Decatur Eagle, Volume 1, Number 22, Decatur, Adams County, 10 July 1857 — Page 1

The DPT A TTI R' F A fl I F i 11 Ju Urb v /A. 1 UIX lit A*ijj Hj

VOL. 1.

THE DECATUR EAGLE. PUBLISHED EVERY FRIDAY MORNINC. Office, on Main Street, in the old School House, one Square North of J. & P Crabs’ Store. Terms of Subscription: | For one year, $ I 5(1, in advance; $1 75, within I six months; $2 00, after the year has expired. KF No paper will be discontinued until all i I arrerages are paid, except at the option of the ■ Publisher. Terms of Advertising: One Square, three insertions, $' 00 Each subsequent insertion, 2$ ; KFNo advertisement will be considered less I than one square; ever one square will be coun- ' ted and charged as two; over two, as three, etc. JOB PRINTING. We are prepared to do all kinds of JOB WORK, in a neatand workmanlike manner,on the most reasonable terms. Our material for the completion of Job-work, being new and of the latest styles, we are confident that satisfaction can be given. Law of Newspapers. 1. Subscribers who do no’ give express notice to the contrary, are considered as wishing to continue their subscriptions', 2. If subscribers order the discontinuance of I their papers, th-' publisher may continuetosend them until all arrearage-at' paid. 3. If subscribers neglect or refuse to take their papers from the office they are held responsible till they have settled the bill and ordered the paper discontinued. ■I. If subscribers remove to other places without informing the publisher, and the paper is I still sent to the former- direction, they are held responsible. tlFThe Court have decided that refusing of take a paper from the office, or removed and [leaving ituncalled for is trim a facie evidence of [intentional fraud. COUNTRY GIRLS. Up in the morning early, J ust at the peep of day, Straining the milk in the dairy, f Turning the cows away, Sweeping the floor in the kitchen, Making the beds sp stairs, Wasting the braakfast dishes, Dusting the parlor chairs. Brushing crubms from the pantry, Hunting for eggs nt the barn, Cleaning turnips for dinner. Spinning stocking yarn, Spreading the whitened linen, Down on the bushes below, Ransacking every meadow, Where the red strawberries grow. i "Starching the “fixings” for Sundry, Churning the snowy cream, Rinsing lhe pails and strainer, Down in the cooling stream; Feeding the geese and turkeys, Unking the puukins pies, Jugging the little one’s cradle. Driving away the ties. Grace in every motion, Music in every tone, Beauty in form and feature, Thousands might covet to own, Cheek.- that rival Spring roses, Tilth die whitest oi pearls,— One sf these country maids is worth A score of your city girls. General Wooll of the Uninted States! : army is alarmingly ill. They declaim most against the world ; [ who have most sinned against it; as peo-; : pie generally abuse those whom they i have injured. «■» A crusty old bachelor says that twothirds of the married men look upon home only as a place where they get warm victuals, and have their washing done. ‘Tom, you sot,’ said a temperance man to a tippling friend, why do you drink i such stuff as you do? Why, the very hogs wouldn’t touch that brandy!’ That’s i cause they is bruits,’ said Tom, ‘Poor | creeters! they dunno what’s good.’ A Gentleman bragging of having killed a young panther whose tail was “three feet long,’ Brown observed that the animal died seasonably, as the tail was lung enough not ‘to be be continued.’ ‘Would you like to subscribe for Dick- 1 ens’ Household Words?’ inquired a magazine agent. ‘I guess not —household words have played the dickens with me long enough.’ 111 TB t > l ‘How many patients have died since my last visit?’inquired a hospital physi- , cian of his nurse. ‘Nine, sir,’ was the prompt reply. ‘Why,’ said the Doctor, ‘1 left medicine for ten?’ ‘Yes,’ said the nurse, ‘but one of them refused to take it.’ Retaliation.— A little boy of four or [ five years old, was much vexed with his grandmother for boxing bis ears; but not daring to sauce the old lady directly, he look up his favorite cat, and stroking her back thus addressed her: —‘Well pussy, I wish one of us three was dead—and it ain’t you, pussy, and it ain’t nie ■ Tniec vt ’ I—J •

A CURE FOR’ENNUI.

A CURE for; ENN Ui. ' It was ten in the morning, and I had risen, when Dr. Elliot entered my appart- | went. ‘Ah’ Doctor,’ in a fable voice, I you see before you a poor young man I Who is fast going to the grave. lam surrounded by everything that wealth can purchase but at twenty five years of ; age, have lost all sense of enjoyment.— My existence is a burden and 1 only desire death. I have consulted the most eminent physicians in London, but they i can do nothing for me. i ‘They were right,’ replied the Doctor, ■ abruptly. Then must I die? ‘Yes, undoubtedly when vou are eighty year old. ‘Heavens! do yon know a remedy? „ Perhaps, perhaps. Let me see, Sir Thomas, have you abused the pleasures which youth and fortune have procured for you? ‘1 have used them, but never abused them.’ ‘What are your first thoughts upon I awaking? ‘Vague and undefined!’ ‘Have you ever been in love? ‘Alas! 1 have no strength to love or hate.’ ‘Do you like the theater?’ | ‘lt is a bore. 1 ‘Do you like the pleasures of the table? j 1 have no appetite.’ ‘Do you enjoy the beauties of nature?’ ‘I only see clouds and shadows.’ ‘You are very siek, but not incurable!’ •Do you believe it?’ 1 know it; but you must make great i sacrifices.’ ‘What is that?’ ‘You must renounce your country, your friends and the use of your fortune. You must forget that you are Sir Thomas Wentworth, and the immense wealth you possess. You must go to Switzerland, taking with you only a hundred guineas to buy some goats and a little cabin.— You must live, there for a year, breathing the pure mountain air, and laboring with the sweat of your brow to gain an existence, which all the diamons of the Indies cannot purchase?’ ■You forget, I cannot travel—l have nostrength.’ ‘I will return. There exist in society a class of men among whom your malady is extremely rare. These are the poor, in their ranks vou must mingle. Depart I men, as soon as pussiuie. Return in a year,, and you will return j ! cured. There is but one plank between I you and shipwreck; renounce it, and you i are a dead man.’ So saying’ he took his hat, and polite- 1 !iy wishing me a pleasant journey, and j ; departed. I deliberated upon his advice, and concluded to follow it. 'To my stewart I gave directions concerning my affairs, and 1 the next day enbarked from Dover, with-1 ■ out acquainting a person with the object ! of my journey or my destination. 1 I supported the fatigue of travelingbet- ' ter than I anticipated, although 1 give I up hopes of ever looking upon my country ! or kindred again. i After a journey of three weeks the i snowy summits of the Alps rose before I me. At this sight, I was seized with a I profound sadness, and I felt sure that I i should never leave them alive. I arrived I at Berne in great dejection of spirits, and j remained there two days to make iny arrangements, and finally decided upon the valley of Lauterbrunn for my habitation. I rose at six, took a guide and began my march; but the grand and imposing scenes of nature were not in harmony with my •physical strength, and what others would . have been a source of unbounded pleasure, was to me a suffering. We stopped : for the night in the valley of Grindelwold | and in the morning, for the first time in many months, 1 had a good appetite. At sun set 1 arrived at my destination, and entering the first honse, I asked the hospitality of the inmates, which was i cheerfully accorded me. In the morning I assumed a shepherd’s dress, and K-ft the friendly roof, not to enjoy the charms l of nature, but to indulge in my own sad I reflections. : I I have taken but a few steps when I I heard the sound of music, and the village ■ rapidly fiilled with people to attend divine :service. • i The crowd proceeded to the church, ' and awaited in silence the enterence of I the pastor, a venerable man, inspiring res- ■ pectand esteem. Hardly were the serv- ! ices concluded, when the flutes and hautII boys were beard anew, & a young man & > woman knelt before the alter and received I the nuptial benediction. Happiness and r ■ and gayety shone in all faces. I glanced sI towards the scat occupied by the young t girls of the valley, and observed one e! with her eyes fixed upon me. Her beauri tv was more delicate and noble than ol 1: her companions, and occasionlly a tear -I would steal from beneath her eye.ashes. e : Her sadness give her an additional charm lin my eyes; ‘like me she is unhappy,’ I

“Our Country’s Good shall ever be our Aim—Willing to Praise and not afraid to Blame."

DECATUR, ADAMS COUNTY, INDIANA. JULY 10,1857.

i said, ‘but happiness will soon smile Upon - her, while with me death only will put an 1 end to my misery., Next followed a bail, and two hundred young people danced merrily to the sound 1 of the same instruments that we had 1 heard in the church. Seeing a strange ' young shepherd reclining in the shade of an ancient p:ne, sonic of the dancers ap- - proached and invited me to join in their ■ amusement; but I declined, and they - abandoned me to my own reflections.— Ihe young girl with whose beauty I had been struck was not among the gay throng she had disappeared immediately upon - leaving the church. After the rustic ball the girls, hand in ! hand singing gaily as they went, advanced ! to the foot of a high hill, whose summit was covered with ice. All at once they star- • ted and rushed full speed up the slippery - eminence. They seemed liUo a troop of I angels ascending to Heaven. But whatj was my terror when they began to de- ; scend in the same rapid and perilous man-i nor. With great speed they camo spring-1 ing down the declivity, their hair unbound , and floating in the wind, while their lov- I ers at the base of the bill, with their arms ! extended, received them with innjimera-1 ble kisses. ‘Happy shepherds?’ I exclaimed, ‘how i I envy you! Upon arriving at the house I learned ‘ that my guide had purchased for me a ■ 'dozen goats, and a little cabin upon one ■ of the neighboring mountains. This , transaction had consumed almost nil my I money, and if I wished to live, I must' labor like my new companions, no richer I. than any of them. My dwelling was neat, and furnished i with everything necessary for comfort; afi bench, a table and a bed, a little hard to i be sure, but soft enough for the robust limbs of a tierd shepherd. , My first few days were frightful. Thu isolation in which 1 lived, the coarse fare to which I was unaccustomed, violent exercise in following my goats over steep rocks and precipices, all combind to drivel me to dispair. Soon 1 had no strength to ' leave my cabin; a burning fever consum-' ed me, and my senses were lost in delirum. 1 < I remained ten days hovering between!, life and death. Sometimes beheveinj myself in my own country, sometimes on a desert Island, pursuing phantoms th t fled before me. Sometimes I secmUl see at my bedside the young gill whom ! S&&A »»' ** , ! Finally after a lethargic sleep, my rea- ( ; son, returned I inquired, ‘Where am 1’ | A voice replied. ‘He is saved!’ I opened my eyes and I perceived two females, lone of middle age, who had uttered the i exclamation; but the other, fresh as spring ' 'and beautifully’as a new-born flower, | gazed at me in silence. ‘These are the I two angels,’ I said, in my own language, ‘that have saved my life.* My words they could not understand, by my senti- | ment I am sure they did. I Marie and Laura, so called in the val-, lev were beloved by all the inhabitants j of Lauterbrunn. They delighted in good | deeds, and often climbed the mountains I to carry assistance to sick cottagirs. — Their dwelling was not far from mine, and as soon as they learned of my illness they hastened to tend upon me. Thanks to their care, I recovered, and became a freqnent visitor at their cottage. Garti-j | tude made it a duty and love made it a ‘ necessity.

I applied myself dilligently to the study I of their language, and with Marie and ; Laura for instructions, I soon acquired great proficiency in it, and could epnverso freely with the shepherds upon the mountains. Obliged, like them, to earn my own living, I soon began to value my | hardearned necessaries, and to forget the existence of luxuries.' After a hard day’s I work 1 thoroughly enjoyed my evening • meal of coarse bread and goat’s milk. — . My sleep was peaceful, and visions of j I Laura danced through my dreams, I supposed that Marie and ; | natives of Lauiwbrunn. They wore the t I costumes and spoke the language of the ! , country; but I could not bnt observe a j marked difference between their manners j I and those of the simple Swiss shepherdes-; I ses. The latter possessed a charming I i naturalness, and at the same time an air | of rusticity. Marie and Laura possessed, the same naturalness, but a high-bred refinement and cultivation was mingled with it. They were calculated to adorn any station, however, exalted. In the meantime activity and the pure air of the mountains accomplished miracles in my behalf. I could clime the steepest rocks, and the most slippery paths. I pursued the chamois into almost inaccessable retreats, and leaping a frightful chasm was a mere amusement. After being so feeble, 1 rejoiced in my | strength, and acquired a wonderful vital- ’, ity and energy. ‘ One day I reached the summit of the I Scheldeg, and contemplated the vast II scene around me—high rocks, steep preclipiccs, and apparently bottimlcss abys-

• ses; vvbile far, far beneath me lay, in min-1 iaturc, the smiling valleys of Lauterbrunn i I and Griandelwold. A few light clouds I j hoveled above the horison, and looked | like floating mountains. I was lost in admiration of the glorious scene, when suddenly a terrible noise I like thunder reverberated through the mountains. This fearful sound increased, and a thousand echoes repeated it. I, I safely out of the reach of the avalanches, , hegaa to descend with great rapidity, wliei I heard a piercing cry, and saw upon a neighboring eminence a young woI man streaehing her arms imploringly to- ■ wards me. I flew towards her, and re- ' eeived the unfortunate girl falling in my ! arms. I bore her from the dangerous I spot. One moment more, and I should ! havc"’ieen to late. It was Laura and no !< th<- Lira Laura, whom 1 had rescued , t«oujT y‘ h I felt myself endowed with 1 <i kg,- I ', r. atigth an.! c.vri icd her in my | i-rn a without preceiving the weight of my : re 'ous burthen. I dashed down the I I mowUftin with the agility of a chamoise, . never stopping to breathe until I reached I: ■■■ dwelling of Marie. Laura, tempted by the serenity of the . [atmosphere, had ventured upon the moun- j ‘ ns to collect some plants, and was stir-1 ! by the avalanche in the midst of! i Les occupation. After this day I assumed I . ie entire change of Marie and Laura.— .■ m Sundays and feast days I escorted , ‘ yyej.l to the village, and joined in the I ■ '..“’."e with the young people upon the' I r' ecn. These were the happiest moments J :"y life, for lashed of Heaven no g;. -.ter felicity than that of seeing Laura | day. d" t ln the meantime my year of exile had ! ' riy expired, My health was entirely I and to my expectations ol •estb bad succeeded all the hope of friendnip and love. I thought of my friends -.r home, but could not decide to leave a ;,;mtry to which I was indebted for the greatest of all benefits, health; and besides, how could I abandon Laura? The principal events of our existence i ■re independent of our will. Our de-1 ,: ns are at the mercy of circumstances, •iue a leaf at the sport of the wind. I en-! icrcd one evening the cottage of my I neighbors, and found them both in tears, I tarie weeping i% the arms of Laura, and ( ■ying—0, my daughter, what will become of 7 "eiE k.-wx. s’uUL v.n take refuge?—lf few days remaining to me, but I cannot see you suffer. Do not despair, my dear mother,’ said Laura; I am well, and can work and support us both until that happy day shall 1 come, which will restore us to our country and rights. Be consoled, then, and do not be unhappy about my welfare.’ i This scene made so deep an impression upon me, that I was no longer master of mself, entreated them to acquaint me with their misfortunes and I would shed ■ my last drop of blood in their cause. | Laura burst into tears and exclaimed—- ■ Soon we must part forever.’ _ | 'Forever, Laura, ah, I would rather die ; a hundred times. No, I will only abandon you with life.’ ‘lt is necessary,’ she continued. ‘Heaven and man have decided, and we must; seperate. We are compelled to fly from ! I the peaceful country, where I had just beI gun to know happiness. I confess it, be- ; fore God you are the only person here 1 I regret leaving.

‘At these words I fell upon my knees ! before her, and pressing her hand to my lips exclaimed, not knowing what I said, ‘Laura, I will follow you everywhere, your destiny shall be mine. I here swear to love you eternally.’ ‘Stop, said Marie, stepping between us, Tom, my daughter can never be yours. The rank our family occupied in France | forbids it. Would to heaven we had been i born in this smiling valley, where the [same fortune, the same education, would : bo,« v —us equal- But it is not so.— , Laura is daughter of the Coant de Blanville. The blood which flows in her veins iis illustrious. She cannot dishonor it by i allying herself to a poo*- shepherd. Mis- ' fortunes attendant upon a terribly revoI lution have expatriated us and deprived lus of our estate. M. de Blanville was massacred before my eyes, and I escaped from France —not that 1 cared for my own life, bat to save my daughter from the axe of the executioner. I believed that in this retired part of Switzerland I had secured a peaceful retreat, where the storm could no longer break upon us; but I was deceived. A decree from the re- | public of Berne commands all French emigrants to quit Switzerland, and allows I them but three days to seek another asylum. Alas! in what part of the world I can we find a shelter from our persecuj tors?’ At these words she burst into a torrent . of tears, and I approached her respectfully ‘ and said: I ‘The poor Tom is not worthy, of being • the husband of Laura, but what ever may

aniani m . — ■ Mma!. j Ibe the place of j exile, do not forget one who will never forge', you. I 1 left the cottage not trusting myself to I look again at Laura. The next morning | at sunrise I started for Berne, wl.eie buisiness detained me for tw i day < linmejdiately upon my return 1 called at the I cottage of Madame de Blanviile, to renew my offers of assistance and to sav farewell. Laura looked pale and sad, but her mother greeted me with a face rudient with joy, and showed me a letter ju t received from Berne. It was as follows: Madame. —A man to whom you have unconsciously rendered a mo : important service, has just become apprised of your cruel situation. Permit him to offer an asylum in bis country. Depart at once for London, inquire there for the resii dence of Sir Thomas Wentworth. Ilis | house is at yottr service, ami -yon will tl.e* | receive every attention and respect that a | son can offer to the dearest of parents. J am, very respecfully, Madame. Thomas Wentworth. | ‘lt is from Heaven,’ cried Madame de ’ Blanville- ‘How could I doubt the goodness of providence? I have tried in vain ; to recall this Sir Thomas Wentworth, but | I am sure this is tho first time I ever heard I his name. There is some thing very extraordinary about it. What do you think of it, Tom? What do you advise ’us t«.jd<#’ ‘lf you would deign, Madame, to take the counsel from a shepherd you will ac-' cept the offer of Sir Thomas Wentworth.' Circumstances are pressing.and require it| He can have no inovtive for deceiving you and 1 believe him honest; and an hon- i est man always regards his promises. > ‘But we do not know him. ‘When you see him you may recognize him, and if you have forgotten the ' services you have rendered him, it is ve- : ry plain that he has not.’ Din ing this scene I glanced at LauraShe did nor partake of the joy of her I mother, but was rapt in melancholly. I I approached her, and taking her hand said: ‘Oh, Laura, how happy is Sir Thomas: ‘ he can offer you an asylum and console, you. ‘Console me! ah,’Tom, the death of | my father and our seperation are misfortunes for which I can never be consoled., The next day Madame de Blanville and ' Laura left the valley. The instant for | their departure was the signal for mine. P'o »< U >V different routs. They dared not ’ ous tour through Germany arfu .. . , [ I, not fearing the axe of the executioner,! and desiriotis to return as soon as possi-1 ble, pased directly through France and was soon in England, and awaiting with • an indescribable impatience the moment i . when I could welcome the beings so i dear to me. One morning I was alone in my library, I thinking of Laura, and bitterly regretting i | that I had ever lostsight of her, when tuy i servant announced the arrival of two : ' strangers. When I entered the drawing-room Madame and Madamoiselle approached me : with grace and dignity. The eyes ol i . Laura wera modestly cast down, but 1 I noticed traces of deep sadness upon her | brow. Hermothers anxiety of mind, my I change of costume, and the luxuries by ! which I was surrounded, all pervented ; her recognition of me. She placed in my ‘ hands the letter she had received from • Berna. I took it and pretended to read it. | ‘Yes, Madame, it is I who offer you an ' asylum. My house, my fortune, my life I all’ that I posess is yours. 1 promised : you the respect the attention of a son for | the most tender parents. I will keep my 1 word even if your daughter should refuse ■ to unite her fate to that of the poor shepI herd Tom.’

| Atthese words a vived flash mantled upjon the cheeks of the young girl. She rised her astonished eyes and cried: ‘Good God! it is Tom! Tom himself!’ Her surprise, that of Madame de Blan- : ville, and my own transports of joy, preI vent me from describing the scene that enI sued 1 can only leave it to the imagination ■ us Vh© V«*ujp r<

i Ina few days baura !,«*«.» I.adv I I wentwortb, and for three years I Lave j [been the happiest of husbands. Every-! j thing is bright about me, all nature 'is smiling, and every day I thank Heav-| on for having preserved an exi fence so I filled with charms. To Dr. Elliot lam indebted for all my felicity With agreeable duties and pleasures, my whole time | is oebupied, and I have not experienced a moment of ennui since ray departure : for Switzerland. Getting Through the Legislaturk.j ‘Well, Squire,’ said a constituent to a representative, ‘why didn’t you get your I petition through the Legislature this wini ter?’ ‘I did get it through, my dear sir, . without any difficulty. ’ ‘Ah, indeed; I | didn’t see any account of it in the newspapers.’ ‘To besuie not—l carried it ; through both houses in my pocket, and made no noise about it.’

luioii! for I>l< ;< hililK n. -loom for children Room and > f-ci'.L'm iDr'i.iiu luhouw that they may I .-xp.!. : ami strengthen thosy facilities and functions which are soon to constitute the man an i womenhood oi a generation.Room for them in the nursery and on tho play-ground, with opportunity and freelom tor xeiciee, if you would have them hearty,j m enu!, and home-loving. Too much, in the main, are children burrow- ( ed ami quashed at home—at home, where they should be encouraged to gambol and lejoice —-at home, where their voices : should ling cut merry us the voices of ■ summer birds. Room for the children at school. At . iiool, where they arc too i often imprisoned, stifle, and dwarfed in body and maid. Room and freedom for the childrerf at school, that they may bre'.the fi'esb air, and c jinmune witii - tt Lc , not as masters—■•tern, un- ' bending, and unsympaihismg—but as intellectual guides and social friends.— | Room for the children at church, too, and i see that they are attracted— as they can | be—thither, and not driven with the ‘rod .“f correction, ’ or the chilling rebuke. More room, greater care for,' anil a higher common estimate of children if you would stimulate their ambition to win your regard. Children are generally old- : er, more observing and more capable than they seem, '1 he less you ignore them.— The more you cultivate them, the more will they cultivate you. Give them no rco n, and teach them to think you bel’ieve them nobodies, and ten to one they | will strive to justify such a belief. Room ! for tl.e children, God’s holiest and teu•lerc t blessing—the light of our homes I and the delight of our hearts. Room for | the in every where, and not least in the p l .’die place, the public conveyance, at i the public table Tuck them not in a i corner, crowd them not to the wall, leave hem not forever to the second course and the fragments of the feast., unle/s" you would have them grow up thoughtless of •justice and selfish as yourselves, to pracj lice in turn upon their children as you ! parctico upon them. Do unto children, ; always, even as ye, when ye were children would have been done by. Thus, •!> 1 you enlarge and soften many an intellect and heart; thug prevent many' n I! me liking made sad and desolateby do- , mastic bitterness. Room for tho children I —room.—AL Y. Ledger.

A Queer ElopcinenG ! y - .... .... ment which recently occurred in that city. : It seems that a young fashionable gent. becoming smitten with the charms of a I young lady whom he had seen ata May ball, procured an introduction and solicited the honor of another interview. The •younglady in reply informed him that she was the daughter of a wealthy shipping merchant residing on Broadway, Eell' Point; but, in consequence of her father being violently opposed to the visit lof any admirer of hers, it would be impossible for bun to make the evening visit for which he so ardently longed. Finally, after pressing entreaties, she gavfu I her gracious consent for him to call at her residence on the following Sunday evening, between the hour of eight and nine i o’clock, when her father and mother, she alleged, would be absent on their regular visit to church. On the appointed eve--1 ning the iove-striken swain was, of course, ' punctual in attendance, and was received 1 in the kindest and most affectionate man- ; ner by his lady love.

The upshot of the matter was, that an elopement occurred and the parties were married. After the marriage the bridegroom proposed that they should return home and prucure the father’s pardon. Judge then of his dismay when, with a trembling voice, she informed him that although she posessed th<i name of the gentleman in question, she was not related to him in the slightest degree, and was employed in his dwelling in the capacity of a seamstress. Thus all his visions of a secured fortune were scattered to the winds; and the scene of recrimination ensued was terriby out of place for a uciy married couple. The most gallant man we ever lead of ! is a correspondent of the New York Eve- ! ning Post, who has been writing to that paper recently on the ‘woman question. 'He says: ‘I confess in all sincerity, that 1 have never seen an ugly woman. This may appear paradoxical, and still it is the pure truth. I never find any woman enentirely ugly. I enlarged upon tins idea once before an audience of woman. One who was extreamly flat-nosed said to me—‘Sir, I defy you not to find me ugly.’ ‘You madam,’ 1 replied ‘are an angel, fallen from heaven, only you have fallen on your nose.’ Probably she did not bej lieve me, and has maintained against the whole world that she is ugly.’ It is reported that Col. Fremont will sail in the next steamer for California.

NO. 22.