VOL. 5--NO. 42.] .14verdi eists. rottittir Z:ate. WILL be sell at public pule, on the prernhtesio4 Monday the 20th at 12 o'cleck 31._ The one-third of 54 Acres of Unpatented Land, Situate iii Franklin township, Adams coun ty, adjoining lands of flui) Scott, William M'Clellan and others--to be sold as the Es tate of ISAAC Nom.Es,decensed. The provements on said property are a one and a half story sill! if.. .. LOG 1 1 101LISIE, Stable, &c. with water quite convenient.— Terms made known on day of sale, and at tendance given by JOSIAH FERREE, Adm'r. January 6, 1H35. is*-40 t. • - ....-Übttr ate* pursuance of an order of the Orphans' JEL Court of Adams county, to me directed, 1 will expose to public sale, at the Court house, in the Borough of Gettysburg, on Tuesday the 27th day of January inst. at 1 o'clock r. N., a certain TRACT OF LAND, Containing io Acres, more or less, adjoin ing land of James M'Allieter, Peter Frey, and others—on which are erected a two. • story WEATHER-BOARDED Eir ® V l S E Log Stable, two springs of water, and an excellent orchard—late the Estate of JoHN W. HALEY ; deceased. WILLIAM LAUB, Adm'r. Janunry 6, 1835. is-40 4GARIEIIEtNi sEntm. Blood Beet, ‘'t . bite Head Lettuce, Sugar do. Early curled do. do. White Onion, Specled do. do. Yellow do. Long Scarlet Radish, Red do. Savoy Cabbage, Orange Carrot, Early York do. Early Horn do. Cayenne Pepper, Red do. Double Peppergrass, Lung Cucumber, Summer Savory, Early Washington Peas. Fur sale at the Drug store of Dr. J. GILBERT, Gettysburg. January 6, 1835. tf-40 Estate of Thothas Griest, dec'd. ALL persons indebted to the Estate of THOMAS GRIEST, late of Lati. more township, Adams county, deceased, will make payment to the subscribers without delay. And all persons having claims or demands against the Estate of said deceased, are hereby notified to make known the same to the subscribers without delay. The Executors both reside in Latimore township,Adams county. ISAAC TODOR, Erirs. GIDEON GRIEST, S - - December 16, 1834. NOTICE. ALL persons indebted .to the Estate of PETER MARSHALL, late of Ber wick *township, Adams county, deceased, will make payment to the subscriber with out delay. And all persons having claims or demands against the Estate of said de ceased, are hereby notified to make known the same to the subscriber, without delay. The Administrator resides in Conowago township, Adams County, Pa. JOHN MARSHALL, Adm'r. flee. 0, 1834. 6t-39 ROWAND'S TONIC MIXTURE, OR N'EGETABLE FEBRIFUGE. A Cure for the Fever and Ague. rimits article is of by the proprietor J R- as a certain and lasting cure fur the Fever and Ague, having been thoroughly tested in the cure of that harassing disease. It contains neither Arsenic, Barks, or Mer cury, or any article unfriendly to the human constitution. It acts as a gentle laxative, useful also in cases of debility of stomach and bowels, dtc. For further particulars see bills and certificates accompanying each bottle. For sale at the Drug Store of Dr. J. GILBERT. Gettysburg, Nov. 25, 1934. 4t-34 SW AI NI'S PANACEA—For the cure of serofulu, or king's evil, syphilitic and mercurial diseases, rheumatism, ulcerous sores, white swelling s, diseases of the liver and skin, general debility, &c. Also, SWAIM'S VEItIVIIFUGE—an excellent article for worms. For sale at the Drug store of DR. J. GILBERT, Gettysburg. December 0, 1834. tf-36 -"AL OlL.—Rowland's Maces. -"AL sar Oil to beautify and promote the growth of the hair. For Rale at the Drug Store of Dr. J. GILBERT. Gettyebtirg, Dec. 9, 1834. tf—:36 WORM TEA—For sale at the Mug v storo of DR. J. GILBERT. Gettysburg, Dec. 9, 1834. tr-36 tERATUS—A large quantity re.! " cnived and for sale at the Drug store ul DR. J. GILBERT, Gettysburg. December % 1834. tf-36 c34)2.0 .45 ) 22tOti . 2teMlit Expeditiously executed at the Star Office.- Tlt t: CI ARLAND. sweetest flowers enrich'd, From carious gardens cull'd with cure." The fiillowing lines, from the pen of Mrs. Sigourney, arc eminently beautiful. The "toil worn mind" of some portions of the cornmunity,may,at this season, "refit for time's voyage,"—but the poor wight who is doomed to an Editor's desk, must go the whole voyage, calm or stormy, without calculating upon time to retit,or scarcely even to heave the lead.— Itead these lines, however—catch the ideas of the charininc poetess, and enjoy the scenes upon which she so beautifully touches • WINTER. "Deem thee not unlovely—though thou com'st With a stern visage. To the tuneless bird— The tender floweret— the rejoicing stream, Thy discipline is harsh. But unto mail, Methinks thou..hast a kindlier ministry— Thy lengthen'd eye is full of fire-side joys And deathless linking of warm heart to heart; So that the hoarse stream parses by unheard. Earth, rob'd in white, a peaceful sabbath holds And keepeth silence at her Maker's feet, She ceaseth from the harrowing of the plough And from the harvest shouting. "Man should rest Thus from his revered passious—and exhale The unbreathed earben of his festering thought, And drink in holy health. As the toss'd bark Doth seek the shelter of some quiet bay, To trim its shattered cordage, and repair Its riven sails—so should the toil-worn mind Refit for time's rough voyage. Man, perchance, Soiled by the world's sharp commerce, or impaired By the wild wanderings of his summer way, Turns like a truant scholar toward his home, And yields his nature to sweet influences That purify and save. "The ruddy boy Comes with his shouting school-mates from their sport On the smooth frozen lake, as the first star Hangs pure and cold, its silver cresset forth— And, throws off his skates, with boisterous glee, Hastes to his mother's side. Her tender hand Doth shake the snow-flakes from his glossy curls, And draw him nearer, and with gentle voice Asks of his lessons—while her lifted heart Solicits silently the Sire of Heaven To bless the lad. "The timid infant learns Better to love its father—longer sits Upon his knee, and with a velvet lip Prints on his brow such language as tongue Hath never spoken. "Come thou to life's feast, With dote-eyed meekness and bland charity— And thou shalt find even winter's rugged blast The minstrel-teacher of the well-tuned 'soul • And, when the last drop of its cup is drained, Arising with a song of praise, go up To the eternal banquet." A POPULAR TALE. 0: 82- 1 1 :)tPITeaihilil')IS , 'Jir-4likefi;.1.-A FOLTIsiDED ON FACTS. Two YOUNG OFFICERS belonging to the same regiment, aspired to the hand of the same young lady. We will conceal their real names under those of Albert and Horace. Two youths more noble never saw the untarnished colors of their country wave over their heads, or took more un. daunted hearts into the field,or purer forma, or a more polished address, into the drawing room. Yet there was a marked difference in their cha. racters, and each wore his virtues so becomingly, and one of them at least concealed his vices so be comingly also,that the maiden,who saw them both was puzzled where to give the preference; and stood,as it were, between two flowers of very op posite colors & perfumes,& each of equal beauty. Horace,who was the superior officer, was more commanding in his figure than,but not so beauti ful in his features than, Albert. Horace was the more vivacious, but Albert spoke with more elo quence upon all subjects. If Horace made the most agreeable companion, Albert made the better friend. Horace did not claim the praise being sen timental,nor Albert the fame of being jovial. Ho race laughed the more with loss wit, and Albert was the most witty with less laughter. Horace was the more nobly born,yet Albert had the better fortune, the mind that could acquire, and the cir cumspection that could preserve one. Whom of the two did Matilda prefer? Yes, she had a secret,and undefined preforence,yet did her inclination walk so sisterly hand in hand with her duties,that her spotless mind could not divide them from each other. She talked the more of Horace, yet thought the more of Albert. As yet,noither of the aspirants had declared themselves. Sir Oliver Matilda's father, soon put the matter at rest. He lied his private and family reason for wishing Ho. race to be the favored lover; but,as he by no means wished to lose to himself and to his daughter the valued friendship of a man of probity and of hon. or, he took a delicate method ofletting Albert un. derStand that every thing that he possessed, his grounds, his house, and all that belonged to him were et his service. He excepted only his daughter. When the two soldiers called, and they were in the habit of making their visits together, Sir Oli ver had always some improvement to show Albert, some dog for him to admire, or some horse for him to try; and even to wet weather, there was never wanting a manuscript for him to decipher, so that ho was sure to take him out of the room,or out of the house,and leave Horace alone with his daughter, uttering some disparaging remark in a jocular tore s to the effect that Horace was fit only to dance attendance upon tho ladies. Albert understood all this, and submitted. He did not strive to violate the rights of hospitality,to seduce the affections of the daughter,and outrage the feelings of the father. He was not one of those who would enter the temple of beauty, and under pretence of worshipping at the shrine, destroy it. A common.pluce lover might have done eo, but Albert had no common-place mind. But did he nut suffer? 0! that he suffered,and suffered acute ly,his altered looks,his heroic silence,and,at times his forced gaiety,too plainly testified. He kept his flame in the inmost recess of his heart,like a lamp in a sepulchre,and which light. od up the ruins of his happiness alone. To his daughter Sir Oliver spoke more explicit. ly. Her affections had not bean engaged and the slight preference that she began to feel stealing into her heart for Albert, had its nature changed at nnco. When she found that he could not ap prove her as a loveroffielbund to apt ing up for hint in her bosom a regard as sisterly, and as ardent, as if the same cradle had rooked them both. She felt,and her father knew,thet Albert's was a cha• rector that must be loved,if not as a husband,as a brother. 6t-37 The only point upon which Matilda differed with hor father, was as to the degree of encour agement that ought to be given to Horace. "Let us,my dear father," she would entreating. ly say, "be iree,at least fur one year. Let us E tbr that period, stand committed by no engagement: we ar.. both young, ruyselfextromely so. • A peas. ant maiden would lay a longer probation upon her swain. Do but ask Albert WI 8111 not right." Tho appeal that she made to Albert, which ought to have assured her father of the purity of her sentimente,frightened him into a suspicion of a lurking affection having crept into her bosom. Affair's wore at this crisis when Napoleon re turnest from Elba,and burst like the demon of war from a thunder cloud, upon the plains of France; and all - the warlike and the valorous arose and walled hor in with their veteran breasts. The re turned hero lifted up his red right hand, and the 137 ROBERT WRITE MIDIDIMTOII, MIDITOR, 1 5 1:1132.11CIZZIP. .ANN) PROMIZITOR. " I WISH NO OTHER HERALD, NO OTHER SPEAKER OF NY LIVING ACTIONS, TO KEEP MINE HONOR FROM CORRUPTION."-SHARS. watwwavaitoetast i , ZPcA evatazocicar. cataapupartah aazz. that oven the insulted Matilda was softened and shod tears over hie blighted hopes. And hereove must do Horace the justice Lonny, that the minis, tura was merely left in the hands of the winner, he being a stranger, as a deposit until the next morning, but which the next morning did not low him to redeem, though •it rent from him a limb, and left him as' one dead upon the battle field. Had he not gamed, his miniature would not have been lost to a sharper, the summons to March would have found him at his quarters, his harassed steed would not have failed him in the united force of France rushed with him to the bat.- tie. The regiment of our rivals was ordered to Belgium After many entreaties from her father, 1 Matilda at length consented to sit for her minia ture to an eminent artist; but upon the express etipulation,when it should be given to Horac,o,that they were still to hold themselves free. The min iature was finished,the resemblance excellent,and the exultation and rapture of Horace complete.— He looked upon the possession of it, notwithstand leg Matilda's stipulation, as an earnest aids hap piness. He had the picture sot most ostentatious. ly in the finest jewels, and constantly wore it on his person; and his enemies Say,that lie showed tt with more freedom than the delicacy of his situ°. tion,with respect to Matilda,should have warrant ed. Albert mode no complaint. He acknowledg ed the merit °fide rival eagerly,the more eagerly an the rivalship was suspected. . The scone must now change. The action at Quatro Bras has taken place. The principal body of the British troops are at Brussels,and the news of the rapid advance of the French is brought to Wellington; and the forces are, before the break of' day, moving forward. But whore is Horace? The column oftroop to which ho belongs is on the line of march,but Albert,and not he,is at its head. The enemy are in sight. Glory's sunbrlght face gleams in the front, whilst dishonor and infamy scowl in the rear. Tho orders to charged are giv en,and at the very moment that the battle is about to join, the foaming, jaded, breathless courser of I Horace,atrains forward as if with a last effort,and seems to have but enough strength to wheel with his rider into his station. A faint huzza from the troop welcomed their leader. On, ye brave, on! The edges of the battle join. The scream—the ahem—the groan,und the volleying thunder °far. tilleryoningle in one deafening roar. The smoke clears away—the charge is over—the whirlwind has passed. Horace and Albert are both down,and the blood wells away from their wounds, and is drunk up by the thirsty soil. But a few days after the eventful battle of Water loo,Matilda and Sir Oliver were alone in the draw ing-room. Sir Oliver had read to his daughter, who was sitting in breathless agitation,the details of the battle, and was now reading down slowly and silently the list of the dead and the maimed. "Can you, my dear girl," said he tremulously, "bear to hear very bad news?" She could reply in no other way than by laying her head on her father's shoulder,and sobbing out the almost inaudible word—"read." "Horace is mentioned as having been seen ear• ly in the action badly wounded, and is returned missing." "Horrible!" exclaimed the shuddering girl, and embraced her father more closely. "And our poor friend Albert, is dangerously wounded too," said the father. Matilda made no reply, but as a mass of snow slips down from its supporting bank--as silently, as pure, and almost as cold, fell Matilda from her lather's arms insensible upon the floor. Sir Oli ver was not surprised, but much puzzled. He thought that she had felt quite enough for her lov er, but too much for her friend. A few days after, a Belgian officer was intro. duced by a mutual friend, and was pressed to dine by Sir Oliver. As he had been present at the bat tle, Matilda would not permit her grief ta prevent her meeting him at her father's table. Iminedi , utely she entered the room the officer started, and took every opportunity of gazing upon her intent. ly, when ho thought himself unobserved. At last he did so, so incautiously, and in a manner so par. ticular, that when the servants had withdrawn, Sir Oliver asked him ifhe had ever seen hisdaug h ter before. "Assuredly not, but most assuredly her resem blance," said he, and he immediately produced the miniature that Horace had obtained . from his mistress. The first impression of both father and daugh ter was, that, Horace was no more, and that the token had been entrusted to the hands of the offi. car, by the dying lover; but he quiskly undeceiv. od them, by informing them that he was lying desperately, but not dangerously, wounded at a farm house on the continent, and that in fact he had suffered a severe amputation. "Then, in the name of all that is honorable, how crime you by the miniature?" exclaimed Sir Oliver. "0, he had lost it to a notorious sharper, at a gaming house at Brussels, on the ovo oftho battle, which sharper offered it to me, as be said that he supposed the ,gentleman from whom he won it would never come to repay the large sum of mo ney for which it was lelt in pledge.. Though I had no personal knowledge of Colonel Horace,yet, as I admired the painting, and saw that the jewels wore worth more than the rascal asked for them, I purchased it, really with the hope of returning it to its proprietor; if he should feel any value for it, either as a family picture, or as tiotno pledge of affection; but I have not yet had an opportunity of meeting with him." "What an insult!" thought Sir Oliver. "What an escape!" exclaimed Matilda, when the officer had finished his relation. I need not say that Sir Oliver immediately re purchased the picture, and that he had no further thoughts of marrying his daughter to a gamester. "Talking of nimiatures," resumed the officer, "a very extraordinary occurrence has just taken place. A miniature has actually saved the life of a gallant young officer of the same regiment as Horaco's, as fine a fellow as ever betrodo a charg- "His name?" exclaimed Matilda and Sir Oliver together. "Is Albert, and is the second in command; a high follow that same Albert." "Pray, sir, do me the favor to relate the particle. lars," said Sir Oliver; and Matilda looked grate. fully at her father for the request. "0, I do not know them minutely," said he "but I believe it was simply that the picture served his bosom as a sort of breastplate, and broke the force of a musket ball, but did not, however, pre vent him from receiving a ye' y smart wound.— The thing was much talked of for a day or two, and some joking took place on the subject;, but when it was seen that these railleriea gave him more pain than the wound, the subject was drop ped, and soon seemed to have been forgotten." Shortly after the officer took his leave. The reflections of Matilda wore bitter. Her miniature had been infamously lost, whilst the mistress of Albert, of that Albert whom she felt might, but for family pride, have been her lover, was, even in effigy, the guardian angel of a life she loved too well. Months elapsed, and Horace did not appear.— Sir Oliver wrote to him an indignant letter, and bade .him consider all intercourse broken off for the future. fie returned a melancholy anewer,in which ho pleaded guilty to the charge—spoke of the madness of intoxication, confessed, that he was so humble, so desponding, and so dispirited charge, and, in all probability, his limbs would have boon saved,and his love have boon preserved. A year had now elapsed, and at length Albert was announced. He had heard that all intimacy had been broken off between Horace and Matilda, but nothing more. The story of the lost minia ture was confined to the few wham it concerned, and those few wished all memory of it to be burjed in oblivion. Something like a hope had returned to Albert's bosom. He was graciously received by tho father, and diffidently, by Matilda. She remembered "the broken miniature," and sup. potted him to have boon long and ardently attach ed to another. It was on a summer's evening, there was no other company, the sun was setting in glorious eplontlour. After dinner, Nlatilda had retired on ly to the window to enjoy, she said, that prospect that the drawing-room could not afford. She spoke truly, for Albert was not there. Her eyes were upon the declining sun; but her soul was still in the dining-room. At length Sir Oliver and Albert arose from the table, and came and seated themselves near Matilda. "Como, Albert, the story of the miniature," said Sir Oliver. "What? fldly, truly, and unreservedly," said Albert, looking anxiously at Matilda. "Of course." "Offenco, or no ofibnce," said Albert, with a look of arch moaning. "Whom could the tale possibly offend," said Sir Oliver. "That lam yet to Imam Listen." As far as regarded Matilda, the last word was wholly superfluous. She seemed to have lost eve ry faculty but hearing. Albert in a low, yet hur ried tone, commenced thus. "I loved, but was not loved. I had a rival that was seductive. I saw that ho was preferred by the father, and not indifferent to the daughter.— My love I could not—l would not attempt to con. quer: but my actions, honor bade mo control; and I obeyed. The friend was admitted where the lover would have been banished. My successful rival obtained the miniature of his mistress. 0, then, then I envied, and, impelled by unconquera ble passion, I obtained clandestinely from the ar tist a facsimile of that which I so much envied him. It was my heart's silent companion, and, when at last, duty called mo away from the origi nal, not often did I venture to gaze upon the re semblance. To prevent my secret being discov ered by accident, I had the precious token enclos ed in a double locket of gold, which opened by a secret spring, known only to myself and the ma ker. "I gazed on tho lovely features on the dawn of the battle day. I minified it to its testing place, and my heartthrobbed proudly under its pressure. I was conscious that there I bud a, talisman, and, if over I felt as heroes feel, it was then—it was then. "On, on I dashed through the roaring stream of slaughter. Sahros flashod over and around me —what cared I? I had this on my heart, and a bravo man's sword in my hand—and come the worst, better I could not have died than on that noble field... The showers of tilted balls hissed a round me. What cared 1? I looked around—to my fellow soldiers I trusted for victory, and my soul I entrusted to God, and—shall I own it? for a 'few tears to my memory I trusted to the original of this, my bosom companion." "She must have had a heart of ice, had she re fused them," said Matilda, in a voice almost in audible from emotion. Albert bowed low and gratefully, and thus con tinued. "Whilst I was thus borno forward Into the very centre of the struggle, a ball struck at my heurt—but the guardian angel was there, and it was protected: the miniature, the double case, even my flesh were penetrated, and my blood soil ed the image of that beauty, for whose protection it would have enjoyed to flow. The shatteted case, the broken, the blood stained miniature, are now dearer to me than ever, and so will remain until life shall desert me." "May I look upon those happy features that in. spired and preserved a heart so noble?" said Ma:. tilde, in a low distinct voice, that seemed unnatu ral to her from the excess of emotion. Albert dropped upon ono knee before hor,touch. ed the spring, and placed the miniature in the trembling hand of Matilda. In an instant she recognised her own resemblance. She was above the affectation of a false modesty—her eyes filled with grateful tears—she kissed the encrimsoned painting, and sobbed aloud—" Albert, this shall never leave my bosom. 0, my well—my long beloved:" In a momont she was in the arms of the happy soldier, whilst ono hung over thorn with unspeak able rapture, bovtowing that host boon upon a daughter's---"A lathor's heart-folt blessing!" THE REPOSITORY. CLOSET THOUGHTS. What a paradise might this world be, if man were but disposed, and women too, to make it so; and yet for the want of that dis position, what a waste of thorns and briars it is. A traveller is wending his way thro' a romantic country, where mountains sepa rate %allies, and vallies alternate with moan tams—ascending oue ho looks down with delight and extacy upon the rich, varied, peaceful prospect presented to his view in the other:--"Here," he exclaims, "here, shut out from the noisy, bustling, deceitful world, must be the abode of peace, joy, coin. -fort and happiness: and here too, in this se cluded spot, is a village, inhabited no doubt, by a pure and unsophisticated people, who neither know the cares, feel the anxieties,nor covet the wealth and honors ofthe rich, am bitious and restless sons of the world—whp live in harmony and concord with each oth er; who harbor no feelings of envy, pride and uncharitableness and who are ever em ployed either in useful or healthful labor, acts of benevolence and piety, or indulging in innocent recreations and social converse and gaiety, with friends and neighbors." Charmed with the placid picturesque beauty of the little village as it lies like a slumbering child beneath him, the traveller descends into the valley, resolved on spend ing the remainder of his life, now arrived at that point from whence 'tis said, "Cool age advances, soberly wise," 'in this beautiful valley, and, among its hap py pemantry. Here,- thought he, secure from the strife, and turmoil and bustle of the world, 1 can "sit under my own vine and fl. tree, with none to molest or make afraid," and "from the loop holes of my retreat," look upon the world as upon a cosmoramic scene. He took up his abode in the happy valley, and for a time fancies he had at length dis covered a very Eden, into which the tempter has never yet found his way, and whose in. habitants have never been corrupted by his poisonous infusions. Alas ! his pleasing'de fusion soon vanishes, and gives place to the sad conviction that ho who in an evil hour found his way into the peaceful abode otour first parents, though guarded by angels, has also left a foot-print here. To his regret and mortification, he perceives that instead of peace, contentment, piety, and concord reigning in the village, and in the breasts of the inhabitants, he finds them constantly engaged in petty strifes and ridiculous rival ries; prone to tattle, Slander and misrepre sent; great devotees in religion, and ostenta tiously observant of its forms, though totally destitute of the genuine spirit of ch ristianity; scrupulously observant of the niggardly maxim that "charity begins at home," and_ carrying it one step further, and allowin g it to end where it begirs. Disappointed in his anticipations, disgusted by the grovelling and sordid feelings, and tired of the discon tents, repinings and impertinent curiosity of a people whom he hoped to find contented, pious and happy, the traveller again resumes hisjourney, and wends his way through the world, regretting that "but for wan, man might be happy." LOVE'S mum. It is the native dialect of love to reveal its complacence by gifts. The child presents its favorite teacher with a fresh flower. It hastens to its mother with the first, best rose, from it, little garden; and in the kiss to its father, with which it resigns itself to sleep, gives away its whole heart. The wife trusts to her chosen protector, "her nil of earth—perchance her all of heaven." Why should a mother give with such bitter repin ing her infant to her God? Does she say it was unsullied and beauti ful? Love delights in yielding the best gifts to the beloved. Would she prefer to have withheld it till it had become less lovely?— till, warped by the deceit of the world, the way of darkness chosen, and salvation thro' Christ unsought? it would be an unfit offer ing for a Being of purity. Love rejoices its object in the most eligi ble situations. "Being evil we yet 'know how to give good gifts to our children."— We are pleased to see them in the pursuit of knowledge, in the path of virtue, in pos session of the esteem of the great and good. In sending them from home, we seek to se. cure for them the advantages of refined so ciety, the superintendence of friends of wis dom and piety. If a nobleman were to a dopt them, if they were to have a mansion with princes, should we not be . grateful for the honor? Why, then, with such unspeaka ble reluctance, do we see them go to be an gels among angels, and to dwell gloriously in the presence of "God, the Judge of all, and the spirits ofjust men made perfect?"—' Mrs. Sigourney. Memory.—Yes, memory! thou art in deed a blessing and a curse! Sweet is it, when the wings of evening brood over the drowsy hearth, to hear thy gentle whisper, as thou zomest on velvet foot, telling of day.l of by-gone pleasure, and scenes, whose little . roughness.have all been softened down . by the nice touch of distance; but bitter, bitter as the sick man's draught, yet full as whole some—to hear that whisper changed to the harsh voice of upbraiding, when thou charg est us with deeds whose harshness time's finger cannot smoothe---Vcremy Levis. Piety.—We look upon the Piety of old age as something in ordinary course.— Strange were it indeed, if when the passions that stand between him and his maker are all removed, and the sources of enjoyment in this world chocked up with the draught of time, man should not strike the tent of his wanderings, and make ready for his Hight across the desert to where a greener spot is promised him, and springs of over running water. But it is not so with youth! while the passions flutter on their rainbow colored wings between his eyes and heaven, and the fountain of pleasure still bubbles sparkling to the brim, hard is it for man to turn his thoughts to a distant land, of whose beauty he can form no fancy, and whose springs he cannot think are sweeter than his own— hard is it for him to believe as he courses gaily from one green , spot to another, and sees many still before, that all these resting places must soon fail him—that soon every blade of grass will be withered, and every running stream exhausted. It is only when his last-resource of enjoyment fails, and the fe:nf perishing assails him, and he casts his - eye abroad upon the desert, and sees nought before him but endless desolation, it is only then that the promise of a brighter country sounds joyful to the ear. In youth, religion is so rare that our ad. miration is involuntary.—[./bitl. Loves—Love', real love, is that ono pas. sion within wias.e vortex all others of the heart ore swallowedthese may rule with divided power, or alternately : but love, the moment it enthrones itself in the soul, treads all other feelings in the dust, and sways us with a tyrants sceptre—the source of virtue or of crime, love raises us above our nature or sinks us below the brutes. It is a fire which if it be not quenched, at once con. sumes every thing within its reach, and burn until the fuel that maintained it, be exhausted, when nothing is left, save the dead ashes, to mark the spot where it once raged.—Ub. "Liberty and Learning, lean on each oth er for support," is a truth which kas long been known to the wise, and of which 1%/3 [WHOLE N0..2504--'.7. are all becoming convinced by tearful expo.. rienee. It has been the ignoranceirtlii I people which has so long enabled tyrants to hold the world in chains; and they have &v.% er failed to burst them asunder whenever light has broken in strongly upon theiti.—.. But if they are permitted_to relapse intoig • norance and its natural attendant,groiebeg vice, tyrants will rise again, under the name of patriots, and we shall see the world re. plunged into Gothic darkness and despotism. It is not in the nature of things, that a popu. lar government can long subsist, except a mong an enlightened and virtuous people; nothing else can shield them tigainstthe de; signs of wicked and intriguing politicians, who always come in the name and garb of patriotism, and, calling themselves friends of the people, cheat them to their ruin Every effort, therefore, to enlighten the people, de- serves the zealous support of every genuine friend of liberty. WM. WIRT. QUALIFICATIONS OF A WIVE.-- f/OSIP are set forth in the Worcester Jourtud,l7ol, to the following effect:— Great good nature and prudent genet. osity. A lively look, and proper spirit, and a cheerful disposition. A good person, but not perfectly hand some—a moderate height—complexion net quite fair, but a little brown. Young by all means—old by no means. A decent share of common sense, just seasoned with a little repartee—a small modicum of wit, but no learning, I say again and again (either ancient or modern) upon any consideration whatever. In spelling, a little becoming deficiency; and in the doctrine of punctuation [or what is generally called stopping} by no means conversant. A proper knowledge ofaccounts and arith metic; but no sort of skill in fractions. . A more than tolerable good. voice, anda little ear for music—a capability of singing [in company,] but no peculiar and intimate acquaintance with minima, crotchets, qua vers, &c. Ready at her needle, but more devoted to plain work than to fine—no enemy to knitting. Not altvays in the parlour, but sometimes in the kitchen—yet more skilled in the theo ry than in the practice of cookery. Fonder of country dances than minuets. .An acquaintance with domestic news,but, no acquaintance with foreign. Not entirely fond of quadrille, but a little given to whist. In conversation a little of the lisp, bat not of the stammer. VARIOUS MATTERS. Outo.— 'he total number of acres offend, in Ohio, returned by the county Auditors, subject to taxation, is 15,708,314. Valued at 8.53,467,801 Do. of town and personal pro perty, Merchants' capital dac. 22,125,511 Making a total valuation of $75,593,312 The Dayton Herald furnished the follow. ing items relative to the single county or Montgomery: Total amount of tastable pro perty $2,273,379; total amount of taxes • 814,592,23; amount of canal and state tax 84,520,61; amount of county and school tax 89,014,22; amount of township tax $779,- ille Record. A countryman reading a newspaper in Randolph, (term.) was asked why he did not subscribe for it, as it was a good paPer, "Why yes," replied the countryman, "I like it, its right fine, but I think it's a lsttle too, coati:Pe. "Ilia is a new name for a news. paper. The herb commonly .known by the name of "Life everlasting," of which our fields are very prolific, we understand has been used by some of our citizens as a substitute for Hops in raising bread; and that it is toned to answer the purpose remarkably well. We had heard before that the herb possessed this quality. A physician attending a Lady several times had received a couple of guineas each visit; at last, when he was taking his depar ture for the last time, she gave him but one, at which he was surprised, and looking on the floor, as if in search of something, she asked him what he looked for? "I believe, Madam," said he,"l have dropped a guinea;" , "No, Sir," replied the Lady, "It is 1 that have dropped it." SIGN OP A ESTricH Minwrrz.—At a small village called Bergen ad Zoon,is the follow , ing.musieal sign: It is a tree bearing fruit, and the bianches filled with little naked ur.. chins, seemingly just ripened into Kelmd crying for succor; beneath a woman holds up her apron, looking wishfully at the chil. dren, as if entreating there to jump into her lap. it belongs to the house of a morn midwife, and has this inscription: "Vang my, ik zal zoos zyn." In English, "Catch me, I'll be a sweet boy." A Parisian author had translated Shakes. pearo's line "Out brief,eandle," into the French thus: "Get out you short cosine' "1 always think," said a reverend gUalt, "that a certain quiuttity of wine doer a OM no harm after dinner•" "Oh no, Hr," plied the host, "it is the Uncertain quatitity that does the mischief." NEE
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers