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lewis m. gbist, proprietor, j An Independent Journal: For the Promotion of the Political, Social, Agricultural and Commercial Interests of the South. J *2 pee akhum. in advance. VOL. 4. YOEKYILLE, S. C.s THTJESDAY, APRIL 1, 1858. NO. 13. C|oict IMrg. I DANCE LIGHT, FOR MT HEART LIES UN- j l. D?R TOUR FEET, LOVE. I I n "Ah, sweet Kitty Xeil, rise up from that wheel? I Your neat little feet will he weary from spinning: a Come trip down with me to the sycamore tree, Half the parish is there, and the dance is beginning. The suu is gone down but the full harvest moon ' Shines sweetly and cool on the dew-whitened h valley; While all the air rings with the soft, loving things, . Each little bird sings in the green shaded alley." 'J si With a blush and a smile, Kitty rose up the while, Her eye in the glass, as she bound her hair, . glancing; 11 'Tis hard to refuse, when a young lover sues? tl So she couldn't but choose to go off to the dan- ^ cinSAnd now on the green, the glad groups are seen? e' Each gay-hearted lad with the lass of his choo- s< sing; h * -ii? vr_:i u And Pat, without fail, leaus our sweet i>euy neu? , Somehow, when he asked, she ne'er thought of " refusing. W Now, Felix Magee puts his pipes to bis knee, And, with a flourish so free, sets each couple in w motion; 01 With a cheer and a bound, the lads patter the ground? The maids move arouud just like swans on the a ocean. g Cheeks bright as the rose?feet light as the doe's, Now coyly retiring, now boldly advancing? Search the world all around, from the sky to the li ground, No such sight can be found as an Irish lass dancing! S( w Sweet Kate! who could view your bright eyes of jj deep blue, Beaming humidly through their dark lashes so mildly, it Your fair-turned arm, heaving breast, rounded form, , Nor feel his heart warm, and his pulses throb WllUIJ i Young Pat feels his heart, as he gazes, depart, Subdued by the smart of such paiuful yet sweet , love; e The sight leaves his eye, as he cries with a sigh, "Dance light, for my heart it liet under your feet, n love!" r Jfor J jjf Rabies. ? A FIRST BATE LOVE STORY, b Annie had arrived at the mature age of (start not reader,) twenty-seven, and yet iu a state of single blessedness Somehow or other she had not even fallen in love yet.? aj "Had she no offer ?" What a simple ques- ro tion ! Did you ever know half a million of lo dollars to go begging? Offers? Yes, w scores of them ! It may be accounted as one of her oddities, perhaps, but whenever the subject happened to be touched upon by her father, Annie would say that she st wanted some oue who could love her for herself, and she must have assurance of this and how should she in her present position? iu Thus matters stood, when Annie was led to <1' form and execute what will appear a very ? Marvin tinn hilt, shp VC:IS n resolute m " I bave had some tew years experieuce." t "Any object to a place here? Pretty \ close work?only one thousand a year." c "None." ] " When can you begin ?" t "Now." c A real smile shone on the old man's face, t It lingered there like the rays of the set- c ting sun among the clouds of evening, ( lighting up those seemingly hard, dark fea- t tures. I 1 A stool was pushed to the new comer,> i books were opened, matters explained, di-1 c rections given, the pen was dipped in the ' ink, and in short, before an hour had pass- j a ed away, you would have thought that the , i old man aud young man had known each ' i other for years. I In reference to our new friend, it will be { sufficient to remark that he had been liter- i ally educated, as the phrase goes, and though I he had entered early into business, he had I not neglected the cultivation of his mind j i and heart. lie had found time to cherish a I a general acquaintance with the most note- j a worthy authors of the day, both literary and j ( Otiau^c 1VOVIUHW" VV.V V..V .. ?- ? girl. We milst now go back six years. y< One dark, rainy morning in November, as our old friend was looking composedly at G the cheerful fire in the grate of his counting room, really indulging in some serious ni reflections on the past and future, the far u,i future, too, a gentleman presented himself ai and inquired for Mr. Bremen. The old w man uttered not a word, but merely bowed, d There was that in his looks which said "I y< am he." iV The strange might have been some thirty f< years or so of age. He was dressed in ci black, a mourning weed was on his hat, and there was something i-u his appearance which si seemed to indicate that the friend whose ti loss he deplored had recently departed.? si The letter of introduction which he present- tl ed to Mr. B. was quickly yet carefully pe w rused, and as it was unique, we shall take r< the liberty of submitting it to the inspection y of the reader: sj " , 11th mo., 18?. t< Friend Paul:?This will introduce to a thee friend Charles C'opeland. He has n come to the city in pursuit ot nusiness. i \ e have knowQ him from a }*outh up. Thou i c mayest depend upon hiui for aught that he c can do, and shall not lean as upon a broken t< reed. If thou canst do anything for him thou mayest peradventure benefit thyself and find cause to rejoice. j Thy former and present friend, Miciia Loo.mis." c "It is not every one that can get old Mi- 3 cha Looiuis's endorsement on his character," r said Paul Bremen, to himself as he folded a up the letter of the well known associate of f former days. "Old Micha is good for a p quarter of a million, or for anything else? | it will do?I want him?getting old, business 11 increasing?must have some more help? ! p now as well as any time." j f The old gentleman looked at all this, as j 1 he stood gazing in perfect silence ou the o man before him. At length he opeued his i lips. I " Mr. Copeland, you know all about books?" a cligious, and with many of past times.? Mora few years of success in the pursuits a which he had devoted himself, misfortune ame thick and fast upon him. He found iimself left with scarcely any property, and lone in the world, save his only two aughters. As year after year passed away, he grew teadily in the confidence of his employer |: rho felt, though he said it not, that in him e possessed a treasure. Very little indeed was said by either of : hem, not connected, with the routine of bu- i iness, and there had been no intercourse < 'hatever between them, save in the countig room. Thus six years worthy, towards 1 ie close of which period old Mr. Bremen as found looking with much frequency and 1 irnestuess at tbe young woman before him; I imething was evidently brewing in that old ead. What could it be ? And then, too, i e looked so curiously. The Irish servant as puzzled. "Sure," said James, "some- 1 ling is coming." Annie, too, was some- 1 hat perplexed, for those looks dwelt much i q her. "What is it father?" she said to him one mrning at the breakfast table, as he sat azing steadfastly in her face; "do tell me." i " I wish you'd have hiin!" burst forth 1 ke an avalanche. "Know him for six 1 ears?true as a ledger?a gentleman?real msible?don't talk much?regular as clock ork?prime for business?worth his weight 8 i gold." : " Have who, father? What are youtalk)g about!" ( "My head clerk, C'opeland?you don't now him?I do?haven't seen anybody else * orth a quill." Annie was puzzled. She laughed, how- J rer, and said? "Marry my father's clerk ! whai would v eople say ?" " Humbug, child, all humbug?worth ( >rty of your whiskered, lounging, lazy gen- 1 y; say? what they please: what do I care? f hat do you care? what's money, after all ? y ot enough of it?want a sensible man? ant some body to take care of it, all hum- j ug." ' "What's all humbug, father?" "Why people's notions on these matters -Copeland is poor?so was I once?may be * ;ain?world's full of changes?seeuagreat ^ lanyof them in ray day?can't stay here * mg?got to leave you Aunie?wish you J ould like hiin." 1 "Father, are you serious?" "Serious, child!" and he looked so. t Annie was a chip of the old block; a c rong-m;nded, resolute girl. A new idea {. emed to strike her. "Father, if you are really serious in the t atter, I'll see this Copeland ; I'll get acaainted with him. If he likes rac, and I J ke him, I'll have him. But he shall love ( e for myself alone; I must know it. Will < )u leave the matter to me?" t "Go ahead, my child and do as you like. 1 ood morning." i "Stop a moment, father. I shall alter my lme a little; I shall appear to be a poor 1 rl, a companion of our friend Mrs. Rich- ' ds, in II street. She shall know the I hole affair; you shall call me by my midle name, Payton; I shall be a relative of < ours; who shall suggest the business to ' Ir. Copeland, as you call him, and arrange >r the first interview. The rest will take -1 ire of itself." 1 "I see, I see," and one of those rare miles illuminated his whole face. It acaally got between his lips, parted them a : under, glanced upon a set of teeth but lit e the worse for wear, and was resting there, . hen he left the house for his counting Dom. The twilight of that smile had not ; et gone when he reached the well known ; pot, and bowed and looked "good morning" I j those in his employ, for old Paul was, fter his fashion, a polite man. On the ] lorning of that day what looks were directd to our friend Charles, so many so peuliar. so full of something, that the head lerk eoald not but uotice them, and that, , 30, with sotne alarm. What was coming? Lt length the volcano burst forth. "Copeland, my good fellow, why don't ou get a wife ?" Had a thunderbolt fallen at his feet lie ould not have been more astonished. Did Ir. Bremen say that, and in the counting ooui too? The very ledger seemed to blush t the introduction of such a subject, ile or the first time made a blot on the fair >age before him. "I say?why dou't you get a wife?? ;uow just the thing for you?prime article mor enough to be sure?what of that?a ortune in a wife, you know?a sort of a reation of miue?don't waut to meddle with ither people's affairs, know our own busiicss best?can't help thinkingyou'll be hap>ier?must see her." Now the fact is, that Charles had for ome time past thought to himself; but how he old man should have divided his feelngs was quite a puzzle to him. In the sourse of the day a uote was put into Mr. 3remen's hands by James, his Irish servant, he contents of which produced another rriui smile. When the momcut for his reurn home arrived, Mr. 15. handed a scaled locument of rather imposing form to Charles, saying: "Oopeland, you'll oblige nc by leaving that at No. 07 II street. .^lucc it in the hands of the person to whom t is direced ; don't want to trust it to any >ne else." The clerk saw on the outside, Mrs. llichirds, No. 07 II street. The door bell vas rung. The servant ushered Copcland | into a small, neat parlor where sat a lady ap-1 )arently twenty-five or thirty years of age, jlaioly dressed, engaged in knitting a stockng. Our friend bowed, and enquired for ^Irs. Richards. "She is not in, but is expected presently; vill you be seated ?" There was an ease ind quietness, and an air of self-coinmand ibout this person which seemed peculiar to Jopeland. He felt at ease, (you always do with such people.) made some commonplace remark which was immediately responded to; then another ; and soon the conversation; then another; and soon the conversation grew so interesting that Mrs. Richards was nearly forgotton. Her absence was strangely protracted, but at length she made her appearance. The document was presented ; a glance at the outside. "Mr. Copeland ?" Charles bowed. "Miss Peyton." The young lady bowed, and thus they were introduced. There was no particular reason for remaining any longer, and our friend took his departure. That night Annie said to Mr. B., "I like bis appearance, father." "Forward; march !" said old Paul, and be looked at his daughter with vast satisfaction. "The ould man's as swate to-night as a aew poratee," said James to the cook. The next day Charles Copcland came eery near writing several times, "Miss Peyton Dr,' as he was making out some bills of uerchandise sold. 'Delivered the paper last evening?' Copcland bowed. 'Mrs. Richards is an old friend?humble n circumstances the young lady, Peyton? svorth her weight in gold aDyday?have her iiyself if I could.' ****** ** 'IIow much you remind me of Mr. B.,' said Charles one evening to Annie; 'I think you said you were a relation of his ?' 'I am a relative of his through my mother,' was the grave reply. Mrs. Richards turned away to conceal a smile. Somewhat later than usual on that day A.nnie reached her father's house. There i?as no mistaking the expression of her jouDtenance. Happiness was written there. 'I see, I see,' said the old man ; 'the ac:ount is closed, books balanced, have it all hrough now in a short time. You are a senable girl?no foolish puss?just what I vant?bless you, child, bless you.' The next day Paul came, tor almost the irst time in his life, rather late to his countng room. Casks and boxes seemed to be starting with wonder. 'Copeland, you are a fine fellow?heard 'roni Mrs. Richards?proposal to my relation, Peyton?all right?done up well. Come o my house this evening?never been there r'et before, eh ??eight o'clock precisely? vant to see you?gotsomething to say.' 'How much interest he seems to take in his matter,' said Charles. 'He's a kind >ld fellow in his way; a little rough, but ;ood at heart.' Yes, Mr. Copeland, even kinder than you hink for. At eight o'clock precisely the door bell of Mr. Bremen's mansion rung. Mr. Charles Jopeland was ushereu in by friend James. 31d Paul took him kindly by the hand, and urning round abruptly, introduced him to My daughter, Miss Annie Peyton Bremen,' ind immediately withdrew. 'Charles, will you forgive me this?' He vas too much astonished to make any reply. If you only knew all my feelings and mo:ives, I am sure you would.' That the motives and feelings were soon explained to his entire satisfaction, no one evill doubt. 'Copeland, my dear fellow,' shouted old Paul, as he entered the room, ?no use of a !ong engagement.' 'Oh, father!' 'No use, I say; married now?get ready literwards, next Monday evening, who cares? Want it over, feel settled. Shan't part with A.nuie, though?must bring your wife here ?no words?partner in business?Bremen xnd Copeland?papers all drawn up?can't liter it?be quiet, will you??won't stay in the room.' I have now finished my story, reader. I have given you the facts. I cannot say, however, that I approve of the deception practiced upon our friend Charles. As, however, our Lord commended the'unjust steward because he acted wisely,' so I suppose the good sense shown by the young lady in choosing a husband for the sake of what he was, and uot for the sake of what he might have possessed, merits our approbation. It is not every one who has moral courage enough to step out of the circles which surround the wealthy, and seek for those qualities of mind and heart which wealth neither gives nor takes away. Anecdote of Washington.?The following anecdote is from Wcem's Life of Washington : "In 1784, Washington was stationed at Alexandria with his regiment, the only one of the colony, of which he was Colonel. There happened to beat this time an election in the town for members of the Assembly, and the coutest ran high between Col. George Fairfax and Mr. Elzey. Washington was a warm friend of Col. Fairfax, and Mr. Paine headed the friends of Mr. Elzey. A dispute taking place in the Court House yard, Washington, at this time not twenty-two years of age, contrary to his usual manner, became excited, and, what was still more uncommon, said something that offended Mr. Payne, whereupon the little gentleman, who, 'though but a rub in size,' raised his hickory and by a single blow brought Washington to the ground. Several of Washington's officers being present they whipped out their irons in an instant, and it was supposed that there would be murder off-hand To make bad worse, the members of the regiment hearing how their commander had been treated, bolted out of the barracks, every one with his weapon, thrcateuiug vengeance on those whe dared to knock down their beloved Colonel. Happily for Mr. Payne and his party, Washington recovered time enough to go out and meet his enraged soldiers, and after thanking them for their expression of attachment, assured them that he was not hurt in the least, aud begged them, as they loved him and their duty, to return to their barracks. As to Washington himself, he went to his room, and finding, on mature reflection that he had been the aggressor, he determined tc make Mr. Payne honorable reparation by asking his pardon on the morrow. Nosooner had be made this noble resolution than he recovered his natural calmness of manner, dressed himself and went to a ball, behaving as if nothing had happened. The next day he went to a tavern, and wrote a polite note to Mr. Payne, requesting to see him. Mr. Payne presumed the import of it was a challenge for a duel, and repaired to the place appointed for the meeting, expecting to see a pair of pistols introduced. But conceive his surprise upon entering the chamber where Washington was, he discovered a decanter of wine and glasses upon the table, and upon his entering, Washington arose, and in a very friendly manner met him, and presented his hand, saying: <Mr. Payne, to err sometimes is nature, to rectify error is alwaysglory. I find I was wrong in the affair yesterday; you have had, T think, some satisfaction, and if vou think that is sufficient, here's my band, let us be friends.' It is only necessary to say, that from this time Mr. Payne became one of Washington's most enthusiastic admirers and friends. If this conduct had not been deemed in Washington to arise from magnanimity and not from fear, then he could not have become the immortal hero he is regarded in history." IPkdkteims ^eabhifl WONDERS OF THE BEE-HIVE. One of the curious sights in a hive is the cluster which the bees make. Their nature is such that they need a high degree of animal heat. A single bee would probably perish from cold, but when thousands cluster together, they can endure the severity of our winters. But in forming the cluster they do not lie close together like a litter of pigs, nor stand side by side like a flock of sheep. Their mode is to hang themselves from the ceiling or roof of the hive, or from the branch of a tree. Some hundreds of them take hold of the underside of the roof with their fore-feet which terminate in sharp claws, and stretch themselves at full length. Their hind legs hang down so that another set of bees can grasp them with their forefeet, and others still hang to them. But these chains get linked together, each bee perhaps hanging from two, and thus festoons are formed, and the shape of the whole mass is that of a sugar loaf with the small end down. We had occasion once to turn upside down a box containing several hundred bees, aDd as they gradually accommodated themselves to their new position, we found at the bottom of the chain a bee, which, while clinging to those above him with its fore-feet, held in his hind-feet a single nail that happened to be loose in the box, and from the nail still another bee hung. The latter dropped off pretty soon, but the first held on to the nail for half an hour before letting it fall. The number of bees in.such a cluster is sometimes very large, and the weight is proportionally great so that the strength of those tiny hooks with which the feet end off, is more than we should suppose. NUMBER OF BEES IN A SWARM. The number of bees iu an ordinaryswarm may be estimated by the actual weight. It has been found by experiment that a pound of bees contains about five thousand; and if one knows the weight of the hive in which he has put a new swarm, he can easily calculate the number of bees. It is desirable that a swarm should have at least 20,000 bees; sometimes there are three times as many. It is to be noticed, however, that a new swarm on going from the old hive, is heavily loaded with honey, and if no allowance were made for this, the estimate would be too large. The observing hive allows us to watch each bee as it returns from its flight in search of food. Those that come with a load of pollen on their thighs, first attract our attention. This pollen is the food of the immature bees, and is kept stored away in readiness for consumption when needed.? The supply is procured months before it is needed. And it is essential to the well-being of a stock, though it is bitter to our ta^te, and makes the honey with which it is, unfii ror market or for the table. We see a bee coming in, with its well-balanced load stick ing out on citner siue UKe panniers irom a donkey. It marches along over the familial road from the entrance to the comb, and instead of going up to the spare honey boxes, where the choicest stores are kept, makes its way the neighborhood of the breeding cells, and looks for an unoccupied spot. Passing by those that contain honey or brood, it selects a proper place, and thrusting its hind legs into the cell, it rubs them one against the other until the entire load is brushed off \ and then leaving it to others to pack down . the bee-bread, it starts off to make arrange; ments for delivering its cargo of honey. The honey is brought to the hive in the abdomen, and is usually collected at the same time with the pollen. The bee brushet up the juice of the flowers with its fivetongued proboscis, and swallows it. II wheu gorged with food, it were cut in two, tho honey might be found in the sack of the ; abdomen. Or if the bee were suffered to i light on a window in a strong light, the semi-transparency of that part of its body would show that it was loaded with honey. A bee desiring to be relieved of its load, gives an invitation to the company to help themselves. This is done in a peculiar mani uer, if we have not misinterpreted their antics. Holding on the comb with its fore feet, it shakes itself violently, and repeatedI ly, crowding away those that hinder its ; movements. As one comes to accept the offer, the two join probosces, and the honej , passes one to the other. In the same waj I also they feed the mother-bee; but if the i honey be not wanted for immediate use, it is , poured into the cells provided for it. i Thus all the honey which we find in the > hive, is brought in, a few drops at a time, ' in the stomach, or more properly iu the honey-bag of the bee; but > '-Many a little makes a mickle." but ice surely ought not to despise the re, suits. It is not likely that any change is effected in the honey after it is collected from the flower, exceptthat it becomes thick. ened by evaporation. Buck-wheat honey is one thing in flavor, color and smell, and white clover honey is quite another thing.? And as for the feeding mixtures which some people administer to their bees, we will only say they get no better than they give. If , they give molasses, they get molasses in the comb; and if they give West India honey, they will not get the apple blossom honey in return. During the days when the honey harvest is abundant, the hives increase rapidly in weight, and sometimes all the profit of the entire year is made in the course of two or three weeks. Indeed the work accomplished in a few favorable days is almost incredi ble. how MUCH IIONEV DOES A SWARM MAKE ? We have before us in the Bicnen Zeitung, for 1856, an accurate and extended statement of daily observations made iu Germany i three years ago. A man took the trouble t<J weigh one of his hives twice a day, before the bees left in the morning, and after their return at night, aud thus he determined the daily increase of weight, and the loss at . night by consumption and evaporations.? The observations were contiuued from the 5th of May to the 2nd of August, a period of 91 days. Some general idea of the whole may be formed from the following items which will repay the reader. The hive, bees, comb, honey, brood, &c., weighed, on the 5th of May, 64 pounds; and after losing two swarms, of "seven and five , pounds respectively, its weight, on the 2nd of August, was 1201 pounds. This does not . show all that the bees accomplished, for the . gathering of the honey ceased almost entirely on the 27th of June, (five days before the departure of the second swarm,) at which . time the entire weight was 148 pounds, , showing an increase of 79 pouuds in 54 days. The work of each day is minutely recorded. From the 28th of June to the 21st of July, no day showed an increase of weight except the 11th and 17th, when 1 and 1 of a pound were brought in ; and the remainder of the term added only 3 pounds. In May the Rape was in bloom, and the trees, especially of theforest; and the 17th, the day of such a large increase, is described as a sultry day, the Rape being in full bloom It is remarkable that the following day nothing wascollected. From the middle of June, the Esparcet was said to be in full flower. We see no reason to distrust the accuracy of this record, and we should like to have similar observations made in this country. The results are affected by many matters easily overlooked. The increase of weight, for example, is not from the accumulation of honey alone, but from the bee-bread, and from the growth of the brood; and yet the latter item would be gradually operating, and would not explain the large increase of the most prosperous days. The accumulation of honey must be influenced also by the distance of the pasture ground from the hive, and the time required for the journey. And of course the consumption at night must be far greater in a hive where neio comb is to be made, than in one where there is a full supply of empty cells. This table also snows that if the owner had desired to destroy his bees by sulphur, he would have gaiued by taking up the swarm on the 28th of June, without waiting for it to consume the honey after the supplies failed in the field. And while speakiug of the consumption of honey, v;e may as well cite other facts.? We have said above that the stock spoken of lost 22A- pounds, (including an after swarm of five pounds) between June 27th and August 2d. In the next two weeks of August, it lost in weight 2] pounds. In Key's Treatise we find other experiments. A stock that weighed, on the 2d of November, 29 pounds 3 ounces, had lost, February 26th, (115 days after,) 5 pounds 2 i ounces, or about J of an ounce daily. This . is at the rate of a pound in three weeks during the Winter, when there is les "ctivity : and less ot consumption tnun in tne warmer ! seasons of the year. Much, however, depends on the number of the bees, and their i protection from the cold. The consumption during the Winter and Spring may be so . small as to leave too little room for brood, and to make it desirable to rob the hives in the i Spring. This is one of the things where great judgment is demanded of the beej keepers.?Am. Agriculturist. I 0'CONN EL AND TIIE IRISH BANK CRISIS. ; ?A run was being made for gold by the 1 peasantry of the surrounding counties ; and i crowds of clamorous frieze-coats might be seen pushing aud fighting at the doors of all the banks in L . The Bank, i however, (which has since proved itself to i be as solvent as any establishment in Irei land,) enjoyed at that time the least conj fidence and was, of course, the more set up ? on. I had a few of their one-pound notes., though I believed they were very good if people would only have faith in them; still, i as I feared the panic itself might bring about the catastrophe it apprehended and it was savcc qui pent everywhere, I thought it would only be prudent in me to save myself; so I mounted my nag, and trotted with i my bundle of notes into L . On arriving at the bank door, the Babel of mixed Irish and English was terrific.? Men and men, and men and women tugged and struggled together for precedence, and i I could hear the exclamations, 'There you i have torn the coat off my back making as r much fuss about your dirty thirty-shilling 1 note, as if it were a pack-load of ten-poundi ersyouhad." > 'Arrah, ye'll be all served,' cried out a droll fellow on the verge of the orowd.? 'Here's the Counsellor coming, and a bag of j gold on his back.' All looked in the direction the last speak-1 er pointed to, and there, sure enough, 11 j could see approaching the burly figure of i j O'Connell, who was one of the directors of { I the bank, and had just arrived from Dublin. ' He had not exactly a bag on his back, but j he carried a parcel in his hand. 'Let me pass, my good friends,' said he, 'and you shall all be served.' And he pushed shoulder foremost through the crowd, who made wav for him. and cave three cheers for the 'Counselor' as he passed. The Liberator, as he was called, might have been twenty minutes in the bank, when a hurrah was raised from those who stood nearest the bank door, 'Didn't I tell yon,' cried a fellow, crushing his way out, and blowing with his breath to cool five hot sovereigns which he held with difficulty in his hand; 'Didn't I tell you the Counsellor would settle it ? There they are at it, hard and fast, as tallow chandlers on a melting day, making sovereigns like winky, and they're shovelling them out upon the counter as hot as boiled praties from a pot,' and he blew again upon the sovereigns, and held them up to be touched. Seeing and feeling was believiug, and there, sure enough, was the gold, warm, as if from the crucible Glory to you, Dan !' shouted out the crowd, who now really believed that the Counsellor was making sovereigns in the honlr rvorlr?r tn moof fliA run <WIlflt.'fl ihfl use of crushing; you can't break a bank when they're melting out money like that.' My curiosity was at its height, so, with one tremendous effort, I gained admission, and there, sufc enough, were the clerk9 ladling out burning hot sovereigns from copper scoops to the people, who crowded to the counter, and who, snapping and blowing their fingers, were pickiog up the coins as you might roasted chestnuts. They say the ruse was not a new one, and that O'Connell only revived it, in the case of the "Bank, but it was not the less meritorious and successful on that account. The clerks were really engaged in the back-parlor heating the sovereigns on fire shovels over a large fire; and rushing out with red faces and in a furious hurry they, threwthem <hot, all hot,' to the cashiers, who counted them out with iron curling tongs to the customers, who believed that the work of coining was going on over innumerable crucibles in the back-parlor. The plan had a double advantage?it inspired confidence, and made the process of money-taking so slow on the part of the public, who were perpetually burning their fingers, that the bunk, with a very limited supply, was able to meet a demand which, under the circumstances, was necessarily slow. The clerks could servo the people as fast as | the people coulcl count the hot sovereigns. | The ruse which had almost instantaneous effect in allaying alarm, O'Conncll maintained was perfectly justifiable. From ignorance, a panic, which might have proved fatal to the bank, rose, and he thought he had aright to allay it by playing on this same popular ignorance. A bank that could serve sovereigns at will from an oven could never, of course, want gold in the imagination of a simple people. From the Shippensburg (Pa.) News. TOO ROMANTIC TO BE TRUE. For some days past considerable excitement has been felt in some circles in this community, in reference to an affair in humble life, the particulars of which we caunot permit to pass by unnoticed. So far as we have been able to gather the facts of the case, they appear to be as follows: About three years ago, George Fry, of I this vicinity became enamored of a beautiful Gipsey girl, who, iu company with a number of her people, had encamped in a wood near this place. Mr. Fry's love was fondly reciprocated by the fair Gipsey, and she consented to marry him. But "truelove never did run smooth," and so it happened in this casei The consent of the father of the lady could not be obtained to her marriage with "a man not accustomed to gentility." However, "Love laughs at locksmiths!"? When Mr. Fry found that he "could not win the favor of the old folks," he set about planning ways and means to steal the object of his affections. In this he was not unsuccessful. One night, when the hard-hearted old man was wrapped in the ...ms of Morpheus, and all around was lonely and drear, Mr. Fry approached the camp of the wanderers, and was met by her for whom his heart had long in agony sighed ! After fondly embracing her, he solicited her to accompany him, without delay, to a village a few miles distant. Without hesitation, she complied with his request, and on the following day thpy were married. * * * The rage of the old Gipsey wtoen ne touna that his daughter had 'sloped,' can better be imagined than described. Nothing could soothe his temper save the return of his child. In vain he sought for her. Nothing could be heard from her. Finally, when he found that he himself could find no traces of her, he offered a heavy reward to the person who would discover her whereabouts, and in the presence of several "kidnappers," exhibited large quantities of gold and silver, which induced thein to make the effort, and a few evenings after, in a most inhuman manner, they accomplished their object. In the absence of Mr. Fry they wrested her away and delivered her over to the hands of a father unsusceptible of the divine feelings of love. Immediately the entire group of Gipsies fled from the country. Rumor said that they had returned to England, from whence they hailed. * * # * Two years noiselessly glided by, and nothing was heard by Mr. Fry from his absent wife, although he long cherished the hope that she would escape from her "tyrannical parent," and return to him whom she loved. Time, however, gradually rusted Mr. Fry's love for his Gipsey wife. He felt that it was "not good to be alone" so long, and at the end of two yeare he again united his destinies with another of Kve's fair daughters. Suffice it to say, with the latter he experienced no visible difficulty. Things moved smilingly along?Mr. Fry lived happily with his wife and the rest of mankind. Rut, alas! how short-lived are some connubial combinations! Last week Mr. Fry's first wife? his Gipsey wife?in company with "George Fry the second," arrived in this place, in search for him! By the assistance of Officer Shade, she was successful in finding him. T I*"J nwAAA f.?mL?/]??a ^M/\n> Anfufiiiif in_ juiiiiucu ajjdtc luiuiun ur? iiuiii tjm iMip n?to details, at this time, of the excruciating sufieriug Mrs. Fry has undergone siucc her departure from thispiaee. The intelligence of her husband's second marriage was u severe shock to her; but she emphatically declares her exclusive right to him. It appears by the way, that Mr. Fry's second wife was "a widow," that her husband went to California some years ago, and, soon after his arrival there, it was rumored that he was murdered. A few weeks since a letter was received from hiin by her, we have been informed, in which he states that he will return in the next steamer, &c. What the finale of this romance will be is beyond the power of human ken. Tiie First Kiss.?'Am I really dear to you, Sophia V I whispered, aud pressed my bungling lips to her rosy mouth. She did not say yes; she did not say no; but she returned my kiss, and the earth went from under my feet; my soul was no longer in the body; I touched the stars; I knew the happiness of the seraphim! The above is all of this deeply exciting story that we can publish. The remainder will be found in the Kexc York Blower of Dec. 25, which has four million more subscribers than there are inhabitants in the world ! Korn Kob writes for it?Feanuts writes for it?Tadpole writes for it?everybody writes for it?and it is sold everywhere In nvAvl/1 Aitf rtf if ,H mr~; r I?* Fun should be cultivated as a fine art, for it is altogether a fine thing. Whoever \ knew a 'funny man' to he a bad one ? On the contrary, is not he, nine times in ten, generous, humane, social and good? To be sure he is. Fun?it is a great thing. It smooths the rough places in life, makes the I disposition as sweet and rosy as a fresh maiden's kiss, scatters sunshine and flowers I wherever we go, gives the world a round, I jolly countenance, makes all the girls as pret- | ty as June roses, and mankind one of the best families out. We go in for fnn. The man who won't cultivate it must keep a gnod sized half rod between us. Thf. Greatest Known Mao net.?A celebrated lecturer on natural philosophy was one evening dilating upon the powers of the magnet?defying any one to name or show anything surpassing its power. An old gentleman accepted the challenge, much to the lecturer's surprise, but he nevertheless invited him on to the platform, when he told the lecturer that a woman was the magnate of magnets?for, if a loadstone on the table could attract a piece of iron for a foot or two, there was a young woman who, when he was a young man, used to attract him thirteen miles every Sunday to have a chat with her. Reasons for not Paying for a Newspaper.?The Richmond Christiau Advocate publishes the following extract from a letter: ?'Please say to the editor of the Richmoud Christiao Advocate, that it would doubtless be well to eras3 tlie name of C C from his books, and give up as lost that 67,00. He says, in the first place, he never ordered the paper, and if he did, he never got it, and if he did, 'twas an ageut and besides, he thinks be naid for it long ago. and if he didn't he's got nothing to pay, and if he had, he could plead the act of limitation. The Best of Good Advice.?Avoid all boastiogs and exaggerations, backbiting, abuse, and evil speaking; slang phrases and oaths in conversation; depreciate no man's qualities, and accept hospitalities of the humblest kind in a hearty and appreciative manner : and avoid giving offence, and if you do offend, have the manliness to apologise; infuse as much elegance as possible into your thoughts as well as your actions; and as you avoid vulgarities you will increase the enjoyments of life, and grow in the respect of others. Baby's Rival.?There are many persons who make a practice of saying to little children, to whom has come the gift of a brother or sister, 'Now, baby, your nose is put out of joint?you never can be mother's baby any more, for she has got another." This is said in thoughtlessness, often with glee; but it sinks like a stone into the baby heart to which it is addressed. Were one to go to a grown man and tell him that his house and home, and all that rested within it had gone none knew whither, but where he nevermore might hope to see them, it would not be a more cruel blow to him than it is to a little two or three years old child, to tell him that he can never be his mother's baby any more. It makes him a poor, frightened little out cast in a moment; and any one that, realising this fact, can so sport with the feelings pf a tender babe is worthy of being promoted to the office of chief torturer, in somp bar bar despot's court. I@" In the village of Censaucey, in the Jura, a wolf was caught in a snare, which caused a deal of excitement and some joy. The wolf, afterbeing led through the village, was brought to a solemn conclave before the church, when the people discussed the best mode of punishment. As a matter of course^ they disagreed. 'Let ns hang him by the paws!' 'Let us drown him !' 'Let us beat . him to death !' 'Let us burn him alive!' . 'No,' said a peasant, who was very unhappy in his domestic relations, 'let us marry him 1' J