otritia & alm u iimArt it Naftali\ 7 4 /).Zce ticb Office of the Star & Banner CoUNTY BUILDING, AllovE ME OFFICE OF THE RE(H3IEIt AND RECORDER I. The Srxit & lb:runxicin ihriamn is pub isheil at TWO DOLLARS per annum (or Vol lime of 52 numbers,) payable half-yearly in ad vance: or TWO DOLLARS & FIFTY CENTS, if not paid until after the expiration of the year. 11. No subscription will be received fir a shorter period th in six months; nor will the paper be dis continued until all arrearagos are paid, unless at the option of the Editor. A failure to notify a dis continuance will he conaldered a new engagement and the paper forwarded accordingly. 111. ADVERTISE3IE3TS not exceeding a square will be inserted TII a Kr. times for $l, and 25 cents IJr each subsequent insertion—the number of in sertion to be marked, or they will be published till f irbid and charged accordingly; longer ones in the same proportion. A reasonablededuction will be made to those who advertise by the year. IV. All Lettorsand Communications addressed to the alitor by mail must be post-paid, or they will not be attended to TILL GARLAND. —"With sweetest llowersenrich'd , From various gartleuilcull'il with care." 13IRTIF•DAY OF WASHINGTON. ET IL 11. PRENTICE Why swell a million hearts as one, With mem'rics of the pistl Why rings out yon deep thunder-gun Upon the rushing blast? Why hold the beautiful, the brave, The Jubilee of earth? It is tho day that gave Our patriot hero birth We offer hero a sacrifice Of hearts to him, who came To guard young Freedom's paradise With sword of living flame! To him, who, on war's whirlwind loud, Rode like an angel form, And set his glory on the cloud, A halo of the storm! A hundred years with all their trains Of shadow, have gone by, And yet their glorious name remains, A sound that cannot die! 'Tis graven on the hill, the vale, And on the mountain tall, And speaks in every sounding gale, And roaring water-fall! No marble on his resting spot Its sculptured column rears, But his is still u nobler lot, A grateful nation's tears! Old time, that bids the marble bow, Makes green each laurel loaf, That blooms upon the sainted brow Of our immortal chief! His deeds were ours—but through the world That mighty chief will be Where glory's banner is unfurled, The watch-w• rd of the free! And, as they bend their eagle eyes On Victory's burning sun, Their shouts will echo to the skies— °Our God and Washington!" Extract from a Poem recently delivered by Cux 'As Wssr, Tuostrsorr, Esq. of Philadelphia, before the Philomathean Suniety of Pennsylvania College, at this place. 'Tie morn—the breezes o'er the lardscape ploy, And kiss the rosy cheek of orient day— A fresh perfume is on the summer air, And all that greets the sense is sweet and fair— The forest foliage wears its liveliest green, The cloudless sky is tranquil and serene— Thu river wanders silently along, Nor heeds the echo of the boatman's song— And the far mountains wear a misty hue, As if they caught the tinge of heaven's own blue Beauty is every where—she lingers by In all that greets the ear or glade the eye— And nature walks abroad in all her charms, As if to win us to her gentle arms. NVhore is the scholar? In his chamber din, The cheering day.beam shines in vain for him, Thu lark, uprising from her Jed of flowers, May chant her song as into heaven she towers— But delving mid the dark and rusty ore That crusts around the gold of antique lure, Regardless of the charms of outer day, He listens not the glories of her lay— Aid wrapped within himself, retired and lone, Loses the joys that nature meant his own. Itiila3(EQUa23l3o(Wflo From the Confession of Harry Lorrequer EARLY RECOLLECTIONS. A FIRST LON E. 1 know of no, sensations so very nearly_ alike, as those felt on awaking after very sudden and profuse loss of blood, as those re sulting from a large dose of opium. The dizziness, the confusion, and the abstraction ut first, gradually yielding, as the senses be come clearer, to a vague and indistinct con- sciousness; then the strange mistiness, in which fact and fiction are wrapped up—the confounding of persons and placesoind times, not so as to embarrass and annoy—for the very debility you feel subdues all irritation —but rather to present a panoramic picture of odd and incongruous events, more pleas ing than etherwisc. . Ofthe circumstances by which 1 was bin% to a sick couch, I had 'not even the moat vaoue reco:lection —the faces rind the dress of 'bos s 1 had lately s•oen were vividly be t: i re nie; b u t how, and for what purpose I m u. Su., tithing in their kindness and si,cutiou had fell an agreeublo impression upon my mind, and without being able, or even attempting to trace it, I felt happy in he thoti.hi. While thus the "hour before" was dim and indi.tinct, the events of years past were vividly and brightly pictured be foie roe; and strange, too, the more remote the period, the more did it seem palpable and present to my imagination. For so it is, there is in memory a species of mental tong-sightedness, which though blind to the object close beside you, can reach the blue mountains and starry skies, which lie full many a league away. Is this malady lor is it rather a providential gift to alleviate the tedious hours of the sick bed, and cheer the lonely sufferer, whose thoughts are his only realm I My school boy days, in all holiday excitement ; the bank where 1 had culled the earliest cowslips of the year; the clear but rapid stream, where days long I have watched the speckled trout, as they swam peacefully beneath, and shook their bright tins in the gay sunshine; the gorgeous dra• gon-fly that played above the water, and dipped his bright wings in its ripple—they were all before me. Arid !lien came the thought of school itself, with its little world of boyish cares and emulations; the early imbibed passion for success; the ardent long ing for superiority ; the high and swelling feeling of the heart, as home drew near, to think that I had gained the wished for prize —the object of many an hour's toil —the thought of many a long night's dream; my father's smile; my mother's kiss! Oh! what a very world of tender memory that one thought suggests ; fur what are all our later successes in life—how bright soever our for tune be—compared with the early triumphs of our infancy W here, among the jealous rivalry of some, the cold and half-wrung praise of others, the selfish and unsy mpa this- . ing regard of all, shall we fini anything to repay us for the swelling ecstasy of our young hearts, as those who have cradled and loved us grow proud in our successes? For myself, a life that has failed in every prestige of those that prophesied favorably —years that have followed on each other only to blight the promise that kind and well. wishing friends foretold—leave but little to dwell upon that can be reckoned as suc cess. And yet, some moments I have had, which half seemed to realise my early dream of ambition, and rouse my spirit within me; but what were they all compared to my boyish glories? what the passing excitement one's own heart inspires in the lonely and selfish solitude, when, compared with that little world of sympathy and love our early home teemed with. as,proud in some trifling distinction, we fell into a mother's arms and heard our father's "God bless you, boy 1" No, no; the world has no requital for this. It is like the bright day spring, which, as its glories gild the east, display before us a whole world of beauty and promise —blight. ed hopes have not withered; false fricnd• ships have not scotched; Chid, selfish inter est. have not yet hardened our hearts, or dried up our offi!ctions and we are indeed happy ; but equal'y like the burst of morn ing is it fleeting and short-lived: . and equally so, too, does it pass away, never, .never to return. From thoughts like these my mind wan dored on to inure advanced years, when, eMergiog from very boyhood, I half believ ed myself a man, and was fully convinced I was in love. Perhaps, after all, for the time it lasted— ten days, I think —it was the most sincere pas,ion I ever felt I had been spending some weeks at a small watering place in Wales with some relatives of my mother There were, as might ,be supposed, but few "distractions" in such a place, save the ace• nery, and an occasional day's fishing in the little river of Dolgelly, which ran near. In all these little rambles which the younger portion of the family made together, fre. quent mention was ever being made of a visit from a very dear cousin, and to which all looked flo•ward with the greatest eager ness—the elder ones of the party with a certain air of quiet pleasure, as though tney knew more than they said, and the younger with all the childish exuberance of yoatliful delight. Clara Mourtray seemed to be, from all I was hourly hearing, the very paragon and pattern of every thing. If any one was praised for beauty, Clara was im mediately pronounced much prettier—did any one sing, Clara's voice and taste were far superior. In our homeward walk, should the shadows of the dark hills fall With a picturesque effect upon the blue lake, some one was sure to say, 'Oh 1 how Clara would like to sketch that.' In short, there was no charm or accomplishment ever the gift of woman, that Clara did not possess; or, what amounted pretty much to the same thing, that my relatives did not implicitly give her credit for. The constantly recurring praises of the same person affects us always differ ently as we go on in life. In youth the prevailing sentiment is an ardent desire to see the prodigy of whom we have heard so much in after years,heartily to detest what hourly hurts our self love by comparis ma We would take any steps to avoid meeting what we have inwardly decreed to be - a "bore." The former was my course ; and though my curiosity was certainly very great, I had made up my mind to as great a disappointment, and half wished fur the longed arrival as a means of criticising what they could see no fault in. The wished for evening at length came, and vva all set out upon a walk to meet the carriage which MIA to bring the bien aimee Clara among us. We had not walked a bove a mite when the eager eve of the fire most detected a cloud of dust upon the road at some distance; and, after a few mauled G. 77.4.SEEZIIGTOZT BOWEN', EDITOR & PROPRIZITOR. " The liberty to know, to utter, and to argue, freely, is above all other liberties.”—Mu.Tori 62w3 lfellatrm( , zPlu), fiswilocia),lalr e aztax a 39 aimac, more, four posters were seen coming along at a tremendous rate. The next moment she was making the tour of about a dozen uncles, aunts, cousins, and cousineses, none of whom, it appeared to me, felt any pecu liar desire to surrender the hearty embrace to the next of kin in succession. At last she came to me, when, perhaps, in the con fusion of the moment, not exactly remem bering whether or not she had seeu me be. fore, she stood for a moment silent—a deep blush mantling her lovely cheek—masses of waving brown hair disordered and float ing upon her shoulder— her large and liquid blue eyes beaming upon me. One look was enough. l was deeply—irretrievably in love. "Our cousin Harry —Harry Lorrequer— wild Harry, as we used to call him, Clara," said one of the girls, introducing me. She held out her hand,and said something with a smile. What, 1 know not—nor can I tell how I replied; but something absurd it must have been, for they all laughed hear tily, and the worthy papa himself tapped my shoulder jestingly, adding, "Never mind, Harry—you will do better' one day, or I am much ,mistaken in you." Whether 1 was conscious that I had be hayed foolishly or not, I cannot well say; but the whole of that night I thought over plans innumerable howl should succeed in putting myself forward before "Cousin Clara," and vindicating myself against any imputation of schoolboy mannerism that my first ap pearance might have caused. The next day we remained at home.— Clara was too much fatigued to walk out, and none of us would leave her. W hat a day of happiness that was ! I knew some thing of music, and could sing a second.-- Clara was delighted at this, for the others had not cultivated singing much. We there fore spent the whole morning in this way. Then she produced her sketch book, and 1 brought out mine, and we had a mutual in terchange of prisoners. What cutting out of leaves and detaching of rice paper land scapes I Then she came out upon the lawn to see my puny leap, and promised to ride him the following day. She patted the gray hounds, and said Gipsy, which was mine, was the prettiest. In a word, before night fall, Clara had won my heart in its every fibre, and I vient to my room the very hap piest of mortals. I need not chronicle my next three days —to me the most glorious "trois joura" of my lite. Clara had evidently singled me out and pi eferred me to all the rest. It was beside me she rode—upon my arm she lean ed in walking--and, to comble me with de light unutterable, I overheard her say to my uncle, "Oh, 1 doat upon poor Harry ! And it is so pleasant, for I'm sure Mortimer will be so jealous." "Arid who is Mortimer 1" thought I; "he is a new character in the piece, of whom we have seen nothing." I was not long in doubt upon this head, for that very day, at diem', the identical Mortimer presented himself: He was a fine dashing looking, soldier like fellow, of about thirty-five, with a heavy moustache, and a bronzed cheek—rather grave in his manner, but still perfectly good natured, and when he smiled showing a most handsome set of regular teeth. Clara seemed less pleased (I thought) at his coming than the others, and took pleasure in tormenting him by a thousand pettish and frivolous wave, which I was sorry fur, us I thought he did not like it; and u.ed to look half chidingly at her from titne to time, but without asy effect,for she just went on as before, and generally ended by taking my arm and saying, "Come away, Harry ; you always are kind, aid never look sulky. I can agree with you." "These were delightful words for me to listen to, but I could not hear them without foel ing for him, who evidently was pained by Claia's avowed preference for me; and whose years--for I thought thirtv•five at that time a little verging upon the patriar chal—entitled him to more respect. "Well," thought 1, one evening, as this game had been carried rather farther than usual, "I hope she is content now, for cer tainly Mortimer is jealous;" and the result proved it, for the whole of the following day he absented himself, and never came back till late in the evening. He bad been, I found, from a chance observation I over heard, at the bishop's palace, and the bishop himself I learned, was to breakfast with us le the morning. "Harry, 1 have a commission for you," said Clara. "You must get up very early to-morrow, and climb the Ceder tnountain: and bring ice a grand boquet of the blue and purple heath that I liked so much the last time I was there Mind very early, for 1 intend to surprise the bishop tomorrow with my taste in a nosegay." The sun had scarcely risen as I sprang from my bed, and started upon my errand. Oh I the g:orious beauty of that morning's walk. As I climbed the mountain,tho deep mists lay upon all around, and except the path I was treading, nothing was visible; but before 1 reached the top, the heavy mews of vapor were yielding to the influ ence of the sun; and as they rolled from the valleys up the mountain sides, were every instant opening new glens and ravines be neath me--bright in all their verdure, and speckled with sheep, whose tingling bells reachud me even where I stood. I counted about twenty lakes at different levels below me ; some brilliant, and some shining like polished mirrors; others not less beautiful, dark end solemn with some migh ty mountain shadow As I .looked land watd.ttie mountains reared theii tinge creratl, one above inti other, to the farthest my e‘e could reach. Towards the opporiite side.. the broad and tranquil sea lay beneath me, bathed in the yellow gold of a rising sun; a few ships were peaceably lying at anchor in the bay ; and the only thing in motion WIIB a row boat,the heavy monotonous stroke of whose oars rose in the stillness of the morning air. Not a single habitation of man could I descry, nor any vestige of a human being; except that mass of so me thing upon the rock far down beneatl► be one; and I think it is,for I see the sheep dog eve► returning again and again to the sanie spot. My bouquet was gathered; the gentian of the Alps, which is found here, also con• tributing its evidence to show where I had beee'to seek it, and I turned home. The family were at breakfast as I entered; at least so the servants said, for I only ie.. membered then that the bishop was out gues4 and that I could not present myself with* some blight attention to my dress. I haittened to my room and scarcely had I finished, when one of my cousins, a little girl of eight years, came to the door and said, "Harry, come down; Clara wants you." I rustfed down stairs, and ns I entered the breakfast parlor, stood still with stirpri.e. The ladies were all dressed in white, and even my little cousin wore a gala costume that amazed me. “Nly bouquet, Harry ; I hope you have not forgotten it,” said Clara, us I approach. ed. 1 presented it at once when she gaily and coquettishly held out her hand for me to kiss. This 1 did, my blood rushing to my face and temples the while, and almost deprived we of consciousness. slWell, Clarn, I am surprised at you," said Mortimer. "How can you treat the poor boy so ?" I grew deadly pale at these words, and, turning round, looked the speaker full in the face. Poor fellow, thought 1, he is jealous, and I am really grieved for him; and turn ed again to Clara. "Here it is—oh I how handsome, papa," said one of the younger children, running eagerly to the window,as a very pretty open carriage wish foar horses drew up before the house I"fhe bishop has taste," I murmured to myself, scarcely designing to give a second look at the equipage. Clara now left the room, but speedily re turned—her dress changed; and shawled as if for a walk. What 'could all this mean'? and itie whispering, too, what is ull thatl— why are they all so sad? Clara has been weeping. "God bless you,my child—good by," said my aunt, as she foldvd her in her arms for the third time. "Good by, good by," I heard on every side. At length, approaching me, Clara took my band and said-- "My poor Harry, so we are going to part. I am going to Italy " "To Italy, Clara? Oh! do—say no. Italy! I shall never see you again." "Won't you wear this ring for me,listryl It is an oIJ favorite of yours, and when we meet again" "Ohl dearest Clara," I said, "do not speak thus." "Good by, my poor boy, good by," said Clara,hurriedly; and rushingout of the room; she was I fled by Mortimer into the carri age, who, immediately jumping in after her, the whip cracked, the horses clattered, and all was 'nit of sight in a second. "Why is she gone with lam?" said I, res pectfully turning towards my aunt. "Why, my dear, a very sufficient reason. She was married this morning !" This was my first love. EXCERPTS ON BOOKS AND LAN GUAGES. ANCIENT Booss,--- Books were original ly metal plates and boards, or the inner bark of trees; the word being derived from Bench, a Beech-tree. The horn-book,now used in nurseries, is a primitive book. Bark is still used by some nations, and skins were also used, for which parchment was substituted. Papyrus, an Egyptian plant, was adopted in that country, and thin plates of brass were used for church servi ce. Pap} rue, and parchment rolumcs,were commonly rolled on a round stick, with a ball at each end, and the composition began at the center. These were called volumes, and were inscribed just as we now letter books at their back. The MSS. in Herculaneum consist of Papyrus, rolled and charred, and then mat ted together by the fire; they are about nine inches long, and one, two, or three in ches in diameter; each being a volume, or separate treatise. LANUIJAGEB.—There are said to be no less than 3,424 known languages in use in the world, of which 937 are A.iatic, 587 European, 276 African, and 1,824 Ameri can languages and dialects. Dr. ghuckford remarks, "We may learn, perhaps, with equal ease, any language which in our early years is put to us; or if we learn no one, we shall have no articulate way of speaking at all; as Psammeticus, king of Egypt, and Melabdin Eckbar, in the Indies, convinced themselves by experi ments upon infants, whom they took care to have brought up without being taught to• speak, and feline to be no better than mute creatures. For the sound which Psalm° ticus imagined to be a Phrygian word, and which the children on whom he tried his 'experiment were supposed, alter two years' musing, to utter; was a mere sound Of ne s►emlieutmn; and no more a word, than the noises which dumb people utter make, by a pressure and opening, of their lips, and sometimes accidentally children make, of but tines months' old." By a calculation made from the best dic. tionaries for each of the followilig langua ges, there are about 20,000 words in the Spaidah, 22,000 words in the English, 25,. 000 in the Latin, 30,000 in the French, 4.5,000 in the Italian, 50 000 in the Greek, and 60,000 in the thirtieth. Of the 22,• 000 in the English language there are about 15,000 that a man understands, who is before master of the Latin, French and Italian; and 3,000 more if he be master of the German. The other 4,000 are proba. bly the old British. TUE ENCLI9II LANGUACE.—It ITlrty t of bd uninteresting to know from what sour ces the articulate sounds which we utter aro derived. Tho Primitives, which constitute the English language, have been arranged by etymologists in tlie following older; Front the Latin, 6,621; French, 4,381; Saxon, 2,060; Greek, 600; Italian, 429; German, 117; Welch, 111; Spanish, 83; Danl.:), 81; Arabic,lB; with several words from the Teutonic, Gothic, Hebrew. Swe dish, Portuguese, Flemish, Runic, Egypt • inn, Persic, Cimbric, and Chinese; forming a curious, but valuable compound, and olio of admirable flavor. It is said that the Wolch is the least corrupted of the fourteen vernacular languages of Europe, and the worst, being confined, and abounling gut turals. Tim ENGLISH VERB.-- All Englishman, who knew the value of his own constitution, and the richness, strength, tqul beauty of his own language, happened to full into con veraatton with a 'Freuch savant—for all are men of letters in Franco, from the head of a university down to the. petin-postniun The conversation turned on the Fiend) and English languages. The Porisian con. damned the English as defective in the va• riety of inflections: "Thus," said he, "I love you, you love, he him.; wo love, ye love, they love; you see it is love through :all." The Englishman, who well knew that simplicity is one of the chief beauties of any language, was resolved to meet Mon sieur on his own ground; and when the vain Gaul thought he was just ready to carry off the apolia opima, he addressed him thus: "It is true that love is as immutable in our tongue as in our hearts; but I percieve you never followed an English verb throughout the whole of its conjugations. Now, there is the verb to twist; I will conjugate it, you please;" on which he repeated the fol lowing lines from Dr. Wallis:— *, When a twister, a-twisting,will twist him a twist, With the twisting of his twist, the twines duth entwist; But if one of the twines of the twist do untwist, The twine that untwisteth, untwisteth the twist: Untwisting the twine that untwisteth between, Ho twists, with his twister, the two in a twine: Then twice having twisted tho twines of the twaine, • Ho twistoth the twine he had twined, in twin, The twain that in twining before in the twine As twins were entwisted, he now loth untwine; 'Twixt the twain intertwisting a twine wore be• twain), He,twirling hid twister,makes a twist of the twine." The Frenchman was obliged to acknow l ed, that, in point of vat icly, the English language was superior to his ciwn. WITTY JUDGMENTS OF THE DUKE OF OSSUNNA. The Duke of Ossunnn, Viceroy at Na ples for the King of Spain, to whom the Neapolitan territory was then subject, ac quired great celebrity for the tact nod dom of the judgments he delivered. Ilia nobleman, on visiting the galleys one festi val day for the purpose of liberating a cap tive, anording to use and wont, found all the prisoners loud in asserting their inno cence. One declared that his condemna , tion was the work of enemies; another as serted that he had been inthrmally and un justly convicted; a third declared he had been mistaken for another person, and a o on. MI declared themselves guiltless as cradled babes. At last the. Duke came to one man who took a very diff..rent tone: ' I do nut believe, my noble lord," said he, "that there is a greater rascal in all Naples than myself. They were too lenient with me to send me to the galleys.", The Duke, hearing these words, turned immediately round to the keeper of the galley 9, and ex claimed, "Loose this scoundrel's chain, and turn him immediately about his business. If he is allowed to stay, he will certainly corrupt these honest, innocent men hire. Take him awayl" While his orders were being obeyed, he wheeled round to the oth er captives, and said to them, with the most civil air imaginable, "Gentlemen, I have no doubt you will thank me fir ridding you of this pestilent fellow. He might have un dermined your innocence." The Duke of Ossunna was somewhat like Haroun Alraschid, a little despotical even in his good doings. Ferromelle, a rich merchant of Naples, whose, proclaim• nant passion was avarice, chanced to lose an embroidered purse, containing fifty got den d v uc a a le t u s, fifty Spanish piatoles, and a ring of the of a thousand crowns. This loss vexed him grievously, and ho caused a proclamation to bo math?, offering fifty Spanish pistoles to any one who elieuld re store the missing articles. An old woini.n ,found the puree, and brought it to the own-. er. Verrometle, as soon as he saw his propeity, could not withstand the tempta tion of try ing to avoid payment of part of the reward. In . counting the fitly pistolee, he dexterously laid aside thirty, and•said to the tinder, "I promised fifty piAoles to who ever found the purse. Thirty have been taken out of it already by you; here are the WrelllV2al alKOci. ZB5lO other twenty, and, s , ) you are paid." The lold woman remonstrated in vain against this treatment, but she would probably have is. unlined content with her tweniy pistules, had not some one advised her to apply for justice to the Duke of Ossunna. The Duke knew the man well, mid sent for him. "Is Chore any likelihood," said ho to Ferro inelle, "that this old woman, who had tho honesty to bring you the purse when she might have taken all, would be guilty of ta king your thirty pistoleil No, no. The truth 18, the purse cannot be yours. It.ur purse had fifty pistoles, and this had bet thirty. The purse cannot he yours." The merchant stammered out, "My lord, I know the purse,the ducats, the ring-" "Non sense!" exclaimed the Duke; "(I'. you think there never was a pulse, or ducats, or ring, like yours? Mire, good woman," continued he, addressing the old woman, "take you the purse and its contents. ' It cannot be this good gentleman's, since he says his had fifty pistoles." This judg ment was enforced. The Duke might have been morally certain of the iniser's attempt to cheat, but, as has been said, this was a very [Lawn Alraschid•liko kind of a de. EMI! The Duke had one day to hear the case of Bertrand de Sols, a proud Spanish gen tleman. who was in the habit of welkin. , in the streets with his head elevatad like a catneleopaid's. While thus marching, a porter, currying a heavy load, had run against him, but not without first crying "Beware which is The ordinary mode .of giving warning in such cases. The porter's load consisted of Ingots, and one of them tell off in the concussion, and tore the Span iards silk mantle. He was mightily enra ged, and sought redress from the Viceroy. Thi3 Duke advised the porter to declare himself' dumb when the cause came for judgment. Tk.e porter did so through a friend, and . the Duke immediately said to De Sots, "What can I do .to" this poor fellow? You Ilea he is dumb." Forgetting himself, the enraged Spaniard cried out. "Don't believe the scoundrel, my lord; I rnyselflietird him cry 'Beware " '.Why, then, did you not beware?" replied the Puke, and he made the mortified Spaniard pay all expenses, and a fine to the poor. Music AND PAlNTlNG.—Crotchet meet ing his friend Palette a few days since, in quired if he had witnessed the effects of the Daguerreotype process of making pictures. On being answered in tho negative, Crotch et observed, ~ You ought to see it; it is a great invention, though 1 regret to say it must ultimately overthrow your profession. Nobody will pay a painter for, his lubor,nor go through the drudgery of learning to draw, when by the simple means of light any body may manufacture pictures of all kinds, from a Claude to a Tenniers. Good morning." The two friends met again the next day. It was now Palette's turn to speak first, who inquired Of. Crotchet if be had witnes sed the highly improved organ. "No," said Crotchet. "Then you ought to; it is a great invention, though I regret to say it must ultimately overthrow your profession. Nobody will pay a musical teacher for his labor, nor go through the drudgery of lesru ing music, when by the simply means ef a crank any body may manufacture music of all kinds, from a Dead March to 'Sick a gitt up Stairs.' Good morning•." Bost.m Transcript. TeE EVENING; OF LIFE —Amid life's va• ri€:d ains, and sources of transport and pain. often mingled and often alternating, wo learn at lust to prefer those milder and nm , re certain or enduring pleastires which calmly soothe us, in the. buttle,..the labor and the. excitement that engage and ani mate our youth and our mature strength. Agitation and oniotion at length loose their charm: they disturb more than they amuse us. As age advances to its sober evenipg, we perceive and appreciate the value of conscious life without pain; of sedate tran quility; of reposing, yet riot inactive tho't; of sensibility witln)ut perturbation; of pa tient hope; of resting moveability; of sen sations that please, but do riot agitate; of intellectual rumination; and of those siilemn aspirations of sacred foresight, of prospec tive gratitude, and of huMble reliance on the great mediatoriul Benefactor, which close our mortal days with true dignity , and make even disselution an inestimable blessing.--.Shron Walking is the best possible exercise. 1-hibituato yourself to walk very far. The Europeans value themselves on having sub dued the horse to the we or man; but I doubt whether we have r.ot lost more than we have gained by this animal. No one thing has occasioned so much degeneracy of the human body. Au Indian goes on foot nearly us far in a day, for a long journey, as nn enfeet led white does on hie horse, and he will tire the best horses. A little walk of half an hour, in the morning when you first rise, is advisable. It shakes of sleep, and produces other good effacte . in the animaleconomy.--Jrferson's Alensotrs. RAILWAYS 'IN ENULAND. - . - An English publication informs us that the number of miles of railway COW completed and opened in England, is 682 i; expected to be com• olered this 3 ear, 630 i; making 1319 miles in operation next New Year's flay. Tube completed, 413 miles. Railway Acts. hays been passed for 1728 miles. Aumunt of capital to be raised this year 01,901,500, widen is considerably less thou thu 0:14 lust ycic,
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers