• . 114 ' , Y... 1 0 . . vabz. aO-3P04 <l.(to Office of the Star dc.*Banner. Chambersburg Street, a few doors West t , the Court-House. I. The SrAn & REPIIDLICAN DAnlnun in pub !inhotl at TWO DOLLARS per annum (or Vol ume of 52 numbers,) payable half-yearly in ad vance: or TWO DOLLARS & FIFTY CENTS, if not paid 'Anti! after the expiration of the year. IL No subscription will be received f a- a shorter period thin six months; nor will the paper be dis continued until all arroarages are paid, unless at the option of the Editor. A failure to notify a dis continuance will bo considered a now engagement and the paper forwarded accordingly. 111. An VSItTIFIE!IIENTS not exceeding a square will be inserted THREE times for $l, and 25 cents for each subsequent insertion—the nunber of in sertion to bo marked, or they will bo published till forbid and charged accordingly; longer ones in the same proportion. A reasonablededuction will be mode to those who advertise by the year. IV. All Lettersand Communications addressed to the Editor by mail must be post-paid, or they will not be attended to TDB GARLAND ~ A" ,50;APoill' •., • ' •. 4 0; ••• . . - art. , .% • -'." - :.. ii..", ,-.: i f': ' 1 41%11" . ,e; 1 . :.4"•'••---- '1,::,i;•:, • , - ;! . ..t. • . : 1 4 'Ow ''''''''''''-- 1 ii=i` v.., :V ;.. ....a, •p•lzzr4,, IS' , "%.. tc •---, —"With sweetest flotverioarioh'd, From various gardens culi'd with care." TILE FORSAKEN AND THE FALSE ONE DT T 1103148 UATNES DAILET. I dare thee to forgot mo I . Go wander where thou wilt— Thy hand upon the vessel's holm, Oi on the sabre's hilt. Away 2 thou'rt freed o'er land and sea ; Go, rush to danger's brink ! But, oh ! thou ean'st not fly from thought ; Thy curse will bo—to think Remember me—remember all My long enduring love I That link'd itself to perfidy, The vulture and the dove ! Remember, in thy utmost need, I never once did shrink; But clung to thee confidingly I Thy curse shrill be—to Mink ! Then go ! that thought shai::emler thee - A dastard in the fight, • That thought, when thou art tempest torn, Will fill thee with affright I In some wild dungeon may'st thou die, And counting each cold link That binds thee to captivity ; Thy curse shall bo—to think Go seek the merry banquet hall, Whore younger maidens bloom, The thought of me shall make thee there Endure a deeper gloom ! Tharthought shall turn the festive cup To poison while you drink, And while false smiles are on thy cheek, Thy curse will be—to think Forget me, false ono ! Hope it not ! When minstrels touch the string, The memory of other days Will gall thee while they sing; The airs I used to love, will make Thy coward conscience shrink ! Ayo, every note will have its sting ! Thy curse will be—to Mink ! Forget me ! No—that shall not bo ! I'll haunt thee in thy sleep ; In dreams thoult cling to slimy rocks, That overhang the deep ; Thoul't shriek for aid ! my feeble arm Shall hurl then from the brink, And when thou wak . st in wild dismay, Thy curse will be—to Mink al&lk1M01/tDo o Hartford Courant. HE RESCUED CAPTIVE ALI OL ef r TALL OP INDIAN WAIIPAIIE. •In o o the pleasantest villages of Con necticut, shortly previous to the Revolution ary War, a gentleman of fortune resided with his two daughters ; the eldest of whom had reached her 14th, and the youngest her 10th year. Mr. St. Clare had left Eng land with his wife and eldest child, but of ter the birth of the little Alice, the - . mother died and left him desolate. He had no friends in this new land, none to care for but his children, while many near and dear to him at home, were urging his return to Thus, with the thought of his inabi rlity to educate or p rocure proper teachers for his children, induced him to comply with his friends' request. He had accor dingly made his ai rangements for spending several years in England, hoping eventual ly to return to a home which he had farm ed and beautified, and which, fur the'sake of her who was laid there, was very dear to him. It was but a few evenings previous to the time when they were to set out for Boston, from whence the ship in %illicit their pas sage was already taken was to sail, when little Alice complained of unusual weariness and languor. Her elder sister, Margaret, advised that she should go to bed, 'although it was still very early in the evening. This ';advice was joined In by the nurse, who pre . veiled upon the little girl to retire ; and what was still very singular, she had nut yet left the sleeping apartment ere the child was a sleep. The apartment occupied by Alice joined that of her sister Margaret, who re tired several hours afler. Feeling too wea ry to kiss her sister good night, us usual ! she hastily undressed, and throwing hersol upon the bed, fell asleep, nor did she - waken till the morning sun shone full upon her face. "Strange," thought she„"that the early Afire has not wakened me etc this, when she retired so early, too I" Saying this, she sprang from her bed, and tripped lightly into her sister's room, but Alice was not there. "Ah l she passed through my room, then, and left me undisturbed I" ex claimed Margaret, "but 1, will soon find her !" She then dressrd herself, and ran gaily in search of her sister, but Alice was no whore to be found. Where could she be 7 She was not wont to leave the grounds at such an hour. Margaret returned to the house and found her father asking for his 'daughters. She questioned hint—he had not seen Alice. The nurse was called— she did not see her young lady since the night before. Each domestic was ques tioned, but none could answer. Alarm was spread upon every countenance, and they simultaneously exclaimed, "Where is the Indian ?" "Where is Ceneco None could answer; Ceneco, too, was missing. The father was filled with anguish.— Ceneco was an Indian boy who had lived with them for a few months as a servant, and wild and untamed he seemed as one of the 'wild beasts of the forest; but like them he appeared to have been won by kindness. But Ceneco had sworn revenge for the wrongs of his tribe, and the wiley Indian knew that nothing could wound the father's heart like parting with his child. Ceneco then had administered (so the nurse surmr sod) the drug which had caused the deep sleep into which Alice had fallen, the better to accomplish his purpose. The window of her room was open. It is needless to say that the contempla ted journey to England was abandoned, and , all that human power could do, was done to ! recover the lost treasure, but in vain. The father was borne down with grief, and Nlar garet, who had almost idolized her sister, Ind lost her elastic step, and her formerly happy and cheerful face wore an expression of sadness. More than a year had passed, and noth ing was heard of the darling or their hearts. The nurse, Mrs. Honor, could not bear the idea of tearing herself away from the spot where there was the smallest hope of hear ing aught in regard to the fate of little A lice. But Margaret was equally dear to her, and she was convinced that she needed more than ever the voyage, which had !?t.z. - il postponed to an indefinite period. She notated out to Mr. St. Clare her fading . che,„,,; and sunken eye, so unea!ural in ex treme youth ! and by her simple eloquence convinced him f:fthe necessity of following her advice. Margaret was unwilling at first to think of leaving home, but the en treaties of her father and nurse caused her to yield, and the voyage was determined upon. With heavy hearts the rather and daugh ter departed on their journey to Boston, ac. companiod by the nurse. They embarked, and arrived with safely at Liverpool, slier a short but prosperous voyage. At "Ash ton Hill," a country seat, remote from the confusion of city life, resided the only re maining sister of Mr. St. Clare. Under her cure, Margaret felt happier than she had done for many months before. Mr. St. Clare, during his stay in England. had di vided his time between his mister and wife's brother, who resided in the vicinity of Lon don. Three years had passed, and he be. can to talk of his return to America, at least for a short period. Margaret, he thought, would willingly remain with lier aunt, and he would soon return to her, per haps, to gladden her heart with tidings of her long lost sister. For the purpose of bidding hie brother. in law, Mr. Clifton, adieu, Mr. St. Clare visited London. He felt regret at leaving his friends again, and lingered from day to day. The day before the one at last fixed fir his departure, Mr. Clifton had invited a party of gentlemen to dine, 'anion whom, as the visitor 'of one of his guest., was a yoong gentleman, but just, arrived from A merica. From compliment to him the con versation turned on North America,among the savages of which wild country he said he had met with a remarkable and interest ing adventure. The company urged him to relate it, which he did in the following words. "I went," said Mr. Anthorp, "a short time before sailing for England, on a hunting expedition, with a large party of companions. One day, weary and in wont of food, for we had killed little game. we chanced upon an encampment of friendly Indians, which, however, consisted only of squaws, as the men hod gone off to the chase. The women provided us with food, and, after eating, I thought, to satisfy my curiosity, that I would examine one of the curious wigwams which surrounded us.— What was my surprise to see aented - on n mat, a little girl, fair as the meat English eye could wish. She was weaving baskets, and humming in a low tone an English air. She started on seeing me, and uttering a cry sprang forward— "Her name! tel me her name l" cried r. St. Clare, starting from his chair. "They called her 'the white dove,' " an* swered Apthorp, "but she said her name was—" "Alice St. Clare. 7" "The same." "My child ! my child !" exclaimed Mr. St. Clara—he clasped his hands, and sank poslierless to hit seat. Alice St. Clair," continued Mr. Ap thorp, in reply to the hurried questions of those presrnt, "Alice St. Clare told me with many tears the story of her capture by an Indian mrvant of her father'a, acid begged • C. 77./1/37Z:11\TVZON 801X77.111, MIDITOR &.PROPZ,IETOP.. 4, The liberty to know, to utter, and to argue, freely, is above all other liberties.lP-51n:ron ean - eutrtamw2o. 2P2a.0. zuzcocwzDazre 4/QaQPPUP47I/27 EIV 9 aatto. me to take her home. Sho had been taken from her first foes in battle .by the tribe with whom I found her ; but though they treated her kindly, she was not happy, but longed to return to her father and sister.— The squaws could not resist us, and we brought klico away. At her father's house we learned of his voyage to England, and hoping to find him, wo at once set sail. Meanwhile, I have placed my protege with an excellent governess in the country, and as I seo Mr. Clifton has called a coach, I will at once lead this anxious father to hia child." Mr. St. Clare had,by this time regained his composure, and grasping Mr. Apthorp's I hand with a look of gratitude, ho besought him to make no delay. It was early morn• log when the coach which contained Mr. St. Clare and Apthorp, arrived at the vil lage orSouthwick. They alighted at the inn, and hastened on foot to the cottage of Mrs. \Tillers, the lady under.whose care A lice was placed. She was a middle aged woman, of dignified but very pleasing tip pearanee, and expressed a groat interest in her young pupil. Mr. St. Care was much agitated, but she would not per mit him to see his child without gently re minding him that she had been for several years among savages, and had consequent. ly lost much of the polish of civilized life. In short, he must not expect to see her the same that he had lost. "Only tell me if she remembers her rath er I" exclaimed Mr. St. Clare; "only let me see my child, and we will lorget her misfor tunes in the joy of meeting." They met ! The father and the long lest daughter were clasped in a close embrace. -- "This scene, which no language could paint, can be ea sily imagined. A pthorpaind Mrs. Villars had withdrawn, but the father sought them in the garden, and earnestly entreated them to return with them to Ashton twill:. "For Alice," said he, "I cannot think of parting, her from a Indy to whom she is'already so much attached; I must entreat Mrs. Villars to continue her care over my little mother. less girl." As he spoke, he looked with tenderness upon his child, who stood meekly by his side, holding his hand in both of hers, and gazing with earnestness into his face. Ap thorp, more than interested in the engaging child. a once consented to her father's re• quest, and the whole party were soon on the road to Ashton Hill. Months had passed, yet still the same parties tarried ' , Merry England." Mar i garet St. Clare had regained her health and ; and Alice, her devoted companion, had improved r..cnderfully, and was the joy of her father's heart. They returned to America, accompanied by Mr. Apthorp, who was shortly rifler united by marriage to the lovely sister of little Alice, whom he so fortunately rescued from Indian eaptivi• ty. The treacherous Censer), who had ad. ministered an anodyne to Alice to facilitate his revengeful purpose, was never heard of. During the time of war and danger, "Oak- wood" WdS forsaken for the greater securi ty of a city, but when the States of North America were declared free from the yoke of Geeat Britain,,tho united families ofSt. Clare and Apthorp, returned to a tranquil home in the bosom of Connecticut. The following lines wore sent by a young lady to her lover, whose name was Nett, a few weeks before their marriage. The nuptial knot was tied immediately upon the discerning lover's deciphering their import : Why urge, dear Sir, a bashful maid To change her single lot, Whim, well you know, I've often said, In truth I love you, Not 'I For ell your pains I do, Nott, care, And turat me on my life, Though you had millions, rdeclare, I would, Nott, be your wife ! The following fact was given us, on the best authority, as related by an old Veirhont farmer, who, for many years past, has been monarch of an extensive farm, situated among the glens of the Green Mountains. Here is the original from his own mouth:— "I'd noticed for a long time, that some thing or other had played the old Harry in my cornfield, destroying more corn than my faMily could make way with the whole year. Well, I laid it to the 'coons for a while—but I soon came to the conclusion that all the coons in God'o creation could'nt eat up and break down so mach corn, as was every day the case. So I entered all the damages on my accoant book, against some lawless bear, or bears, unknown—be ing determined to have a settlement with the scamp, or scamps, as soon as possible. Ono night, in the early part of winter, a light snow fell ; and in the morning I saw a little the biggest bear tracks, round my barn that ever you did see—some were big ger than the top of my hat, and some were smaller,--looked like young ones. I fol lowed the Swindlers a good way up the mountains several mornings, and found that they passed between two rocks right under a high ledge. Now, thinks Ito mySelf, I'll have one on ye before long, as sure as my 'name is Dan Goodrich. So I borrowed of one of my neighbors a joe-fired big steel trap, and sot it exactly between them two rocks. Going out to fodder the cattle the next day, I discovered that fresh tracks had been made froni my barn yard up to the mountain. I cut oft; full split, to see what the big trap had got for breakfast—never once suspecting that the old bear would be such a fool as to get caught—but expected A MONSTROUS riEAR STORY. to find nothing more than a cub, at most.— I crept along towards the top of the ledge, hoping to draw a smashing prize ; but, as I said before, I could'nt, for the life of me, suppose that it would be my luck to catch a black monster of 600 pounds weight.— Well, I ventured to take .a peep over the rocks, and, would you believe it, instead of catching a little silly cub, I beheld, to my everlasting astonishment the trap with— nothing at all in it ! • The following eloquent passage, descri bing the progress of Christianity throughout the world, will be read with interest at the festal season: Christianity herself moves in advance of her own civilization; and does not wait the tardy operation of philosophical eausei.— Conscious of her power over universal man, that she holds the world's destiny in her hands she has undertaken, as a specific ob ject, and as her own proper work, the rec lamation—not of provinces or of continents, but of all nations;—all the millions of hu manity. Possessed by this august idea,-= an idea infinitely surpassing, in the grand cur of its conception, every project of am bition, every dream of universal empire,— she hus surveyed the enterprise from all its points. She has marked out with an astonishing boldness and percision her plan of operations and moves to its execution with a fixed and steady eye; with boundless energy, and in extinguishable faith. Already she is in oe cupatimi•ofthe state of power in every divi sion the glohe,and to its swarming. rnultitCeSm two hundred languages of the many tongued earth: In Africa, ahe:has taken Oiler line of po - Sitions from Cape Pal mas to Port Natal and in Asia, from ton stantinnple to Ceylon, and throws a belt of moral light like a galaxy over either conti nent. Elie has touched the icon seeptres el Aranrna and Maimed, and they crumble Isom their hands like ashes. She gattiers her school on the Acropolis of Athens, and works her printing presses under the shad ow of the Pyramids. She has kindled her lights among the islands of the Southern and Pacific oceans; and the Polynesian cannibal comes running from his native woods, and site at her feet clothed, and in his right mind, eats her sacrament, and worships at . her altars. And wherever she moves over the world, she carries with her all the fruits of that civ• ilizatiou Which she hasapread over the face of Chriitendom,its liberty and its literature; its arisen(' its provisions; its commerce,ag ricuhure, knowledge and philosophy. Thus she is commingling and assimilating all the 'races of men; and by acting at the fountain of all social improvement, on fire interior and moral hie of man, she is building up a new order of society,andsectiring it on de'tip and imperishable foundations. The Spirit of Him who said "Lot there be Light," is moving over the face of the moral chaos, and it will roturn void. It will bring light out of darkness, and order out of confusion• it will summon into being a new world, more beautiful and glorious than_ that aver which angels and the aaswering stars shout. ed on the rooming of creation;—a' world of harmony and love; where humanity will ' hold fellowship with hemen; in which thy Spirit of Truth will presider to guide into all truth, and over which it will reign with a serene and holy dominion for ever. Por,rrENEss.—ll am extremely glad to see you.'—There are more lies contained in these few words, than in all the written speeches in a lawyer's office; and still the expression is on the tip of every one's tongue. Imagine yourself seated in your sanctum sanctorum,wrapped up in the study ofsome favorite author, or communing with the hal- lowed nine—when lo! in pops a creditor, and throws a bucket of ice water upon your thoughts! 4 LVIII my dear friend, I'm ex tremely glad to see you.' There's a thum per for you to answer forl Miss is preparing for a party: the ear riage 'is waiting at the door—and still she lingers before the mirror adjusting her rich tresses, when in comes a dear friend biting her lips with vexation, at the same time for cing a smile she exclaims, tahl I'm extreme ly glad to see you.' There's another thum )CT. Madam has pickles or sausages to make, and is up to her ears in pots and kettles, llrs. Somebody enters with her six little ones, all dressed as neat as if they had just been freed from six months imprisonment in a bandbox. 'Bless me! I'm extremely glad to see you.' it's a thumper; it's A downright lie: in her heart she wished her and all her brood to the --, I'd like to !lave said it. When I hero a person say, 'do call and see me,' it sounds very much like 'John show the gentleman out. ' There is no such thing as sincere polite. ness; to be what the fashionable world term polite, we must necessarily be hypocritical. The character of sincerity is bluntness, and a sincere man will never have the back ache. A LARGE FAMILY.—Mr. Thos. Nelson and his worthy wile, of Lower Annamess.ec, Somerset county, Md., are the living ances tors of nearly, if not More i Ilan one hundred industrious and thriving descendants; and, what ie more remarkable, the whole of this prosperous progeny are happily settled with• in the sound of their sire's, grandsire's, or great grandsire's voice, His voice, howev. rr, is Stentorian, and he ig yet vigorous and active in mind and body, and has same twenty or mere captains in his family. 'CIS HE RICH?" Many a sigh is heaved—many a heart is broke, many a life rendered miserable by the terrible infetuatien which parents often evince in choosing a life companion for their daughters. How is it possible tor happi !less to result from the union of two princi• pies so diametrically opposed to each other in every point of view as virtue is to vice. And yet how often is wealth considered a better recommendation to a young man than virtue? flow often is the first question which is asked respecting the suiter of a daughter, "ls he rich?" Is he rich? Yes ho abounds in wealth —but does that afford any evidence that ho will make a lend and affectionate husband? Is ho rich? Yes his clothing is purple and fine linen, and ho fares sumptuously every day—but can you infer from this that he is virtuous? Is ho rich? Yes ho IMF thousands float ing on every ocean;'but do not riches some times take wings to themselves and fly away? —and will you consent that )our daughter shall marry a man who has nothing to re. commend him but his wealth? Ahl be ware! The gilded bnit.sometimes covers a barbed hook. Ask not—then "Is he'rich?" . but "is he virtuous!" Ask not if ho has wealth, but if he has honor, and do hot sa• orifice your daughter's peace for money. Female Wit.- couple of young ladies having buried their father, who was an old humbrist, and had such an aversion to mat rimony that he would not allow them to mar ry, however advantageous might 'be the of. ter, conversing on his character, the eldest observed, 'lle is dead at last, end now we will marry.'—' Well,' says the youngest, am for a rich husband.' flold sister,' said the other, 'don't let us be too hasty in the choice of our husbands: let us marry those whom the powers above have destined for us—tor our marriages are registered in neaven's 'l'm sorry for that,' repli ed the youngest 'tor I am afraid father will tear put the leaf.' - --` Anti Vote against Marriage.—Jog says that if a man feels very much like getting married, yet imagines that he ought not to, the best remedy he knows of, is, to help one of his neighbors move a house full of furni ture—borrow about nine of his children for three days, and hear them cry. If that fail, build up tv fire•Ofdamp wood, and when the smoke in the room'is thickest,hire a woman to spottiliim about four hours. IF he can stand all'these, he'd better get married the next day—give his wife the pants, and be the 'silent partner' in the groat firm of mat rimony. We think the remedy is severe, but as every man is liable to those things af ter he yokes himself, it would do no harm to try it before. YOUNG MECHANICS. There is no class of the community upon whom the future welfare of the country more essentially depends, than upon the ri sing generation of young mechanics. If they are intelligent, sober, industrious and consequently independent, able and accusto. med to judge for themselves, and governed in their own conduct by an enlightened view of their own best . interest—if they are men of this sort, (and it is. for their fathers to make them such) the mechanics will form the strongest bulwark of our free institu tions, and the best hope of the Republic. Good nature ttl the best feature in the finest face—coif May raise admiration, judg: ment may Comtnand respect,and knowledge attention. Beaety may inflame the heart with love, but gond nature has a morn pow• orful effect—it adds a thousand attractions to the charms of beauty, and gites an air of benificence to the most homely face. A child, erght years of agn, and of a de. vout and pious disposition, was asked by an atheist, "How great it supposed God was?" it replied, "Ho is so great that ho fills hea. von and earth, and the heaven of heavens cannot contain hint, and yet he dwells in my little heart." A lad, on delivering his milk a few morn ings ago, was asked why the milk was so warm. "I don't know," he replied i with much simplicity, "unless they put in warm water instead of coldl" METFIODIST COLLEGE.•—This enterprising sect of Christians have been endeavoring to establish a college in Mississippi. We see it stated that a subscription of $76,000 has been made to effect the object. and a corn. milieu has been appointed to select a site. Leap Year.—Our erudite fellow citizens will find, on inspection of the almanac, that the present year, 1840, is bissextile, or leap- Year. The child whose hap may be to be born on the 29th of next month, (.February,) will behold tffe recurrence of his birth day but once in four years. Another singular circumstance respecting leap•year is, that ladies, by the ancient custom, may pay their addresses to the gentlemen; so the belle who has an overly hnshful admirer may save him from the horrors of popping the ques lion, and bring the period of courtship to a speedy conclusion. "Rationable Amusentents."—We learn from a Western paper that.a hog race, for a purse of 850, came olTat West Union, O. on the 29th ult. There were five entrances for the purse; and the coursers had been in training for several weeks. Ono of the Smiths was the fortunate backer of the win ning "nag." VPli-t2g.ta Zabci Oaeo New organization o' the Militia. The Secretary of W ar, in his late re. port, proposes an entire new organization of the militia throughout the Union. The present system, he thinks, was never of much practical benefit, and with the excep tion of the-volunteer companies, is ,more a matter of burlesque than of sobei reality,— The Secretary's plan is in divide the State* into eight military districts, each of which are to furnish for enrollment 25,000 men, nne half to be actively engaged and receive pay ; the rate of compensation and the num ber of days service in the year to be , regu lated by law. The other half are to form a body of reserve, to be composed ofsuch 'as have served four years in the active militia. One fourth of this class are to fall into the reserve every year to supply the place of those who are discharged from the perfor mance of mi!itary• duty. The deficiency in the Fictive militia to be supplied by fresh recruits.' The whole number of the mili tia under this system, would be 200,000, or about one.seventh of all who are at present enrolled. • We have no doubt but that this plan would be much more efficient than the pre sent one. Whether the General Govern ment intends to take the 'whole matter, as it regards the appointment of officers under its own immediate control, we aro not in• formed. Bad :is the present militia system undoubtedly is, it is far preferable to one which would rake up a standing army to carry out the designs of our present corrupt and ambnious executive.—Lan. Union. The Baltimore American says:--"The Canto in which the President of the Conti nental Congress set,. during the session of that body, and which was used on the me morable occasion when the Declaration of Independence was signed, cost the Govern ment the round sum of five dollars; whereas, two thousand ono hundred and fifty-four dol lars, have been expended on the Chair of the Speaker, in the Congressional House of Representatives." Alarming latelligence.—A writer in Bos ton computes that there are 30,000 persons in the United States of the name of John Smith, and proposes that Congress trans port all but 0000. Legal Decision.—ln the Supreme Court of Massachusetts, it has been decided, that a grand child born eight months and a halt atlor the decease of the grandfather, is ie. eluded in a bequest to "grand•children living at his decease." Origin of the word Tailor.—ii is said the tailors derived their name from an old circumstance, as follows: Nine stout fel lows wore at work one day sitting cross , logged _upon a bench in their shop; when an old soul entered, and gabled up four of them at as many mouthfuls! Whereat the boa, of the shop defending himself with his sheers, cried out--tail her, tail her! when one of the ailriganodjours seized the animal by that necessary appendage, the tail; and dragged her out of the shop! Ever after tho•cralt wore called tailors, from the cir cumstance of having tailed the old sow! A Scottish nobleman one day visited is lawyer at. his office, in which, at the time, there was a blazing lire, which led him to , —I your office is as hot as an earn." "So it should be, my lord," re•: plied the lawyer, "it is herohat I make my bread." A country girl, attending a Quaker meet ing, was asked by a friend how she liked it 1 "Like it I why I see no sense in sit- ting 'tor hours without saying a word ; enough to kill the (1-1." "Yea, my dear," replied he, "thnt is, just what we want." Da not s:gh for this, world's goods, nor lament thy poverty. Out of the meanest hovei is obtained as fake sight of•heaven,, as from the most gorgeous palace. An !lancet Hibernian, upon reading bier phystcian's bill, replied to the doctor that ho had no objections to paying him lot his medicine, but his visit., he would return. A man having been capitally convicted, was, as usual, asked what he had to say. why judgment ordeath should not pass against him? ',Say!' replied he, why I think the joke has been carried far enough already, and the less that is said about it the better.' We find the following in one of our exchange papers. It is good philosophy : "I heard the hammer of a mechanic. that owes me, at 4 o'clock this morning : I'll trust him till April. I saw another, yesterday afternoon, who has plenty of work on hand, lounging at the door of a grog shop have him before the squire next week." NEW Jensne.—Tho Madisonian says: "The rumor is that .numbers of Van Buren men in this state, disgusted with tho course their party have taken hi Congress, are go ing in fur the Hero of Tippecanoe. Soma of the papers recommend the withdrawal by N. Jersey of her senators and representa tives m Congress, and the repudiation of federal laws in that state, until congress has repaired the injury it hail done her. Dr. Brandreth states that in one year his printing hills amount to 8100,000, end that since 1835 ho has sold nine million boxes of pills. Tim lurgo sum which he paid far ad% crtiaing, , has not be,su lost.
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