0 4. • • .1-11111 0; • 1 ..' • • ‘27; •-•• • • • , 11 44'44,', • . •• • • '•• * -1; - : r , ` • ! gnaw VOL. 6--NO. 17.] Office of the Star & Banner : Chambersburg Street, a few doors West of the Court-'louse. CON DITIONS 1. The STAR & RENITILICA 2 , 7 BANNER is published weekly, nt Two DOLLARS per annum, (or Volume of 62 Ntimb..rs,)kniyable half yearly in advance—or Tice Dollars and b iffy Cents it not paid until after the ex piration of the year. 11. No subscription will be received for n shorter period than six months, nor will the paper be discon tinued until all arrearnges are paid, unless at the dis cretion of the editor—A failure to notify a discontinu ance will be considered a new engagementp and the paper forwarded accordingly. 111. Advertisements not exceeding a square, will be inserted THREE times for ONE DOLLAR, and 25 cents for every subsequent insertion—longer ones in the same proportion. The HUM her of insertions to be nutrlced, or they will br published till forbid and char ged accordingly. IV. Communications. &c. by mail, must be post paid—otherwise they will not meet with attention. aateirilyoE..ll=lo THE GARLAND. -"With sweetest flowers eurich'd, Front various gardens call'd with care." FROM THE NEW YORK DAILY ADVERTISER. THE WIFE. Mar/Nog her white arms around him—Thou art all not this poor heart can cling to." I could have stemmed misfortune's tide, And borne the rich one's sneer, !lave braved the haughty glance of pride, Nor shed a single tear. I could have smiled on every blow Front Life's full quiver thrown, While I might gaze on thee, and know I should not be "alone." I could—l think I could—have brooked, E'en fora limv, that thou Upon nty failin2; face !mist looked . With less of love tban non.; For then I should at least have felt The sweet hope still my own, To win thee back, and, whilst I dwelt On earth, not been "alone." But thus to Nee, from day to day, The brightening eye and cheek, sad watch thy life-sands waste away, Unnumbered, slowly, meek;— 'l'e meet thy smiles of tenderness, And catch the feeble tone Of kindness, ever breathed to bless, And feel, PH be "alone;"— To mark thy strength each hour decay, And yet thy hopes grow stronger, As, filled with heal en-ward trust, they say, "Earth may- not claim thee longer;" Nay, dearest, 'tits too much—this heart Must break, when thou art gone; It must not be; we may not port; I could not live "alone!" AN AMUSING TREAT, [NO. VIII.] JAPITIET, IN SEARCH or A FATHER. 07 - CONTINUED FROM OUR LAST We had been more than a ;ear exercis ing our talents in this lucrative manner, when one day, as I was sitting at the en trance of the tent, with a book in my hand, out of which Fleta was reading to me, a gip sy not belonging to our gang made his ap pearance. He was covered with dust, and the dew drops hanging on his dark forehead proved that he had travelled fast. He ad dressed Nattee, who was standing by, in their own language, which l did not under stand ; but I perceived that he asked for Melchior. After an exchange of a few sen • tomes, Nattee expresSed astonishment and alarm, and put her hands over her face, re moved them as quickly is if derogatory in her to show emotion, and then remained in deep thought. Percei% ing Melchior ap proaching, the gipsy hastened to him, and they were soon in animated conversation. In ten minutes it was over; the gipsy went to the running brook, washed his face, took a large draught of water, and then hastened away and was soon out of sight. Melchior, who had watched the depar ture of the gipsy, slowly approached us. observed him and Nattee, as they met, as I was certain that something important had taken place. Melchior fixed his eyes upon Nattee—she looked at !lib . ' mournfully— fidded her arms, and made a slight bow as if in submission, and in a low voice, quoted from the Scriptures, "Whither thou goest, I will go—thy people shall be my people, and thy God my God." Ho then walked away with her: they sat down apart, and were in earnest conversation for more than an hour. "Japhet," said Melchior to me, after he had quitted his wife, "what I um about to toll you will surprise you. 1 have trusted you with all I dare trust any one, but there are some secrets in every man's life which had better be reserved for himself and her who is boiind to him by solemn ties. We must now part. In a few days this camp will be broken up, and these people will join some other division of the tribe. For me, you will see me no more. Ask me not to explain, for I cannot." "And Mateo," said I. "Will •follow my fortunes, whatever they may be—you ill see her no more." "For myselT I care not, !Melchior; the world is before me, and remain with the gipsies without you 1 will not : but answer me one question—what is to become of lit. tie Fleta Is she to remain with the tribe, to which she does not belong, or does she go with you?" Mefehior hesitated. "I hardly can an swer—but what consequence can the wel. fare of a soldier's brat be to you ?" "Allowing licr to he what you assert, Melchior, 1 am devotedly attached to that child, and ,could not hear that she should re main here; I am sure that you deceived me in what you stated, for the child remembers, and has told me, anecdotes of her infancy, which proves that ehe is of no mean fam ily, and that she has been stolen from her friends." "Indeed, is her memory so good?" re. plied Melchior, firmly closing his teeth. "To Notice or to me she has never hinted so much." "That is very probable ; but a stolen child she is, Melchior, and she must not remain hero." ' , Must not." "Yes; must not, Melchior; when you quit the tribe, you will no hanger have any power, nor can you have any interest about her. She shall then choose—if she will conic with me, 1 will take her, and nothing shall prevent me ; and in so doing I do you no in justice, nor do I swerve in my fidelity." "How do you know that 1 I may have my secret reasons ag ainst "Surely you can inve no interest in a sol dier's brat, Melchior 1" Melchior appeared confused and annoyed. "Site is no soldier's brat ; I aCknoWiedge, Japht t, that the child was stolen; but you roust not, therefore, imply that the child was stolen by me or by my wile." "I never accused you or thought you ca pable of it; and that is the reason why I ant now surprised at the interest you take in her. If she prefers to go with you, I have no more to say, hut it not I claim her ; and if she conscnts,w ill resist your interference." "Japhet," replied Melchior, after a pause, "we roust not quarrel now that we are about I to part. I will give you an answer in hall an hour." Melchior returned to Nnttee, and recom menced a conversation with her, while I haEdened to ['k i n. "Fleta, do you know that the camp is to be broken up, mid Melchior and Nattue leave it altogether ?" "Indeed !" replied she with surprise. "Then what is to become of you and Tim othy 1" "We must of course seek our fortunes where we cnn." "And of rue 1" continued she, looking me earnestly in the face wall her large blue eyes. "A in Ito stay here ?" cohtinued she, with alarm in her countenance. "Not if you do not wish it, Fleta; as long as 1 con support you I will--that is, if you would like to live with me in preference to Melchior." "If I would like, Japhet; you must know I would like--who hni been so kind to the us you ? Don't leave me, Japhet." "I will not, Fleta; but on condition that you promise to be guided by rue, and to do all I wish." "To do what you wish is the greatest pleasure that I have, Japhet-._—so I may safe ly promise that. What has happened ?" "That I do not know more than yourself; but Melchior tells me that he and Nattee quit the gipsy tents for ever." Fleta looked mind to ascertain if any one was near us, and then in a low tone said, "1 tinderstand their language, Japhet, that is, a great deal of it, although they do not think so, and I overheard what the gipsy said in part, although he was at some distance. He asked for Melchior; and when Nattee wanted to know what he wanted, he answer ed that 'he was dead;' then Nattee coveted up her thee. I could not hear all the rest, but there was something about a horse." Be was dead. Had then Melchior corn• initted murder, and was obliged to fly the country ? This appeared to me to be the most probable; when I collected the facts in my possession; and yet I could not believe ti,r except that system of deceit necessa- ry to carry on his various professions, I ne ver found any thing in Melchior's conduct which could be considered as criminal. On the contrary, he was kind, generous, and upright in his private dealings, and in many points proved that he had a good heart.— He was a riddle of inconsistency it was cer tain, professionally he would cheat any bo dy, and disregard all truth and honesty; but, in his private character, he was scru pulously honest, and, with the exception o the assertion relative to Fleta's birth and parentage, he had never told me a lie, that I could discover. I was running up all these reflections in my mind, when Melchior again came up to me, and desiring the little girl to go away ho said, "Japhet, I have resolv ed to grant your request with respect to Fleta, but it must be on conditions." "Let me hear them." "First, then, Japhet; as you always have been honest and confiding with me, tell me now what are your intentions. Du you mean to follow up the profession which you learnt under me, or what do,you intend to do ?" "Honestly, then, Melchior, I do not in tend to follow up that profession, unless driv en to it by necessity. Ido intend to seek my father." "And if driven to it by necessity, do you intend that Fleta shall aid you by her ac quirements'? In short, do you mean to take her with you as a speculation, to make the most of her, to let her sink, when she arrives at the ago of woman, into vice and misery 7" "I wonder at your asking me that (Ines. ion, Melchior ; it.ts the first act of injustice have received at your hands. No; tf obliged to follow up the profession, 1 will not allow Pets so to do. I would sooner that she were in her grave. It is to rosette her from that very vice•and misery, to take her out of a society in which she never ought to have been placed, that 1 take her with :ne." "And this upon your honour ?" "Yes, open my honour. I love her as my sister, and 1 cannot help indulging the hope that in seeking my fathcr,l may chance to stumble upon hers." • Melchior bit his lips. "There is anoth er promise tinuSt exact from you, Japhet, which is, that to a direction which I will give you, every six months you will inclose 137 ROBERT WRITE LIIIIIDLETOII, =TOM , . PUB:1'1011ER AND PROPRIETOR. 4 'l WISH NO OTHER HERALD, NO OTHER SPEAKER OF MY LIVING ACTIONS, TO KEEP MINE HONOR FROM CORRUPTION."-SHARS. elaW a-WU/ 4 120 9 rpac, 0 atawaAmr,,, inPaiT 9 / a auckg, an address where you may be heard of, and also intelligence as to Fleta's welfare and health." "To that I give my cheerful promise ; but, Melchior, you appear to have taken, all at once, a strange interest in this little girl." "I wish you now to think that I du take an interest in her, provided you seek not to enquire the why and the wherefore. Will you accept of fluids for her maintenance ?" "Not without necessity compels me ; and then I should be glad to find, when I can no longer help hor, that you are still hor friend." "Recollect, that you will always find what 19 requisite by writing to the address which I shall give you before we part. - That point is now settled, and on the whole I think the arrangement is good." Tirnoi hy had been absent during the events of the morning— when he returned, I communicated to him what had passed, and was about to take place. Japhet, I don't know—l do not dislike our present life, yet I am hot sorry to change it; but what arc we to do?" "That remains to be considered; we have a good stock of money, fortunately, and we must husband it till we find what can be done." We took our suppers altogether for the last time, Melchior telling us that he hnd determined to set oft the next day. Nuttee locked very melancholy, but resigned; on the contrary, little Fleta was so overjoyed, that her face, generally so mournful, was illuminated with smiles whenever our eyes met. It was delightful to see hers() happy. The whole of the people in the camp had retired, and Nlelchior was busy making his arrangements in the tent. I did not feel inclined to sleep ; 1 was thinking and re volving in my mind my prospects for the fet me ; sitting, or rather lying down, for I was leaning on my elbow, at a short dis tance from the tents. The night was dark but clear, and the stars were brilliant. I had been watching them, and I thought up on Melchior's ideas of destiny, and dwell ing on the futile wish that I could read mine, when I perceived the npprouch yf Nattee. "Japhet," said she, "you are to take the little girl with you I finil—will you be care ful other ? for it would he on my conscience if she were left to the mercy of the world. She departs rejoicing, let her joy not end in tears. I depart sorrowing. I leave my people, thy kin, my titibit anil customs, my, influence, all—but it must be so, it is my destiny. She is a good child, Japhet— promise me that you will be a friend to her —and give her this to wear in remembrance of me, but—not yet--not till we are gone —." She hesitated. "Japhet, do not let Melchior see it in your possession; he may net: like my having given it away." I took the piece of paper containing the present, and having promised all she required, "This is the last—yes—the very last time that I may behold this scene," continued Nattee, surveying the common, the tents, and the animals browsing. "Be it so; Japhet, good night, may you prosper !" She then turn ed away and entered her tent; and soon af terwards 1 followed her example. The next day, Melchior was all ready. What ho had packed up was contained in two small bundles. He addressed the peo ple belonging to the gang, in their own lan guage. Nattee did the same, and the whole of them kissed her hand. The tents, furniture, and the greatest part of his other property, were distributed among them. Jumbo and Num were made over to two of the principal men. Timothy, Fleta, and I, were also ready, and intended to quit at the same time as Melchior and his wife. "Japhet," said Melchior, 'there is yet sonic money duo to you for our last excur sion—(t his was true,)--here it is---you and Timothy keep* but one purse, 1 am aware. Good bye and may you prosper!" We shook hands with Nattee and Mel chior. Fleta went up to the former and crossing her arms, bent her head. Nattee kissed the child, and led her to Melchior. He stooped down, kissed tier on the forehead, and I perceived a sign of strong compress. ed emotion as lie did so. Our intended routes lay in a different direction, and when both parties had arrived at either verge of the common we waved our hands as a last ' farewell, and resumed our paths again.— Fleta burst into tears as she turned away from her former guardians. I led the little sobbing girl by the hand, and we proceeded for some time in silence. It was not until we gained the high road that 'T'imo'thy interrupted my reverie, by observing, "Japhet, have you at all made up your mind what you shall do?" "I have been reflecting, Timothy., We have lost a great deal of time. The origi nal intention with which I left London has been almost forgotten ; but it must be so no longer. I now have resolved, that as soon as 1 have placed this poor-Effie girl in safe ty, I will prosecute my search and never be diverted from it." "I cannot agree with you that,. we lost time, Japhet ; we had very little money when we started upon our expedition, and now we have sufficient to enable you to prosecute your plans fora long time. The question is, in what direction? We quitted London, and traveled west, in imitation, us we thought, of the wise men. W ith all de ference, in my opinion, it was like two fools." "I have been thinking upon that point al so, Tim, and I agree with you. • I expect, from several causes, which you know as well as I do, to find my father among the higher classes of society ; and the path we took when we started, has led us into the very lowest. It appears to me that wo can not do better than retrace our steps. Wo have the means now to appear as gentlemen, and to mix in good company ; and London is the very best place fir us to repair to." "Thnt is precisely my opinion, Japhet, with one single exception, which I will mention to you; but first tell me, have you calculated what our joint purses may a mount to? It must be a very considera ble sum." "I cannot have much fess than two hun- dred pounds," replied 1. "And I have more than sixty," said Tim othy. "Really, the profession was not un profitable." "No," replied f, laughing; "but recollect, Tim, that we had no outlay. The public provided us with food, our lodging cost us nothing. We had ro taxes to pay; and at the same time have taxed folly and creduli ty to a great extent." '"l'hat's true, Japhet ; and although I am glad to have the money, I am not sorry that we have abandoned the profession." "Nor am I, Tire ; if you please, we will forget it altogether. But tell me, what was the exception you were about to make?" "Simply this. Although two hundred and sixty pounds may be a great deal of money, yet if' we an. to support the charac ter .ri n d appearance of gentlemen, it will not last for ever. For instance, we must hay e our rowels. What an expense that will be ! Our clothes too—we shall soon lose oar rank and station in society, without we ob tain a situation under government." "We must make it last as long as we can, Timothy; and trust to good fortune to as- silt us." "'ll it's all very well, Japhet ; but I had rather trust to our own prudence. Now hear that 1 have to say. You will be as much assisted by a trusty valet as by any other means. I shall, as a gentlemen, be only an expense and an incumbrance ; but as a valet I shall be able to play into your hands; at the same time more than one half the expense will be avoided. With your leave, therefore, I will take my pro per situation, put on your livery, and there by make myself of the greatest use." I c, old not help acknowledging the ad-, vantages to be derived from this proposal of Timothy's; but I did not like to accept it. "It is very kind of N, on, Timothy," replied ; "but I can only look upon you as a friend and at, equal." "There you are right and are wrong in the same breath. You are you right in looking upon me as a friend, Japhet ; and you wou!d be still more right in allowing me to prove my friendship as I propose; hut you are in wrong looking upon me ag an equal, tin' 1 um not so either in personal ap pearance, education, or any thing else.— We are both foundlings, it is true; but you were christened after Abraham Newland, and I after the work house pump. You were a gentleman foundling, presenting yourself with a fifty pound note, and good clothes. I made my appearance in rags and misery. If you find your parents, you will rise in the world; if I find mine, I shall, in all probability, have no reason to be proud of them. I therefore must insist up. on having my own choice in the part I am to play in the drama, and I will prove to you that it is my right to choose. You for get that, when we started, your object was to search after your father, and I told you mine should be to look after my mother. You have selected high life ns the expected sphere in which he is to be found, and 1 so ect low life as that in which I am most likely to discover the object of my search. So you perceive," continued Tint, laughing, "that we must arr Inge so as to suit the views of both with out parting company. Do you hunt among bag-wigs, amber-head ed canes, silks and satins-1 will burrow among tags and tassels, dimity and mob caps; and probably we shall both succeed in the object of our search. I leave you to hunt in the drawing-rooms, while I ferret in the kitchen. You may throw yourself on n sofa and exclaim—'Who is my father?' while I will sit in the' cook's lap, and ask her if she may happen to be my mother." This sally of Timothy's made even Fleta laugh ; and after a little more remonstrance, I consented that he should perform the part of my valet. Indeed, the more I reflected upon it, the greater appeared the advantages which might accrue from the arrangement. By the time that this point had been settled, we had arrived at the town to which we di rected our steps, and took up our quarters at an inn of moderate pretensions, but of very great external cleanliness. My first object was to find out some fitting asylum for little Meta. The landlady was a buxom, good tempered young woman, and I gave the little girl into her charge, while Time. thy and I went out on a survey. I had made up my mind to put her to some good, hut not very expensive, school, if such wore to be found in the vicinity. I should have preferred taking her with me to London, but I.was aware how much u►ore expensive t would be to provido for her,thereina he distance from• the mefropoli4-WaCtiiit twenty miles I could easily run down to see her occasionalrv. I desired the little girl to call "me her brother, as such I intended to be to her in future, and not to answer every question they might put to her. There was, however, little occasion for this caution; for Flute was, as I before obsiarved, very unlike children in general. I then went out with Timothy to look for a tailor, that I might order our clothes, as what we had on were not either of the very best taste, or in the very best condition. We walked up the main street, and soon fell in with a tailor's shop, over which was writ ten in largo letters—"FeoJor Shneider, Tai lor to his Royal Highness the Prince of Darmstadt." "Will that do, Japhet?" said Timothy, pointing to the announcement. "Why yes," replied I; "but how the deuce the Prince of Darmstadt should have employed a man in a small country town as his tailor, is to me rather a puzzle." "Perhaps he made his clothes when he was in Germany," replied Tim. "Perhaps he did ; but, however, he shall have the honour of making mine " "We entered the shop, and I ordered a suit of the most fashionable clothes, choos ing my colours, and being very minute in my directions to the foreman, who mea sured ins ; but as I was leaving the shop, the master, judging by my appearance, which was certainly not exactly that of a gentlemen, ventured to observe that it was customary with gentimen, whom they had not the honour of knowleg, to leave n de posit. Although the very proposal was an attack upon my gentility, I made no reply, but pulling out a handful of guineas, laid down two on the counter, and walked away, that I might find anuther shop at which we might order the livery of Timothy; but this was only as a reconnoitre, as I did not intend to order his liveries until I could ap pear in my own clothes, which wore promis ed on the afternoon of the next day. There were, however, several other articles to he purchased, such as a trunk, c:irtmanteau, hat, gloves, &c. all which we procured, and then returned to the inn. On my return, I ordered dinner. Pieta was certainly clad in her best frock, but bad was the best ; and the landlady, who could extract little from the child, could not imagine who wo could be. I had, however, allowed her to see more than sufficient money to warrant our expenses; and so far her scruples were, al thotigh her curiosity was not, removed. That evening 1 had a long conversation with Fleta. I told her that we were to part, that she must go to school, and that I would very often come down to see her. A t first, she was inconsolable nt the idea ; ) I put I reasoned with her, and the gentle, in telligent creature acknowledged that it was right. The next day my clothes came home, and I dressed myself. "Without flattery, Japhet," said Tunothy, "you do look very much like a gentleman." Fleta stoiltaloand said the same. I thought so too, but said nothing. Putting on my hat and gloves, and accompanied by Timothy, I descended to go out and order Tim's live ries, as well as a fit-out for Fleta. After I was out in the street I discover() that I had left my'dandkerelnef, and return ed to fetch it. The landlady, seeing a gen tlemen about to enter the inn, made a very low courtesy, and it was not until Uo ,, ked hard at her that she recognised me. Then I was satisfied ; it was an involuntary trib ute to my appearance, worth all the flatter ing assertions in the world. We now pro ceeded to the other tailor's, in the main street. I entered the shop with a flourish ing, important air, and was received with many bows. , "I wish," said I, "ti have a suit of livery made for this young man, who is about to enter into my service. I cannot take him up to town in this figure." The live ry was chosen, and as I expressed my wish to be off the next evening, it was promised to he ready by an hour appointed. I then went to a milliner's, and desired that she would call at the inn to fit out a lit , Ile girl for school, whose wardrobe had been left behind by mistake. On the fourth day all was ready. I had made enquiries, and found out a very respectable school, kept by a widow lady. I asked for referrances,which were given, and 1 was satisfied. The terms were low—twenty guineas per annum. 1 paid the first halfyear in advance, and lodg ed fifty guineas more in the handy of a bank er, taking a receipt for it, and giving direc tions that it was to be paid to the school, mistress as it became due. I took this caution, that should 1 be in poverty myself at all events Fleta might be provided in clothes and schooling for two years at least. The poor child wept bitterly at the Separa tion, and I could with difficulty detach her little arms from my neck; and I felt, when I left her, as if I had parted with the only val uable object to me on earth. All was now ready; but Timothy did not as yet assume his new clothes. It would have appeared strange that one who sat at my table should afterwards put on my livery; and as, in a small town there is always plenty of scandal, for Fleta's sake, if for no other reason, it was deferred until our arrival in London. W ish ing the landlady good by'e, who I reallybe. hove would have given up her bill to have known who we could possibly be, we got on the outside of the stage-coach, and in the evening arrived at the metropolis. I have been pat ticular in describing all these little circumstances, as it proves. how very awk ward it is to jump, without observation,from one station in society to another. But I have omitted to mention a circum stance of great, importance, which occurred at the inn the 'night before I placed Fleta at the boarding-school. In looking over my portimmtenu, I perceived the present of Nattecoo Fleta, which I had quite forgot ten. I took it to Fleta, and told her from whom it came. On opening the pAper, it proved to contain a long chain of round coral and gold beads, strung alternately; the gold bends were not so large as the coral, but still the number of them, and the purity of the metal, made them of considet ablc value. ' NO. 277. Meta passed the beads through her fingers, and then threw it round her neck, and sat in deep thought for some minutes. 'Japhet,' said she at last, "I have seen this—l have worn this before—l recollect that I have; it rushes into my memory as an old friend, and I think that before morning it will bring to my mind something that I shall recollect about it." "Try all you can, Fleta, and let me know to-morrow." • "It's no use trying; if I try, I never .can recollect any thing. I must wear it to night, and then 1 shall have something come into my mind all et a sudden; or perhaps I may dream som-thing. Good night." [To BE CWITINVED..I VARIETY. ELOPEMENT.-'—The last Court Journal de tails the elopement of Mr. Brinsley Sheri dan with the daughter of Sir Colquhoun Grant, a great heire:-N, and ternarks that the Sheridans have n& w 7 the only boon want ed, npd are establibhed in the land they have so long adorned. The match has cc- Cashmed more conversation than even poli tics. When Leopold said that he was cr.lled to "reign over four millions of noble 13e1gin w," 1 thought the phrase would have been more germane to the matter if he had said,-that ho was called to "rein in four millions of restive asses." . STEAM.—Nearly six , millions of francs are 'about to be appropriated by the French government to the establishment of ten reg ular steam packets of 160 horse power, to proceed every ten days from Marseilles to Constantinople, taking Leghorn, Civita Vecchia,. Naples, Messinut, Mal:a, Syra, and Smyrna, on their passage. The voy ago will occupy a fortnight ! I ! HEnciEnon.lt is said that the hetiEo hog is proof against poisons. M. Pallas states that it will eat a hundred cantharides without receiving any injury. More re cently,' a German physician, who wished to dissect one gave it prussic acid, but ;t took no effect : he then tried arsenic, opium, and corrosive subliniate, with the same re sults. TAILORS.-At the end of one of the chap ters of an elaborate treatise on the tailoring art, written by M. Garde, of Paris, are the following aphorisms :—A common - perEen dresses himself—A man of fashion knows how to diess himself—The fop is the sieve of fit shion—The wise man allows himself to be dressed by his tailor. The King of Sweden has entered himself a member of the temperance ,society of Stockholm. flooP Awn Hoop.--"Do you . play open the piano ?" asked a young lady of Hood, the other day. "No, -madam, I only play upon words," said the comic annualist.— "Do you, sir?" said she, addressing the author of 'Sayings and Doings.' "No, ma dam," said Hook,"the piano's not my forte." A TRIFLING EXACTION.—A gentleman being rather close!y - pressed in company to sing a song, pettishly observed, that "they .wished to make a butt of him." iTy no means, my good fellow," responded one of his tormentors, "we only want to get a stare out of you." HA PI'Y AUGUSTA!—The Augusta (Ga.) Courier of Wednesday last exclaims: "Hew blessed is this City! Without flies, mos quitoes or sickness." . . FECUNDITY.—TIIO wife Of Mr. Gideon, Richards of Bohnunt, llaine, on Monday morning last, presented her husband three beautiful living children, at one birth, two sons and a daughter—at present all doing well.--A pretty speculative! RUFFIANISM PIINISMED.—One evening last winter, Mr. George Smith. of this city, accompanied by a party of ladies and gen tlemen, droveout in a sleigh towards Har lon:, and while they were on the road, thior sleigh accidentally came in contact with another sleigh, in which were a wealthy butcher named John Pendergast and some other men, who violently assaulted and a bused Mr. Smith and his party. Mr. Smith brought an action against him for it in the Superior Court, and Pendergast let judge ment go by default. On Friday the dam ages were a.sessed by the Sheriff's Jury, and they awarded Mr. Smith 52,500 dam ages and costs.—N. Y. Journal of Com. SUPPRESSION OF TILE JESUITS.—The Pre sident of the Spanish Council of Ministers_ lately announced, formally, in the Chamber, that the Inquisition and the Society 6f Je suits were suppressed, and that the property of the latter would he applied to the fuddle service.— Woodbury (N. J.) Constitution. EMIGRATION 'PO LIRE'? lA.—The ship In diana, Captain Wood, sailed from Savaneah on the 20th of last month for Liberia, having on board as passengers the Rev. John B. Burton, of that city, missionary to Afiira, and sixty-three colored emigrants for the Colony; fifty-nine of whom were from Sa vannah, Augusta and the county of Bryan. To DRIVE FLIES OUT OF A ROOM. —Take half a teaspoon full of well pulverized black pepper,one teaspoon full of brown sugar and one table-spoon full of cream, mix them well together, and place them in a room, en a plate, where the flies are troublesome, and they will soon disappear. We can vouch for the correctness of the above recipe. We tried the experiment with the cream, pepper and sugar, and inn very short time two-thirdtrdisappeared, vtz.: the cream and sugar. The flies would nut eat the pepper.—Phi/. U. S. Ge;.
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers