Plag, .11'22Q1-44 , (0 , 3 Qo Office of the Star & Banner COUNTY BUILDING, ABOVE TUE OFFICE OF THE REGISTER AND RECORDER. I. The S cAn & REPUBLICAN' II errivca is pub iAhed at TWO DOLLARS per annum (or Vol nine of 52 numbers,) payable half -yearly in ad vvice: or TWO DOLLARS & FIFTY CENTS, if not paid until after the expiration of the year. 11. No subscription will be received for a shorter period than six months; nor will the paper be dis continued until all arrearages are paid, unless nt the option of the Editor. A failure to notify a dis continuance will be considered n new engagement and the paper forwarded accordingly. HI. Anven•rrsemcnrs not exceeding a square will be inserted 11 zt: 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 reasonabledcduction will be made to those who advertise by the year. IV. All Lottorsand Communications addressed to tho Editor by mail mustho post-paid, or they will not be attended to. TIIE GARLAND. With sweetest flowers enrich'd From various gardens cull'd with care." 0:7-Tho following aro the closing lines of a beautiful Poem, written by N. P. Willis, on the &nth of Gan. HAnnisos: Follow now, as ye list! The first mourner today is the nation—whose father is taken away! Wife, children and neighbor, may moan at his knoll— He was 'lover and friend' to his country, as well ! For the stars on our banner, grown suddenly dim, Lot us weep in our dOrltnesa—but weop not for Not for him—who departing, loaves millions in Not for him—who has died full of honor and years! Not for him—who ascended fame's ladder so high From the round at the top he has stepp'd to the sky ! It is blessed to go when so ready to die! SPRING. The sweet south winds, ■o long, Sleeping in other climes, on sunny seas, Or dallying with tho orange trees, In the bright land of song, Wakes unto us, and laughingly swoops by Lila a glad spirit of tho sun lit sky. The laborer at his toil Feels On his check its dew kiss, and lifts His open brow to catch its fragrant gifts,— Tho aromatic soil Borne from the blooming garden of the South— While its faint sweetness lingers around hie mouth The bursting buds look up To cheer the sun-light, while it lingers yet On the warm bill-side—and the violet Opens its azure cup, Meekly, and countless wild flowers wake to fling Their earliest incense on the gales of Spring. The reptile. that }lath lain Torpid to long within his wintry tomb. With renovated life, does slowly come Up to the light again— And the live snake crawls forth from caverns chill, To bask at rest upon the sunny bill. Continual songs arise From universal nature: birds and streams Mingle their voices, and tho glad earth seams A second Paradise, Sunshine, end song, and fragrance—ell are thine; Thrice-blessed Spring—thou bearoat gifts divine! Nor unto Earth alone— Thou haat a blessing for tho human heart, Balm for its wounds, and healing for its smart, 'felling of Winter flown, And bringing hope upon thy rainbow wing Type of eternal life; thrice blessed Spring! @III ;001.AL-t-aI&3IaDWOo ALICE HERBERT, THE ILAMKER'S 11.11UGh TER. There was once a great banker in Lon. don, who had a very fine house in Portland Place, and a very dirty house in the city; and tithe latter looked the image of busi• ness and riches, the former looked the pie lure of luxury and display. Ho himself was a mild man, whose ostentation was of a quiet, but the less of an active kind. His movements were always calm and tranquil and his clothes plain; but the former wore stately, the latter were in the best fashion. Holditch was his coaohmakor in those days; Ude's first cousin was his cook; his servants walked up stairs to announce a visiter to the tune of the Dead March in Saul, and opened both valves of the folding doors at once with a grace that only could be requi red by long practice. Every thing seemed to move in his house by rule and nothing was seen to go wrong. All the lackeys wore powder, and the women servants had their caps prescribed to them. His wile was the daughter ola country gentleman of very old race, a woman of good manners and warm heart. Though (hero were two carriages alwar at:her esrei.il command, sho sometimes wallied . on'her feet, even in London, and would not •stilP,r nu account of her parties to find it 9 way i:itn the Niorning Post. The banker and lihr wire had but ono child, n daughter, and a very pretty and very sweet girl she was as_ over my eyes saw. She I was not very tall, though very beautifully ' formed, and exquisttively graceful. She was the least affected person that was ever seen; for, accustomed from her earliest days to perfect ease in every respect,—denied nothing that was virtuous and right,—taught by her mother to estimate high qualities,— too much habituated to wealth to regard it as an object,—and too frequently brought in contact with rank to estimate it above its value,—she had nothing to covet and nothing to assume. Hor face was sweet and thoughtful, though the thoughts were evidently cheerful ones, and her voice was full of melody and gentleness. Her name was Alice Herbert, and she the admired of all admirers. People looked for her at the opera and the park, declared her beautiful, adorable, divine; she became the wonder, the rage, the fashion; and every body add ed, when they spoke about her, that she would have half a million at the least. Now Mr. Herbert hitnself was not at all anxious that his daughter should marry any of the men that first presented themselves, be cause. none of them wore abovo the rank of a baron: nor was Mrs. Herbert anxious either, because sho did nothwisli to part with her daughter; Nor was Alice herself—l do not know well why,—perhaps she thought that a part of tho men who surrounded her were fops, and as many more were liber tines, and the rest were fools, and Alice did riot feel more inclined to choose out of those three classes than her lather did out of the three inferior grades of our nobility. There was, indeed a young man in the Guards, distantly connected with her moth• er's family, who was neither fop. libertine nor fool—a gentleman,en accomplished man, and a man of good feeling, who was often at Mr. Herbert's house, but father, mother, and daughter all thought him out of the question; the lather because he was not a duke, the mother because he was a soldier the daughter, because he had never given her the slightest reason to believe that he either admired or loved her. As ho had some two thousand a year, he might have been a good match for a clergyman's daugh ter, but could not pretend to Miss Herbert. Alice certainly liked him better than any man she had over seen, and once she found his eyes fixed upon her from the other side of a ball room, with an expression that made her forget what her partner was saying to her. The color came up in her cheek, too and that seemed to give Henry Ashton colt• rage to come up to ask her to dance. She danced with him on the following night, too and Mr. Herbert, who remarked the tact judged that it would bo but right to give Heory Ashton a hint.—Two days after, as Alice's father was just about to go out, the young guardsman himself was ushered into his library, and the banker prepared to give his hint, and give it plainly too. He was saved the trouble, however; fur Ashten's first speech was, "I have come to bid you farewell, Mr. Herbert. We are ordered to Canada to put down the evil spirit there. I sot out in nn hour to take leave of my mo ther, in Stuffordwhire, and then embark with all speed." Mr. Herbert economised his hint, and wished his young friend all success. "By the way," he added, Mrs. Herbert may like a few lines by you to her brother at Mon treal. You know he is her only brother: he made a sad business of it, what with buil ding and planting and farming and such things. So I got him an appointment in Canada just that he might retrive. She would like to write, I know. You will find her up stairs. 1 must go out myself. Good fortune attend you." Good fortune did attend him, for he found Alice Herbert alone in the very first room he entered.—There was a table before her, and she was leaning over it, as if very busy, but when Henry Ashton approached her, he found that she had been carelessly draw. ing wild leaves on a scrap of paper, while her thoughts were far away. She colored when she saw him, and was evidently agi• tated; but she was still more so when he repeated what he had told her father. She turned rod and she turned pale, and she sat still and said nothing. Henry Ashton be• came himself agitated. "It is all in vain," he said to himself. "It is all in vain. I know her father too wells" and he rose, as• king where he should find her mother. Alice answered in a faint voice, "in the little room beyond the back drawing room." Henry paused a moment longer: the temptation was too great to be resisted; ho took the sweet girl's hand; he pressed it to his lips and said—" Farewell, Miss Herbert, farewell! I know I shall never see any one like you again; but at least it is a bless ing to have known you—though it be but to regret that fortune has not favored me still farther! farewell ! farewell I" Henry Ashton sailed for Canada, and saw some service. He distinguished him. self ns an officer, and his name was in Bev oral despatches. A remnant of the old chivalrous spirit made him often think when he was attacking a fortified vlilage, or char ging a body of insurgents. "Alice Herb ert will hear of this!" but often, too, ho would ask himself, "I wonder if she be mar ried yet?" and his companions used to jest with him upon always looking first at the woman's part of the newspaper—the births, deaths Dial marriages. His fears, if wo venture to call them I such were vain. Alice did not marry, although about a year after Henry Ash ton had quitted England, her father descen ded n little from his high ambition, and hin ted that if she thought fit she might listen to the young Earl of—. Alice was not inclined to listen,and gave the earl plain ly to nuderstand that she was not inclined G. 177.41.Z11111GT015 ZOWEN, TaIDITOP. "The liberty to know, to utter, and to argue, freely, it above alt other liberties."—Mturou. 6211itqteia3tiPaglo ZPQCIQO terordelmart,, Qvac,ax aaela. to become his countess. The earl, howev er, persevered, and Mr. Herbert began to add his influence; but Alice was obdurate and reminded her father of n promise he had made, never to press her marriage with any one. Mr. Herbert seemed more annoyed than Alice expected, walked up and down the room in silence, and on hear ing it shut himself up with Mrs. Herbert for nearly two hours. What took place, Alice did not know, but Mr. Herbert looked grave and anxious from that moment. Mr. Herbert insisted that the earl should be received at tho house as a friend, though he urged his daughter no more, and balls and parties succeeded each other so rapidly that the quieter inhab itants of Portland Place, wished the banker and his family, where Alice wished to be— in Canada. In the mean time Alice be came alarmed for her mother, whose health was evidently suffering from some cause; but Mrs. Herbert would consult no physi cian, and her husband seemed never to perceive the state of weakness and depress ion into which she was sinking. Alice re• solved to call tho matter to her fathers no tice, and as ho now went out every morn• ing at an early hour, she rose one day amin o, than usual, and knocked at the door of his dressing room. There was no answer and unclosing the door, she looked in to see if he were already gone. The curtains were , still drawn, but through them some of the morning beams found their way, and by the dim sickly light Alice beheld an object that made her clasp her hands and tremble violently- Her father's chair be fore the dressing table was vacant; but beside it lay upon the floor something like the figure of a man asleep.— Alice approached, with her heart beat ing so violently that she could hoar it; and there was no other sound in the room. She knelt down beside him; it was her fath er. She could not hear him breathe, and she drew bnok the curtain. He was as pale as marble, and his eyes were fixed. She uttered not a sound, but with wild eyes gazed round the room, thinking of what she should do. Her mother was in the cham ber at the side of the dressing room, but Alice, thoughtful even in the deepest agita tion, feared to call her, and rang the bell of her fathers valet. The man came and raised his master, but Mr. Herbert had ev idently been dead some hours. Poor Al ice wept bitterly, but still she thought of her mother, and she made no noise, and the valet was silent too; for in lifting the dead body to the sofa, he had found a small vial and was gazing on it intently. , ter-„ "I had bettor put this away,' Mu MTh= art," he said at length in a low voice; "I had better put this away before any one else comes." Alice gazed at the vial with tearful eyes It was marked—'Prussic acid! poison!' This was but the commencement of ma ny sorrows. Though the coroner's jury pronounced that Mr. Herbert had died a natural death, yet every one declared he had poisoned himself, especially when it was found he had died utterly ins9lvent. That all his last speculations had failed,and that the news of his absolute beggary had reached him on the night preceding his disease. Then came all the horrors of such circumstances to poor Allico and her moth. er,—the funeral,—The examination of the papers,—The sale of the house and furni ture,—the tiger claws of the law rending open the house in all its dearest associa• tions,—The commiseration of friends,— the taunts and scoffs of those who envied end hated in silence. Then for poor Alice herself, came the last worst blow, the sickness and death bed of a mother—sickness and death in poverty. The last scene was just over—the earth was just lard upon the coffin of Mrs. Herb ert—and Alice sat with her tears dropping fast, thinking of the sad "WHAT NEXT?" when a letter was given her, and sho saw the handwriting of her uncle in Canada. She had written to him on her father's death, and now he answered full of tenderness and affection, begging his sister and niece inst antly to join him in the land which ho had made his country. All the topics of conso• lation which philosophy ever discovered or devised to soothe man under the manifold sorrows and cares of life, are not worth a blade of rye grass in comparison with one word of true affection. It was the only palm that Alice Herbert's heart could have received; and though it did not heal the wound, it tranquilised its aching. Mrs. Herbert,though not rich,had not been altogether portionless, and her small fortune was all that Alice now condescended to call her own. There had been indeed a consid erable jointure,but that A lice renounced from feelings which you will understand.—Econ omy, however, was now a necessity; and af. to taktng a passage in one of the cheap est vessel she could find bound for Quebec, —a vessel that all the world has heard of, named the St. Lawrence—she set out for the good city of Bristol, where she arrived in safety on the 16th of May, 183—. We must now, however, turn to the his tory of Henry Ashton. It was just after the business in Canada was settled, that he entered a room in Quebec, where several ofthe officers of his regiment was assembled in various occupations—one writing a letter to go by the packet which was just about to sail, two looking out of the window at the nothing which was doing in the streets, and ono reading the newspaper. There were three or four other journals on the ta ble, and Ashton took up one of them. As usual, he turned to the record of the three great things in life, and read, first the mar- riages—then the deaths; and, as he did so, ho saw "Suddenly, at his house in Portland Place, William Anthony Herbert, Esq." The paper did not drop from his hand, although he was much moved and surpris ed; but his sensations were very mixed,and although bo it said truly, ho gave his first thoughts, and they were sorrowful, to the dead, the second wore given to Alice Her bert, and he asked himself, "Is it possible she can over be mine? She was certainly much agitated when I left her?" "Here's a bad business," cried the man who was reading the other newspaper.— "The Ilerberts are all gone to smash, and I had six hundred pounds there. You are in for it too, Ashton. Look there! They talk of three shillings in the pound." Henry Ashton took the papsr and read the account of all that had occurred in Lon• don, and then he took his hat, and walked to head quarters. What he said or did there, is nobody's business but his own; but certain it is, that by the beginning of the very next week, ho was in the gulf of St. Lawrence. Fair winds wafted him soon to England—but in St. George's Channel all went contrary, and the ship was knocked about without making much way. A fit of impatience had come upon Henry Ashton . and when he thought of Alice Herbert . all she must have suffered, his heart strangely. One of those little incidents ot<= ' cared about this time, that make or mar men's destinies. A coasting boat from Swansea to Winton came within hail, and Ashton, tired of the other vessel, put his portmanteau, n servant and himself, into the skimmer of the seas, and was in a few hours landed safely nt the pleasant watering place of Winton super mare. It wanted yet an hour or two of night, and therefore a post chaise was soon rolling the young officer, his servant, end his portmanteau towards Bristol, on their way to London.— He arrived at a reasonable hour, but yet some of the many things that fill inns, had happened in Bristol that day, and Henry drove to the Bush, the Falcon, and the Fountain, and several others before he could get a place of rest. At length he found two comfortable rooms in dsmall hotel near the port, and bad sat down to his supper by a warm fire, when an Irish sailor put his head Into the room, and asked if he were the Indy that was to go down to the St. Law lime the next day? Henry Ashton in 'farmed him that he was not a lady, and that ns he had just come from the St. Law rence he was not going back again, upon wtsicti, the man withdrew to seek further. Ten.'tireVon,-twelve o'clock struck, and Henry Ashton pulled offhis boots and went to bed. At two o'clock he awoke, feeling heated and feverish; and to cool himself he began to think of Alice Herbert. He found it by no means t a good plan, for he felt war mer than before, and soon a suffocating feel ing crime over him, and he thought he emelt a strong smell of burning wood. His bed room was one of those unfortunate inn bed rooms that aro placed under the immediate care and protection of a sitting room, which, like a Spanish Duenna, will let nobody in who dares not pass by their door. He put on his dress gown therefore, and issued out into the sitting room, and the smell ens stronger,—thore was a considerable crack ing and roaring which had something alar ming in it, and ho consequently opened another door. All ho could now see was a thick smoke filling the corridor, through which came a red glare, from the direction of the staircase; but he heard those sounds of burning wood which are not to be mists• ken, and in a minute after loud knockini , at doors, ringing of bells, and shouts of "Fire! fire!" showed that the calamity had -become apparent to the people in the street. He saw all the rushing forth of naked men and women, which generally follows such a catastrophe, and then opening all the doors in the house, as if for the express purpose of blowing the fire into a flame. There were hallooings and shouting, there were scream ings and tears, and w hat between the rush ing sound of the devouring element and the voice of human suffering or fear, the noise was enough to wake the dead. Henry Ashton thought of his portman teau, and wandered where his servant wits; but seeing, by a number of people driven back from the great staircase by the flames, that there was no time to be lost, he made his way down by a smaller one, and in a minute or two reached the street. The engines by this tide had arrived—an im mense crowd was gathering together, the terrified tenants of the Inn were rushini , forth, and in the midst Henry Ashton re marked ono young woman wringing her hands and exclaiming, "Oh, my poor young mistress!—my poor young lady!" "Where is she, my good girl" demand ed the youna b soldier. "In number eleven," cried the girl "in number eleven! Her bed•room is in the sitting room, and she will never hear the noise." "There she is," cried one of the by•stan. ders who overheard,—"there she is, I dare say." Ashton looked up towards the house, through the lower windows of which the flames wore pouring forth, and 'across the casement which seemed next to the very room ho himself had occupied, he saw the figure of a woman, in her night dress, pass rapidly. "A ladder," he cried, 'a ladder, for God's sake! There's some one there whoever it be No ladder could be got, and Henry Ash ton looked round in vain. "'Fhb back staircase is ofstone," ho cried, "she may be saved that way." "Ay, but the corridor is on fire," said one orate waiters,—"you'd baler not try, sir, —it cannot be done." Henry Ashton darted away; into the inn, up the staircase—but the corridor was on fire, as the man had said, and tho flames rushing up to the very door of the rooms he had lately tenanted. He rushed on, how ever, recollecting that lie bad seen a vide door out of his own sitting room. He daah ed on, caught the handle of the lock of the side door, and shook it violently, for it was fastened. "1 will open it," cried a voice within, that sounded strangely familiar to his ear. The lock turned—the door opened—and Henry Ashton and Alice llerbert stood face to face. "God of Heaven," he exclaimed, catch ing her in his arms. But he gave no time for explanation, and hurried back with her towards the door of his own room. The corridor, however, was impassible. "You will be lost! you will be lost!" he exclaimed, holding her to his heart. "land you have thrown away your own life to save mine!" said Alice. "I will die trith you at least!" replied Henry AShton; "that is some comfort But, no! thank God, they have got a ladder = they are raising it up—dear girl you are saved!" felt Alice lie heavy on his bosom,and n he looked down, whether it was tear, dr+the effect of the stifling heat, or hearing such words from his lips, ho found that she had fainted- "h is as well," he said; "it is as well!" and soon as the ladder was raised, he bore her ont holding her firmly yet tender ly to his bosom. There was a deal:► like stillness below. The ladder shook under his feet—the flames came forth and licked the rounds on which his steps were placed, —but steadily, firmly, calmly, the young soldier pursued his way. He bore all that he valued on earth in his arms, and it was no moment to give one thought to fear. When his last footstep touched the ground, an universal shout burst forth from tho crowd, and even reached the ear of Al ice herself—but ere she could recover com pletely, she was in the comfortable drawing room of a good merchant's house, some way further down the same street. The St. Lawrence sailed on the follow. ing day for Quebec, and, as you well know, went down in the terrible hurricane which swept the Atlantic in the summer of that year, bearing with her to the depths of ocean every living thing that she had car ried out from England. But on the day that she weighed anchor, Alice sat in the drawing room of the merchant's !Muse, with her hand clasped in that of Henry Ash• ton; and ere many months was over, the tears for !time dear beings she had lost, were chased by happier drops as she gave her . hand to the man she loved with all the depth of first affection, but whom she would never hare seen again, had it not been for THE Fuzz. A MATRIMONIAL ADVENTURE OP GOV ERNOR WENTWORTII. -) The Knickerbocker for April has boon published for some time. It contains much agreeable matter, a sample of which we sub join. It is an anecdote of Governor Vent• worth, the last of the Colonial Governors of New Hampshire, and is still related by the aged people of the neighborhood in which he lived: "He had, it seems, married a very pret. ty little girl, some thirty years his junior, who, like most young wives, was kind of gaiety, and liked bolter to pass the evening in strolling through the woods by moon light,nr in dancing at some merry-making, than in the arms oiler gray-haired husband. Nevertheless, although she kept late hours, she was in every other respect an exempla ry wife. The governor, who was a quiet, sober personage, and careful of his health, preferred going to- bed early, and rising before the sun. to inhale the cool breeze of -the morning; and as the lady seldom came home till past midnight ; he was not very well pleased at being disturbed by her late hours. At length, after repeated expostu lations, his patience was completely exlinus• ted, and he frankly told her that he could bear it no longer, and that if she did not return home in future before twelve o'clock she should not be admitted to the house. "The lady laughed at tier spouse, as pretty ladies arc wont to do in such cases; and on the very next occasion of a merry making, she did not return till past two, in the morning. The governor heard the carriage drive to the door, and the ponder. ous crane for admittance; but he did not stir. The lady then bade her servant try the win• dews; but this the governor had foreseen; they were all securred. Determined not ty be out generalled, she aliAted from the car riage, and drawing a heavy key from her pocket, sent it ringing through the window into the very ch-smbe r of her good man.— This answered the purpose. Presently a night-capped head peered from the window, and demanded the cause of the disturbance. "Let me into the house, Sir!' sharply de manded the wife. The governor was im moveable.and very ungallantly declared she should remain without all night. The fair culprit coaxed, entreated, expostulated, and threatened; but it was all in vain. At length becoming frantic at his imperturablo obsti nacy, she declared that unless she was ad m-tted at once she would throw herself into the lake, and he might console himself with the reflection that he was the cause of her death. The governor begged she would do so, if it would afford her any pleasure; 117 ) . 1 11b1h2 acal 6tiCL and shutting the window, he retired again to brd. "The governess now instructed her Rer , yams to run swiftly to the water. as if in pursuit oilier, and to threw a large stone over the bank, screaming as if in terror, et the moment of doing it, while she would remain concealed behind the doer. The good governor, trawitlistanding all his deal. sion and nonchalance, was not quite at ease when he heard his wife express her deter mination. Listening, therefore, very at tentively, he heard the rush to the water side—the expostulations of the servants— the plunge and the screams; and knowing his wife to be very rash, in her moments of vexation, and really loving her most tender ly, ho no longer doubted the reality. "Good God ! is it possible!" said he; and springing from his bed, he ran to the door with nothing about him but save his robe de nail, and crying out "save her, you rag cals!--leap in, and save your mistress!" made fir the lake. .In the mean limo his wifo hastened in-doors, locked and made all last, and shottly afterward appeared at the window, from which her husband had odd ressed her. The governor discovered the ruse, but it was too late; arid he became in his turn the expostulator. It was all in vain, Ii owever; the fair lady bade him a pleasant good night, and shutting the win dow, retired to bed, leaving the Wile man to shift for himself, as best he might, until morning. Whether the goVerner forgave his fair lady, tradition does not say; but it is reasonable to presume that he never again interfered with the hours she might choose to keep." ~8...go() e eq..... A Stivatrit,an A DVENTURE.-..-Once upon a time a traveller stepped into a post coach. lie was a young man, just starting in life. He found six passengers about him, all of them gray-headed and extremely aged men. The youngest appeared to have seen at least eighty winters. Our young traveller was struck with the mild and singularly happy aspect which distinguished all his fellow passengers and determined to, ascer lain the secret of long life and the at tof making old age comfortable. He first ad dressed the one who has apparently the ol dest, who told him that he had always led a regular and abstemious life, eating vege tables and drinking water. The young man was rather daunted at this, inasmuch as ho liked the good things of this life. Ho addressed the second who astounded him by saving that he had always eat roast beef and gene to bed regularly fuddled for sev enty years—adding that all depended on regularity. The third had prolonged his days by never seeeking or accepting office --the fourth by resolutely abstaining from all political and religious controversies,and the fifth by going to bed at sunset and ri sing at dawn. The sixth was, apparently much younger than the other five—his hair was less gray and there was more of it—a placid smile denoting a perfectly easy con science mantled his face, and his voice was jocund and strong. They were all surprised to learn that he was by ten years the oldest man in the coach. "flow" exclaimed our young trav eller "how is it that you have thus preserved the freshness of life—where there is one wrinkle on your brow there are fifty on that of each and every ono of your juniors --tell . me, I pray, your secret of long lifer It is no great mystery" said the old . man, "I have drunk water, and drunk wine-1 have eat meat and vegetables—l have held a public oflice—l have dabbled in politics and written religious pamphlets—l have sometimes gone to bed at sunset and some times at midnight, got up at sunri , e runlet noon—hut I ALWAYS PAID PROMPTLY FOR MY NE WSPAPRII6I" • Time rolls on---so does the march of ge nius—Newark has produced another clock even the more wonderful than the recent invention of our townsman, Mr Crane. The inventer and manufacturer Mr. J4l. Lafy, who is well known to many of our citizens, and who has shown in this produc tion, a high order of mechanical talent and ingenuity:—The clock, apart from the or narnental work . , is simply thi-r—An arrow, the stem of which is a solid :glass rod the barb or head of which is of brass, and also solid; the feather end of the arrow is of the same metal, but is made hollow, and con tains the whole moving power of the clock, and is wound up once a week. The arrow, is fastened by a pin in the centre of its stem to a glass dial plate, on which the figures aro painted, the arrow head pointing the hours with perfect precision, and regularity. An inspection of the clock presents to the curious observer this question. How can any movement, contained within. the extreme end of the arrow, and obviously having no connection with the centre en which it turns, operate, to cause the arrow to revolve? A remarkable fact, which shows the impossibility of deception, is, that the arrow may be removed from the dial plate, and laid down, or even carried in the pocket; and when replaced, will im mediatoly return to the correct hour. The embellishments do much credit to the good taste of the artist, and it is hoped ho may derive some lasting and substantial benefit from this production of his skill.-21Fervask LIV. J. Adv. Tun END or A POOL.—Robert T. Dow)• lag has been sentenced by the Supreme Court of Nlacon county, (Gen.) to tai hung on the 21st 01 ;%luy next, f.r murdering Nathan Taunton, in the town of Latium, on the 2J alt., witilo dividing about • bet or filly cents. ~:~.z~,;azsrnz
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