THE STAR OF THE NORTH. B. fft Heaver Proprietor.] VOLUME 7. THE STAR OF THE NORTH IS PUBLISHED EVERY THURSDAY MORNING BY R. IV. WEAVER, OFFICE— Up stairs, in the new brick build ing, on the south side of Main Steert, third square below Market. TEH M S Two Dollars per annum, if paid within six months from the lime of sub scribing ; two dollars and fifty cents if not paid within the year. No subscription re ceived for a less period than six months ; no discontinuance permitted until all arrearages ■re paid, unless at the option of the editor. ADVERTISEMENTS not exceeding one square will be inserted three times for One Dollar and twenty five cents for each additional in sertion. A liberal discount will be made to those who advertise by the year. T3EES3SF 'SEBEEST From the Little Pilgrim. THE KUPK-WALK. BY HENRY W. LONGFELLOW. In that building, long and low, With its windows all a-row, Like the port holes of a hulk, Human spiders spin and spin, Backward down their threads so thin, Dropping each a hempen bulk. At the end an open door; Squares of sunshine on the floor Light the loug and dusky lane; And the whirring of a wheel, Dull and drowsy, makes me feel All its spokes are in my brain. As the spinners to the end Downward go and re-ascend, Gleam the long threads iu the sun; While within this brain ot mine Cobwebs brighter and more fine, By the busy wheel are spun. Two fair maidens in a swing, Like white doves upon the whiug, First before my vision pass ; Laughing, as their gentle hands Closely clasp the twisted strands, At their shadow on the grass. Then a booth of mountebanks, With its smell ol tan and planks, And a girl poised high in air On a cord, iu spangled dress, With a faded loveliness, And a weary look of cute ! Then a homestead among farms, And a woman with bare arms Drawing water Irom a well; As the buoket mounts apace, With it mounts her own lair lace, As at some magician's spell. Then an old mnn iu a tower, Hinging loud the noontide hour, While the rope pods round and round, Like a serpent at his feet, And again iu swilt retreat Almost lifts him Irom the ground. Then within a prison yard, Faces fixed, and stern, and hard, Laughter and indecent mirth ; Ah ! it is ihu gallows tree ! Breath of Chrisliaii charity, Blow, and sweep it from the eatth! Then a school-boy, with his kite, Gleaming in a sky of light, And an eager, upward look; Steeds pursued through lane and fielil; Fowlers with their snares concealed ; And an angler by a brook. Ships rejoicing in the breeze, Wrecks thai float iu unknown seas, Anchors dragged through faithless sand; Sea-fog drifting overhead, And with lessening line and lead Sailors teeling for the land. All these scenes do 1 behold, These and many left untold. In that building long and low ; While the wheels go round and round, With a drowsy, dreamy sound, And the spinners backward go. T A Young Man's Character. No young man who has a juei sense nf his own value will sport with bis own character. A watchful regard to his character in early youth will be of inconceivable value to bim in all the remaining years of his life. When tempted lo deviate from strict propriety of deportment, he should ask himself, Can 1 afford this? Can I endute hereafter to look hack upon this I It is ot amazing worth to a young man to have a puie mind; for this is the foundation of a pure character. The mind, in order lo be kept pure, n u*t be employed in topics ol thought which ere themselves lovely, chas tened, and elevating. Thus the inind hath in its own power tho selection of its themes of meditation. If youth only knew bow du rable and how dismal is the injury produced by the indulgence of degraded thoughts—if they only realized how frightful were the moral depravities which a cherished habit of loose imagination produces on the soul— they would shun them as the bite of a ser pent. The power books to excite the imagi nation is a fearful element of moral death when employed in the service of vice. The cultivation of an amiable, elevated, end glowing heart, alive lo all the beauties of nature and all the sublimities of truth, in vigorates the intellect, gives to the will inde pendence of baser passions, and lo the af fections that power of adhesion to whatever is pure, and good, and grand, which is adapt ed to lead out the whole nature of man into those scenes of action and impression by which its energies may be most appropriate ly employed, and by which its high destina tion may be moßt effectually reached. The opportunities lor exciting these facul ties in benevolent and sell-deaying efforts for the welfare of our fellow-men, are so many and great that it really is worth while to five. The heart which is truly evangeli- benevolent, may luxuriate in an age dp like (bis. The promises of God are inex ■ pressiUy rich, the main tendencies of things to marmlMly in accordance with them, the extent of moral influenoe i* so great, and the effects of its employment so visible, that whoever aspires after benevolent action and retches forth for things that remain for us, 19 the true dignity of bis nature, can find fiee scope for bis intellect, and 11-inspiring 'heme* for the heart BLOOMSBURG, COLUMBIA COUNTY, PA., THURSDAY. NOVEMBER 1* 1855. TIL IS IIONI V DIGGER. * A LEGEND. In a ietired part of Yorkshire Wolds, stood | some years ago. the Castle of Lonnsbnrougli, an ancient seat of the noble house o( Caven j dish, which had long been in such a state of desertion and decay that it has been though; expedient to demolish it altogether. At the commencement of the great civil war, on the Sir Charles Hotham taking possession of Hull for the Parliament, it had been for sev eral years, a place of refuge r or several wealthy royalists. For this reason perhaps, or from others more valid, a tradition had long prevailed in the neighboring village, that mar.y hidden treasures Had been dis covered at different times about the house and grounds of I.ounsborough Castle. The noble owners, of course, treated these ru mors with contempt; and never took any steps for asserting their manorial rights, or investigating their supposed claims. About the middle of the last century, the charge of the ancient domain was commit- ' ted lo a man ot the name of Christopher Hobson, who with his w'le and two daugh ters, constituted its so'e occupants. The fe males were occupied in keeping tho house in decent order, whilst Christopher, or as he was commonly called Kester, busied himself in the gardens and grounds—so that in case of an unexpected visit (rom the noble own ers, which sometimes happened, the family were not wholly unprepared for iheir recep tion. Kester Hobson was in the habit of spend ing two or three evenings in a week at a small public itouse in the adjacent village, where a few of the neighbors generally as sembled. At the period wo are speaking of, many of the lingering superstitions of the dark ages still maintained their ground io va rious parts ol the kingdom, and in none did they keep their hold with greater tenacity > than in tho village of Yorkshire Wolds. At their fireside meeting", the conversations fre quently turned on various old traditions re specting Lounsborough Castle ; and amongst other legends equally veracious, it was af firmed that on one occasion, towards the close of the civil war, a band of round-head GuerrilUs under Harrison, having suddenly eurprised the castle, where some Baltic mer chants of the king's party had taken refuge, the unfortunate cavaliers had been obliged to Lurry their money, and having afterwards made a desperate resistance were all killed in defence of their precious deposits. So strong was the attachment of these worthy traders, to their beloved wealth, that, even after death, their shadowy forms had often been seen hovering round the obscure places of the castle domain, like the ghosts of un buried heroes on the bank of the Styx. In dued, it is well known lo have been one of the most deep-rooted opinions of the olden lime, that if any person had buried rnonev or jewels during his life time, his spirit could take no repose till the treasure was discover ed. It may seem strange to some readers that at this late period of history, (here should have prevailed "such utter darkness in the people,"' but the author of this little uarative is well assured of their reality.— llaud ignota loquor. The oft repeated and well attested stories made a deep impression on Hester's mind; and often when sitting alone in his chimney corner, lie. would muse upon those marvel lous circumstances, and reflect with bitter ness on his own misfortune in being doomed to live in poverty amidst these countless hoards of wealth, and perhaps day after day, to tread it under his feet, without being able to roach even a single noble—but compelled to toil through his whole life for a miserable pittance ofa few shillings a week. One win ter's night, having retired to bed full of these melancholy thoughts, he fell into a deep sleep and dreamed that a sober, business-looking man, with a lodger under his arm, and a pen behind Ins ear, appeared at his bed side, and after giving him a solemn sad sepulchral look, sucli as becomes a messenger from the tomb, delivered a portentous injunction to the following effeel:—Christopher Hobson was commanded to depart immediately for London, and when arrived there was order ed to walk backwards and forwards over London Bridge for an hour, on three succes sive nights, immediately after dark, during which he would hear of some important event that materially concerned himself and family. This vision was so much more vivid, con sistent and striking 'huti an ordinary dream, that it left a deep impression on Hester's mind and he thought of little else the whole of the following day. But though sufficiently su perstitious, yet the expense and trouble of u journey to London were at tint lime mutier of such serious import, that lie could not bring himself to resolve on so perilous an underta king on grounds that he could not help feel ing lo be rather equivocal. The next night, however, the same visitation was repeated, and in terms and in a manner still inure aw ful and peremptory. His mind now became quite bewildered, and he began to think se riously that an admonition, thus solemnly re peated, could not with safety bo disregarded. But oil the third night the sceptre appeared again, and delivered the same injunction with such an alarmiug and menacing aspect, that on awakening the next morning, Christopher hesitated no longer, but began instantly to make preparations for his journey. Haloid his family that an affair of importance which he conld not then explain, required his im mediate presence in London and begged them f) defer asking any question* till bis re lorn. He next applied to an old friend, a neigh-1 boring farmer. atnl a tenant ol'lii* mnter. lor the loan of a steady old ho*se which lie had sometimes borrowed lor short journey*, as suring him with a misterious air, that he was going on an afFair of the greatest imiiorlauoe, in WWrtl*. if he suneeeded, die favor he was now asking should be amply compensated. He then took out Irom a small secret store which he had long been accumulating, a sum which he sufficient for the journey; and thus equipped and provided, be boldly set nut for the metropolis. Though the autumn was far advanced, and tho roads consequently very,bad he arrived in town without any accident, and put up at a small inn in the borough. to which he had been recommended. Though he had never been in London betore, he resolved to lose no time, but proceeded immediately to busi ness. The night after his arrival, therefore, he bolook himself to the foot nf London bridge; and as soon as he heard St. Paul's clock strike seven, by which time it was quite dark, he commenced his wulk, backwards and for wards over the bridge. He continued this exercise till he heaid the same clock strike eight; when, having observed nothing more remarkable than the coming and going mas ses of a busy crowd of passengers, he return ed to his hotel. He was much disappointed at the ill success of liis first ee-uy, as two more nights still remained. The serortd night passed exactly like the first, and he be gan to be a little disheartened. He commen ced, however, the labors of the third night with renovated hope; but when lie heard the deep-mouthed bell again 101 l eight o'clock, ' his spirit sunk within him. With a heavy > heart he prepared to quit the bridge, inward ly cursing his own credulity and the devices ol Satan, who he doubted not, had lured him on to this ill-fated expedition. It may be necessary to remind some of our readers, that at the period we are speaking of, the entire length of the London bridge was flanked by two rows of houses and shops, I and a great retail busbies was carried on in thissingular situation. On otic of these shops, j decorated by the sign of a negro boy with a pipe in his mouth"!*' Kester Hohaon happened to cast his eye as he was about to quit the \ bridge—and it reminded him that his tobac- j co box was empty ; (or the necessities of es tablished habit will duly recur, even amidst our sorrows and disappointments. He en tered the shop therefore with a view of pur chasing a small supply; and found benind the counter an elderly, sedate looking qua- Uer. whose contented atil! well fed person in dicated the prosperity of his calling? Whilst weighing the tobacco, he surveyed our York shire man with some earnestness, and 'hen, in a tone which expressed a sort ot good-na tured curiosity, aecostpd him as follows: "I have observed, friend, with some surprise, dial lor several nights thou hast employed thyself lor a considerable time in walking to and fro across this bridge, and thy anxious looks seemed to expect something very par ticular; 1 am afraid thou hast been waiting tor some person who has disappointed thee and failed in his engagement. If any advice j or information of mine can be of any use, as thou seemest to be a stranger in London, 1 should be glad to offer tbee any assistance trt my power." Our hearts are never more warmed than by an offer of kindness in a strange place and amongst strange people.— Renter Hobson possessed, perhaps a greater portion than usual of that mixture of simpli city and cunning, which bos been so often ascribed to his countrymen, but though al ways a little on his guard, he was not quite proof against this open and disinterested kinu ness. He expressed Ins thanks very heartily, but declared he was quite ashamed to confess his business in London, and the nature of those night-walks which had excited the at tention of the honest tobacconist. By de grees, however, his inquisitive friend got out of him, that he had. in fact, been deeply mor tified and disappointed; that he had expected to meet with a very particular person or oc currence on the London bridge; and, in short, that he had undertaken a long, expensive, and laborious journey to London, merely at the instigation of a dream. He suppressed, however, his name and resilience, from a vague apprehension that such disclosure might by possibility expose him lo ridicule, or some other unpleasant consequence. The Quaker heard this strange confession with much surprise, and then replied with great solemnity. "It strikes me with aston ishment, my good friend, that a man of thy decent and sober appearance should have come lo a journey of two or three hundred miles on such an errand us this! I thought such vain immigrations and weak supersti tion* had long h.m o been eschewed by ail men of sense, and abandoned lo children and old women. It is deplorable to think that thy parents and instructors did not lake care to root out all such idle fannies in early lile, and then wimlom might peradventurn have come with years and experience.— " However," continued he, "it does not be come me to erect mine horn uloft, and look down upon the weak and ignorant, because my own lot has (alien in better places. If 1 have been hitherto enabled lo turn aside from all such vain devices, is it not because having been brought up, as it were, at the feet of Gamaliel, I have learnt from ( he les sons of a wise lather the ways of truth and soberness' And yet," added he, smiling at Christopher, " 1 can assure thee, friend, that if I have constantly kept clear of all such de lusions, it has not been lor lack of tempta tion. I have *ll my life long, been a great dreamer; and olten my midnight visions have been so express and surprising, that it haa required the strong arm of truth and rea son (o resist their allurements. Even this .T Truth and It iff lit God and our Country. verv last night 1 was beset with this tetnpta lion. I dreamed that an elderly man, in a snuff-brown coat, with a pen stuck behind I his ear, earne to my bedside, and told me, ' that if I went into a hack garden, belonging 10 an ancient castle in Yorkshire, and dug the ground under the stone seat of an old Gothic summer house, I should find a great treasure. "Now." continued lie with a look of conscious superiority, "if I had been as foolish as thou, I might have neglected my business and set off on a toilsome journey, in search of ihis imaginary treasure " Here Hester Hobson who had thus far thought the good Quaker's harangue rather prosy and te dious, began M puck up hie ears as Ihe an cient poets express it;'for he was well aware there was exactly such summer house as this, ina retired garden in the grounds of Lounsborough castle. His countenance be trayed visible agitation: but unfortuuate'y he stood in a dark part of the shop, where the light did not fall upon.his face. He could hardly forbear shouting with exultation: but hy a violent effort he suppressed hia emotion, and replied as indifferently as he could that it was true he had been guilty of a great weakness, but he hoped he should be wiser for ihe future. It is useless to say that Kester treasured up this momentous information carefully in his mind, and soon after look leave ot hia valua ble friend. "We shall soon see," thought he exiiltingiy, ' which of us two is the wiser man in his generation." Tho next day he took his departure for Yorkshire, and in a hnut a week rpached his home in safety.— 011 the very night of his arrival, lie dismiss ed his family to bed HI good limp, telling them that lie had some accounts lo settle, which required him to be alone. When the household was all sunk in repose he look a spade and a lantern, and repaired iu silence to the old summer house. He removed the stone seat, took up the pavement, and after digging about three feet deep, he fell the spade strike against some hard substance ! His nerves were alt agitation—but be went on and soon drew out a largo eari.'iern jar of the capacity of half a bushel, fastened with a wooden cover H • eag-irlv broke it open, and founo it quite filled with gold coins of the reigns of Elizane h, James the first, and Charles the first. He instantly conveyed it home, and got it safely locked up HI his desk without the least interruption. | Hester Hnbsou'a wile was, like himself, famoii- for pic.ismoo ay.l reserve, and to her therefore but no' his daughters lie deierm ined in rev<al the secret. They used their treas ure cautiously and discreetly, to avoid par ticular remark or co jecuire ; and he often laughs in his sleeve at the good Quaker's sage discourse, and airs of lotty superiority. He thought himsell dispensed train making any disclosure to his noble master, for tho' a man ot lair character and reasonably hon est when temptation did not me-s htm too hard, yet on the present occasion, he thought all he had got was the lair reward of bis own acuteness and perseverence. A Deaoiiful Extract* We clip the following beautiful and truth ful extract from an exchange the name of which has escaped our memory. Let it bo considered well. The past is secure. It is unalterable. The seal nf eternity is upon it. The wisdom which it lias displayed oannot bo obscured ; neither can they be debased by human folly or hnrnan infirmity. The future is that which may well awaken the most earnest solici tude, both for the virtue nnd permanence of nut Republic. The fate of other Republics, their rise, their progress, their decline and iheir fall, are written but 100 legibly on the pages of history, if indeed they weie not continually hefora us in the startling frag ments of their ruins. They have perished, and perished by their own hands. Prosperity ener vated them, corruption debasod them, and a venal populace consummated their destruc tion. They have sometimes been cheated out of their liberties by servile demagogues; sometimes betrayed into a surrender ot them hy false patriots. They have disregarded the warning voice of their best statesmen; and hive persecuted and driven from nfficc their best friends. They have reverenced power more in its high abuses and summary movements, than in its calm arid constitutional energy.— ' They have surrendered to faction what be- I longed to Ihe country. Patronage and part),' the triumph of a leader, and the discontents of aday, have outweighed all solid princi ples and institutions of government. Such are the melancholy les-ons of the past history of the Republics, down to our own. Let the history ol the Grecian and Italian States warn us of danger. Let the American youth never forget that they pos sess a noble inheritance, bought by the toils and sufferings, and blood of iheir ancestors ;l and capable, if wisely improved and faith fully guarded, of transmitting to their latest posterity ail the substantial blessings of life, Ihe peaceful enjoyment of liberty, properly, religion, and independence. The structure has been erected bv architects of consum mate skill and fidelity; its arrangements are lull of wisdom and order; its foundations sol id, and its defences are impregnable from without. It has been reared for immortality, it the work ol man may justly aspire to such a title. It may, nevertheless, perih man hour by the folly, or corruption, or negli gence of its only keepers, Ihe People. He publios are created by the virtue, public spir it, and intelligence of the citizens. They fall, when the wist are banished ft om the public coun cils, because they dare to be honest, and the prof ligate are rewarded because they fatter the peo ple in order to betray then. THE JtAMHFdI. LOVER. " Faint heart never won fair lady " Now there was never anything truer than that same adage," said Aunt Abbie, looking up from her hook. I have just been thinking whether Ch'tlgg would ever muster courage enough to pro pose, and so 1 came to give utterance to my impatience. He had cleared bis throat, 1 a< positive, at least twenty times, prepar atory to breathing Ihe trembling avowal, while I sal demuringly blushing and expectant; but the words never came off, —real intelligence and unparalleled timidity—l exclaimed aloud— "Faint heart never won fair lady." Hence auntie's re joiner— "There was never anything truer than that, Grace; French or English, German or Italian. Tis a truthful saying, as my own experience will show." "Oh, tell me all about it," sai'l I, "do tell me all about it, and be the nicest leve of an auntie." Aunt Abbie closed her book, fixed herself comfortably in ihe arm chair, and commenced as follows: " Now, Grace, your L'r.cle Ralph was my particular favorite, even when I was a little live year old girl, rejoicing in pantalettes and pinafores. I can remember he used to lead me and carry my dinner basket, till we came in sight of the school houao; then ha would give me back my basket, and run with all possible speed into school, much to my as tonishment. As I grew older, 1 knew it wus to hide the mortifying fact oi coming with the girls. When I reached the age of fifteen, (Ralph was nineteen,) 1 was packed off to hoarding school, about the same time he commenced his college course. Our vaca caiions occurring at different periods, we did not meet iu three tears. Aleigtneen, Icatne home, the least bit in the world tinged with romance, a trifle coquettish, with u goodly quantity ol vanity, created by receiving sun dry hints from my mirror and several gentle men that 1 was very pretty. People called me 'stuck up' at first, which shocked me so much, that I dropped all my fine lady airs, ran about the village, chatted with all the old ladies, until the whole village wondered how tney ever came tu ihink me proud.— About this time Ralph came home, and es tablished himself as a law practitioner. Ha had grown exceedingly haniUoma, while his timidity had kept pace with his improved looks—it seemed really morbid. People'alked enthusiastically of his maiden plea—and all agreed in pronouncing biui a very clever young man, who was ultimately to nuke a figure in the world. But could you have seen him iu the presence of ladies—at first I piti ed his embarrassment; but it finally excited a feeling nearly allied to conterup t. He came to our house frequently ; brother Harry and he were boon companions. From many cir cumstances I felt nearly satisfied that Ralph cared lor me, and I hardly knew whether the consciousness of it yielded me more pleasure or pain. There was a nervousness iu his manner when we chanced to he left alone together, that seemed so ludicrous, and com municated a sort of a vkward feeling to me, that I avoided him as much as possible. 1 ■lid not quite understand my own heart end 1 did not seek to analyze the sentiments there in. j "One evening in September, wo had taken chairs out into the front yard. Father was reading the la'at market prices; mother was knitting, while Ralph and Harry were plan ning a hunting excursion. 1 sauntered down : lo the gale, leaned over it, and tried to think. My destiny must be decided that night That day 1 received n letter from Jas. Buns, a rising physician in a neighboring town, | written iu just the straightforward, honest, earnest manner that 1 admired, and which ! characterized the man. But could I return | the earnest love which was breathed in ev . ery line? Ralph's imago protruded itself in 1 reply lo my query. Then I wondered wheth ' er Ralph evor loved me, and if he did, would he ever dare to tell ine so ? While thus oc cupied, 1 hea'd him coming down the lane. He stood by my side, and spoke something ol the beauty of the evening. I replied at random, not comprehending what he said. He smiled a little, and observed thai pleasant thoughts must occupy tne. "Yes," said I, abstractedly, for I was real ly thinking aloud. "I must answer Dr. Burls' letter tu-night, and am looking the mailer over." "Dr. Burts' letter!" he reiterated, turning quite around as he spoke. "He asked you to marry him?" 1 bowed assent. "But you will not, Abbie," said he io a low, tremulous voice. 1 was getting completely exasperated with such a dog-in-tlie-manger fellow. I looked at hitn and indignantly exclaimed— " Why not, pray? What difference can it make lo you ?" "Oh," said he,' I had—l don't know real- Iv, —I—l1—I never heard anything of it before. 'Twas new—l don't know quite what 1 was thinking about. Good night." 1 married Dr. Burt. Hu was a kind, indul gent husband, and the two short years of my wedded life were spent quietly and content edly by me ; and mine was a real sorrow when I stood in my widow's weeds by his grave, and saw hitn buried out of my sight. "One evening, a little more than a year af ter his death, I had been to pay a parting visit to his resting plaoa, for I was to start the next morning to my olden borne ones again. I was returning slowly from the solemn, quiet old churchyard, when I heard ■ quick tread behind ma. I quickened my own pace, but was arrested by an eager, lam iliar voice Close beside roe. "Abbie ! Abbie! listen a moment—l must speak to you. I want to tell you how much I love you. I cannot tell you exactly when it began, 1 think when I was quite a boy.— Do you care anything for me, Abbie!" "1 looked up into his face. 'Twas Ralph's countenance, but no awkward flush marred its fine intellectual beauty, but lore beamed from his dark eye, as he leaned earnestly forward lo hear my answer. I placed my hand,ii) his —— JIM at this part of the narrative, I was star- a noise near the door, having a close resemblance to a suppressed laugh. We both turned in the direction of the sound. There stood Uncle Ralph, \t ith the merriest twinkle in his gray eyes. "Now Grace," said he, "you may write it off, and send it to the newspapers." "And so 1 will," said I; "but I can't be lieve you was evar a bashful man. GRACE GARLAND. Spain as she wns and as she Is. Nations, like individuals, are liable to ex traordinary changes in their power and fortune. This is clearly palpable to all who glance back tit the ancient nations, lo Rome and Greece iu their days of glory; and who then turn to their present comparitively power less condition und ruin, But the history of Spain affords atintlier striking instance of the decline of nations. Macaulay, in one ot his admirable essays, forcibly remarks, that whoever wishes to be well acquainted with the morbid anatomy of Governments, who ever wishes lo know how great States may be made feeble and wretched, should study the history of Spain. He says the empire of Philip the Second was undoubtedly one of the most powerful and splendid that ever existed in the wotld. In Europe lie ruled Spain, Portugal, the Netherlands on both sides of the Rhine, Franche Comte, Kousil lion, the Milanese, and the two Sicilies. Tuscany, Parma, and the other small Stales of Italy, ware as completely dependent on him as the Nizam and the Rajah of Berar now ate on the East India Company. In Aisa, the King of Spain was master of the Philipines, and of all thoso rich settlements which the Portuguese had made on the coasts ol Malabar and Commands!, in Ihe Penin sula of Malacca, and in the Spice Islands of the Eastern Archipelago. In America, his dominions extended mi each eido of the equator into the temperate zone. There is lesson lo believe that his annual revenue amounted, in the season of his greatest pow er, to four million sterling; a sum eight times as large as that which England yielded to Elizabeth. He had a standing army of fifty thousand excellent troops, at a time when England bad not a single battalion in con stant pay. His ordinary naval forces con sisted of a hundred and forty galleys. He held, what no other prince in modern times has held, the dominion both of the land and ol the sea. During the greater part of his I reign he was supreme on both elements.— His soldiers marched up to the capital of France; ins ships menaced the shores of Eng land. At the same time, Spain had what Napoleon desired in vain—ships, colonies, and commerce. She long monopolized the trade of America and of the Indian Ocean. All the Gold of Ihe West, and all the spices ol tho East, were received and distributed by her. ' But how art thou fallen from Heuven, O! Lucifer, sou of the morning. How art thou cut down to the ground, that didst weaken the nr.tions. j If we overleap a hundred years, and look ut Spain towards the close of the seventeenth century, what a change do we find! The contrast is as great as that which the Rome of Gallienus and Honorius presents to the Rome of Marius and Ctusar. At tha present day, the condition of Spain is indeed deplorable. The discovery of tho New World is now deprived of all its mighty possessions oil this glorious continent, while even the parent nation is, in a great measure, an instrument in the hands of other Enropeun powers. Torn anil agitated by do mestic convulsions, she has just passed through several fierce and bloody civil wars, and the lust advices indicate that she is on the eve of another change. And what is the secret ot this deterioration? Macaulay says that all tha causes nf the decay of Spain re solve themselves into one cause—bad gov ernment. What a lesson to nations I " A FEW DAYS."—This seems lo be ail the rage at present. The Louisville Times thus takes it off, which suits this secliou ex ceedingly well: " You present a man a small account, he will pay you in a few days: preity girls ex peel to marry in a few days ; the nigger boys whistle a few days; brass hands blow out iu a lew days; high fellows sing a few days; and we expect to givo our readers some in teresting local news in a few days.,' And we are hoping that a great many of our subscribers will send the amount of their dues in a few days. In fact we know they will, for some of them have been promising to " do that little thing" every few days, for a year or two. We expect then, to be "in funds" in a few days. A YOUNG LADY, who had weathered many summera at the seaside, was accused ol dye ing ber bair, which ia of a raven black. She declared in tba moat indignant manner, tbat there wee not the slightest troth in the accu sation—mora than this, she generously offer ed to let any one examine her bair, to eeo bow faleo it was! [Two Dollars per ABBBB. NUMBER 43. ntSSIA ANO TURKEY. In reading a recent essay of an eminent French writer of our day on Siberia, (Trillan dier, we oould not fail to be struck with hie absolute conviction, expressed in September last, that all the heroic sacrifices and efforts of Grent Britain and France do but serve to retard a little the inevitable conquest of Con stantinople by Russia. We translate tb pas sage as follows: " I have spoken of the danger of the flOTre. ! It is difficult, in fact, if we attempt to prediet the final lesult of the groat crisis which bold* the world in suspense—it is difficult, I say, to resist the conviction that fftßsia will one day be the mistress of ConstantinopMßlt is not, it seems to me, to be wanting ism to attempt to see the reality wilhout al lusion. I believe that we shall accomplish gteat things in the East. 1 believe that we : are pursuing a policy truly national—a policy ' at once chivalric and considerate, (cktvaler | esque et reflectrie.) I believe that we are de fending the right liberty—Western civllize : tion—and that we are heroically sacrificing | the elite of our army for a cause by which in \ dulent Get many will profit more than we. I believe, then, that we are doing our duty, ! ami that we are faithful to our mission as | soldiers of God, as Shnkspeare calls us. But, j in lime, when we shall have destroyed Se vastopol—when we shall have finished the 1 annihilation of the Russian fleet in the Black j Sea —when we shall have become mastera 1 of the Crimea, and the invasion 0? the Turk ' ish F.rnpire by the soldiere of the Czar shall i be retarded one hundred years—in aoentury ' and a half, the same question wilt always re- I appear. Russia is persevering; the West is 1 the plaything ( jonet ) of a perpetual mobility. | What security is possible when it is necessa -1 ry to watch without ceasing ? Can we be ' assured that this indispensaLle vigilance will I ttevnr be lound at fault 1 Will not a minis ! leriai crisis in London or a revolution in Par is suffice for the realization of the projects of I'eter the Great, of Catharine 11., andofNich | olai 'f Russia will not again commit tbe fault { of sending to Constantinople a pompous and : insolent embassy; a coup de mam will put an end to the whole question. The subtle and indsfnligable diplomacy ot the Czars, the ambition of a new people animated by an ar dent faith, impatient to perform its role upon the scene of the world, the divisions, the in stability, the materialism of our old societies —all will concur ono day lo this denouement, which seems inevitable." Cy Stop that boy I A cigar in bis mouth, a swagger in his walk, impudence in his face, a care-for-nothingness in his manner Judging from his demeanor, be is older than his father, wiser than bis teacher, more hon ored than the Mayor of the town, higher than the President. Stop him ! he is going 100 fast. He don't soe himself as others see him. He don't kr.ow his speed. Slop him eie to bacco shatters his nerve, ere pride ruin bis character, ere the loafer master the man, ere good ambition and manly strength give way to low pursuits and brutish aims. Stop all such boys! They are legion : the sbame of their families, the disgrace ol their town, the sad and solemn reproaches of them selves. ty A gentleman riding down a steep hill, and tearing ffie foot of it was unsound, call ed out lo a clown who was ditching, and asked him if it was hard at the bottom. "Ay," an -1 swered the countryman, "it is hard enough at the boilom, I warrant you.' But in half a dozen steps the horse sunk up 10 the saddle girths, which made the gentleman whip, "pur and swear. "Why, thou rascal'."said he, "didst thou not tell mo it was bard a< tbe bottom 1" "Ay," replied the fellow, "but you are not half way to the bottom yet." ry The Albany Argus tells a story of a < man buying oats, a few days since, who gave j <t fifty dollar bill in mistake for a five. On j discovering the blunder, and hastening to i have it rectified, he found tho recipient of it | deliberately rubbing out the cypher ou the | bill, in order to make his cash account square i with his funds. An exchange of a "five" for a "fifty" saved (he latter from further de facement, and fully satisfied both parties. A PLAIN-SPOKEN WITNESS.—" Facts are stubborn things," said a lawyer to a female witness under examination. The lady re plied : " Ye s, sir-ee; and so are women, and if you get anyihing'out of me, just let me know it." "You'll be commitied for con tempt." „ Very well, I'll suffer justly, for I feel the utmost contempt for every lawyer present." ty " I LOVE YOU, Ruth. You have sure ly been able to discern it. My love is ar dent aud sincere—oh, say that you'll return it I" " Return it, Paul f No, no, not I. I've striven hard to gain it; and now I,ve gob it, by your leave, I'd rather far retain it." Old Worthy says lie likes to see young la dies walking the streets on Sunday in tbeir silks with holes in their socks, as it proves they are more attentive lo things above than 1 below. tW If you desire to obtsin tho good will of tbe cook, depart from tbe alriot principles of the truth, and tell ber that her btead it the beet you have ever eaten. XW A mosquito's bladder was recently dissected ont weal, and was found to contain the aonleof twenty-five misere k and the for tunes of ten printers.
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers