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• of those who could not stand by the death-bed, and al leviate the pangs and brighten the hopes of the dying—of those who could not follow the body to the grave, and mingle their tears over it with the drops of evening dew." MISS BURNEY. Miss Burney, afterwards Madame D'Arblay, wrote her cele brated novel of Evelina when only seventeen years of age, and published it without the knowledge of her father, who, having occasion to visit the metropolis soon after it had issu ed from the press, purchased it as the work then most popu« |ar and mo9t likely to prove an acceptable treat to his fami ly ' When Dr Burney had concluded his business in town, he went to Cliesairigton, the seat of Mr Crisp, where his family was then on a visit. He had scarcely dismounted and enter ed the purlor, when the customary question of* What news ?' rapidly addressod to him by the several personages of the little party. " Nothing," said the worthy Doctor, " but a (leal of noise about a novel which I have brought you." was When the book was produced, and its title read, the surprised ami conscious Miss Burney turned away her face to conceal tho blushes and delighted confusion which otherwise would have betrayed her secret; but the bustle which usually attends the arrival of a friond in the country, w liefe the monotonous bai peaceful tenor of life is agreeubly disturbed by such a change, prevented the curious and happy group from observ ing the agilalion of the sister. Afier dinner, Mr Crisp pro posed that the book should be rei.d. This was done with all due rapidity; when the gratifying comments made during its progress, and the acclamations which attended its conclusion, ratified the approbation of the public. The amiable author, whose anxiety and pleasure could with difficulty be conceal ed, was at length overcome by the delicious feelings of lier heart; she burst into tears, and throwing herself on her fath er's neck, avowed herself the author of Evelina. The joy and surprise of her sisters, and snll more of her father, can not easily bo expressed. Dr Burney, conscious as be was of the talents of his daughter, never -,bought that such maturity of observation and judgment, such fertility of imagination, a d chasieness of stylo, could have been displayed by a g il of seventeen, b>- one who appeared a mere infant, artless anJ inexperienced, and whose deep seclusion from the world had excluded her from all visual knowledge of its ways. ■ ■to: [The Portsmouth (N. H.) Journal has the following fair hit ; wo publish it, as the first Warden sells damaged mer chandise, for the benefit of all concerned.— U -S'. Gazette .] S t J N D AY CON V E USAT ION, Mr Editor : Whether the propensity arises from malice, or solely from the love of amusement, 1 am unable to say ; imt certain it is. that I have always ta ken pleasure in witnessing those little failings which are not unfrequcntly fourni among the good and kind hearted. Last Sunday, at the close of the morning service, as I chanced to follow in the train of a small party, on their way from church, it was my fortune to overhear their comments upon the various subjects suggested by what they had seen and heard. The group consisted of an elderly gentleman, of grave and formal carriage, accompanied by his wife, a mother ly personage of about sixty, who was supported on her loft by a girl arid a boy of about sixteen, and a lady who appeared to have reached the meridian of her charms. The imagination of the reader must as sign the shares of the conversation to their respec tive proprietors. A gootl sermon : a very good sermon, wife, It ought to be good my dear, for it iias worn well. I have heard it two or three times before. 1 wish, papa, we might have something interesting. I am tired to death of sin and morality. Pray, sister, did you see that woman in the pew next to ours, with the great black ribbon on her bon net, like a thunder cloud ? She means to have mourn ing on her bonnet, if no where else. See her ? I guess I did, or rather I saw her sleeves, like a fat man in a hammock—puffing out with twen ty yards of gros de Naples. She is old enough to wear her grandmother's damask. Poor woman ! she thinks BiiSiops' sleeves are all the fashion. Hush, child, she is a worthy good woman, she was a Jones, and her mother was a Carter. When I liv ed in Boston, five and forty years ago, come next. November, She lived in the house next to.ours, with a great green door, and a lion's head upon the knocker, so that she's no chicken now. Her father was a little weazel I'aced old man, with a white wig, and a cane tal ler than he was, who used to keep a shop down by the market, and kept it till the day of his death -, and his wife looked as if death had forgot her ; she did go off, however, one day, in a fit of parallels. Paralysis, woman, paralysis. So you say, my dear—but the doctor told me what it was, when I stood by at the time. " Mrs.-" said he, (fie was a pleasant man) " the old lady has got her walking papers." Well, well, let her rest. Our singing requires some looking to. That fellow in front of the gallery opens his mouth like a crocodile. Yes, papa, and screams like a Northwester through a hen coop. Don't interrupt me, child—I say something must be done to- put a stop to these new' tunes, or we may as well dance jigs as pray. Why, papq, the first tune was a beautiful one. It was Auld Lang Syne. Old long what ! Old Bangor is worth a dozen of it. Pray, sister, did you see cozen Polly come sailing up the broad aisle, in the middle of the long prayer ?. Yes, indeed, J saw her, and so did every one else, or she would have been much disappointed. But I did not notice her much, for I was laughing at the old woman by the pulpit, whoso false curls got adrift, and hung about her face like hop vines. Papa, why cannot I have a new coat to go to meet ing in as well as Nat Bates ? Nat Bates may do as he likes. Who do you think sees what kind of coat you wear ? My dear, did you see how sad Sally-looked ? I will lay a dollar she has lost a beau. Poll ! Mother, what business has such an old woman as she is with a beau ? Some business, child, I should think; for she has had one off and on for the last twenty years, to my certain knowledge. How you talk, mother! If a young lady looks sad, if follows of course that she has lost a beau. She was mourning for her sins. She and you might join forces, sister, and cry in company. You are, as near as I can judge, about of an age. Papa, I don't want to go to meeting this afternoon —li is too hot and tiresome. Hot and tiresome, or not, go you shall. I'll not leave you at home to be turning up Jack, and distur bing the neighborhood, whilst I am engaged in devo tion. Heigh day ! there goes the too of my shoe ! Hang these infernal sidewalks, with their points jut ting out like bagnets ! Those rascally surveyors shall alter 'em, or I'll knuw why not : tut, tut ! My dear, my dear, don't be put out by so trifling an accident, and on Sunday too ! Trifling ! If I had stubbed my head off, you would have thoiight it moÆ trifling yet. Trifling, your toes feel very cleverly, I suppose. Trifling ! Tom ! you rascal ! You jades ! have done giggling this instant. * * * * ' * lia, reverend sir, good morning to you. A fine day, sir, a very fine day. This warm weather is very fine for the grass. You gave us an excellent sermon this morning sir. You wiped up the heretics admirably sir, admirably. I am glad, sir, that it suited you ; and hope that it may be the means of doing good, especially that part of it which related to anger. No doubt it will sir. I observed my neighbor, you know who, kept his head down while you were upon that point. Good morning, sir. Wife, you did not forget, 1 trust, to put on the onions for dinner. At this moment, the party entered their own doors, and I went away, musing on the effects of devotional exercises. a a THE MARCH OF MIND. Such is the prevailing taste of the ïlay, that few newspaper articles will take, unless, to borrow the words of a learned professional, they be well season ed with the " condiments of the castor." Now we like this reaching after the horrible—the marvellous— the heroes of new crimes, and the inventors of new punishments,—it marks the progress and originality of the age. The conductors of the periodicals, who are pioneers in taste, and paragons in morals, do well to gratify and extend the prevalent desires of their readers in this particular.! It oftentimes, to be sure, taxes their invention, but-like some other sublunary things which rise in proportion to the pressure that is applied, their success is usually correspondent with the intellectual drafts that they are required to honor. The details of the Burke murders, and of Stephen son's flight and arrest, haying gone the rounds of the weekly periodicals, some of thé editorial fraternity are puzzled for proper matter, with which to give in-4 tere3t and piquancy to their columns. One paper be fore us contains a circumstantial account of a t coif lately seen near North Guilford in Connecticut, which said " midnight prowler had the boldness to enter the fold of a farmer and seize a fine sheep that served him a delicious repast for a cold night Pursuit was made on Saturday—the wolf and his pursuers laid by for Sunday, and early on Monday the chase was re newed, another sheep was killed, and the " nocturnal depredator" finally escaped. The inhabitants of North Guilford may hereafter say with Pete Feather ton, that it is " quite wolf y . in them ar parts." Another paper contains a dolorous narrative of a white man and a black woman who recently, in a fit of romance, hung themselves in Georgia. A third furnishes the details of a woman who was placed in a cage with sixteen wild cats, and then suspended over a slow fire. These are beautiful specimens of the mode of improving the taste and enlightening the understanding of the public ; but like the crimes of Burke and the flight of the banker, they, in turn, will become " stale, flat, and unprofitable, purpose, therefore, of lending a helping hand to such of our brother editors as deal altogether in murders, thefts, wolves, and horrible accidents, and who may be sorely pressed for a supply, we offer the following particulars of a serious occurrence which recently came under our personal observation. On Tuesday last, about twenty minutes past two o'clock, P. M. a servant girl threw from a cellar kitchen on fourth street, a beef bone, from which a fine bowl of soup had just been concocted. This bone was immediately seized upon by a large grizzly dog, who was soon after attacked by another dog of a black color and " shortish* tail" that seem ed strongly inclined to deprive his grizzly companion of his repast. A furious fight ensued, during which several wounds were inflicted upon each, the grizzly dog being bitten on the left ear, and the black dog with the " shortish tail" on the right fore shoulder. Had it not been for the intervention of a drayman's whip, it is probable, that like the Kilkenny cats, these curs would have fought until nothing was left but their tails. While the contest was raging a little puppy dog (there be many such at the present day) ran off with the bone. The reflections that naturally arise from this lacry mose conjuncture of two of the canine race, are first ly, that it is improper to throw soup-bones into the street, inasmuch as it may give rise to bloodshed and breaches of the peace ; secondly, that the owners of dogs in this city do not feed them with that liberality which the exigencies of their nature require ; thirdly and lastly, that soup-bones are quite in demand at the present time. We deem it also proper to add that the beef-bone was purchased at Beresford's stall who it is well known sells excellent beef. ?. | For the Cincinnati Chronicle. *" As Webster's new Dictionary sanctions the use of " lengthy," we conceive ourselves justified in the use of " shortish," which is equally expressive. We hove moreo ver, the authority of a notable litterateur of our city, who pan more than one occasion has introduced it into his classical lucubrations. Woman's Will. -The following lines (says a cor respondent of the Brighton Herald) were copied from the pillar erected on the mount in the Dane John Field, formerly called the Dungeon Field, Canterbu ry: " Where is the man who has the power and skill To stem the torrents of a woman's will ? , For if she will, she will, you may depend on't— And if she wont, she wont, so there's an end on't,"