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CHARLES W. HANCOCK. Publisher— J. B. RANDALL, Editor. THE .UkHlErr.l IIELICOV, IS PUBLISHED EVERY THURSDAY MORNING BY CHARLES W. HANCOCK. ,TSI \f S.--Tw.» D h.lvis per annu n, in advance T.ires D M.r.atis, |if pay incut be delayed longer than three months. No subscriptions received for a less period than six months; an'd none discontinued until all arrearages are paid] except at the option of the Proprietor. Rates of Advertising. One dollar per square (12 lines or less) for the first insertion, and 50 cents for each continuance. A liber al deduction made Jto those who advertise by the Quarter, or year. Letters of Citation, ...S2 50 Notice to Debtors and Creditors 3 25 Four Months’ Notices, 4 00 Sale of Personal Property, by Executors,’Adminis trators, or Guardians 3 50 £?ales of Lands or Negroes, by do .4 75 Applications for Letters of Dismission 4 50 •Sties ot Land and Negroes by Administrators, Ex ecutors or Guardians, are required by law to be held on the first Tuesday in the month, between the hours ■ often in tire forenoon and three in the afternoon, « | Che Court House in the county in which the property I is situated. Notices ofthesc sales must !>•» aiven in public gazette sixty Dtvs ffevfow tethe day ot sale Notices for the sale of personal property must bo given in like manner, forty days previous to the day ofsale. Notices to the debtors and creditors of an es tate must also be published forty days. Notices that application will be made to thejCourt of Ordinary tor leave to sell Land, 'or Negroes must be bulished fogs months. Citations for Letters of Administration must be pub lished thirty days— for dismission from administration monthly far six months— for dismission from Guar dianship, fuity days. Rules for foreclosure oi Mortgage must be publish ed monthly for four months—for establishing lost pa pers,/or itc still space of three months— for compelling I titles from Executors or A nninistrators, where a bond | has been given by the deceased,/or the full space j 0/ three months. All Letters on business connected with the Os- 1 fiee, must be directed to the Publisher, post-paid, to : meet with aitenlion. Poetry. Fiotn she Louisville Journal. THE LADY OF VERA CRUZ. BY CAPT. G. W. PATTEN, V. S. A. [During the recent bombardment of Vera Cruz by the American forces, it was ru mored that Oen. Morales, the senior offi cer, utterly refused the Surrender of the castle of San Juan de Ulloa, although the fcity was willing and anxious to capitulate. Regardless of the repeated and affecting appeals made to him on the score of hu manity, he remained inexhorable to the ■ last. But in the height of the storrri a par ley was sounded, and the city, together with the castle, was surrendered, notwith standing the opposition of its rigid com mander.] ' Stay, soldier, Stay —one kind reply ! One answer to my soul’s despair— M lien will the death-shell cease lo flv, The ball to hurtle through the air ? See yonder how the rockets gleam ! , The toppling steeples fall around— And pouring thick its sulphury stream, The bursting howitz ploughs the ground.’ 1 Hush, lady, hush —thy terrors hide, A noble foe is in the field; Art thou a gallant Soldier’s bride, And yet wodldst bid our leader yield ? We go to face the iron hail, Morales is our battle cry ; One cause is ours—no heart must quail—■ Morales —death or victory.’ ‘ My lord commands on yonder height, A child whose hand will do its best; Go tell him ’mid the strife to-night, His babe lies wounded on my breast• Behold ! it is a gentle child. And with his locks he loved to play, List eve within his arms it smiled He kissed it as he rode away!' 4 But now, alas it srrfilcs no mere, Its cheek is pale, and wild its brain — Its virgin robe is dark with gore Soldiers ! will none such Hood restrain ? They hear inc not —man scorns to hear— Os woman's wail—or infant’s cry— And hark ! again that dreadful cheer— Morales ! death or victory /’ She sunk before the image dim, Os her to earth a God who gave j “Mother, I plead through thee lo Dim ! Son of the Virgin! Jesu—save I” Straight ring’s a trumpet on the blast, The parley sounds upon the air, Up runs the white flag to the mast, Indulgent heaven has heard that prayer. Camp before Vera Cruz, March 29, 2817. Miscellany. From the New York Times. . REVOLUTIONARY INCIDENTS. THE FEMALE SCOUT. BY VW. T. ROGERS, JR. The devoted patriotism and indomita ble courage exhibited by the American women during the struggle fur independ ence, has been the eloquent theme of many an able writer, and the subject of many a gifted pen. Numberless were the instances in which these noble wo men, unawed by terrible threats and cowardly insult, proved how immeasur ably superior they were, in mental and moral courage to their base oppressors. Actuated by a sincere and unbounded love fortheir country and their country’s welfare, they suffered privation and hardship, without a murmur, and bore up under trials the most severe without, complaint. To their determined and un- fUrficott® ceasing efforts, Freedom owes much.— Tbcir fervent prayers and when neces sary, their individual example, had an unbounded influence with the spirited colonists; and their approving smiles, and heartfelt thanks, rendered our fore fathers doubly strong in their determina tion to throw ofl the galling yoke of British tyranny. In all the ages of the world, the influ ence of women over a people engaged in an important undertaken has been felt and acknowledged. More especially in cases of the invasion of a country by a foreign power, has it made itself appa rent. The invaders knew this, and against them directed their strongest ef forts. The fact is a notorious one, that the ■ American females were brutally treated, j I wantonly insulted, and. in many instan-1 ccs. cruelly wronged sol-. fliers, the subordinate officers, ana often, ' by those of high authority. . By a few of the commanders, ’t is true, , l they were always treated with the deli cate consideration ami gentle care which | is ever their due; but many others, to , their everlasting shame, be it remember- | rd acted as though literally devoid of all the ennobling sentiments of the human heart, and totally lost to all feelings, ex cept the gratification of their own base ; passions and vindictive malice. Kate Solms was young, the breezes of I but seventeen summers had kissed her check, still she was in heart and mind a Woman. She was not what the world terms beautiful—her countenance was : not one that at first sight would impress the beholder with a profound admiration, or attract much more than a passing • glance. The uncommon regularity oi her features, gave her somewhat of a plain unattractive appearance, but the expression of firm resolve, blended with affectionate tenderness that sat upon her i expansive brow, rendered her features eveii when in repose highly interesting. Os education she could boast but lit tle, but being possessed of good natural abilities, and habitually observant and reflecting, she had acquired stores of use ful knowledge, and was intelligent far beyond what her years and her advanta- i ges would seem to promise. The teem ing volume of nature Was her class book; her wondrous works her constant study ; and tVith a soul sensitively alive to all the sublimity and beauty el Nature’s teachings, what wonder that her progress was rapid and certain; It is not in bustling towns or crowded cities that the mental faculties are strong est or earliest developed, or the emotions of the heart deepest or most ardent. It does not require the crowded ball room, ; the fascinating quadrille, tile vuluptiiou"’ waltz, the fashionable promenade, the ' gorgeous spectacle, the unceasing round of gaiety, the flattery and adulation, or I the hypocritical sycophancy of a cffii ventional life, to call into active exist ence finer sentiments of the human heart. Far from it. The God of Na ture has implanted in each individual breast an irresistible impulse—a strong necessity of loving ; and the unsophisti cated, unlettered maiden of the forest, nurtured among the wild hills, in the humblest cottage, is as much the object of His care and protection as the sus ceptible sighing beauty in palace halls. I And Kate had learned to love. Not with the cool, calculating, selfish aflec-' tionof the worldling or the fickle, tran sient flame of the impulsive, but with her whole heart —her whole nature—her , whole soul. Iler love was all devotion, pure, unselfish and holy, every kindly feeling of her nature was engaged—all • her sympathies enlisted. Robert Welling, a young lieutenant in the Jersey line was the object of all this , affection,’nor was it lost upon him. He was a young man of education and deep , feeling, and appreciating her devotional returned it with all the warmth, all the' sincerity and truth of which his ardent. nature was capable. He was the com-! mandant of a company of scouts, and being engaged in a service of great im portance was constantly periling his life. On the 24th June, 1777, after the re treat of the British army from Bruns wick to Amboy, Gen. Washington tem porarily removed bis camp from Nliddlc brook to Quibbletown. Light parties of dragoons were thrown out to hover near the enemy’s lines, and the scouts were : directed to use every means in their pow-; cr to ascertain the direction of the fu-: ture movements of the enemy. Well- j ing’s company was actively employed in | small parties—some in British uniform,! some disguised as farmersand hucksters, 1 vending provisions; others moving to and fro, ready to convey to the Republi can camp any intelligence their com panions were enabled to obtain. Among the party was a slightly built youth who had joined them upon the breaking up of the camp at Middle brook, and insisting upon becoming one of their number, had attached himself • closely to the person of their leader. Spite of all his efforts he could not overcome the determination ol the youth and after explaining the nature and dif ficulty of the service and giving him the necessary instructions, they proceeded to their dangerous task. The Captain of the scout’s was a gal lant and daring fellow and had ventured cluse to one of the British outposts, and leaving his horse had reached the barn 1 of Mr. Hiram Hughes, near Rahway, and entering with his companion had se- • creted himself in the straw, and was quietly awaiting the movement of his foes. They had scarcely time snugly to ensconce themselves in the “ linturn,” when several soldiers entered the stable and commenced saddling their horses, and at the same lime discussing the pro priety of an attack which they were about to make upon a company of mili tia., stationed about four miles distant.— As soon as they were gone Welling and his comrade hurried forth to convey the I intelligence of the intended attack, and 1 by anticipating the arrival of the British to ensure them a warm reception. I They had gone but a short distance , when the clatter of horses hoofs was . heard directly behind them, and though 1 his younger companion urged the neces sity oi fighting, Welling who knew their jaded animals were no match for the fresh horses of their pursuers, deemed it prixHoixt to neU,. infr. wrrwwJ and allow them to pass by. -They had barely time to attain the shelter of a neighboring copse, when a party of dra goons numbering about twelve passed in hot pursuit of the scouts who had been noticed to leave the barn, and take the direction in which they were riding. As they reached the spot where the fugitives had turned off', they divided into parties and commenced the search of the sur rounding wood. Welling reflected Ibra few moments upon the course he would pursue, then beconing his comrade to follow, he dis mounted and retraced his steps back to wards the barn. They reached it in safe ty, and as they thought, undiscovered, but a dragoon had remained on guard, and seeing them enter, sounded a re-call, which brought the whole party instantly back. The rushed in, and care fully securing the entrance, commanded the scouts to surrender. But Welling, who knew that he could expect no mer cy from the hands of the soldiers, bade his companion prepare for the worst, and stood like a lion at bay, bidding the defi ance. The boy far from exhibiting any symptoms of fear, appeared entirely to forget his own danger, and to disregard his own personal safety in his anxiety for that ol his elder companion. The officer nettled at the cool obstina cy of the scouts, ordered his men to fire upon them. At the first mention of the word “ fire,” the boy threw himself before his comrade, and received the contents as the musket levelled at him. "The youth fell, faintly ejaculating the name of “ Robert.” The sound of the loved voice, no longer distinguished told him at once that it was his own Kate “ Friends ! exclaimed he, “you have slain a woman !"— The soldiers fell back thunder stricken, and poor Kate breath ing forgiveness to her murderers, and a prayer for her lover yielded her spirit to him who gave it. “ Cowards !” he cried, “ you have rob bed me of all 1 held dear on this earth —you have taken from me the only be ing for whom I would wish to live ; my life is no longer of any worth to me—vil lians ! do your worst 1 but stop’—before you murder me this for the cowardly as- ’ sassin 1 The soldier who had fired the . dead shot lay dead on the floor, and the j next instant Robert Welling fell pierced 1 by a dozen balls ! Not content, the blood thirsty ruffians plunged their bayonets into his prostrated body spurned it be neath their feet. A cry from one of their number arres ted the horible butchery, and made them sensible oftheir own dangerous situaiion. The straw at one side of the barn had taken fire from the wad of Welling’s pis tol and whilst they were engagedin their bloodthirsty' work, had gained fearful headway. The soldiers rffshed at once to the doors, but in addition to their own a true hearted negro, a servant in the family of Hughes (who, with his house hold had been compelled to remove to make room for the'Soldiers) had securely bolted and barricaded them without, and deprived them of any hope of escape. The flames increased rapidly, and in a few moments the whole building was enveloped in a sheet of living fire. Not one of the dragoons escaped f ; suffocated by the smoke they fell victim to the fury of the flames, and perished in the funeral pyre of Robert and the Fe male ScOut ! “ Botn’at Trenton, N. J. 1851—a grandson ol his brother James, was a schoolmate ot the writer, and is now a private in one of Col. Stevenson’s California regiment. + Vide Lord Howe’s official despatch, dated “ Sta ten Island, July 3d, 1777.” ALLSTON’S APHORISMS. In presenting an account of the late ' Washington Allston, an American pain ter of eminence, the Athenaeum places before its readers the following aphorisms of which he was the author. We arc told that Mr. Allston wrote them on frag- I meats of paper, which he stuck up around his room, as aids to reflection before he i began his day's work. Gopied into our pages, they may be of use in lowering j self-esteem in others besides painters : | ‘l. The painter who is content with | the praise of the world in respect to what does not satisfy himself, is not an artist, but artisan ; for though his reward be only praise, his pay is that of a me chanic for his time, and not for his art. 2. He that seeks popularity in art clos es the door on his own genius ; as he must needs paint for other minds, and not for his own. 3. Reputation is but a synonyme of pop ularity, dependent on suffrage, to be in- ' creased or diminished at the will of the 1 voters. It is the sn f 0 speak, MARIETTA GEORGIA,-THURSDAY MORNING, JUNE 17, 1£47. of its particular age, or rather of a par ticular state of society; consequently, dying with, that which sustained it.— llcnccwecan scarcely go over a page of history, that we do not, as in a church yard, tread upon some buried reputation. But feme cannot be voted down, having its immediate foundation in the essential. It is the entcrnal shadow of excellence, from which it can never be separated; nor is it ever made visible but in the light of an intellect kindred with that of its author. It is that light which’ projects the shadow which is seen of the multi tude, to be wondered at and reverenced even while so little comprehended as to be often confounded with the thc substance being admitted from the shadow, as a matter of faith. It is the economy of Providence to provide such lights; like rising and setting stars, they / J. it. .. 1 ages ; and thus she monumonfal forTnoF‘ genus stands for ever relieved agaihst its own imperishable shadow. 4. All excellence of every kind is but variety of truth. If we wish, then, for something beyond the true, we wish for that which is false. According to this test, how 1 ttle truth is there in art ! Little indeed 1 but how much is that lit tle to him who feels it I 5‘ Fame does net depend on the will of any man, but reputation may be giv en or taken away. Fame is the sympa thy of kindred intellects, and sympathy is not a subject of willing ; while repu tation, having its source in the popular voice, is a sentence which may either be uttered or suppressed at pleasure. Rep utation, being essentially contemporane ous, is always at the mercy of the envi ous and the ignorant. But fame, whose very birth is posthumous, and which is only known to exist by the echo of its footsteps through congenial minds, can neither be increased nor diminished by any degree of will. 6. What light is in the natural world, such is fame in the intellectual; both re quiring an atmosphere in order to be come perceptible. Hence the fame of Michael Angelo is, to some minds, a non enity ; even as the sun itself would be invisible in vacuo. 7. Faa?e has ho necessary conjunction With praise; it may exist without the breath of a word ; it is a recognition of excellence which must be felt, but need not be spoken. Even the envious must feel it; feel it, and hate it in silence; , 8. 1 cannot believe that any man who deserved fame ever laboured for it—that is, directly. For as fame is but the con tingent of excellence,- it would be like an attempt to project a shadow before its whs- obtained- . Mnnv. howev er, nayc so fancied. ‘ 1 write, 1 paint for fame.” has often been repeated ; it should have been, f ‘ I write, 1 paint for my reputation.” All anxiety, therefore, about fame should be placed to the ac count of reputation. 9. A man may be pretty sure that he has not attained excellence, when it is notfall in ail to him. Nay, I may add, that if he looks beyond it, he has not reached j it. This is not the less true for being good Irish. 10. An orginal mind is rarely under stood until it has been reflected from some half-dozen congenial with it: so averse are men to admitting the t'-ue in dn unusual form ; whilst any novelty, however fantastic, however false, is gree dily swallowed. Nor is this to be won dered at; for all truth demands a re sponse, and few people case to think, yet they must have.something to supply the place of thoygbE Every mind would appear original, if every man had the power of projecting his own into the mind of others. 11. All effort at originality must end either in the quaint or the monstrous. — For no man knows himself as an origi nal ; he can only believe it on the report of others to whom he is made known, as he is by the projecting power before spo ken of. . 12. There is an essential meanness in the wish to get the better of any one.— The only competion worthy a wise man is with himself. 13. Reverence is an ennobling senti ment ; it is felt to be degrading only by the vulgar mind, which would escape sense of its own littleness by elevating itself into the antagonist to what is above it. 14. He that has no pleasure in looking tip, is not lit to look down. Os such minds are the mannerists in art; in the world tyrants of all sorts. 15. A witch’s skiff cannot more ea sily sail in the teeth of the wind, than the human eye can lie against fact; but the truth will often quiver through lips with a He upon them. 16. It is a hard matter for man to lie all over, nature having provided king’s evidence in almost every member. The hand will sometimes act as a vane to show which way the wind blows, when every feature set the other way ; the knees smite together and sound the alarm of fear under a fierce countenance ; the legs shake with anger when all above is calm. 17. Make no man your idol! For the best man must have faults, and his laults will usually become yours, in addition to your own. This is as true in art as mor als. 18. The devil’s heartiest laugh is at a detracting witticism. Hence the phrase “ devilish good” has sometime a literal meaning. ' 19, There is one thing wh'ch noma n however generously disposed, can give, but which every one, however poor, is bound to pay. This is praise, lie can not give it, because it is not his oWn ; since what is dependent for its very ex istence on something in another, can he justly withhold, it when the presence of merit claims it as a cohsequenc’e/ As praise, then, cannot be made a gift, so neither, when not his due, can' any man receive ithe may think he does, but he receives only words ; for desert being the essentia! condition of praise, there can be no reality in the one without the other. This is no fanciful statement; for though praise may be withheld by the ignorant ot envious, it cannot be but that, in the course of time, an existing merit will on some one, produce its effects J inas much as the existence of and cause with out its effect is an impossibiit’y. A fear- VIP.S clt lilt? GmAVqvt* oC -h-l* 'irrevefslble’jtTsTftjn for the weal or woof him who confirms or violates it. ROTTEN SLEEPERS'. Mr. Valatine H. Sourghnor, an ec centric friend, living in Pruntytown, has specially requested us to inform’ his friends that he has removed the old slee pers from his house, having discovered they were rotten, and has replaced them with new ones. Good; the notice, as requested, is hereby given to each and every one of his friends, singly and sep arately, who may chance to see this ar ticle. But before we dismiss the matter may we not collect a few morals from this little incident in the affairs of domes tic life. Moral Iff. When you discover that you are in the possession of a genteel ed ucation, but that that education is used for licentious purposes, aiding you in pur suit of crime and wickedness, to the neg lect to the Bible, and its grand and im portant truths—be satisfied that the sleepers of your bouse are rotten and need removing. 2d. When, as a married nian, you find more pleasure in visiting the grogshop and gambling table, than in the compa ny of your wife and children ; breaking the heart of an affectionate wife, raising your children in idleness, vice and shame —feel assured, the sleepers to your house are in a rapid state of decay, and must soon be replaced with better ones, or your house will totter and fall; 3d. When, as a mechanic you habit uall y and unnecessarily neglect your work shop, leaving your business in the care of inexperienced work-men, and your customers disappointed—take the hint; the rot has laid hold of your sleepers, the Work of decay has at least commenced. 4in. Wneh, asan aspiring politician, you mingle freely with dfanri-drinking community, quaffing largely at the bowl yourself, that you may be thought a so ciable, clever fellow; becoming a sot for the gain of a few votes—take the alarm; your house certainly stands on rotten sleepers. sth. When, as a farmer, you become attached to a petty Speculation, leaving yflilr fdrni for days and weeks ata time, and gaining nothing but the reputation of an idler ; briers and thorns occupying the placethat should.be devoted to the culture of breadstuff's and grass ; your fencing rotting down your cattle starv ing and straying off—let us admonish you, your house needs new sleepers: 6th. When you contract the habits of slandering, back-biting rind news-bear ing—our recent correspondents would say to you, your# house has rotten slee pers. ftli. When as professors of religion, you habitually neglect the house of pray er the work of decay is be gun ; your house has rotten sleepers. Sth; When, as a professor of religion, you contract a fondness foi’ ardent spirits become a drunken professor, wound the feelings of your brethren, and as far as your influence extends, injure the cause of religion; we would say to you, ex amine the sleepers of your house ; they are not sound. INGRATITUDE—A FABLE. A strange dog was seen roaming the streets of a certain village, and coming to an open door, he entered where the family were at dinner, and was ordered out, but refused to obey, looking wishful ly at the table. When the master of the house had finished his dinner he rose from the tabla, and taking a bone, gave it to the dog, which he accompanied with a kick, exclaiming, “ Be gone ! you ugly cur 1” The dog took the bone and de parted. The following day he returned and received another bone, and a kick* and so for several days. One day as he was going out to the village to seek a place where he might repose in peace, he met a benevolent looking man, who patted him on the head, and said, “ My good fellow, you look as though you were friendless. If I knew you had no owner I would take’eare of you.” So saying he passed on. Not long after, a ferry boat was upset, in which were the men alrea dy mentioned. Neither of them could swim, and they were in danger of being drowned. A dog plunged into the river and passing by one of the men, took the other by the coat, and drew him ashore. Auain he went in and taking the man he had before rejected, by the hand, which he pressed between his teeth, took ashore also. He was recognised to be the same dog which had been fed by one man and caressed by the other. The first addres sed him in these words; “Ungrateful VOLUME IV—NUMBER dog! I 1 fed you, and kept you from? starving nearly a week ; and this is th o’ return you make. You pass by me tc? save the'life of one, who has done no thing for you, before you assist me, afi<f you have bit my hand severely, but inf helping him, you did him no hurt. 'The* dog listened to this speech, then locking* the man in the face, said : “ you saved my life, and I have saved yotfrs J you* fed the one you loved best, (yourSeii,; before you fed me, though 1 was famish ing. 1 first helped cut of the river, the one I loved best, (my friend.) When I brought you oufyou were struggling with death. You in feeding me, also kicked my side. lin helping you, also bit your hand.” The animal then turned to hi# benevolent friend, looked kindly in hi#- face and licked his hands and feet. Moral. —s They who accompany bene -vw-icVc insalt and injury, may expCCt to be rcLompewwt! in L. L, DCF J Kendall, of the Picayune, in a late letter from Jalapa relates the follow* ing remarkable recovery of a Volunteer who was wounded at the battle of Cerra Gordo ; and also mentions an occurrence at that place which shows the degrading nature of the punishment, inflicted of? those belonging to the army who are guilty of committing capital offences : “ Speaking of wounded men, I will relate one little incident. When Gener al Shields was brought out from the spot where he was wounded, to a place where several others had already been taken, I happened to be present. After the wound of the gallant general had been dressed, the wants of the others—perhaps there was some ten or fifteen of them—were attended to. Among them was one stout Illinois man, named Ford, the half of whose head at least appeared to have been carried away by a heavy cannon ball. One of our best surgeons, Dr. Wright, went up to the poor fellow when his turn came, and to my astonishment commenced clipping the shattered por tions of Lis face, jaw and ear which still hung to him, and afterwards dressed the’ wound as well as circumstances would admit. I say wound ;it Was worse than! a wound, and a description of it would, be too horrible. The battle was now over and every moment they were bring ing some fresh victim of the re'sultso fthd recent strife. It seemed to me that oth - ers needed the services of the good sur geon more than did the unfortunate in dividual in question—his case was cer tainly hopeless; There Were arms and Joyrf to amputate, L>cil)s to extract, and the writhings of the wounded showed hofw much they needed the surgeon’s office ; yet he continued with the Il linois mttn until he had patched his shattered head and bound it up as well as he was able; This was on the 18'h of April. Two or three days Since, When nearly a month had passed away, I met Dr; Wright here in the streets of Jalapa, and asked him how long the mail in question lived. If I was ever astonished in my life, it was when he told me that he was still alive, and what was more# that he wag well and hearty I A portion of his face, his jaws on one side, and his ear are gone, but the man will soon be strong enough to shoulder his musket again, and is said to be more anxious than eVer to have another turn with the Mexicans. Four men belonging th the army are to undergo most severe punishment this afternoon : they are to receive thirty nine lashes each in the Plaze are to have their heads shaved,- and after the word ‘ robber' is pasted on each of their backs they are to be drummed out of camp.—* This thing of publicly whipping a man is most degrading ; but their crime was the premeditated robbery of the house of a Mexican and under circumstances deserving of the most severe punishment., 'Three of them belonged to the 4th Ar tillery, and one to the 2d Pennsylvania Regiment. Table Talk.-—Some of the Represen tatives of the Lngisture are occasionally the subjects of a joke, probably from their inquisitive dispositions. At the ta* ble of one of our hotels on Washington street, one of the “ wisdom,” who was in the habit of asking those arround him, instead of the waiter, to wait on him# one day asked Mac, the gentleman oppo site, ‘ Can you reach them perfaters sir V Mac extended his arms towards the dish and satisfied himself that he could reach the pertaters, and answered, ‘ Yes, sir.’ ‘And will yoti stick my fork into one of ’em?’ asked the Rep. ‘ () certainly,’ said Mac, as he took the fork, carefully stabbing it into the pota» toe, where he left it. At this the Rep. was somewhat vexed, and asked, rather tartly. ‘will you pass me my fork?’ • A ! your fork ! yes—oh, yes sir 1’ and taking hold of the fork he drew it from the potatoe. and passed it back to the Rep., whose nerves were not a little shocked. ‘Waiter! waiter! I say!’ cred the Rep.’ will you pass me a petater ? Pv boen trying for half an hour to get one, and it you don’t pass’em along purty sun® I’ll vacate my seat and report your con* duct to my insulted constiterwen‘B!’—* Boston Paper.