| e e an 717 = adeds A ;YT A3M% . /}”:‘\: :’; ’é%‘” @' : : ‘»{flg 4%, /’@A’ 3-»{% %%7 : l‘%' ’/ ,I,} %&‘:" F" AAI {\ QY A O Y VIl TN /% / A|V3 7 | '], A a 3 a 1 X ' 718 T A / oY XS QLS e » *Q /) A|/ | » D VAP Ll || . 7 A [ 7 ’g% \@ Uy (8- i) gVY VAN AP _ b OS & Gy N . X ot . Nz : e 4 | G - i hi T g eUIT e s VOL. XCIII. SELECTED POETRY. ; THE SNOW STORM. BY R. W.EMERSON, Announced by all the trampets of the sky, Arrives the snow, and, driving o'er the ficlds, Seems nowhere to alight : the whited air Hides Lills and woods, the river, and the heaven, And veils the farm house at the garden’send. The sled and traveller stopped. the courier’s feet Delaved, all friends shut out, the housemates sit - Around the radient fireplace, enclosed - “ In a tumultnous privacy of storm. ‘Come see the north wind’s masonry, “Out of an unsecn quarry cvermore ‘ Furnizhed with tile, the fieree ariificer “Curves his white bastions with projected roof TNound every windward stake, or tree, or door. “Vpeeding, the myriad-handed, his wild work *So fanciful, 0 savage, nonght cares he For number or proportion. Mockingly, “On coap orkennel he hangs Parian wreaths ; A swan-like form invests the hiddew thorn ; Fills mp the farmer’s lane from wall to wall Maugre the farmer’s sighs; and the gate, -A tapering turret overtops the work. ~Amnd when his hours are numbered and the world s all his own, retiring, as he were not, T.eaves, when the san appears, astonished Art “To mimic in slow structures, stone by stone, Built in an age, the mad wind’s night work, “T'he frolic architecture of the snow. T FAITHFUL LOVE. ‘Our love came as a dream of spring Comes o'er the sleeping earth; And gave the heart's young flowering buds _ An instant pangless birth ; Our lifc bad been a winter-toil, Our hearts were as a winter soil ; A frozen, sterile ground ; Till thoughts of love on glittering wing, Like birds gav: harbinger of Spring, Then verdure sprang around. Our love came as the early dew Comes unto drooping flowers ; Dropping its first sweet freshness on ' Our life’s dull, lonely hours ; * As each pale blossom lifts its head Revived with blessings nighly shed By summer breeze and dew, Oh! thus our spirits rose beneath L.ove’s gentle dews and living breath, To drink of life anew ! Ouar love came as the morning light Comes to a darkened world, When from the eastern battlements Cloud banners are unfurled : Then as the nations rise from sleep Rose in our hearts the paszion deep Which silence watched above; And life, warm life, the wondrous, strong, In mighty currents swept along "Neath banners of her love ! . Qur love flows on az the river flows Within its borders green; Though on its surging bosom, oft, A hapless wreek is seen: Unskiliful hands may guide the helm, And waves the bark may overwhelm, The river runneth still; And ever in its channel flows, And singing towardz the ocean goes Forgetting every ill ! THERE MUST BE SOMETHING WROXNG When carth produces fair and free, _The golden waving corn: - When frazrant frnits perfume the aix, The fleecy flocks are shom; Whilst thousands move with aching head And sings the ceaseless song. ¢ We starve. we die, oh give us bread!” There must be something wiong. When wealth is wronzht as seasons roll, From ofY the fraitful soil , When luxury from pole to pole Reaps fruit of human toil, When from a thousand, one alone, In plenty rolls along ; The others oniy gnaw the Lone, There must be something wrong. And when production never ends, The ecarth is vielding ever; A copious harvest oft begins, But distribution—never! Then toilihe millions work to fill The wealthy’s coffers strong ; When hands are erushed that work and till There must be soinething wrong. When poor m2n's tahles waste away, To barrenness and droucht ; There mnst be something in the way, That’s worth the finding ont ; With surfeits one great table bends, While numbers meve along And scarce a crust their board extends— There must be something wrong. Then let the law protect the right - Of wealthy and of poor; Let freedom crush the arm of might, - We ask for nothing more; Until this system is begun, The burden of our song, Must be, and be only onc— , There must be something wrong. ‘ From the Union. OUR HEARTS, DEAR GIRLS, ARE WITH YOU STILL. SONG FOR THE VOLUNTEERS. BY ROBERT JOSSELYN. - Arr—Russell’'s variation of Yanlkee Doodle. We're far away in foreign land, Responsive to our country’s call, A little but a gallant band— Fair Freedom's sons, and brothers all. Our pleasant homes, our kin and friends— At thought of these our bosoms thrill ; ‘While memory lier magic lends— Our hearts, dear girls, are with you still. New forms and faces meet us here, Unlike the loved oncs left behind s Strange voices fall upon cur ear, But none with tone so sweet and kind. “The dark-eyed beauty strives in vain Affection’s lonely void to fill ; F¥or you we only wear the chain— Our hearts, dear girls, are with you still. No holiday pursuit is eurs— > ‘The burning sun, the chilling dew. The battle, where the death-siorm showers, We cheerful suffer all for you! ™ We ask no gucrdon but your praise ; . Go where we may, and come what will, .Forever, as in by-gone days, Our hearts, dcar girls, are with you still. vCamp near Monterey, Mexico, Dce. 1, 1846. FROM THE ARABIC. With anxious pride I view the band Of faithful friends that round me stand: ~ With pride exult that I alone «£an bind those scattered gems in one: “For they'rc a wreath of pearls, and I * The silken cord on which they lie. - *Tis mine their inmost soul tg see ; +Unlocked is every heart to me; “Tovme théy cling—on me they rest, _And I've a place in every breast; - For They're a wreath of pearls, and I “The silken cord on which they lie. — A GEM. “The flower heheld the star above, And longed 1o reach its airy love. :But longed in vain. A dew drop fell, Into the rich and fragrant bell, And then the star was imagined there, As it dropped from upper air, it - To scek on carth a kingdred home. - From the Pliladelphia Saturday Courier. WASHINGTON'S LAST CHARGE AT BRAN -5 DY WINE. " _BY GEORGE LIPPARD. . Tfimfltfiat he was calm, cold, passionless : a htart oficeand u face of marble. : . Such is the impression which certain men, claim ing the title of Philosopher and Historian, have scattered to the world concerning our own Wash mgton. . They compare him with the great man of France. Yes, they say that Napoleon was 2 man of genius, but Washington a mr?of' taleng. ~ Napoleon was wll fire, energy, sublinffly ; Washington was a very g;)ad man, it is true, but cold, calcufating, common place. While they tell the mass of the people that Wash ington was a saint, nay, almost a dimi-god, they draw the curtain over his Leart, they hide from us, under piles of big words, and empty phrases, WasninagroN tae Max. You may take the demi-god, if you like, and va por away whole volumes of verbose admiration on a shadow, but, for my part, give me Washington the Man. He was a Man. The blood that flowed in his veins was no Greenland current of half melted ict, but the warm Llood of the South: fiery as its sun, ‘impetuous as its rivers. Ilis was the undying love for a friend: his, the unfathomable indignation ‘when the spirit of party—that crawling thing, half snake, halt'ape—began to bite his heel. Ilike to look at Washington the Man. Nay, even at Washington the Boy, dressed in plain back woodsman's shirt and moccasins, strugaling for his life yonder, on the raft, tossed to and fro by the wavos and ice at Alleghany river. Or at Washington, the young General, sitting in his camp at Cambridge, the map of the New World before him, as, sword by his side, and pen in hand, he planned the conquest of the Continent. Or, yet again, I love to behold Washington the despized Rebel, sitting so calm and serene, among those wintry hills of Valley Forge, while the Pesti lence thins Liis camp and Treason plots its schemes for his ruin in Congress. Yes, I love to look upon him, even as he receives the letter announcing the Cabal, which has been formed by dishonest and ambitious men, for his destruction : I see the scorn flush his cheek and fire his eve: I hear the words iofindignntion flash from his lips: as I look, his ' broad chest heaves, his clenched hand grasps his ' sword. ’ And yet, in a moment he is calm again; he has subdued his feelings of indignation, not because g they are unjust, but from the sublime reason that | the cause in which he is engaged i 3 too high, tvo holy, for any impulse of personal vengeance. J - Here is the great key to Washington’s heart and lclmravtvr. Ile was a man of strong passions and ] warm blood, yet he crushed these passions, and tsubdued this fiery blood, in order to accomplish the 'Deliverance of his Country. He fervently believ ‘ed that he was called by God to Deliver the New World. This belief, was, in fact, the atmosphere of all his actions ; it moulded the entire man anew, ‘and prepared the Virginia Planter, the Provineial Colonel, for the great work of a Deliverer. They tell me that he was never known to smile. “And yet there never breathed a man whose heart bounded more frecly at the song and jest than his. But there was a cause for the deep solemnity which veiled his face. when he appeared in puplic. The | image, of his Country, bieeding on her thousand Tills, under the footsteps “of British "}'l‘m}',f“ufi ever before him, calling, as with the voice of a ‘whost, upon Lim, her champion and Saviour. | ~ After the Revolution, there was as substantial | 'and important reasons for his solemnity of look and : presence as before. ; . The conntry which he had redeemed was torn by the fangs of party spirit. The wolves of faction i which had laid somewhat stilled and subdued dur 'ing the war, came out from their dens as soon as g the day broke over the long night, and howled their watchwords in the ear of Washington and f around the Ark of the Country’s Freedom. How to crush these crcatures without endanger ing that Ark, or embroiling the land on a civil war —this was the thought that always shadowed with Idecp solemmity, sometimes gloom, the countenance ‘ of Washington, the President. l It is a bitter thought to me that the heart of this great, this good, this warm-hearted man, was as 'much torn and pained daring his Presidential ca reer, by the war of opposing factions, as it was in the Revolution by his contest with a British foe. . ‘T'o him there never came an hour of rest. His ‘anxiety for his country followed him to Mount Ver ‘non, and ended only with his last breath. Too pure for a party man, soaring far above the atmos phere of faction, he only held one name, one party “dear to his heart—the name and party of the A MERICAN PEOPLE. Setyts ~ In order to reveal a new page in this man’s char ’nctcr and history, let us look upon him in the hour of battle and defeat. Letus pierce the battle mists !of Brandywine, and gaze upon him at the head of ihis legions. - " PorLasgrl” The noble countenance of the brave DPole stood out in strong relief from the white smoke of battle. That massive brow, surmounted by the dark fur cap and darker plume, the aquiline nose, the lip, concealed by a dark moustache, and the full square chin, the long black hair, sweeping to the shoulders —this marked profile was drawn in bold relief, from the curtain of the battle smoke. An expres sion of deep sadness stamped the face of the liero. “I was thinking of Poland!” he exclaimed, in broken accents, as he heard Lis name pronounced. by Washington. : “ Yes,” said ‘Washington, with a decp solemnity of tone, ** Poland has many wrongs to avenge ! But God lives in Heaven, yonder”—he pointed up ward with his sword—* and he will right the inno cent at last!” “ITe will I” echoed the Pole, as his gleaming eye reaching beyond time and space seemed to behold this glorious spectacle—DPoland free, the cross shi ning serenely over her age worn shrines, the light of peace glowing in her million homes. . } * Pulaski,” said Washington, “look yonder !” ‘ The Polander followed with his eye the gesture of Washington's sword. Gazing down the hill hel beheld the last hope of the Continental army em bosomed among )i,}rifish bayonets ; he saw the wreek of Sullivan’s right wing yielding slowly be fore the invader, yet fighting for every inch of {;round._ Ile beheld the reserve, under Greene, ocked in one solid mass, faces, hands, muskets, swords, all turned to the foe ; an island of heroes, encircled by a sea of British hirclings. The Royal army extended far over the ficlds to the foot of Osbourne’s hill ; the Red Cross banner waved over the walls of the Quaker Temple. Far to the :South, scattered bands of Continentals were hurry ing from the fields, some bearing their wounded comrades; some grasping broken arms, some drae- Emg their shattered forms slowly along. Still that rave reserve of Greene, that wreck of Sullivan’s right wing, fought around the banner of the Stars, while the Red Cross flag glared in their faces from every side. : Tl{e declininlg sun shone over the fight, lighting up the battle clouds with its terrible g%ow.’ 4 gt was now five o'clock. But one hour since the conflict began, and yet a thousand souls had gone from this fiefii of blood up to the throne of God! | The sky is bKle and smiling yonder, as you see it through the risted clouds—look there upon the se renc azure, and tell me! Do you not behold the ghosts of the dead, an awful and shadowy band, clustering yog(ler—fghg;tly‘mh \\mmda---dngymnP AND REPUBLICAN UNION. PORTSMOUTH, N. H, TUESDAY MORNING, FEBRUARY 16, 1347 ‘with blood—clustering in one solemn meeting a ‘round that Impenetrable Bar ? At one glance, Pulaski took in the terrible de tails of the scene. ~ “Now,” shouted Washington, “let us go down K He pointed to the valley with his sword. All us ‘reserve, all his calmness of manner was gone. - " «Letus go down!” he shouted again. “The day is ®st, but we will give these British gentle men our last farewell. Pulaski—do you hear me —do you echo me—do you feel as I feel? The day iz lost, but we will @o down!” “Down !” echoed Pulaski, as his eye caught the glow flashing from the eye of Washington—* Give way there! Down to the valley, for our last fare well Washington quivered from head to foot. His eye glared with the fever of strife. The sunlight shone over his bared brow, now radiant with an immortal impulse. His hand gathered his sword in an iron grasp— he spoke to his steed—the noble horse moved slow- Iy on, through the ranks of Pulaski’s legion. : Those rough soldiers uttered a yell as they Le held the magnificent form of Washington, quivering with battle race. “ Come, Pulaski! Our banneris there! Now we will go down !” ' .. Then there was a sight, to sce ence—and die ! Rising in the stirrups, Washington pointed to the fieht, and swept down the hill like a whirlwind, followed by Pulaski’s band, Pulaski himself, vainly endeavoring to rival his pace at the head of the iron men. Gen. Greene, turning his head over his shoul ders, in the thickest of the fight, beheld with ter ror, with awe, the approach of Washington. Ile would have thrown his horse in the path of the chief, but the voice of Washington—terrible in its calmness, irresistible in its rage—thundered even amid the clamor of that fight : ‘ Greene—come on!’ | Who could resist that look, the upraised sword, the voice ? | The band of Pulaski thundered by, and Greene followed with horse and foot, with steed and bay onet. The fire blazing in Washington’s eye spread like an electric flash along the whole col umn. The soldiers were men no longer; no fear of bayonet or bullet now. The very horses caught the fever of that hour. | ~ One cry burst like thunder on the British host: ¢ Give way there! Washington comes to battle ' | Far down the hill Lafayette and the Life Guard were doing immortal decds, for the banner of the | stars. ~ Brows bared, uniforms fluttering in rags, they followed the Boy of Nineteen, into the vortex of the fight, waving evermore that banner overhead. They saw Washington come. You should have heard them shout, you should have seen their swords, now, dripping with blood, they glittered on high. Lafayette saw Washington come, ves, the majestic form, the sunlighted brow! That sight inflamed his blood— ¢ Now, La Fayette, come on! They were ranged beside the band of Pulaski, these children of Washington ; the gallant French man led them on. Thus Washington, Pulaski, Greene, La Fayette, thundered down into the fight. Tt was terrible to hear the tramp of their horses’ hoofs. Capt. Waldemar, the brave partizan, with the last twenty of kis riders, was holding a desperate fight with thrice the number of British troopers. He, too Leheld Washington come, he too beheld ‘that solid eolumn' at h%’%fllfl':m ‘he dashed through the British band ; in another mo ment he was Leside La Fayette. Washington } turned to him— | ‘Waldemar, we go yonder to make our last fare well! Cowme on.’ | And they went,—ves Washington at the head |ot' the column, led them on. With banners wav (ing all'along the column, with swords and Dbayon ets mingling in one blaze of light, that iron column - went to battle. i The British were in the valley and over the fields 5 you might count them by thousands. | There was one horrid crash, a sound as though the earth had yawned to engulph the armies. | Then, oh then, you might see this bolt of battle im*ashing into the British host, as a mighty river Irushing into the sea, drives the ocean waves far before it. You might see the bared brow of ‘ Washington, far over swords and spears; then might you hear the yell of the British, as this av alanche of steel burst on their ranks! Men, horses, all were levelled before the path of this human hurricane. Follow the sword of Washing ton, yonder, two hundred yards right into the | heart of the British army, he is gone,—gone in terrible glory! On either side swell the British columns, but this avalanche is so sudden, so unex pected, that yonder columns are for the moment paralyzed. And now Washington turns again. He wheels and his band wheel with him. He comes back, and they come with him. Ilis sword rises and falls and a thousand swords follow its motion. And down—shricking, torn, crushed,—the foe men are trampled ; another furrow of British dead strew the ground. Vain were it to tell the deeds of allthe heroes, in that moment of glory. Greene, La Fayette, Pulaski, Waldemar, the thousand sol diers, all secem to have but one arm, one soul.— They struck at once, they shouted at once, at once they conquered. ¢ Now,” he shouted, as his uniform, covered with dust and bloed, quivered with the glorious agita tion that shook his proud frame, ‘ Now, WE canx AFFORD TO RETREAT! It was a magnificent scene. Washington—lis steed halted Ly the roadside, the men of Pulaski and his own life-guard ranged at his back—Washington gazed upon his legions as they swept by. They came with dripping swords, with broken arms;—horse and foot, went hurrying by, spreading along the road te the south, while the banner of the stars waved proudly over head. First, the legions of Greene, tEen the band of Waldemar, with the gallant La Fayette rid ing in their midst. Ile was ashy pale, that chival rous boy, and the manly arm of ‘a veteran trooper beld him in the saddle.” Ilis leg was shattered by a musket ball. Yet, as he went by, he raised his hand, still grasping tiat well used sword, and mur npured faintly that word, his French tongue pro nounced so well—¢ Washington I Washington be ‘held the hero, and smiled. . ~ *“God be with you, my brave friend!” . - Then came the wreck of Sullivan's division, ‘Dblood stained their faces, broken their arms, wild and wan their looks, sad and terrible their shattered array. They swept b{ to the South, their gallant General still with his band. “ Now,” said Washington, while the Life Guard and Pulaski’s men encireled him with a wall of steel. “ Now we will retreat!” s ; At this moment, while the British re‘cqs;e‘ted from their late panic, were rushing forward in sol id columns, the face and form of Washington pre sented a spectacle of deep interest. § - He sat erect upon his steed, gazing with mingled sadness and joy, now upon the retreating Contin ‘entals, now upon the advancing British. Around him were the stout fi'oo&«io; by %‘5 side the war “""W‘v far away hills and valleys louded with smoke,coverd with marching logionts Aabove, the blue sky, seen in broken -glimpses—the You could sce his chest heave again, and his eve glare once more, “ On commades, now we can afford to retreat !” And the sunlight poured gladly over the uncov ered brow of "Washington. ; . . From the Picaynne. A SCENE AT NEW ORLEANS. _Tom TirPuE, who liked Volunteering, but had a ? distaste for aétive service.~“ Yes, there it are again,” said Tom T‘Tp]e, as he vesterday saw a company | of gallant volunteers marching up St. Charles street, the stars and stripes proudly flaunting over them, ‘and a fife and a drum loudly if not cloquently dis coursing lgai‘tml music ; *there it are,” said Tom, ¢ and the ¢ld tune too, ¢ March to the battle field!” ‘Marching to the battle fiehd is all very well; bt marching Tiome again, purviding a feller succeed in dodgin the Mexican copper bullets, with the fever and ager fnu Lis baeh instead of his knapsack, and 2 wooren {ha-’r instead of a nateral limb, aint what it's cracked up so be. There now the tune is changed to ‘flow‘%v’s the soldier” Yes, he's cussed happy, aint he ? They may tell- that to the jack tars—even the marines wont Lelieve ’em, There haint no use at all in telling it to a feller like me, what lived three months among the chaparral, on the banks of the Rio Grande, on crackers and salt pork, and what used up so much of the latter, for the want of summit better, that T wae afraid to look a shote in the face. Yes, there’s more of it. [Sings with the music]— The star-spangled banner. and long may it wave O’er the land of the free and the home of the brave! IHurrar! that’s all fust rate , but if you want that ere flag to wave over the land of the free and the home of the brave, why do you take it to Mexico ? Them ere greasers aint free nor brave, no how you can fix it} so, you see, though the music is good, the sentiment aint *propriate. Now I haint got no objectian to volunteerin, as I know on. "I aint no ways backward at that. T have already jined eight companies, took treats in my turn in each, besides doin the promiseuous drinkin for twelve temperance volunteers. T calls that doing a jolly business, it's the poetry of the purfession, as Bill Mathews used to call i. Marchin to the battle field is all very well, taken in a figurative sense—the vay members of Congress vishes to be understood ven they calls ‘ the honorable gentleman wot spoke last’ a liar; but ven it comes down to literal prose—-ven a feller conwerts himself, for eight dollars a month, into a thing to be cracked at and shot, it's not wot it's cracked up to be by a long shot. Therefore, 1 say————" “T say you are my prisoner,” said rather a fero cious looking gentleman, wearing a leather cap, having a red sash encircling his waist and 2 mous tache in a state of juvenility on his upper lip; 1 say you are my prisoner; you enrolled yourselt in my company, and drew rations for six days.” “Vell, vot of it,” said Tom Tipple : *“the hact o’ Congress says there haint no unvoluntary serwice i the wol unteers. and I claims to be a free and independent citizen.” A crowd shortly collected around Tom and his captor, among whom not less than half a dozen claimed Tom as having envolled himself in as many different companies. He was delivered over to the civil authorities for further disposition. A TOUCHING APPEAL. “ GUARDIAN ANGELS.—An unknown man was found at midnight, dead drunk, among some casks on the pier, foot of Peck Slip, and lying upon his body were three little girls. 'The ehildren had mmi?emb}wmw;fl plight, and instead of leaving im to his fate, were ‘watching over him, weeping as if their hearts were broken, and shiver ing under the influence of the cold night-wind.— When the motherless children were discovered, the youngest was in a deep sleep, with its soft pale cheek lyving on the bloated breast of its father.”— N. Y. Paper. ; Where could human language find words of thoughts to convey so toughing a plea to the heart and conscience of an erring parent, as does the pa thetie little incident related above? Can it be possible that there is a being posessing the image and the soul of a man, who can have become so brutalized as not to be touched, and. rebuked, and reformed, by such a scene as that. So brutalized, did we say ? We do injustice to the brute charac ter! No dumb beast:—No! from the grovelling swine to the savage hyena, all brutedom does not furnish an exainple so callous to all the feelings of nature—so hardened to all the common sensibilities of humanity. If that father, on waking from the stupor of his drunken orgies, with such a sight as there met his eye, was not melted into contrition, was not moved to pity, and overwhelmed with shame and remorse—no power on carth can ever move him to repentance and reformation—the sym pathies of his naturc must be dried up—his heart must have become petrified—he must be a devil in carnate.—~N. Y. Globe. Tue Goop WirFe—How much of this world’s happiness and prosperity is contained in the compass of these two short words. Her influence is immense. The power of a wife for good or evil, is altogether ir resistible. Home must be the scat of happiness, or it must be for ever unknowns A good wife is to a man wisdom and courage, and strength and hope, and en durance. A bad one is confusion, weakness, discom fiture and despair. No condition is hopeless when the wife possesses firmness, decision, energy and economy. There is no outward prosperity which can counteract indolence, folly and extravagance at home. No spirit can Jong resist bad domestic influences. Man is strong, but his heart is not adamant. He delights in enterprise and action, but to sustain him he needs a tranquil mind and a whole heart. He expends his whole moral force in the conflicts of the world; his feelings are daily lacersted to the utmost point of en durance by perpetual collisions, irritation and disap pointment To recover is eqanimity and composure, home must be to him a palace of repose, of peace, of cheerfulness, of comfort; and his soul renews its strength and again goes forth with vigor to encounter the labor and troubles of the world. But if at home he had no rest. and there is met by a bad temper, sul lenness or gloom ; or is assailed by discontent, com plaint and reproaches, the heart breaks, the spirits are crushed, hope vanishes, and the man sinks in total de spair. A Lecar Trick.—At a trial held at an English shire-town during the last summer, the Counsel for the defendant found it would be necessary to excite the sympathies of the jury rather more than usmal. As suming a most doleful air, he took a little child of the client’s in his arms, who immediately began to cry.— The lawyer went on with his plea, using all the melan choly expressions he could think of, and pausing ev ery few moments to wipe his eyes. The poor child shricked londer and louder—the jury began to wrangle in their seats and feel particularly uncomfortable—the plaintiff turned very pale. and the lookers on consider ed the matter decided. Just as the excitement had al most reached its highest, and nceded but one more groan from the lawyer, and one more shriek from the child, to render the defendant vietorious, the opposing lawyer rose in his seat, and calling the child by name, asked him what he was erying for. © Cos Mr, — keeps a pinching me,” said the urchin. Mr, —— dropped the youngster and the case also, forthwith. % Hair;Cutring GraTiS.—A man, wearing a ' certain &adge of authority, passed through a village in Oxfordshire, England, lately, and calling at each j house, informed the inhabitants that he was a Gov ernment barber, sent from London to cut all the poor people’s hair gratis, it having been ascertain ed to be the most effectual way of keeping off the cholera, which had already made its appearance.— “The fellow succecded in carrying away with him | sufficient hair to make several wigs, and the delu ded people were obliged to set to and make caps to defend their bare heads from the cold which set in next day. A Savyrox Frear.—Tlnstances of the ferocity of the varied species of bipeds and quadrupeds have { been often recorded in the public journals, and Mr Jesse and Mr St. John have lately furnished inter esting incidents regarding the traits and habits of these animals ; but we have this week to narrate a more remarkable occurrence, in the character of the salmon, than we have yet had the nr_mortunity {to record. The facts are these :—While several |cuttermen (of the preventive service) were on { their rounds the other dav, and bearine alono the [ Findhorn, between Glenferness and Dulcie-bridee, ' they observed an unusual commotion among the | spawning-beds on the ford. On approaching the spot two large male salmon were seen engaged in ] mortal combat for possession of a female. Never | t did chivalrie knivhts contest for the hand of & Ja- | I.dye fair” more fiercely than these buirdly « lords{ of the flood.” Thef#@nauil bosom of the stream was lashed into foa ithe strnggles of the finny antagonists ;in the intime the object of the fray beating silent]§ out, “spectatress of the fight.” TFrom the appearance of the stream—dyed with blood, and gradually assaming its former l smooth surface. it was evident that the contast was over. One of the salmon at last floundered on the l ’snrfiwo. dead, and the vietor, it mav he conjectnr- | | ed, exhaustediv bore off’ his prize. The men, who | had the curiosity to watch the fioht, as a proof nf" their storv, conveyed the dead sa'mon to the no:n'-l est dwelling, that of Mr Georce Mackintosh. | March Strype. near the entrance of the secluded ’va”ey called the Streens. The victorions salmon ‘ had torn off the flesh. or rather fish, alone the hack. | from head to tail to the very bone. Tn the move- | ment of salmon spawning, the males have been of ten seen chasing one another, but such a fray as this has not been witnessed by the oldest fisher or g poacher on the Findhorn.— Elgin Courier. ‘ How Me. Joxes FAILED.—There is much truth in the following little