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VOLUME 11. BY C. R. lIANLEITER. IP © IE T U ¥. PLIGHT OP TIME. Time speeds away—away —away ; Another hour— another day— Another month —another year— Drop from us like the leaflets sear; Drop like the life-blood from our hearts; The rose-bloom front the cheeks departs ; The tresses from the temples fall, The eye grow dim and strange to all. Time speeds away—away —av\ ay; Like the torrents in a stormy day ; He undermines the stately tower. Uproots the tree, and snaps the flower; And sweeps from our di-tracted breast The friends that lov’d, the friends that blessed ; And leaves us weeping on the shore, To w hich they can return no more. Time speeds away—away —away; No eagle through the skies of day, No wind along the hills can flee, So swifily or so smooth as he. Like fiery steed—from stage to stage He bears us on—from youth to age, Then plunges in the fearless sea Os fathomless Eternity! ©HILIE©Y[I[D> T.ALIB. From the Young Larfie’s Friend. THE DUEL. BY THE ED:TOR OF ZlOn’s HERALD. The Rev. Mr. M was a veteran itinerant preacher of the \\ est. He rela ted many incidents of his itinerant life.— Among them was the following, which I give in liis own words as near as possi ble : About four miles from N is an exten sive grove, well known as the scenes of seve ral duels. As l passed it one morning on my way to my appointment in that town, I per ceived a horse and vehicle among the trees, guarded by a solitary man, who appeared to be the driver. My suspicions were immedi ately excited, but l rode on. About a mile beyond L met another carriage, containing four persons besides the driver, and hasten ing with all speed. My fears were confirmed, and I could scarcely doubt that another scene of blood was about to be enacted in those quiet soli tudes. What was my duty in the case ? 1 knew too well the tenacity of those fictitious and absurd sentiments of honor which pre vailed in that section of country, and which give to the duel a character of exalted chiv alry, to suppose that my interference could be successful, yet I thought it was my duty to rebuke the sin if I could not prevent it; and in the name of the Lord I would do it. 1 immediately wheeled about and returned with the utmost speed to the grove. The second carriage had arrived and was fastened to a tree, 1 rode up and attached my horse near it, and throwing the driver a piece of silver, requested him to guard him. While threading my way into the forest, my thoughts were intensely agitated to know liow to present myself most successfully.— The occasion admitted of no delay. 1 has tened on and soon emerged into an oval space surrounded on all sides by dense woods. At the opposite extremity stood the prin cipals; their boots drawn over their panta loons, their coats, vests and hats off, hand kerchiefs tied fiver their heads, and tightly belting their waists. A friend and a surgeon were conversing with each, while the se conds were about midway between them, ar ranging the dreadful conflict. One of the principals, the challenged, appealed but 20 years of age. His countenance was singu larly expressive of sensibility, hut also of cool determination. The other had a stout ruffian like bearing—a countenance easy but sinister and heartless, and he seemed impatient to wreak his vengeance upon his antagonist. I advanced immediately to the seconds anti declared at once my character and ob ject. “ Gentlemen,” said I, “ excuse my intrusion. [am a minister of the gospel. I know not the merits of this quarrel, hut both my heart and my office require me to bring about a reconciliation between the par ties, if possible.” “Sir,” replied oncof them, ’‘the utmost lias been done to effect it, without success, and this is no place to make farther at tempts.” “ Under any circumstances, in any place, gentlemen,” l replied, “it is appropriate to prevent murder ; and such, in the sight of God, is the deed you are aiding. It must not be, gentlemen. In the name of the law which prohibits it—in the name of your friends, the principals—in the name of God who looks down upon you in this solitary place, I beseach you to pievent it at once ; at least, wash your hands from the blood of these men. Retire from the field and refuse to assist in their mutual murder. ’ My emphatic remonstrance had a momen tary effect. They seemed not indisposed to come to terms, if I could get the concur rence of the principals. 1 passed immediately to the oldest of them. His countenance became more te pulsive as I approached him. It was deep ly pitted with the small pox. and there was upon it the most cold blooded leer I ever saw on a human face. He had given the challenge. I besought him by every con sideration of humanity and morality to re call it. I referred to tlm youth and inex perience of his antagonist —the conciliatory Jk W®@Mj s ID)©T©<t®dl t© 3P<q>MM©s 9 ILMsimta?®* M©©lhsim© Antis* <&© o , | character by a retraction.” ■ 1 reasoned with increased vehemence, hut no appeal to his judgment or his heait ! could shako his desperate firmness, and 1 ! left him with tears which I have no doubt | he would have shared under other circum- I stances. What could Ido farther? I ap i pealed again to the first principal hot he ! spumed me with a cool smile. 1 flew to , the seconds and entreated them on any j terms to adjust the matter and save the I shedding of blood. But they had already measured the ground anil were ready to place their principals. “Gentlemen,” said I, “ the blood of this dreadful deed he upon your souls, i have acquitted myself of it.” I then proceeded from the area toward mv i horse. What were my emotions as I turned away in despair? What ! thought I, must the duel proceed ? Is there no expedient to prevent it ? In a few minutes one or both these men may he in eternity, accurs ed forever with blood guiltiness ! Can 1 not pluck them as brands from the burning? My spirit was in a tumult of anxiety ; in a moment, art! just as the principals were ta king their position, I was again on the. | ground. Standing on the line between [ them, I exclaimed, “In the name of God ! I adjure you to stop this murderous work. It must not, it cannot proceed.” “ Knock him down,” cried the elder duelist, with a fearful imprecation. •“ Sir,” exclaimed the younger, “ I appreciate vonr motives, hut [ 1 demand of you to interfere no more with I our arrangements.” The seconds seized I me by the arms and compelled rue to retire, j But I warned them at every step. Never before did I feel so deeply the value and hazard of the human soul. My remarks were without effect, except on one of the friends of the younger principal. “ This is a hotrihle place,” said he, “I cannot en dure it,” and he turned with me from the i scene. “ Now then for it,” cried one of the se conds as they returned. “ Take your pla ces.” Shmlderingly l hastened my pace to escape the result. “One—two”-—and the next sound was lost in the explosion of the pistols! “OGod,” i shrieked a voice of agony! I turned round, j The younger pt iucipal, with his hand to his j face, shrieked again, quivered, and fell to ! the ground! 1 rushed to him. With one } hand he clung to the earth, the fingeis pene j trating the sod, while with the other he { grasped liis left jaw, which was shattered | with a horrid wound. 1 turned with faint j ness from the sight. The charge had pas | sed through the left side of the mouth, cros sing the teeth, severing the jugular and pas i sing nut ut the hack part of the head, lay ing open entirely one side of the face and ! neck. In this gaslly wound, amidst blood j and shattered teeth, had he fixed his grasp i with the tenacity which eoyld pot ho re moved. Bleeditiir'proti’iaqly auihconvulsive most frightful spectacle 1 , ed. The countea,jj<vt?s iff annoifnclM “ I crand ‘ 1 Oiie of tje^)rg^py.,,w* l i.despot,died on inv horse to communicate ijj*iqlre#dftil news tntlie f'aioi j rn Tjlfl!i}emill was ’ cleanse, i frorp bis;y*.<; :f md b orne ately t<> liis carftfgpff'l 9pCompa:iied it. — It stopped beffir,# a,#ipnril IjtuC elegant house. The driver rag Lu<ltC|d‘M'i nr.d rapped. An elderly lady opened it, with frantic agitation, at the instant w hen we were lifting the ghast ly temains from the carriage. She gazed for a moment, as if thunder struck, and fell fainting in the doorway. A servant remov ed her into the parlor, and as we passed with the corpse into a near room, 1 observed her extended on a sofa, as pale as her hap less son. Wo placed the corpse on a tablo, with the stiffened hand still grasping the wound, when a young lady, neatly attired in white, and with a face delicately beautiful, rushed j frantically into the room and threw her arms around it, weeping with uncontrollable em<*| tion, and exclaiming with agony of feeling,l i 11 My brother! my dear, dear brother! (ife it be—O, can it be I” Tim attendant bwre 1 disposition of the seconds—the fearful ‘con sequences to his soul if he should fall, and the withering remorse which must ever fol low him it he should kill the young man.— He evidently thirsted for the blood of his antagonist, hut observing that his fiend and ; the surgeon seconded my reasoning, he re plied vv’th uttdissemhled reluctance, that he I gave the challenge for sufficient reasons, and that if those reasons were removed, he . might recall it, but not otherwise. 1 parsed to toe other. 1 admonished him |of the sin he was about to pet petrate. 1 referred to his probable domestic relations, ; and tin 1 allusion touching his heart, he sud -1 denly wiped a’tear from liis eves. “Yes, | sir,” iie said, “there are hearts which would lueak if they knew 1 was here.” I | referred to my conversation with the sc j condsand the other principal, and remarked ■ that nothing was now necessary to effect a 1 reconciliation hut a retiaction of the hin -1 gunge which had ofiewled his antagonist.— ! “Sir,” replied he, planting his foot firmly I on the ground, and assuming a look which ■ would have been sublime in a better cause, “Sir, 1 have uttered nothing hut the truth ■ respecting that man, and though l sink into the grave I will not sanction liis villianous MADISON, MORGAN COUNTY, GEORGIA, FRIDAY MORNING, JANUARY 11, 1841. j her away. I shall never forget the look of utter wretchedness site wore as they led her away—her eyes dissolved in tears, and her j bosom stained w ith her brother's blond, i The unfortunate young man was of New j England origin. He had settled in the i town of N whore bis business had pros- I pered so well that lie had invited his moth j er arid sister to reside with him. His home, endeared by gentleness and love, and every temporal comfort, was a scene of unalloyed happiness, but in an evil hour he yielded to | a local ahsutd prejudice—a sentiment of | honor, falsely so called, which his edtica ; tion should have taught him to dispiso. He j was less excusable than his malicious mur ! derer, for lie had more light and better sen timents. This one step ruined him and I his happy family. He was inteired the next day with the regrets of the whole com- I mnii’ty. ! His poor mother never left the house till j she was carried to her grave, to be laid by the side of her son. She died after a deli • rious fever of two weeks’ duration, through out which she ceased not to implore the at tendants, with tears, to preserve her hap less son from the hands of assassins, who, i she imagined, kept him concealed for their murderous purpose. His sister still lives, hut poor and broken hearted. Her beauty and energies have been wasted by soirow, and she is dependent on others for her daily bread. 1 have heard smile uncertain repoits of his antagonist, the most probable of which is, that he died three years after, of the yel i low fever, at New Orleans, raging with the horrors of remotse. Such was the local estimation of this bloody deed that scarcely j an effort was made to bring him to justice. I Alas for the influence of fashionable opin ion ! It can silence by its dictates the laws i of man and of God, and exalt murder to ; the glory of chivalry! When we consider how many hearts of mothers, sinters and wives have been made to bleed liy this cruel and deadly custom, shall we not invoke the influence of woman to abolish ift It rests upon an accidental state of public opinion, a fictitious setili . ment of honor. YY hose influence is more 1 effectual in correcting or promoting such ! sentiments titan woman's? Human laws have failed to cotrect it, hut her influence can do it. Let her then disdain the duelist ,as stained with blood. Let her repel him from her society as one who has wrongly escaped the gallows. Let her exert all the , benign influence of her virtues and her , charms to bring into disgrace the murderous sentiment which tolerates him, and it can | not Ik? long before the distinction between the duelist and the assassin will cease. FRANKNESS. { Alice Ray was one of those beings whose communications are an index toiler heart— whose conversation faithfully mirrored her inmost soul. h?he utteied a hundred things that you would conceal, and spoke with that dignified assurance that made you wonder tlmt you had ever hesitated to say them youtself. Nor did this utireseivedness ap pear like the weakness of one who could not conceal, or a determination to make war on the forms of society. It was rather a calm, well guarded integrity, regulated by a just sense of propriety—knowing when to he silent, but speaking the truth when she spoke at all. But you may just visit Miss Alice for half an hour to night, and judge for your selves. You may walk into that little par lor. There is Miss Alice on the sofa, sew ing n pair of lace sleeves into a satin dress —in which peculiai ly angelic employment she may persevere until we finish another sketch. So you see that pretty little lady, with sparkling eyes, elastic form, and beautiful hand and foot that is sitting opposite to her ? She is a belle ; the character is wi itlen in her Fee—it dimples in her smile, and pre cedes, the whole woman. But there—Alice has arisen, and lias gone to the mirror, nnd is arranging the finest auburn hair in the world, in the most taste ful manner. ‘l'he iittle lady watches every motion so comically as a kitten would watch a pin hall. “ It is all in vain to deny if, Alice—you are really anxious to look pretty this even ing,” said she. “ l certainly am.” said Alice, quietly. “ Ay, and v>u hope you shall please Mr. A. ami Mr. 1i.,” said the little accusing an gel. “ Certainly 1 do,” said Alice, as she twisted her lingers in a beautiful curl. “ Well, 1 would not tell it, Alice, it l did,” said the belle. “ Then you should not ask me,” said Al ice. ‘ I declare, Alice !” “ And what do you declare ?” “ 1 never saw such a gill us you are.” “ Very likely,” said Alice, stooping to pick up a pin. “ Well, for my pait,” said the little lady, “ I would never take eny pains to have any body like ine —particulai ly a gentleman.” “ I would,” said Alice, “ if they would not love me without.” “ Why, Alice! I should not think you were so food of admiration.” “ I like to he admired very much,” said i Alt vac, returning to the sofa, “and I sup body else does.” ,*,*<* I (don’t care about admiration,” said the Mde lady. “ I would be as satisfied that people shouldn’t like me, as that they should.” “Then, cousin, 1 think it's a pity we all like you so well,” said Alice with a good humored smile. If Miss Alice had any penetration, she never made a severe use of it. “ But really, cousin,” said the little lady, “ I should nut think sue ha git 1 as you would think any thing about diess or admiration, mid all that.” “ l don’t know what kind of a girl you think 1 am,” said Alice, “hut for mv own part, I only pretend to be a common human being, and 1 am not ashamed of common human feelings. If God has made us so that we love adinitation, why should we not honestly say so? 1 love it, you love it, and every body else loves it; and why should not every body sa v so ?” “ YY’hy, yes,” said the iittle lady, “ T sup pose eveiy body has a—has a — general love of admiration. lam willing to acknowl edge that 1 have ; hut— “ But you have no love for it in particu lar,” said Alice, “ I suppose you mean to say; that is just the way the matter is dis posed of. Every body is willing to ac knowledge a general wish for the good opinions of others; hut hall the world are ashamed to ow n it when it comes to a par ticular case. Now I have male up my mind, that if it is correct in general, it is correct in particular, and 1 mean to own it both ways.” “But somehow, it seems mean;” said the little lady. “ It is mean to lice for it, to lie selfishly engiossed in it ; hut not mean to enjoy it when it comes, or even tosccA’ it, if we neg lect no higher interest in doing so. All that God made us to feel, is dignified and pure, unless we pervert it.” “ But, Alice, 1 never lieaiff any oi.e speak out so frankly.” “ Almost all that is innocent and natural may lie spoken out; and as for that which is not innocent and natural,it ough not even to he thought.” “ But can every thing he spoken which may be thought ?” “No! we have an instinct which teaches us to be silent sometimes, hut if we speak at all. let it be done in simplicity and sincer ity.” “ Now, for instance, Alice,” said the la dy, “ it is very innocent and natural, as you say, to think this, that, and the other thing of yourself, especially when every body is telling you of it ; now would you speak the truth if any body asked you on this point ?” “If it were a person who had a right to ask, and if it were a pioper time and place, l would,” said Alice. “ YY’ell, then,” said the bright lady, “ I ask you, Alice, in this very proper time and place, do you think that you are hand some ?” “ Now, I suppose you expect metomake a courtesy to every chair in the room, be fore I answer; hut dispensing with that ceremony, 1 will tell you fairly—l think I am!” ‘* D > you think that you are good ? “ Not entirely.” “ YVVII, hut don’t you think that you are better than most people ?” “ As far as I can tell, I think I am better than some people; hut really, cousin, I don’t tiust my own judgement in that mat ter,” said Alice. “ YY’ell, Alice, one more question. Do you think that Janies Martyns likes you, or me, best ?” “ I do not know.” “ I did not ask you what you knew, hut what you thought,” said the lady; “you must have some thought about it.” “ Well, then, 1 think he likes me best,” said Alice. Just then the door opened, and in walked jhe identical James Martyns. Alice blush ed—looked a little comical, and continued on with her sewing, while the lady began : Beally Mr. James, l wish you had come in a minute sooner, to hear Alice’s confes sion.” “ YY'iiat has she confessed ?” said James. “ YY hv, that sho is handsomer, and bet ter than mot folks.” “ That is nothing to he ashamed of,” sain James. ” Oli, that is not ail—she wants to look pretty anti loves to tie admiir-d, all—” “ It sounds very much like her,” said James looking at Alice. “Oh, hut besides that,” said the lady, “she has been preaching a discourse in jus tification of vanity and self-love.” “And the next time you should take notes when 1 preach,” said Alice, “ for 1 do not think your memory ts remarkably happy.” ” You see, James,” said the lady, “ that Alice makes it a point to say exactly the truth , when she speaks ut all; and I’ve been puzzling her w ith questions. I really wish you would ask her some, and see what she will say. But, metcy! there’s uncle O'———, come to take me to ride, 1 must run.” And off flew the little humming-bird, leaving James and Alice tete a tele. “ There is really one question,” said James clearing up his voice. Alice looked up. “ There is otto question, Alice, which 1 wish you would answer.” Alice did not inquire what the question was, but began to look very solemn ; and just then 1 went out of the room, and shut the door : So I never knew what it was Al ice’s friend, James, wanted to be enlighten de about. Ml^—llSlllMM—lp—■—— IMfDSOEILLAIKIY- Wine rs. Water. — Great anti-temperance meeting. —A highly respectable meetings of some of the most influential wines, beers, and spirits was held for the purpose of con sidering the best means of opposing the Temperance movement. Among those on the platform we particularly noticed Port, Sherry and Claret; while at the lower end of the room, were Cape, Marsala, and a de putation from the British YY’ines, who were represented by the Two-and-two-penny sparkling Champagne, more familiarly known as the “ Genuine YY’alker.” Most of the principal wines wore the silver col lars of the orders to which they respective ly belonged ; and the Port having been unanimously voted into the chair, the busi ness of the meeting was opened by Cork screw, in a concise but pointed manner.— Champagne was the first to rise, in a state of great effervescence. He declared that he was frothing over with pure indignation at the idea of wine being excluded from the social board; and, indeed, he found it im possible to preserve ton coolness which ought to belling to him. He was not one to keep any thing bottled up. (Hear, and a laugh ;) indeed, when he once let loose, out it must come; and he did say that the tem perance movement was playing old goose berry with him in every dilection, (cries of shame ! fiom the Genuine Walker.) Clar et said that he did not often get into n state of fermentation ; 1 ut on this occasion he did feel liis natural smoothness forsaking him. He liogged leave to propose the fol lowing resolution : “ That the substitution of water from wine is likely to dissolve all social ties, and is calculated to do material injury to the constitution.” Rum rose, he said, for the purpose of opposing this reso lution, which he thought of too sweeping a character. He, (Rum) so fat from wishing to get till of water altogether, was always happy to meet with it on equal terms ; and he knew that he (Rum) as well as many friends around him, had derived a good deal of their influenco from being mixed up with water, and going as it were halfway, which there could be no objection to. Gin begged leave to differ from the honorable spirit that had just sat down, and who was so unaccus tomed to be on his legs at all, that it was not surprising he should have failed to make a respectable stand on the present occasion*.— (Cries of “Order!”) He (Gin) had no wish to create confusion, (lronacal cheer ing from Marsala.) He understood the meaning of that cheer; and would certain ly confess that the honorable beverage—for lie would not use the stronger term of wine (a laugh)—was nut likely to create confu sion in any quarter. No ; he (the honora ble beverage) was not stromg enough for that. (Renewed laughter.) He (Gin) hud, perhaps, suffered more from water than all the other wines and spirits whom he now saw before him put together. His reputa tion had been materially hurt by it : and he was strongly of opinion that the only thing to be done with water was to throw it over board. (A French wine, whose name we could not learn, let something drop, hut vve were unable to catch it.) Cape now rose, but was immediately coughed down in a ve ry unceremonious manner. The thanks of the meeting having been voted to Port lor his able conduct in the decanter, the meet ing separated: but not until a committee hud been chosen, consisting of a dozen of wine and a gallon of beer, with power to add to their number, either by water or oth erwise.— Cruikshank's Comic Almanac. Prospects of the United States. —ln 1840 the United States had a population of 17,- 068,GGG. Allowing its future increase to be at the rate of 33 ; j per cent for each suc ceeding period of ten years, we shall num ber, in 1940,303,101,0-11. Past experience warrants us to expect this great increase.— In 1790, our number was 3.927.527. Sup posing it to have increased each decade in the ratio of 33} per cent it would, in ISIO, have amounted to 16,060,156 —being more than u half million less than our actual num ber ns shown by the census. VY’itli 300,- j 000,000, vve should have more than 150 to the square mile for out whole teiritory, and but 250 An the square mile for our organ ized States and Territories. England has 300 to the scpiare mile. It does not, then, seem probable that our progressive increase will be materially checked within the one hundred years under consideration. At the end of that period, Canada will numbef at least 20,000,000. If vve suppose the por tion of our country east and vvest of the Apalachiari chain of mountains, known as the Atlantic slope, to possess at that lime 40,000,000, or near five times its present number, there will he left 290 000,000 for the great central region between the Apa luchiari atid Rocky mountains, and between the Gulf *>f Mexico and Canada, and for the country west of the Rocky mountains. Allowing the Oregon Territory 10,- 000,000, there will he left 250,000.000 for that portion of the Americun States lying in the basins of the Mobile, Mississippi, and St. Lawrence. If of these we add 20,000,- 000, fur Canada, vve have 270,000.000 as the probable number that will inhabit tlie Noith American valley at the end of the ¥, T. THOMPSON, EDITOR. one hundred years commencing in 1840. If we suppose one third, or 90,000,000 of this number to reside in the country na cl --tivutnrs and artizans, there will be 180,000,- 000 left for the towns--enough to people 369, each containing half a million. This Joes not seem as incredible as that the valley of the Nile only twelve miles broad, should have, as historians tells us, contained 20,000 cities. But lest one hundred years seem too long to he relied on, in a calculation having eo many elements, let us see how matters will stand fifty years from 1840, or forty-seven years from this time. The ratio of increase we have adopted, cannot he objected to as extravagant for this period. In 1890, ac cording. to that ratio, our number wilf he 72,000,000. Os these 22,000,000, will be n fair allowance for the Atlantic slpe. Os the remaining 50,000,000, 2,000,000 may 25.000.000 fur the valley within the States. Iftothese we add 5,000,000 forthc North A meiiean’val ley, one third (nr say 18,000,000) being set down as farming laborers and rural artizans,there will remain the towns, which might he 70 in number, having leside west of the Rocky Mountains, leaving each half a million of souls. It rati scarce ly he doubted that within the forty-seven veais, our agriculture will be so improved as to require less than one third to furnish food and raw materials for manufacture of the whole population. Good judges have said that we are not now more than twenty or thirty years behind England in our hus bandry. It is certain that we are rapidly adopting her improvements in this branch of industry ; and it is not to be doubted that very many new improvements will be brought out, both in Europe and America, which will tend to lessen the labor necessa ry in the production of food and raw’ mato tials.—Hunt's Merchant’s Magazine. Begging in New York. —The system ot ingenious beggary, so curiously desciibed in Grant's “ Great Metropolis,” is beginning to be tried on in New-York. There is one young lady (of very correct habits, I believe, iti point of fact) who makes a living by means that wear a somewhat, questionable complexion out of “ distinguished stran gers.” A member of Co'ngress, or a di plomatist in transit, for example, receives a note, the day after his arrival is advertised, in a handwriting of singular beauty, Jit the most graceful language, and with the daiutest use of French phrases, he is in formed that a young lady who has long watched his career with .he deepest inter est —who lias a feeling for him which is a mystery to herself-—who met him acciden tally in a place she will recall to his memo ry should she he so fortunate as to see him again—who is an unhappy creature of im pulse, all too fondly tender for this harsh world and its constructions—would like to seo him on a ceitain sidewalk between eight arid nine. By holding his head across his left breast, lie will he accostad at that time and The lady-likeness and good taste of the note, so different from the usual of that description, breed a se cond thought of curiosity, and the victim is punctual. After a turn or two on the ap pointed sidewalk, he encounteis a tall young lady, deeply-vailed, who addresses him by name, takes his arm, and discourses to him at first upon his own ambitious history, con triving to say the true and flattering thing, for which she has duly informed herself.— She skilfully evades his attempts to make her talk of things more particular, ‘ and re gretting feelingly that she can only see him on the sidewalk, appeals to Inswell known generosity” for ten dollars to keep her and her dear mothet from being turned out of doors. She takes it with tremulous pathos, demands of his honor that he will not follow her, and slips round the eorner to meet another “ distinguished stranger” with whom she has appointed an interview fif teen minutes later in the next street ! I was in a company of stiangers at a hotel not long ago, when one of these dainty notes was produced, and it so happened that eve ry man present had one in his pocket from the same hand ! Among the party theie were four appointments proposed by Urn same lady, to come off on the four sides of a certain square, for that evening! Sho is probably doing a good business. — Mirror . North American Forests. —We take the following wild and eloquent description of the autumnal changes in America, from an extract from Neal’s “Brother Jonathan,” published in an English wink, entitled “ Rejected Articles.” The Loudon writer, perhaps not knowing Neal to he an Ameri can, pronounces him to he the most original writer of his day, and the most extraordina rily gifted, as far as mete faculties go. “ The autumnal beauty of a Nntth Amer ican forest cannot he exaggerated. It is like nothing else on earth. Many a time have we gone through it, slow ly tilting over a pretty blue lake, there, among the hills ; our birch canoe dipping with every motion of the paddle —the waters beneath us—all the mountain alamt—all—unknown to tho world ; in a solitude—-a quiet, profound as death, and blight as heaven; tLe shore*, overhung with autumnal foilage; mul a sky so wonderful—so visionary—that all the clouds, and all the mountains were of apiece, in the char water; and our boat was like a balloon. Soy what you will, there is ttothinjj to I t NUMBER 4%.