OVAIA 'Ai . ' 181N1PT1f.:... , :.:16110aTa. -, 4.00.41aL IPOLticx aac, Office of the Star LSr. Banner COUNTY BUILDING, ABOVE TUE OFFICE or TUE REGISTER AND RECORDER. I. Tho STAR & REPUBLICAN BANNER is pub 'lahed 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 until after the expiration of the year. Ir. No subscription will he received for a shorter period than six months; nor will the paper be dis continued until all arrearages are paid, unless at the option of the Editor. A failure to notify a dis continuance will be considered a now engagement and the paper forwarded accordingly. 111. Ali V E wrt sEmEnrs not exceeding a square will be inserted THREE times for $l, and 25 cents for each subsequent insertion—the number of in sertion to be marked, or they will be published till forbid and charged accordingly; longer ones in the same proportion. A reasonnblededuction will be made to those who advertise by the year. IV. MI Lettersand Communications addressed to the Editor by mail must be post-paid, or they will not be attended to THE GARLAND. —"With sweetest nowervenrieh'd, From ♦eriouegerdenecull'd witheare." THE FAMBIEEfs SONG. I envy not the mighty king Upon the splendid throne— Nor crave his glittering diadem, Nor wish his power mine own; For though his power and wealth bo great, And round him thousands bow In reverence—in my low estato More solid peace I know. I envy not the Miser—ho May tell his treasure o'er, May heaps or; heaps around him see, And toil and sigh for more: I'd scorn his narrow sordid soul, Rapacious and unjust; Nor how beneath the base control Of empty, gilded dust. My wants are few and well supplied By my productive fields; I court no luxuries besides, Savo what contentment yields. More pure enjoyment Libor gives, Than wealth or fame can bring, And ho is happier who lives A Farmer than a King. From the New London Gazette. SONG. Arn—Bruce's Address to his Army. Yo Yankee sons of Yankee sires, Whose souk burn bright with patriot fires; In whom oppression's rod inspires The love of Liberty. Como quickly to the rescue—fly! E'en now the enemy are nigh, Loud, loud is heard the struggling cry Of tory tyranny. Yes, now's tho day, and now's the hour? The Locos' faces, long and sour, Proclaim our chosen Hero's power, And fear his victory. O'er the whole land her shouta arise, Behold a nation's eager oyes, All turned on HARRISON, the wise, The brave, the good, the true. Shall golden crown, and clanking chain Of autocratic Martin reign O'or hill and plain and stream and main,— Red with our father's bloodl Shall freedom's son's o'er teach their hands To till, like slaves, these happy lands? And chained in cringing, craven hands, Crouch to a despot's voice. No! down with these intriguing knaves, Who'd have us live like Russian slaves! While yet the flag of freedom waves In pride o'er this fair land. maoo2ulia,m.l3cm.o. THE TWO ROADS TO WEALTH. "What a fine thing it is to be rich!" ex. claimed Charles Ashton, as he passed Es quire Wilkins' great house. "A fine thing, indeed," replied his friend Frank May, "provided—" "Provided what 7" 'Provided we can have a few other good things with it." "Other good things ! why man, money will buy all the good things in the world." "Not quite," replied Frank. "To be sure, it will buy some small matters which are convenient, but there aro things essential that it will not buy." "Such as what ?" interrupted his friend. "Such as health, happiness, and clear con science." ti "Well, Frank, I suppose it would not be exactly the right coin tot these commodities, but I'll tell you of one nice article which it will buy." "And what is that?" "A wife!" "Ale replied Frank, "that's the only ar ticle in the world which I should rather beg than buy !" "Well Frank, you are a man of indepen dent feelings, but I'm atraid you'll never be a man of independent property." "Why, Cliarles,w hat makes you think so? I like money, and I mean to get my share, provided I can do it honestly." "Ali ! you will be too much hindered with scruples, to make any headway in the world. My motto is, Go ahead, hit or miss!" "And I," said Frank, "should as lief have nothing to eat but sugar, as to have nothing to enjoy but wealth." Here the friends parted, one to his work. shop, and the other to his counting-room. These two young men lived in a villa, on the banks of the Connecticut. Charles Ashton was a merchant, and Frank May was a mechanic. They were both what the world call "very fine young men." Its eyes never look down into the heart. It is the prerogative of one Eye alone to look on tho secret springs of action: to that Eye the difference between tho two characters was very great. Both applied theinselveg with all diligence to their respective callings, and hoped to be Frank May resolved that every dollar should be gained, not only honestly but hon• orably. As for Charles Ashton, he had but ono purpose, and that was to acquire wealth —untrammelled by scruples about ways and means. "I'll be a rich man before I die r said ho to himself one night, as he was studying his ledger—the only book in the world that, ho thought really entertaining. He was untir ing in his application to business; and if ho did not absolutely cheat, he made what are called "pretty light bargains." ' Hard and honest," was his maxim, which some think means "hardly honest." fie soon acquired the reputation of a keon moneymaking man. But making money is not always making friends. At the end of ten years, Mr. Ashton was a richer man than his friend May, but he was surprised to find himself not so much respected, or so happy. He began to think there were some things money would not buy. "But I'll see if it won't buy me n wife," said he. "I believe its living a bachelor • that makes mo so blue !" Now it never occurred to our friend that a wife who could be bought, might not be worth having. But it did occur, naturally enough, that while ho was about it,he might as well try for a rich one. So he went peeping around among the heiresses —noth ing doubting that a young lady who was an heir to a fine fortune, would inherit every other fine quality. it was not long before he fixed his—affections? no—his thoughts ! on Miss Jemima Wilkins, the youngest daughter of Esquire Wilkins. It was not the color of Miss Jemimn's hair, or the spar• kle of her eye, or the dimple in her cheeks, that attracted our hero's attention. Oh no, Mr. Ashton was too sensible artd prudent to bo influenced by such trifles in the important matter of choosing a companion for life.. It was well _that he quite forgot to look for graces of mind or person, for the young lady was scantily endowed. But then she had "ten thousand charms" in the shape of good round dollars, and that was enough for Ash ton. He was the richest young man in the village, and that was enough for Jemima. So the bargain was struck up in a trico, and no time lost in moonlight walks and serena des, and no money wasted in rides and pre son!.l. This interesting couplo were married and took possession of a nice now house, full of nice new furniture, and settled themselves down, to got as much comfort. as empty heads and empty hearts, with a full purse, could give. Here we will leave them in the full glory of the honey moon, to look alter our friend, Frank May. Let us see what the lapse of ten years did him. He was not a whit be• hind Ashton in activity and industry, and he reaped the usual rewards of present comforts and prospective plenty. Though, as he tuld his lriend,he meant to acquire wealth, it was not for his own sake, but for the benefit of others. It was 'good proof of his sincerity that he did not defer doing good till the time should arrive when he could call himself rich. He knew that if lie did not form the habit now he would not have the heart here• after. He knew, and what is bettor, he felt, that no one should live to himself—not even a young man, just setting out in the world, who had his fortuno to build up with his own hands. He early came to the conclusion that, he had four things to attend to in this life, viz : his own temporal and spiritual wet fare and the temporal and spiritual welfare of others—that is, of all the human family who came under his influence, either direct ly or indirectly. Hero was a noble work; sufficient to fill the largest heart, and task the highest energies. This was the grand outline of his scheme of life, and left it to the finger of Providence to point out daily the particular manner in which it was to be fill ed up. With these views he stood ready for every good word and work. He was never so busy about his own affairs, that he could not stop to do a good act. When called upon to leave his work to do some thing for a poor neighbor, or hand round a subscription paper in aid of some benevolent object, or do something for the church, or the village, he did not call it an interruption, but considered it as a branch of his business. Ashton used to laugh at him, and tell him he had chosen a strange road to wealth. "Never mind," Prank would say, "my road is rather circuitous, to•be•sure, but it is pleasant. You, Charles, are on the high road to wealth—a straight, dull turnpike, where there are so many driving by, and so many trying to overtake you, that you are blinded with dust. While my path is through a green lane among murmuring brooks and singing birds. "Good bye to you, Frank," replied his friend, •you are welcome to your brooks and birds and shady tine: I like the turn. pike best,and don't mind getting a little gold dust in my oyes, providing the rest settles in my pockets." G. WACHINGTON 207.11111, MDI7'OII, & PROPRIETOR. rhe liberty to knew, to utter, and to argue, freely, is above all other liberties.”—MlLTON. orawiereq.ZElVltlia &gaga WilP2o24dill'o Utb` 2 4o 4 l a,a4fiee Though Charles spoke so gaily as he turn ed away, there was a still small voice which whispered to his heart and told him Frank was right and he was wrong. But as this monitor had not been listened to when its tones were low, was it to be expected that it would be heard now ? Among the poor neighbours who shared Frank's kind attentions, was one, whose pe culiar lonely and desolate condition, gave her a strong claim to sympathy and kind ness. The widow Green, as she was com monly called had seen better days; but she had lost her husband, her children, and her property. One alter another, she had laid her little ones to the grave, till only two re mained, a son and a daughter. All the gen erous sympathies of Frank's nature were moved, when, that only son was cut down just as he had reached an age at which his poor mother might begin to lean upon him. He resolved, in the fullness of his heart, to make this widow his especial care, and to do all in his power to supply the place of her lost son. He wns unwearied in his atten tions, and though time was, money with him, ho gave it freely to provide for her comfort. The widow Green had, as I have said, an only daughter; this was all that had been saved from the wreck of her earthly happi ness. A rich treasure was this daughter— at least so thought the widow—and so thought another. Now 1 bog the reader not to call in ques ion the disinterestedness of Frank's atten- tions to the widow; for I do assure you, that when he resolved to be a son to her, he had no idea of a literal fulfilment. But benevo- ence sometimes meets with 'unexpected re- ward,. Mary Green was at this time about nine- eon years old. 1 suppose you expect me o say she was the prettiest girl in the vil- lage : no such thing -there were a dozen as pretty, perhaps prettier; but 1 don't believe one who had, a kinder heart, or more sweet and gentle manners. Though, while her features were at rest, you would not say she was handsome, but if they were lighted up with thought and feeling, as they always were in conversation, you would acknowl edge there was beauty there. And the very best kind of beauty, too—that which will not fade. This was just the sort of beauty to take with Frank. He found too, that her views of duty, of the great end of life, ac corded with his own. That the afflictions of her family had matured her character, and produced a chastened and elevated spirit which eminently fitted her for the compan ionship of one whose great desire was to be good and do good. One evening Frank and Mary had been taking a long walk, (it was a bright moon light evening, of course,) and they reached home just as the village clock struck nine. They stopped before the little gate, which was fastened with a string. "Mary," said Frank, as he reached over to undo the string. "Well." "I have been thinking, Mery—hem,"— hero ho stopped, and worked away for some seconds on the string. It had got into a hard knot, I suppose. "I have been thinking," he began again, and then ho waited so long, that Mary won dered what he had been thinking about, and whether he wo r ld ever be done thinking. "I have been 'thinking, Mary, that,"—as he had now advanced one word further, he would probably have got out the whole sen tence, but just then widow Green, who had been sitting at the window,and seeing Frank working so long over the gate, the kind offi cious old lady must needs come out, to see "what was the matter with that are string." So Mary was left to finish the sentence ac cording to the dictates of her own feelings or imaginations. But Frank took the mote satisfactory method of finishing it on paper. How the sentence really ended, may • inferred from the tact that the next week Frank was bustling about, with an extra gleam ofsatistaction on his fine countenance, making preparations for building a house. A light heart makes light work. In an in credible short time he had' finished one of the prettiest little cottages you ever saw. It was painted white, with green blinds, and a portico all around. It stood far enough from the road to allow a large garden, which was enclosed by a white fence, with a little gate fastened by a string. Behind the house, at some distance, rolled the Connecticut river, with its beautiful expanse of interval land on each side, ornamented here and there with a solitary, graceful elm. Is there a river in the world whose path is marked with more beauty and verdure than the Con necticut? Among all dwellers on its banks, perhaps there sever was a happier couple than the one who, on May day, took posses sion of the new cottage. "And so," said Miss Jemima W ilkins that was, as she was returning with others from the wedding visit, "poor Mary Green is Mrs. Francis May ! I suppose she will carry her head pretty high now." • "Frank's a fool," thought Mr. Ashton, "to marry a girl who has nt a cent in the world." But two years wrought a .change in the condition of the parties. Frank and Mary continued on in their even Aenor—he apply ing himself with assiduity to his business, and 'managing with economy, while Mary made every thing go like clock work at home. In the mean while Ashton went on as be fore, until becoming tired of the turnpike he determined to make a flying leap, and with his father.in.law, EN. Wilkins, engaged in a grand speculation which was to make them both millionares. But it failed, and involved both in irretrievable ruin. And then, while mourning one day on his blighted prospects and the wreck of his pro: perty, he met Frank out in his working dress, who had on also a cheel tul counten• once ; and when he saw how steadily ho had won his way in public confidence, and to the enjoyment of a respectable competence, he said to him-- "Aye, Frank I yours was tho right road to wealth, after all." • TILE YOUNG BRlDE.—Observe that slow and solemn tread, when the young bride takes her wedded ono by the arm, and, with downcast looks and a heavy heart, turns her face from "sweet home," and all its associ ations, which have for years been growing and brightening, and entwining so closely around tho purest and tenderest feelings of the heart. Flow reluctant that step, as she moves towards the carriage: how eloquent those tears, which - rush unbidden from their fountain! She has just bid adieu to her home! she has given the parting hand—the parting kiss! With deep and struggling emotions she has pronounced the farewell! and oh, how fond, and yet mournful a spell this word breathes! and perhaps 'tis the last farewell to father, mother, brother, sister! Childhood and youth, the sweet morning of life, with its "charm of earliest birds," and earliest associations, have now passed. Now commences a new, a momentous peri. od of existence! Of this she is well aware. She roads in living characters—uncertain ty, assuming that where all was peace where all was happiness—where home, sweet home, was all in all unto her. But these ties, these associations, these endear ments she has yielded, one by one, and now she has broken them all asunder. She has turned her face from them all, and witness how she clings to the arm of him for whom all these have been exchanged( See how she moves on; the world is be fore her, and a history to be written, whose pages are to be filled up with life's loveliest pencilings, or, perhaps, with incidents of eventful interest—of startling fearful record! Who can throw aside the veil,even of "three score years and ten," for her, and record the happy and sun-bright incidents that shall arise in succession, to make joyous and full her cup of life--that shall throw around those embellishments of the mind ilnd heart, that which crowns the domestic circle with beauty and loveliness; that which sweetens social intercourse, and softens, improves, and elevates the condition of society? Or, who, with firm and unwavering hand, can register the hours and days of affectionate and silent weeping—of midnight watching? Who pen the blighted hopoli—the instances of unrequited love--the loneliness and sor row of the confiding heart—the deep corro ding cares of the mind, when neglected and forgotten, as it were, by him who is dearer to her than life—when all around is sere and desolate—when the garnered stores are wasted, and the wells dried up, and the flickering blaze upon the hearth wanes, and goes out! and leaves her in solitude, in si lence, and in tears? But her affections wane not, slunr,r not, die not! The brillian skies may shed down all their gladdening beauties; nature array her self in gay flowers, bright hopes—and kind friends may greet with laughing countenan ces and glad hearts, but all avail nought.-- One kind look,—one soft and affectionate ac cent, the unequivocal evidence of remaining love; one mils like that which wooed and won that heart, would enkindle brighter, and deeper, and lovelier emotions at its limn tam, than heaven, with all its splender, and earth, with all its beauties, and gay associ ations. Ob! oung man, ever be to the young 'ride what thou seemest now to be; disap point her not! What hos she not given up for thee? W hat sweet ties that bound heart to heart, band to hand, and life to life, has she not broken off for thee? Prove thyself worthy of all she has sacrificed. Let it ev er be her pleasure, as now, to cling with confiding joy and love to that arm. Let it be her stay, her, support, and it shall be well repaid. Hers is an enduring—ari undying love! Prosperity will strengthen it—adver sity will brighten and invigorate it, and give to it additional lustre and loveliness! Should the hand of disease fall upon thee, then wilt thou behold woman's love—woman's devo tion! for thou wilt never witness her spirits wax faint and drooping at thy couchi— When thine own are failing, she will cling to thee like a sweet vine, and diffuse around thy pillow those sweet influences and attrac tions that shall touch the master-springs and nobler passions of thy nature—that shall give new impulse to life! Her kind voice will be like music to thy failing heart—like oil to thy wounds! Yes! she will raise thee, restore thee, and make thee happy, if any. ; thing less than an angel's arm can do it.- Morality arid,Sentiment. eiYOU CAN'T COME IT, JUDGE." ln Arkansas and Leland and some other parts of the world, they have a fashion of asking a man if he knows some onelhat they will name, and if he answers that he does, he is told something that he does not like to hear, which need not be specified more par ticularly here. They call it catching a Man, if he should be ignorant of the catch and answer the question. The Hyena Bank of Arkansas, among different currency issued by it, had a con 'siderable part of its circulation in Cooh-skins and Possurn.skins / the first of which passed at three bits a-piece and, the latter at two. A follow named Cole cutoff part of the tall from a Coon-skin and fastened it on to a pos• sum-akin and passed it for three bite. His rascality was found out, and he was token up for counterfeiting and brought before the Hyena Court for trial. A witness was cal led and sworn to testify, when the Judge commenced the examination by asking him, d' Do you know Cole?" The witness thought the Judge wanted to catch him, so he ptit the end of his thumb on the end of his nose, and with a cunning look, wavering his fingers, answered, "You can't come it, Judge." "Aiiswer (ho question, sir; Do you know Cole?" "You can't come it, Judge." "What do you mean, sir, by trifling with the Court? Po vou hear the question? Do you know Cole?' "You, can't come it, Judge. I'm a lit tle ton smart. I've travelled." Tho Judge got into a passion, and being unable to get any answer to the question, except "You can't come it, Judge" sent the witness to jail for contempt et Court. His wife heard of his being sent to jail, and went to see him. "Why, what are you here for?"said she. •'W.hy, about that que.tiou the Judge asked me." "What question?" "Why, whether I knowed Cole?" "Well, didn't you know him?" "Yes." "Then why didn't you answer him?" "Would you have answered him, wife?" "To be sure 1 would." "All, wife, I always knowed you wasn't smart. I knowed so before I married you. 1 jist took you out of pity. I tell you what wife. The judge might come ►t over a poor woman, but he could'nt come it over me. I'm a little too smart. I've travelled." The next day, the witness was brought into Court again. The Judge addressed him with awful dignity. "Well sir, you sae the Court is not going to be trifled with. Now sir, will you an. ewer the question that was put to you yes terday? Do you know Cole?" "You can't come it, Judge. I'm .a little too smart. you might come it over a poor, woman, like tri3i wile, but you can't come it over me. I've travelled." "What's the reason you won't answer the question?" '•Why, would you answer it, Judge?" "Certainly I would." "What, can you stand a catch?" "Catch! what Catch?" "Why, do you know Cole?" "Yes, I know him." "Judge, I'm sorry for you." 4, %1111 - at do you meant" "You know Colo, do your "Yes." "Well ...40 o«-- WHO ARE THE .PEOPLRI-ii, writer in the Boston Courier has I.IIS following capital hit— The attempt of the Tories, to make the people synonymous with the dice.h.dders, the hireling editors, or -the party, reminds me of an anecdote which I have heard of a colony of Puritans; who in olden time, mi grated to this then howling wilderness.-- They made it a case of conscience to de. (ermine, whether or not they had a right to appropriate the Indian hunting-grounds to their own use. After a prayeiful consider ation of the subject, they drew up the fol lowing RESOLUTIONS: 1. Resolved, Tbat the earth is the Lord's and the fullness thereof. 2. Resolved, That the saints shall inherit he earth. 3. Resolved, That we are the saints. A DIALOGUE TO 136 TAUGHT IN SCHOOLS. --There is nothing better than this in Lu cian. We advise every Whig paper to publish it, as a specimen of a good deal of truth in a mighty small nutshell. We copy it from the Geneva (N. Y.) Courier. Whig. Why did you not nominate a Vice President at Baltimore? Loco. Because we are strong enough to elect one without. Whig. Oh!--And, why then, did you nominate a President? Loco. Because---because— Whig. But really, why did'nt you nom inate a Vice President? Loco. We preferred to leave the people unbiased in their choice! Whig. Let me see; why did you nomi nate a President? Loco.' Why?—why—really—why, be cause—because-4 say, what will you take to drink? SAFETY OF STEAMBOAT TRAVELLING.- The memorial of the steamboat owners of New York and other cities, asking Congress to repeal certain portions of the steamboat law, is accompanied by a statement frprn the pen of W. C. Redfield, Esq., whiCh shows with what safety we can travel in steamboats, and how few among the mil-1 lions transported in this way, are ever inju. red. It will be seen, that during the last five years, the number of lives lost to the whole number of passengers, was only one to nearly two millions. It appears from Mr. Redfield's schedule, that the number armies navigated by steam vessels connected with the port of New Y9rk, in five years ending 31st December, 1824, was about 2,827,850, with an aggre gate of 4,796,000 passengers, of whom thirty eight, or one in 126,211, lost their lives. Twelve accidents occurred. j ,N . Durirg the five years eli_dingatihe close of 1833, the estimated numbers of Miles run was 4,216,200, with an aggregate of 9,419,, 700 passengers. Number of accidents five —lives lost sixty-twoi- or one to 1511931. W 0 ,21%0162 WilUb BEIII4 During tho five years ending 81st Decem ber, 1839, the estimated number of miles run was 5,467,450; aggregate number of passergers 15,895,300; number of acci dents, two; lives loti,:eight; or one in 1,- P 85,7-3. The average number of miles to each ex plosion in the firstof the above periods, was 235,646; in the second, 843,230; nod in the third, 2,733,725. -. 00 ••••- AIITE•DILVVIAN NAVAL ARCHITECTURE. —A book has recently been published in London, by Lteut. Radford, it. N. serious ly recommending the form and dimensions of Noah's ark, as the best model for ocean Steamboats. The author reasons out his case in perfect good faith, apparently con victed himself, if ho shall fail to convince others. The ark is described to have been "three hundred cubics in length, fifty in breadth, and thirty in height;" and by somo commentators is reckoned to have measured about 81,000 tons. Our modern Lieuten ant thinks a steamark, ofabout 10.000 tons, and built of iron, would do for all reasona ble purposes of travel. He thus, vindicates, by modern instances, the form of the ark, as not unsuited to nav igation: "As many have expressed their surprise as to the square and oblong shops of the Ark, because it is not customary to seo ships in this fashion, nevertheless, the little rush•box in which the infant Moses floated, and rescued by Pharoah's daughter on tho waters of the Nile, was after this construe. tion. The vessel or barque, Dane was confined with her child by Acriaius was of this description. The barques which the Romans called Rates, were of this figure. But we have no occasion to go down to the time of Pharoah to prove the form and con struction of the Ark, when it is borne in mind that this descriptiod of vessel is very common in the present day. The large barges that navigate up and down the Seine from Havre, Romeo, cStc.to-Paris,are many of them of this build. The same may bo observed as to the barges that go up and down the Danube from Ulm to Vienna,Post, Ofen, and down to Galatz in the Black Sen. and, to bring the matter still clearer to the Views of our readers, the coal barges on the Thames, which are seen in such shoals about London Bridge, are precisely of the same form and PLAYING Possum.—The particulars of the recent affair al Fort King, are given as follows in the St. Augustine Herald. It is the keenest kind of military tactics on re cord. "Captain Raines, commanding that post, prepared a shell with a shirt over it, in such a manner that any attempt to remove the garment would explode the shell. This ho placed at a distance from•the post. In a little while the shell was heard to explode, and Captain Raines repaired to the spot when he discovered Indian signs, a pony track, and some blood. So pleased was be at the success of the experiment, that he placed another shell similarly prepared, covered with a blanket, and retired. It ex ploded, and on going to the spot, it was dis covered that the Indians had tied an 'oppor sum to a and its exertions to escape, had exploded the shell. The Indians had sta tioned themselves, and as they came up, fired upon the troops, killing one, sergeant and one private, wounding Captain Raines mortally, and three privates. The Indians are variously estimated, from 130 to 90 in number." If a man begins to save ten come a day when he is 21 years old, and conttnties to do so until he is seventy, he will then bo worth $10,957 37. A great many boys and young men spend nearly as much as this for unnecessary and injurious eating, drinking and smoking. Youna MEN.—Most young men cenbider it a groat misfortune to be poor, or not to have capital enough to establish themselves at their outset in a good business. This is a mistaken notion. go far from poverty being a misfortune to him, if we may judge from what we every day behold, it is really a blessing; the chance is more tbab ten to ono who starts with plenty of money. Let any one look back twenty years, and see wlm commenced business at that time with abun. dant means, and trace them down to the present day; how many of these can now boast of wealth and standing? On the con. trary, how many have become poor, lose their places in society and are passed by their own boon companions, with a look which painfully says, 1 know you notl INTERESTING SOLIEOI2IIY.—In Indiana, a few days ago,an honest old farmer, a veteran supporter of the adrnintstrat ion,was thrashing wheat. Towards evening he be came weary, and, as he leaned, during a short interval of labor, upon his flail, bitter thoughts passed so vividly through his mind that they at length found utterance in words. "Here I em," exclaimed he, "dovling my life out with bard work ; and what shall I get for my wheat after I have thrashed it ? Thirty-seven and a halfceots a taishel—All —thirty seven and a half cents a bushel, all told ! God knows I can stand these thing' no longer, and I will stand them no longcr; I will vote for Gen. Harrison!!"[Prentiee. 0111, LA SCIENCE EST QITELIIIIE, crtosz, ]LAYS LA DANSE! MuNI-lEUE LA DANSE I-- The Emperor of Russia has presented Ma demoisslele Taghe'll with a magnificent sledge, with coachman, horses, dm. Thera were 400 silver hells on the harnm.
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