_ ffIJAR A 4. RLI - tt ULtLD A • . - l• N, lop 73,01,a eras.--oivQ. Office of the Star ac. Banner COUNTY BUILDING, ABOVE TILE OFFICE or TILE REGISTER AND RECORDER. 1. The STAR & RI:PUBLICAN BANNxn is published at TWO DOLLARS per annum (or Videme of 52 numbers,) payable half-yearly in advance: or TWO DOLLARS & FIFTY C NTS, if not paid until after the expiration Of the year. 11. No subscription will ho received for a short er period than six months; nor will the papm be discontinued until all arrearages are paid, un less at the option of the Editor. A failure to notify a discontinuance will be considered a new en gagement and the paper forwarded accordingly. HI. Aay surressterurs not exceeding a square will be inserted TIMEe times for $l, and 25 cents for each subsequent insertion—the number of in ■ortion to be marked,or they will be published till forbid and charged accordingly; longer ones in the same proportion. A reasonablededuction will bo made to those who advertise by the year. IV. All Letters and Communications addressed to the Editor by moil must be post-paid, or they will not be attended to. La' M 33 azltilia.Ecto. With sweetest flowers eprich'd From. various gardens cull'd with care." VOR THE STAR AND REPUBLICAN BANNER. TO CHRIST'S CHURCH BELL.• Thou honor'd type of oldontimes, Ob, who can count thy years, Or guess the deaths, thy solemn chitties nave told, to other ears. Who knows the scenes, perhaps of blood, Of awful deaths, and pain, Thon'st witnees'd ere thou crusted tho flood, And loft the shores of Spain. Thy Crosa and Vergin tell thy use— Tlty accred use proclaim; liiut oh, religion, what abuse Is cloitk'd beneath thy name. Old bell ! I love thy soothing tones, And listen with delight Whone'er thy solemn pooling, moans. UpLiu the balmy night. Yet more I lover, at Sabbath morn To hear thy cheering sound— It tells of God—a Saviour born,— Of sinners lost, but found. It tells mo of a saving grace— Of songs of praise, of 'ray'''. And leads mo to that sacred place, Where all can cqual share. Gettysburg, Dec. 20, 1841. °This excellent 801 l is of the larger class of Chureh Bells—of superior material and fine tone, --fri ornamented with iinages of the CNN , and Virgin Mary, which declare the fact that it once belonged to a Catholic Inetitution. It is not, perhaps, generally known, that this is one" of a vast number of belle, sold by the Spardoh Gov ernment to defray the expenses of the disaetrous civil wan that still'convulsolhat unhappy coun try. EPITAPH ON A CANDLE, A wicked one lies buried here, Who died in a decline; He never rose in rank I fear, Tho, he wee born to shine. Ho once was fal but now, indeed, He's thin as any griever; Ho dtoil,—the Doctors all agreed; Of a most burningfever. One thing of him is said with truth, With which I'm much otnuscd; It is—that whEM he stood, forsooth, A stick ho Skyey(' used. Now winding•sheeta he sometimes made, But this was not enough; For finding it a poorish trade, He also dealt in snuff. If o'er you said " Go out, I pray," He much ill nature show% On such OCCUBIOi.d ho would say, , Ny, if I do, I'm blow.d." In this his frionds du 'all agree, Although you'll think I'm joking, What) going out 'tie said that ho Was very fund of making. • Since all religion be deepised, Let those few words suffice, Before hu ever was baptized They dipp'd him once or twice A QUEER MarturAoß.—There was an old matrimonial bargain consummated at Goshen, Orange co., on the I eth ult., something as boys frequently swap knives, l'unsight unseen." Mr. Andrew Ilulse, s:xton of the Presbyterian church in Goa hen, was wedded to Miss Esther Smith, the parties having, it is said, not seen each other previous to the marriage, and what is more remarkable, the bride did not know her husband when he came to take her to her now home.—Bef. Adv. COMPLI 311 EIITTA —v mix.— Rumor in Washington MVP, that when Mr. Senator Rives was e'sked his opinion of the message by a gentleman, he replied-"the message, sir—whv I think, sir—l think—it is au ex ceedingly well printed paper:" From the Saturday Evening Poet. THE saaaLET SHAWL; OR, 'THE TWO SCHOOL MATES. It matters not on what the fingers ply, The daily task kind Heaven to all hoe giv'n; But rather ask thou if the hcart itself which gives The hands their pulse be honc6t, and the eye Which guides the plying hand be single? Edwin Barry and Seth Manning were school-fellows at Chester Academy. The lather of Edwin was a lawyer of good stand ing and some property; the father of Seth was a house carpenter. Mr. Barry being a lawyer was of course a 'respectable' man, and belonged to .genteel? society; Mr. Man ning being a mechanic was of course much less respectable than Lawyer Barry, and was not admitted into genteel society.— . The lawyer was a gentleman, although he wanted charity, love for his neighbor, mercy and common sympathy with the miseries of others, and, withal, got tipsy. The carpenter was no 'gentleman' although he owed no man anything, was honest in all his dealings, never injured his neighbor, was sober, upright and industrious. The wide difference between thew two, although they went to the same church, were fed by the same butcher and baker, lived ir, the same street. and breathed the same air, was that Mr. Barry got his living by a pen and law books, and Mr. Mannin g by th e mewls of chisel and planks. It may appear surprising to many of my young react 8 , that such a diflbrence should exist from such simple causes, and that the occupation should so far fie the merit and social posi tion of individuals. This distinction, how ever, we are pained to say, exists in the world; but as it is founded upon a false ba sis, and a false system of society, we caution all young persons from being influ enced, as they enter life, by the foolish prejudices which follow its adoption. For nothing is more unwise than for youths to judge a man by his occupation, or a boy by his father's; nothing so indicative of a weak mind as to court the society of one because his father is rich, or a lawyer, or a doctor, end avoid the companionship of the other because his father is a mechanic, though the former boy may be vicious, idle, and immoral in his habits, and the latter, modest, studious, and moral. Youth cannot too soon learn that the distinctions which they see assigned by those around (perhaps by their own parents) to occupation, money, or birth, aze unjust; that no snch thing as 'respectability," as it is termed, con exist aside from an-'honest and ußeful life. They cannot too early be taught thnt no branch of- industry is de. grading; that no employment that contri• butes to the general'good and comfort of society is disreputable. I would remind such that the fathers of the Revolution perilled theielife and honor to break the chains of servitude that bound our free land -to a British master, severed the chains and gave liberty to all coming generations of their sons. 'chest) false notions of society belong to the haughty social system cf our masters, should have been cast aside with our chains, and are unworthy our adoption. Having thrown off' the yoke of political servitude, let us no longer continue to wear the chains of moral bondage to her customs and her uses. Americans should have no other aristocracy than that of merit ! In cherishing any other through foolishly and wickedly adopting false ideas of •respecta• bility,' though elevating one occupation at the expense of another, and measuring the merit of men by their pursuits and not by their usefulness, they are only reforging for their necks the chains that their patriot fathers shivered in pieces; like the Israel ites they cry for the Gods of Egypt they puce worshipped, and making a golden callow of tho offerings of pride, vanity and ambition, fall down and adore rt. CONTEE This false system of society which ex• chides tradesmen from 'good society" is the 'gulden calf' of Americans, and unless they break it up themselves, they will one day drink the bitter waters with which it is mingled. Like most youths whose fathers belong to one of the professioos, Edwin Barry was early taught that he, was 'respectable' by virtue of his father's pursUits. H is mother inculcated this, idea with his daily meals, and his father enforced it by his - example and bearing toward mechanics. Natural. ly of a frank and generous character, Ed. win as he grew up became haughty and aristocratic and prided himself much upon his 'respectability.' It was his, delight to make boys less fortunate feel his position above them, and boast of the great people he saw at his father's house. Ono day ho was talking with Seth Manning, for he con• descended to speak with mechanic's sons when he could make them listeners to his own vain and silly . beasts. Seth, moreover lived in the same street, and they often fell in together on the way to school, when Edwin who loved idleness, was willing to avail himself of `:•:eth'ii more studious hab its to geVielp in his lessons. On the pres ent occasion Edwin had just come out of his door, when seeing Seth approaching from his own humble dwelling, he waited for him to come up. The two were about sixteen years of age. "I say, Seth Manning," ho said with an elevated look, as the other came near with his school books and a largo slate beneath aLetpz - ..ozrazaraa.Z - PGiaCIO .2pleenpatr e zbastraatalaza sa. aaaa. maocaatmlasiwbwa. UT PIMP/1103011 J. 11. 13'30/14111/1.31. G. 77.41.tan111c-aroll 30772111, mintron, & PROPRIETOR. 44 The liberty to know, to utter, and to argue, freely, is above all other liberties,ol—Muzon. his arm; "who do you think is going to be ut our house to-day to dinner?" "1 don't know, Edwin," answered Seth quietly, and walking on. "Well, its Judge Barnes!" said Edwin, as if ho had given utterance to a piece of intelligence which was to overwhelm his companion. Seth did not, however, re, ceive it as anything very remarkable, and Edwin looked displeased. "You don't think anything of a judge being at our house, hey?. well, 1 guess it would be a long day before a judge or any respectable man would go into your house," answered the aristocratic Barry. "I know what you call respectable and what is respectable," said Seth in a manly tone. "Judge Barnes I have heard is n very cruel man and drinks.' "But he ie respectable and belongs to the first society. Father says a man must'nt be judged by his private life but by his re spectable standing. l'rn sure I'd rather be a wicked judge than a clever tradesman." "I'm sorry to think so, Edwin, as such sentiments will bring you mud: unhappi ness. I know you think my father is not , respectable, and that I am not a proper as• sociate for you. 1 see that while you walk with me, you keep a step or two in advance, and look round and up at win• dews, lest you feared you should be seen associating with me." Edwin colored, for he felt the truth and force of Seth's plain and candid reproof. He stammered something which Seth did not hear, ir, way of excusing himself, and then in a confidential, favoring kind of tone said, "Come, Seth, never mind, A was out at a.party at Col. Farney's last' night, and dul'ut get my task in Virgil. Will you j u st tvanslote it over for me, when we got up to the i nne r will do it ba we walk along," answer ed Seth, smiling; sua he well understood the foolish yeutu's motive in gt,..ing into the lune first. "Oh, no 1 am afraid some o' the fetiu..., will see us here and say you showed me." "You mean you are afraid they will see us in close companionship, rather, Edwin I well I forgive you, for you have been taught to consider trades and those who ,follow them as degrading. will cbeerfully. show you when :we come to .41in lane.-- Who was at Col. Farriery's party last night?" "Oh, all the pretty girls in the village; we had a capital time." • "Was Mary Curtis there?" asked Seth with a slight increase of color. "Mary Curtis! yes 1 guess she was and the prettiest girl in the party,--and in • the town. But what do you ask about a girl, Seth Manning, whom you can never speak to?" demanded Edwin with . offensive haughtiness. "She is the most respectable girl in the town, and her, father was once in the army. I don't like to hear a girl like her spoken of. by such a one as you are, because it looks like as if you thought you might like to become acquainted with her. Ha, ha I 1 guess she wouldn't speak to you, it you did think so!" Seth looked slightly displeased, and felt a disposition to retort sharply. But his father had taught him forbearance, and often showed him how undignified and low it was to enter into a quarrel with any one, and, that a subject had butter be dropped than warmly. pursued. But Barry's %sortie filled him with mortification. • Ho had often seen and silently and respectfully ad mired the sweet Mary Curtis, a lovely Miss of fifteen. He thought of her, daily, and loved to walk where she had walked, and prized most, dearly u chance floWer she may have thrown away. He had never spoken to, nor, such •vvere the . arbitary 'forms el the society we are exposing,. did he dare to. .He now could not but admit the severe truth of Ed win's unfee!ing words; and in his heart he envied the silly Barry, and hated the trade of his own father which had entailed an inferior position upon him. self; end under the bitter feeling of the moment lie invariably resolved that he would not be bound to the trade of a found er to which his father had wisely destined him. i He was under the influence of these painful reflections caulking along with his eyes east down, when he heard from the opposite side of the street, where another street entered it leading from a boarding school, a deep bellow and at the same time a loud scream ! He looked up and saw that a short horned cow, irritated by a scarlet shawl worn by a young school girl, was pursuing her with wild and determined fury. It did not require a second glance to tell. Seth that the terrified girl wait Mary Curtis. • "Oh, run Seth," cried the paralyzed and helpless Edwin Barry, "run and save her Pliand the aristocratic youth, overcome 'by fear for-his own personal safety, run down the lane and climbed a high fence. Seth no sooner-saw- the peril in which the pretty Mary was, than without a thought of himself, he bounded, across the road and exerted himself to get between the enraged animal and the flying girl.— Mary fled towards the boarding school with the speed of fear, while her crimson shawl flying behind her quickened the pursuit of the animal. "Cast off your shawl, if possible, Miss Curtis," cried Seth as loud as he could, "or fly to the fence!" Mary 'tried to disengage it as she flew, but her fingers were too tremulous for her to withdraw the pin; and as to seeking tho protection of the fence as a boy would have first dr.ne, she felt she could never climb it, and might be arrested in the at tempt. Beth, by using great exertions, at length got abreast of the maddened cow and at the imminent risk of drawing upon himself all her fury, caught her by ono of the horns and was borne along with her.- - she tossing back her head and bellowing with rage. He had thrown down all his !,00ks—but retained his slate with the cor ner of which holding it in the other hand he struck her in the eye with so well-aimed a blow that she slightly checked her speed and turned aside against him, just as Mary overcome by her fright and exertion, stum -141y4 and fell prostrate io her path. In two bounds more the ireful animal would have been upon he;! The first blow broke the' frame of his elate, and with the sharp cor- . nor he struck her a second blow which cut deeply into her temples, and caused her first to stagger and then fly moaning and pawing the earth past the fallen girl in the direction she had been flying. Ho watched the cow till be saw her madly descend into a ravine some distance beyond, and then came to Mary who hod already risen, but looked as pale as death. "1 am thankful for your escape, Mies Curtis. I never knew a person in greater danger. Are you hurt?" Mary could not reply for agitation and want of breath, but she took one of Seth's 'hands between both her own and pressed them with warm and grateful energy,while her eyes were eloquent with her thanks. "I am glad you are not hurt. It was Dr. Conway's cow, a vicious creature at all times, and should not be suffered to go on the commons. Your scarlet shawl at tracted its attention. and that is a color which singularly enough inspires lima with rage and a desire to attack it.. So you have the consolation, Miss Curtis," he added smiling, "of knowing it-was not your self she disliked but your colors." • At this moment came Edwin Barry run ning up breathless, and extending hie hand to congratulate the maiden on her escape. ‘Yes, Edwin," said Mary ironically, nu. .v.treririg him her hand, "1 ha .. v9 t43 "'PedAtml"a my brave preserver nartiillsnrry..,,,,ho ignorant of." "It is Seth Mannin g , a Milerio.,t—t_ answered Edwin contemptiv Als ly: displeas ed at her'coldness and envious of Seth for his superior bravery, as well as rnortihed at his cowara,ce.. "Then I um more indebted to him than if ho had been a gentleman's son," said 11ary, who with all her virtues was taint ed with this pseudo-gentility which we combat; "for she has shown a gallantry that we look for only in those who are edu cated to be gentlemen," he said casting a look of slight contempt at Edwin. "Mr. Seth Manning, 1 give you my thanks now for preserving my life, and hope I shall never forget you. My father will call and see you and thank you also. Good morn. ing." "Good morning, Miss Curtis," said Seth, following her with his eyes as she left them without taking any further notice of Barry. "A pert little minx," said Barry, scorn fully trying to conceal his mortification under contempt for her. • "Speak a word disrespectful of her again, Edwin Berry," said Seth with a flashing eye, "and I will toss you into the ravine after the cow you so valiantly ran atvay from. Edwin turned pale and made no reply; but walked away muttering to himself, "Low! vulgar! brute.! . what better manners can be expected frorn .a mechanic!" The ensuing year Seth Manning was sent to the city and bound apprentice to engine-building with ilrlert ick and Agnew. He mastered his trade and established him self. in . New York in the same business, constructing steam and fire engines, and be came a useful and wealthy man. At the ago of twenty..even ho went back to Ches• ter and brought away one of the loveliest woman in the county for bis ,wife. That she was none other than Mary Curtis need not be told. We should be glad if we , had room'to record their whole courtship and marriage, and how the young village law yer Edwin Barry thrice ofibred,himself to her and was rejected; and how Col. Curtis preferred a brave man to a coward; an hon est and useful man to an idler in a profes sloe which ho chose that he might become a gentleman: and bow Mary found, to her future happiness in life, that a true and no ble heart may thorb beneath the leather apron of the mechanic, as well as under the silken vestments of the lawyer. FEMALE CHARACTER•- Daughters should be thoroughly acquainted with the business and cares of a family. These are among the first objects of woman's creation; they ought . to be among the first branches of her education. She was made for 'a mother. They should learn neatness, economy, in dustry bnd sobriety. These will constitute their ornament. No vermilion will be nec essary to give color or expression to the countenance, no artificial supports to give shape or torture, to the body.' Nature will appear in all her loveliness of proportion, of beauty; and modesty, unaffected gentleness of manner, will render them amiable in the kitchen and dining room, and orna ments to the sitting room and parlor. How enviable the parents of such a daughter! How lovely the daughter her self. How happy the husband of such a wife. Thrice happy the children of such a mother. They shall rise up and call her blessed, and her memory shall,live. The influence of the female character cannot be estimated. It is decisive of the "I WILL lilt AND MD."- Zounthi 1 sir, character of the other sex. Inter character you may as well swnar that you will never be pure, and elevated, and without reproach, ,doit ! I'm nut of all patience with thesu such will be the character of the oilier sex. I "by and bye" folks. An hour of the pres- There is no man such a monster that be ent time is wortira, week of the future. would dare to be vicious , in the presence Why, I know a bachelor, who is as well, of a virtuous woman. Her character is a ; calculated fir matrimonicl felicity as every shield against even the solicitations of vice ; virtue and every accomplishment can rem. Every thing, domestic or social, depends on female character. As daughters and sisters they decide the character of the family. is wives, they emphntically de cide the characters of their husbands, and their condition also. It has been not un- meaningly said, that the husband - may auk the wife whether he may be reapected.— He certainly must inquire at her altar whether he may be prosperous or happy. As mothers, they decide the characters of their children. Nature has constructed them the early guardians and instructors of their children, and clothed them with sym pathies suited to this important trust. -.Hip oft— DON'T TAKE TWENTY DOLLARS. Some waggish students at Yale College, a few years since, were regaling themselve one evening at the 'Tontine,' when an old farmer from the country entered their room (taking it for the bar room,) and in quired if he could obtain lodging- there.— The young chaps immediately answered him in the affirmative, -inviting him to take a glass of punch.. The old fellow who was a shrewd Yankee, saw, at once that he was to be _made the butt of their jests, but quietly, off his bat and telling a worthless little dog he had with him to lie under the chair, he took a glass of the proffered beverage. The students anxious. ly inquired after the health of the old man's wife and children, and the farmer, with affected simplicity, gave them the whole pedigree, with numerous anecdotes regard ing his farm, stock, dto. &e. 'Do you belong to the church?' asked one of the wags. • 'Yes, the Lord be praised, and to did my father before me.' 'Well, I suppose you would not tell At lie,' replied the.student. 'Not for the world,' added the farmer. __!Now what will you take for that dog!' pointing worth his weight in Jersey mud. 'I would not take twenty dollars for that dog.' 'Twenty dollars I why ho is not' worth twenty cents.' ' , Well I assure you. I would not take twenty dollars for him. 'Come, my friend,' said the student. who with his companion was bent on having some capital fun with the old man, 'now you say you won't toll a lie for the world, let ma see if you will not do it for twenty dollars. I'll give . you twenty dollars for your dog.' 'l'll not take it,' replied the farmer. 'You will not? Here: ret us see if this won't tempt you to tell a lie,' added the student, producing a small bag of half dol lars, from which lie commenced• counting, numerous small piles upon the table. The farmer was sitting by the table with his hat in his hand and apparently unconcern ed. 'There,' added the student, 'there are twenty dollars all in silver, I will give you that for your dog.' The old farmer quietly raised his bat to the edge of the table, and then as quick as thought scraped all the money into it ex cept one half dollar, at the same time ex• claiming— 'l won't take your twenty dollars! Nine• teen and a half is ae much as the dog is worth—he is your property l' .A tremendous laugh from his fellow students showed the would be wag, that ho, was completely 'done up,' and that li f e need not look for help from that quarter; so he good naturedly acknowledged himself beat, insisted on the old farmer's taking another glass, and they parted in great glee—the student retaining his dog which he keeps to this day, as a lesson to him never to , at- ernpt to play tricks on men older than himself, and especially to be careful -how ho tries to wheedle a Yankee farmer.— Uncle Saw. STUDY AND SLEEP —ln Combo's Philos ophy—one of the most philosophical books that has ever been published—there is an excellent hint which is worthy of any cir culation it cart receive. Mr. Comber says that nature has allotted the darkness of night for repose, and the restorations by sleep of the exhausted faculties of the body and mind. If study or composition be ar dently engaged in, towards that period of the day, the increased action in the brain which always accompanies activity of mind, requires a long time to subside; and if the individual be of an irritable habit, he will be sleepless far hours, or tormented by unplea sant dreams. If nevertheless, the practice be continued, the want of refreshing repose will ultimately produce a state of irritabili ty of the nervous system approaching insa nity. It is, therefore, of great advantage to engage in severe studies early in the day, and devote two or three hours preceding bed time to light reading, music, or amu sing conversation. A CAREFUL WOMAN.—A gentleman, boasting of the neatness and regularity of his wife, said—"lf I get up in the night, pitch dark, I can - find my clothes, down to my very gloves, in all their proper places. I was up this morning, before daylight,und —." (The gentleman here put' bin hand in his . pocket, and pulled out his wife's night-cap, instead of his handkerchief.) I.7 4 ,ZEMZEZ` cIiZQ (E 12.04 der him; but br. has been putting id the happy time, from one year to another, al ways resolving that he . would !Larry "bv and bye," till Cie best ten years of his lifo are gone, and ho is still "resolving" and I fear "he will die the same." 110 that would gather the fliScB ofmatri- mmiy must wed in the May oflife. If you wish only the withered l=aves and the thorns, why, poor Richnsd says, put it . oil till September.—"Prucrestinutiutt is the thief of time." I made a visit last winter to see my old friend Jeremiah Careless'. When he put my horses into a stable, he took me to his' barn floor to see some fine wheat he hsti just thresbt3d. - I observed to him that onj of the boards of the barn was near fallityr, and, he had better nail it will by ztn[i _bye, said lie: Things about th loin looked as though "by and bye" felb there. Next morning the boy.. 4 enets run ning in with sod news. An unriiii bull had torn off the board, and the euttie had sopped and breakfasted on the white wheitt, end old brindle, the best cow in the drove, was foundered so that she died. Now two nails, worth a penny, and five minutes of time would have saved the life of old brin dle and the white wheat in the bargain. Passing by my neighbor Nodwell's the other day, I saw that his wife had made a fine garden, and the early pea• were shoot• ing above the ground. "It looks well," said I, "neighbor—but there _is a hole in the fence, whieh you had better mend, or the hogs will ruin your garden."—"l. will by and bye," said he. Happening to go by there two days after, 1 was deafened. with the cry oi . "Who-ee, who•ee—sto boy, etu•buy"—a drove °chop had come -along, and while my neighbor - Was taking a nap, they had crawled through the broken fence and destroyed the labor of a week.-- ! "Never put off till to-morrow what 3'ou can do_tirflav," peer Ricliar(l save. • WONDERfi OF PHlLOSoPitr.—Tha poly pus, like the fabled hydra, receives • new life from the knife which is lifted to destroy it; There are four thousand and forty•one muscles in a caterpillar. Hook discovered fourteen thousand mirrors in the eyes ofa drone; and to effect the respiration of a curp, thirteen thousand and three hundred arteries, vessels, veins, bones, &c., are no. cessary. The body of every spider con tains four little masses pierced with a multitude of imperceptible holes, each hole permitting the passage of a single thread; all the threads, to the amount of a thousand to each mass, join together when they come out, and make the single thread, with which the spider spins its web; so that what we call a spider's thread, Consists of more than four thousand united. Lewen. hock, by means of microscopes, "observed spiders, no bigger than a grain of sand, which spun thread so fine, that it took four thousand of them to equal, in magnitude, a single hair. Ilorittmo.—On Monday afternoon a child was found drowned in the canal 1)0 tween Trenton and Millham A vvomarK named Myers, the wife of a soldier On fled. low's Island, was arrested on suspicion of having caused the death of the child. She at first denied any knowledge of the matter, but on a subsequent examination Made the following conk:salon: She came on Monday last in 'the care with her infant buy and her little girl about five years old. , She drank frequently on the way from a bottle of gin and was under the influence of liquor most of the time. When she arrived at Trenton, she bet out to walk by the canal bank to some acquain tance in Lawrence. She became very thirsty, end-made several attempts to get water from the Canal, in all of which she failed, on account of the steepness of the bank, and in the last, lost her balance, and the child fell into the water. She could not recover tt, and taupified by gin, and horror-stricken by the thought that the child was drowned through her tnternper• ance, she at first determined to deny all knowledge of the body.—/V. Y. Cour, 4. Inquirer. DREADFUL DISTRESB.-A letter to the editor of the Carlisle (Eng.) Journal, says: —I know families in Carlisle, of five and six of a family, who are compelled to live on tour or five shillings per week, who have nothing but a pallet of straw to sleep upon, with little or no covering; and in or• der to keep in lite, and that each day may be es miserable as another, when they di- vide their scanty victuals over the week, they sometimes have rive FOTAtOR9 for each meal, and six human beings ter them. HEAVY. VEEDICT.---111 tht linnet"! Slate* Court at New York on S3pirday, Judgea Thompson and Peitz, presithi:g. on actmu was br..uglit by S. ils . :. F fort di en.. againet Samuel Swart'wit, to 3 eeover• iF 5 duties illegalky eharg .(I by him when 051. lector of the Nri, e quantity qudity of silk twist, imported bv-t- e plandifig- The du ty was cha . rged as on sewing silk, wile:est silk twist, it lois been decided. is free 1 1 11•11 - non•entimersted article in Ma Tariff-- Plaintiffs rseeivcd a verdict for Sa e 473,97.
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