11011... t. .• VOL. 6--NO. B.] Office of the Star & Banner: Chambersburg Street, a few doors West of the Court-House. CONDITIONS I. The STAR & REPUBLICAN BANNER. is published weekly, at Two DOLLARS per annum, (or Volume of 52 Numbers,) payable half yearly in advance. 11. No subscription will be received for a shorter poriod than six months, nor will the paper be discon tinued until all arrearages are paid, unless at the dis cretion of the editor—A failure to notify a discontinu ance will be considered a new engagement, and the paper forwarded accordingly. 111. Advertisements not exceeding n square, will be inserted THREE Aimee ter oNE DOLLAR, and '25 cents for every subsequent insertion—longer ones in the sail': proportion. The number of insertions to be marked, or they will be published till forbid and char ged accordingly. IV, Communications, &c. by mail, must be post paid—otherwise they will not meet with attention. ADVERTISEMENTS. Bonouviez ACCOUNTS. MOSES WC:LEAN, Treasurer of the Borough of Gettysburg, from May Bth, 1834, till May 2d, 1835. To outstanding tax in hands of C. Cliritzman, Collector, on dupli. cute of 1832, Do. do. duplicate of 1833, Balanco in hands of Treasurer at last settlement, 224 40 Borough. Tax assessed for 1834, 317 74 Road do. do. 1834, 228 71 Cash received of Michael Degroff, stall rent, Market•house, for one your, ending Ist August, 1834, 500 Do. do. Nicholas Codori, 500 Amount paid over by Burgess, for Licenses for shows, &c. CR. By orders paid as follows, viz Samuel H. Buehler, in trust for of ficers of election, 1834, R. G. Harper, panting from 1823 _ . _ till 1834, Henry. Little,opening Court-house, &c. at-election, Jacob Lefever, printing from 1831 . . "Active Free Company," Michael Rupp, care of Engines, part of 1833, &c. H. Ramhy,. winding Town-clock and oil for do. 1833, 10 62 S. H. Hull, balance of salary as High Constable, Ezekiel Buckingham, 11 months salary, High Constable, "Vigilant Fire Company," P. Weikert, roofing Engine-house, (York-street,) Charles Mann, removing nuisances, Lafayette Committee, (on Petition of Citizens,) Jacob Culp, Street and Road Com- missioner, 253 90 David Sweney, do. do. 165 14 S. S. Forney, building Culvert and Grate, 1829, J. Little, Street and Road Commis sioners, 1834, balance, Paid Clerk of Quarter Sessions, for order to open a street, M. C. Clarkson, Burgess, 1834, Salary of Council, 1834, C. Chritzman, Collector, fees and releases, Clerk and Treasurer's salary, Balance of duplicate of 1634, in hands of Collector, Balancein hands of Treasurer,May 2d, 1835, 3 95 0:7"A small portion only of the School fund having been yet paid over or expended, it is doomed unnecessary to publish that part of the accounts at present. May 18, 1835. Militia Elections! AN Election will be hold by the Enrolled Militia of the Second Brigade, Fifth Division, Pennsylvania Militia, on Monday the Ist day of June next, between the hours of 10 A. m. and 0 r. at., for the purpose of electing ONE BRIGADIER. GENERAL, ONE BRIGADE INSPECTOR, ONE COLONEL and LIEUTENANT COLONEL for each Regiment. ONE MAJOR for each Battalion. Elections to be hold at the following pla ces, viz:—For the Ist Battalion, 80th Re giment, at the house of Mr. Baily, (former ly King's,) in Franklin township; Second do. of do. at the Court-house in the Borough of Gettysburg; First Battalion, 89th Regi ment, at the house of Mr. Smith, (formerly Mr. Eimich's,) in Hanover; 2d do. of do. at the house of David Bell, in Abbotistown; Ist Battalion, 90th Regiment, at the house of Harvey Hammond, in Lewisbury; 2d do. of do. at the house of Mosei Myers, in Peters burg, (York Springs.) Every member of a volunteer troop or company attached to a volunteer battalion, will vote for Brigadier General and Brigade Inspector, at the, above election, in the re spective battalion in which he resides; Captains of Companies will lurnish copies of the rolls of their respective companies. The Major of each Battalion is required by law to superintend and ,conduct each of the above elections. (See 14th section Mi. litia Laws.) SAMUEL E. HALL, Brigade laopector, 2d Brig. 5t.11 Dir. Pa. Militia. May 11, 1835. to-8 THE GARLAND. -"With sweetest flowers enriched, From various gardens cull'd with care." THE MIND IS A:GARDEN. "And scattered truth is never, never wasted." The mind is a garden—and youth's sunny morn, Is the season for planting; the rose and the thorn Will spring up together—then let us take care That none but the sweetest of roses grow there. This soiris so fertile, so rich is the ground, That the smallest of seeds may in plenty be found; Here plants of all kinds, both of falsehood and truth, Spring up and are warmed in the sunshine of youth. If the seeds of deception, of envy and strife, Are suffered to grow in the spring-time of When the autumn of age chills the breath of the air, We must gather the fruits of our little "parterre." But let us be wise, and pluck up by the roots All plants such as these, ere we taste of their fruits; And place in their stead those that nuture design'd, To adorn and improve and embellish the mind. In one peaceful spot shall the olive branch flourish; This the pure stream of Religion shall nourish; Here too shall the plant of kind Mercy spring up. Refresh'd from the o'erilowing of Charity's clip. 0, let the young gems of fair Knowledge abound. To scatter their truths to the plants all around; So likewise the Lattrelovith its arms spreading wide, In friendship shall shield the sweet rose by its side. When the sun that has cheered us in life's early days Shall withdraw from the garden the light of his rays From the flowers as they wither, 0, may there arise A grateful perfume that shall reach to the skies. $37 59 18 00 FROM THE NEW-YORK MIRROR. The litlacksmith of Clonmel [By James Sheridan Knowles 18 00 THERE was a burning that -night. In the morning the main street was filled with groups of people momentarily expecting the arrival of the incendiaries, who, it was re• ported, had been taken. Phil Brennan had not yet come home. Early was Margaret up and at the door with her child in her arms—l forgot to mention that she made me slee^vith her, and that .we rose at the same time. Breakfiist passed—an hour did she delay it. NO signs of Phil. It was now nearly twelve o'clock. 0! what an anxious wife was she that morning! Ne ver shall I forget the misery of her looks. Twelve o'clock struck. The agony ofsus pense became intolerable. "Phil Brennan! Phil Brennan!" she ex claimed, in a moaning voice, "is it right of you to treat me thus? Where are you? What keeps you? Why do you not come home to your wife and child V' and then she woul4 strain her eyes up and down the street, till I thought they would start from her head. 8652 44i 34 00 88 00 39 03 The groups in the street increased. The particulars of the outrage had arrived. A whole family had been burnt! Margaret Brennan groaned as she heard the circum stance related by one who came up to a group, of about a dozen people, who had assembled near her door. This group pre sently increased to a crowd. Whoever was passing, hearing that something was going on, was sure to stop; and the man had to tell his story over and over to satis fy new appeals of curiosity. "And so they are taken?" remarked one. "How many of them are there?" inquir ed another. 23 85 44 00 2 75 • 5 00 25 00 88 88 30 00 Three!" replied the man who spoke first. "Do you know any of their names?" "One of them—" he would have gone on but his eye fell upon Margaret Brennan, and he stopped short. She observed it—l saw she was ready to drop. She crossed herEelf! looked up to heaven and leaned for support against the post of the door. "They are coming!" cried he that asked the last question. Margaret Brennan started from her de clining posture, looked wildly in the same direction as the speaker. "No, 'tis only Jerry Lynch and some of his friends, who have been in another dime tion on the hunt for the boys." Three or four horsemen approached— 62 01 8952 44i Jerry Lynch at their head. 01 what a look of appealing deprecation did the daugh- ter cast upon the father!—and, how did the father return that look ?—with the flushed smile of malignant exultation! Nor was he content with that. He turned his horse toward her; and while, with clasped hands and a look of piteous distraction, she regard ed hi m— "Remember the day when you married Phil Brennan!" he cried, in a tone, that carried despair in it, even to my heart. "Remember it I—and remember your fit. ther's curse!" He turned again to go on, but the horse grew suddenly restiff—reared—fell—and the rider came with violence to the ground! Jerry Lynch lay insensible on a bed in his daughter's house. His head had sus tained some injury in the fall—but what, the medical man, who was promptly in at- tendance, could not immediately tell. But that angel of a daughter! How did she stand by the side of her unnatural father— forgetful for a time of the husband, who, but a few minutes before, had been the sub- ject of her most harrowing apprehensions! "0, not this way !" she would cry ; "0, not this way! lithe curse is to fall, let it not be in .this way! He has been unkind to me, but he is my father! Let him not be brought into his daughter's house to die!" Thus she continued bewailing him for upward of an hour—when, a noise in the street attracting her attention, the thought of her husband seemed to flash upon her. She became almost breathless, and pressing her hand upon ber heart, as though she felt it bursting, she falteringly asked me to 137 R0231311,T WHITM EDITOR. 1 5 1733LTEMEMR. AND PP.OPRIMTOR. "I WISH NO OTHER HERALD, NO OTHER SPEAKER OF NV LIVING ACTIONS, TO KEEP NINE HONOR FROM CORRUPTION.".-.43HARS SELECT TALE. CHAPTER THE LAST. earKPlrarinntaite IPcititoo ANIAP/Dcalre gittcalr ado Ilage go in the next room, which looked into the street, and bring her word what was the matter. I obeyed, so far as to go and look out. I saw a flashing of bayonets at the farther end of the street, and a dense crowd ap proaching. I grew suddenly as cold as ice --sick—could hardly breathe. I heard the beating of my own heart—it was slow and heavy. The military were in a strong body, and wore surrounding something. I looked for a head towering above all the rest, for I had entered into Margaret Bren nan's dark foreboding—but, to my momen tary relief, could not. see one. The con course came slowly on. Three deep, as they call it, were the soldiers; their fire locks sloping toward the crowd. A car, I saw, was in the centre; but, as yet, I could only perceive the horse's head, the soldiers were so thick about it. It drew nearer and I could catch a glimpse now and then of some persons who were lying bound upon it. It was presently close to the house— at last right opposite to it. Two of the men, strangers, lay with their faces toward me; one with his back to me—l shook trom head to fbot. He turned as he passed. I heard a piercing shriek in the room, and a fal'--Margaret Brennan lay lifeless upon the floor beside me. The man was Phil Brennan ! So absorbed was t in what was passing in the street, I was utterly uncoriccious of her having followed me. We were joined by some neighbours who had assisted in carrying her father into the house, and had remained there. No sooner had she come to herself, than she got up from a settee, on which they had placed her, and went and put on her cloak. • "Take care of my poor father," she said; "I am going to Phil;l shall return the moment I have spoken with him. Don't care for me! I know that the worst that can come will come, and - now I am prepar ed for it !" She paused as she opened the door. "Where's my baby?" she inquired, half abstractedly. "I have forgotten my baby! 0, it is asleep in the next room! At this moment we heard the child move. She went into the room, and returning with the infant in her arms, proceeded direct to the jail. "No one could be admitted to Phil Brennan!" I had instinctively gone along with her. People must do their duty. The jailer had his orders. The case was one ot ag gravated crime, and the prisoners Inuit be kept alone. Still, not a foot from the jail door would Margaret Brennan stir, till the hour when the privilege of admittance ceas ed, and visiters were, at last, ejected for the night. A woful wife, she then return ed to her home, and ascended to the room whither her father had been conveyed. Sensibility had returned, but there was panial paralysis. The use of the left side was gone. Neither the hand nor the foot of that side could the sufferer stir. There was also a difficulty of 'articulation, and an evident dulness of perception in the organs of hearing and of sight; but he knew his daughter the moment she plaintively accost ed him. From her he glanced to her child —from her child to her, and back agaip— and then he would throw his eyes round the room—and lift to his forehead the band, the use of which haretained—and press it there, moving it backward and forward, as one who tries to recall the recollection of something. But I never saw any thing so striking as the change which had taken place in the expression of his countenance. • All aspen ty had vanished, and meekness and depre cation appeared in its stead. At length, he seemed to have found the impression which he wished to recall. He beckoned to his unhappy child to come round to the other side of the bed. She did so, and bent her head to hear something which she thought he wanted to say. He showed by his looks that he was misunderstood, with difficulty raised his arm till he could get his hand round her neck, then drew her cheek toward his lips, and kissed it. This was what she did not expect—she withdrew her head a little, with the impulse of sur prise; but the next moment returned the hallowed salutation of reconcilement in a flood of tears, and sat down on the side of the bed. The old man looked as if he could have wept too—but the power seemed to be gone. "Your husband?" he articulated, with difficulty. Margaret Brennan, recalled to the situa tion of Phil, clasped her hands, and lified her eyes to heaven. "In prison?" he . added. "Heaven for give me! send—send for Mr. and Mr.—. Lose no time! I have none to spare—quick ! quick ! let me make what atonement I can." The persons he named were sent for— they came. Jerry Lynch seemed to gain new strength when they entered the room. Other persons were also • summoned. His will, drawn up and witnessed, was executed before twelve o'clock. He left his whole property to his daughter. This done, he sank into a state of stupor, rather than of repose. For several days no change took place in his situation. Injury—serious in jury—had been sustained, and no one could calculate the issue. Meanwhile, the time of Margaret was divided between her husband's prison acd the sick-bed of her father. Her duties to the latter discharged,' hastily she repaired to the former; but not a foot within the walls could she obtain ingress. The magistrate could not allow it. The sheriff, a man• of great benevolence, could not grant it- It was necessary that all communication with the prisoner should be cut off, and the com mission was about to sit. The judge came into town. In the eyes of Margaret Bren nan, no funeral was ever half so dismal as the array of the cavalcade that ushered them into Clonmel. The howl of the Ulla gone was melody to the trumpets, whose flourish did the honours of their portentous procession. One day they sat—another. The third was appointed for the trial of Phil Brennan and his accomplices. Numerous, that morning, was the crowd that surround. cd the front of the prison—strong was the escort that waited to conduct the prisoners to the court.house. The unfortunate men appeared—the guard surrounded them—the march commenced. The slanting bayonets kept strangers, acquaintances, friends and relatives aloof—but there was one eye fixed upon Phil Brennan that was blind to the grove ofsteel that begirt him In one and the same moment it saw him; and, reckless of the thronging populace and defying guard, closed in his arms—as Margaret Brennan sprang through and flung herself upon the neck of her husbaud. They did not try to. force her away—they could not—they would not. The sheriff a humane man, as I remarked before, happened to be passing or the time; he whispered the sergeant— she was permitted to walk beside her hus band to the court—to enter the dock along with him. At eleven o'clock, the trial commenced —at five, it was concluded. One of the prisoners, an ill-favoured wretch, half brute, had turned approver. He swore positive ly to the fact, Phil Brennan and the other man were among the foremost of the in• cendinries. A member of the bar—able, as proverbially kind-hearted—volunteered his services on behalf of the accused. By this gentleman, the witness underwent a severe cross-examination; but his testimony remain ed unshaken. Still the evidence was hard ly-sufficient in itself to found a verdict upon. The judge inquired if there were not any other witnesses? "None, my lord, of whose evidence 'we can avail ourselves. A boy, we find, es caped from the house; but fright has depriv ed him of the power of cipeech; and he can neither read nor write." "Is he in court?" inquired the judge. "He is, my lord. We are going to pro duce him; but he can be of no other service :seat;. identify the prim:mere by signs— provided he knows them. "Let us try," said the judge. A little boy was put into the witness's box. He had a fine, open countenance, with a remarkably quick and intelligent eye; but he seemed to labour under a feeling of most oppressive uneasiness. "Little boy," said the• judge, "do you know what an oath is?" The witness nodded. • "Do you know where the person, who Lakes a false oath, is likely to go ?" He nodded again. "Is it to heaven'?" demanded the judge. He shook his head, with an expression which left no doubt as so his fitness for stand ing where they had placed him. "Swear him!" said the judge. He was sworn. "Bring all the prisoners to the front of the dock," d i rected the judge. It was done. "Look there, little boy," resumed he; "tell me,ifany of those persons are known to you?" The boy looked at the dock, and nodded. “Which of them?” demanded the judge. "Give him your rod, Mr. Usher, that ho may point the person or persons out." The usher did as directed, and the boy placed the rod upon the head ofPhil Brennan. "No other?" asked the judge. Re shook his head. "And that man, you swear, was at the fire 7" He nodded. "You have been unable to speak since that night?" He nodded, and then shook his head mournfully. "Let him go down," said the judge. The boy's face, which before was as pale as ashes, now became as red as if every drop of blood in his body had rushed into it. Alternately he stretched out his arms to the judge, raised them to heaven, and pointed to Phil Brennan. "Poor boy!" cried the publick prosecu tor, "he appeals to us and to heaven for justice upon the man who murdere4 his family !" Now, the agitation of the little fellow be came perfectly appalling. His chest heav ed, and the muscles of his throat began to work as if ho were in the act of strangula tion; he wrung his hands—clasped them— threw his arms wildly about; and, at last, became perfectly black in the face—and, in this state, was removed. The jury retired for half an hour—at the expiration of that time they returned into court, and a verdict of guilty was recorded. Margaret Brennan lay lifeless on the floor of the dock! The prisoners were asked what they had to say, why sentence of death should not be passed upon them. Phil Brennan turned to his companion in mis fortune. The unfortunate man, overwhelm ed by the annowement of his fate, looked as if the facultieTOf thought and sense were utterly suspended—he glared wildly in the face of the judge. Phil, with a countenance still clear—still bland —still resolute and mring; bowing to the judge and' to the court, addnessed himself to speak : "1 am an unfortunate man," laid he; "but lam an innocent one. I belonged to the Shanavats; but I never yet joined them, nor would join them, in a housebreaking or a burning. I was at the fire; but I did not know that it was intended. I went to their meeting at the risk of my life. to tell them I that from that moment I Withdrew Myself! from their association. I did -tell them so. I They threatened me with death! I dared them to do their worst—for I was well arm ed, and they knew me. Perhaps I had not been here to-day, or on this earth to-day, had it not been for the burning of that cot tage. I saw the blaze break out—a differ ent party had set fire to the thatch. The Ifttaststood about a quarter of a mile from the place where we were talking. I forgot myself and them—every thing but the in mates of that house! I bounded from them. 1 reached the scene ofdestructioh. H( even forgive the destroyers! In defiance of those who surrounded the: hou-ze, I burst open the door. I found a little boy at my foot. .1 snatched him ue—but paused—then, for the first time, recollecting that death was without as well ns within—for me as well as for him! I made up my mind to try to escape, with the boy,thro' the midst of them. I sprung to the door, expecting their shots. Not one of the party was to be seen! Something —I knew, not what, 1 since know—had scared them, and they had fled. I set the boy down, and entered the house alum, in the hope of rescuing some other of the in mates. In defiance of the tairning thatch, which was falling on me fast and thick, I burst open the door of another room, but could see nobody. I . called, but nobody answered me. I was choked with the heat and the smoke, and made a rush to the door. I stumbled into the arms of the military, and was secured. I asked for the boy. They reviled me, and mocked me; and, ta king my weapons from me,* asked me, "what I had been doing with these?" They brought me to prison—from prison I have been brought here. 1 have been 'tried and found guilty by the jury, and no blame to them. The informer, to save his own life, has made away with mine! You are going to pass sentence of death upon me, and I shall be hung. No matter how soon I die —my wife lies dead already upon the floor of the dock ! lam asinocent of the burn ing as she is!" A dead silence ensued. The judge slow ly took his cap and put it on. At this mo ment a considerable degree of confusion appeared to prevail in a quarter of the court, within a few paces_of the dock.. - "Silence," cried the official, whose duty it is to maintain order. The confusion increased. "What is the matter?" demanded the judge; "that this interruption is permitted at such a moment as this? Who makes this noise?" "The boy who was in convulsions," an swered one of the spectators, "and was re moved, hascontrived to get back, and seems now to be falling into them again." "Remove him again," said the crier. The command was obeyed; the boy was lifted, and way made for the person who was carrying him. The little fellow was about ten years old. His eyes were now red and starting. The muscles of his coun tenance were agitated fearfully. His mouth, agitated, was wide agape. As the person that had charge of him was passing the dock, the little fellow caught hold 'of the iron spikes with which it was burmounted, and there he held in spite of every effort to remove him. "Remove him by the dock," directed the judge. "Give him to me I" exclaimed Phil Bren nan, extending his arms to lift . him over. The boy instantly let go his hold, clasped Phil Brennan round the neck, and bursting into tears, exclaimed, or rather shrieked: "Don't kill him! don't kill him! Ho sav ed me from the fire! Don't hang him! don't kill him I" It is Impossible to describe the sensation produced in the whole court by this extra ordinary incident. As soon as silence was restored, the judge demanded if any friend or relation of the boy's was present. "Yes, and so please your honour;' cried an old woman, who had kept as close to the boy as the throng would permit her. She was ordered to be conducted'to the witness's box. When there, she stated that the boy, who happened to be her grandson, had come to her house late on the night of the fire; that fear seemed to have utterly depriv ed him of the power of speech; that from that moment to this, he had never spoken, or uttered any sounds save what were per fectly unintelligible; that she .had accom• panied her grandson to the court to take care of him; and .that, as to the prisoners at the bar, she had never spoken to any of them, nor knew anything about them. The boy was then again put into the wit ness's box and examined, and Weedy cor roborated that part of Phil Brennan's state= meat which related to the littliVellow him self. The issue may be easily guessed. At eleven o'clock that njght,j'hil Bren nan and his wife—who, with Prompt and active medical assistance, was at last restor ed to consciousness, and narrowly escaped a relapse upon hearing of the unlooked-for happy turn that things had taken—present ed-themselves at their ownjdoor. Joyfully was it opened for them, but sad were the looks of Margaret when she heard that her father was past hope. His mind, within the last two days, had begun to wander; and it was evident that a crisis which would prove fatal, was fast approaching. She and her husband on tiptoe entered the room • [WHOLE NO where Jerry Lynch wan lying otittas , ,: : : bed. His breathing was hard and tood r ilio: face white, his eyes glazed atidaintesiisW:' The clergyman and the doctor, withlidnin. ; , friends, were standing at the other- siditntt.: , the bed. "How are you, father?" inquired Mast• garet - Brennnn. Ilts eyes made a slight motion toward fhel quarter where the speaker stood. • . "Have they hung him?---hayed they him?" was his reply. "No, father? no? He is saiedl hi. here!" • ..- "Accursed be the witnesses! . accureeff ••:;14 be the jury 1 accursed be the judger he , exclaimed; and his frame began towrithe, and the foam to rise from his mouth: "Father!" cried his child. "Well, Margaret?" he uttered sufrecht,:, ingly. , „ , , "Phil Brennan is here, and alive And' safe;" rejoined Margaret. "Ha! ha!" cried he, with a etrenght: of voice ler beyond what he could command several days before. "Ha! ha! and is the cart, and he in it. Stop the 'axemri. tion! Murder! murder! Why do they take him to the gallows? I never told them! I have no hand in hanging him! I comet him, and I cursed you, but 1 recall the came, *". Why'do they tie him up! Milkier!' mui: der! They will not turn him off. 4-They, will !--They do! There he is swinging!" ; Here the old man uttered a faint ebrielr;! "Cut the rope ! cut the rope I cu( it! cut tie • cut it ! He is dying . dying! He is dead I" —The last breath passed with the word!. Phil Brennan was 1 , - nmi) of a decent indepene Every tioeg began to prosper witl, Lov:;• i4 and beloved, he was the tie,' of husbands. He becamk , r, a numerous progeny. but ors and not his least dear, pArtcolc net of ihn blood. ft was no other than she ()mbar/ witness whom Phil took home with 'laird upon the day of his trial—and from that time adopted and seated tte his own. VARIOUS RATTERS. A country editor, in speaking era Stearn. boat, says: "She had twelve births its.hei''' ladies' cabin." "0 life or me!" exclaimed . an old lady, on reading the above, "what a!' squalling there must have been?' No Lawyers are allowed to reside on the island of St. Helena; nor is a newspaper per mitted to be printed there:• an alintuum eve, - , ry year being the only teroduetton of the press. Eery DISTRIBUTION.—The .Argaritus principle is gaining . ground in New Yorke—. almost every morning some family in that great city is enlarged from extraneous; sources, by the addition of a Ili* Jiaby,r , whose parents being over provided, are will., ing to "shake their superflux" to those whine tables, have fewer children rising round them. like olive branches. The editor of the Commercial Advertiser tells ' in hie tamed: pleasant way, of ,p present of that kind, Made a few nights since to the foreman Ohio (Ade.... The editor of a New Jersey paper in an. flouncing the appointment of A moil Kendall as Post . Master General, says he :wag pretty, sure before he heard of it, that something. or other had happened in that departtnent v for he received a day or two previously "WO' on to half a bushel of papers at a lick—the arrears of all the papers fora month."' A. mos comes in, says be, like a northieiter, Arrp.?wr TO Ron.—A gentlemadriding, out in a gig, near Baltimore, on Monday, with a lady, was stopped by a villain, whc , demanded his money. The pattern - an' sprang from the gig to attack the fellow, who fired at him and run; the bell intenecl' through his coat collar. , • There once lived in Charleston a tataiV named Frog, and the father and mother car- ried their infant - to one of the churches to haat) it baptized. "What is the name - or the child?" said•the minister, at the same; time taking up a handful of water, ready to pour upon the infant's face. "In truth," replied the father, "we hav'nt yet eta& up our minds in that particular, and do'nt know what to call it." "Oh," says the ,"facetious Judge Burk, who happened to be Present,:: "sure there's his honor Judge Bull, is every good friend of yours; suppose, •Dennis, you r call him after the Judge?" "With my ; heart," replied the father, "be it so." And the clergyman, instantly pouring the vital; upon the child's fitce, and repeating. name, the unconscious parents found their darling baby was neither more Dar le*, thaa a Bull Frog. - AN Inctourm—A gentleman a kart , time since delivering a temperate° addreiri ' before a crowded house, depleted in colors the domestic evils resulting from thrp-", use of alcohol. lie said ttia num might ; be - present who had expended his patrimony at:, - the grog•shop---had abused his and even, within a short period.bad *din: • his wife. "Tut, tut, tut," Neutered out a littlemm„ . rising hastily, and exhibiting to thiteitnuaat, audience a nose beautifully sprinkled with - carbuncles—a roseate cheek—.end flamed eye; "d•d-do you in.844u1t.. me in ' p.p-public? I cans-It-840:dt in public asirno asyoa. 1 didn't strike my w-wm f irllo4lo6 - once last week." He sat down. It was a powerful imps e to the eloquence of the irpniur.EZiorreiater. 4.1; 1 a k a a
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers