in,:t..aruntinopri, ~t.i.irri,l2'..,i,
BY WM, BREWSTER.
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masters to keep us posted up in relation to this
matter.
*dui Vottro.
NOW-A-DAYS.
Alftd hhoyr everything Vas ehanged
Since I was sweet sixteen,
When all the girls wore homespun frocks,
And aprons nice and clean ;
'hen bonnets made of braided straw,
That tied beneath the chin,
The shawl lay neatly on the neck,
And fastened with a pin.
I recolleSt the time when I
Bode father's horse to mill,
Across the meadows, rock and field,
And up and down the hill
And when our folks Were out at work,
(As sure us I'm a sinner,)
1 jumped upon a horse bare bark,
And carried them their dinner.
Dear me! young ladies, now-a:days,
Would almost faint away
To think of riding all alone
In wagon, chaise or sleigh;
.And as fur giving "pa" his 'multi,
Or helping " ma" to bake,
Oh, saints! %would " spoil her lilly hands,"
Though sometimes they make " cake I"
:When winter came, the maiden's heart
Began to beat and flutter;
...Each Beau would take kis sweetheart out
Sleighing iu a cutter ;
'Or if tl storm woo bleak nod cold,
The girls and bean together,
'Would meet and have most glorious fun,
And never mind the weather.
Mut now, indeed, it grieves me much,
The circumstance to mention,
liowever kind the young man's heart,
And honest his intention,
Mc never asks the girls to ride
But such II war is waged!
.And if ha sees her once a week,
Why, surely, "they're engaged I"
gbliotiount
By J. A. Bali,
ESSAY,
Read by A. W. Dram; Eq., Wore the lion.
fingdon County 21 , achers' Institute,
December 22, 1861.:
Subject—Law OF Success.
Every thing has its iaw of being. In
all the material world certain and never
changing law controls material existence.
Whether it be in the grosser matter of in
animate creation or in the active and sym
metrical beauty of man, who has beets
inaile only it little lower than the angels.
Whether its the monstrous and frightful
" I SEE NO STAR ABOVE THE HORIZON, PROMISING LIGHT TO GUIDE US, BUT THE INTELLIGENT, PATRIOTIC, UNITED WHIG PARTY OP THE UNITED STATES."-[ WEBSTER.
creatures of irrational life, or in the ethe
real emanations of deity, which sparkle in
the light of rational truth and love.—
Every where there is a law which speaks
into being, and impels on •in progress to
perfection.
Law, says the great commentator is n
rule of action. I purpose no treatise upon
law in the narrow and sharp sense of the
word—a dry abstract and obstruse science
only interesting to the plodding student,—
the matured barrister and judge, and the
anxious appellant to its forum for justice ;
and it may bo interesting to the Quirks,
Gammons and Snaps, who seek to draw
into the entangling meshes of their (not
the laws) net, some unsuspecting fly of a
client, whose first step is one of danger,
which makes its last one of death, more
certain. Yet, I doubt not a thought or
word will not be thrown away, though I
make law my subject for to-night. -
If Law be a rule of action, then actions
are but the workings of certain rules. This
is a self evident proposition, that hardly
needs illustration. A stone cast into the
air must come down—a stone coming
down must haw, been cast up. In truth
it is but another way to declare that effects
are but the result of causes. It may be
laid down as an axiom that fixed and unal
terable law has produced all results.
$1 25
1 50
2 50
4 01)
Let me direct the teacher and the
taught to this truth, and inquire, if instuc-
Lion may not be gathered, for us all.
There is a law of intellectual life, that
"as iron sharpeneth iron so man sharpen.
eth the countenance of his friend." In
obedience to that law of the allwise Law
Giver, are we here assembled in this insti
tute to sharpen our wits, and enlarge
our wisdom by the genial reflection from
the presence of our fellows. ‘1 hat are
the impressive teachings of that law and
what great lesson of light and life should
we all learn from its proverbial worth.
Each of you in your hours of toil, when
exhausted patience and wearisome and
plodding zeal, have wasted strength and
energy; when dull stupidity or restless
ness, and active mischief, oppress man
and mind, and excite temper, by their and
your fruitless efforts at progress, should
remember this law, or you may leave sear
red into the mind so dull, so stupid, sn
restless, so thoughtless, or even mischie
vous, some error in thought or action
which it may be the rough friction of
the world will deepen, and which nothing
but divine truth can wear away.
The true purpose of mind will leave its
image daguerreotyped upon the prepared
and susceptible minds of its associates.—
This is strangely true, when the matured
and fully developed intellect finds compan
ionship with its equals. [Tow ?flitch more
marked is its truth where the might uf supo
riot mind and will asserts its power over the
confiding and admiring spirit of the trust.
ing and hoping child. flow carefully
should we weigh every word and calcul
ate the force of every action, fearful lest
this law would produce effects that would
be fatal to good.
How certainly do we impart to those
around us the spirit which directs or con
trols us. There is. a law of contagion
which seems to pervade social life in every
sphere. Our sallies, our tears come alike
unbidden to mingle with those who weep.
and those who rejoice, though we be no
party to their joys or sorrows. This law
of sympathy moves us by its mysterious
will to do its subtle bidding.
It is a law of life, the earnest, faithful
protecting love begets an abiding desire
in its recipient to return the affection in
Lind. It is the witching tenderness of a
mother's love and faithfulness that begets
in her offspring that holy sympathy known
as filial piety.
The seed cast into the earth does not
store surely spring up and with its bud
add blade and blossom bring forth its kind
than do all these special laws produce
their ripened harvest.
The little school rooms are but the nur
series and flower gardens of intellectual
culture. It is the teacher, you and your
compeers, throughout our broad land who
are planting and transplanting, and graft.
ing and budding and pruning and training
the scions of immortality, that they !nay
finally take their place in the broad pater
sea of our beloved laud and win a brighter
destiny, when the .‘ last deer beating of
the heart shall be stilled in death.
They are the little family circles, where
endearing love, faithful zeal, patient per
severance and watchful guardianship, if
shining for in all the truthfulness of a
ruethees.love must win to busy and active
toil, the throng of young immortals, who
gather around , the maternal man with that
food which shall..nourislx into maturity
and strength the glory or the sliaine.of
our country.
HUNTINGDON, PA., WEDNESDAY, FEBRUARY 28, 1855.
And here must be made so apparent the
purpose of will, that with that irresistible
force which is the law of will, is attracted
and drawn forth, and led onward with
submissive ohvdience, that throng, thus
associated with, and which lives in the at
mosphere of that law ; and upon which
the shadows and images, whegter of the
teacher's temper or morals or love of right
or dislike of wrong; or earnest and absor
bing devotion to the present pleasure, and
prospective success and usefulness, are
left and reflected back upon the world.
The mind of a child is not unlike the ca.
users obscura. The light is let in through
some small opening, unobservable to the
outride passer by, yet inside are seen dan
cing upon its walls the dim it may be, yet
the certain reflex outline of the external
world ; and thus upon the chambers of the
child's soul are seen the shadows of the
rights and wrongs before and around it.
They differ only in this,—in the obscura
the light and its reflected image fade to
gether while on the canvass oldie child's
being thgy become the fixed realities of
life.
There is a law of success. In the thou
sands of schemes and projects, and pur:
poses and designs of human being there
are certain determinate laws of action,
obeyed, the desired end is surely attained
neglected and disregarded disaster defeat
and disgrace as assuredly follow.
[CONCLUDED NEXT WEEK.]
Utisc - titantous.
DR. FRANKLIN AND HIS MOTHER.
It was an idea of Dr. Franklin's, if not
asettled opinion, that a mother might by
a kind of instinct of natural affection, re
cognize her children, even though she
had lost the recollection of their features.
And on a visit to his native town of Bos
ton, after an absence of many years, he
determined to ascertain by experiment
whether his theory was correct or not.
On a bleak and chilly day in the month
of January, the Doctor, late in the after
noon, knocked on the door of his mother's
house and asked to •speak with Mrs.
Franklin. Ile found the old lady knit
ting before the parlor fire. lie introduced
himself and observing that ho understood
she entertained travellers, requested lodg
ings for the night.
She eyed him with that cold look of re
probation which most people assume who
imagine themselves insulted by being sup
posed to exercise an employment which
they deem a degree below their real oc
cupation in life. She assured him he had
been misinformed—she did not keep a
tavern, nor did she keep a house to enter
tain strangers. It was true, she added,
that to oblige some members of the Legis
lature, she took a small number of them
into her family during the session ; that
she had four members of the Council and
six of the 'Tense of Representatives; who
then ',ponied with her—and that all her
beds were full.
Having said this she resumed her knit
ting with that intense application which
said as forcibly as action could—if you
have concluded your business the sooner
you leave the house the better. But on
the Doctor's wrapping his cloak about
him, affecting to shiver, and observing
that the weather was very cold, she poin
ted to a chair and gave him leave to warm
himself•
The entrance of boarders prevented all
further conversation. Coffee was soon
served, and he partook with the family.
To the coffee, according to the good old
custom of the times, succeeded a plate of
pippins, pies, and a paper of tobacco when
the whole company formed a cheerful
smoking semi circle before the fire.
Perhaps nd man ever possessed collo
quial powers in a more fascinating degree
than Dr. Franklin ; and never was there
occasion on which he displayed them to
better advantage than the present one.—
He drew the attention of the company by
the solidity of his modest remarks, instruc
ting them by the varied, new anti striking
lights in which he placed his subjects, and
delighted them with apt illustrations and
amusing anecdotes.
Thus employed, the hours passed mer
rily along until supper was announced.—
Mrs. Fraiikliu,laisied with her household
affairs, supposed the intruding stranger
had left the house immediately after cof
fee, and it was with difficulty she saw him
seat himself at the table with the freedom
of a member of the family.
Immediately after supper, she called an
elderly gentleman, a member of the Coun
cil, in whom she was accustomed to con
fide, to another ,room, complained bitterly
et the rudeness of thii stranger, told the
manner of his introduction to her house,
observed that he seemed like an outland
ish sort of a man. She thought he had
something very suspicious in his appear
ance, and she concluded by soliciting her
friends advice as to the way in which she
could most easily rid herself of his pre
sence. The old gentleman assured her
that the stranger was surely a young man
of good education, and to all appearances,
a gentleman—that, perhaps, being in
agreeable company, he paid no attention
to the lateness of the hour. He advised
her to call the stranger aside and repeat
her inability to lodge him. She accord.
ingly sent her maid to him, and with as
much complacency as she could command,
she recapitulated the situation of her fam
ily, observed that it grew late, and mildly
intimated that he would do well to seek
lodgings.
The Doctor replied that he would by no
means incommode her family, but with
her leave he would smoke one more_ pipe
with her boarders, and then retire.
Ule returned to the company, filled his
pipe, and with the first whiff his conver
sational powers returned with double force.
He recounted the hardships endured by
their ancestors; he extolled their piety,
virtue, and devotion to religious freedom.
The subjtlct of the day's debate in the
House of Representatives was mentioned
by one of the members. A bill had been
introduced to extend the prerogatives of
the royal governor. The Doctor immedi
ately joined in the discussion, supported
the collonial rights with new and forcible
arguments, was familiar with the names
of the influential men in the House when
Dudley was governor, recited their speech
es, and applauded their noble defence of
the charter of rights.
During a discourse so appropriately in
teresting to the delighted company, no
wonder the clock struck eleven unperceiv
ed by them. Nor was it a wonder that
the patience of Mrsi. Franklin became ex
hausted. She now entered the room and
addressed the Door -before the whole
company, with a. warmth glowing with a
determination to be her own protectress.
She told. him plainly that she thought her
self imposed on, but that she had friends
who would defend her, and insisted that
he should immediately leave the house.
The Doctor made a slight apology and
deliberately put on his great coat and hat;
took leave of the company and approach
ed the street door attended by the mistress
and lighted by the maid.
While the Doctor and his companions
had been enjoying themselves within, a
most tremendous storm of wind and rain
had occurred without, and no sooner had
the maid lifted the latch than a roaring
northeaster forced open the door, extin
guishing the light, and almost filled the
entry with drifted snow and hail. As
soot, as the candle was relighted, the doc
tpr cast a woful look at the door, and thus
addressed his mother:
" My dear madam, can you turn me out
in this storm ? I am a stranger in this
town, and will perish in the street. You
look like a charitable lady—l should not
think you could turn a dog from your
house this cold and stormy night."
"Pont' talk of charity," replied his
mother, ' , charity begins at home." It is
your own fault, not mine, that you have
tarried so long. bo plain with you,
sir, I do not like either your looks or your
conduct, and fear you havo.some bad de
sign in thus intruding yourself into my
fancily.
The warmth of this parley had drawU
the company from the parlor, and by their
united interference the stranger was per
mitted to lodge in the. house; and as no
bed could be had, he consented to rest in
the easy chair before the parlor fire.
Though the boarders appeared to con
fide in the stranger's honesty, it was not
so with Mrs. Franklin. With suspicious
caution she collected her silver spoons,
pepper box and porringer from her closet,
and after securing her parlor door by
sticking a fork over the latch, carried the
valuables to her chamber, charging the
negro man to sleep with has clothes on, to
take the great cleaver to bed with him, and
to waken and seize the vagrant at the first
noise he should make in attempting to
plunder.
Mrs. Fraatche rose before the sun, rous
ed her domestics, and was quite agreeably
surprised to find her terrific guest quietly
sleeping in the chair. She awoke him
with a cheerful good morning; , inquired
how ?wrested and invited hunts partake
of her breakfast, which was always served
previous to that or her hoarders.
"And pray, sir," said Mrs. Franklin,
'as you appear to be a stranger in Boston,
to what distant country do you belong 1"
"I belong, madam, to the Colony of
Pennsylvania, and reside in Philadelphia."
At the mention of Philadelphia, the
Doctor declared he for the first time per
ceived something like emotion in her.
"Philadelphia," said she, while the
earnest anxiety of a mother suffused her
eye; "why, if you live in Philadelphia,
perhaps you know my Ben t" •
" Who madam ?"
" Ben Franklin, my dear Ben—oh, how
would give the world to see him ! He
is the dearest son that ever blessed a moth-
!! What ! is Ben Franklin, the printer,
your son? Why he is my most intimate
friend. He and I work together and lodge
in the same room.
. 1 0h ! heaven forgive me !" exclaimed
the lady, raising her tearful eyes, "and
have I suffered a friend of my own Ben
to sleep upon this chair, while I myself
rested upon a soft bed !"
Mrs. Franklin then told her unknown
guest that though he had been absent from
hor ever since he was a child, she could
not fail to know him among a thousand
strange faces; fot there was a natural fee
ling in the breast of every mother, which
she knew would enable her, without the
possibility of a mistake, to recognize her
son in any disguise he might assume.
Frankiain doubted, and took leave to
dispute his mother's proposition on the
power of natural feeling. He said he had
tried this "natural feeling" in his own
mother, and found it deficient in the pow
er she ascribed to it.
"And did your mother," inquired she,
"not know you lor if she did not seem to
know you, was there not, in her kindness
to you, an evidence that she saw someting
in your appearance which was dear to her
so that she could not resist treating you
with particular tenderness and affection 1"
"No,-indeed," replied Franklain : "she
neither knew me, nor did she treat me,
with the least symtoms of knindness. She
stould have turned me out of doors but
for the interposition of strangers. She
could hardly be persuaded to allow me to
sit at her table, I knew I was in my
mother's house, and had a claim upon
her hospitality; and, therefore, you may
suppose when site peremptorily command
ed me to leave the house, I was in no hur
ry to obey."
"Surely," interrupted his mother, "she
could not have treated you so unmotherly
without some cause."
"I gave her none," replied the Doctor.
"She Could tell you herself I had always
been a dutifu son--that she cleated upon
me, and that when I came to ber house
as a stranger, my behaviour was scrupu
lously correct and respectful. It was a
stormy night, and I had been absent so
long that I had become a stranger in the
place. I told illy mother this, and yet so
little was ►ho influenced by that "natural
heeling, of which you speak, that she abso
lutely refused me a bed, and would hardly
suffer what she called my presumption its
taking a seat at the table. But this was
not the worst. But no sooner was the sup
per ended than my good mother told me,
with an air of solemn earnestness, that I
must leave her house."
Franklin then proceeded to descridu
the scene at the front door—the snow
drift that came so opportunely into the
entry--his appeal to her "natural feel
ing" of mother—her unnatural and un
feeling rejection of his prayer—and final.
ly, her very reluctant compliance with the
solicitationsof other persons in his behalf
—that he was permitted to sleep on a
Mate.
Every word in this touching recital
went home to the heart of Mrs. Frank
lin, who could not fail to perceive that it
was a true narrative of the events of the
preceeding night in her own house; and,
while she endeavored to escape from the
self-reproach that she had acted the part
of an unfeeling mother, she could not ea
sily resist the conviction that the stranger,
who became more and more interesting
to her,as he proceeded in his discourse,
was indeed her own son—But when she
observed the tender expressivenees of his
eyes as he feelingly recapitulated the cir
cumstances under which she attempted
to tura 'him shelterless into the street, her
material conviction overcame all remain.
ing doubt, and she threw herself into his
arms, exclaiming.
.(t must be—it must be my dearßen !"
1.1111 - Socrates being asked by a young
man %Itether bo woald marry :replied :
4 .31 y eon, if you marry you will repent
it Lif you do not marry you will be sorry ;
whichever you do you will regret."
oir Every ooe ihall nap of that winch
they sow.
"There's Nothing True but Heaven."
When we first heawl these words, we
are inclined to think, there must be, in the
world, some lasting good besides that
which is denied from above. But upon
more reflection we will be led to conclude
that every thing of an earthly nature, will
soon fade away and forever pass from our
view.
Wealth, with all the attractions atten
dant upon it, may for a short time, appear
to promise to us true enjoyment; but in a
moment all our fondest hopes may be turn,
ed to the bitterest disappointments, and
we feel that .. There's nothing true but
Heaven."
We may trust confidently in those
whom we fondly hoped were our friends;
Put when affliction comes, or when we
most need their sympathy, some of those
whom we thought were the most faithful,
have entirely forsaken us. And the re
sistless hand of death, may take from our
midst, those-few, who still remain unchan
ged, and thus we are led to think, that true
and lusting friendship is not to be found
on earth.
The fair and the beautiful, may picture
to themselves bright scenes of pleasure,
which they soon hope to realize, but how
often are they disappointed, how often do
all their pleasures fly away just as they
are about to enjoy them, and when it is
tuo late, they know "Thero's nothing true
but Heaven."
IVhen our life is almost gone, and we
see the wisdom, pleasure, wealth and
happiness of this world rapidly pass from
our sight, and our spirits are about to wing
their flight to another world, then can we
fully realize "There's nothing true but
Heaven."
Beautiful.
It cannot be that earth is man's abiding
place. It cannot 'be that our life is cast
up by the ocean of eternity to float upon
its waves and sink into nothingness.. Else
why is it that the glorious aspirations
which leap like angels from the temple of
our hearts are forever wanderingabout un
satisfied ? Why is it that the rainbow and
the clouds come over with a beauty that
is not of earth, and pass off to leave us to
muse on their faded loveliness? Why is
it that the stars who hold festival around
the midnight throne aro set above the
grasp of our limited faculties forever
mocking us with their unapproachable
glory I And, finally, why is it that the
bright forms of human beauty are presen
ted to our view and then taken from us,
leaving the thousand streams of our affec
tions to flow back 'in Alpine torrents ?---
We are born for a higher destiny than that
of earth. There is a realm where rain
bows never fade, where the stars will be
out before us like islets that slumber on
the ocean, and where the beings that pass
before us like shadows will stay in our
possesSion forever.
To Keep Mutton Sweet.
As soon as your mutton is dressed place
it in some situation where it will freeze.
When thoroughly frozen, remove it to an
outbuilding, or somo other convenient
place, where it will be in no danger from
dogs or other animals, and having packed
it in a close and compact heap, cover it
carefully with the pelts. Secured in this
way, mutton, or other fresh meats may be
preserved perfectly sweet, and in posses
sion of its juiciness, till late in the spring.
We have known it kept so front Novem
ber till the first of April. The pelts be
ing a non-conductor, prevent its thawing.
[Germantown Telegraph.
BerA young lady recently returned
from a boarding school, being asked at Ufa
table if she would take some more cabbage
replied : ..11y no means, madam—gas
tronomical satiety aaMonishes me that I
have arrived at the ultimate of culinary
deglutination consistent with the code of
Esculapina."
RECIPE FOR WASRINO.-Put two table
spoonfulls of turpentine to ono of soft
soap, and use the same as common soap.
It will reduce the labor cre-third and the
soap will go farther. It has been tested
here to the satisfaction of those who base
tried it.—Rural New Yorker. •
Bar" Recollect, sir," said a tavern
keeper to acoach passenger who had only
a glassof water, and not remembering the
waiter—. Recollect, sir, if you lose your
purse, you didn't WU, out here.,"
DlV" , fin Irishman in recommending a
cow said she would girc milk year after
year, without having caives, , . Because "
d he “it runs in the brade for she came
of a cow that nirer had a calf."
BirThe man who made the shoe for
the foot of a mountain, is now engaged
on a hat for the bead of a dissmurse.
VOL 20. NO. 9.
It illy Oinnotir.
VIE DOESTICK LETTERS-CONTINUED.
FIRST COMPLETE COLLECTION.
Original Views of Men and Things.
HUMOROUS ASPECTS OF AMERICAS
LIFE.
IV. —Doesticks Describes himself in verse.
The Buffalo Eaprnes asks us, in such
a "powerful," winning way, to tell "who
is Doisticks," that wo really must reply.
First, in his own words, he is a your;
man, lineally descended from
"A genuine poetical mother,
Ditto father, ditto big brother."
Who also says:
"Though Ivo written for work in tho office all
day,
I will still keep writing for pastime and play."
Again :
I'm out of my cradle, I'm safe through my
teens,
I guess I'm "some pumpkins," and think I
know beans;
Ifeneeforth Pin to battle, with banner unfurled,
And carve my way through a thundering rough
world:'
From the following we judge him to be
6 a limb of the law."
"-hereafter, when Fin expounding the laws,
And gulling the people, in trying their cause,
You shall record my triumphs professional,
Or "set up" my speech, under the head "Con•
gressional:"
That 'he has been a devil, or some oth
er equally dignified fixture of a printing.
office, appears fro:nth° following, wherein
he talks to his printer-brother :
You know I once hat.' "Mechanics," and thou
Considered them loss , than professional men ;
But time has changed my opinion, and made
Me more courteous to those who learn a trade.
And so, since I look on these things more be.
I am happy to hear you are dOing so finely.
But you'll tire of the life, are ten years you'vo
led it, or,
Perhaps, get promoted, and rise to an Editor—
And then Heaven save me from being your
creditor.
(Don't get mad about that, twos therhymo that
I said it for)
Dot I don't Think runalog, in debt e'er will
"bust" you,
'KIM) why r' Don't think any one ever will
trust you.
But keep at it old buy, if you think yen will
like a
Publisher's fortune—and stick to your "pica,"
"Pearl," , diamond," and "agate," "brevier,"
. and "long printer i"
Put over the fire your "roller,' to simmer,
(A compound, I think, of glue and molasses,
With a smell, like the stable of forty jack•ass
tta:o
With "mallet," and "shooting stick" work at
the "chases,"
And "lock up" the "matter," in iron "m" "bra
ces."
Print hundreds of lies, full of hatred and ma
lice,
And toil, like an old Roman slave, at the "gal
leys:"
Work hard, for two hours, the "platen" to level,
And throw the "sheep's foot" twenty times at
the "devil,"
.And call him a "skulk," a "soger," a "dead
head."
And wish ho was sunk in the ocean, well "load•
ed"—
Swear at the jeers, aad swear, at the prentices—
Swear at the molter, which "non est invent."
Swear at your paper, each hour in the day—
_ .
Swear it's a humbug, and swear it won't pay—
Swear you're a bankrupt—and then run away!
With the pen of n prophet, and eye . an seer,
I hare thus shadowed forth your future career—,
Yon may think yourself lucky, too, if you should
fait,
At the end of the year, to be locked np in jail,
Then, bat two things are left to q fellow, d'yo
A razor—and verdict of Vilo de se"
Your destiny may not be quite no forlorn,
But the road to wealth you've begun, 'in a
I hope you will never have canoe to repent of
Anil *lover come out of the littlest end of it.
What an Editor does not Like.
To pay postage on a letter ordering a
discontinuance of a paper, when perhaps
the subscriber is in arrears.
2. To pay postage on communications
perhaps not more than ten lines in length,
where none but the writer's interest is
concerned.
3. To be in debt without the means to
pay, because his subscribers will not pay.
4. To sand a paper six months or a
year to one who is dead or moved away,
and postmaster or some else one taking them
out and reading them and then after ail
receive a letter from the postmaster, say
ing, "Stop your paper sent to Mr.--,
•he is dead, , '
or 'moved away' . but not a
word about pay. . .
5. To luivt; a tout to take the paper
until he is indebt eight or nine dollars, and
then air► off to parts• unknown, without
raying; leaving the post-master to give
notice of the elide, to the editor.