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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 ,