THE ST A R or 111 !■ NQB^U R. W. Wcarar rnprM.ro Trait u< Rrtl--—4 >* hp '" . ' VOLUME *. THE BTAE OF THE NORTH Is published every Thursday Morning, by R. W. WEAVER. OFFICE—Up stairs in the New Brick building on the south side of Main street, third quare below Market. TERMS Two Dollars per annum, if paid within six months from the time of subsori rfSfc bing ; two dollars and fifty cents if not paid .1 within the year. No subscription received (Pfc for a less period than six months: no discon tinuance permitted until all arrearages are paid, unless at the option of the editors. ABVERTISEMRNTS not exceeding one square, will be inserted three times for one dolls; and twenty-five eentsfor each additional insertion A liberal discount wil! be made to those who ad vertise the year. From Ihe New York Tribune. BY MRS. 11. J. LEWIS. F LOWERS adown the mountains side Flowers in cool and shadv dells, Flowers upon the running tide, Flowers upon the meadows wide, Flowers upon the upland swell*. Flowers adorn the bridal train, Flowers upon the altar n at, fx with gentle hands are lain On the couch ot mortal pain, Whp their ministry is blest. Flowers we scatter o'er the dead, Giving all of light we may To Ihe glooms around us spread When the spirit homeward sped, Leaving nought but lifeless clay. Plant we flowers above the dead,' Where the Summer wind and rain Can their genial influence shed On the cold and narrow bed, YVhere the weary ne'er complain. Flowers, the very smiles of God, Almost as the sunlight free! Bloom they where no foot bath trod! With 'hem, He hath decked the sod Nor denied them to the sea! Tor the flowers let joyful praise Crown the Summer's golden prims: In the city's dusty ways,? In the woodland's twilight haz", Still prolong the grateful chime. MRS. SCRUGGINS Moves among the "upper ten** and is in vited to m "sorry." 'I spose, Mrs. Jones,' said Mrs. Scruggins, the other evening, 'you heafo as how a old bach'lor uncle of mine dim! qff not long a go, and lefi me all his effects. I was very sorry to hear he'd died; but then it was a omsotin' thing to one with grateful affliction, and there's nothin' makes people reve.i nee the memory of them that's gone so much as the idea that they left you somethin' to re member 'em by. I never seed my uncle but wunst, and then he didn't taka much no tice of me—and I don't blame him n >w, when I oum to think what a wild, sassy minx 1 was in ray younger days. But he must have been a dear, good soul, or he would'nt have thought of hid niece way out here in Sent Louis, and left her all his effecks. I intend to have a gravestone built to his memory, and en it {HI have writ: ''Reeled in memory of her uncle by his inourable and unconsolable and affectionate niece.' 'Well, arter people heard I had some property, it's wonderful how excessive pop lar I got all of a suddent. Feminines as did'nt descend {o hardly bow to me in the atree', all at wunst knew me so well! and shook hands so friendly and wanted to know where I'd kep myself, and what I'd been a doiu,' and why I Imd'nt called to see 'em for suoh a dreadful long time; and all on 'em declared they thought I was livin' in the country, or they'd had called and seed me and been right social. Mr. Skinkle, in less than a week arter the news was herd, told me that three middle aged bach'lers in etraighted carcumetances, and four widder o.-s, with num'rous families, had 'plied to him lor to be introduced. The 'tother night I went to the consort for Sent John's Church, and as me and Mr. Skinkle walked up Co'- ards the frunt I heard 'em whisperin' as I walked long—'That's the rich widder; that's Mrs. Scruggings ;' and some of the Woid* made purty loud 'sclamations of 'What nftne figger!' 'how excessively graceful she walks!' and sich like. Ih course I be lieved every thing they sed was all humbug; but Mr. Skinkle sed he'Jno doubt but that sum on 'em was hi amest, 'cause they was lookin' at me through gold specs. Its strange —wonderful strange—how different a person is treated when they're poor and when they'- re rich. Even Mr. Skinkle has got more perliter, and I believe the man's afeard FU bite him, he keeps at sich a very respecta ble distaiice; and when I want anything done, he's in such a terrifieal harry to be of sarvice that two to one he don't do it right, or spiles all in tryin' to do it too well. The 'tother evenin'l aes to Mr. Skinkle, will you jist step up stairs and bring me—' 'Ssrtinly,' ses he, and away he went; and arter he'd got up stairs, he had to come down again. Ses he: 'What was it, Mra Scruggings, you'd be pleased to have?' Fiddlestick ses I, and—would you b'lieve it —the man went up stairs in my room to bunt up a £ ope ration'he pockets his thousands —people look up to him, and say he's a cute speota- ( tor, or a email operator in funds; but just lei a poor man, with a wife, and a house full of title ones, do ennything that has the leas' 'pearanoe of wrong, and how horrified eve rybody is, and how willin' they all are to give a kiok to help him on his road down hill.' While Mr. Skinkle wae talkin', I notused that every body was lookin' at a young fem inine, who jnst cum in the room, and I heard Mrs. Broker whisper to Mrs. Commission, who was sittin' alongside of her, that it was a outrajus thing—she never heerd on the like afore. Mr. Rector Goldsmith Was over on 'tother eide of the room, and a lot of ) oung men and feminines was round him, and they was whisperin' very fast together, and every wunst in a while they'd look at the young 'ooinan who just cum in like they was goin' to eat ber. I didn't notus ennything very partickler in ihe 'pearance of the young feminine, that everybody need stare at her so. 'Miss GoldSmitn,' ses Mrs. Broker, 'ain't you goin' 'Of course,' ses Miss Goldsmith, looking as cold as an icicle; '1 can't 'sociate with ev il/ body' 'l'm surprised at Mrs. Drygood for invitin' sicli people,' sed a little primpt u J feminine, whose name was Mrs. Counsellor. 'And so am I,' sed anuther, who soraebod y called Mrs. Attorney Atlaw. 'Are you goin', Mias Hardware V sed a feminine jnst behind me. 'To be sure,' sed Mrs. Hardware; mo and Mrs. Cutl'ry, and Mrs. Grocer, and Mrs. Dr. Nostrum, and the Misses Drygood, think that this ain't enny place for us.' 'Mr. Skinkle,' ses I, 'what is the matter V 'Why you see, this is a koetong sorry, and the're all miffed cause that 'ere young femi nine over yonder was invited.' 'Who is she ?' ses I ; 'she looks jist as much like a lady as en yon 'em.' 'So she is,' sed Mr. Skinkle, 'and she's well edioated, and aa smart as the next one, but then her huaband'e noihin' but a journey man mechanic.' 'Mr. Skinkle,' says I 'will you order the carriage 1' 'You ain't goin' too ?' ses Mr.Skinkle. 'Yes,' ses I, purty loud, 'I am—my hus band, who's dead and gone, was nothin' but a mechanic—and this is no, place for bis widder!' ■ •MirSkir.kle,' ses I, when we'd got safe to home, 'don'l you ever ask me to go to a sorry again.' He said he wouldn't. tW'i'Tliis hot weather ha 6 made queer work with Jones' vinegar,' said Sam to uncle Nathan. 'He ha? four hogsheads on hand, and he thinks he shall have to get rid of it the best way he can ; hav'nt you heard a bout it ?' ' No, I have not heard anything. Wh it is the matter, what is the trouble with the vinegar?' 'lt's all sour.' 'Sam you will be the death of somebody yet' THX GREATEST ASS IN VENICE. —Two young princes, the sons of Archduke Charles, of Austria, had a warm debate in the presence of no less a'person than the Emperor him self.—Greatly excited, one said the other:— "You are the greatest ass in Ventce !' High ly offended at a quarrel in his presence, the Emperor interrupted them, saying with in dignation—"Come, come, young gentlemen, yon forget that I am present.' A FAIR HIT.— An exchange says, 'lt' has been said that, in spite of all the medical science and system ot the day, a sick min ister who has a rich congregation, can only be cured by a voyage to Europe. A singu lar fact in therapeutics.' OT Isn't it decidedly aggravating, when you are about to imp iit the 'cherry ripe' upon your lady love to have some one to peep in J Or, after it is did to observe some one in a corner of the room. W Speaking of cheap things It costs but a trifle to get a wife, but dosn't she sometimes turn out a little dear? EF 'Pomp, was youeber drunk?' 'No, I was intoxicated with ardent spirits once and dat'a 'nuff fordis darkie. Heaben brass yon Csstear, my head felt as if it was an out house, while all de niggirs in de world appeared to be splitting wood in it.' BP 'Julius, do you know de halls ob de Montezumars f 'Ob course I does, nigga; he's de brudder ob General Taylor, and was nursed by Sarah Gordon.' 'Why, how de darkey talks, by and by col ored men will know as much as the militia.' HOM. JAMES BUCHANAN.— At the late Dem ocratic Convention in Venango county, a resolution was adopted in favor of Mr. Bu chanan, as the next candidate for President. CHEAP POSTAGE—A member of Congress writing to his friends in Ohio, says the cheap postage reform will succeed the present ses sion, but that the votes will not be so low as the ultra friends of the measure desire. THE SOLDIER'S HETURW. Seven or eight years ago, I was travelling between Berwick and Selkirk, and (having . started at the crowing of the cock, I fiad left Melrose before four in the afternoon. On ar- I riving at Abbotsford, I perceived a Highland soldier, apparently fatigued as myself leaning upon a walking stick, and gazing intensely on the fairy palace of the magician, whose wand since broken, but whose magic stijl re mains. lam no particular disciple of lava tor's yet the man carried his soul upon! his face, and we were friends at the first gMnce. He wore a plain Highland bonnet, a coarse gray coat, buttoned to the throaf His dress bespoke him to belong only to thoranks; but there was a dignity in bis manner and a fire, a glowing language, Mjh>? eyes, worthy of achieftaiu. His height'ra%ht exoeed five feet nine, and his age be about lirirty." The traces of manly beauty upon his cheeks; but the sun of a weauri hemisphere had tinged them with a sallo r hue, and im printed untimely furrows. Our conversation related ch lefly to the clas sic scenery around us; and ire bad pleas antly journeyed together for two or three miles, when we arrived at spittle sequester ed burial ground by the way Side, near which there was neither church nor dwelling. Its low wall was thinly covered with turf, and we sat down upon it to resti My companion became silent and meianchbly, and his eyes wandered anxiously among the graves. "Here," said he, "sleep sbme of my fath er's children, who died in infancy. He picked up a small stone from the ground and throwing it gently about ten yards, "That," added he, "is thwvery spot. But thank God! no grave stone has been raised during my absence! It is a token 1 shall find my parents living—and," continued Ije, with a sigh, "may I also find their love. It is hard, sir, when the heart ol a parent is turn ed against his own child." He dropped his head upon hia breast for a few moments, and was silent, and hastily raised his fore finger to his eyes, seemed to dash away a solitaty tear. Then turning to me, he eontinued—"You may think, sir, this is weakness in a soldier; but human hearts beat beneath a red coat. My father, whose name is Campbell, and who was brought from Argleshire while young, is a wealthy farmer in this neighborhood. Twelve years ago, I loved a being gentle as the light of a summer moon. We were chil dren together, and she gUrw in beauty on —Y -tgtif, a* the star of erjsnlijg steatn m.-> glory through the twilight. But she was poor and portionless, the daughter of a mean shepherd. Our attachment offended my father. He commanded me to leave her forever. I could not, and he turned me from his house. I wandered, I knew not, and I cared not whither. But I will not de tain you with my history. In my utmost need, I met a sergeant of tho forty second who was then upon the recruittng servics, and in a few weeks, I joined the regiment of proud hearts, I was at Brussels when the invitation to the wolf and the raven rang at midnight through the streets. It was the herald of a day of glory and death. There were thiee Highland regiments of us—three joined in one—joined in rivalry, in love and in purpose; and, thank Fate ! I was present when the Scots Grays, flying to our aid, rais ed the the electric shout, ' Scotland forever." —"Scotland forever t" returned opr tartaned clansmen; "Scotland forevet 1" reverberated as from the hearts we bad left behind us ; and "Scotland forever! re-echoed "Victory!" Heavens 1" added he, starting to his feet, and grasping his staff, as the enthusiasm of the past came gushing back upon his soul, "to have joined in that shout was to live an eter nity in the vibration of a pendulum !" In a few moments the animated soul that gave eloquence to his tongue drew itself back into the chambers of humanity, and resuming his seat upon the low wall, he continued: "I left my old regiment wi h the prospect or promotion, and have since ser ved in the West Indies; but I have heard nothing of my father—nothing of my moth er—nothing of her I love." While he was yet speaking, the grave d'g ger, with a pickaxe and sgade over his shoul der, entered the ground. He approached within a few yards of where we eat. He measured off a narrow piece of earth—it en circled the little stones which the soldier had thrown to mark out the burial place of his family. Convulsion rushed over the features of my companion; he shivered—he grasped my arm—his lips quivered—his breathings became short and loud—the cold sweat trick led from his temples. He sprang over the wall—he rushed towards the spot "Man!'' he exclaimed in agony, "whose graae is that ?" "Hoot! awa' wi' ye," said the grave-dig ger starting back at his manner, "what tia a way is that to gliff a body! are ye daft ?" "Answer me," cried the soldier, seizing his hand, "whose giare—whose grave is that?" "Mercy me 1" replied the man of death, "ye are surely onto' your head—it's an auld body thoy ca'd Adam Campbell's grave— now are you anything the wiser for spier in ? "My father !" cried my oomrade, as I ap proached him; his bands togeth er, ha bent his head upon my shoulder and wept aloud. I will not dwell upon the painfil scene.— During his absence, adversity had given the fort ones of hie father to the wind, and he had died in an humble cottage, unlamented and unnoficed by his friends of hospitality SSISSEIs At the request of my fellow-traveller, I ac companied him to the house of mourning:— Two or three poor cottagers sat around the fire. The coffiin, with the lid open, lay a j cross the table near the window. A few white hairs fell over the whiter face of the deceased, which seemed to indicate that he died from sorrows rather than from age. The son pressed his lips to his father's cheek. He groaned in spirit, end was much troub led. He raised his head in agony, and, in a voice almost inarticulate with grief, ex claimed, inquiringly, "My mother?" The wondering peasants started to their feet, and, in silence, pointed to a lowly bed. He hastened forward—he fell on his knees by the bed side. "My mother!—O, my mother !" he ex claimed, "do not yon, too, leave me ? Look at me—l am your own son—your own Wil lie ; have you, too, forgot me, mother ?" She, too, lay upon her death bed, and the tide of life was fast ebbing ; but the remem bered voice of her beloved son drove it back lor a moment. She opened her eypß —she attempted to raise her feeble hands, and they fell upon his head. She spoke, but he alone knew the words that she utter ed ; they seemed accents of mingled an guish, of joy, and of blessing. For several minutes he bent over the bed, and wept bitterly. He held her withered hand in hia ; he started ; and, as we approached him, the hand he held was stiff and lifeless. He wept no longer—he gazed from the dead body of his father to that of his mother— his eyes wandered wildly from one to the other—he smote his hand upon his brow, and threw himself upon a chair, while mis ery transfixed him, as if a thunderbolt had entered his soul. I will not give a description of the melan choly funeral, and the solitary monner. The farther obsequies were delayed, and the son laid both his parents in the sa me grave. Several months passed away before I gain ed information, respecting the sequel of my little story; After his parents were laid in the dust, William Campbell, with a sad and anxious heart, made inquiries after Jeanie, the object of bis early affections, to whom we have alluded. For several weeks his eeqrch was fruitless; but at length he learr • ed that property had been left to her father I by a distant relation, and that be now resi ded somewhere in Dumfriesshire. In the same garb which 1 have already idesoribeJ, the soldier set out cm his journey. '—With little difficulty he discovered the h* ii*e A suoh as are I occupied by the'higher class of farmers. The front door stood open. He knocked but no one answered.—He approached along the pas sage—he heard voices in an apartment on his right—again he knocked, but was unhee ded. He entered uninvited. A group was standing in the middle of the floor, and a mong them a minister, commencing the marriage service of the Church of Scotland. The bride hung her head sorrowfully, and tears were stealing down her cheeks—she was his own Jeanie Leslie. The clergyman paused. The bride'e father stepped forward angrily, and inquired, "What do ye want sir?" but instantly recognizing his features, he seized him by the breast, and in a voice half choked with passion, continued—"Sor row tak' ye for a scoundrel! what's brought ye here—an' the mair especially at a time like this? Get out o'my house. Sir! I say, Wills Campbell, get out o' my bouse, 'an never darken my door again wi' your ne'er do-well countenance 1" A sudden shriek followed the mention of his name, and Jeanie Leslie fell into the arms of her bridesmaid. "Peace, Mr Leslie!' said the soldier, pushing the old man aside, 'since matters are thus, 1 will only stop to say farewell—for auld lang syne—you cannot deny me that.' He passed towrrds the object of his young love. She spoke not—she moved not—he took her hand, but she seemed unconscious of what he did. And, as he again gazed upon the beautiful countenance, absence be came as a dream upon her face. The very language he had acquired during their sepa ration was laid aside. Nature triumphed over art. and he addressed her in the accents in which he had first breathed love, and woe her heart. 'Jeanie 1' said he, pressing her hand be tween his, "it's a fair thing; to say FAREWELL, but at present I maun say it. This is a scene I never expected to see, for oh, Jeanie ! I could have trusted to your truth and to your love, as the farmer trusts to seed lince and to harvest, and is not disappointed. Oh! Jea nie, woman ! this is like separating the flesh from the bones, and burning the marrow! But ye maun be anither'a now—farewell! farewell!" "No !no !—my ain V? illj a | (he exclaim ed, recovering from the agony of stuperfac tion -'my hand is still free, and my heart has been yours—save, Willie! save me!" and she threw herself into his arms. The bridegroom looked from one to anoth er imploring them to commence an attack upon the intruder, but he looked in vain,"— The father again seized the old grey coat of the soldier, and almost rending it in twain, discovered underneath to the astonished company, the richly laced uniform of a British officer. He (trapped the fragment of the outer garment in wonder, and, at the same time dropped his wrath, exclaimed, "Mr. Campbell! or what are ye?—will you ex plain yourself?" A few words explain all. The bridegroom a wealthy, middle aged roan, without a heart left the house, gnashing h'.s teeth.—Fadley aa onr military honors are conferred, merit ta not always overlooked, even in this country, where money is everything, and the Scottish soldier had obtained the promotion be de served. Jeanie's joy was like a dream of , heaven. In Afisw weeks she gave her hand to Capt. Campbell, of his Majesty's——reg iment of infantry, to whom, long years be fore, she had given her young heart. ' Taking the Census. Some rich scenes oceurred in taking the census, under the late law for that p 'K', The census taker of Jacksonville, Illinois, has "found a roothsr leas than 13 years old nursing a child of several mouths. ■ *'• " : r>- * V •