van::=E wao 9:F¢M'Jt.l34s).k. a WEDNESDAY, AUGUST 27, 1845 Ortyrows 1;1` Canasta. JACEIO3I tt Emmert.— The news of General Jackson's death hu Made a deep i m pression in Europe, and many of their mast prominent papers are teeming with With comments Upon his life, public curer, and manly and patriotic virtues. Euro. puns who ondentorst his character, place him in the niche of fame beside our beloved and lamented Wall ington as his most worthy companion, and the second tiarior of his country. W e copy below an article from the Dublin Journal, illestrsting the sentiments of respect and admiration ea t:nuked townie this eminent man in Ireland the land •of his forefather. Death of Andrew Jackson. A peatetship, arrived at Liverpciol on Tuesday last, fur nishons, though having but one day's later news from America, with the deeply to be lamented tidings of Gen. Jackson's death. This event took place it his private widener, the " Hermitage," in the western state of Ten ne&4e, on the Sth alone last, in the With year of his age. An old comrade in alms, hurrying to the veteran's dying bed to abide with him in the final conflict, which ,it is the lot of all men to sustain, met hii physician on the way, proclaiming that the hero was no more. We can imagine how this intelligence has been re ceived throughout America. Friends palsied with a sudden grief, and they who were once his foes, now voluble eulogists of his character. Over his grave there is heard but one gush of universal sorrow. His death s indeed • national calamity to his countrymen, and • wide void-left in the ranks of manhood. Though for rats he had not mingled in active public life, the,oracle, memorable for troth and age thus veiled in hammed pri vacy, was heard in the ruttiest and respected in the high !Si quarters. His very mutterings were treasured by the favored few, who lately taw him face to face; and the word of his mouthtdecided the destiny of his Continent. A great career, indeed is closed; a luminary has gone down in the west and the flash of his 'onset has come out to us, acrotilhe water& America maf:well lament her loss. He had grown with her growth . , a limb of the giant oak ; and in his fall the stem and all the branches were shaken. Kings die often, and the common herd of 'conquerors rush down the precipices of time to their own undoing, but the fall of a virtuous citizen, brave and merciful in war, straight. forward and incorruptible in peace, who made his arm a shield, and his power -beloved, cannot be-sustained by any country, however rich in public virtue, without the sense of bereavement which is entirely forgotten. The world has lost a second Washington in Jackson's death, Gs though their characters may differ somewhat, their moral' construction was the same. Times and tempera ment modify the operation of similar pi'fnciples aid so with them. Jackson was more ardent, more tenacious, More of the iron cast of Napolean in his action. He was a man of unparalleled firmness in the camp, and in the cabinet. Made as if to mould the future national character of America, his own wasdeeply marked with ell the great Republican lineaments. And he has impressed himself more deeply than any other man, Washington or Fraaklin not excepted, ran the general character of his people. He has given them a boundless national ambi tiOn—an apthition not to enslave but to liberate—not to centralise, but to diffuse power—not to, heap wealth in one imperial fortress, but to partition its influences, and scatter its advantage over the area of the confeder- sey. General Jackson was bom in Mirth, 1767, of Irish parents. While yet a lad, he entered the army of th c l Resolution, and carried his musket through the wet; Independence. The dearest event in his miliatarylek. nay was the proud prerogative he enjoyed, of termina ting by one master-stroke the war with England oflBl2- 'll. OD the honks of the Mississippi, st New Orleans, be encountered the veterans of the Peninsula, and their wad hosts were levelled with the marshy waste, which they had polluted by their presence. In punishing the inconions of thaindians, his usual fortune attended him --civilized skill and savage wile were alike broken be fore bins There grew up in America after the second war with England, a monied monopoly, called the United States Bank. This great machine,in the hands of reckless end negligent men, would, if suffered to exist, have long since Jeopardized the liberties and the prosperity of that Conn try. Jackson was made President, and be overthrew, by am exertion of his daring genius, this dangerouienor enilY. The factious railed, and the avaricious conspired again him :never was statesman so baited by the snarl ing =Manes of • bastard aristocracy: he stayed not to Ire* or to. hear, bat working under the fury of the dorm, with a faithful few, he swept awry this standing army of natters completely as he had swept away the hosts of Packenham. The public voice at last was beard in his dekrree, and he was placed a second time in the chair of the Pnradenta. In his eight years of offiee he latt i r enr eemplezion to American politico, and one which since been changed. We cannot here enter ; at length into the considera tion of the varied events - Of the long life of this Duni mamma. We say illudrious, not M common place of r imle ss eningY, but became we consider that gnat in •telPily, without pretensiOn,embition without selfishness and memo without arrogance, are among the best titles to t hat high appellative. The world has known no man 'more . pure than Jackson America wilt feel bis lose mod ihti matelY. Bat why should not we here, throughout the hero's fatherland, give voice to deep regret and utter ance to our melancholy: pride in the departed I The home which his parents loved—the altar where they were married—the last spot of Irish soil they saw may be unknown, but the fame of their son reflects back up. en their coturtry too broadly and brightly to be confined to localities, or have limits less extensive than than his iliand• Ever in Nitre .he was proud of his descent, and Ids bout bket -would glow at the sight of any f' Ireland's hum sona,While 'grateful people— - over whose growth he has watched, for whose rights he braved death in the field ; and the fury of a wen had faction in peace— *bile they are tendering due honor to his' Vtirturta. his 'esker!, and his exampie, some eon of Ireland, banished by ;donde • will, we trust, us a representative .of the People tithe hero's fathom, mingle in their grief, and dabs, as a mad perogative,of his • birth-right, to mourn for the illustrious dead. - ....- . ~ . _. . . . • 1- :I _ .. ~ . _._ . . .. ,1 .. ..__,,...,•_. ~...., .., „. THE . . . . . • .... ~ , , . . ..: RTE . ~ . , ~ . •, . , . ~ .. . . . ..,, • II ✓ [Written for the Bradford Reporter.) Fragment. The noon is still, and sabhath nips among These pine clad hills with a pervading power Of bbliness and life.—Such deep repose Embalmed Judea's mountains when the Lord Of life proclaimed to willing ear the words Of hope and peace. An overarchingeky Above him spread and earth beneath, while down The mountain's shady side the multitudes Were gathered. Canaan's sunny fields and hills And peaceful villages were smiling beat; • And all that living landscape and th' abode Of men were imaged in the spesker's'eye And heart. How sweetly rose that voice divine Upon the ravished air and died away To silence in the distant space I How sank Its sacred accents into burning hearts That felt the majesty and power of truth— And tears of penitence and joy and love . Descending wet those cheeks, embrowned by toil - Which sin bad hardened—melted now by touch Of grace divine. And them was age with locks Of silvery white and‘lisping infancy Unconscioneinlts'grther'srirms ; who sat With earnest eye attentive to the words Of wialdm. Rosy boys, and laughing girls With sun-bright hair, and eyes of childhood's light, Forget their sports and gather round with looks Of wonder. Each young heart is wafted on That stream of heavenly sound, proceeding from The Savior's lips. Each childlike countenance Upraised in attitude of innocent Enquiry, marks with earnest look the mild And placid majesty 'that overspreads The Savior's face—but who diacritic that face Where,Deity his bright effulgence shows And chastend all and manifest to sense, The Godheads stands revealed in human form illristrionio What pity quite beyond The reach of human hearts to comprehend Gleams in the swiietals of that smile. What radience in those eyes from whose Calm depths beam , infinite intelligence( And love. With simplest, plainest imagery And illustration, did the Man Divine Convey to simple beans profoundest truth, And solve the grand, momentous problem of Man's destiny and Heaien's purposes To be evolved in this our mortal state. Yonder the city act upon an hill— And here the sparrow chirping on the bough— The !die:, of the field were growing near— And each became the vehicle of truth. Pour athestic man, whose practice still Belies the language of his lips, was made To know even from the perishable grass, One common Providence is over all. TOWANDA. August 17, 1845. The Wedding—A Backwood Sketch. During a residence in America, no observing person can fail to have remarked, whether he travel in Canada, the United States, or Texas, the vast number of Irish families everywhere to be met with_. They bear such distinctly marked peculiarities, that no mistake can occur in attributing to them their native soil. It has been my lot to visit may of the settlements of these wanderers from the green isle; but no where' did I meet any family which so singu larly interested me, as one which a few months back was residing within the limits of the re public,of Texas, consisting of the fathei, mo ther, a son, and two daughters. Old Rock. or as he is generally called, Captain Rock—a name doubtless assumed—emigrated to Ameri ca seventeen years ago—his family then con sisting of two daughters; for the Pon was born afterwards in the land of his adoption. For seven'years, the sturdy Irishman, (originally well informed aria well educated, though his early history_ was never. known,) contended with the difficulties incident to new settlers, with various success in different parts of the Union, when he was induced to join the first band of adventurers who, under General Aus tin, obtained leave from the Mexican govern ment to locate themselves in Texas. The family obtained a grant of land, as a matter of course ; but otd Rock did not fancy settled agricultural pursuits. To have round him a well-stocked farm, cleared and productive fields, and herds of cattle, would have required a degree of perseverance and patient personal labor of which lie was incapable. • He prefer. red the life of a wandering squatter, upon which lie at once entered, and which he •has never since deserted. Building a boat, old Rock embarked in it at one of the Texian ri vers, with his family, an old gun. and a small stock of ammunition, and, following the wind ings of the stream, did not stop until he came to an abandoned log hut, or frame house.where he thought he might find temporary accommo dation. Of these deserted houseeTexas has many, their abundance arising from various causes— death from fever, the terrible civil war. or, of tener still, from men having hastily chosen, a location, and built thereon. before it was found out that the spot was undesirable and unpro dictive. Rock was not nice. If the neigh borhood supplied game, he was satisfied.— Sometimes an acre of sweet potatoes, Indian Corn, and pumpkins, might he put under cult'. Vatioll ; otherwise, the family lived entirely upon venison, wild - fowl, fish and oysters, and it was whispered. pork upon occasion. A re ported fondness for this latter article w as one of the causes of old Rock's frequent migrations. No sooner did he pitch himself in any neigh borhood, than it was said pork.waa at a pre mium. Pigs certainly disappeared most mys teriously; but though all threw the blame upon Rock. he ever averred the panthers, wolves. and stray hunters to have been the real cul prits. However this may be, alter some months' residence in any particular spot, the family usually received a polite notice to quit, and find another dwelling-place. Eighteen several times had the Hibernian patriareh,re moved his tent at the.bidding of his &Howl; any neglect of orders being ritually followed PUBLISHED EVERY WEDNESDAY, AT T H. B " REGARD .Olt DENUNCIATION FROM ANY QUARTER." a • by the infliction of that summacji justice called Lynch law. When I became acquainted ugh the Tamil' .cearne acquainte. ..,.. 4, early in the autumn of 1842, thy were read - ' hag on one of the tributaries w ich pour into Galveston bay—known as Di 's Creek.— The son was sixteen, a small-rlade lad, who entirely.supported the family byl means of his gun, being onti-of the most expert hunters 1 ever met with in the backwoodie, Every arti cle not-produced by themselves-their clothing being entirely of deer skin—was obtained by bartering venison hams, which they always carefully preserved for this *pose. Rock and his wife were now old ; the former, though yet sturdy, moving about only id his boai4nd smoking over his fire; the latter doing ail the cooking. Mary and Betsy Rock, the daugh ters, it would be vain to'attempt faithfully to delineate. Fat, brown, and healthy, dressed in petticoats and spencers of deerskin, they were the most original pair it w4s ever my lot to encounter. They could neither read nor write, but could bunt and fish mist excellently well : and two adventurous days they were that I spent in their company. They bad ne ver seen an Englishman before since they were grown up, and my pictures of life at home enraptured them. Witb the younger daugh- ter, Mary—the other was engaged to be mar ried to a Yankee-1 became a prodigious fa. 'mite, and many a hunt in canoe and in the prairie had we together. But to my story.— Alter leaving them, with a faithful promise of paying another visit, I found myself, six weeks after, again at the door of the once elegant frame-house where I had left them. To my 1 surprise it was half-burot and desolate. This disappointed me much ; for I had brought up 'several appropriate presents for both of my young friends. Pursuing my way v however, up the river, I halted at a farm house, where I founa several persons collected, who quickly informed me that the family had been •• mob bed " off the creek, with threats of being shot if they settled within ten miles of the spot.— W here they had gone to no one knew, nor seemed to care ; and these parties being the very extempore adati,istrators of justice who had warned them off, I soon departed, and gained the house of tey friend Captain Tod, where I proposed ruralizing during some weeks. From Tod I learned that two fat pigs had lately disappeared ; and suspicion must unjustly, as it afterwaids turned out, having fallen on the Rocks, the squatter and his fami. ly had to seek a new resting-place. On hear ing this. I gave up all idea of ever again seeing !`my fair friends. Three dais pissed in the usual occupations of a Minn , g party ; when, on the afternoon of I the lourlt day, l w as left alone in die log-hut to amuse myself over certain lately arrived Engli-h papers, while my companions were employed in searching the cone - try round for some cattle which my friend the captain was desirous of selling. About an hour before sunset, footsteps, which (supposed to be those of on e' of the returning party of cow-bo y s, were heard behind the hut, then at its side, and in a minute more the latch was raised, in walk ed—Tim Rock. The young hunter, having satisfied himself that I was really there, ad vanred close to me, and am% ered my greet hugs. My first inquiries were after his sisters. " /It hy," said he. " sister Bet is to be mar ried to-morrow, and sister Mary has sent me to invite you to the wedding." "How, said 1. in some surprise, " did your sister know I was here 1" Tim laughed, and replied that, when 1 stopped with my boat's crew at the farm-house, he was on the opposite bank in the big timber hunting, but dared not commu nicate with me in consequence of what had oc corred. After a few more words of explana tion, I shouldered my gun, my packet of pre sents for the young ladies, and, leaving a line in pencil for my friends, followed Tim through the forest, until we reached the water's edge, where, carefully concealed by overhanging trees and bushes, I found a moderate sized ca noe. It was almost dark when I stepped into the boat, but still I saw that it already contain ed a human being; so my hand mechanically sought the butt of my pistol. •' You won't shoot me, sir," said the rich, full, merry voice of Mary Rock to my infinite surprise. Tim laughed heartily at my mistaking her for an Indian, and then, cautioning me to speak low, until all the houses on-the river were passed. we placed ourselves in the craft, and com menced our voyage. I, knowing the bayou to a nicety. acted as steersman. Mary sat . next with a paddle,and 'rim in the bows with another. It seemed that, determined to have me at the wedding; the brother and sister, with the consent of their friends, hid started to fetch me, feeling certain that I would come, after the promises I had made to that effect. It seemed that they had, judged rightly, for here was I. in company with two of the rudest set tlers in the wilderness, embarked in a frail ca noe to go I knew not whither—nor did I much care.. This roving spirit was indeed, what initiated me into many secrets -and Mysteries of the woods and prairies which escape the more sober and methodical. Thr ird of thr - mild ' .4e record of that night's journey wot. in itself be a.curious chapter of "western economy ; but more important matters forbid. Suffice it to remark, that, after sixteen miles' journey down a river by moonlight, and as many more across the rough and-sea-like bay 'of Galveston. en livened by jocund talk all the way, we arrived about daa n at the new .ettlement of the!Rock family. It was a large deserted barn orivare house near Clare Creek. The family were already up and stirring.nnd . engaged io active preparation for the important ceremony ; and, to my surprise, the supply of eatables - and drinkables was both varied and great—all. however. being presents from the hridegroom, or Luke, a wealthy landowner for Texas: in possession of much cleared tround. and many hundred head of cattle. It may be a matter of surprise theta man well to do in the world should have chosen a bride so every way rode and uneducated; but in -Texas women are scares. and then the lover : might hive looked far before he could have found a more cheer ful and reddiatured companion, more willing Eilailtim 0; D CI r MZIII3II4VIEMI I OM:IMO to learn, more likely to be loving, faithful, and true, than Betsy Rock. The blushing bride I received me in a cotton gown. shoes and stock ings, and other articles of civihted clothing previously unknown to her, and in which she felt, sufficiently awkward. But Luke had sent them, and Betsy wished to appear somebody on her wedding day. My presents were alt, therefore, except a bead-necklace, employed in decorating Mary, who, secreting herself be hind a screen with her sister. almost convulsed me with laughter by appearing a few minutes after an a man's red hunting-shirt, a cotton 1 petticoat, white stockings and moccasins, the ' body of a silk dress sent to her by a Galves ton lady, and a cap and bonnet. Never was a ' London or Parisian belle prouder than was this little rosy-checked,' light-hearted Tezian beauty. eight o'clock the visitors began to sr riie. First came a boatful of men and women f onrealleston. bringing with them a negro 1 fi dler, with - nut whom little could have been :one. When came Dr. Woreister and his la dy from 6t. Leon in a canoe ; after them i Colonel Brown from Anahatic in hie dug-out; ad, about nine, the bridegroom and lour male and an equal number of female companions on horseback, the Wise riding either before or ehind the gentlemen on pillions. Ere ten, 1 ere were thirty odd persons assenibledoben a most substantial breakfast was set down to, chiefly consisting of game, though pork, beef, coffee, and rarer still, bread, proved that Luke had a hand in it. This meal being over, the boat in which the party from Galveston had come up, and which was an open craft for sailing or pulling, was put in requisition to convey the bride and bridgroom to the nearest magistrate, there to plight their troth. The distance to be run was six miles with a fair wind going, but dead against us on our return. Theparty consisted of Luke, who was a young man of powerful frame, but rather unpleasant features ; the bride and bride's maid, (Mary Rock officiating in this capacity,) papa of course, myself as captain, and eight men to pull us back. The breeze was fresh, the craft a smart sailer. the canvass was rap full, and all ilierelore being in our favor, we reached West Point, the residence of M r. Parr,the magistrate, in less than an hour. We found our Tezian Solon about to start in chase of a herd of deer, just reported by his son as visible, and being therefore in a hurry,-the necessary formalities u ere gone through, the fee paid. and the usual document in possession of the husband in ten minutes. The eye of the old squatter moisten ed as he gave his child away ; stone natural tears she shed, but dried them aeon ; and pre softly everybody was as merry as ever. No sooner were the formalities concluded, than we returned to the boat, and to oar great delight found that, close-hauled, we could al most make the desired spot. The wind had shifted a point, and ere ten minutes. we were again clean full, the tide with us, and the boat walking the waters at a noble rate. All look ed upon this as a good omen, and were pro portionably merrier; none more so than my own particular friend Mary, who, in her finery, was an object of much good-humorettjoking from the men who surrounded her. About one o'clock Mr. and Mrs. Charles Luke were presented by old Ruck to the assembled COM. pang at the barn • and; after an embrace from her mother, the bride led the way, accompa nied by her lord and master. to the dinner ta ble. The woods, prairies, and waters, as well as the Galveston market, had all liberally con tributed their share of provender. Wald tur keye, ducks, geese, haunches of venison. were displayed, beside roast beef, pork, red-fish. Irish and sweet potatoes, pumpkin and apple pie, and an abundant supply of whiskey. brandy. and Holland., without which a fete in. Texas is nothing thought 01. An hour was consumed in eating and drinking, when Sambo was summoned to take his.share in the day's proceedings. Tables, such as they were, were cleared away, the floor swept. partners chosen. and, despite the' remonstrance of one of the faculty present, Dr. Worcester, against danc ing so shortly after a heavy meal, all present, the dissentient included, began to foot it most nimbly. Never was there seen such dancing since the world began, never such laughing, such screaming, such fiddling. Every one took off shoes and stockings. I was conipel, led to do so, to save the toes of my especial partner, Mary ; and to the rapid music of the old negro, reels and country dances were rat tled oft at a most surprising rate. All talked, and joked. and laughed, such couples as were tired retreating to seek refreshment ; but the dancing never ceasing, except at rare intervals, when Sambo gave in from sheer fatigue and thirst. Such was the state of things until about nine o'clock, when a sudden diminution in our number was noticed by all present. Mary had before let . me into the secret ; and the bride and bridegroom were missed, as well as the foot couples who had accompanied Luke. Rushing into the open air. we descried the husband on their fine black horse galloping be neath the pale moon across the prairie. escort ed by their friends. A loud shout was given them. and those who remained, returned to the house to renew the dancing, which was kept up until a late hour. It was four days after my departure ere I regained my friendi at Todville. Such was the wedding of one of those hardy pioneers of civilization, whose descendents may yet be members of a great and powerful nation. I saw Luke and his wife, as well as Mary, on many subsequent occasions ; but I never learned that the American backwoods. man refroted his union with the, wild Irish 'Diana, who had hunted deer on Murtany island with the English stranger. could paddle a ca noe !with more ease than she could use a needle, and shoOt a duck with more facility than write er name. Luke. however, is teaching her ore uieful accomplishments ; and Betsy. ere er children—one of whom 1 .have . already Been—stre clan age to require instruction. will doubtless be able to' render it. 1 hope, how: el ver. My picture will send over no one to wed Miry ; for, though I have for the mein' time retorted to eivilizellou, C cannot yet resign a certain faint notion. that liters might be worse . lives than that of a Texian settler with sucho associate. [From the N. y. Evening Poet] Letter from fir. Bryant.. Lonna', June 24, 1845 Nothing can be more striking to-one who is accustomed to the little enclosures called pqi hc parks, in our Americau cities, than the spa cious open grounds of London. I doubt, :in fact, whether any person fully. comprehends their extent, from any of the ordinary descrip tions of them, until he-less seen them or tried to walk over them. ou begin at the East end, at St. James's Park, and` 'proceed along its columnades of old trees, its thickets of iir namental shrubs carefully enclosed, its grass plots maintained in perpetual freshness and verdure by the moist climate and the ever dropping skies, its artificial sheets of water cov ered with aquatic birds of the most beautiful species, until you begin to wonder the paik has a western extremity. You reach it at last and proceed between the green fields of Con stitution Hill, when you find yourself at the corner of Hyde Park a much more spacious pleasure ground. You proceed westwardly in Hyde Park o I 4 til you are weary, when yon find yourself on the verge of Kensington Gardens, a vast extent of ancient woods and intervening lawn*, to which the eve sees no limit, and in whose walks it seems as if the population orLondon might lose itself. North of Hyde Park. af ter passing a few streets, you reach the great square of Regent's Park, where, as you stand at one boundary the other is almost -undistin guishable in the dull London atmosphere.— North of this park rises Primrose Hill, a bare, grassy eminence. which I hear has been pur chased for a public ground, and will be plant ed with trees. All around these immense en closures, presses the densest population of the civilized world. Within, such is.:their extent, is a fresh and pure atmosphere, 'and the odors of plants and flowers, and the twittering of in numerable birds more musical than those of our own woods, which build and rear their young here, and the hum of . \ insects in the sun shine. W ithout are close and crowded streets, swarming with foot passengers, and choked •with drays and carriages. These parks have been called the lungs of London. and so important are they regarded to the public health and the happiness of the people, that I believe a proposal to dispense with some part of their extent, and cover it with streets and houses, would be regarded to much the same manner as a proposal to hang every tenth man in London. They will proba bly remain public grounds as long il as London has an existence. The population of your city, increasing with such prodigious rapidity, your sultry sum mers, and the corrupt atmosphere generated in hot and crowded streets, make it a cause Of re gret that in laying out New York, no prepara tion was made, while it was yet practicable, for a range of parks and public gardens along the central part of the island or elsewhere, to remain perpetually for the refreshment and recreation of the citizens during the torrid heats of the warm season. There are yet nnoccupi ed lands on the island, which, on account of their rocky and uneven surface; ight be laid out into surpassingly beautiful pleishre grounds; but while we are discussing the subject, the advancing population of the city is sweeping over them and covering them froth our reach. II we go out of the parks into the streets, we find the causes of a corrupt atmosphere much more carefully removed than with us. The streets of London 'are always clean. Every day, early in the morning, they are swept, and some Willem, I believe, at other hours also, by zAchine drawn by one of the powerful dray horses of this country. Whenever an unusually large and fine horse of this breed is produced in the country. he is sent to the Lo ndon market, and remarkable animals they are, of a height and stature almost elephantine, large-limbed, slow-paced,' shaggy-footed.— sweeping - the ground.with their fetlocks, each huge foot armed with a.ehoe weighing from five to six pounds. One 'of these strong crea. tures is harnessed to a street cleaning machine. which consists of brushes turning over a cylin der and sweeping the dust of the streets into a kind of box. Whether it be wet or dry, dust or ntud. the work is thoroughly performed; , it is all drawn into the receptacle provided, for it, and the huge horse stalks backward and for ward along the street until it is almost as clean as a drawing-room. I called the other day on a friend, an timed can. who told me that he bad that morn ing spoken with the landlady about her care lessness in leaving the window of her lower rooms unclosed during the night. She answer edthat she never took the trouble to close them, that so secure was the city from ordinary bur glaries, under the arrangements of the new po. lice, that it was not worth the trouble. The windows of the parlor next to my sleeping room opened upon a rather low balcony over the street door. and they are unprovided with any fastenings, which in New York we should think a great piece of negligence. Indeed, I am told that these night robberies are no lon ger practiced, except when the thief is assist ed by an accessary in the house. All classes of the people appear now to be satisfied with the new police.. The,officers are men of re spectable appearance and respectful manners. If I lose my way, or stand in need ol local in formation. I apply to a person in the uniform, do police officer. They are sometimes more stupid in regard to these matters than there 'is any occasion for, but it is one of the duties ol these officers to assist strangers with local in formation. Begging is repressed b,y the new pollee regu lations. and want skulkihri holes and corners. and prefers its petitions where- it cannot" be overheard by men armed with the authority of the law. There his great 'deal Of famine in Londoni saidit frientto me the other day, but the police regulations drive it oat bi siggt. As I wee going threngh Oxford street lately, I aaw l~j~ I {:~L f< I an eit:erly town of small alature4roorly dressed, with a mahogany complexion. walkingslowly before me. As I passed him. he said ear.. with a/110110W Voice. 4 lam starving to death• with hunger." and these word., and that hol. low voice sounded in my earAll,day. • Walking in Hempstesd Heatti.a day or..two, since, with an English friend. we Were moo. ed by two laborers. who were sitting on a bank., and who said that they had came to that neigh ! Mahood in search of employment in hay may king, but hailinot been able to get either work' , or food. 51.1 i friend appeared to distrust their story. Rut in the evening, as we were walk• ing home, we passed a company of sores fear' or five laborors in frocks,, with bludgeons in their hands, who asked us for Something to est. "You see how it is .gentlemen." said ens 'of them. " we are strong ; we have had nothing to eat all day." Their tone - was dissatisfied. almost menaneing ; and the Englishmen who was with na referred to it several times after- wards, with an expression of anxiety and alarm. 1 hear it often remarked here, that the direr.. eoce of condition between the poorer' and the' zi. Aier classes becomes greater every day. and ...the etid will be the wisest pretend not tO x , ~ es e. No GENTLENAN.—Profanity is generally condemned. as a low. vulgar. vogentlemanlike vice. The condemnation is just, for it iiiit terly inconsistent with every trait of the gen tleman, according to the proper definition or that term. A gentleman is a man who resp ects the rights and feelings of others, as the best' means of promoting their happiness. Accord ing to this definition, a gentleman will not swear ; for he will not deliberately cheek tbei veneration of others by irreverent appeals,and much less will Invoke more than human pow er to aid him in inflicting pain. And among who do we fipd this vice most prevalentl— Among thosenmat addicted to other vices, and especially intemperance. Drunkards general ly swear, because intemperance impairs self respect and respect for other.. To swear like a pirate, is a proverb. Why I 13!C110110,pro fanity is the usual vice of the violent ' : and, Is, piracy is the greatest crime of violence, it is naturally accompanied by the last degree of profanity. CALIFORNIA AND OReooN.—The last ac- . counts from California, state that that country has declared its independence of the Mexican Government. and organized itself into a repub lic. We understand that advices have also been received by the government at ,Washing ton, confirming in every particular this inter estina intelligence. II such be the case, it is_ probable, that in addition to the Texas ques and the Oregon question. we shall have II California question in a very 'short time.' Vast' numbers of emigrants are niiw traversing the . Western States and crossing the Rocky Moun tains. on their wny to Oregon ; many of them will now, doubtless, be attracted southward.tO California ; and the probability is,. that in less than five years, that young republic, with its numerous fine harbors. its fertile soil. end its delightful climate, will also be knocking for admission into this confederacy. Thus on all hands plenty of work is promised. on this con• tinent, for the British and Freuch diplomatists for many years to come. A NEW IDEA.—How To EECOSE OWNER or A House.—A sorieiYitas been incorporated Montreal. called the Montreal Building Serie ty, by becoming a member of which a person is enabled to build a house. by means of aloan granted him fur that purpose repayable by in stalments, fur what the rent of such a house would cost him in ten years.. The workingof the plan is as follows:—Having a , piece of land, an individual becomes a subscriber io the, Society for one or more.shares. at $6OO each, paying a monthly subscription of two dollars and a half for each share, for a period of 'nine or ten years. at the end of which time he finds himself owner of his house, having paid off the . principal. This sort of Savings Bank has; it is said, been found to work very well in England. Smorso.—A young man at a social party lately was vehemently urged to sing a soup— He replied that he would first tell a story, and then, it they still persisted in their demand, be would endeavor to execute a song. When a boy, he said, he took lessons in singing; and' and one Sunday' morning . he went op into 'big father's garret to practice shine by himself...—.W hile in full cry, he was suddenly sent for by the old gentleman. " This ispretty conduct." said the - father. " pretty employment fur the Son of pious pa. rents to be sawing boards in the garret onto Sunday morning, loud enough to be beard' by all the neighbors. Sit down and.:Ake vat book." The young man was unanimonely escusik4 from singing the propose 4 song; • . Tor IrAT To BE HAPPY.—Happiness *al ways to be found. if we will only condescend to pick it up. seed by seed. As none-of its** gredients should be thought too minute to be gathered and added to our store, so none should be deemed too insignificant for distribution to others. Occasions for* conferring great'bene fits do not often occur. and when they do, it may hot be in our power to bestow them: but the little services and gratifications which eve ry current day places within the means of the humblest member of society. will constitute. if we all throw nue share in the common stock. no inconsiderable aggregate of human enjoy ment and actual good will. INKLING.—••AN Do you uuderatand ,ties► now V' thundered out - a, hasty pedappe, to an urchin at, whose htad ha threw ert nk stand•. I have got an ink•ltng - t►f whit. .Ain s. • meart." - replied the boy. TI4.IIWMI PlitiOSS.--" 1 don't 'sr akt how nallans:ittbiks. but I do know that tko bottle ini i the dark closet don't keep NI all the time. EOM lin =MI
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers