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Vol. IT. fcSUSSDSaIEi D'£HQQA.&r, AND MERCANTILE ADVERTISER. By Andrews 4 Griswold. Corner of Randolph and Broad stir ■!*, ( np-stairs . COLUMI'. i S. Cta. TERMS. TrtKttR'ffOT.J.AKS t'qr annum— in advance. Two eopies for §f>, “ “ Ten copies for §2O “ Two dollars for six months. {Cy* All Letters must he free of postage, except whore ■wnotr is enclosed. emaju w-* ■ - - J -3DOH v S * Things that Change. BIT MRS. II KM ASS. Knoxv'st thon lliat sens nrc.swccping Where cities otiev have been ? When tlie calm wave is sleep:ng, Their towers may yet he seen Fur down below the the glassy tide— Man’s dwelling, where hi.s voice lias died. Know’st thon that fiocKs are feeding Above the lotnbs of old, Which kings, their armies leading, Have lingered U> behold? A short, smooth greensward o'er them spread, Is all that, marks where heroes bled. Know’st thou that now the token Os temples, once renowned, Is hut a pillar broken, With grass and wall-flowers crowned ? And the lone serpent rears her young Where the triumph lyre has sung ? • Well, well, I know the story Os ages passed the way, And the mournful wreck that glory lias left to fell decay. Bat tlioti hast a tale to learn, More full of warning stern. Thy pensive eye but ranges O'er ruin sane and hall, Oh ! the deep soft, hath changes More sorrowful! than all, Talk not, while these around the throng, Os silence in the place of song. See scorn, where love has peri.-hed, Distrust, where friendship grew ; I’ride, where once nature cherished. All tender thoughts and true ! And shadows of oblivion thrown O’er every trace of idols gone. Weep nbt for tombs pir sea tiered, . For temples prostrate laid, In thine own hear! lie shattered The altars ii had made. Go sound its depths, in doubt and fear ; Heap up no more its treasures hf.kk. G E M. FROM THE l'Ei: -JAX. Once from a cloud a drop of rain Fell trembling in the sea, And when she saw the wide-spread main, Shame veiled her modesty. “ What place in this wide sea have I, What loom is left for re? Sure it were bettor that I die, In this immensity !"’ But while her self-abasing fear Its lowliness confessed, A shell received and welcom’d her, And pressed her to its breast. And nourished there the drop became A pearl for royal eyes— Exalted by its lowly shame, And humbled but to rise! From !he Cinciiir-nu Coimuercial. To .Hiss Saliy Butt'!, BY SAM BLOSSOM. You know full well, dear Sally Budd, My love, in Blossom blooms for you, Then will yon not, sweet. Sailv Budd, Unfold, and be a Blossom too? So fair a Budd in life’s young Spring, Was surety made for Blossom- ing! A bud that will not blosom, Sally, Must fruitless live its passing day, Then drop alone into the valley, Unnoticed in the swift decay; While those that bloom upon the stem Have eyes that watch and smile for them ! Dear Sally Budd, then tell me whether, In our bright Spring, we shall not be, Two blossoms, ’twined in love together, A swinging on creation’s tree, On whom the dews shall sweetly fall, And morning light, more sweet than ail I The bird of joy shall round us sing. And love’s soft gale shall fan us Sally ; And when we’ve had a pleasant swing, We’ll drop together in the valley, While -still the tree of life shall wave, And bend with fruitage o’er our grave! The Child at the Tomb. ‘ A little child That lightly draws its breath, And feels its life in every limb. What should it know of death?’ At Smyrna, the burial gicund of the Armen, ians, like that of the Moslem, is removed a short dislance from the town, is sprinkled with green trees, and is a favorite resort, not only with the. bereaved.but with those whose sorrow ful feelings are deeply overcast. 1 met one morning a little girl with a half-playfu! coun tenance, beaming blue eyes and sunny locks, bearing in one hand a small cup of china and in the other a wreath of (lowers. Feeling a very natural curiosity to know what sho could do with these bright tilings in a placo that seem ed to partake so much of sadness. 1 watched herlight motions. Reaching a retired grave, covered with a plain ntarhle slab, she emptied the seed—which it appeared the cup contained into the slight cavities which had hern scooped oat in the corners of the level tablet, and laid the wreath on its pure surface. . • v- ‘ V*5S ‘ .• . f} d* ” ‘ •*#- “AS I.IiTLK GOVEKXMBNT AS POSSIBLE ; THAT LITTLE It M ANATING” Pit M AND CONTROLLED BY THE I'KOPT.E, AX!) CMI'O'KmA-N ITS AlfVL'try TJOFt- ” ‘And why,’ l inquired, ‘my sweet little girl, do you put seed in those little howls there.’ ‘it is to bring the birds hero,’ she replied, with a half-wondering look, ‘they will light on this tree, when they have eaten the seed and sing.’ ‘To whom do they sing, to you or to each oth er?’ ‘Oh, no,’she replied, ‘to my sister: she sloops •Put yntir sfstefris dead.’ ‘Oh yes, sir ; but she hears the birds sing.’ ‘Well, if she docs hear the birds sing, she cannot see that wreath of [lowers.’ . ‘Rut she. knows 1 put it there. I (old her be. fire they took her away from our house I would come and sec her every morning.’ ‘T ou must,’ I continued, ‘have loved that sis ter very much ; but you will never tall; with her any more—never see her again.’ ‘Yes, sir,’ she replied, with a brightened look ‘I shall see her in Heaven.’ ‘But she has gone to Heaven already, 1 trust. ‘No; she stops under this tree till they bring n.e here, and then we are going to Heaven to gether."— Treti-cls in the Lust. From Blackwood’s Magazine. The First and Last Dinner. A TALK Ol’ LIFT. Twelve friends, much about tho snme age, and fixed, by their pursuits, their family connex ions, and other local interests, as permanent in habitants of the metropolis, agreed, one day, when they weic drinking their wine at the Star j and Garter, at Richmond, to institute an an-! rum 1 dinner among themselves, under the fob lowing regulations: That they should dine al ternately at each other’s houses on the first and last day of tho year; that the first bottle of wine uncorked at the first dinner, should be recorkcd ami put away, to be drank by him who should be the last of their number ; that they should j never admit anew member; that when one died, eleven were to meet, and so on ; aud that \ when only one remained, be should, on those two | days, dine by himself, and sit the usual hours at his solitary table, but the first time he so dined j alone, lest it should be the only one, lie should j then uncork the first bottle, and, in the first 1 glass, drink to the memory of all who were I r. - jfe ‘ ! There was something original and whimsi cal in tho idea, and it was eagerly embraced. They were all in the prime of life, closely at inched by reciprocal friendship, fond of soeiai enjoyments, aud looked forward to their future | meeting with unalloyed feelings of pleasure.— j i lie only thought indeed, that could have dark- | ent-d those anticipations, was one. not likely to j intrude itse.il at the moment, that of the hapless i wight who was destined to uncork the firs! glass J at his lonely repast. It was high summer when this frolic compact | was entered into: and as their pleasure yacht j skimmed along the dark bo.-ans of tho Thames, ! on their return to London, they talked of noth, j ing but their first and last feasts of ensuing : years. Their imaginations ran riot with a thou- | and gey predictions of festive merriment. They j wantoned in conjectures of what changes lime ; | would create. “ As for yon, George,” exclaimed otto of the ! twelve, addressing his brother-in-law, “I expect j I shall see you as dry, withered and shrunken j as an old eel skin, your mere outside of a man!” and he accompanied the words with a hearty slap on the shoulder. George Fortescue. was leaning cnrlessly over the side of the yacht, laughing the loudest of any at the conversation which had been car ried on. Tho sudden manual salutation of his [ “brother-in-law threw iiitu off his balance, and j in a moment he was overboard. They heard j the heavy splash of his fall, before they could j be said to have seen him fall. The yacht was j proceeding swiftly along; but it was instantly ‘• stopped. i The utmost consternation now prevailed. It ! was nearly dark, but Fortescue was known to ; be. an excellent swimmer, and startling as tho i accident was, they fell certain he would regain the vessel. They could not see him. They ; listened. They heard the sound of his hands . and feet. An answer was returned, hut in a faint, gurgling voice., and the e.clamntion “Oh j God !” struck upon their ears, in an instant. I two or three of the expert swimmers, plunged j intothc river and swam towards the spot whence | the exclamation had proceeded. One of them ; was within arm's length of For!> ;cuc ; he saw j him; before he could be reached, he went | down, and his distracted friend beheld the eddy. ! ing circle of the wave just over the spot where |he had sunk. He dived after him, and touched | the bottom ; but the tide must have drifted tho i body onward, for it could not be found ! j They proceeded to one of the nearest stations I where drags were kept, anti having procured i the necessary apparatus, repaired to the fatal ! spot. After the lapse of above an hour, they ] succeeded in raising tiie lifeless body of their i friend who had commenced that day of pleasure with them in the fullness of health, of spirits, and of life ! And in their severe grief ! they could not help but reflect haw soon one of tho joyous twelve had slipped out of this festive circle. Tho months roiled on, and col I D comber canto with all its cheering round of kindly greet, ings and merry hospitality; and with it catne n softened recollection of the fate of poor Fortes. ’ one ; eleven of the twelvo assembled on the la t j day of tho year, and it wits imp ‘lible not to feel ’ their leas us they sat down to dinner. The vc. C©EiU3®BI’S, Gcos’gia, Evening E&cecmfoer’T, Ip-ijS.-* ry irregularity of the tabic—live on one side and six on the other—forced the melancholy event upon their memory. A decorous sigh or two, a low, be earning e jaculation, and an instructive observation upon tho uncertainty of lif‘, made up the suirFof the posthumous “offering to the poor George Fortescue,” as they proceodeijlo dis charge the more important duties- kps which “.hay-WI met- By the time the’(him glass of champagne had gone round, in addition to the potations of f.nc old hock, and “capital madoira,” they had ceased to discover anything so very pathetic in the inequality ol'thc two sides of the table, or so melancholy in their crippled num ber of eleven. Several years had elapsed, our eleven friends kept up their double anniversaries as they might aptly enough be called, with scarcely an} per ceptible change. But, alas ! there came one dinner at last, which was darkened by a ca lamity they never expected to witness ; for on that day, their friend, companion—brother, al most—was hanged ! Yes, Stephen Rowland, the wit, the oracle, tho life of their circle, had on the morning of that day, forfeited his life, upon a public scaffold, for having made one single stroke of his pen in a wrong place. In other words, a bill of exchange which passed into his hands for X7OO, passed out of it for £1,700. It would bo injustice to the ton to say, that even wine, friendship and a merry season, could not dispel the gloom which pervaded this dinner. It was agreed before hand that they should not allude to the distressing and melan choly theme ; and having thus interdicted the only things which really occupied all their thoughts, the natural consequence was, that si lent contemplation took the place of dismal discourse; and they separated long before mid night. .Some fifteen years had now gliided away since the fate of Rowland, and the ten remain ed ; but the steeling hand of time had written sundry changes in most legible characters.— Raven locks had become grizzled, two or three heads had not as many locks altogether as may be reckoned in a walk of half a mile along tuc Regent’s canal—one was actually covered with a brown wig, the good old port and warm tna j deira, carried it against hock, claret, and red I burgundy,champagne, stexvs, hashes, and r'ttgmire- ‘gre ;v into taxor—-crusts rarely” called for to relish the cheese after dinner—con versation grew less boisterous, and it turned chiefly on politics and the state of the funds, or the \-a!ue of landed property —apologies were I made for coming in thick shoes and warm stock j ings—the doors and windows were most cate fuliy provided with list and satid bags—tho fire ! more it) request —and a quiet game of whist fill. | ed up the hours that were wont to he devoted to drinking, singing, and riotous merriment. The ! rubbrs, a enp of coflee, and tit home by 11 o’- I clock, xvas the usual cry, when the fifth or sixth I glass had gone round after the removal of the ! doth. At parting, too, there was a long core j mony in the hull, buttoning up great coats, ty ! ing oil woolen comforters, fixing siii\ bandker | chiefs over the mouth and up to the car;, grasp ing sturdy walking canes to support unsteady ; Ibet. j Their fiftieth anniversary came, and death | had indeed bocivbitsy. Four little old men of withered appearance | and decrepit walk, with cracked voices and dim, rayloss eyes, sat. down by the mercy of heaven, (as they themselves tremulously declared,) to celebrate for the fiftieth time, the first, day of the year, to observe the frolic compact which, half a century before they had entered into at the Star and Garter at Richmond. Eight were in j their grax-es ! The four that remained stood j upon its confines. Yet they chirped cheerfully ! over their glass, though they could scarcely car [tyit to their lips, if more than half full; and I cracked thoir jokes, though they articulated their j words with difficulty and heatd each other with | still greater difficulty. They mumbled, they j chattered, they laughed, if a sort of strange | wheezing might he called a laugh ; and when j wine sent their icy blood in warmer pulses I through their veins, they talked of the past as iif it were but yesterday that had slipped I:} | them—and of the future as il it were but a busy ! century that lay before them. They were jest the number fir a quiet rub ber of whi't: and for three succ-ssive years they sat down to one. Tho fourth came, and ; then their rubber xvas played with an open dutn i my ; a fifth, and xvhLt wasrno longer practica. ! bio ; two could play only at cribbage, and crib bage xvas the game. But it was little more j than the mockery of play. Their‘palsied hands ! could hardly hold, or their faded sight distin i gtiish tire cards, while their torpid faculties made ■ them doze each deal,. j At length came the last dinner: and the sur i vivor oftho twelve, upon xvhose head four score ! and ten winters had showered their snoxv, ate 1 his solidary meal. It so chanced that it was in I in his house and at his table, they hud celebrat. led tho first. In his cellar, too, had remained j for fifty-eight years the bottle they had uncork- I ed, recorkcd, and which he xvas that day to tin | cork again. It stood beside him ; with a fuchle and reluctant grasp he took the frail memorial of a youthful vow, and for a moment memory was faithful to her office. She threw open her long vista of tmried years ; and his heart trav el#!! through them all. Their lusty am) hlith some spring—their bright and fervid summer— their rip” and temperate autumn—their chill hut not*ti>o frozen winter. He saw, ns in a mirror, how one by one tho laughing compan ions of tho merry hour at Richmond had dropp. ed into eternity. lie felt all the loneliness of his condition, (for he had eschew’ • _fn the vejns no living.efeatilto ran a djjjyt/aof- JbMrjd - source xvas in his own ; adrift* ho drained A glass which he filled “to the, mentor? of those ‘ ■ who were gone,” the tears sioWly frickleddbxvo ! the deep furrows of Ins a’gr'dtfec^^fe, ’ .; J^j He had thus-.fplfilled one pjtrt of Ms .vow, a:yl I jhe prepared bimeolUo discharge cUtgr, By I : I sitting the usual nll tn ho. ro? Ifdmors this ! table. With a heavy heart ho resigned him- . self to the gloom of his oxvn thoughts—a lethar- ■ gic sleep stole over him—his head fell upon his ( bosom—confused images eroxyded into his mind, < he babbled by himself—was silent—and when : his servant entered the room, alarmed by a noise I xvhich lie heard, he found his master stretched : upon the. carpet at the foot of the easy chair, 1 and out of which he had slipped in an apoplec- tic lit. He never spoke again, nor once opened his eyes, though tho vital spark was not stiil ‘ extinct til! the following day. And this was the last dinner. Death Scenes of Remarkable Persons. —Mary, Scotland’s frail beauty, met the ‘gioo. Imy king’ with a degree of resolution not to be expected from her misfortunes, so numer ous were they, and deserted by every friend ex cept her dog. Sir. T. Moore remarked to the executioner by whose hands ho was to perish, that the scaffold xvas extremely weak, ‘1 pray you, friend see me up safe,’ said he ‘and lor my coming down, let tnc shift for myself.’ Chaucer breathed his last while composing ‘a ballad made by Geoffrey Chaucer, on his death bed, lying in great pain. Rosseau, when dying, ordered his attend ants to move him, and place him before the window ; that he might look upon his garden and gladden ftis eyes with the sight of nature. How ardent an admirer he xvas ofnaturc, is po etieally told in ‘Zimmerman’s Solitude.’ Pope tells us that he found Sir Godfrey Knel- Icr, (when he visited him a lexv days prior to his end,) silting up and forming plans for his monument. Ills vanity was consnicus even in death ! ‘1 could wish this tragic scene washover,’ said Quin, the actor : ‘but 1 hope to go through it ( with becoming dignity.’ j Petrarch was found dead in his library leaning , over a book. ■ > I Warren has remarked thnt Chesterfield’s g?od breeding otrly left him with death! ‘give Drysdalo a chair,’ said he to his valet, when that person xvas announced. Baylc when dying pointed to the place where his proofsiieet xvas deposited. Clarendon’s pen dropped from his hand when lie was seized with the palsy, which put an end to his existence. Bede died while ill the act of dictating. Roscommon when expiring quoted from his own translation of Dies irre. Haller, feeling his pulse said, ‘the artery era- J ses to bent,’ and immediately died. i When the priest whom Algere had been pre vailed on to see, came, ho requested him to call to-morrow ; ‘Death I trust will tarry four and twenty-hours.’ Nelson’s last words xvero, ‘Tell Colling, wood to bring the fleet to anchor.’ —Religious Hondo’. I Facts in Building. —Olio fact ic, that a snuaro form secures more room with a siren j cost for outside walls, than any other retangd. | 1 iar figure. Great length and little width may | alibi'd convenient rooms, but at increased ex pensc. Another fact is, that ventilation is an essen tial in a human dwelling. Xo other consider, lion should exclude this. The halls, windows and doors should be so situated with regard to each other, that a lull draught of air can lie secured, at any time, in the summer season, by day and night, through the whole house. The stories should also be sufficiently high to afiord a sufficiency ofair in all the rooms. Nino feet is a good height for lower rooms, and eight for upper. Bed rooms should also be larger than they commonly are. Great injury to health is the result of sleeping in small close apart ments. The third fact is, that a steep roofwili not on ly shed rain and snow far better than a fiat one but will last immensely longer. Tho fouith fiiet is, that a chimney in or near the centre of the building will aid to warm the I whole houk while if built at one end or side, the heat will be thrown out and lost. The liftii fact is, that a door opening from the outside into any principal room, without the 1 intervention of a hall or passage, costs much | more than it saves, in the free ingress ofair into | it- The sixth fact is, that the use of paint is the | best economy, in the preservation it affords to ail wood-work. The seventh fact is, that if the front door is made at one side instead of the middle of the front, a partition will be saved, and for small houses this should not be forgotten, but for largo houses have the main door and lobby in lint middle of tho house. Mrs. Partington, reading about tho hostility between Jollachich and the Hungarians, ox pressed her great surprise at it: “Well, I dc dare,” said she, with marks of astonishment. “ this is tho first time 1 ever heard of hungry men turning up their noses at jrlly.rake .” A parson describing tho absurdity of a man dancing the Polka, appropriately said that it ap. ! poured as if the individual Imd a hole in his I pocket, and was wiinly endenvoting to shake n ’ shilling down tho 1< g of his Iron sen. •One es the.rtisternlggcn a!s gives an i;.t itig'acoijtitrL.nl". <VjslriijfSF’ f nt: An. •> !•■ v: m • j (jbswieitin'i:i HmjlawJ. ip his endeavors t-> brio: •into notice t-bere dyitew bridge, of Li oxvn iuven .tioi). His name is Remington, and I.L both place Virginia'. An account < f bis r;r<r ■ •(Says flic Philadelphia lied get) is given by him relf, in a letter to’Dixoa'*H. i.exvi.;, nnd is pub 'isiied in Hum’S. Morp&tt; ’ Mag::. line. When tmarrfvetTfn’l&iymwvin^Kinttit rv. 1a47, he xvas xvithout money, and spent the first five month.’ in vainly lookiug for somebody xxitii enterprise enough to”encourage bis plan, living all the time on less?hart three pence per day. Ho slept upon : straxx-, for which he paid a halfpenny per night. Ilis limbs became distorted with rheumatism, and lie was litcraliy covered with rags and ver min, consorting as he had to do, xvith the lowest beggars in London. Still lie did not despair.— The incidents of the succeeding three months he does not relate. Ills sufferings xvero so great that his hair turned gray. lie finally managed to obtain admittance to the Royal Zoological Gar dens, where he succeeded, after much mortifica tion, in getting the ghost of a model made of his bridge. The model, although a bad one, aston- ished every body. Every engineer of celebrity in London xvas called in to decide whether it was practicable to throw it across the lake there.— Four or five of them, at the final decision, de clared that the moiled before them xxt.s passing strange, but that it could nut be carried to a much j greater length than the length of the model.— j This xx-as the point of life or death with the in- ■ ventor. He says : “I xx r as standing amidst men of the supposed I greatest talent as civil engineers that the xvorld J could produce, and the point decided against me.! This one time alone xvorc my whole energies! ever aroused. 1 never talked before —I xvas I haggard and (hint lor want of food—my spirits | sunk in sorrow in view of my mournful prospects ! —clothes 1 had none—yet standing over this j model, did 1 battle with these men. Every word I uttered came firth from my inmost soul, and j xx’as big xvith truth—every argument carried con- j viction—the effect on these men xvas like-magic ; —indeed, they must have been devils not to have j believed under the circumstances. / succeeded. I My agreement with the proprietor was, that ; i should superintend the construction of the bridge j t without any pay whatever, but during the time j, ot the building 1 might sleep in the Gardens, and j ; if the bridge should succeed, it should be called I , “ Hemiugtou’e Bridge.” 1 lodged in an old Iron's i cage, not strong enough lor a non, nut by putting] some straw on the iloor, it held me very well,! and indeed was a greater luxury than 1 laid had I for many months. The carpenters that worked I on the bridge sometimes gave me part, of their ! dinner. On this 1 lived and was comparatively happy. It was a little novel, however, to see a j man in rags directing gentlemanly looking head ‘ carpenters. The bridge triumphed, and the cost I was £B, and was the greatest hit ever made in j London. The money made by it was astonish- j ingly great —thousands and tens of thousands j crossing it, paying toll—besides being the great attraction to the. Gardens. Not a publication in ; London but what has written largely up-on it, al- : though I. have never received a penny, nor ever I will, for building the bridge.” The success ofhis invention however, gave him celebrity, and lie says it also gave him credit with a tailor: “I got a suit of clothes and some shirts—a clean shirt. Any shirt was great, but a clean shirt—Oh, God ! what a luxury. Thousands of cards wore left for me at tho Gardens, and men came to,sec me from all par's of the kingdom.— i I first built? the mill, which is the most popular I patent ever taken in England. The coflee pot, and many other small patents, take exceedingly well. The drainage of Tixal Meadows is the greatest triumph I have ever yet had in England, j Lhe carriage bridge for Earl Talbot is a most majestic and wonderfully beautiful thing. Dukes, marquesses, carls, lords, &:c. and their ladies, are coming to sec it from all parts. I have now more orders for bridges from the aristocracy than l can execute in ton years, if I would do them.— Indeed, I have been so much among the aris tocracy of late, that what with high living, being i so sudden a transition from starving, ! have been ! compelled to go through a course of medicine,! and am just now convalescent. Os course, any thing once built precludes the possibility of tak ing a patent in England, but its merits and value are beyond all calculation. A permanent, beau tiful and steady bridge may be thrown across a river half a mile wide out of the reach of floods, and without auv thing touching the water, at a most inconsiderable expense. The American | patent is well secured, [ know. 1 shall continue to build a few more bridges of larger spans, and j one ofthem a railroad bridge, in order that! may perfect myself in them so as to commence fair when 1 reach America. 1 have a great many i more accounts of my exploits since 1 came toi Stafford, but must defer sending them until next i tinn*. 1 beg you will write me, for now, since a correspondence is opened, 1 shall be able to tell you something about England. I know it well. 1 have dined with earls, and from that down— down—down, to where the knives, forks and plates me chained to the table, for fear they should bo stolen.” Such is the history of genius triumphing over difficulties, which are enough to appall the stout est heart. The. Raw Material. —An eminent con noisHcur was offered during dessert gome grapes. ‘Thank you,’ he said ’ll is never my cti*. lin to take my wine in pill*.— l'hysiologir du (rout. Very MVI.—A seaman who had escaped a dreadful shipwreck on the roast of Maine, was asked by a moral lady Imw he felt when strop, i gling between life and death in the waves re plied— • Wot, madam, very wet.’ A Srxon.-VR Lake.—About ten miles to the Southeast of Saratoga Springs, N. A"., there is a small lake, well worthy the attention of the cti* lions Geologist. Around it, fora considerable distance,stretches a valley showing many indica ?ieiis of having once been full of water, but which has been drained bv the bursting of its t.'oulhcrn boundary towards the Mohawk liiv. er. In tho centre, deeply shaded by woods, iies tho present lake,, than a quart*!r of a mile in width, but about three miles pn length. The shape is serpentine, and though several small streams empty into it, no outlet lias ever been discovered. Very slight change® only are perceptible in the water-mark, even at the period of the Spring freshets. No sound* ings have ever been made in it yet, although deep sea lines have bein used. The shores are hold and perpendicular as a wall, descend. iiig downwards thus, to an unknown depth.— The mightiest ship that ever floated could touch the shore in any place with safety. Its surface is calm as a mirror, for it is so Ipw, it is seldom touched by the boisterous winds. The water, though seemingly clear, looks black, from the great depth and the shadow of the trees on tho shores. It has nothing of the dish shape usually per taining to lakes or to seas and oceans. It seems like an immense crevice in the solid crust of the earth’s surface, thrown open by a convulsion in nature, as an earthquake, long centuries ago. When our planet was young it underwent shocks, such as would crumble the mountains tiiat now bristle along our Continents, into dust and pebbles. To one of those awful convul sions this curious lake probably owes its origin. [Charleston Mercury. The New York co-respondent of tho Phil, adeiphia Inquirer, relates the following inci dent : A strange circumsfanco occurred at about eleven o’clock in the evening. A lady named Bene, was discovered on the roof of & house in V illet street, apparently in a state of derange ment. Help was called, and an attempt made to relievo her from her dangerous position.— Just as she had clung to the oaves of the house and was about to fall to the ground, sho was rescued and taken : n, In about half an hour “be came to her V,ses, and know nothin” of what had transpired, having been a somnambu list for upwards of an hour. k Rake Chance. —The Canandaigna (N< v.) Repository has the following advertisement ! well worth the attention of political adventur- I ers : 1 ‘for Sale. —A few planks remaining of tho ] ‘Buffalo Platform,’ will be offered for sale at j auction, in front of the Town House, in this village, on Saturday next. Gentlemen ambi -1 tious to firm anew political party would do well j to purchase, as said planks may, with great fa | cility, be suited to the want of emergencies of j desperate politicians under all circumstances, i Terms made easy.’ A Categorical Question The Knicker.- bockcr proposes tho following for solution : Between Sing-Sing and Tarrytown, I met iny worthy friend John Brown, And seven daughters riding nags, And every one had twenty bags, In every bag were thirty cats, And every cat had forty rats, Besides a brood of fifty kittens. All but the nags were wearing mittens. Mittens, kittens, rats, cats, bags, nags and Browns, Uow many were met between thetowns ? An English paper tells the following story •Two gentlemen angling in the Thames, at Newman, lately, could not agree upon the ap pearance of one of their favorite baits, the horso | fly, and they agreed to refer the question to a j rustic whom they saw ploughing at a little dis ; tance, and from whom they received this an swer, ‘NY hoy, noa, drat it, I never seed a hors® fly, but I once seed a cow fall down a preci pice.’ An aged spinster was wont to console her self for past disapoiutments in the matrimonial line by the following reflections. If she had ! been married and had a baby, and the poor ! thing had crawled into the oven and burnt it ] self to death, what a horrible thing that would have been ! Free Lahor—Free Soil.— A Barnburner was urging a son of Erin to Vote for Van Bu ! ren. Says he, ‘go for free soil and free labor.’ j Pat says, ‘I won’t go that ticket ; tree leber ho and and! I want pay for my labor, by jab ers 1’ Poor W ives. —‘As well might the fanner have the Venus dc Medicos placed in his kitch iin fbr a wife,’ says the Rev. Henry Colman, io • one of his agricultural lectures, *as some of our fashionable women. Indeed, it would be much better to have Lot’s wife standing there,fcr rbe might answer one useful purpose; she might salt his bacon 1’ A Close Seckkt. —A poor seedy balf.pey Captain, who was much gives to babbling ail he heard, was told there was but one secret in the world he could keep and that was trhere hr lodged. — Uru. Bur ham'l (Ingolitf’i) life. An editor out west, wishing to give tome faiat id. a of a rotempnrary’s meanness, seys that hit ■ oul is “ii -mall that it might dance a hornpipe ’ in a muHiuitn'* watch fob ! Rs®. 49>.