" ' 1 . 1 .1. IIUHLLUiJI'"" 1 1 The whole art of Government consists in the art of being honest. Jefferson. VOL STROUDSBUR6, MONROE COUNTY, PA., THURSDAY, SEPTEMBER 10, 1840. N,o. '13, TERMS Two dollars per annum In advance Two dollars ,A n nv...rtir. half vo.it I r and if not. nan! before the end 01 and the e vejr.Two dollars nnd a half. Those who receive then papers " carrier or static drivers employed lf ihc proprie No pa,ers discontinued until al! arrearage arc paid, except at the option of the Editors. . , ,, lD.Uirertis8 ncnts not exceeding one square sixteen anes; will oe inserted three weeks for one dollar: txventy-nye cents, for every subsequent insertion: larger ones in proport.on. A libenl discount will be innde to yearly advertisers ICJM.I1 letters addressed to the Editor must be post paid. ,T1!S pfZITfiWO. Having a genora! assortment of large, cloRant, plain and orna-j mental Tvpe, we are prcpnred to execute every .1 description of f.n?s. elirf.iil:irs. ESiII E3nriS. i OICS. , Blank Receipts, j JUSTICES. LEGAL AND OTHER BLMKS, PAMPHLETS, &c Printed wiUineatnessanddcspatch.onreasonao.ctcim, AT THE OFFICE OF THE ' ... . . THE ISSUE IN OCTOBER NEXT James 31. Power AND THE Whg Tariff of '42. Win. S. Foster AND THE British Tariff of 46. People of Pennsylvania, here is ihe issue fsiilv Mated. The eleciion of JAS. M. POW-' ... , , ,, r7. ..., 1 Ell. win bo regarded all over ihe Union as cv- o 1 llrnre not to be misunderstood, thai rhiNiS SYLYANIA is not to b PROSTRATED IN J TH E DUST, or her honest voters CHEATED tlU MUi'JDU wnn mpunuy---wwe ,-ery vote polled for WM. B.FOSTER will be deemed an xpresion in favor of Free Trade and ihe BRITISH TARIFF of 1846, Annie Lyle. BY TLOREKCE GRAY. Little Annie Lyle was ibe angel of our vil lage. Her pretty flaxen ringlets had a world of poetry in them ; and her mild blue eye looked as if it had'beeu intended only for heaven, and not for a world like ibis. I wish you could ! hare heard her laugh It was not like running water, like bird's carol, nor like the sigh of a zephyr ; but it w as a something made up of the ' muMc and silver and melody of all combined, She was like a sensitive plant in modesty, was j our dear Utile Annie: and when you would i heard nothing of the absent boy. lnk too earnestly in her eyes, ihe long lashes' Poor Annie I Many will not believe what I drooped over them, as if the angels who kept ! am going to tell them, and will laugh al a child watch there shaded them mercifully with their 'of ten being in love; but if pining for the ab wirigs. , sent and thinking of him daily from ten to six- The verv boys at school loved Annie. It is trtte there was one now and then who did a 1 ,-piieful thing towards her, but thev paid for their iiKooienceif Edmund Dale heard of it. 1 U was Annie' self-elected defender, her coun-, Hor in all her difficulties, and her constant j companion. Why. they were like two lover!l And I do not see why children may not love j like grown-up folks. Certainly, Annie blushed J visions of future happiness had him for a part if teased about Edmund, as much as you would,' of the picture. Poor Annie, I have said, was fair reader, if teased about some one else; and still a girl an innocent, trustful girl though as for Edmund, he was positively unhappy if a J fast learning the destiny of womanhood, and day's indisposition kept Annie from school. j growing old prematurely. They were once overheard demurely arranging Mauy a wan ine now bean tQ bo ,raced Qn iheir future plans, for they had fixed it even ! Annie's' face ; and ihe dimples that once sport ihcn that they were to be married when they! .j around her inomh ljke suriPiline aroimd rp. grew up. Edmund had reelected a spot on his j neJ assumed a had) sober expressjon as if a father's faim where their house was to be, but sorrowful ailgc la( como up from her sou and he could no'l determine where to place the barn ; fixed himself there, lo tell the world what she Never mind, dear,'aid Annie, coaxingly, you was l00 Jjroud l0 reveali ,hal her bearl wa, know ir we get a home, the barn isn't so much j breaking. People at last found it out. They raalter ; began to suspect lhat the widow Lyle's pover- Annie grew up very beautiful. I can com-1 ly was greaIer lhan it seemed) .hough the chil pare her at fifteen to nothing hui a viole), hack- j dren ajwaya ooked ,idy and not even they evcr neyed as the Mmilimde is. She was so grace- j complained. So a kind neighbor undertook to ful and light in her motions, that tho?e who aw . find oul lhe trulh Tfae youngcsl chi!d wa3 se her tripping over the green, thought involunta- j dtlced ir)IO lhc house at dinner time, when his Tlltrnt n ou'-illrliu vt.IMIitiif,fr... fl. I inj viasn.iiw" s'ho hciu. ii: wuai a happy voice was her., as hhe carolled ?ome old fashioned air or aang in the village choir. "But Annie did not always remain light hearted- She was still a giil in years at in manners when her father died. Mr. Lj'Ih had never been thought a rich man, but viy body was surprised to hear thai hl eu'ate proved msol- vent. A email debt here and a Uge one ihere j .oon ate up the farrn. and the w idow Lyle found herself with three children and no roof to cover them. But uhe was proud., and so was Annie, who, from being the oldeut child, poor thing ! was the confident of her mother's troubles ; so the debts w.ere all rigidly paid, the furniture, though prized or many asancia'iuns, was sold, and the bereaved family removed to a humble cottage, with but one htory, and only two rboiC6 at that, on the edge of ihe village. Bot there was a sweei-brier over the door, and on one tide it M'ae half covered wvh ivy. So ai first J ji Was thought a verv nleaiant olace. c - r J dt not know how it is with others, but I could never blame the widow Lyle and Annie for being proud and refusing to accept aid from Mrangers. They were grateful for work, but they would not take a cent without earning it; j and those earnings were slight enough. The j w''dow Lyle Had always been of delicate health, and the cares of her HOW lot soon proved 100 m l fi, . v . i i 1 i i i much for her. Yet she worked and worked, night after night, she and Annie plying their needle by candle-light, often far toward morn- 'o '"H exhausted nature gave way and she was laid on a bed of sickness The winter was just opening when this took j place, the second winter after her widowhood; anJ 1e syiI)p.llhjes of ,he , wh;ch a, fifSl , , - , r i i r - beat so warmly in her favor, had found time to com. ioi mat any oouy loved her or little An- nie !fs ; out then folks did not think of them : so often, and did not any longer go out of their way to assiM Mrs. Lyle's family. Thus Annie found herself alone, with a long winter beforo , anfj neccS!li,y of providing frorn day l0 day .... J ' , ,or all their wants. She struggled on for a b t t it t wnue ami men ner heart came nigh breaking, for she found that her utmost exertions failed m supply them with fuel and bread. jju, where was Edmund Dnl nil .hi. iim ho who should have saved her from suffering? Times had changed since he used to wander wiih her through the button-wood grove, their light laughter making the stage traveller turn back with a ' God bless 'them!' Edmund's fa ther, too, had died, and died before Mr. Lyle ; and Edmund had been taken away by his guar dian, an uncle in the city. He had cried all the afternoon before he had departed, and An- n'0 had cried too, though her little lover had wiped the tears from her eyes with her apron, and strove to soothe her. At first they heard rom h'm occasionally, for he wrote long letters, I . ... . - 'n his boyish style, to Annie; but these gradu- ally became scarce, and for years Annie had teen constitutes love and it is more like true love than many a thing that goes by lhat name 1 -then Annie was in love with the'bold, frank, rosv-checkrd boy who used to fioht her battles and bring her the first apples and strawberries of the season. Now, when reduced infortune, and often at the very door of want, Annie would sigh and dream of Edmund Dale; and all her wistful eves as he looked on the wholesome food, and his eager appetite as he partook of il, revealed the eccrot. Poor little dear," said the kind-hearted neighbor, " it would have made you cry to see bow famished he was. But what can we do for Annie ? There she aits, night after night, straining out her eyes sewing, too independent to ak aid, or I fear accept H, though her heart ana health both break." Jurt at this time the village school mistress got married, and eome kind-hearted neighbor proposed lhat Annie Lyle should take her place. Everybody wondered Out no one had thought of the plan before. Annie was very young, it was true, but then all loved her; and so it was soon Fet'led that she should have a trial, at least. Ii was ii new world to Annie, and she trem bled as she entered the cheerless school-room ; ibut hor mother was sick at home, and ibis was the ot.ly resource left from siarvation, or what was worse, beggary. She could do all the work of the family after school hours, and might snatch a moment or two at night for sewing; so she nerved her little heart to meet the contempt uous looks of ihe bigger boys, and the sullen behavior of the younger pupils. Dear Annie, had she known all she had to undertake, she would never have undertaken school teaching. Annie was too young for her vocation. She meant well, and won many to love herj but there were a few unruly spirits not to be coaxed by sweet smiles or gentleness, whose rebellious habits weie sufficient to destroy all discipline. The elders soon found it would not do, and poor Annie herself feared it. Jaded and fretful with the troubles of her school, she returned home at night to wet her pillow with tears. At lengih the disaffection broke out into open rebellion ; and Annie, for once, tried lo enforce obedience. The result was that the school broke up in dis order, the bigger boys hooting at their " baby mistress," a9 they called her, and proclaiming a holiday in derision from her very seat. Poor Annie went home sobbing, for her heart was breaking. All her little dreams of comfort were dissipated by this rude terminaiion of her authority, and she saw it would be useless to persist longer in her present vocation. She had calculated the salary to a penny, and arranged how it was all to be spent; it would just suffice, with a little more she expected to make by her needle, to carry them through the winter. But now this bright vision was dissipated. She was in debt, too; for, relying on the salary, she had ventured to purchase one or two little comforts for her mother; and debt was new to Annie, and in her simple heart, allied with visions of a jail. As she turned to go homeward, one or two of the younger children little girls of six or seven clung to her gown, and crying as hard as herself, yet strove to comfort her. So she struggled to compose herself, wiped her I.: 1 .U Kt.l .1 ,i i i .i C3 WHSU ,,,c UCrt,3 U,1U uauo l"e"' god b'e- As she went up the road, she had to pass the farm-house where her father once lived. The memory of the happy days spent there rose up and choked her; but she resoluiely went on, keeping down her tears by a strong effort. When she reached the main sireet of the vil- ,3Se- she lurned as,de- ll wa3 ,he hrst l,me she had CVer done RO-bl il eemed lo her as if ever.vbo(1y llnew her disgraceful failure, and "hal a hundred e'es were on her Poor Annie! her mother's cottage was before her, yet she dared not enter it. Should she go home and tell how there was now no refuge for them but the poor-house? She knew it would kill her mother, and she had not the heart to do so. Mrs. Lyle had said all along that Annie, she knew would succeed as school-mistress: and even been more fertile than her daughter in picturing visions of returning prosperity. Pier litile brother and sister, too, they must of ten again be sent supperless to bed. Well might Annie shrink from entering that cottage! She lurned aside, sal down on a fallen tree, and began to weep pileously. I am sure you would have cried yourself, if you had heard her heartbreaking sobs. It was a bright, beautiful day in February one of those mild, soft days when summer seems to have come back into the lap of winter but Annie saw not, heard not, the beautiful things around her, and kept on crying as if eve ry sob would tear her young heart to pieces. She did not even know it was the old button wood grove to which she had unconsciously come. Sho did not see a young man who ar rived in the stage, and immediately went down the village street till he reached her mother's ; she did not see him enter, and rc-appcar again after an interval, taking the way that led to the school-house : she did not see him meet some of the little scholars who had tried to comfort her, but who, with (heir tears now dried, were having a merry blide; she did not see him stop and speak to them, then look all round, and then retrace his stops to the village hastily, p;nd yet with a sad countenance. No, poor &nnie, as she sat there crying bitterfy, sav none of this. She only saw the approaching beggary of her family: bo with her foCa buried in her hands, and the tears trickling between ihe fin gers, bhc rocked her body to and fro. " Oh ! I wish I wo's dead," she said, "Eve rybody will despise, yt, and moiher.it will kill her oh ! 1 wish I was dead." An early bird rejoicing in the glad weather, hopped down at her feet, and looking up as if in sympathy, piped his little song; but Annie heard him not -she was thinking, by some strange whim, how even Edmund had deserted her, and her tears and sobs came faster. Oh! I've not a friend in the world," she said '"I'm all alone" Nay ! not all alone, Annie," said a voice at her side, which, though a strange one, seem ed yet not wholly strange. "For I have noi forgot my little wife, if she has not forgot me!" Annie started to her feet, and her sobs ceased. She even uttered a faint scream; for there stood Edmund Dale, come back to claim her as his bride. His arm was already around her waist, and his bold and handsome face, still the same, ihouoh older and more manly than when she last saw ii, was looking kindly at her! Poor Annie ! she had long warned some otic to tell her griefs to: so she gave a long look into that face, and sprang sobbing into his arms. There was a wedding, you may be sure, a' our village that spring. Some might have tho'i Annie too young to get married, bui it is Mrange how soon she learned dignity from the manli ness of her lover ; and before the Juno roses began to blow, you would scarcely have known her, so rapid was the change from the child to the woman. Yet Annie was still the same sweet, graceful creature as before, only she had more self-reliance, and more quiet composure. Besides, Edmund would not listen to the mar riage being delayed. He had come back rich, for he had inherited all the wealth of his guar dian, who had lately died; so he had parchased the big house at the head of the village, where old Doct. Newbury had lived the most aristo cratic house it was tot)', within twenty miles and how could he get along in it now without a housekeeper 1 Mrs. Lyle, moreover, would never get belter till she had a more healthy apartment, and the children, it was a shame they should have no place to play in when there was such a fine lawn with noble old ce dars at Newbury Hall ! So Edmund's argu ments carried the day, and a merry time we I had, I warrant you, when little Annie Lyle went home to ihe old house as mistress, riding in her carriage, with a servant in white favors to open the gaies. Bogs iu the Battles. Very many of the officers attached to the ar my of occupation, own remarkably fine dogs, principally of the pointer and setter specios. After the battle of the 8th began and the firing became very intense, two dogs remakrable for their intelligence, appeared to listen to the con fusion for a while with great astonishment, and then evidently holding a consultation, they star ted off with great speed for Point Isabel, being the first arrivals at that place from the battle field. There was a brave dog, however, to re deem the character of the specios. He posted himself iu front of one of the batteries and watching with the iutensest gravity, the ap pearance of the discharged ball, would start af ter it at full speed, expressing great surprise thai il was out of his sight so suddenly. Ho would then Wheel round, and watch the ap pearance of another ball and then again com mence the chase. He thus employed himself through the action, and escaped unharmed. Right of Way." Mr. Siddlesmith, you tink we get de rail-road, eh ?" " Oh yes, I think so." " When yor link we gel him pretty soori!" " Yes in four or five years." " Four or five years? Why I read iv. (o pa pers we get him "right of way." The house fiies iu New OrJ'oaris are all dy ing off the Delta thinks with yellow Jever. This is worse, than lhe story the Roosters tell about ibe catfish in the Maumee river shaking to dath with iho aaut. Another Fish story. A party recently fishing in the Tallapoosa, observed an enormous catfish break water near them, and float exhausted. He was easily secured, and as he was evident ly gorged with something which seemed still alive, he was opened and a full grown possum, still alive and grinning, taken from him. Circulation of the Blood. In describing the circulation of the hlnotl, it is cusiomary to begin at the heart. The henn contains four cavities ; two ventricles and iu auricles ; that is, the right and left iciiutclfs,, and the right and left auricle ; civuius which fill and empty al erery pulsalion of ihe organ.. The motion of the heart is that of expulsion and contraction ; a motion noi unlike 'bat nf a bellows. By expanding, the cavniesarf drawn full of blood, and by contracting, is thrown ou-; thus, by receiving the blood from ihe larg, anil pas.ing it into the arteries a constant circula tion is kept up, from ihe heart, through the ar teries, to all parts of the body, and back to iho heart through the veins from all parts of ihe body. ' The system of blood vessels, known by th name of arteries, through which the blood pas.i jes iu ila course from lhe heart, to every part of the body, commences at ihe heart in 'he form : of a large vessel, called the aora, of about ono ! half inch diameter in the adult man. From h ' i point it passes upward and downward, giving off" largo branche to ev ry portion of the tmu Ult, lungs, leg., arms, head, &e. Fiorn ihu ; second arierte, thousands of others branch otf. ! spreading and branching off in every direction, j increasing in number and diminishing in sizi, ' until every minute panicle of flesh and boim, how ever small, in very abundantly stipphnl ! with arteries smaller than a human hair. So. 1 very extensive is this s-ysiem of vessels, tb.it ; not even a pin or needle can enter any part of t the flesh without wounding some one or uior ' of them, giving origin to the escape of blood. 1 and so small as not to be seen by the eye vit.h ' out the aid of glasses. These extremely vua!l arteries finally terminate by emerging into vein?. I In this way all the arteries terminate, and all the vein commence. Tho veins, commencing at the termination of the arteries, return to the heart, by following ! the course of the arteries back, so that a dc ! scription of the veins in general term, amounts, ! with a few exceptions, to an inverted descrip ! lion of the arteries. In the distribution of (he ; veins there is generally much le regularity in i the corresponding arrangement of the arteries. Having thus arrived at the right auricles of ! the heart, the blood has traversed its great cir ! cuit; From the right auricle, the blood pase I into the right ventricle, from which it is thrown j with some force, through ail pans of the lungs i traverses the great pulmonary arteries which, like ihe other arteries of the body, increase in j number and diminish iu size until they emerge i into veins. The pulmonary veios originaiing from the terminations of the mitiMie exiremities I of the pulmonary arteries, converge by dimin ' ishing in number and increasing in size, until ' ihey form one large vein entodng the left atin ! cle of the heart. By these, veins, the blood is returned to the heart, entering the left auricle, from which it passes directly into tho left ven tricle, the cavity from which it started. The weight of blood m ordinary adult man, is about 24 pounds, measuring nearly 3 gallons. The color of the b'lood is created by oxidation of a minute quao.ti.ty of iron, which is carried into the blood Vnh the nutritive principle. The blood is icj all albumen, but it is albumen mixed with, or dissolved in, water, and con taining besides, the elements of respiration. Tho proportion of water to othor parts is about as eighty to twenty; that is, SO per cent, water and 20 per cent, of album, respiratory element. Casket. moral Wastes. A colporieur of the American Tract Society, who visited the Western Districts of Pennsyl vania, describes places where tho Sabbath i unknown, except as a day devoted to hunting, and fishing, and "buckweat ihrahing;" fm.ilie that have never heard a berniou in their live ; houses in which not a single book of any kind 19 to be found; shingle-cutters and hunters, liv ing n ,na woods, or lining the water course at intervals, where the gospel never come, and no book is ever brought or read. " Can you give me two halves for a dollar V inquired a loafer of a retail storekeepRr.- Yes," said the man, placing two halves on the counter. 1 ' "To-morrow I will hand you ibe ''dollar," said iheloafer, pocketing the rnoucy. '4
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