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THE STAR OF THE NORTH.
■ W. Weaver Proprietor.] VOLUME 3. THE STAR OF TUE NORTH Is published every Thursday Morning, by R. W. WEAVER. OFFICE—Up stairs in the New Brick building on the south side of Main street, third square below Market. TERMS 'Two Dollars per annum, if paid Within six months from the time of subscri binggtwo dollars and fifty cents if not paid within the year. No subscription received for a less period than six months: no discoii| linuanco permitted until all arrearages are paid, unless at the option of the editors. ADVERTISEMENTS not exoeeding one square, will be inserted three times for one dollar, and twenty-five cents for each additional insertion A liberal discount will be made to those who ad vertise by the year. BOVIS, 2TOT STATIONS. YVho shall nidge it man ' r °m msnner , Who shall know him by n- 9 dreai • Paupers may be fit for princes, Princes fit for something less. Crumpled shirt and dirty jacket May be, clothe the golden ore Of the deepest thoughts and feelings— Satin vests could do no more. There are springs of crystal nectar Ever welling out of stone ; There are purple buds and golden, Hidden, crushed, and overgrown. Cod, who couuti by souls, not dresses, Loves and prospers yon and me, While be values thrones the highest But as pebblos iu the sea. Man, uprais'd above bis fellows, Oft forgets his fellows then— Masters—rulsrs—lords—remember Tnat your meanest kinds are men '. Men by labor, men by feeling, Men by thought and men by fame, Claiming equal right to sunshine In a man's ennobled name* There au foam-embroider'd iceans, There are little weed .clad rills, There are feeble, inch high saplings, There aie cedars on the hills ; But God, who counts by souls not stations, Loves and prospers you and me, For to him alt vain distinctions Are as pebbles in the sea. Toiling hands alone are builders * Of a nation's wealth and fame, Titled laziness is pensioned, Fed and fatler.'d on the same ; By the sweat of others' foreheads, Living only to rejoice, While the poor man's outraged'freedom Vainlyjlifteth up its voice. But truth and justice are eternal, Bom with loveliness and light, And sunset's wrong shall never prosper, While there is a sunny riglu ; And God whose world-heard voice is singing 1 Boundless love to you and me. Will sink oppression, with its titles, As the pebbles in the sea. EMMA, TUE BAILOII GIRL. BY MRS. WARD. The following story is not merely "found- ' ed" on fact—the chief incidents are literally j true, and the scene is from nature. The | real name of the heroine was Arnold, and , she was the daughter of a lieutenant in 11. j Majesty's navy. His pernicious habits drove j his child from his roof, ami she, exchanging j clothes with a village play fellow, hired her self ss cabin boy on board a vessel bound i for the Cape. An accident brought her ! under the notice of a surgeon on board the •hip, amf the events followed as I have re lated them in the tale. Between the fishing village of L———— and the town of E , there once stood on the slops of a hill, facing the sea, a row surrounded by neat gardens, where those bright flowers throvo which enlighten many a tenement, sheltered only by the cliffs of our coast. The first of these attracted the eye by its tasteful transforma tion from a common building to the pic turesque residence of a fragile looking lady, who was seldom seen except when she would step beyond the bowery porch, twined with clematis and passion -flower, and sha ding her eyes from the glare of the ocean, would gaze up the r oad watching for the post-man. Few knew her history, hut it was under etood that against the consent of her father, •he had married a young and handsome lieutenant in the navy ; that, soon nfior her marriage, her husband had gone lo son, and that aha had improved the poor cottage after eueh a fashion as her taste dictated and her •lender means permitted, and was now ex pecting bis return. Within a hay window bf this dwelling a breakfast table was laid, and at this sat the lady, with a child of five yeais old beside her. Both had been enjoying the fragrance of the sunny garden, and the pale lady's eyes brightened as she had looked on her preparations of wolcome. Her dress, as well as L'? ( child's, was of the plainest fash lon, yet exquiatoly noai. The little girl, (rilh her doll upon hor knee, uufJf °ul m!" a merry laugh from time to time, at the gambols of a kitten, at it tried hard to over come the gravity of its sober mother, who sat blinking her eyes in tho sunny eastern window, but lstely gave no heed to her daughter's repeated entreaties that she would •'only just look at Dot;" sha'was scanning the shipping list of a newspaper with ner vous haste and trepidation. i'Off Dover, H. M. frigate 'Rainbow,' ar rived on the 4th inst from Jamaica; the ship praceeds to the Downs, where a court mar tiki will assemble for the trial of Lieutbnant Richard Temple, R. N., under arrest for being drunk on duty." Mrs. Temple sat paralyzed with the paper in her hand; the child and the kit'.en con tinued their play, and when Margaret, the only attendant on the cottage inmates, en tered the room to remove the breakfast things, she found her mistress transfixed like a statue in her chair There was a sharp lap at the porch door. It was a post-man who had brbught baok a letter which he had curried on by mistake. BLOOMSBURG, COLUMBIA COUNTY? PA., THURSDAY, MAY 29, 1851. The thoughtful Margaret sent the little girl to the next cottage to tell Captain YVil mot, their kind neighbor, and an old naval officer, that " mamma was in very great trouble/' and to ontreat that he would come to her forthwith. " Under arrest !—disgraced, disgraced ! my Uichanl, my husband! oh, my husband!" Mrs. Temple was sitting on the floor as she uttered these despairing words, with an open letter in her hand; but there was not a tear upon her clay pale lace, though the whitened lips were rigid with great agony. "My friend, my friend !" she cried, as the good old Captain of the navy raised her in J his arms from the ground, "my friend, tr.y only friend, 1 shall never hold head again." Truly, she had need of his friendship, end as that poor, pale, afllicted creature cast her se.'f in utter abandonment upon the old sailor's breast, the tears poured down his bronzed auu honest face upon her shining hair. For three long weeks the miserable wife of tho drunkard, Richard Temple, wailed in all the agony of suspense the issue of the court-martial silting on board the "Rain bow." Evening ufter evening Captain Wil mot found her pacing her little drawing-room her eye glazed and tearless, bat with thoso black circles round them, that marked how restless had been her state by day and night. Oh, the agony of suspense ! how the dread predominates over hope ! The fatal nows came at last. The broken hearted wife ceased to pace the lloor, the faithful servant and the weary child sat be side tho bed side ot the sufferer, and Cap tain Wilmot awaited the arrival of Richard Temple. When tho unhappy man knocked at the porch door of his cottage home, it was opened by Margaret, iu deep mourning; there had been some delay in communica ting wilh him, and ere he could be prepared for the shock, he learned from Captain Wil mot that his wife's constitution had suuk un der the mind's affliction, and he sat down beneath the roof she had adorned for his re ception, a widowed and a ruiucd man. Seven years passed away. Captain Wil mot was lying in the church yard near the child's unfortunate mother. Margaret, com pelled to leave the service of the misguided Richard Temple, had married a widow a fisherman, with one son, aud happy was the 1 wretched little girl when she could escape from her miserable home to the fireside of her former nurse. Perhaps, hail God spared Ihe gentle wife lo the ruined Richard, he might have re covered in some measure, his position; but God was merciful; and had spared the fra gile creature a burden too heavy for such as her to bear. The cottage sho had ornamented was soon dismantled, the garden became a wilderness of weeds; a vicious woman had ere long taken Margaret's place, as house-keeper, and poor Emma was sent to a day school at L . The few people who rememberod her mother, looked with mingled pity and horror on the child's unwashed face, closely clipped hair, and torn and soiled clothes, as she wondetl her way, sometimes alone, sometimes with a troop of children as rag ged and ditty as herself, between her dese crated home and the pretty school house in a by-street of the great sea-port. She had one friend in the world besides Margarot; this was Margaret's step son, a boy a little older than herself and when she could not visit her former nurse, for her fath er, in his drunken fits, would sometimes keep her at home to spile the abandoned woman he chose to place at his table—such as it was—sho would bound down to the beach and forget her misery for awhile, as she sailed her little ships in the pools under the cliffs, or at tiroes dared to venture out in the red-sailed wherry with Edward's bluff but good natured father. The two children were very merry one day; it was noon in a sultry summer's mouth, and a troop of giddy creatures were launching their tiny boats in a shady creek. Edward had made a feast of apples, and ship's biscuits, and had caught some fish, which were broiling on a real fire; and they were just about to eujoy their banquet when a scream from Emma, and an upward glance dretv the attention of iho little crew to the cliff abov9. For there stood Mr. Temple, Emma's father. His ashy cheeks, his livid lips, and blood-shot orbs, gave Kim the appoarance of some frightful ogre; and, mute with terror they gazed on tho apparition which had " broke up the meeting with most admired disorder." He sptang down fronl the busy height in to the midst of the group. "Oh papa, papa, forgive ma shrieked his child, shrinking in an agony of dread from an uplifted leather strap ; 1 will go to school directly, indeed 1 will, but lira. Jones said her bill was not paid, and I——" • A bio w across the mouth silenced the lips, from which the blood now poured; the children flew apart like startled birds; but, as the angry man raised the leather thong ' again, Edward made a dart at il; Temple stepped back to bestow, a heartier blow on his opponent, but as lie was preparing to make a rush at the boy, Edward's father turned the angle of tho rock, and stood be fore them. " Go home, Mr. Templo, fur God's *ake> for the sake of the poor lady who is lying under the green flag in the church yard.— You a man," continued David, as he saw the state of the bruised and shivoring Emma; " you a man and strike that miserable child! Come home with me to Margaret; Edward go on before us," said David, who knew bis son's disposition to well to trust him alone with Temple. And the poor weeping child looked back to her father hoping he might utter one word, but he stood with frowning brow, and made no sign. David carried her home, and laid her in the old nurse's arms, where she fell asleep, fanned by tha soft breeze that floated into the homely but peaceful fisher's hut. Some kind people suggested the magis trate's interfence in the case, but, then,,who was to take charge of the unfortunate child? Even the most charitably disposed shrunk from undertaking the care of one, whose father might at any moment cast his shadow in her path, and fight for his right upon his victim. All distinctions of position having been as we have seer, levelled between Edward and Emma by the state of vice in which her father had long lived, they sat down together on the beach, and held a long consultation, the result, of which did not transpire for some weeks after Emma's disappearance from home, for next day a cry was raised that Mr. Temple's ill used daughter was mis sing. Some weeks after Emma's departure, Ed ward was questioned on the subject of it by a magistrate, who had, with great difficulty collected ovidence to prove that the girl had beon seen, on a particular night, wending her way, through a storm of wiud and raiD, towards the beach. The boy's statemont, in the abstract was a 9 follows That Emma and he hatha long and often consulted together on the subject of her es cape Irom the sad thraldom she endured— that he had given her hiß own clothes—that he-had a friend named Brent, a steward on board a large merchant-ship, who had often asked him how he should like to go to see with 1 im—that Edward knew his father and step-mother could ill spare liis assistance in fishing, and occasionally helping the pilots at L , and that he had told Brent that he had a playmate who was friendless and poor, and who would be thankful for a berth on board the "Dartmouth"—that he would bring his playmate to him, and that Brent must not betray the boy—that Brent, who . was an honest, cautious man, had at first re fused to hear of " carrying off" a boy to sea who was a runaway, but that afterwards he had consented to see the child, and finally decided or. taking the little bruised and half starved wretch under his care. "And by what name," asked the magis trate of Edward, when he had told this strange tale, in all its details, "by what name was the girl entered on the books of the 'Dartmouth*'" "We had forgotten about a name," replied the boy ingeniously, till Brent aiked her what sho was called; so then I put my arm round her neck, and kissed her, and gave her a little pinch, and said, 'Good bye, Johnny Marvel,' and Johnny Marvel I sup l poso she is now aboard the 'Dartmouth.' " ###*** " Mother," 6aid Edward to his father's wife, whom he loved most sincerely, and who was sitting crying over hor untasted cup of lea, in a state of nervous excitement, at , the result of the lad's summons before the I magistrate, "mother, don't cry; sho is hap pier now than she was up yonder on the hill side." "Ah !" sighed Margaret, "I shall never see her again 1 know and she ffoll into a reverie sad end tearlul. She was right, she never did meet Emma Temple again ; but Edward did, and that under circumstances so peculiet as to de mand a revelation as strarge as it is true. The limitv of my pen will not permit me to dwell on the career of this extraordinary sailor girl. Neither must I follow our little "cabin boy" through two or three voyages which "he" made in the " Dartmouth," always retaining the patronage and protection of the kind-hearted Brent when called up as "he" grew older, to work "before the mast." For "Johnny Marvel" soon became the pel of the crew. Active, merry, and in trepid, the captain was won't to point om to passengers as "the cleverest little chap itr the ship." It was well that our heroine's chief de light had been in sailing with Margaret's husband and step son in the wherry when ever she had opportunity. Many a stiff i breeze had the child onosuntered, many a lecture had Margaret bestowed or the rough kind-hearted fisherman, little thinking what i would be the result of such tutelage. *•*. # • • • Thoro was a heavy swell one day in the ; groat Atlantic just where the trade winds cease. " Little Jok ,; was up in the tope, and went upon the foP yards where he sat swinging in mid air to his own delight and the great terror ot Brent. The sailors look-. Ed up and shook their heads, but laughed at the boy's bold bearing and reckless song.— " Jack" was now nearly tifteon, and though not robust was no longer the wretohed crea turo he had been when Brent introduced him with some misgivings to the captain. As the ship rolled in the trough of the sea the young sailor dipped with the yard al most into tho lead-colored water, rose again with a shout, and played at this wild game till the captain, in angry tone, ordered him '"down." The euddec command atarlled him, and hurrying along the yard, his foot caught in a rope, while at some distance from the ground, and thus, losing balance, he fell headlong on the deck. Troth and Right—God and oor Country. He was taken up inseneible and carried down the neatest hatcbWy to a messmate's hammock by his friend Brent; and a sur geon, happening, with his wife, to be a pas senger on board the ship then, bound for the Cape of Good Hope, he was summoned. That night a "whisper fell" among the crew of the " Dartmouth" that the merry* hearted sea boy was like to die; then a lady the surgeon's wife, moved along the silent deck, and passing the boundary of the pas sengers promenade, was guided down the hatchway to the lower deck, and there stretched on a hammock, a sickly lantern shedding its rays on her dark crisped locks, matted with blood from a wound in the head, was stretched poor Emma Temple, with Brent crying beside ber. The blue shirt collar was open, and a red stream was trickling across the slender throat of the girl bronzed by many a breeze, and strongly contrasted with th| fairer propor tions of the swelling bust; the sleeve had i been ripped, and the rounded arm, with its bloody bandage, looked strangely white above the tanued and almost muscular palm. She was removed as soon as possible to the ladies' cabin, and gently landed ; rest and care turned the scale in her favor, and then the Bailors were told the wonderous tale, that their favorite, "Johnny Marvel," was a girl! After such a career, young as she was, truth to tell, little fitted to play the part of a lady ; all that tha kind and judicious wife of the surgeon could do for Emma she did.— She took her into her own establishment as an attendaut, but a summons to England deranging the plans she hsi farmed far her protegee, under her own surveillance, our heroine found a new home iu the houso of a married offioer of rank commanding a gar rison of importance on the froutier of South Africa. Her journey to this garrison was underta ken in one ol the cumbrous conveyances of the colony, but ere this reachsd its destina tion it met with a common casuality, it broke down ; and as there was a probability of delay, our heroine resolved, with her usual indepenJsnce of spirit, to proceed on foot; being guided to the top of a hill, she looked down on the town, whither she wa 8 destined, descended the rough slope, oiossod the bridge which spanned a turbid and swollen river, aud inquiring her way to the residence of tha commandant, proceeded to the gateway of the building pointed out to hois . A sentry paced up and down in front of the entrance ; she was about to ask which would be her best mode of obtaining admit tance, when the tall stripling interrupted her with, "Bass on young woman, it is agaiust orders to speak on my post." The voice was Edward's. Yes, tbere stood her early companion, her friend, in the uniform of the 91st Regiment, and is not to be wondered at, that a recog nition took place in spite of rules and regu lations. At longth Emma, at Edward's ear nest entreaties, and after a mutual promise to meet again, passed through the gateway, and presenting herself to her new mistress, entered upon her employments, without, however, alluding in any way to the singular circumstances attending her arrival. Edward's in r ormation was the first she had received touching tho scene of her early career, for it so happened that ske had never j revisited them from the time he had put her j under Brent's care en the deck of the "Dart- j mouth four years before. He had put a sor- j rowful tale of himself to tell. His father had been drowned out fishing, and it was not long ere Margaret followed; he had been iuduced, in what heat first thought an evil hour to enlist, and said he to Emma, "what I am going to tell will not cause you much sorrow for your own sake. Your father did not live long after you left; he put himself I info a dreadful fury when he found out i what I had to do in getting you out of his clutches, and before my father and mother died 1 had begun to thirtk 1 had best get out | of his way, which you see I did at last, and I am glad of it now, for here we are together and I am sure this is the happiest day of my life." These two young adventurers upon the uncertain sea of life, had been enjoying the rest and peaceful recreation which the Sab | bath always brought them in a colony where | the observance of the sacred duty, is deci dedly more attended to than in England, and had extended their walk acrosti the bridge entrance of the towu. I have said before that all distinctions be tween these two young creatures had ceased in their childhood, and Emma Temple, the household servant, now looked on Edward as a superior being to herself. He was but a soldier, but he had been commended for steady conduct and good principle, and trnly a moral might be read in the history of the fisherman's-son with his good name, and the g £3tleroan's daughter with the curse of the drunkard upon * her in her dependent, and but for Edward, friendless condition. • ••••.•* And ere they parted they pledged their troth. He was to try and obtain rank and pay commensurate with the responsibilities of a man who marries the woman he loves; she was to relate her story to the kind lady whom she served, and who, although aware of a singular episode of Emma's life at sea, had not the slightest idea of a 'lover in the case. In the course of a fow months the young man, who had long acquired the confidence of his superior officers, was promoted to the rank of sergeant; Emma had put by her earnings, and with her mistress's assistance had made up a tolerable sum wherewithal to open another chapter of her eventful life. • ###### The wedding-day was fixed, and a good natured settler, who had become interested in the romantic story of the lovers, came forward with that considerate and liberal hospitality which forms so agreeable a fea ture in the character of the South Africa col onist. He throw open his house for a festal gathering, and summoned many friends to share the pleasures of the bridal, and to welcome the bride and bridegroom on the threshold of their new life. It was a glorious day outwardly, but the fleecy clouds were coming up from the hori zon, and shaping themselves into dense and swollen masses, which giew darker by de grees, and emitted, at sharp intervals fiery tongues of lightning; but those evidences of storm were far off, and in aa opposite direc tion from tho road which, on crossing a ' stream, led to the town whence the bride groom was hourly expected. The ground round the homestead pre sented the appearance of a gypsy camp, with its wagons drawn up in shady pathways and the smoke of fires, for it was of course impossible to give house room by night to such a throng of guests, a bivouac was es tablished on the good farmer's ground, and the travelers' cattle were dispersed about the bushes that festooned the hills in the back ground of the snug settlement. A bridal assemblage is always a cheerful sight in a country where thero is much la bor, certain difficulties aud dangers to eur mount, aud but little pastime. The present Occasion bad brought many together who cume partly from pleasure, partly from curi osity, but all with hearty good will towards the pair whose history had been tbo theme of conversation in many a homestead, in camp and in quarter. Women in gay dresses, and fuii-haired English looking children were assembled in the settler's garden, and turning their back upon the angry douds, looked anxiously beyond the Koouap river up the hill. Eve ning advanced, the thunder began to mutter above the clouds, aud descending rolled along the mountain ridges, and kept up an uneasy murmur in the ravines. A ainglo traveler on horseback wended his unnoticed way down a bridle-road at the back of the settler's dwelling, within which the clergy* man, for he it was, found a table bravely spread, but no guests. They were still in tently gazing into the distance beyond the river, as some twenty minutes Detore, the figure of another traveler on horseback had appeured between a far hill top and the now lurid sky. The clergyman hung his horse's bridle on an iron hook at the gate of the farm yard, in the tear of tho house, and took his way to tho drift or ford where the guests had assem bled to bid tho bridegroom tarry on his way. There was a hoarse murmur of waters ri sing in the distance, where the cliffs over hung the swelling stream, and the bride turned an anxious and searching look upon the fanner, as after listening to the roar of the mighty river, he exclaimed, | "Now, God help him ! for so sure as he tries to cross the drift this night, he ronst perish." "But he hears our wanting," cried Emma, as she waved her Hands to her lorei. "Seei he laughs, and lifts liis forage cap, and stops his horse. And he is alone ; ah ! I know how it is<; he has been wailing for his com rade ;* if he had not done so, he would have been liore in the morning. Ob, Ed ward, Edward !" exclaimed the unhappy girl in an agony, the depths of which could not be understood by her auditors, "Oh, Ed ward, how could you put faith in Lira and he a drunkard 1" And her lover, now at the edge of the drift, saw her distorted features, her clasped hands, and resolved on trying to comfort her in distress. Her surmise was too true, he had put faith in a drunkard, and finding (hat if he waited any longer, there would not be sufficient light for him to make the journey before the time appointed for tho marriage,t he had started alone on a horse borrowed from a friend whose household cares did not permit his joining tho bridal party; anJ, ob serving tho storm gathering along ihe hills, had made such haste as the roads, strewed with loose stones, and a horse taken off grass, permitted. The river lay between him and happiness. —He oouldnot distinguish a word uttered by the group on the opposite side, for the wa ters roared and tumbled over the stones, and the alder boughs swayed to and fro, as the wind came whistling up the stream. Would that the shriek which burst from the lips of his betrothed, could have reached his ears as his tired horso put its foot into the turbid river, drew it back, snorted, and resisting the blow of the sambokt bestowed on its smoking flanks by the impatient rider, less wary of his danger than the sagacious beast turned its face toward the stony hill, and would have retraced its path, but for Ed ward's determination that it should ford tlie drift. After resisting the whip for several min utes, the horse, as though bent onl revenging itself on its master, plunged into the river, rose gallantly at the stoneß over which the restless clement tnmblod with the violence * Every soldier has a "comrade," each being bound to assist each other in tak.ng chargp of his effects when absent en duty from the barracks, helping him in accoutring for parade, &c. t In South Africa, where the clergyman has sometimos a ride of seventy miles, the wedding often takes place at night. X Whig of eea cow's hido. of a cascade, scattered the spray right and left, and had just reached the last ledge of the rocks, when its hoofs slipped under it, and it was borne with its rider down the foa. ming current. For a few moments only '.He spectators on the bank had a view of the young soldiers face as he shook himself from his struggling horse, spread out his arms in a vain attempt to swim, sunk in the bubbling eddies, rose again, and tossing helplessly in the surge, was cast within a few feet of the bank. His cap had fallen from his head, his brow was knit with despair—ono more dosparate plunge, but a flood of water that loosened the largest fock, and carried it onward, lifted tho youth from the footing he had for an in stant gained, whirled him over and o'ver, and rapidly swept him down. They heard his cry; they rushed along tho brink of the dangerous stream, swinging from bough to bough when their feci failed them on the clayey soil; they followed, though they knew they could not help. Still that despai ring cry, mingling with the toar of the river, and the whistling boughs of alders and long tressed willows, and tho crashing ol falling rocks. Still that cry—fainter—fainter—it dies away ; an unearthly scream/—the ago nized farewell of ttio drowning horse, rises with shrill powerabove the tumult, the light ning scathes a noble treo, and the terrified and sorrowful people como back to tell that the hapless Edward bad passed into the illi mitable ocean of eternity ! ######• As the interest of this extraordinary tale rests chiefly on the events conuootcd with the career of the young soldier and the sail-1 or girl, I have deemed it advisable to drop the curtain on the scene of Edward's mel ancholy death. But there is a sequel to Em ma's history, which is as follows : After the shock experienced at so fatal an occurrence, she again obtained employment in a respectable household, and, sometime afterwards united herself to a sergeant of dragoons, who, in a few weeks, was c'rde-ed into the field against the Kafirs, and relum ing badly wounded, subsequently obtained his discharge, and a comfortable appoint ment under government. A FLIRTATION.—The Manchester Demo crat relates the following incident, in which one of our countrymen figured : A young American gentleman (a Mr P who is visiting Paris with tho "old folks") went to a masked ball to see the elephant, and to have some fun. His great desire was to meet an angel of the fair sex. He first looked alt round, waiting to make a decision the moment he should find u fino waist and small feet. These beauties ho discovered in a domino of small figure, who took MB arm and began to intrigue with him. The lady told him his name, the city of the United Slates from which he was, and after all these prelimina ries, she related to him many flirting excur sions which he had made last year at Sara toga and Newport. All these things whisp ered in good English, were very puzzling to Mr. P : and, in order to ft ml out who was his fair companion, he invited her to supper in a private cabinet. The lady first refused ; but after some time she consented, and the counle started in a carriage for the woll known restaurut ol Vachette, where all the Americans take their meals. A cab inet was opened, the pelitsoupcr was ordered ; and when they came to eat it, tho lady was obliged to take off her mask. Mr. P. (lis covered in her—whom ? Guess it. give it up? She was his mother. Tt a ro mance was ovor, ar.d ho took tho joke tho best way he could. Mrs P. is one of the prettiest women in Paris; and ro one when looking at her—considering the freshness of her complexion and the beauty of her charms—would suppose that she had a son twenty three yoars of age. DANDY ALL OVER —'Good gracious!' drawl cd out a Brummolite of the first water, who was breakfasting with some friends one morning—"good gracious 1 I'm dreadfully distressed, unspeakably fatigued, already, absolutely exhausted. are horrid things. Why cati't do without mornings! Will you, my dear madam," continued he addressing a young lady who sat next to him, "will you be so obliging as to try and open that muffin for me, for, posi tively, I havn't strength ; and in the mean time I'll make an effort to flirt with this bit of toast." DIDN'T MEAN THAT EVENING —A cracked brained man, who was slighted by tho to males, very modestly asked a young lady, 'if she would let him spend the evening with her.' 'Noshe angrily replied, 'that's what 1 won't-' 'Why,'replied he, 'you needn't be so fus sy ; I didn't mean this evening, but some stormy one when I can't go any where elee.' If you would pass for a culprit, all that's necessary is to look like one. Ia the opin ion of most jurors, the man that hangs his head deserves hanging. "Carry up," there fore. Justico is an easily humbugged as girls. tW A gentleman down east seeing his pretty maid with his wife's bonnet on, kissed her, supposing her to be the real owner. He soon discovered his error through the assistance of his wile. " Iraniston," Barnum's residence in Fair- Field, Ct., has been sold for a water cure cs mcnt [Tiro Dollars per Annans NUMBER 18. From the Albany Dutchman. Crumbs for All Kinds of Chickens. A POOR DEVlL.— 'fhe man who marries at) heiress. As long as a woman is dependant on her husband for support, he is surely ot hor wheedling, if not of her good sense. Lot her be able to pay her own way," how ever, and he is reduced to a non-entity—a sort of tenant by sufferance, whose presence In the house is needed rather to account for the frequency of children, than to minister to its comforts, or take part in its responsi bilities. There is but one creature more de serving of pity than such a husband, and (hat's a good nalured dog with four lengths of stove pipe lied to iis tail. A late writer, in speukiug of Bostotiians, says, they divide their time between meia. physics and "lancy poullry;" ar.d while they look upon Einorson as far ahead of inspira tion, they look upon a thirty pound roolet as tar ahead of him. Which is the most difficult to find, acock eyed canary bjrd, or a wicked man that laughs heartily ? Vice is not only as sharp as a steel trap, but ulmost as snappish. A rogue may raise a smile, but a good hearty laugh is as much beyond his roach as hap piness. Before you pronouueeou a man's virtue you should ascertain what salary he gels. Our divines are rather exemplary in their conduct—but when you come to recollect that their virtue is lrequently rewarded at the rate of threo thousand a year, you will perceive that what is now termed morality, is only another name for selfishness and dis cretion. To teR whether u man is really honest, let him carry a hod for 5 shilling a day, wilh tho thermometer at 90 in tho shade. The passion for bare shoulders arid short frocks has so increased with our belles thai Dobbs says it's almost impossible to tell when a young lady starts for a bull, whether she is dressed or undressed. Whether a man's pot-Ret book is full or empty, it should be closely buttoned under his overcoat and jacket. While a purse la boring under a plethora will subject you to the kind attentions of bores and borrowers, one that has had the diarrhcca will secure you too many attentions from your landlord and washerwoman. The best way to com mand respect, is to throw about your resour. .n. as much mysterious uiiceriaiutx as pos sible. A genius up town has just invented a ma chine for hatching out ideas. On a rest filled with u rh) tiling dtolionsry, two Fpelling books, and a copy of Tom Moork, ho sits an admirer of Willis. At the expiration of three weeks a progeny of half fledged thoughts are produced, which will pass, for poetry with uiue girls out of ten. Since belles are so anxious to wear some thing not worn by their rivals, isn't it singu lar that none of them have ever thought of putting on a little modesty 1 Wo pause, &c. "EXTRAVAGANC*" —Such tastes in other people as we should like to indulge in out selves, if we only had the means. Otto half of our condemnation is only another name for an empty pocket book. The less a man thinks tho faster ho writes. Byron would sometimes labor a whole day over a single line. The poet to Day & Mar tin's blacknittg will write you an eu.ire ode in fifteen minutes. People are like trees— the more loaves they produce tho less fruit. Tho happiost day in a man's lifo, is tho day ho first thinks of poolty and milk maids. There is a pink tingn about that period of existence, in comparison with which every other portion of our pilgrimage seems dark, prosy, and miscellaneous. To brighten conversation, dip it iu cham paigns. Whether men are ugly when they aro drunk, depends a good deal on what they imbibe. While lowpri cod brandy u>invari ably given to bloody noses and thoat-cutting beer takes to history, and bores you wifh' ' the last vvat" and Coriolanus. Comfort and Christianity are tnoro noarly' connected than most people imagine. Elder Swan says in all bis experience, he never know a man to lie converted while ho hod tight boots on. Divines will plcoso notice. Timon, in speaking of gossips, says they havo got a happy faculty of marrying every body but themselves. Dandies divide time, not into weeks and months, but iato shirts and dickies. A cloan linen day is une sacred to promenados and pomatum—a dirty linen day, on the contrary is devoted to Moore's Melodies and an attic bod room. Men are like boats, the lighter their draff the easier they skim about among shallows. The same philosopher that will sail through a senate with flying colors, will no sooner drift into a drawing room, then he will find himself hard aground on some barren or oth er that a coxcomb will float over with all the grace of a swallow. FOLLV— To think that you can make perk out of pig iron, or that you can become a shoemaker by just drinking sherry "cob biers." TIIF. GLASS or FASHION— A glass of chani paigne.