2 ‘ 1 :; .. -I . 16. • ' . • , . . • . . VOL. 5--NO. 51.] the Jbtar AND REPUBLICAN BANNER. BY ROBERT W. MIDDLETON. CONDITIONS OF THIS. PAPER: I. The STAR & REruntrenv Barrivr,n is published every Tuesday morning, at Two Dollars per annum, (or Volume of 52 Numbers,) payable half yearly in advance. 11. No subscription will be received for a shorter period than six months, nor will the paper be discontinued until all arreara ges are paid, unless at the discretion of the editor—A thilure to notify a discontinuance will be considered a new engagement, and the paper forwarded accordingly. Advertisements not exceeding a square, will. be inserted THREE times for ONE DOLLAR, and 25 cents for every subse quent insertion—longer ones in the same proportion. The number of insertions to be marked, or they will be published till forbid and charged accordingly. ' IV. Communications, dtc. by mail, must be post-paid--otherwise they will not mee with attention. THE GARLAND. -"With sweetest flowers enrich'd, From various gardens cull'd with care." OC3- The following beautiful lines, from the Charles ton(S. C.)"Rose-Bud," contain n useful and inter citing moral to the comprehension of children, and may not be devoid of 'interest' to minds of older growth. " IT IS SUNDAY!" - • .! 1.,1- On;nr then.c. At any other ume as weio Must Sunday be the only day?" Said thoughtful Isabel. . "I should be very sad if 1, Who sorrow almost every day For Something, must wait and sigh, Till Sunday comes, to pray. "When I have erred in deed or word, And tears arise and blind my eye. My heart and Ii s with jgayer are stirred, 77bigc to sigh. "When softly on my downy bed I wake, and find the morning there, I think whose smile that morning made, And speak to God in prayer. "When day's bright door is shut, I know Whose viewless hand forbids her beam, And dare not to my slumber go, Till Ihave prayed to Him. "Oh, sister dear, no matter where, - No matter what the hour of day, The solemn eve, the morning fair— 'Tis always g ood to pray" I SAW HIM A LADY. I saw him smile, and oh! it seemed So like the sunny smile's of Heaven, That when he vowed, I fondly dreamed Such vows to none but me wore given. Burman is like the tickle breeze, That fawns around each lovely flower, And steals a kiss—then onward flees. To revel in some gayer bower. ANSWER. -I SAW TIER SMILE:-/I FA GENTLEMAN I saw her smile--the opening flower, fragrance from its stem, And claiming earth and air for dower, And taunting all the toys of them, Had not upon its petal'd breast, The beauty that her brow express'd. But woman's like the summer sea, With mirrow'd heaven on its breast; And darkest depths of treachery, Beneath limiting crest, And wo to him whose hand shall dare To grasp the glories gathered there! MISCELLANEOUS. THE room' PENCE. A little mean looking' man sat talking to Mrs. Crowder, the mistress of the Punch :owl: "Why Mrs. Crowder," said he, should hardly know you, again! Really I must say you have things in the first style. What an elegant paper! what noble chairs! what a pair of fire screens! all so bright and so fresh! and yourself so well and looking so well!" Mrs. Crowder had dropped languidly into an arm chair, and sat sighing and smiling with affectation, not turning a deaf ear to her visiter, but taking in, with her eyes, a full view of what passed in the shop, having drawn aside the curtain of rose-colored silk , ' which sometimes covered the window in the wall, between the shop and the parlor. "Why you see Mr. Berriman," she re plied, "our business is a thriving one, and we don't love to neglect it, for one must work hard for an honest livelihood; and then you see, my two girls, Letitia and Lu cy, were' about to leave their boarding school; so Mr. Crowder and I wished to make the old place_as genteel and fashiona ble as we could; and what with new stone copings to the windows, and new French . window frames to the first floor, and a little papering, Mr. Berriman, we begin to look tolerable. I must say, Mr. Crowder too, has laid out a deal of money fitting up the shop, and in filling his cellars." "Well ma'am," continued Mr. Berriman, "I don't know whero you find the needful for all these improvements. For ny part, I can only say, our trade seems quite at a stand still. There's my wife always beg gint for money to pay this or that little re. cessary article, hut I part from eKery penuc with a pain!. Dear Mrs. Ctowder, how da you manage?" "I WHO NO OTHER HERALD, NO OTHER SPRAFIRR OF HY ..LIVINO ACTIONS, TO lEi? MINE HONOR FROM CORRUPTION."--SHAIC94 Mrs. Crowder simpered; and raising her eyes, and looking with a glance of smiling contempt towards the crowd of customers in the shop—" The fools' pence, 'tis THE FOOLS' PENCE, that does it for us," she said. Perhaps it was owing to the door being just then opened, and left ajar by Miss Lu cy, who had heen serving, in the bar, that the words of Mrs. Crowder were heard by a man named George Manly, who stood at the upper end of the counter. He turned his eyes upon the costumers who were stand ing near him, and saw pale sunken cheeks, inflamed eyes, and ragged garments. He turned them upon the stately apartment in which they were assembled, he saw that it had been fitted up at no trilling cost; he stared •through the partly open doorway into the parlor, and saw looking glasses, and pic tures, mid gilding, and fine firrniture, and a rich carpet, and Miss Lucy in a silk gown, sitting down to her piano -forte; and he tho't within himself, how strange it is! by what a curious process it is, that all this wretched- ness on my left bond, is made to turn into all this rich finery on my right. "Well sir, and what's for you?" These words were -spoken in the same shrill voice which 'lead made the "fools' pence" ring in his ears. George Manly was still deep in thought, and with the end of his rule, (for he was a carpenter) he had been making a calculation, drawing the figures in the little puddles of gin, upon the counter. He looked up, and saw Mrs. Crowder herself, as gay as the daughters, with cap and coloured ribbands flying ofl her head, and n pair of gold ear rings, almost touching her plump shoulders. "A pint of ale, ma'am, is what I am waiting for to-night," (no more spirits, he thought within himself, will I touch;) and then, as he put down the money for the ale, he look ed her calmly in the face :I I -aid, "There are the "fools' pence," - last fools' nence I intend to pay do .. :ay a long iv: t must have been strucK wan the 11Crtitioon cleanliness of the apartment,and every thing about it. "This is indeed a treat, girls! to have dear father home so soon to-night," said Su san Manly, and she looked up at her hus hand, as he stood before the table, turning his eye first upon one and then upon anoth er of the little party; then throwing himself into hie large arm-chair, and lying back, and smiling, he said— " Well children ain't you glad to see me? May not those busy little fingers stop a mo mentjust while you jump up, and throw your armsabout your father's neck and kiss him?" "0 yes we have time for that," said one of the girls, as they both sprang up to kiss their father, "but we have no time to lose, dear father," said Sally, pressing her cheek to his, and speaking in a kind of coaxing whis per close to his ear, "for these shirts are the last of the dozen we have been making for Mr. Farley, in the Corn Market."— "And as no work can be done to-morrow," added Betsey, gravely, who stood with her small hand in her father's "we are all work• ing as haril as we can, for mother has pro ' trused.to take them home on Monday after- "Either your eyes are very weak to-night dear-wife," said George, "or you have been crying, Pm afraid you work too hard by candle light." Susan smiled,und said, "working does not hart my eyes;" and as she spoke.she turn ed her head and beckoned with her finger to her little boy. "Why John, what's this I seer said his father,"what, you in the corner! Come out as mother beckons for you. ' but come and tell me what you have been doing." "Nay,never mind it, dear husband; John will be very good,l hope,and we had better say no more about what is past." "Yes,but I must know," said he, drawing John close to him. "Come,tell me what has been the matter." • John was a plain spoken boy, and had a straight forward way, of speaking the truth: Ho came up to his father and looked full in his face, and said, "The baker came for his money tonight, and would not leave the loaves without mother paid for them, and though he was cross and rough to mother, he said it was not her fault, , ind that he was sure you had been drinking away all the money; and when ho was gone,mother cried over her work, but she did not say any thing. I did not know she was crying till I saw her tears fall, drop, drop, on her hand, and then I said bad words, and mother sent me to stand in the corner." "And now,John,you may bring me some coals," said Susan, " there's a fine lump in the coal box." • "But first tell me what your bad words were, John," saik his father; "not swearing I hope?" "No!" said John, coloring, but speaking as bluntly as before, "I said that you were a bad man!, I said, bad father," " And they were bad words. I am sure," said Susan, very calmly, "but . you are for given,and so you may get me the cords." George looked at the face of his wife, and as he met the tender gaze of her mild eyeli, now Arrned to him, he felt the tears rise in his, own. He rose up; and as he put the money, into his wife's hand, he said, "There are my week's wages, dear mother. Come, conic, hold out both hands, for you have not WY ROW:WV TIMMITE Iht/IDDLETON, PrinalCIEZR .4.111:5 rEtOPRIZTOR. SlitinfelreaßWlBo aleittao tiqPl:Bo2)dalre atilltiKEt 9410 11005 a got all yet. Well, new you have every far thing, except a few pence, Jind they were fools' pence , _ that I paid for a glass of ale to-night. Keep tho whole, and layit out to the best advantage,. as you always do. I hope this will be a beginning of better doings on my part and happier days on yours: and now put on your bonnet and I'll walk with you to pay the baker, and purchase a bushel or two of coals, or whatever else we may be in want of; and when we come back, I'll read a chapter of the Bible to you and .the girls, while you get on with the needle work." • Susan went up stairs, to put on her bonnet and shawl, and she remained a little longer, to kneel down on the spot where she had knelt almost heart-broken, in prayer—pray. ing that her Heavenly Father would turn her husband's heart first tab . is Saviour, and then to his wife and children: and that, in the meantime, he would give her patience. She knelt down this time to pour out her heart in thanksgiving and praise. The pleasant tones of her husband's voice called her from her knees. George Manly told his wife that evening, after the children were gone to bed, that when ho saw what the pence of the poor could do towards keeping up a fine house, and dressing out the landlord's wife and daughters, and when he thought of his . own hard-working, uncomplaining Susan, and his children in wnnt,nnd almost rags—while he was sitting and drinking, night after night, more like a beast than a man: destroying his own manly strength, and the fine health God had given him, he was so struck with sorrow and shame that he seemed to come to himself at last. He made his determina tion from that hour: and as he made it in humble and watchful dependence upon Him from whom "all holy desires, all good coun sels, and all just works do proceed"—the resolution that he made he kept. It was more thane year after Mrs. Crow- Ow. Punch Bowl, had first missed a 'l t and don't stop for me—your beautiful dresses will be quite spoilt; never mind me, for my levantine is a French silk. and wont spot. These words were screamed out as loud as her haste would permit her, by Mrs. Crow der, who was accompanying her daughters, one Saturday evening, to tin tea-gardens. She was answered by Miss Lucy, "you know ma, we can't run, for our shoes are so tight." "Theo turn into one of these houses,dears," said the mother, who was bustling forward as fast as she could. "No indeed," replied the other daughter, who found time to curl her lip with disdain, notwithstanding her haste and her distress, "I'll not set a foot in such filthy hovels." "Well, dears, here is a comfortable, tidy place," cried the mother at length, as they hastened forward; "here I'll enter, nor will I stir till the rain is over; come in girls, come in." The rain was now coming down in torrents, and the two young ladies gladly followed their mother's exam ple, and entered the neat and cleanly dwell ing. Their long hair hung dangling about their ears, their crape bonnets had been screened in vain by their fringed parasols, and the skirts of their silk gowns were drag gled with mud. They all three began to stamp upon the floor of the room into which they had entered, with very little ceremony; but the good natured mistress of the house I felt more for their disaster than for her floor, and came forward at once to console and assist them. She brought forth clean clothes' from the dresser-drawer, and she had her two daughters set to work to wipe off, with quick and delicate care, the rain drops and mud splashes from the silken dresses of the three fine ladies. , The crape bate and the parasols were carefully dried at a safe dis tance from the fire, and comb was offered to arrange the uncurled hair, such a white and delicately clean comb as may seldom be seen upon a poor woman's toilet. • When all had been done that could be done,and Miss Lucy said, "they began to look like themselves again," Mrs. Crowder who was lolling back at her ease in a large and comfortable arm chair, and amusing herself by taking a goad stare at every thing and-every one in the room, suddenly started forward, and cried out, addressing herself to the master of the house, upon whose Bible and at whose face she had been last fixing her stare, "Why, my good man, we are old friends ; I know your face, I'm certain, still there is some change in you, though I can't exactb say what it is." ""I used to be in ragged clothes,and out o health," said George Manly, smiling, as he looked up from his Bible. "I am now, bless ed be God for it, comfortably clad, and in excellent health." "But how is it," said Mrs. Crowder,"that we never catch a sight of you now?" , " Madam," said he, "1 am sure I wish well to you and all people; nay i l have rea son to thank you, for wotds of yours were the first means of opening my eyes to my own foolish and sinful course. You seern to thrive, so do We. My wife and children were half naked and half-starved, only this time last yeat. Look at thom,if you please, now; for,so far as sweet contented looks go, and decent raiment, befitting their station, Pll match them with any man's wife and children. And now, madam, I tell y0u, .0 you told a friend of yours,one day last year, that 'tis the FooLs' PEro:E which have done all this far us. -The Fools' Pence! I ought Father to say the pence earned by honest industry, lind spent in such a manner, that I can ask the blessing of God upon the pence." When .Mrs. Crowder and her daughters were gone,George Manly sat without speak ing for some considerable time. lie was deep in thought, and his gentle, pious wife felt that she knew on what subject he had teen thinking so deeply; for when ho woke t , from his fit of thought, a deep sigh stole f:iom his lips, and he brushed away the tears which had filled his eyes. I t TICE MIDNIGHT SHIES. . The whatmid a s nigh t l. ern ok t ad skies—the e - u m r lit ii t e li , ght skies—' Upon their brows eternal height; And yet around them wreathed, there seems A halo, brighter than the beams , * • 'Caught from tite smiles of life and light. .4 ' . The midnight skies—.the midnight skies— • . • Millions of ever Waking eyes .. Look through their silent starry bowers, . Watching . the wizard twin of death, Sleep—thinly moringon the breath , . Of mortals—in this sphere of ours. The midnight skies—the midnight skies— ' In vain the unbeliever tries To laugh their shadowy trail off; For o'er his soul they cast a spell • --.of God-head, so ineffable As freezes on his lips the scoff. The midnight skies—grand boundless deep— . Balls, where the watching angels keep .• The passes of eternity. Religicnes mysterious and sublime, Stretched out upon the wings of time— Dominions of a Deity ! Ve know that God is every where— Beyond the eastern ocean, there fie girds the morn with wings of light— :lie spreads upon the sunny hour The dark pavilion of his power, • And then we say, Behold 'tis night! But oh—'tie in the skies alone— The skies of midnight, God halt shown .Perspectives to the deathless Mind— „Mansions, that alt the brew= of day .Could never to the mind display Afar iu distant Glory shrin'd., Extracts from the Life and treason of Benedict Arnold by Jared Sparks. MURDER OP MISS DIoCRE.A! The murder of JANE M'CanA has been a theme which eloquence and sensibility have • • t aneproduced a lively impression in every part of America; and the glowing language of Burke, in one of his most celebrated speeches in the British Parliament, made th'is+eteri.ofc--Jario-M'Creir, familiar to the• European world. This young lady was the daughter of a clergyman who died in New Jersey before the revolution. Upon her father's death she sought a home in the house of her brother, a respectable gentleman residing on the wes tern bank of Hudson's river, about fbur miles below Fort Edward. Here she formed an intimacy with a young man named David Jenes, to whom it was understood she was engaged to be married. When the war broke out, Jones took the side of the royal• ists,went to Canada, received a commis3ion, and was a captain or a lieutenant amengthe provincials of Burgoyne's army. - Fort Edward waS situate on the eastern margin of Hudson's river,within a few yards of the water, and surrounded by a plain of considerable extent, which was cleared of wood and cultivated. On the road leading to the north, and near thalboiof the kill a bout one third of a mile from the fort, stood a house occupied by Mrs. McNeil, a widow lady and an acquaintance of Miss M'Crea, with whom she was staying as a visitet at the time the American army was in that neighborhood. The side of the hill wits covered With a growth of bushes, and cm its top, a quarter of a mile from the house, stood a large pine tree, near the toot of which gushed out a perennial spring of wa- ter. A guard of one hundred men had been left at the fort, and a picket under, Lieuten ant Van Vetchen was stationed in the woods on the hill a little beyond the pine tree: Early one morning this picket guard was' attacked by a party of Indians, rushing through the woods from different points at the same moment, and rending, the air with hideous yells. Lieutenant Van Vechten and five others were killed and scalped, and four were wounded. Samuel Standish, one of the guard, whose post was neat the pine tree, discharged his musket at the first In dian he saw, and ran down the hill towards the fort; but he had no sooner reached the plain, than three Indians, who had pursued him to cut offhis retreat, darted out of the bushes, fired, and wounded him in the foot. One of them sprang upon him, threw him to the ground, pinioned his arms, and then pushed him , violently forward up the W— ile • naturally made aq much haste as he could, and in a short time they came to the spring, where several Indians were assem bled. Here Standish was left to himself, at a lit tle distance froth the spring and the pine tree, expecting every moment to share the fate of his comrades, whose scalps were con spicuously displayed. A few minUtes only had elapsed, when he saw a small party of Indian s ascending the hill, and with them Mrs. McNeil and Miss M'Crea on foot. He knew them both, having often been at Mrs. McNeil's house. The party had hardly joined the other Indians, when he perceived much agitation Among themi high words and violent gestures, till at length they eti gaged in a turieus quarrel, and beat one an ot4pwrAwith their muskets. In the midst of This fray; one of the chiefs, apparently in a paroxyism of rage, shot Miss M'Crea in the breast, She instantly fell and expired. Her hair_ was long and flowing.. Tha seine chief grasped it in his hand, seized his knife,. and took o ff the scalp in such a manner as to in. elude nearly .the whole of the hair, then springing from the ground, he tossed it in the face of a young warrior,-who stood near him watching the operation, brandishing it in the air, and uttered a yell of savage exul tation. When . this was done, the quarrel ceased; arid as the fort had already been a , larmed, the Indians hurried away as quick ly as possible to Geri. Fraser's encampment on the road to Fort Anne, taking with them 51rs. McNeil and Samuel Standish. The bodies of the slain were . found by a party that went in pursuit, and were carried across the river. They had been stripped of their clothing, and the body of Miss Crea was wounded in nine places, either by scalping or a tomahawk.. A message was despached to convey the afflicting intelli gence to her brother, who at rived soon af terwards, took charge of his sister's re mains, 'and had .them interred on the east side of the river about three miles below the fort. The body of Liedt. Vechten was bu ried at the same time and on the samo spot. History has preserved no facts by which I we can at this day ascertain the reason,why Miss M'Crea should remain as she did in so expoSed and unprotected. a situation. She had been reminded of her danger - by the • people at the fort. Tradition relates, how ever, and with seeming truth; that through some 'medium of communication she had promised her lover, probably by hi's advice, to remain in this place,'until the approach of the British troops should, afford her - an op portunity to join him, in company with her hostess and friend. It is said, that, when they saw the Indians coming to the house, they were at first trightend and attempted to escape: hut, as the Indians made signs. of a pacific intention, and one of them held up a Me: intimating - that - it was to be opened, their fears were calmed and the letter was read. It was from Tones, and contained a re quest that they would put themselves under • 'ha eh^ rfTe of the - Indians,whoin• he hod sent e, and who would guard them Brttish camp. Unfortunate . • •• • !.: e parties of Indiahs, or at least s.- .• .ing independently of each otiv ,1.1 in this enterprize, combining • • Ack of the picket guard. It is ''.at Jones should have known this part of the arrangement, or he would have foreseen the danger it threatened. When the prize was in their hands the tWo.4iiefs quarrelled about the mode c;l• viding the reward they were to receive: and, according to the Indian rule of settling disputes in the case of captives, one of them in a • fit of passion killed the victim and red the scalp. Nor is it the least shock ingfeature of the transaction, that the sav age seemed not aware of the nature of his mission. Uninformed as to the motive of his employer for obtaining the person of the lady, or not comprehending it, he regarded her in the light of a ,prisoner, and suppoied the scalp would he an acceptable trophy.— Let it be imagined what were the. feelings of the anxious lover, waiting joyful anticipa- tion the arrival of his intended bride, when this appalling proof of her death was pre sented to him. The innocent had suffered by the hand of cruelty and violence, which he had unconsciously armed; his most fond ly cherished hopes were blasted, and a sting was planted in his soul, which time and for getfulness"couldliever. eradicate. His spir it was scathed and his heart broken. He lived but a few years, a prey td'his sad re collections, and sank into the grave under the burders of his grief. The ternembrance cif this Melancholy tale is Cherished with a lively sympathy by the people who dwell near the scene of its prin cipal incidents. The inhabitants of the village of Port Edwatd have lately tenet , - ed the remains of Miss M'Crea from their obscure resting place, and deposited them in the public burial ground. The ceremony was solemn and impressive. A procession of Sroting men and maidens followed the re. lice, and wept in silence when the earth was again closed over them, thus exhibiting an honorable proof of sensibility and respect for the dead. The little fountain still pours out its clear waters near the brow of the hill, and the venerable pine is yet standing in its ancient majesty, broken at the top and shorn of its branches by the winds and storms of half a century, but revered as marking the spot where youth and innocence were sacri ficed in the tragical death ofJarvE McCune. For the Gettysburg Star and Republican Banner. A PARODY. SO trilD the loud Timbre!,' ye patriots that be, GEO, Wow has triumph'd! liiswaraiest friends flee! Sing, fur the power of his "faction" is broken: Jackson, Van Buren, Benton & Co. flow vain was their boasting, the "Wolf" hath but spoken/ And the pride of their "faction" lies humble and low! Then sound the loud timbrel,ye patriots that bei Itrnign will Triumph! the People be Free! Praise to their Delegates, to their bargain and sale, Their "party's'iyrostration, we joyfully hail! Who shall narrate to Van. Duren the story Of those he roign'd o'cr, in the hour of his pride; For the Wolf bath look'd out from the pride of his glory; And all his proud faction are dash'd in the tide Then sound the loud timirel,ye patriots that be, WINES 'WILL Triumph! the People be Free! York Springs, Match 11,1895. O. SONS OF OLIVER CROMWELL. Richard Cromwell, the eldest son of Oli vet Cromwell, was a. man of excallent die• positon, and remarkable for his gravity and unaffected piety. He is said to have plead: ed on his knees before his inflexible father for the lice of King Charles the First. He WHOLE NO• succeeded to the Protectership,,Snd.tobtx rofused the advice given to biz by aron*of his Council to retain his power pt the trZt pense of blood. He retired to 'France for some years, and returned to England afters the restoration, when party animosities hark, subsided. When . nearly eighty years ofagei he tient to the bar of the House of Lords. Then' Lord Bathurst r oniorsed with hire,nad.risk4 ed him how long it was hind! he had beer( there before. "Never, my Lord i " said he, "since I sat in that chair," pointing to the throne. .110 spent many °lbis last yeats in obeca = fit) , at Ches'Aunt. He gave a striking and% laudable proof how much retirement and, peace are to, he preferred to the splendoi --- and pomp of power. He enjoyed sound health to the last, and was so strong and tie.: tive that at the age of fourscore he was seen to gallop his horse for many miles togethers He died in 1712, in his 80th years Henry Cromwell, the voungest goti or Oliver Cromwell, like has brother Richardi wag a man of an excellent character, well disposed, and unambitiouo. tie was °ppm ted by his father Lord Lieutenant of frog land, and acquitted himself in that govern. mont with great credit. He rejoiced in the restoration, and received sorr.e favors from Charles the Second, for which he was in debted to Loid Clarendoh. He declared to his brother Richard: "I will rather submit to any suffering with a good name, than be the greatest man upon earth, without one!" What a virtuous declaration! s4hatti just nrui NPVerf• t+-t . rtl I ~'i.:' t : .. .. - ~ 1::. ..s;;! ;1) ; )( -I, : if o f it ,r, .r..!n1).!:;,11C0,1ti3t1 I au .iTr. iiiive sent a petition to the Massachusetts House of ,Delegates, having upwards 01.2.500 lady signatures, itv which it is declared, in Substance, as their firm belief that drinking ardent spirits is no longer a proper accomplishment, for their husbands, fathers, brothers, or lovers. The' House hod orchtied the petition to be prin. ted together with the mimes attached: rer that, as the Boston Advocate observes-1W yoliiigt men will now have *list of.the Teri persece girls of Lowell and will keen , where to Itad genuine temperance wives. wry lIAT DOES A TRiAT corn—On SAW& day, after dovernor Wolf was nominated, Judge Lewis rose and stated that he Waif authorised to invite' the members of the Convention, and other friends who were spectators, to call at the Governor's mop' and take a glass of wine with the Governort This is a new method of signifying an ac ceptance of a nomination—very much like treating ajOry after a verdict.—Thir. Intl As an evidence of the perfection.to which reporting and printing has been brought, - in London the proceedings at Guildhall, nom , hutting candidates for parliament, and occu , pying eight columns, were published in the , Sun newspaper within an hour arid a half or their occurrence FIRE AND Loss of Lift.—We leant from the - Albany gverring Journal, that the dwelling house of - Mr.- John — Griffie,- pir - Westerloo, (N. Y.) was destroyed irt fire during the nrght of the 4th inst, and. that one of his daughters and another Ming girl, perished in the flames! The daughter aged 11, and two young women named Carle, were asleep in an upper room when the a larm was given. One of the Misses Carte threw herself from the window and escaped with a dislocation of the ankle; the other two remained in the chamber and perished, The other members of the family, loflging oil the first floor, made their &cape- DISGRACEPUL.—Turring and Feather. ing a Female.—A correspondent &James. villa writes us as follows: "A most disgrace• ful circumstances recently occurred at Or. villa, Conondaga county, N. Y. _About 20 persons assembled at the house ofMrs. Ty. ler, (whose husband is in the State prison,) between 8 and 9 o'clock in the evsmiaiti broke open the door, entered her bed-room, gagged and took her off abOut a mile and a half to a barn, stripped her and then tarred and feathered her ell over. She was found in this state in the barn, on the following morning, and assisted to retura to her dwell. ing. It is said that the cause at such. dis. graceful proceedings was the fact that Mrs. Tyler's fame was considered doiibiful in the neighborhood. Most of the offenders are bound over in $l5OO each to appear and answer." lionain.—By accounts from Caunpoier, we learn that the sales of C9dren hate WI come very extensive in , upper India, and hundreds bate been eaten by their sloth% parents! , Mrs. mirk of the Old Ship inn, Rothara ham, provided for her Sheffield friends, at Christmas Pie, which when taken to, the oven weighed upwards of seventeen, stone, or 238 lb.s.; it Consisted ofone rump otheer, two legs of veal, two legs of pork,- throe • hares, six rabbits, three geese. four p - how ants, eight partridges, two turkimfour upwards clone 100 pounds , of best Bout: The Countess of Blessington is, writitits _ memoir of the - Duehess tits Berri. Votes inditing the story of Catypso!-:-N. Sikh 14. • of Lnt•';'ll
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers