barrier divides the 'Deo , ple of two distinct nationalities, whose tastes differ so widely as their habits and language-144+ ono being Austrians, the other, being Italians,. and it is only under circumstances where It oanuot be NUMBED 11. avoided, that the latter will consent to mingle with the former. Every mode short of open rebellion is resorted to in order to show this deep seated hate. The Duel Between Lord Byron and Mr. Chaworth. The Star and Garter tavern, so famous in the days of Dr. Johnson for its good claret, stood on the site of the present Carlton Club. Degenerating in later days into the office of a light and heat company, and after that into a blacking manufactory, it was finally, like its 'neighbor, the Royal Hotel, swept away by the progress of improvement, and the present political palace erected in its stead. There were pleasant and sad memories about the place. Many a flask of good wine had been emptied there, many a pleasant hour whiled away, many a white cloud of powder, too, had there been beaten out of wigs by the humps of flying decanters, many a five pounds' worth of hair (to quote a line from an old trial) torn out of fashion able perukes In tipsy scuffles, many a whd rake in that spot had been pinned against the oak wainscot by rash swords, and many a spendthrift's heart-blood spilt by angry thrusts over the upset faro table. One of the saddest of these tavern tragedies took place at the Star and Garter on the 26th of January, 1765, five years after the accession of George the Third. About three o'clock on the above named day , there was a great stir and bustle at the celebrated Pall Mall tavern, for the Nottinghamshire gentlemen, who met once a mouth, were to dine there at four o'clock. The club was to assemble in a second-floor back room, looking towards St. James' Park. The drawers (as waiters were still called, as they had been in Shakespeare's time,) were spreading the showy-white cloth and bringing up the silver and the glass. The celebrated claret was being drawn off in endless pinta from the wood. The joints were shedding fat tears at the great kitchen fire; the puddings were bumping at the pot-lids; the turn-spits were plodding at their wheels; the scullions were getting red and choleric over the frothing pheasants and hares; the transparent jellies and net-worked tarts were receiving the last touch of art from the dexterous hands of the head cook. The landlord was In his bedroom fastening his best shoe-buckles for the occasion, the buxom landlady, at the parlor mirror, was smilingly add ing to her tremendous top-knot the slightest suspicion of powder while the the bright-eyed barmaid was laugh ingly puffing out with trim fingers her brightest breast-knot. All was gay ex pectation and bustling excitement; for the county club of the gentlemen of Nottingham brought good customers to the house, and many of its members were men of title and fashion. Lord Byron to wit, the great rake who had attempted to carry off the beautiful actress, Miss Bellamy—the fifth Lord Byron, the lord of Newstead and half Sherwood Forest, and master of the king's staghounds. By and by, the guests came in from St. James' street, and the Ring in Hyde Park, from the Mall, the Strand, and Spring Gardens—some hearty country gentlemen on horseback; others, cold, and pinched from the cumbrous hack ney-coaches of those days; two or three in elaborate dress in sedan-chairs, the lids cif which were carefully lifted up by the Irish chairmen, to let out the powdered toupees and the gold-laced cocked-hats. The later pictures of Hogarth (that great painter died in 1762) will tell us how these gentlemen from the banks of the Trent, the Soar, and the Idle, these lords of the light grass-lands and rich loamy furrows round Nottingham, Newark, Retford, and Mansfield, wore apparelled. Let us observe their collar. less deep-cuffed coats, spotted with gold strawberries, and embroidered down the seams and outside pockets, or of light and gay colors, as pink and cinnamon, their deep-flapped tamboured and laced waistcoats, their frilled shirts and fine ruffles their knee-breeches, their gold and diamond buckles. Remark their powdered wigs, their laced hats, and, above all, their swords,—those danger ous arbitrators in after-dinner differ ences, when the claret goes down faster and faster. The guests, laughing and chatting„ are bowed in, and bowed up stairs, and bowed into their club-room Lord By ron, a passionate and rather vindictive man, is conspicuous among them in pleasant conversation with his neighbor and kinsman, Mr. William Chaworth, of Annesley Hall. The landlord an nounces dinner, and a lorlg train of drawers appear with the dishes.. At that pleasant signal the gentlemen hang up their cocked-hats on the wainscot pegs, while some unbuckle their swords, and hang them up also. Mr. John Hewett, the chairman and toast-master of the evening, takes, of course, the head of the table, and presides at the chief joint. Near him, on the right hand, is Sir Thomas Willoughby, and, in the order we give them Mr. Frederick Montague, Mr. John She rwin, Mr. Francis Molyneux, and last, on that side of the table, Lord Byron. On the other side, Mr. Wm. Chaworth. Mr. G. Douston, Mr. Charles Mellish jr., and Sir Robert Burdett,—in all, in eluding the Chairman, ten guests. The talk at dinner is country gentle men's talk,—the last assizes and the ab surd behavior of the foreman of the grand jury ; the tremendous break away with the fox-hounds from the Pil grim Oak at the gate of Ne ratead, all through Sherwood wastes, past Robin Hood's Stable, through tue dells of the Lock, round to Kirby Crags, by Robin Hood's Chair, far across the Notting hamshire heaths, and woods, and val leys, till all but Byron, and Chaworth, and a few more bad been tailed off. Then the conversation veers to politics, and the danger or otherwise of the new Stamp Act for the American colonies; the possibility of the Marquis of Rock ingham ousting the Right Honorable George Grenville, and the probable con duct of Mr. Pitt and Colonel Barry in such an emergency. The fish chases out the soup, the meat the fish, the game the meat, and the cheese the game. The conversation be comes universal, the young drawers on the stairs hear with awe the din and cheerful jangle of the voices, catching, as the door opens, scraps of sporting talk, praises of Garrick, counter-praises of Barry, eulogies of Miss Bellamy, and counter-eulogies of charming Miss Pope. The grave and bland landlord, who, with the white damask napkin over his left wrist, has, from the sideboard hitherto directed the drawers, now the cloth is drawn, loops the bell-rope to the toast-master's chairs, bows, adjusts the great japanned screen, backs him self out, and closes the door behind him. The Nottinghamshire gentlemen gather round their claret; one fat bon vivant takes off his wig forgreater com fort, hangs it on a hat-peg beside the swords, and now sits, with his glossy bald head, which, in the light of the great red logs that glow in the generous fireplace, glows like an enormous orange. All is good-humored gayety and con viviality, a good humor not likely to be interrupted, for it is the rule of the club to break up at seven, when the reckon ing and a final bottle are brought ini probably to give Lord Byron time to get down to the House of Lords, and other members time to join in the de bate in the Commons, to go and see Garrick, or to visit Ranelagh. Very soon after seven the gentlemen will push back their chairs,ut on their three-cornered hats and scarlet roque laures, buckle on their swords, and wish each other good night. The squires tell their old sporting stories with great enjoyment,—how they breasted a park paling, how they were nearly drowned fording the Trent after a thaw ; how they tired three horses the day the hunt swept on into Yorkshire, and only Lord Byron, Mr. Chaworth, and themselves were at the finial. About the time the drawer brings in the, reckoning and the final bottle, Mr. Hewett, the chairman, starts a certain hobby of his, about the best means of preserving game In the present state of the game laws; as be afterwards naively said : " had very often produced agreeable conversation." The talk LANCASTER PA. WEDNESDAY MORNING, MARCH 13,1867 round the table, particularly at the Lord Byron and Chaworth end, has latterly been a little hot and wrangling, and Mr. Hewett prudently tries to change the subject. This is an age, remember, in which gentlemen are apt to have differences. That dangerous and detestable habit of wearing swords in daily life leads too often to sudden and deadly arbitrations without waiting for jury or judge. Those swords, hanging in their gilt and silver sheaths from the wainscot pegs behind the chairs, are only too prompt servants in after-dinner disputes at taverns. There is a danger about this which is piquant to high-spirited men. Courage and cowardice are unmasked at once in these disputes; no waiting for damages, no explaining away in newspaper correspondences. The sword settles all. The bully has to be re 7, pressed, the choleric man's honor vin dicated. Men now " draw " for any thing or nothing,—to vindicate Miss Bellamy's virtue, to settle a dispute about the color of an opera•dancer's eyes. If an important card be missed from the green table, "draw." If a man 5 eke the wall of you , draw. ' If a that beau jostle your sedan-chair with his "draw." If a fellow hiss in the pit oi a theatre when you applaud, "draw." If a gentleman with too much wine in his head reel against you in the piazzas, "draw." It is the coward and the philosopher who alone " with-draw," and get sneered at and despised accord ingly; for public opinion is with the duellist, and every one is ready to fight. To return to the table. Mr. Hewitt proposes, sensibly enough, that the wisest way of preserving game would be to make it by law the property of the owner of the soil, so that the steal ing of a pheasant would then rank with the stealing of a fowl, both alike having cost the landlord trouble and money in the rearing and guarding, and by no means to be ranked as mere wild, pass ing, fugitive creatures, free as moles, rats, and owls, for all to shoot and trap. Mr. Hewett's subject is unlucky, for the conversation soon wanders from theo retical reforms to actual facts, and to the question of severity or non-severity against poachers and other trespassers. All had been jollity and good humor at the chairmen's end of the table as yet: but now voices get louder, and more boisterous and self-asserting. The discussion is whether game increases more when neglected, or when pre served with severity. Lord Byron, who is capricious, self-willed, and violent in his opinions, is heterodox on these matters. He asserts, talking over and across his adversary's voice, that the true and only way to have abundant game is to take no care of it at all. Let partridges avoid nets if they can, and pheasants evade the sulphur smoke of the Nottingham weaver; let hares choose their own forms, and seek their food where they find it best. He had tried it at Newstead, and It answered ; for he had always more game than Mr. Chaworth or any of his neighbors. Mr. Chaworth insists that the only way to get plenty of game is to repress poachers and all unqualified persons. " As a proof of this," he now says, "Sir Charles Sedley and myself have more game in five of our acres than Lord Byron has in all his manors." Lord Byron reddens at this, and pro poses an instant bet of one hundred guineas that the case is otherwise. Mr. Chaworth, with an irritating laugh, calls for pen, ink, and paper, quick, to reduce the wager to writing, as he wishes to take it up. Mr. Sherwin laughs, and declares such a bet can never be decided. No bet is laid, and he conversation is resumed Mr. Chaworth presses the case in way galling to a man of Byron's vain and passionate nature. He says,— "Were it not for my care and Sir Charles Sedley's being severe, Lord Byron would not have a hare on his estate." Lord Byron, paler now, and with a cold dew on his upper lip, asks, sneer inqieTley's manors? Where are these manors of Sir Charles Sedley ?" , Mr. Chaworth replies, Bucknel, Nutthall, and Bulwell." " 13ulwell ?" Mr. Chaworth says that Sir Charles Sedley had a deputation for the lordship of Buiwelltown. Lord Byron replies, that deputations are liable to be recalled at any time, and says, angrily, " Bulwell Park is mine." Mr. Chaworth rejoins hotly, " Sir Charles Sedley has a manor InNutthall, and one of his ancestors bought it out of my family. If you want any further information about Sir Charles Sediey's manors, he lives at Mr. Cooper's, in Dean street, and, I doubt not, will be able to give you satisfaction ; and as to myself, your lordship knows where to find me—iu Berkeley Row." Mr. Hewett, who is rather deaf, did not hear the conversation until the bet roused him, and has now relapsed into conversation with his right-hand man. Mr. Sherwin wakes up at these sharp and threatening words. What witch, what imp of mischief, has on a sudden blown the soft summer breeze into a hurricane ? The club is now as silent as if the lightning of flashing swords had suddenly glanced across the lattice. Those rash and hasty words of Mr. Cha worth, provoked by the irritability and arrogance of Lord Byron about such a silly trifle, were little short of a chal lenge. Lord Byron glances sullenly behind him at his sword as it hangs from under his three-cornered hat; but uo more is said on the dangerous subject. Nothing comes of it. Lord Byron and Mr. Chaworth, it is true, do not talk together again; but they chat to the people near them, and all is again joviality and good humor. When Mr. Chaworth paid the club reckoning, as is Lis general practice, Mr James Fyn more, the master of the tavern, observes him to ne a little flurried; for, in writ ing, he made a small mistake. The book has lines ruled in checks, and against each member present an 0 is placed ; but if absent, five shillings is set down. He places live shillings against Lord Byron's name ; but Mr. Fynmore ob serving to him that his lordship is pres ent, he corrects his mistake. A few minutes after eight, Chaworth, having paid his own reckoning, went out, and is followed by Mr. Dous ton, who enters into discourse with him at the head of the stairs. Mr. Chaworth asks him particularly if he attended to the conversation between himself and Lord Byron, and if he thinks he (Cha worth) had been short in what he said on the subject ? To which Mr. Douston answers : "No ; you went rather too far upon so trifling an occasion ; but I do not believe that Lord Byron or the com pany will think any more:about it." After a little ordinary discourse they parted; Mr. Douston returned to the company, and Mr. Chaworth turned to go down stairs. But just as Mr. Dolls ton entered the door he met Lord By ron coming out, and they passed—as there was a large screen covering the door—without )plowing each other. In the mean time, Lord Byron moody, having probably watched Mr. Chaworth leave the room without his hat, found that gentleman on the landing. Mr. Chaworth, in a low, thick voice, and with eyes that did not meet Byron's, said, meaningly— " Has you lordship any commands for me?" Lord Byron replied, Consideng dghis a second challenge : " I shoulbe lad to speak a word with you in private." Mr. Chaworth said : " The stairs are not a proper. place : and, if you please, my lord, we will go into a room.' They deicended to the first landing, and there both called several times for a waiter from below, to show them an empty room. The waiter came, and mechanically threw open the green baize door of a back room on the right hand side (No. 7), adark cheerless room, with a foxy red coals smouldering in the fireplace. Placing on the table the ruskiight he had in.his own candle stick, he shut the outer door, and left the two gentlemen together with the true sang-froid of his profession. Lord Byron entered the dim room first, and as they stood together by the low fire, asked Mr . Chaworth, with smothered "How am I to take_those words you used above, --as an intended atfront from• Sir Charles Sedley or yourself ?" Mr. Chaworth answered proudly: " Your lordship may take them as you please, either as an affront or not, and I imagine this room is as fit a place as any other to decide the affair in." Then turning round, Mr. Chaworth stepped to the door and slipped the brass bolt under the lock. Just at that moment, Lord Byron, moving out from the table to a small open part of the room free of furniture, and about twelve feet long and six feet broad, cried, "Draw, draw!" and looking round, Mr. Chaworth saw his lordship's sword already half drawn. Knowing the impetuous and passionate nature of the man, he whipped out his own sword, and presenting the keen point (he was a stronger man and a more accomplished swordsman than his ad versary?), made the first thrust, which pierced Lord Byron's waistcoat and shirt and glanced over his ribs, then he made a second quicker lunge which Lord Byron parried. Lord Byron now finding himself with his back to the table, and the light shifted to the right hand, Mr. Chaworth, feeling his sword Impeded by his first thrust, believing he had mortally wounded Lord Byron, tried to close with him in order to die• arm him; upon which Lord Byron shortened his arm and run him through on the left side, in spite of all Mr. Chaworth's attempts to turn the point or parry it with his left hand. Mr. Chaworth saw the sword enter his body, and felt a pain deep through his back. He then laid hold of the gripe of Lord Byron's sword, and dis arming his lordship, expressed his hope he was not dangerously wound ed, at the same time passing his left hand to his own side and drawing it back streaming with blood. Lord Byron said, " I am afraid I have killed you." Mr. Chaworth replied, " I am wound ed," and unbolted the door, while Lord Byron, expressing his sorrow, rang the bull twice sharply, for assistance. As he supported Mr. Chaworth toan elbow chair by the lire, Lord Byron said— " You may thank yourself for what has happened, as you were the aggres sor. I suppose you took me for a cow ard ; but I hope now you will allow that I have behaved with as much courage as any man in the kingdom." Mr. Chaworth replied faintly: "My lord, all I have to say is, you have be haved like a gentleman.' In the interval John Edwards, the waiter, who, while waiting at the bar for a bottle of claret for the Notting- ham club, had been called by the two unhappy men to show them into an empty room, had brought up the wine, drawn the cork, and was decanting it. On hearing the bell, he ran down stairs, found that the bell had been answered, and saw his master wringing his hands, and exclaiming: "Lord Byron has wounded Mr. Chaworth." He then ran up and alarmed the club, who in stantly hurried down and found Mr. Chaworth with his legs on a chair, and leaning his head against Mr. Douston. John Gothrop, the waiter who an. swered the bell, found, to his horror, Lord Byron and Mr. Chaworth stand ing with their backs to the fire, Lord Byron's left arm round Mr. Chaworth's waist, and his sword in his right hand, the point turned to the ground, Mr. Chaworth with his right arm on Lord Byron's shoulder, and his sword raised in his left hand. Lord Byron called to him to take his sword, and call up his master. When Fynmore came up, Mr. Cha worth said " Here, James, take my sword ; I have disarmed him ;" Fyn more then said to Lord Byron, taking hold of his sword, " Pray, my lord, give me your sword." Lord Byron surren dered it a little reluctantly ; Fynmore took the two swords down stairs, laid them upon a table, and sent at once for Mr. Ctesar Hawkins, a celebrated sur geon of the day. When he came, a little after eight o'clock, he found Mr. Cha worth sitting with his waistcoat partly unbuttoned, his shirt bloody, and his right hand pressing his wound. The sword had gone clean through the body, and out at the back. Mr. Chaworth said, " I believe I have received a mor tal wound ; for I feel a peculiar kind of faintness or sinking, and have a sensa tion of stretching and swelling in my belly that makes me think I bleed in ternally." The company then left Mr. Chaworth with his own servant and Mr. Hawkins; and Lord Byron retired to a room-down stairs. Mr. Chaworth thinking that lie should not live five minutes, and wish ing earnestly to see Mr. Levinz, his uncle, Mr. Hewett took Mr. Willoughby on his coach to fetch Mr. Levinz from Kensington-Gore, where his residence was ; but Mr. Levinz was dining with the Duke of Leeds. Mr. Chaworth was at first unwilling to be moved until he had seen Mr. Levinz, thinking that the jolting would increase the internal bleeding, and accelerate his death. Sub sequently, however, feeling stronger, be was removed to his own house in Berkeley Row, at about ten o'clock that night. Before being removed he said he forgave Lord Byron, and hoped the world would fJrgive him too; and he said earnestly, two or three times, that, pained and dis tressed as he Then was, he would rather be in his present situation than live under the misfortune of having killed another person. He declared tiiere had been nothing between him and Lord Byron that might not have been easily made up. He then asked, with gener ous anxiety, about the mortal wound which he believed he had inflicted on his adversary. Mr. Robert Adair, a surgeon, and Dr. Addington, Mr. Chaworth's own physi cian, also tended the dying man, but failed to afford him any relief. When Mr. Levinz came into the bedchamber, Mr. Ch worth pressed his hand and de sired him to send for a lawyer as soon as possible, as he wanted to make a new will, and believed he should be dead before morning. Upon this, Mr. Levinz, almost broken-hearted, going out into the ante-room, told Mr. Cresar Hawk! us, Mr. Adair, Mr. Hewett, and Mr. loughby, that hetwas totally deprived of recollection, and could not remember any lawyer near. Mr. Hawkins men tioned Mr. Partington, a man of character and he was sent for. While Mr. Partington was preparing the will in the anteroom, the other gentlemen having gone down stairs, Mr. Levinz again Went to the bedside to hear how the unfortunate affair had happened. After the will was executed and the friends had returned to the bedroom, Mr.:Levinz, in great distress, said to the dying man,— " Dear Bill, for God's sake how was this? Was it fair?" Mr. Chaworth's head was at the moment turned from Mr. Levinz ; but on that question he turned, said something indistinctly, and seemed to shrink his head in the pillow. He afterwards repeated the story, and exclaimed twice,— " Good God, that I could be such a fool as to fight in the dark I" Meaning that he regretted having sacrificed his superiority as a swords man. In a light and open room he would probably have diaarmedhis an tagonist at once. He said he did not believe Lord Byron intended fighting when they entered the room together, till he thought he had himat an advan tage. "He died as a man of honor; but he thought Lord Byron had done himself no good by it." Several times in the night, on being pressed to relate how the affair began above stairs, Mr. Chaworth always answered,-- " It is a long stoiy, and it is trouble some to me to talk. They will tell you, —Mr. Douston will tell you." For about an hour after the will was signed and sealed, and the statement was taken down by Mr. Partington, Mr. Chaworth appeared amazingly com posed; but about four he fell into " vast tortures." He . was never again free frompain, but warm. fomentations re• lieved him somewhat. After giving directions for hie funeral, he died about nine in the morning. On Mr. Ctesar Hawkins examining the body, he found that Lord Byron 'e sword had entered one inch to the left of the naval and pa-aed obliquely, com ing out six inches higher in the back. It had passed through the lower part of the diaphragm, and blood had lodged In the cavity of the left lung. Some time after this unhappy affair— the coroner having found him guilty of murder—Lord Byron surrendered him self to be tried by his peers, and wasseut to the Tower. On the Kith of April, about half an hour after nine in the morning, his lordship, escorted by portions of the Horse and Foot Guards, and attended by the lieutenant-governor, constable of the Tower, and another gentle man, was brought lu a coach by the New Road, Southward, to a court erected in Westminster Hall. The peers stood uncovered while the king's com mission was read appointing the Earl of Northington the temporary lord high steward. The Garter and the gentle man usher of the black rod, with three reverences, presented the white staff' to the Earl of Northingtou ' who then took his seat, with bows to the throne, in an arm-chair placed on the uppermost step but one of the throne. The sergeant at-arms then made the usual proclama tion In old Norman French : "Oyez I oyez! oyez!" William Lord Byron was brought to the bar by the deputy governor of the Tower. The gentleman Jailer carried the axe before him, and stood during the trial on-the prisoner's left hand with the axe's edge turned from him. The risoner made three reverences when .e came to the bar, and knelt. On leave being given him to rise, he rose and bowed, first to the lord high steward and then to the lords; these compli ments were graciously returned. When the clerk of the crown cried, "How say you, William Lord Byron, are you guilty of the felony and murder whereof you stand indicted, or not guilty?" Lord Byron replied, "Not guilty, my lords." - ... The clerk said, "Culprit," which means, "Quill wait" (may It appear The trial being resumed, the solicitor. general, in his speech, held that It was murder, if, after a quarrel, the aggres sor has had time to cool and deliberate, and acts from malice and premeditation. In that case, whatever motive actuated him, whether some secret grudge or an imaginary necessity of vindicatiug ? his honor, of satisfying the world of his courage, or any other latent cause, he is no object for the benignity of the law. After this, Lord Byron, who declined examining any witnesses on his own behalf, told their lordships that what he had to offer in 1.03 own vindication he had committed 'to writing, and now begged that it might be read by the clerk, as he found his own voice, con siderlng his present situation, would not be heard. His speech was accordingly read by the clerk, in a very audible and distinct manner, and contained an ex act detail of all the particulars relating to the melancholy affair between him and Mr. Chaworth. He said he declined entering into the circumstance of Mr. Chaworth's behavior, further than was necessary for his own defence ; and ex pressed his deep and unfeigned sorrow at the event. He added : "Our fighting could not be very regular, circumstanced as it was ; but, notwithstanding some con siderations, my own mind does not charge me with the least unfairness. In such a case, yourlordships will no doubt have some consideration fOr human weakness and passion, always influ , enced and inflamed in some degree by the customs of the world. And though I am persuaded no compassion can ob. struct you impartial justice, yet I trust that you will incline to mitigate the rigor of it and administer it according to law, in mercy. lam told, my lords, that it has been held by the greatest authorities in the land, that if con temptuous words of challenge have been given by one man to another, and, before they are cooled, either bids the other draw his sword, and death ensues after mutual passes, the factor that case will not amount to murder." Begging their lordships to acquit him of all malice, and to consider him an unhappy innocent but unfortunate man thepris oner concluded In these words,— " My lords, I will detain you no longer. I am in your lordship's judgment, and shall expect your sentence, whether for life or death, with all the submission that is due to the noblest and most equitable court of judicature in the world." The prisoner being then removed, after an adjournment to the House, the peers one by one, beginning with Lord George Vernon, the youngest, gave their verdict to the lord high steward, who stood uncovered ; the Dukes of Gloucester and York speaking last. Oue hundred and nineteen voted Lord By ron guilty of manslaughter, and four declared him not guilty generally ,• and as, by an old statute of Edward the Sixth, peers are, in all cases where clergy is allowed, to he dismissed with out burning in the hand, loss of inheri tance, or corruption of blood, his lord ship was immediately dismissed on paying his fees. The counsel for his lordship were the Hon. Mr. Charles Yorke and Alexander Wedderburn, Esq. ; the attorney, Mr. Potts. Against his lordship, were the attorney-general, the solicitor-general, Mr. Sergeant Glyn, Mr. Stone, Mr. Cornwall ; and as attorney, Mr. Joynes. After this glorious but stultifying as sertion of aristocratic privileges and the right of manslaughter, the lord high steward rose uncovered, and the gentle man usher of the black rod, kneeling, presented him with the white staff of office, which he broke in two, and then dissolved the commission. Advancing to tile woolsack, be said : "Is it your lordships' pleasure to adjourn to the chamber of parliament ?" The lords replied, " Ay, ay" ; and the House was then adjourned. The same evening when Mr. Cha worth's lacerated and pierced body was lying on the plumed bed behind the grand damask curtains,— far away out in the quietmoonlight, in the Newstead pastures and in the lonely Annesley meadows, the large-eyed hares were gambolling, unconscious of the mischief they had caused,and the partridges(birds that ought to be crimson -feathered, considering the brave men's blood they have so long been the means of shed ding) were calling each other plaintively from thestubbles, careless of their lord's sorrows and their master's death. But was Lord Byron really guilty in the matter of this duel? We think the fight was by no means a premeditated one. There had been some old differ. ences between the two men, about pri vate matters. At the club dinner, if Lord Byron's manner was taunting, Mr. Chaworth's was distinctly threat ening. The final words of the latter amounted to a public challenge, for he considered Lord Byron had given him the lie about Sir Charles Sedley's manors. When he grew cold, Lord Byron grew hot. He evidently regret! ted what he had said ; but, seeing Lord Byron follow him, he probably thought that he came to settle the difference. Lord Byron, seeing him waiting there, perhaps thought he was waiting for him, and he proposed retiring to an empty room. There, Lord Byron cer4 tainly drew his sword rather abruptly ; but his sullen vindictiveness brooked no delay. It was never supposed that he planned •an assassin's treacherous thrust., Mr. Chawortn lunged first, and thought he had killed his man; aaking, was he wounded ? The question is, did Lord Byron unfairly take advan tage of the moment's lull, during Mr. Chaworth's Inquiry, to kill his adver sary? The dying man did. not accuse him of this, but rather of his having in the first place revengefully urged him (for a few hasty words) to the fatal duel. Mr. Chaworth's chief regret seems to . have been in fighting by the light of a farthing candle, and thussacrificing his skill in fencing. Lord Bnon, it is certain, left West minister Hall with the brand of Cain upon his forehead. A mysterious 'and indelible stain was on his escutcheon. The " macaroni " and the world of fashion somehow shunned him, a whis per of suspicion followed him wherever he went; a suspicion that could not be resolved into wordanf foul play and Un- NIJMBER 10. fair advantage. The peers had acquitted him; the world regarded him as con demned, and tacitly' treated him as a criminal. He retired into Nottingham shire, and became a sullen, gloomy, morose man: His passions grew more inveterate; he changed into a half 'crazed, revengeful, brooding misan thrope: a wicked Timon of Athens. No stories about "the wicked lord" were thought too wild and monstrous. He always went armed, as if dreading a secret enemy. On one occasion, he is said in a rage to have thrown his wife into the lake in front of the abbey, from which she was rescued by the gardener ; who then thrashed her savage husband. Another time, he is said to have shot his coach man for disobeying orders, and to have thrown the bleeding body into the coach where Lady Byron was seated, and driven her home himself. Once, when his neighbor, Admiral Sir Barlase War ren, one of his old naval friends, came to dine with him, pistols are said to have been placed on the table beside the knives and forks, as parts of the regular table furniture, and as likely to be needed. These stories are, of course, mere country people's exaggerations of petty acts of passion ; but they show how much the proud, wicked lord was dreaded and hated by the villagers round the forest. This at least is cer tain,—that the wayward, unhappy man separated from his wife, drove away nearly all his servants, and created a mournful solitude around himself. Enraged at the marriage of his son and heir, who died young, he let the abbey fall into ruin, cut down all the family oaks to pay his debts, and sold the valuable mineral property in Rochdale. He had been, in youth, a lieutenantunderAdmiral Bolchen. Ills only amusement, in age, consisted in sham-fights on the lake, between two " baby forte " he had built on the shore, and a little vessel he had brought ou wheels from some port on the eastern coast. Heedless of what might happen after hie death, and unable to cut off the entail, he never mentioned his grand-nephew but as " the little boy who lived at Aberdeen." At war with the human race, the wicked lord, in "austere and savage seclusion," took refuge in the love of animals. He tamed an immense num ber of crickets, whom he allowed to crawl over him and corrected, when too familiar, with a wisp of straw, When their patron and protector died, there is a tradition, according to Wash ington Irving, that they packed up, bag and baggage, and left the abbey to gether for ' fresh fields and pastures new," flocking across the courts, corri dors, and cloisters in all directions. The Byrons came in with the Con queror and stood well all through Eng lish history, One ancestor at Hores ton Castle, in Derbyshire, was host age for the Cwur de Lion's ransom ; another fought by the side of Henry the Fifth in France ; a third rode at Bosworth against the fierce Crook back; a fourth was made Knight of the Bath at the ill-fated marriage of Henry the Eighth's brother, Prince Arthur; a fifth, "fair John Byron the little with the great beard , ' whose ghost still haunts the corridors of Newstead, was rewarded with Newstead at the dissolu tion and tearing to pieces of the monas teries. Sir Nicholas Byron defended Chester. and fought passionately at Edgehill. At the battle of Newbury there were seven cavalier brother Byrons flghing against the Puritan flag. Another Lord Byron was groom of the bedchamber to stupid Prince George of Denmark, and married three times,— first, a daughter of the Earl of Bridge water • second, a daughter of Lord Berkeley, of Stratton, from the last of whom the great poet was descended. When the old lord died, in his miser able self-made solitude, in 1798, New stead passed into the possession of the poet, then eleven years of age, living, ' with his mother, in humble lodgings in Aberdeen. His father was the profli gate and abandoned son of the brave old sailor, the brother of the duellist,— " Foul Weather Jack," whose voyages and adventures are well known. The bad son bad been discarded by his father. He then seduced the Mar chioness of Carmarthen, was divorced from her, and broke her heart. He after wards married the poet's mother, Miss Gordon, whose fortune of twenty thous and pounds he squandered in two years, and then deserted her. Tom Moore tells a simple but strik ing anecdote of the arrival of the short, fat, intemperate mother and the little lame boy, handsome and bright-eyed, at the Newstead toll-bar to take posses elon. Mrs. Byron, affecting ignorance, asked the toll-keeper's wife to whom the seat among the woods belonged. She was answered that the owner of It, Lord Byron, had been 'some months dead. "And who is the next heir?" asked the proud and happy mother. "They say" replied the old woman, that he is a little boy who lives at Aber deen." "And this is the bairn, bless him!" exclaimed the nurse, no longer able to keep the secret, and covering with kisses the young lord who was seated on her la One of Byron's favorite haunts was "The Devil's Wood,"—a gloomy grove of larches, planted by the wicked lord before the duel, and ornamented with leaden statues of fauns (called devils by the country people), and dark green with mould. In his farewell visit to the grove, when he sold Newstead to Col. Wild man, his old Harrow school chum, he came here with his sister, and carved their joint names on an elm. It was while home at Newstead for the Harrow vacation that the boy poet, then only fifteen, fell in love with Mary Chaworth, a beautiful girl of seventeen. Their trysting-place was a gate that joined the Newstead grounds to those of Annesley Hall. Mary's mother en couraged his visits ; for the feud had ceased, the fatal bloodshed had been forgotten, and the marriage would have joined two noble estates. Soon after 'Byron returned to school, the girl (at an impressible age) fell in love with Mr. Musters, a young stalwart fox•hnnter, whom she first saw, from the roof of the hall, dashing through the park at the head of all the riders ; when Byron re turned home, she was ,engaged to him. They parted (it is told in that chief d'ceuvre of love-poems, The Dream) on a hill near Annesley, the last of a long promontory of upland that ad vances into the valley of Newstead, and close to a ring of trees that was long a landmark to Nottinghamshire; then, taking a long last look at Annesley, Byron spurred his horse homeward like a madman. That ring of trees Jack Musters afterwards cut down in a jeal ous pet with his (as it was reported) M used wife. Poor Mary Chaworth I her marriage was far from happy. Her rough hard riding husband - the first gentleman huntsman of his day (famous for his tremendous fight with Asbeton Smith when at Eton), was (Irving says) harsh and neglectful. He seldom came to Annesley; disliking the poetical im mortality that Byron had conferred on his wife, and lived at a house near Not tingham. This was set on fire during a Luddite riot ; Mrs. Musters, a delicate woman, escaping into the shrubbery on that cold wet night, half naked. Her fragile constitution never recovered this shook, and [her mind ultimately gave way. The bitterness of that early disap pointment Byron never forgot. Long after his unhappy marriage, he wrote "MyM. A. C., alas I Why do I say my ? Our union would have healed feuds in which blood had been shed by our fathers; it would have joined lands broad and rich; itwould have joined at least one heart, and two persons not lll matched in years ; and—and—and-- what has been the result!" The Republican caucus at Washington, last evening, voted to refer the Impeach ment question to a committee, and agreed to taken recess from next Monday until the Bth of May. It is understood that the President has selected Generals Sherman, Meade, Han cock, McDowell and hicholield, as Military Commanders for the South under the Re construction act. *ATM OP ADVENVOILIMIL Busurame Aus .14:1 year per square of to U s ear Ihr each ad ditional square. 'MALL Eirewrz, PRILEOSAZ PSCIFEITY,Mad Gins- Kau. -Azimarlarso, 7 Dents a line far the first, &Fide cents for each subsequent inser tion. SPEW , Novo= inverted in Local column, 16 cents psr line. Rpm:um NOTION preceding marriages and deathi,lo cents per line ter fret Insertion, anone Y d 5 oenta earfor every' Subagent insertiOn. Itnantlati ctLure„ of ten es or less, Business Cards, five lines or leas, one LZGAL AND . OTII 1. a NOTICES— • EiecitOrs' 2J Administrators' 24 Assignees' 2.00 Auditors' notices,..... Other "Notices," ten lines, in less, three pottiantoito. Putting Pitch in their Boots. I have heard of a company of hunters who caught a number of monkeys in the forests of Brazil in the following amusing way : They Lad a lot of little boots just large enough to be drawn easily over a monkey's foot andfilled the bottoms with pitch. With these they set out for the woods, and soon found themselves under the tree, where the. monkeys went rattling ou over their heads, but never for a moment re moving their eyes from them. Then they placed the little boots where they could be seen, and commenced taking off their own Loots. Having done this, they lot them stand always near the little boots. All this the monkeys care fully noticed. The hunters were too wise to attempt to catch them by climb ing the trees ; they might as well have expected to snatch the moon as to lay hands upon one of these little fellows. They had au easier way than this, and more effectual; they simply sat down under the trees while the little chatter boxes were rattling (mover their heads, but never for a moment removing their eyes from them. The hunters now taking up their own boots, having care fully looked over them, drew them slowly one after the other upon their feet. Not a movement escaped the observation of the monkeys. Having replaced their boots they hurried away Into the thicket of undergrowth not far oft, where they were hidden from the sight of the monkeys, but where they could see everything that hap pened under the trees. They left the small boots all standing In a row. The monkeys soon descended from the trees, and Imitating the hunters, thrust their feet Into the boots set as a trap for them, chattering and gesticu lating all the time, in great glee. As soon as they were fairly in the boots, out sprung the hunters from their hiding places and rushed among them. The monkeys affrighted, at once started for the trees, but only to find they had destroyed their power of climbing by putting on the boots. So they fell an easy prey to their cunning enemies. This is the way the monkeys were caught, and how many young persons are caught in the SUMO way. In their desire to do what they see other per sons doing, they fall into serious trouble, and often bring upon themselves ruin ous habits that, follow them to the grave. English Nobility and Gentry. In an interesting little work called " Who's Who," for 1867, we hod some information of the English nobility and gentry. Prom this it appears that the oldest Duke Is the Duke of Northum berland, aged 88; the youngest, the Duke of Norfolk, aged 19. 4 The oldest Marquis, the Marquis of Westmeath, aged 81 ; the youngest, the Marquis of Ely, aged 17. Thu oldest Earl, the Earl of Ouslow, aged 89 ; the youngest, Earl Waldegrave, aged 16. The oldest Vis count, Viscount Gough, aged 87; the youngest, Viscount Clifden, aged The oldest Baron, Lord rougham, aged 88; the youngest, Lord liodney, aged U. The oldest member of the Privy Council is Lord Brougham, aged 88; the youngest, the Prince of Wales, aged 25. The oldest member of the House of Commons is Sir Wil- Baru Verner, Bart., member for the county of Armagh, aged 84 ; the young est, the Hon. Carrington, member for Wycomb, aged 23. The oldest Judge in England is the Right Hon. Stephen Lushington, aged 84; the youngest, Sir Jas. P. Wilde, aged 50. The oldest Judge in Ireland the Right Hon. Fran cis Blackburne,Lord Chancellor, aged 84 ; the youngest, Justice Keogh, aged 49. The oldest Scotch Lord of Sesidons, the Right Hun. Duncan McNeil, Lord Justice General, aged 73; the youngest, David Mure, Lord Mure, aged /15. The oldest Archbishop, the Arch bishop of Canterbury, aged 72; the youngest, the Archbishop of York, aged 47. The oldest Bishop, the Bishop of Exeter, aged 86; the youngest, the Bishop of Gloucester and Bristol, aged 47. The oldest Baronet, Sir Stephen L. Hammick, aged 89 ; the youngest, Sir Henry Hayes Law rence, aged two years. 'rho oldest civil and military knight Is General Sir Ar thur B. Clifton, aged 94;youngest, Mir Charles T. Bright, aged 34. The OUHU of Peers at present consist of one prince two royal dukes, three archbishops, ::1"; dukes, 31 marquises, 159 earls, 31 vis counts, 27 bishops, and 105 barons—the total number of peers being 445. The Bishop of Bath and Wells sits also aH Baron Auckland. Clergymen who have seats in the House of Lords as lay peers: The Itev. A. E. Hobart, Earl of Buckingham; the Rev. William Geo. Howard, Earl of Carlisle ; the Very Rev. William John Broderick, Vis count Middleton ; the Rev. Wm. Nevil, Earl of Abergavenny ; the Von. Freder ick Twistieton-Wykeham-Flennes, D. C. L., Lord Says and Sele ; the Rev. Alfred Nathaniel H. Curzon, Lord Scarsdale. There are 100 peers of Scot land and Ireland, who are not peers of Parliament ; 220 members of the Privy Council ; and the archbishops, colonial bishops, bishops of the Episcopal Church of Scotland, and retired bishops. number 98. There are 856 baronets, 446 civil and military knights, 111 noblemen and baronets who are knights of the various Orders, 25 knights of the Order of the Star of India, 726 knights companions of the Order of the Bath ; 3 field mar shals, 584 general officers in the army, 311 generals in her Majesty's Indian army, 329 admirals in the navy, 54 judges in the United Kingdom and Ire land, 180 queen's counsel and sergeant at-law in England, and 871 n Ireland. Attorutpo-at-gatv. WM. B. FORDNEY, No. 44 East King at., Lancaster GEO. NAUMAN, No. 15 Centre Square, Lancaster! EL M. NORTH, Columbia, Lam:ll.liter county, Pa R. IS. SWARR, No. 13 North Duke at., Lancaster, CIIAS. DEN UES, No. 6 South Duke et., LunenHtor ABEAM SHANK No. 36 North Duke at., Lancaster J. W. F. SWIFT, No. 13 North Duke Ht., Lancaster A. HERR SMITH, No. 10 South Queen st., Lancaster EDGAR C. REED, No. 16 North Duke st., Lancaster B. F. BAER, ho. 19 North Duko st., Lancaster D. W. PA'rTERSON, No. 27 Webt. King `et., 14/1130443T F. N. PYFER. No. 5 Noah Duke rd., LauMiter S. L. 11,EYNOLDS. No, 53 East King et., Lancaster J. W. JOHNSON, No. 25 South Queen st., Lancaster A. J. NTEINMAN, _ No. 25 Weat King at., Ltincaateri J. B. LIVINGSTON. No. 11 North Duko Kt., Lancaster A.. 1. NANDERSON. NO. 21 North Duke street, Lancaster S. H. PRICE, No. 0 North Duke, st., Lancaster WM. A. WILAON, No. 53 End King 81.., Lancaster WM. LEAMAN. No. 5 North Duke et., Lancaster 1 THE NEW STATE The vast Agricultural, Manufacturing and Mineral resources of West Virginia are just now attracting the attention of the whole world —ber rich alluvial valleys, peculiar advafitages for grazing and stock growing—her inexhausti ble beds of Iron, Coal, and rich deposits of Coal 011, added to her extraordinary facilities for every description of Manufacture, over in ducements C,3 Immigration, Enterprise and (I r n s !, unequaled by ally State in Dial:Talon. Ali persons desiring to purchase LANDS OR REAL pRopERTy of any description, in West Virginia, are re• quested top lyz ffi t. i ,l to & ICUTKENDALL, Real Estate Broker& Moculleid, West a, DI, S. Agency invite the attention of selkoll to Ms June Maw
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