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THE GARLAND.
---" With sweetest flowerseurieb'd
From various gardens eull'd with care."
TEE PRINTER'S SONG.
Print, comrados, print; a noblo task
Is the one we gaily ply;
'Tts OUTS fa tell to all who ask,
The wonders of earth and miry;
We catch the thought all glowing warm,
As it leaves the Student's brain;
And place the stamp of enduring form
On Poets airy strain.
Then let us sing, es we nimbly fling
The slender letters round;
A' glorious thing, is our laboring,
Oh where may its likobs found I
Print, comrades, print; the fairest though►
Ever limned in Painter's dream,
The rarest form e'er Sculptor wrought;
By the light of beauty's gleam,
Though lovely, may not match tho paws,
Which our own proud art can claim;
That links the past with the present hour,
And its breath—the voice of fame.
Then let us sing, as we nimbly fling
The slender letters round;
A glorious thing, is our laboring,
Oh where may its like be found
Print, comrades, print; God hath ordained
That man by his toil should live;
Then spurn the charge, that wa disdained
The labor that God would give!
We envy not the sons awe,
Nor the lord in princely hall;
But bow before the wise decrees
In kindness meant for us all.
Then let us sing, as we nimbly lag
• The slender letters round;
A glorious thing, is our laboring.
Oh where may its like be found I
1141IIEVOMU.112Z.Viril ( DTC30
GENTILITY.
Mr T. e. ARTHUR.
"Didn't I see you walking up the street
with a young lady yesterday, William?"
said Anna Enfield to her brother, who had
but a few days before returned from New
York, after an absence of some months.
"Perhaps you did; I was in company
with a young lady in the afternoon," re
plied the brother.
"Well, who was she? I did not see
you until after you had passed the store I
was in, and then I could not see her face."
"It was Caroline Murry; you know her,
I suppose!"
"Caroline Murry! Why brother! what
wore you doing in her company!" and
Anna's face expressed unfeigned astonish
ment.
"Why, really, ye.' surprise me, sister; I
hope there is no blemish on her character.
But what is the matter? I feel concerned
to know."
"There's nothing much the matter,
brother; but, then, Caroline Murry is not
genteel. We dont think of keeping her
company."
"Indeed! and you dont associate with her
because she is not genteel. Well, Anna, if
I am any judge of gentility, Caroline Murry
Is about as genteel and lady like as any girl
I know—always excepting, of course, my
own dear sister."
"Why, brother, how you talkl You
don't certainly pretend to compare her
with Ernestine Eberly and Zepherine
Fitzwilliams, whom you have seen bore
several timesl"
"No, I do not," replied the brother
"Well, they're what I call genteel: and
Caroline Murry wuuld'ni be tolerated in the
ooeiet.) , whore they visit."
"And why not, sisterV 4 ,
"llav'nt I told you? - Because she is
not considered genteel; that is the reason."
"But 1 don't understand - what you con•
shier genteel, Anna. If 1 know what gen
tility means, as far as that is concerned,
Caroline is in every way superior to Ernes
tine Eberly or Zepherine Enzwilliams."
that is too bad! If any
other man had said that to me, I would
never hevo spoken to him again as long as
1 lived."
"But seriously, Anna, what do you mean
by gentility?" asked the brother.
"That's a question more easily asked
than answered, but you know as well as I
do, what is meant by gentility. Every
body knows."
"1 know what I mean by it, Anna. But
it seems that we don't agree on the subject,
for I call Caroline Murry genteel, and you
don't; so you see that different things may
be called by the same name. "Now, what
I wish to know is, what precise meaning
you attach to the word? or, why you do not
think Caroline genteel?"
"Why, in the first place, she don't go in•
to genteel company. People of the first
rank won't associate with her."
Here ensued a pause, and the brother
said—
" Well, why won't they associate with
her, Anna? I hope she has not been guilty
of improper or immoral conduct."
"Oh, no! nothing of that. I never beard
the slightest reflection .on her character,"
replied the sister. "But, then, genteel
young ladies don't work in the kitchen,like
hired servants; and she does. And, beside
this, call on her when you may, and she
is always doing something. Why I am
told that she has even been seen at the
chamber window fronting on the public
street, with her head tied up, sweeping,
and making beds! And Clarrissa Sprig
glee says that she saw her once, with
rho parlor windows open, sweeping and
dusting like a servant! Nobody is going
to associate, or be seen in the street
with any one who hae'nt the spirit to be
above the condition of a hireling. And,
beside this, when she was invited to balls,
or parties, she never would stay later than
ten or eleven o'clock, which every body
knows to be vulgar. Somebody had to go
home with her, of course; and the choicest
beau in the company was almost sure to
have his good nature and his politeness
taxed for this purpose. Once I heard her
say, that she considered the theatre an unfit
place for any young lady; she offended the
whole company, and has never been invited
to a party among genteel people sioce."
"And is that all?" said William Enfield,
taking a long breath. '
"Yes, and I should think that was enough
in all conscience," replied the sister.
"So should 1, Anna—to make ;no 're
spect her."
"Why, William!"
"Why, Anna!"
"But seriously, William, you cannot be
in earnest?"
"And, seriously, Anna, are you in ear•
nest?"
"Of course I am."
"Well, sister, lam afraid my old fash
ioned notions, for such I suppose you will
call them, and your new tangled notions,
for such I must call them, will not chime
well together. All that I have heard you
allege against Caroline Murry raises,
instead of lowering her in my estimation.
So far as a gentle, and truly lady-like de.
portment is concerned, I think her greatly
superior to the two friends you have named
as pinks of gentility."
Anna looked into the face of her brother
for some moments, her countenance ex•
hibiting a mingled expression of surprise
and disappointment.
"But you are not going to walk with her
in the street any more, I hope'!" she at
length said.
"And why not, Anna 7"
"Because, as I have said before she is
not gen—"
"Genteel, you were going to say. But
.
that allegation, you perceive, Anna, has no
weight with me; I do not consider it a true
one.
"Well, we won't talk any more about it
just now, for it would be of no use," said
the sister, changing her voice and manner;
"and so I will change the subject. I want
you to make a call or two with me this
morning."
"On whom?"
"On Miss Eberly and Miss Fitzwil
liams."
"It would'nt be right for me to do so,
would it? You know 1 don't consider
them genteel," said the brother, with affec
ted gravity.
"Oh, nonsense, brother! why will you
trifle so?"
"But, seriously, Anna, I do not consider
that those young ladies have any very
strong claims to gentility; and, like you,
I have no wish to associate with those who
are not genteel."
"If you talk in that way, William,' shall
get angry with you. I cannot hear my
most intimate friends spoken of so lightly;
and at the same time accused of a want of
gentility. You must remember that you
are reflecting upon your sister's associates."
"You must not, and I know you will
not, get angry with me, sister, for speaking
plainly; and you must do roe the justice to
behove that in speaking as I do I am in
earnest. And you must also 'remember,
that, in saying what you did of Caroline
Murry, you spoke of one with whom your
brother has associated and with whom ho
is still, willing to associate."
Anna looked very serious at this, nor
could she frame in her own mind a reply
that was satisfactory to her. At last she
said—
"But seriously. Brother William,won'
you call on those young ladies with we!
"Yes, on one coration."
"Well, what is their
"Why, on condition.that you will after
ward call with mu, and' see Caroline blur
ry. o
"I cannot do that, William," she replie
in a positive tone.
"And why not, Anna?"
G. WASHINGTON EvrEN, EDITOR & PROPRIETOR..
ic The liberty to know, to utter, and to argue, freely, is above all other liberties.”—MiLTon
ItZeifieUllral2tlP.26o zPacle revaarbarre _ciatorstpaut lice agaa,,
"I have already told you."
"Lcannot perceive the force of that rea
son, Anna. But if you will not go with me
I must decline going with you. The socie
ty of Miss Murry cannot bo more repulsive
to you, than is that of Misses Eberly and
Fitzwilliams to me."
"You don't know what you are talking
about, William."
"That is my impression about you. But
come now, sister, let us both be rational to
each other, I am willing to go with you if
you will go with me."
"Yes, but W illiam, you don't reflect
that, in doing as you desire me, I will be in
danger of losing my present position in so
ciety. Caroline Murry is not esteemed
genteel in the circle in which 1 move, and
if it should be known that 1 visit her, I will
be considered on a level with her. .1
would do any thing to oblige you, but, in
deed, I would be risking too much here."
"You would only be breaking loose j "
replied the brother, "from the slavery you
are now in to false notions of what is truly
genteel. If any one esteems you less for
being kind, attentive, and courteous to one
against whom suspicion has never dared to
breathe a word, and whose whole life is
a bright example of the pure and high-toned
principles that govern her, that one is un
worthy of your regard. True gentility
does not exist, my sister, merely in a stud
died and artificial elegance of behavior,
but in inward purity and taste, and a trim
sense of what is right, all exhibiting them
selves in their natural external expression.
The real lady judges of others from what
they are, and neglects none but the wilful
ly depraved. True, there are distinctions
in society, and there are lines of social de
marcation, and all this is right. But we
should be careful in what social sphere we
aro drawn, and how we suffer ourselves to
I les influenced by the false notions of real
worth which prevail in some circles
that profess a high degree of gentility. 1
hold that every one, no matter what may
be his or her condition in life, fails to act
a true part if not engaged in doing some
thing that is useful. Let ine put it to your
natural good sense, which do you think
most deserving of praise, Caroline Murry,
who spends her time in doing something
useful to her whole family; or your friends
the Misses Eberly and Fitzwilliams. and
those constituting their particular circle,
who expect services from others, but never
think of rendering any, and who carry
their prejudices so far as to despise those
who work?"
Anna did not reply, and her brother
said—
"l am in earnest, sister, when 1 say, that
you cannot confer a greater favor upon your
brother, than to go with him to see Caroline
Murry. Cannot 1 induce you to comply
with my wishes?"
"I will go," she replied to this appeal,
and then hurried away, evidently no little
disturbed in her feelings.
In half an hsur she was ready, and,
taking her brother's arm, wee soon on the
way to Miss Ernestine Eberly's residence.
The young lady received them with all the
graces and fashionable airs she could as
some, and entertained them with the idle
gossip of the day, interspersed with an
occasional spice of envious and ill-natured
remark. Knowing that her brother was a
close discriminator, and that he was by no
means prepossessed in her friend's favor,
Anna herself observed her more narrowly,
and, as it were, with his eyes. It seemed
to her that Miss Eberly never was so main
teresting, or so malapropos in what she
said. The call on Zepherine Fitzwilliame
came next in turn. Scanning her also with
other eyes than her own, Anna was disap
pointed in her very dear friend. She look
ed through her and was pained to see that
there was a hollowness and want of any
thing like a true strength or excellence of
character about her. Particularly was she
displeased at a gratuitous sneer thrown out
at the expense of Caroline Murry.
I And now, with a reluctance that she
I could not overcome, Anna turned with her
brother towards the residence of the young
lady who had lost caste, because she had
good sense and was industrious.
"I know my sister's lady.like character
will prompt her to right action, in our next
call," said the brother, looking into Anna's
face with an encouraging smile.
She did not reply, yet she felt somehow
or other pleased with the remark. A few
minutes' walk brought them to the door,
and they were presently ushered into a neat
parlor in which was the young lady they
were seeking. She sat near a window,and
was sewing. She was plainly dressed in
comparison with the young ladies just
called upon; but in neatness, and in all that
ccnstitutes the lady in air and appearance
in every way their superior.
"I believe you know my sister," said
Enfield, on presenting Anna.
"We have met a few times," she replied,
with a pleasant unembarrassed smile, at the
same time extending her hand.
Miss Enfield took the proffered hand,with
less reluctance than she had imagined she
could but a few hours before. Somehow or
other, Caroline seemed to her to be very
.much changed for the better in manner
and_ appearance. And she could not help.
during all the visit, drawing contrasts be
tween her and the two very dear friends
she had just called upon; and the contrast
was in no way favorable to the latter. The
convqsation was on topics of ordinary . in
terest, \butllitl not once degenerate tnto
frivolity or censoriousness. Good sense
manifested itself in almost every sentence
that Caroline uttered, end this was so tip-
parent to Anna, that she could not help
frequently noticing and involuntarily appro.
ving it. "What a pity," Anna once or
twice remarked to herself, "that she will be
so singular."
The call was but a brief ono. Anna
parted with Caroline under a different im•
pression of her character than she had
ever before entertained. After her return
with her brother, he asked her this abrupt
question.
"Which of the young ladies, Anna, of
the three we called upon this morning,
would you prefer to call your sisterl"
Anna looked up bewildered and surprised,
into the face of her brother, for a few mo
ments, and then said:
"I don't understand you, brother Wil
liam."
"Why, I thought I asked a very plain
question. But I will make it plainer.—
Which one of the three young ladies we
called upon this morning, would you advise
me to marry?"
"Neither," replied Anna, promptly.
"That is only jumping the question," he
said, smiling. "But to corner you so that
there can ho no escape, I will confess that
I have made up my mind to marry one of
the three. Now tell me which you would
rather it would be."
"Caroline Murry," said Anna emphati
cally, while her cheeks burned and her
oyes became slightly suffused.
William Enfield did not reply to the
hoped for, though rather unexpected ad
mission, but stooping down. he kissed her
glowing cheek, and whispered in her
ear—
"Then she shall be your sister, end I
know you will love one another."
He said truly. In a few months he
claimed Caroline Murry as his bride, and
her good sense and winning gentleness of
character, influenced Anna; and effectual.
ly counteracted the false notions which
were beginning to corrupt a good heart,
and to overshadow a sound judgment. It
was not long before she was fully sensible
of the real difference which there was be•
tween the characters of her two friends,and
that of her brother's wife; and also between
true and false gentility. Although Caro
line Murry had been proscribed by a cer
tain circle in which false pride, instead of
principle, was the governing motive, she
had still been esteemed among those who
knew how to look beyond the surface. As
the wife of Enfield, she at once took a posi
tion in circles where those who had passed
her by as unworthy, would have sought
in vain for an admission, and ►n those
circles she shone as a bright particular
star.
AN INCIDENT AT A WATERING PLACE.
SOCIETY.—We happened to be at a fash
ionable Watering Place, a year or two ago,
when a friend, who was familiar with all
the lions of the place, directed our atten
tion to a group of ladies and gentlemen, who
were engaged in lively conversation, a few
yards from the balcony under which we
were seated. 'You observe,' said he, 'that
fair young creature leaning upon the arm of
that tall, handsome and 'mustachioed' beau!
The lady is here with her brother, and is
scarcely sixteen. This is her first visit to
a place of public fashion; and any one who
is in the habit of studying human nature,
or who is familiar with fashionable society
and the out door world, will soon perceive
on watching her movements minutely, that
she is a novice, and knows but little of the
arts of her own, or the subtle villanies of
the other sex. Her very position at this
moment is conclusive upon this point, to my
mind. She is the only daughter of a gen.
tleman of Philadelphia; of considerable
wealth and unsullied character, who deals
upon her, and whose whole existence from
this time forward, may be said to centre in
the prosperity of this favourite child. He
has watched her for years, as a young girl
watches and nurses a favorite flower—has
instilled into her,mind the purest morals,
and has kept her till now, from the impu
dent gaze of the world, fearful that the rude
looks and coarse voices of men, might sully
or profane a soul, that he conceives as un
touched by guile or vice, as that of a child
of a few summers. But you see that she
has budded, and expanded into full and per
fect womanhood; and although only sixteen,
is tall and more rounded in her form than
many beings several years her senior.—
Her health, too, has suffered somewhat
within the last year, from her constant ap
plication to study, and the fastidious notions
' of her father, with regard to her mingling
in society. Thus, on consulting the family
Physician, and becoming alarmed, lest the
jewel that he prised so dearly, should lose
some of its lustre, from the very excess of
hie care—he was induced, with much retuc•
time,- to permit her to accompany her
brothee - to this scene of giddy mirth, Higi
ene and fashion. She has been here some
thing like a week, and is delighted—too
much delighted—and yet it is quite natural•
She is young—a beauty—with rich expec.
tations—a free and happy heart, and all
tharehe hears and sees is calculated to
please—to enchant her. Her brother is as
watchful and attentive as brothers general
ly are. But be cannot be with her at every
moment, and therefore she is often for
hours beyond the reach of his eye, and
away from the admonitions of his counsel.
Such is her position at this moment. Her
companion is one of the most agreeable men
of the day. He dresses well—talks wen—
n; easy and graceful in his manners—is the
son of a merchant of Philadelphia, recently
deceased, and has connections apd relatives
who mingle in the very first walks of soci-
ety. But he is nevertheless a cool, calm,
subtle and polished villain. He is a epend
thrift, a gambler, and a libertine. As such,
however, he is known to but few; and
through the agency of his fine appearance,.
his family, his skill in dress, and his tact ih
conversation, he contrives, before the'genei•
al world, to disguise his real character,
and to mingle, as you see him, in the soci
ety, of reputable and beautiful females.—
But what a dangerous companion for a
girl of sixteen—for such a being as Cecilia
all youth, hope, innocence, and
impulse!"
The description arrested our attention,
and our eyes were riveted upon the two
just described. They were indeed, as fine
a pair in all the elements of life, health,
bouyancy and beauty, as we ever gazed
upon on any occaeion. The young spend.
thrift never looked better. It seemed one
of the happiest moments of his life. The
e oice of his companion rang out in peals of
joyous laughter, but occasionally she turned
her eye with a more steady gaze than or
dinary upon the youth who stood heside
her, as if anxious to catch the deeper mean
ing of his words. We had not lingered
more than a few minutes, when the brother
made his appearance, cast en inquiring
look around the group for his sister, and
seeing in whose companionship she was,
immediately placed her arm within his, and
drew her aside. A moment more and be
addressed to her a few words in a low voice.
The blood mounted to the cheeks and fore
head of his fair girl, and for a moment she
seemed paralysed. The nature of the few
words we are of course unable to state.—
But our knowledge of the parties authorizes
the belief that the brother had briefly and
emphatically described the character of the
libertine, and warned his sister to shun him
for the future, as she would a serpent. But
the first impression had been made; and
the brother finding it impossible to keep
one of such polished exterior and apparent
respectability altogether from the society
of his sister, speedily made up his mind and
returned to the city.
It is probable that the acquaintance thus
briefly commenced, was as briefly termina
ted. But the incident struck us aPthe time
as one of a forcible character. and well calcu
lated as a text for a chapter of comments
on society. It is a great error on the part
of many parents, to permit their daughters
to associate so indiscriminately with the
dissolute and depraved. And yet there are
hundreds in our own city, who permit to
young-and unsullied femekty, the attentions
of the known and sometimes acknowledged
libertine—of young men who do not pretend
to disguise their evil habits, but rather ex
ult in midnight revels, and similar scenes
of vice and disorder. The eagerness Of the
young and inexperienced to be admired, to
attract around a coterie of fashionable beaux,
to become the centre of a group of flatter.
era is too often attended with most fatal
consequences. This is especially the case
in the middle walks of life, and among fe
males who ore attractive either for beauty,
wit or dress. They draw around them
the butterflies of the other sex, the beings
of mere tinsel and foppery, to the exclusion
of the meritorious and deserving, who seek
for companions for life, and not for the play •
things of an hour. N o inquiries are made
as to the morals and habits of these flatter.
ere; and thus, many of our females discov
er,when it is too late, and when their charms
begin to perish, that they have devoted to
the idle and profligate, the most valuable
portion of their existence. It should be a
settled conviction with every well-regula
ted head of a family, to avoid as the asso
ciate of his child. a man--be he fool, fop,
gambler,or libertine—in whom he would not
rejoice as her husband and companion for
life. This is the only true course, and if
adopted generally, would prevent much
ruin and wretchedness.—Philad. Inquirer.
GOING. TO TEXAS.—Not long since,
might have been seen on the Vicksburg
road, a staid looking old gentleman on
horseback, with his coat buttoned tight a
round him, and an umbrella hoisted over
his head, protecting him from a drizzling
rain that had that evening "set in," with
every indication of a continuance. His
horse moved sluggishly along as though
jaded by a long journey. The rider seemed
anxiously looking for a whereabouts to
pass the night, when a fire a short distance
from the road attracted his attention.—
He rode to the spot, and beheld what is
very common in this section of the country,
an encampment of a family "a moving."
By the Are, with logs of wood for pillows,
and each wrapped in a blanket, was lying
two females—near them a small child.—
Leaning against the forewheel of the wagon,
was a lad of about 10 or 11 years ofage,—
he wore a pair of linsey-woolsey trowsers,
too short for him—a roundabout that reach
ed down half way from his shoulders to his
waist—no hat—and possessing one of those
tow heads of hair so frequently to be met
with among the piney wood nondescripts of
Alabama. There he stood crying most
vociferOusly.
Bat it,-a,a,—Bal•ara, - a, roared the little
I piney wood.
The old gentleman rode up to him, and
in Vona of voice calculated to soothe the
lads' distress, addressed him:—•
"What's the matter my eon)"
"Matter! Fire, and d—n, stranger,
Don't you see mammy there shakin with
the egerl Daddy's gone a fishin! —Jim's
got every cent - of money there is, playin
poker at a bit anteel"—.Bob Stokes is gone
on a head with Nance)—Sal's so corned
she don't know that stick of wood from
Weal 4DC6,Le a' COQ ZOOG
gavendolfarstod a half! Every one of the
horses is loose!—There io no meal in the
waOril-- The skillet's broke!—The baby's
ixf,h "bad fix
,
" and its half a mile to the
creek!! and I don't care a o, if I
neier , see Texas!! l—Bal a,B -a Be , -
P ,
11;41:
Ihe old gentleman gave spur to hit
horse and again moved forward, not having
any desire to prolong his chance visit to a
family going to Texas.—Yazoo Whig.
ORIGIN or TUH WOW) LADY.—In en old
work, the date of 1762, is the following ac
count of the term Lady:—"As 1 have stu-.
died more what appertain, to' the ladies
than gentleman, 1 will satisfy you how it
came to pass that women of fortune were
called ladies, even before their husbands
had any title 'to convey that mark' of dis
tinction to them. You must know, that
heretofore it was the fashion of a lady of
affluence, once a week or oftener. to distn
bate a certain quantity of bread to her poor
neighbors, with her own /iands, and sbe
was called by them the /of day, i. e. the
bread giver. Those two words were in
time corrupted, and the meaning is now 'as
little known as the practice which gave
rise to it."
finuevn IT.—The Cincinnati
Microscope says that an artist in that city
lately painted upon Canvass a locomotive
steam engine, which as he gave the finish
ing stroke, burst through the wall, run
down the street, over the hills, and has not
since been heard of
Poou EMIOBANTB.—At the sheds erected
near Montreal for the use of poor emigrants.
over 8997 have been received there this
season. Over 1400 have arrived within •
fortnight, and large quantities of oatmeal
have been distributed among them.
A Frrin BAno.am.—'Well Polly. 1 made
a monstrous fine trade this morning—l
sold our , dog for fifty, dollars.' 'Why man
alive, how you talk! and where's the mo
ney?' 'Oh, I was'ot paid in money—hut
l've got two pups worth 4,25 a piece.
A ascot:Loa's finis ors W1J1110..-A
wife should have eight qualifications, which
begin with the lame P.—Piety, Perms
ranre, Patience, Prudence, Patriotism,.
Politeness, Penetration, Portion.
That which should be fret of al!, and
most in consideration, /which is piety, iu
now a days, the least of all; and last °fall,
and with many not at all. That which
should be the last of all and least of all in
consideration, which is portion, is now be
come first of all, most of all, and with
some all in a11...--American Magazine.
THIS ize MS OWN AVENGER.-.—A man
having stolen from a stoat Andruic, in the
Pas de Calais, a pig weighing 125 pounds, _
was in the act of carying off his booty,
dreaming of polonies, black puddings, and
other dainties of the grunting tribe, when,
overcome by fatigue, he stopped to rest,
leaning his load on the top bar of a gate.
But what a mishap! The swine, which be
had swung, cravat-like, about his neck
(having previously tied the tour feet togeth
er with a strong cord,) slid back on its
glossy bristles over the gate, and its unwa
ry bearer, unable to recover his balance
was drawn down so tight against the bar,
that he was strangled; and the next mor
ning was found in that position by some
neighboring peasants.
CAFE MAT is overflowing fun of enders,
anxious to enjoy the delights of sea•bathing.
The Philadelphia North American soya
that "the crowd is so great that much in
convenience is experienced, both for food
and lodgings. Some are obliged to travel
a mile to the farm houses to sleep. Those
who lodge in the Hotel, often are piled up
in layers, while others loan against posts or
hang themselves on bat. pegs. Husbands
are separate& from their wives, (not a
severe dispensation always) while ladies
with children aro crowded by downs into
narrow and sultry apartments. But there
is some fun and frolic left there for the pee•
ple after all. The sea -beach is extensive
the roads are hard, and the surf rolls alike
over plebian and patrician heads."
AN Ac-r.—The Legislature of Rhode
Island at the last. session past an act, which
gives to a married woman, atter a residence
in the State of six montbs, without any op
position from her husband, the parties dur
ing the period living seperate--•the absolute
control of her children. And after a resi
dence of two years, she also acquires con
trol over her property, and the right to con
vey real estate without the consent of her
husband. This will have an etrect upon the
celebrated D'Heutville case.
A VORACIOUS Irtaxcr--We witnessed
yesterday the most extraordinary case of
gluttony in an insect which has ever come
under our observation:. A dragoon fly, or
as it is generally called, "Musquito hawk,"
three and a quarter inches long, was Ganglia'
and being hold by the wings, flies Ws
presented to it, which it swallowed with
the greatest greediness. In order UP IWeet
lain what amount of food would be requi
red to satisfy its eipetite, a largemnaberat
the common house flies were ategbkimd
placed neer its mouth Oneby sue, sad its the
course of ten minutes• it devoured thirty
six, without apparently impairing he appe
tite in the least. It is impossibk to say
what number it would have swallowed, if
they bed been °filmed te it —Houstonian.