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volume ii. | J\, W®®My wsjpstjpaip § IG)®wft®S to PelM®s p Jfows* IMtoimimir®* i^.ggfi®nltoir® a M©®lhsuns® JLuto, ‘o@n©im®® a &@ 0 j number 39.
BY C. R. IIANLEITER.
T A L IE ® □
From the New Haven Morning Courier.
A COUSIN’S KISS,
liv ZEri'o.
„ There's j£fftM ! l' n i ‘ n “ his?, ‘l* ol never comes amiss.”
Buoyant with the spirits of youth, about
returning home, after an absence of several
vears, I looked forward with almost childish
glee to meeting with my affectionate uncle
and aunt. Having finished my profession,
the fond recollections of the past, and the
bright anticipations of the future, seemed
to vie in affording joy to the present, and
equally to inspire mo with emotions of de
light. I was an oipliun, with neither broth
ers or sisters; but then 1 had a blooming
cousin, and that was pretty much the same
thing, for we had grown together from al
most infancy; ami if she was uol a sister, l
was not then philosopher enough to know
the diff'ereuce.
During my travel homeward, I tried to
picture to myself the familiar scenes so
fondly loved, from which 1 had so long been
separated; and whenever my imagination
reverted to my cousin, (which I must con
fess they frequently did,) I saw the fancied
transports with which she would “ welcome
me home.” Alas ! that we should he so
vain.
I was received with open ai ms and evi
dent pleasure by my kind relatives, and
when I was kissed by them all —uncle, aunt,
nurse, down almost to the washerwoman —
it was absolutely ourtrageous —“ positively
shocking!”—that Harriet, my pretty, blush
ing cousin, should alone refuse the kiss most
O _ ’
desired.
Such, then, was the’ termination of all
my glowing day-dreams, and though her
eyes did sparkle with joy, it was not exact
ly the meeting I had expected. But she
was so lovely, I could not get angry ; it
would have been utigallant in the highest,
and if I could, I understood the female heart
enough to know that resentment was not
the way to obtain the wished for kiss. 1 hat
she, who used to treat me with such frank,
and aitless familiarity, herself as gentle,
playful, and innocent as the fawn, and whom
1 had found the same fair being as formerly
with the exception that she was far more
beautiful, and had a little less nfthe
girl about her; I say, that she should
thus be reserved and obstinate—why,
1 declare, it was really too had ! How
could I win the coveted boon ? I was
puzzled ! My cousin was so popular, that
all the beaux in the country were in her
train ; and 1 had hut two months to stay,
before commencing my profession; and yet,
notwithstanding these difficulties, I was re
solved to gain the kiss, a thousand times
more valued, now that :t was so pertina
ciously withheld. I must try.
There was one of her suitors named
Summer, whom she seemed to like better
than the rest; and I must say, that during
the first month of tnv visit, she coquetted
with him a good deal at my expense. It
used to give me a touch of uneasiness now
and then, but I consoled myself with the re
flection, as I was not in love, that there was
no sense in being jealous, and beside, Mr.
Summer’s favorable reception had nothing
to do with my object of gaining a kiss. So
1 took to teasing my pretty cousin about
her favorite lover. This made a great
change in her conduct, as I soon perceived.
She denied the charge at first, and then
grew really worried that I wouldn’t believe
her, and finally showed me a pretty mark
ed preference on every occasion. But 1
was only a cousin, and nobody took any no
tice of it. My walks and conversations
were all set down to the score of cousin
ship, but they were so delicious, that I re
gretted that the lime had come for mo to
think of my departure, and wished that
one’s cousin would be with one forever,
but I was not worth one copper dollar, un
less I could get some heiress l<> marry me
for pity ; and I saw no way of living with
out roughing it through life, so that it was
necessary I should do something for myself.
1 was too proud to trespass farther on the
bounty of my uncle, or rather I felt too keen
ly the sense of my boundless obligations
to him already, to be guilty of still greater
dependence on him ; for it had been through
his generosity 1 *had been placed at a pro
fession, and he had declared his intention of
aiding me still farther in my future career.
I must, therefore, have been ungrateful in
-deed, to have been long idle ; so my visit
was nearly up. Happy, too happy had
been those two short months, and Haniet
was the cause of it all. She, sweet angel,
like all the rest, charged it all to cousinsliip;
but l at last began to open my ejes, and
half sus peeled the truth, for 1 had noticed
that my cousin, unconscious to herself, seem
ed very fond of my presence. All this l
learned by close observations of her conduct
and innumerable trifles ; many a monarch
would have given his broad lands, his great
est victories, or the finest jewels in his
crown, to win such tokens of affection, from
the one he loved. Well, the two months
were up, and in all this time, I had not got
a kiss from my cousin.
It was the night but one before I was to
go away. I determined to make a last ef
fort. We were sitting by the window, and
the old folks were out; my pretty cousin
looked pensive, and doubtless felt so, for
was sometimes sentimental myself. It was
just the time fqrspelling thoughts; and the
moon shone tenderly upon the river in the
distance, pouring her silvery light like (airy
verdure on the distant hills. Harriet sat by
my side, and we were talking of my ap
proaching departure.
“ I shall be very busy to-morrow, Harri
et, said F, “and do not know whether I
shall lie able to come here in the evenin'* ’’
.She slowly rawrher da.k eyes tome,
td ,:er very soul scented pouting nut be
neath the long lashes, and, after seeming to
look right through me, answered—
“ Why not? You know how glad we
shall he to see you.”
“ Because,” said I, (a little piqued at the
wind, we, for, to tell the tiuth, I half sus
pected I was in love, and of course flatter
ed myself that it was reciprocal,) “ I shall
he very busy ; and, beside, I heard Summer
ask you the other night to go to II to
morrow night with him, and of course, my
pretty eoz, you go.”
“ There goes that Summer again,” said
site ; “ I declare you are too provoking, you
know what 1 think of him.”
“ Ah ! but,” replied I wickedly, “ actions
speak louder than words; why make en
gagements on the night an old companion is
going away ?”
Her gayety stopped at once. She hesi
tated an instant, and then answered—
“ I told him I would answer him to-day,
and I thought vve were all going together;
hut I’ll send him a note declining at once.
Ymi know you don’t mean what you said,
William.”
I laughed it off', and diiectly rose to de
pait.
“ How very soon you are going !” said
she, in something unusually melancholy in
its gentle tones.
“ And are you going to kiss me ?” said I
gavly, after a little metry conversation;
“ cousins always do at parting.”
“ Indeed 1 ain’t,” said she, saucily.
” Indeed you ought to,” said I, earnestly.
“ Indeed you are mistaken for once.”
“ Isn’t it your duty ?” said 1.
She said nothing, hut looked as if doubt
ful whether I was quizzing her or not.
“ I can prove it by Talmud,” said I.
A smile began to flicker around the cor
ners of her mouth. *
“ 1 can establish it by text!”
“ Indeed ?” said she. smiling archly at my
anticipated perplexity. Hut I was ahead of
her.
“ • Do unto others as you would he done
unto ;’ isn’t it, my pretty coz ?”
“ Well, really you deserve something for
your wit—did you learn that while study
ing your profession I” and her eyes danced
as she answered me.
I saw I was no match for her, so 1 betook
myself to anothei ground.
“ Well, good-bye, coz.”
“ So early ?”
“ Early /” end I began to pull on my
gloves.
“ You’ll be here to-morrow flight, won’:
you?” said she, persuasively.
“ Do you really wish me ?”
“How can you doubt it?” said she warmly.
“ But L shall interrupt a tete-a-tete with
Mr. Summer,” said I, teazingly.
“ Pshaw ! Mr. Summer again,” said she,
pettishly.
There was a moment’s silence, and at its
end came a low half-suppressed sigh. 1
began to think l was on the r ight track.
‘ You won’t give me a lass —if now it was
to mend Mr. Summer's glove or ”
“ It’s too provoking,” said she in a pen
sive tone, •• how can you think I care for
him?”
“ How can I ? you do fifty things for
him, you wouldn’t do for me.”
“ You don’t think so.”
“ Indeed I do,” said I.
•* William!”
“ I ask you for the smallest favor, I take
this one for a sample, and you refuse ; you
are voiy unfair, cousin,” and I took her
hand.
“ Why 1” said she, lifting her dark eye
till its uuze met mine, and her voice trem
bled a little as she repeated, “ Why ?”
“ Because you never do anything I ask
you to.”
“ Indeed Ido ! you know I do,” said she,
earnestly.
“ l wish I could think so,” said I, pen
sively.
We were standing by the window, and
I thought her hand Mumbled as I spoke ;
but she only turned away her head with a
sigh, and without speaking, gazed out up
on the lawn. At another time, perhaps, she
would have listened to my language differ-,
ently ; hut I was going away, perhaps for
ever, and the thought made her pensive.—
Yet she did not know hcrow n feeling: some
thina told her to grant the boon, it was but
a trifle—it seemed too foolish to hesitate;
but then something whispered toiler that she
ought not to do it. But then again it would
bo so reserved and uncousinly to refuse ;
and might I not justly be offended at her
prudery ? I could heat her breath, and see
her snowy bosom heave with contending
emotions. The conflict was going on be
tween love and reserve, and yet, poor girl,
site knew it not ! but I had seen more of
the world than my unsophisticated cousin.
“And you really won’t come to-morrow
evening—without”—site paused and blushed,
while tlie low, soft, half-reproaching tone
in which she spoke, smote me to the lieait,
and almost made me repent my persistence.
MADISON, MORGAN COUNTY, GEORGIA, FRIDAY MORNING, DECEMBER 21, 1813.
But then it was so pretty to see her pei
plexcd !
“ Harriet,” said I, “ 1 feel grieved ; you
do not think l should trifle with you. I
never before tried to test how true vvt-ie the
professions of those 1 love, and, if one is to
he thus bitterly deceived, I care not to try
again ;” and half letting go her hand, I
turned partially away.
Fora second she did not answer, hut she
looked upon the floor; and as she averted
her head 1 saw a tear-drop fall. Directly
a cloud came over the moon, and just as the
whole room was buried in a sudden shadow,
I heard a sigh that seemed to come front
the depths of my cousin’s heart ; I felt a
breath like zephyr steal across my face, a
thrill went through every nerve, as 1 felt
her soft and glowing kiss. 1 had conquer
ed. But a tear was on my face, and as I
piessed her hand mote warmly than be
came a cousin, a sudden revulsion of feel
ing came across her, the true secret of her
delicacy flashed like sunlight upon her nrind,
and feeling how utterly she had betrayed
herself, her head fell upon my shoulder and
1 heard a sob. My lieait stung me, and l
would have given worlds to have saved her
from that one moment of agony. But in
another instant came the consciousness that
1 loved her, and pressing my arm gently
around her, 1 drew her tenderly towards
me. W’e spoke no word, we whispered no
vow, but as I felt how pure a heart 1 had
won, a flash of holy feeling swept actossmy
soul. That moment I never shall forget.—
She ceased to sob, but she did not as yet
look up. It might have been five minutes,
or it might have In ert half an hour, I could
keep no measure of time.
“ Dear Harriet !”
“ Will yon riot come to-morrow night ?”
whispered she, lifting her dark eyes timidly
to my countenance.
“blow can 1 refuse, dearest ?” said I,
kissing the tears from her cheeks.
“ No, love—hut now—” and pressing her
again to rnv throbbing bosom, and imprint
ing on her lips a kiss, a burning, a passion
ate kiss, I murmured “good night, dearest,”
arid we parted.
The next morning I was greeted by a
glance from my cousin, which eloquently
told the feelings of her heart. Her embar
rassment did imt escape the penetration of
my good uncle, and when he heard the par
ticular of our interview, his laugh rang
loud and joyous, in spite of the blushes of
my dear Harriet. Though that was many
years ago, I ni still happy, a very happy
man; no less happy than when my lovely
cousin first became my wife.
Moii.H..
Courteous reader, having now concluded
my story, in conformity with the received
customs, 1 proceed to unfold my moral.—
The most sit iking lesson contained in it. is,
that anything may be accomplished by pro
per management ; and that the female heart
is never so obstinate, hut that it will yield
to gentleness. Again, cousins should be
closely watched. They play the deuce
with the gill’s hearts. They’re always
plucking your daughter a fiesh rose, or lift
ing her over the pebbly little brook; and
then they take such long walks in the sum
mer's twilight, nr i ide tor hours alone in a
Septembers afternoon, or sleigh away for
miles, on the clear moonlight nights of De
cember, with nothing but themselves for
company, and all this time when they ate
both budding into life, and fall into love as
naturally as the moth flies into the fire.
A FLEET MARRIAGE.
BY AN IRISHMAN.
Lady C. was a beautiful woman, hut La
dy G. was an extiavogant woman. She wa.%
still single, though lather passed extreme
youth. Like most pretty females, she had
looked too high, and estimated her mvn
loveliness too dearly, and now she refused
to believe that she was not so dial ruing as
ever. So no wonder she still lemnined un
married.
Lady C. had about five thousand pounds
in the world. She owed about forty thou
sand pounds; so with all her wit and beau
ty, she got into the Fleet, and was likely to
remain there.
Now, in the time 1 speak of, every lady
had her head dressed by barber; and the
barber of the Fleet was the handsomest
barber in the city of London. Fat Fhilan
was a great admirer of the fair sex ; nod
where’s the wonder ? Sure Fat wasari liish
mati. It was one vety fine morning, when
Fhilan was dressing her captivating head
that her ladyship took it into her mind to
talk to him, and Pat was well pleased for
Lady C.’s teeth was tlie whitest and her
smile the brightest in all the world.
So you’te not married, Fat, says she#
Devil an inch! your honor’s ladyship,
says he.
And wouldn’t ye like to be married ?
again asked she.
Would a duck swim?
Is there any one you’d prefer?
May be. madam, says he, you niver heard
of Kathleen O’Reilly, down beyatid Done
raile? Her father’s cousin to O’Doneghew,
who is own steward to Mr. Murphy. The
under-agent to my Lotd Lingstovvn and—
Hush! says she, sute 1 don’t want to
know who she is. But would she have you,
if you asked her?
Ah, then, I’d only wish I’d be after thry
ing that same.
And why don’t you ?
Sure I'm too poor. And Fhilan heaved
a prodigious sigh.
Would you like to be rich !
Does a dog bark !
If I make - you rich, will you do as I tel!
ye?
Mille murthers! your honor, don’t he
tantalizing a poor hoy.
Indeed I’m not, said Lady C. So listen :
llovv would you like to marry me ?
Ah, then, my lady. 1 believe the King
of Russia himself would lie proud to do
that same, luve alone a poor devil liko Pal
Fhilan.
W<-11, Fhilan, if you'll marry me to-mor
row I’ll give you one thousand pounds.
CAli ! whilahaloo! wlihibalon! sure I'm
mad, or enchanted by the good people, roar
ed Fat, dancing round the loom.
But there are conditions, says Lady C.
After the first day of our Nuptials you must
never see roe again, nor claim me for your
wife.
1 don’t like that, says Fat, for he had
been ogling her ladyship most desperately.
But, remember, Kathleen O’Reilly. With
the money I’ll give you, you may go and
niai i y her.
That's true, says he. But thin the biga
my ?
I’ll never appear against you, says her la
dyship. Only remember you must take an
oath never to call me your wife after to
moi row, and never to go telling all the story.
Devil a word I’ll ever say.
Well, then, says she, there’s ten pounds.
Go and buy a license, and leave the test to
me; and then she explained to him where
he was to go and when he was to come, and
all that.
The next day Fat was true to his appoint
ment, and found two gentlemen already
with her ladyship.
Have you got the license ? says she.
Here it is my lady, says he ; and lie gave
it to tier. She handed it to one of the gen
tlemen, who viewed it attentively. Then
calling in her two servants, she turned to
the gentleman who was reading.
And sure enough, in ten minutes Pat was
the YuisVvaiiTt, the legal husband of the love
ly Lady C.
That w ill do, says she to her new husband,
as he gave her a hearty kiss; that’l do. Now
sir give me my marriage certificate.
The old gentleman did so and bowing re
spectfully to the five pound note she gave
him, he retired with his clerk, for, sure
enough, I forgot to tell you that he was a
parson.
G*> and bring me the warden, says my la
dy to one *f her servants.
Yes, my lady, says she; and presently
the warden appeared.
Will you he good enough, says Lady C.,
in a voice that would call a bird out of a
tree, will vou he good enough to send and
fetch me a hackney coach ? 1 wish to leave
this piison immediately.
Your ladyship forgets, replied he, that
you must pay foiiy thousand pounds before
I can let you go.
lam a married woman. You can detain
my husband, but not me.
And she smiled at Fhilan, who began
rather to dislike the appearance of tilings.
Pardon me, my lady, it is well known you
are single.
I tell you I am married.
W line's your husband.
There, sir ! and she pointed to the aston
ished bather; there he stands. Here is my
marriage certificate, which you can peruse
at yoin leisure. My servants yonder were
witnesses of the ceremony. Now detain
me, sir, one instant at your peril.
The win den was dumb founded and no
wonder. Poor Fhilan would have spoken
hut neither parly would let him. The
lawyer below was consulted. The result
was evident. In half an hour Lady C. was
fiee, and Pat Fhilan, her legitimatehusband,
a prisoner for debt to the amount of forty
thou-and pounds.
Well, sir,,for some time Fat thought he
was in a dream, and the creditors thought
they were still worse. The following day
they had a meeting, and finding how they
had been nicked, swote they’d detain poor
pat forever. But as they well knew that
lie hud nothing, and wouldn’t feel much
shame in going through the insolvent court,
they made the best of a had bargain and let
him out.
Well, you must know, about a week af
ter this, Poddy Fhilan was sitting by bis lit
tle tire and thinking over the wonderful
things he had seen, when as sure as death
the postman brought him a lettter, the first
he hud ever received, which ho took over to
a fiicnd of his, one Ryan, a fruitseller, lie
cause, you see he was no great hand at
reading willing, to decipher for him, It
tan thus:
Go to Doneraile, and marry Kathleen
O'Reilly. The instant the knot is tied 1
fulfil my promise of making you comfortable
for life. But ,as you value your life and
liberty, never breathe a syllable of what has
passed.
Remember you are in my power if you
tell the s|ory. The money will he paid to
you directly you inclose me your marriage
certificate. I send you fifty pounds for
present expenses.
Ob ! happy Faddy ! Didn’t lie start next
day for Cork, and didn’t he marry Kathleen,
and touched a thousand pounds ? By the
powers lie did. And what is more, he took
a cottage, which perhaps you know, not a
hundred miles from Biufin, in the county of
Limerick ; and, i’ faix, lie forgot his first
wife clean and entirely ; and never told any
one hut myself under a promise of secrecy,
the story of his “ Fleet Marriage.”
MQ©©[E[L[LA(MY O
A Barker and Birdfancier. —The name
of this householder was Paul Sweedlepipe,
hut he was commonly called Poll Sweedle
pipe, and was not uncommonly believed to
have been so christened among his friends
and neighbors. With the exception of the
staircase and his lodger’s private apartment,
Poll Sweedlepipe’* house . was one great
bird’s nest. Game-cocks resided in the
kitchen, pheasants wasted the brightness of
their golden plumage in the garret, bantams
roosted in the cellar, owls had possession of
the bedroom, and specimens of all the small
er fry of birds chirruped and twittered in
the shop. The staircase was sacred to rab
bits. There, in hutches of all shapes and
kinds, made from old packing-cases, boxes,
drawers, and tea-chests, they increased in
a prodigious degree, and contributed their
share towards the complicated whiff which,
quite impartially and without distinction of
persons, saluted every nose that w as put in
to Sweedlepipc’s easy shaving shop. Ma
ny noses found their way there fin all that,
especially on a Sunday morning, before
church-time. Ever. Atchbisliops shave, or
must be shaved, on a Sunday ; and beards
trill grow after twelve o’clock on Saturday
night, though it be on the chins of base me
chanics, w ho, not being able to engage their
valets by the quarter, hire them by the job
and pay them —oh, the wickedness of cop
per coin—iti dirty pence. Poll Sweedlepipe,
the sinner, shaved all customers at a penny
each, and cut the hair of any customer fi*r
twopence; and being a lone unmarried
man, and having some connexion in the bin!
line, Poll goL on tolerable well. He was a
little, elderly man, with a clammy cold right
hand, from which even rabbits and birds
could not remove the smell of shaving soap.
Poll had something of the hiid in his lia
tuie —not of the hawk or eagle, but of the
spartow, that builds its nest in chimney
stacks and incline to human company. He
was not quarrelsome, though, like the spar
row, but peaceful like the dove. In his
walk he strutted; and, in this respect, he
bore a slight resemblance to the pigeon, as
well as in a cettaiu prosiness of speech,
which might, in its monotony, be likened to
the cooing of that bitd. He was very in
quisitive ; and when he stood at his shop
door in the evening-tide watching the neigh
bors, with his head on one side and his eye
cocked knowingly, ihete was a dash of the
raven in him. Yet there was no more wick
edness in Poll than in a robin. Happily,
too, when any of his ornithological proper
ties were on the verge of going too far, they
w r ere quenched, dissolved, melted down,
and neautraJized in tins barber, just as his
bald head—otherwise, as the bend of a
shaved magpie—lost itself in a wig of early
black ringlets, parted on one side, and cut
away almost to the crown, to iudicate im
mense capacity of intellect. — Alar tin Chuz
zlcwit, (Dickens.)
Lowell Manufactures. —The amount of
business done in the manufactories at Low
ell, is larger pet haps than the public gener
ally suppose. In ten manufactories there
are engaged eight thousand seven h vndred
and twenty persons —enough to people a
town three quarters as large as Bangor.—
Os these 6,375 are females and 2,345 males.
The capital invested is $10,700,000. The
capital stock of the Merrimac Company is
the largest, being $2,000,000. This com
pany was incorporated in 1522 and is the
oldest. The Lawrence Company was in
corporated in 1330 and has a capital ofsl,-
500,000. The capitals of the others are
smaller. The Hamilton, Boot and Massa
chusetts. have a capital of $1,500,000 each,
and the Appleton, Lowell, Middlesex, Suf
folk, and Fremont of $500,000 each. The
number of yards of cloth made in them per
week, is 51,371,450. The bales of cotton
used arc 1,095; pounds of cotton wrought
434,000. The kinds of manufactures are,
prints, sheetings, shiitings,<li illings, flannels,
carpets, rugs, negro cloths, broudcloaths,
and casstmeres.
The number of yards manufactured per
annum, is 70,275,400 —Amount of cotton
consumed 22,503,000 pounds. The con
sumption of starch is 800,000 pounds—Con
sumption of flour for starch, 4,000 barrels,
and the amount of wages paid pet month is
$150,000.
Besides the above factoiies, t here is a
Water Proofing, a Powder, a Bleaching, a
Flannel, a Blanket, a Batting, a Paper, a
Card and Whip, establishments; a Planing
machine, a Reed machine, a Foundry, and
Grist and Saw mills, employing together
about 500 hands and a capital of $500,000.
Lowell was formerly the north eastern
section of the town of Chelmsford, and w as
incorporated as a town in 1826, and as a city
in 183 G. Its population in IS2O was about
2,000, in 1823, 3,532, in IS3O, 6,477, in
1827, 18,010 and in 1840, 20.796.
The rapid growth of Lowell is owing al
most wholly to its manufactures. If it con
tinue* to increase for twenty years to come
in the same proportion it has for the last
ten years, it will surpass in population,
W. T. THOMPSON, EDITOR,
wealth, intelligence and morality, any other
manufacturing town in the world.
Mona. Chevalier, the French traveler, vid 1
ited Low’ell in 1837, and a notice which ap
pears in a work he published soon after
his return to Euiope shows that every thing
connected with this town, excited his admi-’
ration. “On one side,” he says, “areshops,*
stores, fashionable shops, (magazines de
modes,) without number, for women abound
in Lowell, large hotels after the American
fashion, like barracks in Lowell; On the
otherhand are canals, water-wheels,cascades,
bridges, found ties, banks, schools, bookstore*,
for there is much reading, here ; reading ia,
in fine, their only amusement, and there are no
less than at veil newspaper . lnerery direc
tion are churches of every sect—Episcopal,
Baptist, Congregationalism Methodist, Uui
versalists, Unitarians, &c., there is also m
Catholic Chapel. Here are all the edifices’
of a flourishing city of ihe old world, with
the exception of its prisons, hospitals, and
theatres.”— Bangor Gazette.
English and American Manufacture*. —
The Foreign Correspondence of the New
York ‘ l r 'iJsii'ip has been contesting the su
periority of British productions over those
of the United States. He asserts that this
idea of superiority is altogether imaginary,
and only arises from the ignorance of Amer
ican people generally upon the subject f
that twelve months’ residence in England,
and u constant inquiry upon the subject
have fully satisfied him, that w ith the excep
tion of a few classes of manufactured arti
cles (porcelain goods for example) w* cart
not only meet them, but beat them, and that
too in many articles they claim as exclusive.
The articles in which our superiority ia
manifest are, according to the writer, Prin
ted Cottons, which the English have been
endeavoring (though imi
tate, Cutlery, also; he makes mention of the
head of a great tailoring establishment
shewing a pair of sheets made by Hsinisb
of Newark, New Jersey, and declaring that
he would not take .£SO foi the pair unless
he could procute another, that they had
been shewn to the beat London cutlers who
would not attempt to imitate them. This
is surprising. The Edinburgh Review ask
ed some years ago —Who in the four quar
ters of the Globe, ever reads an American
book, who eats with an American knife ?
In almost every article made from tin plates
w e ate, says the w riter, greatly before them
in style, convenience and cost. Another
aiticle is trunks. According to tie writer
a good convenient leather trunk is not to he
hail in London. Numerous enquiries wero
made of the writer at the Rail Road sta
tions See. where such ti links as he possess
ed (American) were to he purchased ; he is
of opinion that they cannot be duplicated in
London by an English artisan.— Sav. Geor
gian.
An Eagle among the S/ii/ts —Cvrioua Inii
d*nt.—The N. V. irun says, on Saturday
last, about noon, when the military were
marching through the streets in commemo
ration of the retirement cf the British army
sixty years before, a largeand beautiful Eag'e
was noticed in the air, hovering over the
city ; after numerous gyration*, and evi
dently fatigued, the noble bird alighted up
on the topmast of the new packet ship
Prince Albert, Tested for a few moments,
and then took flight in the ditectiou of the
great west. The incident soon spread about
town, particularly among the believers in
omens. Many prognosticated no good to
the fine packet ship Prince Albeit, while
others contended the omen was a good one.
We regret to learn that the councils of the
funnel have so far prevailed that much diffi
culty is found in obtaining a crew for the
newly launched ship.
Squaw King. —Copt. Lewry, one of the-
Qunddy tribe of Indians, who has a great
dislike as well as fear of the Blue Noses,
was some time since over in the Queen’s
dominions, when be got essentially corned,
and said sundi v evil things about her Majes
ty ; for which offence, out of joke, some of
tlie “ baser sort” held a mock court, and
sentenced him to be shut up in an old hovel
for the wight, which he mistook for a jail.
In the morning following, one of the citi
zens happening to hear of the joke, went
over, let him out, and took him back to ihe
Aiueiican side; after tley had got fairly
over on to the Yankee soil, Lewiy turned
to his liberator, “ rue safe now, brother 1”
“all safe now;” “ sartin , brother!” “ sar
titi!” “den damn urn stjuaw King.”— Fron • „
tier Journal.
Reading. —When a person is engaged in
reading or wiitingdo not disturb him. Un
less the mind can be free ftorn subjects of
disti action, reading is in vain, and good
writing cpiito impossible. Calmness and
freedom from distraction, are essential to
the correct understanding, or to the clear
exposition ofany subject. This, by many
who thoughtlessly interrupt those who are
engaged, seem to he an undiscovered truth.
We commend it to their study.— St. Louu
Organ.
♦The above is all very true in reference to
every body but editors. For them to set
up any such ideas is very ridiculous, and if’
the editor of the Organ is not above any
such influence, lie must be, for an editor,
very poorly organ-izetl. Why, one of the’
finest trains of thought, that he is putting ,