7 3 42t0 ZEtEtem•Yi4c. 114cb
Office of the Star & Banner
COUNTY BUILDING, ABOVE THE OFFICE OF
THE UEOHITER AND RECORDER.
I. The STAR & REPUBLICAN BANNER Is pub
lehed 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.
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 at
the option of the Editor. A failure to notify a dis
continuance will be considered a new engagement
and tlio paper forwarded accordingly.
111. ADVERTISEMENTS 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 reasonable s deduction will
be made to those who advertise by the year.
IV. All Lettorsand Communications addressed
to tho Editor by mail mustbe post-paid, or they
will not be attended to.
THE GARLAND.
—I , With sweetest flowers enrich'd
From various gardens cull'd with care."
FORGET ME NOT.
ST WILLIAM HENRY HABEIIION.
The following little poem, written by the late
President in his earlier days, ham a singular force
at the present juncture, especially the simile in.
*reduced in the two last lines.--Staten Islander.
The star that shines so pure and bright,
Like a far-off place of bliss,
And tells the broken•bearted
There are brighter worlds than this;
The moon that courses through the sky,
Like man's uncertain doom,
Now shining bright with borrowed light,
Now wrapp'd in deepest gloom,—
Or when eclipsed, a dreary blank,
A fearful emblem given
Of the heart shut out by a sinful world
From the blessed light of heaven;—
The flower that freely casts its wealth
Of perfume on the gale;
The breeze that mourns the summer's close
With melancholy , wail;
The stream that cleaves the mountain side
Or gurgles from the grot—
All speak in their Creator's name,
And say i , Forget pie not!"
.Forget me not," the thundor roars,
As it burst. its sulphury cloud;
'Tis murmur'd by the distant hills,
In echoes long and loud; .
'Tis written by the Almighty's hand
In characters of name,
When the lightnings gleam with vivid dash,
And his wrath and power ploclaim.
'Tie murmur'd when the white wave falls
Upon the wreck.strewn shore,
As a hoary warrior bows his crest
When his day of work is o'er.
From the Philadelphia Saturday Courier.
T/1E UNFINISHED MONUMENT.
An American Tale of the Old, Dominion.
BY xug. K. ST. LJOX LOUD.
About four years ago,it was my:fortune to
spend a summer at one of the gold mines
which abound in Staff3rd county, Virginia,
and which, however dazzling its promises
of wealth, proved any thing but an Eldorado
in possession. Like some clever people,
whose minds are rich in the sterling ore of
genius, the spot presented an exceedingly
unprepossessing exterior. Imagine a land
scape of broken ridges and ravines, com
posed of reddish sand and rocks, almost as
destitute of verdure as the sand hills of Sa
hara, interspersed with yawning pits from
sixty to two hundred feet in depth, with
the stagnant water standing deep and black
at the bottom and you will have some ideas
of the far-famed Rappahannock Gold Mines.
The principal shaft, or opening; and the on.
ly, eau in operation, is situated in one of the
deepest of the little valleys, where a large
building was erected, and a mighty engine
pulled and panted like a thing of life, in the
laborious employment of draining the mines
and stamping the solid rock to powder, for
a few shining particles. My ears were
soon wearied with its unceasing din,and the
monotonous "Ye! heave hot" of the degrees
at the windlass; and my eyes with gazing
on the vast heaps of rocks raised from the
dephts of the earth,and piled on every side,
their dark surfaces relieved by a plentiful
sprinkling of mica, which would have seem
ed to inexperienced eyes the real Simon
Pure, but proving too truly that "all's not
gold that glitters. At first I endeavour
ed to relieve the ennui of my existence by
calling into active operation all my sympa
thies in behalf ot the poor slaves, thirty of
whom were employed at the mine. I ral
lied to' my aid a host of Northern feelings
and prejudices, and by dwelling on the de
graded and forlorn condition of these human
beings, contrived - to make myself superla
tively and delightfully miserable. But
wh en I found that after all , the toils and
hardships of the day, their nights were
invariable more than half spent in singing, 1
dancing, and the wildest merriment, produ
'ced by excess of animal spirits, and the re
mining half stretched upon the bare floor
and benches of their cabin, enjoying a rest
more peaceful and profound than many
w'inse heads repose on pillows of down, I
concluded not to permit my fine feelings to
"run to waste" on those who neither need
ed or appreciated them. Deprived of this
source of interest, I commenced a serious of
pedestrian excursions, which led me into
many a sylvan retreat, where rare and beau
tiful wild flowers bloomed thick and fresh;
into forests of tall trees, whose statel3
stems were wreathed with the magnificent
trumpet creeper, its large crimson blos
soms gleaming from among the dark geen
leaves like tropic birds at rest; and into
many a tangled brake, where the luscious
blackberry afforded a feast for the gather.
ing which an epicure might have coveted.
But at last every woodland path was ex
plored; I had crossed the romantic' Rappa•
hannock, rowed by a grey headed negro,
till it ceased to amuse me. I therefore ac
companied my husband on more distant
tours. •
On one of these occasions,passing through
Falmouth. a small dirty village on the
Rappahannock, celebrated only for its her•
ring fisheries, and crossing the river on a
high wooden bridge that seemed "tottering
to its fall," we ascended the opposite bank
and pursued our way through a beautiful
and picturesque country, clothed with the
luxuriant vegetation of June. About a
mile from Fredericksburg, our attention
was arrested by a pedestal of white marble,
evidently intended to support a column,
which stood in a field at a short distance
from the road. It had apparently remain.
ed in its present unfinished state for a length
of time, as the broken fragments and blocks
which strewed the ground were discolour
ed by the weather, and no recent marks
betrayed the chisel of the workman. No
tree or shrub intercepted the rays of the
sun which beat upon it• fiercely enough to
have warmed the very reeessee of the
grave; no kind hand bad planted the sacred
spot with flowers, the touching memerials
of aflection from the living to the dead; all
seemed lonely and deserted.
"Is it possible," thought I, "that the
memory of the departed faded away before
the completion of the perishing monument
which ostentation would have reared?"---
Alas! I little dreamed that the dust below
had rested forgotten, unhonoured, till the
generation who knew her had passed away
from the earth. A train of melancholy
reflections wore awakened, and in silence
we reached Fredericksburg.
The hotel afforded' but few attractions
either in situation or accommodations, and
while dinner was preparing, I formed a so
cial acquaintance with a lively, intelligent
French lady, whose husband was pursuing
scientific researches in the neighborhood.
I soon found that she was au fart to all the
little histories of the place, and the subject
of the unfinished monument being upper.
most in my mind, it occurred that she could
perhaps satisfy my curiosity. It was with
intense interest, therefore, that I listened
tc, the following story given with a spright.
liness and humour to which my pen must
fail to do justice.
Constantia Benton was the only child of
a gentleman of great wealth, who resided
in a splendid mansion a little below Fal
mouth. An heiress, and beautiful, she was
flattered and indulged from her birth; no
wish was ever thwarted, no gratification
withheld, while the troop of servants.whose
sole business was to wait-upon her, was
taught to yield implicit obedience to her
slightest commands. It is no wonder that
she grew up vain, selfish, and so effeminate
(hat ber mother once gravely assured me,
Constantin had caught a severe cold by im
prudently sleeping without her gloves! At
the age of sixteen she was moreover a fin.
ished coquette, and the most capricious of
human beings. The fame of hor wealth
and beauty drew around her a train of ad.
mirera,
over whom she tyranized most un.
mercifully, and could she have revived the
days of chivalry, no one would have been
permitted to appear in her presence who
had not proved himself her champion by
breaking a lance in her cause. As it was
she exerted her power by requiring the
most ridiculous and whimsical services of
her devoted knights, who completely daz
zled by her surpassing fascinations, to say
nothing of more substantial considerations,
obeyed her behests, though frequently at
the expense of their own dignity. Constan
tin Benton was in truth a creature of rare
loveliness and grace. Her figure was
slight, but of the most exquisite proportion;
her dark hazel eyes , flashed with queenly
lustre from beneath the pencilled arches of
a bow that would have, graced a coronet;
and there was a spell in the tones of her
voice like the rich musical ringing of fine
gold, that charmed every ear. Yet what
availed nail? Constantia Bunton had no
heart—at least it lay in an undiscovered
region, so encrusted with the polar ice of
vanity and self-love, that the humble devo-
tion of the noblest and best among the high.
born sons of the Old Dominion had failed to
warm it into,life. A wandering gale, from
the South may at last soften the iceberg
which has for ages resisted the full rays of
the sun, and the haughty coldness of the
'oiled beauty yielded insensibly to the in.
flume of a !ewe of which she was altogeth
or unworthy...
A gay party was *trolling among the
winding paths of the pleasure ground which
extended from the mansion of Mr. Benton
to the river's brink, their forms now hidden
by the thick clusters of flowering shrubs,
now emerging into the open plats, where
their feet roved among flowers of every
form and hue, while bursts of merry laugh 6
a. waszarroTorr 2077E1\71 MIDITOR & prtorramiron.
The moil!, to know, to utter, and to argue, freely, is above all other liberties.”--114wros.
orawaqrazattnes. Wati.oo Uql/ 3 2/634Ddirto utsPo),s9 19 aa.a,a.
ter echoed far and wide. Gayest. of the
gay was Conetantia Benton, as well as love
liest of the group surrounding her, although
many there might have vied with queens
and princesses in their regal beauty. Nev
er before had her voice sounded so thrilling
in Its cadences, or her eyes seemed so deep
ly brilliant, or her step so light and grace
ful for she felt that the eyes of the elegant
and gifted Charles Lorelle were bent upon
her in unequivocal admiration, and she
knew that he waited but an opportunity to
utter the feelings that quivered on his lips.
As they drew near the river they wore ac
cidentally separated from their company.
A tall althea concealed them from observe.
tion; a few hurried, impassioned words such
as fall from man's lips but once, and the
love, the hopes, the wishes of Charles Lo.
rello were laid open before her.
"Constantia ' " he concluded, "do not • tri
fle with me. Will you grant my request?"
For a moment she was softened, for she
really loved him;,she knew that he at least
had not sought her hand from mercenary
motives, and believed that ho alone of all
who bad bowed at her shrine could make
her happy. She hesitated, and her evil
genius triumphed. Vanity prompted her
to make one last glorious display of the
power of her charms, before she yielded
the empire forever. With a light laugh
she stepped out into full view of the party,
and replied, "When you have restored my
rings" And taking a diamond of value
from her finger, threw it far out into the
deepest part of the stream.
A small skiff was fastened to the bank—
without a moment's hesitation, Charles
Lorelle sprang into it and pushed out into
tho rapid current, rowing vigorously, till he
saw the diamond glittering like a star,
among the pebbles many feet below the
surface. Dropping his oar, ho plunged
into the water, and the skiff drifted swittly
away. The whole had been so sudden that
the party on the bank stood paralysed with
astonishment; but when they saw the noble
young maul, who was a general favorite,
struggling fearfully with the powerful
stream, which threatened to carry him be.
yond the reach ofassistance, all was confu
sion and terror. The young ladies scream•
ed, '•Save himl save him!" while the gen-
tleman ran wildly up and down tho bank,
in search of some means ofsuccour.
One alone stood as if rooted to the spot.
With a face blanched to the hue of marble,
Constantta Benton uttered no cry; every
faculty seemed to have deserted her, and
not till Charles . Lorene, bewilditred and
nearly exhausted, had gained the bank, did
she betray a consciousness of what was pas
sing by clasping her hands closely over her
face.
Putting aside the agitated group that
pressed round him, he advanced to Constan•
tia and holding out the ring, said in a low,but
strangely altered voice, "1 restore the bau
ble, for which you unfeeling risked the life
I would most gladly have devoted to your
happiness—but 1 claim not the reward.
Farewell, Constantin!"
He left the spot, and Constantin Benton
was conveyed to the house insensible.
After many weeks of suffering and deliri•
um, she rose from her bed with a heart and
disposition unchanged by. the severe chits•
tisement she had received, and looking upon
the past only as an unmerited disappoint
ment and mortification, determined thence.
forth to play the coquette for revenge.--
She emerged from her temporary seclusion
more touchingly beautiful than ever, and
was soon again surrounded by heartless
flatterers. But the charm was gone which
drew around her the truly noble and refined.
She possessed too much penetration to be
deceived in the motives which actuated the
class of admirers who noW sued for her fa
vour; she knew they were fortune hunters,
and despising their pretensions, would yet
listen to their flatteries with an air of plea.
sed attention, calculated to lead the unsus
picious dupe to utter all manner of extrava.
gances, and then turn upon him with all the
scorn of her proud nature flashing from her
eyes, and send him abashed and quailing
from her presence.
About this time a star of more than ordi
nary attraction, made its appearance in the
shape of Mr. Edward Harly. Ho was, of
course, soon introduced to the heiress and
reigning beauty of Stafford county; and if
the wisest head has been turned by the pow
er'of beauty, it is not surprising that the
head of Mr. Edward Harley, which was
none of the wisest, should be thrown into a
complete whirl by the bewitching smiles of
the fait Constantia. His fine person, pre
possessing manners, and the reputation of
being the most flourishing and enterprising
merchant. on 'Change, in the great commer
cial city, rendeied _him "a "shining mark"
for the display of Constantia Benton's ru
ling passion. Although be had not "told
his love," his attentions were so pointed and
constant, that others stood aloof, and tier
dear five hundred friends, with whom her
marriage was a "consummation devoutly to
be wished," predicted that this would cer
tainly be a match,
"Not without a trial," thought the person
moat interested; "and I will enjoin him a
task that shall equal those imposed by the
fair dames of old on their devoted knights."
A few, days afterwards she was riding
with Mr. Harley, end with a tact peculiarly
her own, managed that lus susceptible feel
ings should arrive at a crisis just as they
were passing that lonely rave which at
tracted your attention. The result wets,
that as a proof of the undying lore which
he professed, Edward Harley ' was to im
mortalize his mtstress by erecting a hand
some marble monument over the neglected
and almost forgotten resting place of
"Of whom?" I exclaimed eagerly; "sure
ly it is but a common grave."
"But nut filled with common dust," re.
turned the amiable narrator. "Is it possi
ble that you know not the illusfrious occu
pant of that tomb? But pardon me if Ido
not inform you until I have finished my sto
ry; it would spoil the denoument."
Orders wore despatched for the necessa
ry materials, and the work commenced.—
Immense blocks of marble were transported
to the spot at a great expense; but that was
of minor importalice, as Mr. Harley wisely
considered that the amount would never be
missed from the coffers of his bride elect.
That spot covered with the short brown
moss of nearly a century, upon which the
sun had shone in quiet splendor, till the
memory of the dead had well nigh passed
into oblivion, was trodden by rude feet, and
its silence broken by the sharp chipping of
the workman's chisel. Mr. Harley seemed
aware of the importance of expedition,and in
a very short time the monument had reached
its present state. Unluckily he was sum
moned away, and several vexatious delays
occurring in his business, two months passed
before lie was at liberty to return.
At length all was arranged, and he was
intending to set out in a few days, when his
eye fell on a newspaper paragraph which
blasted all his hopes arid left him deep in , the
Slough of Despond, burthened with a debt
which it would be quite inconvenient to pay
out of his own purse.
"Married, at Ferdinand Feath..
erwell, Esq., of Wisconsin Territory, to
Miss Constantin Benton, of the former place.
The happy couple immediately set out for
the residence of the bridgegoom, in the 'far
West.' "
Mir. Edward Harley threw down the pa •
per in a fit of disgust, and wrote to his agent
to stop preceedings.
If any thing could have mitigated the
bitterness of heart with which the new
bride departed from the scene of former
triumphs, or consoled her for the loss of
future conquests, it was the feeling orgrati
fied vanity .vith which her last look - restedl
on the Unfinished Monument.
As it now is, it has remained for years,
the rnonunient of man's folly and a Nation's
shame." ,
"And, now pray tell me," said I, "who
steeps below?"
"Can you believe"—and her voice took
a tone of solemnity that chilled me---"can
you believe that there repose the ashes of
the Mother of Washington!"
"It cannot be," I exclaimed, with that
agony of insulted feeling which every
American must experience when he feels
that a ray of his country's glory is stricken
from her starry banner. "Does she .not
slumber with her honoured descendents
amid the hallowed shades of Mount Ver
non? Does the Mother of the Mighty—
she who instilled into the youthful bosom of
our own Washington those high and holy
principles which rendered him the God
like—does she occupy a nameless corner
of the soil won by the blood of her son?"
"It is even so," returned my friend.—
"Nor do I wonder at your enthusiasm. I
own that I blush for my adopted country.
when I behold the sums squandered on the
worthless seekers of self aggrandizement;
and see lofty columns rising to the very
clouds in memory of some hero of a day,or
event not worth remembering, while she
who gave birth to the Father of his Coun•
try, owes her only memorial to the caprice
of a coquette."
Remember, indulgent reader, that I do
not avouch the foregoing tale to be "the
truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the
truth." Ido but "tell the tale as 'twas
told to me;" but it is no fiction that the
Mother of Washington lies alone in a field
near Frederickburg, and that, until within
a few years, "no stone or pillar" marked
the place of her repose.
I have often passed the spot, but never
without a sigh, and a blush of shame, that
the grave of one more illustrious than the
matrons of Rome, shodld be disgraced by
an Unfinished Monument.
ta
INFLUENCE AND DUTIES OF ME
CHANICS.
BY CHARLES HOLDEN.
Owing to the unnatural distinctions that
have become fashionable in society, that
numerous, and as all acknowledged, very
useful class of men—smechanics—laborers
with their tools and their hands: need to
qualify thentelvea well, mentally as well
as bodily, for their duties in life, or they la.
bor to great disadvantage. I say "unnatu•
ral distinction," and it is truly so.' GAM
not institute it. It has obtained amid the
other frolics of society. He has set the seal
of honor to labor. He has eo constituted
man, that he only who is actively employed
can be truly happy. The idler is misera
ble. No bread so sweet as that earned by
the "sweat of the brow;" and who of us has
not verified the proverb, "the sleep of the
laboring man is sweet whether he eat little
or much." Our Creator has never appro
ved a libel so degrading to the laborer, as
that his avocation lowers his standing in
society! Not , at all. But to the ears of
how many thousands, in this enlightened
country, to the name Mechanic a word of
reproach, and deemed a sufficient. barrier
in their minds to exclude, him who bears it
from what they call "good society"—unless
he happens to be rich in this world's goods;
—this obliterates from the memory of these
exclusives the disgrace of having learned a
trade! True, the ample mantle of charity
should be cast over weakness so great; in
dicative, as it often is, of the smallest minds:
But is not always so—and th 3 notions are
often entertained within a thousand miles of
our city. They are prevalent all about us.
Mechanics here got tinged sometimes with
the idea that it is not quite genteel enough
for a darling child, to be put to a trade—
and that it would be a little more reputable
for him to tend a store! Now no one will
contend that all boys should be apprenticed
to a trade, any more than that they should
be merchants, physicians or lawyers. But
few will doubt, that many lads are crowded
into what are called the learned professions,
who are as unqualified by nature for those
professions, as some of the members of
those professions are incompetent to make
good mechanics. It is not any dullard that
will make a mechanic—as it is too often
thought. If there is a bright boy in the
family, he must be classically educated—if
there is a very stupid one, "why (say the
fond parents) we must apprentice him to
some' hard working mechanic, and he will
probably be able to plod through the world!"
With all proper deference to parents so
mistaken as these, we, as mechanics, must
say that a stupid boy will make as comp°•
tent a professional man as mechanic. It
requires good parts, and a ready, active
mind, to master the principles of a mocha*.
Ica! business. We can easily account for
the unworkmanlike manner in which me
chanism is often executed, when we reflect
howgeneral the operation has been—"the
dullard for the trade, if we cannot do any
thing else with him." It is a disgrace to
us as mechanics, to have it .ohtain that a
mechanic can be formed of any "crooked
stick of a boy." We should show a proper
pride, by rejecting those boys whose only
recommendation is stupidity—and whose
parents think they are good for nothing but,
mechanics! We should return the compli
ment they pay our pursuits, by saying to
them, your eons are too poor stock -for me
chanics!"
A talented writer exclaims,- in an article
I have lately read--"lngenuity itself is
thunder-struck at the countless methods
adopted to retain soft hands." '
In an essay on the subject under consid
eration, not long since published, the writer
asks—Does the successful merchant make
his son a mechanic? Veil seldom. Does
the professional man make his son a me
chanic? More seldom still. But does not
the fortunate mechanic make his son the
guardian of cloths and calicoes? Why is
this? Is -the yard stick more honorable
than the jack plane? Thegouse quill more
dignified than the mason's trowel? But un
fortunately the absurdity runs further.—
Look back twenty or fifty years, and be
hold the barefooted adventurer, at the pres
ent time rolling in wealth, or spending his
annual income of 2 or $3OOO per year in
making ladies of his daughter. Does he
teach them, the useful rudiments of house
wifery? Very rarely. Is it because the
healthful exercise of domestic duties is de
grading? No.• False pride says, "it would
be ungenteel for ladies to wark"—as if it
would tarnish the fair hand, that plays the
piano, to dust the instrument! How so
preinely ridiculous is this pride! Thou
sands of daughters whose mothers were
reared in the kitchen, and their fathers in
the barn yard, would feel insulted when
asked if they ever made a loaf of bread, or
mended a coat! They would much prefer
to talk about good society—the extent of
papa's wealth, or the splendor of mamma's
parties!
EMBARRASSING MORE OF DESCRIPTION.
-It may be well to put young persons on
their guard, against adopting one form of
expression, which more frequently perhaps
than any other loads to hesitation and oh.
surdity, and which arises. from attempting
comparisons before the object of compari
son is decided upon. Instead of the conve
nient descriptions—very high, very low,
extremely rapid, remarkably, beautiful, &c.
we hear, Ohl it was as high as—any
thing. The moment the little word as is
uttered on each side of an adjective the
mischief begins. It was as dark as--
dark! I was as warm as—could be.—
These (in another form of speech) exagger
ations are sometimes resorted to for relief:
ran liko---lightning: he roared like--
hunder; •it rained—cats and dogs; I was
tired—to death. Yet these absurdities
are less embarrassing to the speaker than
the comparisons first mentioned. Ifat once
hardness and adamant be thought of; a mi
nute flame and a glowworm; a welcome
stranger and the rising sun; or, in more fa
miliar matters,roughness and a file; smooth
ness and glass, dr.c.; comparisons may be
very easily and sometimes very expressive.
ly made. But hurrying into as as is an.
other affair. The exquisite declared that
thesoda water poured out 'for .him was as
flat as flat board! A lady
complimenting her hostess at tea.table,,ex
claiming that actually the coffee was so
fine, it was as clear as—a bell! Thus a
clearness of effect upon the ear was applied
to a description of the eye. And a similar
absurdity was committed by the lover eulo
gising to his mistress the brilliance of the
moon, which made the evening as light as
—really as light as— a cork!
A DOUBLE-HEADED enrcaurt.-4be ed
itor of the Norfolk Herald has hoen shown
a atmnge phenlomenon in the shape, of a
double headed chicken. It has, (says_the
Herald;) two distinct heads, the bills pro
jecting nearly at right tingles to eacii other,
It had three eyes, one on each aide of ihe
head, sod one in the Centre between the
two bills. The formation of the other peke
oft he body appeared to be perfect.
WWO,ZZitt aPaa 80(1)(6'
FRINCE ESTERTIAZY.-at the time this
Prince visited Dublin, an English Journal
made the following remarks:. "Dublin .has
now to boast the presence, not merely of
the richest subject, but of the richest fami
ly, we may safely say, . in the. !lice of the
earth!“--that of the Prince Esterhazy, Am.
bassudor of his majesty the Emperor of
Austria, to the court of London.. This
great and effluent family enjoys a.revenne
exceedingtsoo,ooo sterling per annum.—
The very dress in _which . this .Prince hat?
visited the several courts: of Europe, is
valued at £1,000,000 sterling!--bis coat
alone £2oo,ooo,—the hilt of his sword, at
£lOO,OOO. We have the authority of Sir
Walter Scott, for saying that every time the
Prince wears this cosily .dress ' the loss in
diamonds and pearls that fallfrom it, may
safely be estimated_ at from 100 to .21.10
pounds. On the occasion of the Corona.
tion, we , have it from the same, authority.
that the Princess was — literally.` covered
with diamonds. She wore as many as
if they had been Bristolstones. To de
scribe the splendor• Of the equipages of.
Prince E.sterbozy, his numerous retinue,—
his grand establishment,—his amazing and
unbounded wealth, would tax credulity.—
The dignity and wealthof his powerful fam
ily, influenced a demeanor remarkable only
for its elegance and suavity! He is we he
neve a Hungarian. His daily income is
upwards of 86,000.
Box. JOHN BANKS.—We observe that a
few of the Porter editors, for went of soine
thing else to say, are complaining that
Judgd Banks has not resigned the Judicial
situation, which ho now occupies, with Aso .
much honor to himself and. advantages, to
the public. In order to ease the minds a
ithese gentlemen, we • may. 'as well inform
them, that it •the Judge consults the wishes
of his friends on this subject he will not re
sign.. No judge ever gave greater satisfac
tion to the people of the district, nor do they
wish, to dispense with his-services, became
the Harrison party of the State have non+
noted him,as their candidate for Governor.
It would doubtless be. 'a very pleasant thing
for the present Executive to fill the office at
once, but although J.. Madison Porter is 'a
very clever fellow, a eharp politician, and
writes a,good lecture, still, we haw) no• idea
that the people of this county have any par
ticular desire that he should , be their judge.
The fact is, the Hon. John Banks, - was
nominated by a, spontaneous movement of
the, people;--personally he has taken no
part in the business, nor does RAW within
his sphere of duty, or intention,' to do so;in,
flame.. As may be easily conceived, =he
finds sufficient employment in : : attending-to
the bmineas of the Courts of one of the tar:
gest Judicial Districts in the Stateo Hellas
Ino Mayor's Court, nor nistrictXdurt, to
lighten ,his duties, but attends to the. civil
and criminal business, great and smell, of
'three populous counties; and, his station ii
certainly no sinecure. Instead of those
political labors, which some persons seem
to think_ must necessarily occupy the time
of a candidate for Governor, the visitor of
Judge Banks, will , find him , engaged :with
his law books, busy in writing put charges,
and in short, assiduously discharging the
responsible duties which devolve upon him.
And Lille man we are told, should resign,
and iurn politician! .
It has become the order of the day for
every candidate, to be.questioned on every
subject, by , every pereou who mat take a
fancy that way.. Our present Governor,
during the last gubernatorial campaign,
made no reply to such interrogatories, lea
ving his political ,course; (such as it was)
to speak for itself. _ Without however, re
ferring to Porter, we may say ta ' regard to
Judge Banks, that the position which he
now occupies, will effectually prevent • him
fiom entering the field, with that kind of
canvassing for votes, which may be inferred
from a general political correspondence.—
His public life, is before the people„—on no
occasion has he been afraid to open his
mouth and let lie sentiments be known.—
The people in the East, the West, and mid
dle portion of the State . know ,him, the•peo
ple have nominated him, and the pl , ople
will elect him. —Reading Journal.
TIIELLUSON FAMILY.--•-TllO ancestor of
the Thelluson family, died • in England
about 130 yearn ago—directing Ikthis will,
that his ' property should acconullate for
100 years; interest neon interest; and then,
the existing Young 1 helluson to come , into
possession of the whole. The period, ex
pires in 1849. The present 54. Thelluson
in 1828, was 40 years old; and poor; hi*
son, the Heir, was 8 years old; so that,iri
Ins 29th year , he will be master of 12 mil
lions aterlipg, or upwards of 03 nalliorskof
dollars. Parliament tried to set aside the
will at the time, but could not,lhoy howev.
er passed an act, that uo such. will should ba
legal from that time forward I • „
,Interest on 53 million of .dollars
83,180,000 per annum=-8265.000 per
mouth-88,832 per day:74368 per hour—,
$6 por minute.
P's MW Q's,....The original - Vie phrase.
"Mind your P'a end 'Q's, is not
known. la Ale4muinis,where checkscores
were formerly niat ktutupon die wall, b was,
customary to Pot these initial , leipira tbek
imid evgritioitesAsecnita. to shim .lha
number of Piqta. and u'
was in error"; and .4 1 0 me.Y PiemPt 4l .lf"'!,'4
ay. a friendly to have tappe d
neigh boi'en thai *wider 'when he,,,uyl
dulging too fierily in his' patatilietitisk.4
have exelaie ed, is he Nomad tohti scout.
64 Gilea. Giles, mind your P's and Q't!"