Decatur Eagle, Volume 2, Number 7, Decatur, Adams County, 26 March 1858 — Page 1

.yrj-aagg l ——— r. —* - a tn r ii r r a ti t d r a r i r I ME UE I A 1 U K EA b EE .

IVUUitI riant* X VOL. 2.

’ 8, 1.' jji !■■■■■ ii. ii " . ", '.'--"i ■—■«■—■■■ *Tth e eagle. *H«r— — —Hi f> *»i- — PUBLISHED EVERY FRIDAY MORNING. Jffloe, on Main Street, in the old School House, ona Square North of J. & P Crabs’ Store. 1 ' crms of Subscription : For one year, $1 50, in advance; ?! 75, within ! ® ,,E i|ic months; $2 00, after the year has expired. Douk dj" No paper will be discontinued until all M'arreragesare paid, except at the option of the ' ct Publisher. >, i .> r y d ■ Terms of Advertising: One square, three insertions, $1 00 | Each subsequent, insertion, , , i tCrN'o advertisement will be considered less ■ than onc>»qnare; orer »ne square will becount«d and oha' jtjd a. two; ov.-r two, as three, etc n, »: JOB PRINTING. doth- We are prepared to do all kinds of JOB j WORK, in a neat, and workmanlike manner, on •atit'lhe most reasonble terms. Our material for completion of Job-work, being new anil of .he latest styles, we arc- confident that satisfaccan be given. ®P ! Law of Newspapers. 1- Subscribers whodo not give expressnotice • 1 o the contrary, are considered as wishing to ,T Cr :ontinue their subscriptions. i "j 2. if subscribers order the discontinuance of b - heir papers, the publisher may continue to send | TTbhern until all arrearages are paid. ! al 3. If subscribers neglect orrefuse to take their ' ‘“papers from the office they are held responsible i they have settled the bill and ordered the J.*?! paper discontinued. L 1. If subscribers remove Io other places withT.T outinforming the publisher, and the paper is vl ' -still sent to the former direction, they are held ' 11 responsible. ~ ETThs Court have decided that refusing of take a paper from the office, or removed and , leaving it uncalled for is prima facie evidence of intentional fraud. !l * THU TIiTOK BOY. Bi St o’kbEFl. ASF.t In all the country round s sei 1 lnl ,. Can .-.bound Nor be found T• 5 No other lad so sound, .j , • As the bold Tutor Bov. 0 di... i ‘j Ko matter where you go, High or low, a ’- Yon will know No juvial soul a foe , ■ : ~’f To that bold Tutor Boy. His figure, tall and comely, >nq | His habits, clean and homely, His affection, in one only, ‘fllr.- z-. < J Whom others can't annoy; And in whose eye °1 ! You may descry Delight and joy, l, • To beam llwi And gleam A' Expressive of esteem for her bold Tutor Boy. . Exempt from worldly woes. And al) foes pc li> repcse, nci All the bliss this life bestows, it’ ;i<a pfy With him you would eujoy: !' Bereft of each despair, net ( trf And affair OU Full of care, 'l' Each comfort you would share jat With your own'l utor Boy; While far from you another ■the Should brave the wind and weather, sit Conti tiled , you together. J' a Wl Would share each social joy; 'CIT While jest and smile m. Would all the While lit’ Dull time beguile. And make tin .. , f t |. J ou take ,w Above aibotAer suitors, your bold Tutor Boy. I psi do then no more let's stay. Nor delay, ll .T’ And you'll say, ,jl When you have come away, , ' You had been rather coy. Content and without fear I. Then in cheer dP You’ll appear, And spend the joyful year ' re[j With your dear Tutor boy: rep And being his free selection, |t'j You share his kind protection, And nought liis sweet affection e c: ° s j : .. For you can e’er destroy; rial While with success, > el, And happiness, You well may bless tr 6 And priase ,ted The days sit' When first you spoke of love to your own Tutor Bov. « I I rr Bi-' A woman may say what she likes to I vou, without the risk of getting knocked down for it. She can take a snooze as- ‘ ter dinner, while her husband has to go <1 to work. She can dress herself in neat I 5, and tidy calicoes for a dollar, which her 8, husband has to earn and fork over. She ■ can go forth into the streets without be,di ing invited to treat at every coffee house, of* She can paint her face if it is too pale, h and flour it if it is too red. She can wear corsets, if too thick—other fixings if too 16 t thin. She can eat, drink and be merry, t without its costing her a cent. She can if get divorced from her husband when she sees one she likes better. And she can get in debt all over, until he warns the' < public not to trust her on his account anv i P longer. h» #

AN ADVENTLRF IN PARIS. BY SYLVAN C 8 COBB, JR. It had been arranged between George j Burton and myself that we would visit Euorpe together; but when the time came a matter of important business kept, me at home. George offered to wait until I ! could go, but as I knew he had friends in ; Itlay whom he was anxious to see, 1! urged him to go, and he finally concluded to do so. But before he went I obtained from him a promise that he would write ito me as often as he could, and be sure to give mea faithful account of all his adventures. I accompanied him to Boston, .and saw him safely off in one of the Cun- . i aid steamers for Liverpool. • In due time 1 received a letter from riy friend. He had reached London in safety. Six weeks were spent in England, and though his letteis were interesting enough to me, yet they contained little! calculated to interest- others. At length ■ I received a package from him, containing a letter occupying ten pages of closely | ! written foolscap, and four newpapers.— The letter was dated at Paris, and gave, the particulars of an adventure so strange and startling that 1 had deemed it worthy of print. The first page of the document was devoted to an account of his passage from England to France, and having informed me of his safe arrival in Paris, he , proceeds: ‘As soon as I reached the city I made my way to the Hotel d-s Princes, where I hoped to find some Americans who had been stopping there; but I was disappointed. They had left the day before, and 1 was the only American in the house; but 1 knew there were plenty of my country-. men at the other places, and I resolved to hunt them up on the next day, and change my quarters. It was too late now I to think of moving that day, and as I was a perfect stranger, and cared not to trust strangers, I concluded to remain in doors for the night, and employ my time in writing. O , | ■Accordingly I went to my room and arranged my escritoire and sat down to ray work. I had written an hour when some one rapped upon my door, and as I supposed it must be some servant or attache of the hotel, I simply said, ‘Come in, 1 and upon this a boy entered, closing the j door after him. lie was quite young—l | not over fifteen or sixteen —and had a 1 j bright, intelligent look, though lie evi-' - denily belonged to the lower grade of so- ! ciety. He glanced about the room with I lan easv. unconcerned look, and then ap-i proached my desk. ! “Is this Mr. Burton?’ he asked, in' : French. ‘I told him that was my name. — You know I can speak French almost like a 1 native. j “Do you know a “Mr. Edgar Bunnell? He is a countryman of yours,’ pursued the boy. ■I did know such a man, having seen him frequently in our own city; and I futherniore knew that he had been stop- ' ping in Paris, as I had seen his name registered. So I replied that I had seen such a man. ‘Well, sir,’ the youngster continued, | 'he is very anxious to see you. He was i taken suddenly sick while walking alone in the Hue Saint Victor, and is now in the 1 house of a perfect stranger. He said he had heard that there were Americans : stopping here, and he hired me to come i and see.’ ‘And what then? I asked. •Why—does not monsieur see? The poor man is sick abed, and he would see a friend, a countryman. I asked him if he was sure I could succeed, and he said . if 1 found an American he would not fail to come. You are the only American I can find here. Will you go? ‘But. where is the Rue Saint Victor? ‘Only a few steps from the river—it I leads direct to the Halle aux Vias. ‘But how far from here? ‘Perhaps fifteen minutes’ walk, if you can walk as quickly as I can. ‘When was Mr. Bunnell taken sick? ‘This very afternoon. ■How could I refuse to go? There was ( a countryman, in a strange land, suddenly stricken down, and he needed a friend. I 'Of course I must go. I looked at the the boy, and was sure he was honest. I told Dim 1 would go. Yet I would not venture out in such a city unarm-1 ed, and I went to my dresssing-case and took my pistol. It was one of Colt’s revolvers, and had six barrels. I knew they were all carefully charged, for 1 had examined them only a few hours before. I put this in my pocket, unseen by the boy, and then put on my hat and light over-coat. I had no thought of danger j i particularly, but I knew bow many dangers might come unexpectedly in such a place. But, danger or no danger, 1 could not hesitate, for not on any account would I have had it said that a countryman appealed to me in his helplessness, aud 1 ’ would not listen. ‘When all was ready, I turned down

‘Our Country’s Good shall ever be our Aim —Willing to Praise and not afraid to Blame.” — . ■ 1 — ~r—

DECATUR, ADAMS COUNTY, INDIANA, MAR. 26, 1858.

' the gas, and bade the boy lead the way. ' We were not long'in reaching the river, I which we crossed by the Pont Notre ' Dame, as I could tell by seeing the huge old cathedral looming up in the darkness i above the murky gaslight. We were soon treading a labyrinth of narrow ' streets, ?nd 1 had as much as I could do 1 to keep my guide in sight. ‘I can walk slower if monsieur wishes, 1 said iny companion, as he came nigh getting away from me in a crowd. ‘No, I returned. ‘I can keep up.— But how much father have we to go? ‘Only a little way. ‘How far we had come, or what direction we were taking, was more than 1 could i tell. Alli knew was, that I was hur-| I rying through a wilderness of houses, • and that thousands of others were doing , ! the same. Finally we entered a narrow, ; 1 dark street, tlnough which few people ■ were moving, and when my guide stop- i ped it was before an old building, the i ! door of which was level with the street, ! j and in one corner of the structure. | ‘They’ll expect me, so I won’t ring, he said, as he pushed the door open. i ‘We entered a long, vaulted hall, the 'only light to which came from a small lamp which stood within a niche by the ! i stairs. This lamp the boy took, and then said, if I would follow him he would lead me at once to Mr. Bunnell’s room. i We ascended the stairs, and thence pass-! !ed through a narrow way which seemed jto run half around the building in a cir-! cular course. I was beginning to get ! tired of this long travel, when the boy turned into a new channel, and commenced the descent of a flight of stairs. ! ‘Hold on'.’ 1 cried. ‘How is this? i ‘O, the fellow replied with perfect composure, ’we had to come through the i upper part, because there’s other families ' ■ live in the lower part of the front. It’s I only a step now. j -I confess I began to have some mis-' I givings; but I would not turnback now, so down the stairs I went, and at the j foot 1 found a low passage, which we fol- i i lowed for some dozen yards, when my J i guide stopped before a door, which he ! opened. I passed in after him, aud s<aw | i him place his lamp upon a table. ‘Mr. Bunnell is in there,’ he said, ' pointing to a door at the other end of the I appartment. ‘You can go and see him ' while I go and call master. •Without waiting for reply, he slipped • out and closed the door after him. Mv first impulse was to follow him and call I him back; but upon second thought I coni eluded to go in and see Air. Bunnell. So ( . I took up the lamp, and went to the door which had been pointed out. It opened easily, and I passed through, bull saw no one. There was a little cot-bed in j one corner, but no one was upon it. The room was of medium size, with two doors, j but not a window of any kind. The floor | was of brick tiles, and the walls seemed to be of stone, or some hard cement.— ; Where was Mr. Bunnell? ‘Ah —perhaps he was in the next room; , so I went to the other door, and as I ap proached it I saw that there was a lock ; upon it, and that the key was in its place. I tried the latch, and the door was opened without the use of the key; but 1 had i j taken only onestep beyond when I stalled back in horror. The place was not over eight feet square, and upon the floor lay a female form, with the face, pale and ghastly, turned towards me! The rays ■ of my lamp fell strongly upon the marble- [ like, reflective features, and I saw that' the eyes had started from their sockets, i and that the tongue protruded from be- ' tween the white lips! ‘For some moments I was so horror-! I stricken that my senses seemed almost to ' forsake me; but when I did think, my ; first movement was to see if the girl was really dead. I stooped ever the form and touched it—and found it stiff and cold. ; ' She could not have been over seventeen, ’ and had a face and form of considerable ! beauty. Hei dress was rather poor, and ' her left forefinger bore the marks of the j .'needle. Around her neck was a dark, | livid circle, where she had been strangled! There wa» nothing else in the room that ' I could see then —no door, save the one ; by which 1 had entered, and no window. I ‘Of course my next object was to make my escape from this place. Whether I had been brought here to be robbed and ! murdered, or whether there was a plan lon foot to fasten the murder of the girl • upon me, I could not tell, nor did I stop , long to reflect. I hurried out from the place, through the other two apartments, i to the door by which I had entered from the passage. I placed my hand upon the latch, but it would not give. I tried i again and again, but with no better suci cess. The door was not only locked, but so stoutly and securely that I very soon i made up my mind that I could not force it. It was made of soli J oak plank, and was immovable. ‘Up to this moment I had been timid and terror-stricken, but my temper be-, came sharpened no)v. 1 felt just angry enough to desire a few moments’ private

(interview with the party who had caused I all this. Os course I knew the boy could 'be only an agent, or tool, and I hoped his master, or masters, would make their i appearance. Do not think that I would have you believe that I was without fear: I was very fearful, for I knew my life was in dangei. The very horrors of the place would have made any man fearful. But I was net tremulously so. I was calm and collecled, and my little six-barreled friend gave me a vast deal of confidence. ‘After listening awhile, and hearing no soum', 1 resolved to j»o back and see iif I coal' discover anything upon the: p‘j"'><cn cT'Ct.&’dead girl by which I could learn who she was. I was startled again I when I saw her, for I never beheld anoth!er such ghastly sight I have seen men ' killed —I have seen men shattered almost in pieces—hut that pale, marble face, with the bursting eyes and protruding ' tongue standing out like fiend-marks to I mar its beauty—and the place, and the ; circumstances, too, conspired to render it i horrible enough beneath the murky glimmer of my lamp. I ‘However, I stooped down and turned the body partially upon its side, and, in doing so, I hit the edge of the door, which swung into the room, and threw it almost to. At the same moment I saw a pocket-book upon the floor, which had I L'l.'i-n concealed by the flowing dress, and at once picked it up. it was well worn ! and soiled, and I knew it to be the prop- i I erty of a man, and not of the girl who had died. It smelled rank of tobacco and i garlic, and had surely seen some service, i Upon opening it I found several old papers, but no money. Perhaps these paipers might give mts some light upon this dark subject. The first which I examiu-! ed was a memorandum of some sort, but in such hieroglyphics that I could make nothing of it. The second, however, was | of some import; and when I had thorough-' ly decyphered it I had light enough. — I : The following is a literal translation of it: i “One body to Dr. D. de V.j (Male) 4(>f. . “ One body to Dr. S, (Female) 35f. “One body to Dr. Z., (Female) 35f. i ‘Was it not plain enough now? The whole plot was unfolded tome as clearly |as could be. I was to be made food for I ■ the dissecting knife of some studious doctor, and was already in the trap! And my body would be sold for forty trances! My soul knocked out —my wind stopped, I and all for that paltry sum! Aly soul, what a price for a murder! But then the body-catchers might get some perquisites' beside. Ah—yes—surely. I had over 1 two hundred frances m gold in my pock’etjandmy clothes, and jewelry, and : watch wi re worth over twelve hundred more. But they wouldn’t make much by j i the strangling of the poor girl, for her garments would hardly have paid for the trouble of getting them off. But—hark! ‘1 had just returned the ghostly me-1 ' morandtuu to the wallet, and put the latter into my pocket, when I heard the Gutter door open. As I said before, 1 had: nearly closed the door of the vault in which 1 stood when 1 turned the body : over, and now 1 shut it entirely, being: careful to make no noise, and placed my ear at the key-hole. In a tew moments 1 I heard the voices of two men in the adjoin- ; ing apartment. ‘Hallo—his light’s gone out,’ said one \ ‘Hula! Hola ho! Monsieur, your countryman is here! ‘ls he on the bed? ‘No.’ | 'Pardieu! is he gone? Didn’t the boy I bring him here? •Certainly be did. Eugene could have ! made no such blunder. ‘He can’t have gone in there!’ ‘No—l locked the door myself. ‘Peste! Ther’s the key in the lock, 'now. Sucre! he’ll know bis fate! ‘Careful! Let’s see.’ I ‘The fellows stopped speaking, and 1 : heard them advance towards the door of | I the vault. They stopped and whispered ; a moment, and 1 could make out the words I ‘easy,’ 'club,' 'rope,' ‘hist!' and some othi er expressions, all of which went to prove , that the villians meant to despatch me as j quickly as possible. 1 held my pistol, ■ firmly and steadily, for my nerves were ! as immovable as were those of the dead i girl lit my feet. 1 heard a hand upon the latch, the door was pushed slowly open, j and a lamp poked in. ‘He isn’t here! said the man with the lamp, in a perplexed tone. I ‘Have we lost all that? cried the other, I angrily. ‘The first speaker had not entered far j | enough to peep into my corner when he ; . spoke, but presently he put his head fur- j ther in, and as his temple came within ' range, 1 sent a bullet through his brain, and with a single gurgling gasp be fell: , forward at my feet. The second man hesitated but iu an instant, and leaped in with a heavy club raised ready for a blow. But he came upon a man prepared for him. Aly pistol was within six inches of i bis bead as he turned, and as the cracking j I report of charge number two died away, | he lay atop of his companion, with a bul-

let-holo in the place of his right eye! ‘I only stopped to see that both men ' were dead, and then, having seen that the four remaining barrels of my pistol were ready for use, 1 grasped it in my right hand, picked up the lamp with iny left, and started from the horrid place. 1 found the doors open, or, al leasi, unlocked, and without meeting a soul’ I made my way to the street, being careful to take particular notice of the house. At the first respectable-looking shop I stopped. and hired a boy to conduct me to my hotel,.which we reached a little alter ten. Then I toll the landlord of my adventure, and he went with mn to the Prefect of Police, to which functionary 1 told noy story oyer again, it was a happy discov--1 ery for him, for lie told me the sous-pre-sets had been after that very trap for two weeks, having received reliable information that such a horrible den was in existence. ‘ 1 gave the name of the streets, and ' half-a-dozen officers conducted me thither when’l readily pointed out the house.— We made our way to the vault where 1 had lelt the dead, and all three bodies were still there. But not a living soul ! could we find in the whole house. The boy had fled, and it others had been there they had fled, too. The only thing to be found implicating any one was the memorandum 1 bad in my possession, and up'on the strength of that six physicians I have been arrested. The pplice are still upon the scent, and 1 think they have got a clue to the boy, as one of the sous-pre-sets has just been in to get a more thorough discription of him from me. ‘At first 1 woundered how the rogues could have found me so readily; but of course they could find my name upon the register, and see thereby that 1 was a new-comer. And from thi. register, too, ; they can easily learn all they wish. They I are keen chaps. However, when the I case comes to trial, 1 will give you all the i particulars. And, you must make the | most of this adventure, for 1 don’t mean ! to have any more such, if 1 can possibly avoid it.’ The Frenchman’s Revenge. I The following anecdote, which we give ! from memory, became current during the I suspension of specie payments in the financial crisis of 1837: i A Frenchman rushed into one of the banks soon after the general suspension, with a hundred dollar bill in his hands, 1 and demanded the specie for it. Frenchman— Vill you pay zis bill? Vill you give me ze monnaie? Teller (blandly)—We cannot redeem it at present. We have suspended. ! Frenchman— suspende! Vot’s zat?— Hung by ze neck like one dam thieving dog? Oh, no, sare! You do deceive me, Isare! 1 vill ave d’or I’argent —what you i call ze gold, ze silvare’ ze coppare! Teller— We will redeem our notes when other banks redeem theirs. | Frenchman— When ze oder batiks redim zaresl By gar, zo oder banks say ze : same, sare! I vill shoot you, sare—viz ze : peestole, ze gon, ze cannon, sare! 'Tellei— -You bad better wait, sir—you had better keep cool. Frenchman (excitedly)—By gar, I vill I not wait! 1 vill not keep—vot. you call?— (cold! 1 vill ave, by gar, revenge!— Sacre! 1 tear your paper note all in leetle peict! 1 chew him! (Suiting the action to the word.) 1 spit on him! 1 stampon him!— I You looze your leetle dam billet note! there sare—l am revenge! 1 am, by gar, • r-r-revenge!" Having destroyed the note, looking full defiance at the cashier, tellers, and i al! others present —the little Frenchman stalked out of the bank with the air of a Napoleon. At a late ball in Baltimore, a gentlt--1 man, probably one of the codfish aristocracy, having danced with a young lady whose attractions, both personal aud con--1 versational, seemed to have made a deep ! impression on his sensibilities, asked to 1 have the pleasure ot seeing her the next evening. •Why, no sir,’replied the fair one, ‘I 1 shall be engaged to morrow evening; but I’ll tell you when you can see me; ‘1 shall be most happy, exclaimed the strict; n swain. •Well i n Saturday,’ resumed the lady, 'You can see me nt the foot of Marsh’s market selling cabbages! An Irishman went on board the boat ■ at Boston, for Portland, and turned into his berth. The captain when going out of the harbor, finding it very foggy, returned to the wharf. In the morning Pat come on deck rubbing his eyes, and looking all around him. ‘By the powers, large place this Port land. Says he, ‘and built after the style ! of Boston too!’ Do you snore Able? ‘No, Seth, 1 nebber snore. How do you know. Because de oder day 1 laid awake de hole night to see.

IRISH DROLLERY. i An amusing story of Danies Barring- ■ ton, Recorder of Bristol, is recorded by ■ one of the British p ipers. Having to L appear for the plaintiff in a case at awin- , ter assize at Clonniel, he, ‘let into’ the I defendant in no measured terms. The ■ individual inveighed against not being ; present,-only heard of the inveetives.— > After Barrington, however, had got back to Dublin, the Tipperary man lost no time in paying l.is compliments to the ■ counsel. He rode all day and night, and . covered with sleet arrived before Barring- . ton’s residence in Harcourt street, Dubt lin. Throwing the bridle of his smoking • horse over the railing ed the erea, he an- • nounced his arrival by a thundering knock • at tl.e door, which nearly shook the > street. Barrington’s valet answered the summons, and opening the street door beheld the apparition of a rough-coated Tipperary fire-eater, with a large stick I under his arm, and the sleet sticking to ■ liis large busby whiskers. ‘ls your master up?’ demanded the vi-dtor, in a voice that gave some infori mation of the object of his journey. I ‘No,’ answered the man. ‘Then give him my compliments and ■ say Mr. Foley (lie’ll know the man) will . be glad to see him.’ The valet went up stairs and told his master who was in bed, the purport of his II early call ‘Then don’t let Mr. Foley in (or vour life,’ said Barrington, dot its not a hare : and and a brace of ducks he came to pre- ■ sent me with.’ The man was leaving the bedroom .! when a rough wet coat pushed by him, : while a thick voice said, ‘by your leave,’ . at the same moment Mr. Foley entered , ■ the bedroom. : ‘You know my business, sir,’ said he to Barrington; ‘1 have made a journey to j tea :h j ou manners, and it is not my pur- ; | pose to return until I have broken every ■ I bone in your body;’ and at the same time he cut a figure eight with his shelalah bc- • lore the cheval glass. ‘You do not mean to say you would murder me in bed?’ exclaimed Daines, who had as much honor as cool courage. ‘No,’ replied the other, ‘but get up as i soon as you can.’ ‘Yes,’ replied Daines, ‘that you might fell me the moment 1 put my body out ■ ' of the blankets.’ I ‘No,’replied the other. 'I pledge you ,; my honor 1 will not touch you till you are i out of bed.’ ! I ‘You won't?’ •I won't.’ . i ‘Upon your honor?’ i ‘On my honor ’ ‘That is enough,’ said Daines, turning over and making himself very comfortable, and seeming as though he meant to . fall asleep. ‘1 have the honor of an Irish gentleman, and may rest as safe as though 1 were under the Castle Guard. The Tipperary Salamander looked marvelously astonished at the pretended ' sleeper, but soon Daines began to snore. ‘Halo!’ says Air. Foley, aren’t you goi irg to get up?’ ,! ‘No,’ said Daines, ‘I have the honor i an Irish gentleman that he will not strike :'me in bed, so lam sure 1 am not going ito get up to have my bones broken; I’ll never get up again. In the meanlimo, i Mr. Foley, if you should want your breakfast, ring the bell; the best in ti e house is at your service. The morning paper will be here presently, but be sure j to air it before reading, tor there is nothI ing from which a matt so quickly cathes a cold as reading n damp paper,’ and Daines once more affected to go to sleep. The Tipperary man had tun in him as well as ferocity; he could not resist tha i cunning of the counsel, so, laughing aloud ( he exclaimed. •Get up, Mr. Barrington, for in bed or out of bed, I have not the heart to hurt so droll a head. The result was, that in less than an hour afterwards, Daines and his intended murderer were sitting down to a warm breakfast, the latter only intent upon assaulting a dish of smoking chops. A Professional Card.— The subscriber informs her friends, and the public generally, that she continues to invent and circulate lies of every description, gu most reasonable terms, at the shortest notice. Persons requiring her services are referred to any of the most respectable families in the neighborhood iu which , she resides. N. B.—Characters ruined, or only partially injured, by the family or peice.— Village, houses and tea-table lies told upon any subject, and at a moment's notice. Hints and insinuations by the gross, dozen, er single, with a liberal allowance to wholesale dealers. Kitty Clacker. A coxcomb, talking of the transmigra- ‘ lion of souls, said: •In the time of Moses I have no doubt I was the golden calf.’ •Very likely,’ replied a lady, time baa robbed you of nothing but the gilding.’

NO. 7.