0 S ' 11) 1 ~. A = vatac, .rtacimml4ll°KLOGl 69(3 Office of the Star 64 Banner COUNTY DUILDINO, ABOVE TEES OFFICE OF THE REGISTER AND RECORDER. I. The Srxu. & REPUBLICAN BANNER 18 pub. ialted at TWO DOLLARS per annum (or Vol- umo of 52 numbers,) payable half-yearly in ad vance: or TWO DOLLARS & FIFTY CENTS, if not paid until after Me expiration of the year. If. No subicription will bo received for a shorter period than 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 continuanca will be considered a now engagement and tho paper forwarded accordingly. . 111. ADVERTISEMENTS not exceeding a square will bo inserted Timm 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 reasonablededuction will be made to those who advertise by the year. IV. MI Lettorsand Communications addressed to the Editor by mail must be post-paid, or they will not be attended to. THE GARLAND. ~ ei, - ,... W:.. - ‘,. ,) ;=.- --•:. „, i l; Oagarna"_, / :.! - ..5... ,- ._..c. , ,...-. Am:a ft , . 4 • v '7; - 401 , V. - fialetZty 4 ',i'r '',-• —" With sweetest flowers cnrich'd From various gardens cull'd with care." From the Christian Journal THE FATHER TO EIS MOTHER• LESS carr.Ditimr. Come gather closor to my silo , My little smitten flock— And I will toll of him who brought Pure water from the Rock; Who boldly led God's people forth j From Egypt's wrath and guile— And once a cradle babe did float All helpless on tho Nilo. You're weary, precious ones, your eyes Are wandering far and wide,— Think ye of her who know so well Your tender thoughts to guide? Who could to Wisdom's sacred lore Your fixed attention claim— Oh never from your hearts erase • That a ced mother's name. timo to sing your evening hymn— My youngest infant dove; Como press the velvet cheek to mine And learn the lay of love - . My sheltering arms can clasp you all, My poor deserted throng; Cling as you used to cling to her, • Who sings the Angel's song. Begin, sweet birds the accustomed strain— Come .warble loud and clear— Alas! alas! you're weeping all, You're sobbing in my ear. Good night—go say the prayer she taught, Beside your little bed; The lips that used to bless you there . Are silent with the dead. A Father's bond your courso may guido Amid the thorns of life— His cora protect these shrieking plants That dreads the storm of strife; But who upon your infant hearts Shall like that mother write] Who touch the springs that rule the soul! Door mourning babes, good night. MIIC10111115 , 2,31111 ( btilt3o From the Philatlolphia Sitturdey Courier. THE BLAOIE VEIL; Or..doing things In too much of a hurry g.Dclay loads impotent and snail-paced beggary; Then fiery expedition bo my wing," Says Shakspeare; but it will not do. Ex perience has taught me that "fiery expedi. tion" will not do. From a child I was too precipitate. Tho world wagged too slow for me. 1 never possessed even a moderate quantum of patience. "Don't in such a hur ry," was constantly rinsing in my ears. When a schoolboy nothing ever went fast enough —not even time itscif. It was al. ways too long from Monday morning till Friday night. Ido believe that I should not have obtained even a common education if it had not been for the frequent applica. lion of the rod, which came not like angel's visits—few and far between—but frequent and very like the pelting of a hailstorm. I was just twenty-one years of age, when I first stepped from the steamer on the wharf at tslow Orleans—a perfect stranger with little' knowledge of the world, but with a very pretty fortune, my father having paid the last debt of nature a year before, and loft me his sole heir, his entire effects. I pocketed my money and set out into the world to find a place where'peopie were not so slow, and if possible every thing went by steam; but this I find not to be the case, oven on board a steamboat. The vessel to be sure was propelled by steam, but 1 found pretty much to my annoyance, that the ser vant used the same old plan of locomotion I had formerly been accustomed , to, and that the cooks used no steam engines for making bread and cooking beef steaks. Well, I found myself* in the city of all nations, in which may be found all colors, from the lair faced Caucaiiiin to the sooty Afi icon. Although the dire yellow fever had hut just sent its lust victim to tho grave for the season, vet there were merry and happy looking fares; faces whose owners seemed to have known no such thing as ea re. I had been in the city only twenty four hours when I found that rhould vory shortly have the "blues" to contend with, if I did not seek out some- amusement; so quitting my lodgings I sallied forth without having any particular object in view. 1 had walked on for some time, (very briskly of course, for I was in a hurry) when 1 per- ceived a concourse of people entering a cathedral. I followed the crowd and se cured a seat. The congregation had col lected and the worship began; and I was ruminating on the possiblity of an escape, (for 1 was already becoming Impatient) when my eye was attracted to the portal by the entrance of a lady closely veiled. Having dropped her fingers into the holy water, and devoutly crossed herself, she pro. ceeded along the stele nearest me to an un occupied pow. My eyes were riveted,as she tripped gracefully by, upon her form—for a more beautiful, a more symmetrical, a more nearly perfect form I never beheld. Her face was completely shut from my gaze by an impenetrable black veil, which al-. though it seemed to be light and gauze like, yet revealed not one feature. "She is angelic!" thought I; "could a form like that have other than the face of an angel?" I was precipitate as usual. I. was in love with the fair form—with the face I certainly could nut he, for I had not seen it yet. I resolved at once to follow her home, and to find out, if possible who she was. The worship ceased., The crowd die persed. I saw my fair incognito leave the church alone. I followed her. • I could not but admire her graceful airy step as she walked on before me though entirely un concious of the admiration she was eliciting. What ease is in her gait! while as she walks, Her waist, still tapering, takes it pliantly, The shades of the evening were fast Bath• ering in. Twilight was deepening into night. 1 had followed the unknown lady through several streets and alleys when we came into one less frequented than the rest. I turned my eyes for the thousandth time on the object of my pursuit, when I saw her suddenly start back and heard her utter a loud shriek, I was at her side in a mo ment and had knocked the ruffian down who had dared to molest her, into the gut ter. "Will you accept my protection and as• sistance, ma'am?" said 1, offering my arm. "I cannot refuse, sir, since you have pla ced me under so great an obligation to you; and indeed, I thank you very much for the offer, since you have shown yourself so rea dy to assist an unprotected female, for night is fast approaching, and my residence is several squares distant," she returned in a sweet voice. She took my arm, and we walked on in silence until we reached her residence, a handsome looking house, situated in the most fashionable part of the town. I accepted her invitation to walk in, and the recent occurrence having been related to her mother I received a very warm wel come from both. What with a musical skill and sprightly conversation ofthe daugh ter and the agreeable manners of the moth er, I spent the evening very pleasantly.— But there , was one alloy to my happiness. I had not, during the whole time, seen one feature of the lady's face. I took my leave at midnight, under a pressing invitation to repeat the visit. There is some mystery about this veiled beauty and I am determined to unravel it, said I to myself, as I shifted my position in bed tor the hundredth time. The next evening found me shaping my course towards the residence of Miss Mary Wilson, the name of my fair incog. And I was most kindly received by Mrs. Wilson, who met me at her own door. 'Mr. Arlington,' said she, before usher ing me into the parlor, 'you perhaps were not a little surprised at my daughter's not unveiling herself in your presence last eien ing. She has from some whim or other, vowed never to permit her face to be seen by any man until she is married (a deter. mination not likely to be of any assistance to her on that score,) I have tried all the means in my power to dissuade her from her purpose, but in vain. The veil she wears is a most extraordinary one—while she sees plainly through it, her face is entirely hidden from an observer.' 'Has she no particular reason for making the vow of which you speak?' 'None whatever. Sheds a Catholic, and the Catholics you know, adhere most strict. ly to their vows.' I was even better entertained than the evening before. Miss Mary's conversation showed considerable knowledge of books, and not a little knowledge of the hidden mysteries of science. She sung divinely. 1 was in raptures, I was in love—deeply in love. I took my leave with feelings I had never before experienced. I was determined to unravel the mystery that I believed was banging around that impenetrable. veil. 1 did not for a moment doubt the brightness of the eyes, or the beauty of the features, which were concealed beneath it; yet I longed to behold the face of her for whom I lied contracted so great a passion, and whose form had irreo gresta degree excited my wonder and acimiratiOn. There hung that impenetrable black veil, a seeming bar. rior between me and the dear object adored. I felt almost tempted, at. times, to snatch it away, and force her to reveal the charms she so cruelly withheld from my view,but I was awed into respect by the dignified deportment of the wearer. I retired to my lodgings, and to bed, and was just surrendering myself into the arms of the drowsy god, when I was startled by G. VTAMZINGTON 80V7EN, EDITOR &. PROPRIETOR. "The liberty to know, to utter, and to argue, freely, to above all other liberties."—Mu.rox. surawtezreiattrzas. ZP4/Q 0 wratamalro aztarnezz sa o acuia. the cry of fire, and the rattling of. onginas in the street. Having hastily left my bed. room, and arrived at the scone of conflagra tion, 1 perceived a whole block of buildings including the one from which 1 had so lately issued, wrapt in flames. `What has become of Mary Wilson? has she escaped—or does she remain in the burn ing building?' 1 asked myself in succession. I was horror stricken—l knew not what to do. But just at that moment Mrs. Wilson rushed from the house, calling on the multi tude to rescue her daughter. Ina moment I was ascending the burning staircase, which tottered beneath my tread. With no little difficulty I gained the landing place. Hero 1 was brought to a stand, nearly suffocated with the thick smoke and intense heat. But where was the object of my search? There was a door on each hand—l rushed impetuously against the nearest —it flew upon, and discovered to me a lady lying on her face in a state of insen sibility. I caught her up and bore her down the tottering staircase to the outer door, and just as 1 was about to leap down, the sill of the door gave way, and precipita led me with my handsome burden into the street. When I recovered, I found myself in a handsomely furnished apartment. I looked up and beheld, not tho face of a lady bend ing over me, but a black veil, concealing a face I knew' to be Mary Wilson's. As I opened my eyes, she started back, as if afraid 1 would detect her solicitude fur me; but seizing her hand, 1 detained her. 'O, Maryl Miss Wilson! thank God you were not injured by that fearful full. It was indeed a fearful.fall. How did you escape?' 'I owe my life entirely to your intrepidi ty,' returned she, crossing herself, as the recollection of the horrid scene of the pre• vious night crossed her mind. 'When you fell, your head struck a block of wood in the street. I was taken up unhurt. But hush you must not speak—your physician forbids rt.' Mary scarcely left my bedside until my recovery, which was very rapid; for in a few' days I was on my feet. I was by this time deeply in love. 1 loved ardently, devotedly; and perceived that my passion was reciprocated. Time flow—we were betrothed. I was happy in Mary's socie ty. She was happy in mine—we wore happy no where else. A month had passed by. The day set (or our union arrived.— The company had collected—the priest was ready- 7 we stood before him—the ceremo- ny was began. Suddenly a thought seized me—l snatched the veil (which 1 doubted not, concealed the loveliest, the most angel ic features, under theisun,) from tier fa . ce, and, oh! the horror of that moment, it was black. Yee, as black as the ace of spades. I rushed from the house, leaving the aston ished company too touch surprised to fol low, and in two hours was ascending the Mississippi river as fast as steam could car ry me. '0! God, she cannot be an African; and yet she is black! And I hove loved that being to distraction! I deserve the whole of it—l might have known that the eternal black veil hid some distortion or deformity! But, to have been thus duped; is enough to distract one possessing a much greater proportion of patience than I ever did. I'll forget it all, and go home, and content my. self!' Two years passed by; all of which time I had been at home, to take the world easy, and to do things as 'people did. This I found to be no easy task; for all my previ• ous life had been spent in a hurry. I had long since given up all idea of binding my• selfin wedlock's holybonds. I had become disgusted with the fair sex, since I had been so completely duped; as I thought I had been. 0! memory! thou choicest blessing, When joined with hope, when still possessing, But how mush cursed by every lover,. When hope is fled and passion's over, Business called me to New Orleans. 0 how vividly did each object - that met my view, bring before my memory the scenes I had witnessed there, and the part I had acted in those scenes two years before. I felt unhappy, I know not why. Mary Wil• son, to be sure was presented frequently to my imagination; but not as a loved object —rather as one to be hated, which had ma tonally diMurbed my peace. One evening I was walking the street— attending to some business—when 1 saw a lady whom I knew to be Mrs. Wilson, co- ming towards me. 1 attempted to pass un noticed, but she recognized me. 'Follow me,' said she, mildly. I followed mechanically; we walked on in silence until we reached a house, which knew to be the one from which I rushed so precipitately, two years before. '0! Mr. Arlington,' said she, as we en tered show fortunate it is I met you. There has been au awful mistake; we acquit you entirely of all blame. 'Twits our lolly cau sed it—but all shall be explained. Remain here until I return.' She left me—l felt bewildered. I could not imagine what was to come. However, I resolved to await the result, and to be pa. tient for once. She returned, Arid taking me by the arm, conducted me through sev eral rooms. 'Softly,' said she, pointing out to me a door which was loft a little ajar. 'Look through there.' I looked, and saw the loveliest Woman I ever beheld, sitting in profile to me. • She was deadly pale: and I thought I detected on her cheek, the traces of tears stood like one entranced. I moved not—l scarcely. breathed, for tear of disturbing the lovely object of my silent admiration.—Mrs. Wil- son took my arm, and led me away into an• other room. 'The lady you saw in that room is—' 'The most lovely being I ever beheld,' said I interrupting her. 'For mercy's sake' toll me the meaning of this.' 'lt shall all be explained in dun tune, sir. The lady you just saw is Mary Wilson, (be silent till I got through,) my daughter, the lady whoso life you saved—the one to whom you were nearly linking your late, and whom you supposed to be a negress.' 'For heaven's sake, madam, let me throw myself at her feet and ask her forgiveness.? 'Wait a moment, sir, till I get through She has loved, and still loves you to dis traction.' 'The explanation is sufficient; tell the rest at some other time. Let me see my much injured Mary!' Mary had heard me talking, and had come out to see what was the matter. She arrived at the door of the room in which we were, just as I made my last exclamation, recognized me, rushed lot ward and fainted in my arms. It seems that a few days before my see ing her at the Cathedral, Mary Wilson had in a whimsical humor, vowed never to un veil her facia before, or permit it to be seen by any man, until she had changed her state from single to that of double blessedness; and, in order that she might the more strictly and guardedly keep her vow, she had covered her face, hands and neck, with a strong chemical solution; the consequence of which was the changing her skin from a very fair complexion to the sable of Afri cans. She would fain have retracted her vow after becoming acquainted with me, but as a Catholic she held it sacred, so she continued to apply the nitrate of silver until the day appointed for our marriage, intend ing to reveal the secret after the ceremony. I recollected that she always wore gloves, and kept here neck covered in my presence. * 1 * The fire was burning cheerfully on the hearth, 1 had just finished perusing the last Courier. AI) wife (1 was married) was en gaged at needle-work, when suddenly 1 thought of New Orleans, and, as a conse• quence, the black veil. 'Mary,' said I, turning to my wifo, 'where ir that singular, impenetrable black veil you used to wear?" Smiling she disappeared, and returned in a few moments, bearing in her,hand the identical veil which had been the cause of so much unhappiness. have kept it,' she said, 'as a memento of my folly.' 'And wo will keep it,' returned I 'as n memento of what I was very nearly losing, namely—the dearest object of my exist. once, by being in too great a hurry.' And now, when i get in a humor to do any thing in too great a burry, I go and look at—the black veil. ...woe . 9..... CURIOUS AND INTERESTING COINCI DENCE On the 4th of March, 1830, and just about the hour of 12 o'clock on that day, the honorable Jorm M. CLAYTON, than a Senator from the State of Delaware, in a speech on Mr. Foot's resolution, made the following remarkable prediction in regard to the future destiny of the present Presi. dent of the United States, then the recalled Minister to Columbia which was, on the 4th of this month, fully verfied. Mr. CLAYTON first observed Nitioihor year has rolled away—our Ides of March are come. This day, which is the anniversary of the Chief Magistrate's Inauguration, brings with it some strange reminiscences of the past, and fume still stranger anticipa tions of the future. On the last 4th of March, and at about this very hour of the day, the American Senate followed the American President, in the progress of his stately triumph, to that scene where, in the presence of the assembled thousands of his countrymen, he proclaimed to the world the principles upon which he intended to administer the Government. Independent. ly of the fact that the whole subject has been thrust into this debate, there seems to be some propriety in devoting a portion of the passing hour to the consideration of the extent and influence of Executive au• thority." The honorable Senator then proceeded to comment on thetobuse of the power of removal from office, and put this case: "Inform us why the gallant Harrison, the Hero of Fort Moige, the victor at Tip- pecanoe and the Tharnes,a veteran in coun cil as well as in the field, distinguished for his virtues in all the relations of the citizen, the soldier, and the statesman—why, I ask, was he proscribed as unfit to represent his country abroad,and withdrawn from Colum bia;to-ni4ke room for Thomas P. Moore!— He had eearcely arrived at Bogota—the ink was still fresh on,,the Executive record which informed the. President that it was the advice of the Senate that he should rep resent us the+ when the order for his re moval was announced. This could not have been done for any official misconduct. There had been no time to inquire into that. Was his fidelity distrusted then? Or how did the public good require his dismissal? Think you it will tell well in the annals of history, that he who had so often parilled life and limb, in the vigor of manhood, to secure the blessings oflibert3 to others, was pun ished for the exercise of the elective fran chise in his old age? Sir, it was an act, disguise it as we may, which, by holding out the idea that be had lost the confidence of his country, might tend to bring down his gray hairs with sorrow to the grave.— But the glory he acquired by the campaign on the Wabash, and by those hard-earned victories for which he received the warm est acknowledgements of merit from the Legislature of Kentucky, and the full mea sure of a nation's thanks in the resolutions of Congress, can never he effaced; and any effort to degrade their honored object will recoil on those who make st, until other men in better days, shall properly estimate his worth, and again cheer his declining years myth proofs of his country's confidence and gratitude." On the 4th of March, 1841, and at the very hour ofthe day when this prediction was made eleven years ago. Wm. Henry Harrison, the proscribed Minister to Colum bia, in proof of his country's confidence and gratitude, was inaugurated the President of the United States; and his proscribers were taught that the effort to degrade the honor ed object of their proscription has fully ro coiled on all who made it. That the prediction is precisely quoted, see the Register of Debates, vol. 6, part 1. page 242 i March 4, 1830.—Nat. let. Scvnan 11.critmc.--On the day of tho in auguration, among the multitude who called to pay their respect to Piesident Harrison, was a junior officer of the. Navy, who was quite inebriated. The President, with a piercing eye, saw his situation, and said— 'Sir, I am very sorry to see you or any per son in your condition here.' It is needless to say that the officer retired apparently cut to the quick. This circumstance we know to bo true.—.N. Y. Express. The hundreds of idle young men scatter. ed throughout the country, and lounging about our large towns furnish indisputable evidence that many of the rising generation are contracting habits which, in oiler life must cause a large amount of sorrow and wretchedness. Labor is not respected as it should be, and the consequence is, that idleness takes the place of industry, and poverty, ghastly and wretched, that of cheerfulness and content. EXACTLY so.—The Boston Post says that two advertisements were recently published in a newspaper one for a clerk in a store, the other for ,an apprentice to learn the blacksmith's trade. The number of appli cams in one day for the former place, was FIFTY; for the latter not ono. AN APT ILLUSTRATION.-A person ask ing how it happened that many beautiful young ladies took up with indifferent hits. bands, after many fine offers, was thus aptly answered by a mountain maiden: A young friend of hers requested her to go into a cane broke and get him the handsomest reed.— She must get one going through without turning. She went, and coming out,brought him quite a mann reed. When ho asked her if that was the handsomest reed she saw, "Oh no," she replied, "I saw many finer as I went along, but I kept on in hopes of ono much better, until I got nearly through, and then I was obliged to take up with any one I could find--and got a crook. ed one at last." A. A. P. Disrurcs.—W hen we are in a condition to overthrow falsehood and error, we ought not to do it with vehemence, nor insulting ly, and with an air of contempt; but to la 3 open the truth, and with answers full of moderation and mildness to refute the false hood. Honninr.n BIIIINING.-A little after sev en last- night a messenger came to the Watch House requesting Captain Furman to repair with medical assistance to the house of John Thatcher, near the Canal.— On reaching the house, a little child nearly it year old, was found lying on the floor near the door, in the agonies of death from the burns it had received, and its wretched mother was sitting on the edge of the bed ' with her right side, breast and face burned nearly to a crisp, and in a state of beastly intoxication, approaching to utter uncon• sciousness. Before any medical assistance was rendered the child died, and the moth. er is expected to live but a few hours— The child is supposed to have fallen into the fire, and the woman, with an instinct of maternal feeling, which even 'intoxication could not utterly extinguish,probably caught up her offvring, and held it to her breast, and thus communicated the flames to her own clothes. It was a sad and horrible exemplification of the curse of internper ance.—Btrfale Com. Adv. A NOVEL SPECULATION.—The Whee. ling Times says,—" %V hen the steamer Ut ica was coming up to the landing on Friday last, full of passengers, a stranger in the city went to one of the stage offices and en gaged thirteen seats, paying for them on the spot. He then sold them out at from five to ton dolliirs advance. That was a very mean way of shaving." AN OLD NEWSPAPER.—There is nosh ing more beneficial to the reflecting mind than the perusal of an old newspaper.— Though a silent preacher, it is one which conveys a moral more palpable and forcible than the most elaborate discourse' As the eye runs down its diminutive and old fashioned columns and peruses IV !mint advertisements and bygone the question forces itself on the mindl Where are now the busy multitudes whose names appear on these pages! where te•the puffing auctioneer, the pushing tradesman WILL 02.1L11 arPoc6 BV:4a and bustling merchant, the circulating lawyer, who each or cupird a space in such chronicles of departed Mei.? Alas, they have passed away like their forefathers, are no mole seen! From these considera lions the mind naturally turns to the pert. od when we, who may enjoy our span of existence in this chequered, scene, shall have gone into the dust, and shall foriikh the same moral to our children that our fathers do to us? Thu sun will then shine as bright, the flowers will bloom as fair, the face o(nature will bo as beautiful as ev er—while, wo arc reposing in our narrow cells, heedless of every thing, that once charmed and, delighted us. A sore footed pedestrian, travelling in Ireland, met a man, and asked him, rather gruffly, why tho nitles were so plaguy long? when the Hibernian replied, 'You see, yer honor, the roads are not in good condition, so we give very good measure.' CONSOLATION.-A couple of loafers were standing upon a - wharf on South ' Main street, last Monday. •'1 say said one, 'there's a new license law goes into opera tion to-day—no - more liquor; for love 'nor money'—' Well, I've got one consOlation;' was the reply,'l got drunk enough last night to hold on a week at least.-PrOvidenCe Journal. The Utica Observer says, that a new article for stuffing cushions, sofas. mamas. sos, &c. has been lately manufactured in that city. "It is mode of common bass world cut into fine threads, and appropriately curled for that purpose. It is light and soft and resembles a fleece of course ,woo); can be produced with great rapidity. and at it less cost than the cheapest of uther articles now in use. • FATAL Rescomrna.—A fatal rencontre took place at Scottsville, (Allen comity, Ky.)by which a person by the named Porter lost his life. It appears that a man of the mane of Borden put into circulation reports discreditable to the' character of 'a certain woman in that town; in consequence ofwhich he was called upon by Mr. David A. Porter, in eotnpany with his three seas and was required by them to retract what he had said, or fix a dtiy for his leaving the place altogether. Borden,refused to do this, and an altercation commenced. The Porters had sticks, and one of them a pistol. - The elder Porter struck Borden with n stick, and at the same time be was struck by the , oth ers. Borden drew a pistol, and was in tho act of falling from the blows, when' he shot the elder Porter in the breast. Porter died in about ten minutes, three balls having en tered his body.— U. S. RAIL ROAD REVENtrE9o-...Th0 Railroads in England yield a revenue of pnncely ex tent. The Liverpool and Manchester, which is thirty one miles in extent, ddring the year 1840 yielded an income of $1,226, 680! The London and Birmitigham,which is one hundred and twelve miles long. re ceived $3,612,446, during the same period of time. England is densely populated an. of course the amount of travel on tar routes exceeds any thinglii this country. —Yet with the increase of population and extension of business hero, all the greXt railroads in the Union will ultimately be come as crowded and as profitable as those in Groat Britain.—ib. MYSTERIOUS PROFESSIONS.—Under this head, the New York Signal has the felicity• ing professional dialogue.—"Now, Tom," said the printer of a country newspaper, in giving directions to his apprentice, "put the 'foreign leaders' into the galleys, and lock 'em up—let 'Napoleon's remains' have a larger head—distribute the 'army in the East'—take up n line and finish the 'British Minister'—make 'the young Princess' to run on with 'the Duchess of Kent'--move 'the Kerry hunt' out of the chase—get your stick and conclude 'the horrid murder that Joe began last night—wash your hands and come in to dinner, and then see that all the, pie is cleared up." Some printers are devils—and no mistake. WELL &Norm:v.—The following extract is some-what remarkable in its tone, con sidering the source from which it comes. It is from an article in the Canada Times published at:Montreal: "A true bill has been found by the grand jury against McLeod for murder; conse quently, he must now remain in confine ment until his trial conies on. Had not Mr. McLeod vain-gloriously boasted in *a tavern at Lockport, New York, of having belonged to the expedition sent by Sir F. B. Head to destroy the steamer Caroline, he would not now be where he is, and this trouble and excitement might have been avoided. Should an American citizen come into Montreal, Toronto, or any other place in Canada, and publicly declare him. self to have been the murderer, or an acces sory to the murder, of a British subject, would he not immediately be lodged in jail; and there kept until found guilty or moo-, cent by a fair and impartial trial? We have not the least doubt that it is the inten tion of, the authorities of the State of New York, todn him every justimand discharge hits at:dnee, if proved innocent; as we e1m .... not for.S-Innment suppose that the citizens of that: State would be unit!) , of Ruch bar barity, as to take away the lite of any nano. cent person in read bin td, merely to gristift their feelings of vengerinceior any ill treat ment which they _have received (tons tins British Govers.ruent ".
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers