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IMPORTERS AND DEALERS IN
IPIGN and DOMESTIC LIQUORS,
Wo. 17 Custom Hous e street ,
Afid Cellar'No. 70 ) ¥»O*11
'OTV
BROAD STREET, j BUS1
"
Bl
atfg 13
PORTER , L0R1NG & CASWELL ,
¦
•
¦ ¦
, i WHOLESALE DEALERS IN
DRUGS, PAINTS, OILS, I>YEWOODS ,
CHEMICALS, DRYSALTERIES,
, ¦ ;. - • ' ¦ - AND
DYERS1 & MANUFACTURERS' ARTICLES,
No.11 India, corner of Central street,
(Opposite the New Custom House,)
BOSTON.
1. C. PORTER. 6. P. LORING. C. S. CASWELL.
aug 13 ' 6m
WILLIAM J. DEWEY,
Cflmmission Merchant & Shipping Agent,
«* Oravier-steeet ... NEW ORLEANS.
New Orleans, July 22. 3m—[aug 6
CHAIBERLIN & GOVE,
^
DEALERS IN
®niitoff 9 (Dk®®s®9 ILisiffdls, tao9
It No. 1
, under Quiney Hall Market,
£.C. CHAMBERLIN, ) m/ie(lI,A1,
\ENOCH GOVE, } BOSTON.
K?~Cape trade respectfully solititod.^,3]
JWv H j
GOULD & STOWE ,
""€ap Manu facturer s ,
w ANO WHOLESALE AND RETAIL DEALERS IN
*?#8,Caps, Trunks,Valises,Carpet Bags,
*
Vs,Umbrellas , Buffa lo Robes , &c.
No. 1
8 Union-sireet,
TB . (Next Door to the Lagrange House,)
^\IIT '
\
B0ST0
^
_Aag a9 ,, ' tf
MISCELLANEOUS.
The Pilot' s Revenge—-A Sea Sketch.
BY SYLVANU S COBB, JR.
It was towards night on the twenty-first of Sep-
tember, 1834. A btnall English war brig, which had
been fitted out for the suppression of smuggling, was
lazil y creeping along over the heavy, monotonous
swells, just off the const of G.ilway, and on her deck
was bein g enacted a scene of somewhat more than
common interest. The day before she had captured
a small boat laden with contra ban d art icles, togeth-
er with an old man and a boy who had charge of
them ; and the Captain of the brig, whose name was
Drncutt , had ordered that the old smuggler should
be put in irons. To this indignity the old man made
a stout resistance, and in the heat of the moment he
had so far forgotten himself as to strike the Captai n
a blow which laid him upon the deck. Such an in-
sult to an English officer was past endurance , and
in punishment for his offence the smuggler had been
condemned to die.
A sing le whip was rove at the starboard foreyard
arm , and all hands were called to witness the exe-
cution. The rope was noosed and slipped over the
culprit 's head ,and the running end was rove through
a small snatch block upon the deck. Until this mo"
ment not a word had escaped the lips of the boy.—
He trembled at the awful preparations , and as the.
fatal noose was passed and drawn ti ght, the color for-
sook his cheeks, and he sprang forward and dropped
upon his knees before the incensed Captain.
'Mercy, sir, mercy.'
'For whom ?' asked the officer , while a contemp-
tuous smile rested upon his li ps.
'For that old man you are about to kill.'
'He dies, boy.'
'But he is my f ather, sir.'
'No matter if he were my own father; that man
who strikes an English officer while in the perform-
ance of his duty, must die.'
'But he was manacled-;—he was insulted, sir,' urged
the boy.
'Insulted ?' repeated the Captain. 'Who insulted
him ?'
'¦You did , sir,' replied the boy, while his face flush-
ed with indi gnation.
'Get up, sir, and be careful you do not get the
same treatment ,' said the Captain , in a savage tone.
The old man beard this appeal of his son, and as
the last words dropped from the li ps of his captor,
he raised his head , and while a look of the utmost
defiance passed over his features he exclaimed—
'Ask no favors, Robert. Old Karl Kintock can
die as well now as at any time ; let them do the
worst.'
Then turning to Captain Dracutt , he changed his
tone to one of deep supplication , and said—
'Do what you please with me, sir , but do not harm
my boy, for Tie has done no wrong. I am ready for
your sentence, and the sooner you finish it the bet-
t«r.'
'Lay hold of the whip,' shouted the Captain. 'Lay
hold every man of you, and stand by to run the vil-
lain up.'
In obedience to this order, the men ranged them-
selves along the deck, and each one laid hold of the
rope. Robert Kintock looked first at his father, and
then he ran hrs eyes along the line of men who were
to be his exeutioners. But not one sympathizing or
pity ing look could he trace. Their faces were all
hard and cold , and they all appeared anxious to con-
summate their murderous work.
'What ?' exclaimed the boy, while a tear started
from his trembling lid, 'is there not one even, who
can pity ?'
'Up with him !
' shouted the Captain.
Robert buried his face in his hands , and the next
moment his father was swinging at the yard arm.—
He heard the passing rope and the creaking block
and he knew that he was fatherless !
Half an hour afterwards the boy knelt by the side
of a ghastly corpse, and a simple prayer escaped his
lips. Then another low,murmuring sound came up
from his bosom ; but none of those who stood around
knew its import. It was a pledge of deep revenge 1
Just as the old man 's body slid from the gangway
into the water, a vivid flash of lightning streamed
through the heavens, and in another minute the
dread artillery of nature sent forth a roar so long
and loud that the men actuall y placed their hands to
their ears to shut out its deafening answer. Robert
Kintock started at the sound , and what had caused
dread in other's bosoms sent a thrill of satisfaction
to his own.
'Oh ,revenge, revenge !' he muttered to himself, as
he cast his eyes over th« foam crested waves, which
had already risen beneath the power of the sudden
storm.
The darkness had come as quickl y as did the
storm , and all that could be distinguished from the
deck of the brig, save the breaking sea was the fear-
ful, craggy shore, as flash after flash of lightning il-
luminated the heavens.
'Light ho !
' shouted a man forward , and the next
moment all eyes were directed to a bright light
which had suddenly flashed up among the distant
rocks.
The wind had now reached its height , and with
its giant power it set the ill fated brig directly upon
the surf bound shore of rocks and reefs, and every
face, save one, was blanched with fear.
In vain did they try to lay the brig to the wind ,
but not a sail would hold for an instant until at
length the men managed to get up a fore storm stay-
sail, and then the brig stood for a short time brave-
ly up against the heaving sea. But it was evident
that even should she succeed in keeping to the wind ,
she must eventually be driven ashore, for the power
of the in setting waves was greater than that of the
wind.
'Boy, do you know what light that is ?' asked the
Capta in , as he stood holding on to the main rigging
to keep his feet.
'Yes, sir,' replied Robert, 'it is Eullymore's crag;
'What is it there for ?'
'It marks the entrance to a little harbor,sir, which
lies in the back of it.'
'And can it be entered by a vessel of this size?'
asked the Captain , while a gleam of hope shot across
his face.
'O, yes, sir a large ship can enter there.'
'And do you know the passage ?'
'Yes, sir; I have spent my whole life on this coast,
and I know every turn in it.'
'Can you take the brig in there in this storm?'
'Fes, sir,' answered the boy, while a strange light
shot from his eyes.
'And will you do it ?' eagerly asked the Captain.
'On two conditions.' .
'Name them quickly.'
'The first is, that you let me go in peace ; and the
next is, that you trouble none of the smugglers,
should they happen to be there."
'I promise,' said the Captain. And now set about
your work. . But mark me,if you deceive me, by St.
George I'll shoot you on the moment ?'
The brig was put before the wind , and Robert
Kintook stationed himself upon the starboard fore-
yard,arm, from whence his orders were passed along
to the helmsman. The bounding vessel soon came
within sight of the rugged crags, and the heart of
every man leaped with fearful thrills as they were
swept past a frowning rock which almost grazed
them as they passed. On flew the brig, and thicker
and more fearful became the rocks, which raised
their heads on every side.
'Port !
' shouted the boy.
'Port , it is.'
'Stead y—so.'
'Steady, it is.'
'Starboard—quick. '
'Ay, ay; starboard it is.'
'Stead y—so.'
'Steady, it is.'
At this moment the vessel swept on past an over-
hang ing cliff, and just as a vivid flash of lightning
shot through the heavens and revealed all the hor-
rors around, a loud shout was heard from the young
pilot, and in a moment all eyes were turned towards
him. He stood upon an extreme end of the yard ,
and held himself by the lift. In a moment more he
crouched down like a tiger after his prey, and then
with one leap he reached the projecting rock.
'Revenge ,revenge J' was all that the doomed men
heard , and they were swept away into the boiling
surge beyond.
'Breakers ! a reef!* screamed the man forward—
'starboard —quick !'
But 'twas too late ! Ere the helm was half up, a
low, tremulous grating of the brig's keel was dis-
tinctly felt, and the next instant came a crash which
sounded high above the roar of the elements, and
the heavy masts went sweeping away to leeward ,fol-
lowed in a few moments by large masses of the ill
fated vessel's wreck and cargo. Shriek after shriek
went up from those doomed men, but they were in
the grasp of a power that knows no mercy. The
Storm King took them all for his own !
The next morning a small party of wreckers came
down from the rocks and moved along the shore. It
was strewed with fragments of the wreck, and here
and there were scattered along the bruised and mu-
tilated forms of the brig's crew. Among that party
was Robert Kintock , and eagerly did he search
among the ghastly corpses, as though there was one
he would have found. At length he stopped and
stooped over one, upon the shoulders of which were
two golden epaulettes. 'Twas the Captain of the
brig—the murderer of his father ! Tlie boy placed
his foot upon the prostrate body, and while a strange
light beamed from his eyes, and a shudder passed
over his countenance , he muttered :
'Father , you are fearfull y revenged !
'
The boy spoke trul y. Fearful in its conception ,
and fearful in its consummation had been that 'Pi-
lot's Revenge !
'
Getting used to it.
—"Somewhere about here,
writes a Southern correspondent , "lives a small farm-
er of such social habits that his coming home intox-
icated was once no unusual thing. His wife urged
him in vain to sign the pledge. 'Why, you, see,' he
would say, 'I'll sign it after a while, but I don't like
to break right off at once ; it ain 't wholesome. The
best way always, is to get used to a thing by de-
grees, you know.' 'Very well, old man ,' his hel p-
mate would rejoin , 'see now if you don't fall into a
hole one of these days, while you don't take care of
yourself, and nobody near to take you out.' Sure
enough, as if to verif y the prophecy, one day, he fell
into the well, and after a deal of useless scram-
bling, he shouted for the 'light of bis eyes' to come
and help him out. 'Didn 't I tell you so ?' said the
good soul, showing her cap frill over the edge of the
parapet ; 'you've got into a hole at last,and it's only
lucky I'm in hearing, or you might have been drown-
ed, yon old dog, you !
' 'Well ,' she continued after
a while , letting down the bucket, 'take hold.'
"And up he came, higher at each turn of the
windlass, until the old lady's grasp slipping from the
handle, down he went into the hole again. This oc-
curring more than once, made the temporary occu-
pant of the well suspicious. 'Look here,' he scream-
ed in a fury at the last splash, 'you're doing that on
purpose, I know you are !' 'Well , now I am,' re-
sponded his old woman , tranquilly, -while winding
him up once more. 'Don't you remember telling
me it's best to get used to a thing by degrees ? I'm
'fraid if I was to bring you right up on a sudden ,
you wouldn 't find it wholesome !' The old fellow
could not help chuckling at the application of his
princi ple, and protested he would sign the pledge
on the instant, if she would lift him farly out. This
she did, and packed him off to 'swear in ,' wet as he
was. 'For you see,' she added very emphatically,
'if you ever fall into the well again , I'll leave you
thar—I will.'—[Knickerbocker.
Talent accumulates knowled ge, and has it packed
up in the memory ; Genius assimilates it with its
own substance,grows with every new accession , and
converts knowled ge into power .
From the Boston Transcri pt, to which journal it
was communicated by a person to whom it had been
entrusted by the writer, with authority to make
such disposition of it after Dr. Webster's decease as
he should see fit.
Boston, Aug. &, 1850.
Rev. Dr. Parkman. Dear Sir •
„—I cannot
leave this world in the peace of mind for which I
pray, without addressing you as the head of that
family which I have so deeply injured and afflicted ,
to make known to you and them the bitter anguish
of soul, the sincere contrition and penitence I have
felt at having been the cause of the affliction under
which you jind they have been called to mourn. I
can offe'r no excuse for my wieked and fatal ebulli-
tion of passion but what you already know, nor
would I attempt to palliate it.
I had never, until the two or three last interviews
with your brother, felt towards him anything but
gratitude for h-is many acts of kindness and friend-
ship. That I should have allowed the feelings excited
on those occasions to have overpowered me.so as to
involve the life of your brother , and my own tem-
poral and eternal welfare, I can, even now, hard ly
realize.
I may not receive from you forgiveness in this
world, yet I Cannot bin hope and believe you will
think of me with compassion , and remember me in
your prayers to Him who will not turn away from
the humble and repentant. Had I many lives, with
what joy would I lay them all down; could I, in the
least, atone'for the injury I have done, or alleviate
the affliction I have caused ; but I can now only
pray for forgiveness for myself and for every conso-
lation and blessing upon every member of you fam-
ily.
In justice to.those dearest to me, I beg to assure
you , and I entreat you to believe me, no one of my
family had the slightest doubt of my entire innocence
up to the moment when the contrary was communi-
cated to them by Dr. Putnam. That they have your
sincere pity and sympathy I feel assured."
There is -no family towards every member of
which I have always felt a greater degree of respect
and regard than that of which you are now the head.
From more than one I have received repeated acts
of friendshi p and kindness, for which I have ever
been and am most truly grateful.
Towards yourself in particular have not only my
own feelings been those of the most sincere regard
and gratitude , but every individual of my family has
felt towards you that you were their pastor and
friend. Often has my wife recalled the interest you
took in her from her first becoming yourparishoner,
and often has she spoken , with feelings of deep grat-
itude , of the influence of your public ministrations
and of your private instructions and conversations,
and of your direction of her inquiries and reading
in what related to her religious views. These she
has often recalled and referred to as having firmly
established the religious faith and trust which are
now such sources of consolation to her and our chil-
dren as well as to myself.
Nothing that has occurred has weakened these
feelings, and although those I leave behind me,may
not meet you without the keenest anguish , I trust
you will exhonorate them from any partici pation in ,
or knowledge of the.father's sin ,up to the moment I
have mentioned , and may you remember them in
your prayers to the Father of the fatherless and the
widow 's God.
I beg you dear sir, to consider this strictl y a pri-
vate letter and by no means to give it publicity ; at
the same time 1will request you to make known to
the immediate members of your family the state of
my feelings and my contrition .
That every consolation and blessing may be
vouchsafed to yourself and to every member of
your famil y is the heartfelt prayer of
Yours, most respectfull y,
(Si«ned ,) J. W. Webster.
Corn Stalks for Cows.—Let the boys cut
enough stalks at night to be used the next morning,
for it is a wet job to cut them when the dew is on.
' The question is yet to be settled whether it is not
better to let all the corn you plant come to an ear
than to cut any of it at the root before earing. We
are sometimes told what a great amount of fodder
we can obtain from an acre planted wilh corn. No
doubt we get a great amount , but may we not do
better to save the corn and let the cows have the
stalks and husks only ?
We obtain 50 or 60 bushels of corn from an acre
when we take good care of it and let it stand for the
purpose of saving the grain. We ought therefore to
expect a great amount of fodder when the whole is
used for that purpose.
We like the idea of letting cows have green
stalks, cut at the foot or at the ear—but we suggest
that more profit may be obtained by saving the ears
till they are fit for grinding, or at least for boiling.
For hogs there is not much loss in cutting up at the
root as soon as.the ears are full. They like a vari-
ety of food, and for a time they thrive well on green
corn.—[Massachusetts Ploughman.
Pithy Hint.—The art of disarming an enemy—
an art of incalculably.more value than any taug ht by
Vauban or Turenne—is thus pithil y explained by a
cotemporary who knows the secret of cramming a
world of philosophy into the compass of a nutshell :
'It is said that bees and wasps will not sting a per-
son whose skin is imbued with honey. Hence, those
who are much exposed to the venom of these little
crea tures, when they have occasion to hive bees or
take a nest of wasps, smear their face and hands
with honey, which is found to be the best preventa-
tive. When we are annoyed with insult , persecu-
tion , and opposition from perverse and malignant
men , the best defence against their venom is to have
the spirit bathed in honey. Let every part be sat-
urated with meekness, forbearance , and patience ;
and the most spiteful enemy will be disappointed in
his endeavors to inflict a sting.'
Letter from Prof. Webster to Rev. Dr.
Fran cis Parkman. There once lived in an obscure town in Massa-
chusetts an old Indian woman. Somehow or other
the old woman had accumulajed quite a desirable
little property. Yet she was an Indian and was
treated with cool contempt by her neighbors. She
had no seat in the social circle, received no atten-
tion from those around her, occupied a back ^>ew in
the church, and down toward the grave she travel-
led, without friend or jcomforter.
Old Nance had but one relative living that she
knew of, and he, a wild, graceless son. He was a
terror to the village, and spent his time ii> anything
but a respectable way. At last , the vagabond so
worried the forbearance of his old mother, that in a
hasty moment she resolved to disinherit him and
leave her mortey to the Church. "
Accordingly she started for the house of one of
the Deacons,and made a clean breast of her troubles,
and acquainted him with her determination-. The
Deacon greVfrom a cool to a very amiable mood
as she proceeded , and at last, became profuse in his
expressions of gratitude. '
Tl)e will, through the agency of the Deacon, was
drawn , but the old woman , feeling a little compunc-
tion , had a clause inserted which should make it void,
provided the son should totall y reform his habits.
Secrecy was enjoined upon the Deacon ,who of course
told nobody but his wife, who of course said nothing
about it , save to two or three friends, who of course
spread it all over the village in the space of one day.
But the change wrought in the situation of old
Nance was miraculous. 'Such a goodwill woman !
'
The nice bits from the best tables began to journey,
under neat napkins, to her humble abode. On a
rainy Sabbath , a carriage took her up at her door,
and carried her to church where she was kindl y fa-
vored with a front pew, near the speaker, and near
the stove. He praise was in everybody's mouth .and
her tottering form commanded respect everywhere.
But she thrived remarkably under this treatment ,and
lived, and lived , and lived. In the meantime , the
son was looked upon with more than usual distrust ,
and the poor widow was , deeply commiserated on
his disgraceful course.
Years passed away, and the kind attentions of
friends were still continued to the widow, when , at
last, old Nance slept the sleep that knows no wak-
ing. A large funeral , one of the largest the little
village had ever seen, attended her to her grave in
the quiet church yard. There were tears shed
above her bier, and benisons breathed upon her
memory.
The funeral was past. The Deacon , the Squire,
and a number of the village notables, were gathered
in her dwelling, and in one corner of the room sat
the sad and taciturn son.
'Squire,' said the Deacon, 'I believe there is a
will ?'
'Yes, there is a will.'
'Will you have the kindness to read it.'
The will was produced. All was silent. The will
was read, in which all the widow 's property was be-
queathed to the Church. Many an eye sought the
faee of the Prodigal son, but saw no change in his
stolid features.
When the reading was finished , the son arose and
drawing a piece of paper from his pocket, inquired
the date of 'that ar will.'
The date was stated , and handing the Squire his
paper, the portionless asked him to read it.
Alas ! it was a will one day younger than the
other. The fond mother in her weakness had told
the son what she had done,and he managed to have
a will drawn twenty-four hours after the previous
one, in which he was the sole legatee.
The assembled wisdom and disinterestedness of
the village went home thinking, and the son had the
pleasant satisfaction of knowing that his mother's
last days were her best days. Reader, this is not a
fiction. It is but an instance of the weakness in our
common natures , which , in similar developments,
comes before us with humiliating frequency, alike in
the highest and lowest walks of life.—[Springfield
Republican. ,.
Cheerful Mindedness.—'Cheerful looks make
every dish a feast,' we are told, and cheerful mind-
ed persons are, at all times and under all circum-
stances, the objects of special favor, and the source
of inestimable pleasure and benefits. Especially at
a time when any unusual epedemic prevails, and
sickness and death are fearfull y present in our midst,
then it is that cheerful minded persons and 'cheer-
ful looks' are more to be valued than all the drugs
in all the shops of the city.
A goodly portion of mankind have a wonderful
procllivity to groan, repine, whine, snarl , growl and
find fault with everybody and everything, making
other people peculiarl y miserable, and rendering
themselves the most offensive and intolerable nui-
sances. At the time when all excitement , alarm ,
and panic is to be studiously avoided , as promotive
or incitive of diseases, these eternal groaners, these
incessant predictors of more trouble , more sickness
and more deaths—these hatoful persons, with rue-
ful countenace , should be confined, shut up, kept out
of sight. They fret, iinnby, and disgust all health y
people, and are 'sure death' to persons of diseased
body and mind. While the cheerful minded man or
woman , with 'cheerful looks,' rejuvenates and forti-
fies the minds of all, and fills the soul of the sick and
desponding with hope, confidence , courage.
[Cincinnati Gazette.
Acceptable.—The editor of the Lynn Bay State
has been presented with an elegant mahogany desk,
book casf>, drawers, &c, together with a substantia l
and handsome editorial chair , by some of his per-
sonal and political friends.
Getting Round the Law.—The authorities
of Sa'
n Francisco passed a law that all bar rooms
should be closed at twelve o'clock midni ght. The
keepers complied , shut at twelve and opened in f ive
minutes afterwards for (he next day !
• "- •
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A True Story of Human Nature. Writers for the Press.—Of all thg situa-
tions to learn character, capacity and literary tact,a
printing office probably possesses advantages equa
to any other place ; and a good practical printer
may be set down as a good judge of the composi-
tions of authors. Being constantl y engaged in read-
ing manuscripts, a printer would much sooner dis-
cover grammatical errors, repetitions or adisconnec-*
tion of sentences, than "a person who may read
much, with a desire only for information. The prin-
te r makes ,it his business to discover errors, (and
makes them too, not unfrequently,) however muck
such things may mortif y authors.
Many men have genius, learning, and good sense,
but not the faculty of expressing, in 'any tangible
manner what they know. Some make themselves
ridiculous in the attempt , arid their produeti'
drrajif
placed over their own signatures, in the manner
they were first written , without any trimming or
punctuating by the -typo, would materiall y affect
their standing as men.of literary talent. Some com-
mence by attempting an elucidation of a subject as
far above their power of descri ption as is the most
towering eloquence above the first prattle of a littte
child , and of course fail for a lack-of descriptive
powers. Others may be troubled by an extra
amount of language , and in their great flourish of
words lose the subject they would explain. This,
accord ing to our idea , is worse than a lack of lan-
guage, as it generally leads to bombast and goes off
Instinct of the Ant.—A gentleman of Cam- >
bridge one day remarked an ant dragging along
what with respect to its strength , might have been
denominated a piece of timber. Others we.re sev-
erally employed, each in its own way. Presently
this little creature came to an ascent, where the
weight of the wood seemed to overpower him. He
did not remain long perplexed with it: for three or
four others, observing his dilemma, came behind
and pushed it up. As soon, however, as he had got
it on level ground , they left it to hia care, and went
to their own work. The piece he was drawing hap-
pened to be considerably thicker at one end than
the other. This soon threw the poor fellow into
fresh difficulty, he unluckily dragged tt'between two
pieces of wood. After several fruitless efforts, find-
ing it would not go through, he adopted the .only
mode that a reasoning being, in similar circum-
sta.nces, could have taken ; he came behind it,pulled
it back again , and turned it on its edge, when , run-
ning again to the other end, it passed through with-
out difficulty.
Thing s that Cost Nothing.—Sunrise and
sunset cost us nothing, a41 glorious as they me.Col-
ors that are only to be seen in the heavens, and
bright beyond description , are profusely spread , awd
we have a sight to behold them, pulses to throb',
hearts to beat, and min<|s to contemplate wifh won-
der, thankfulness and joy. Rising and setting suns
are commonplace exhibitions , when , were there only
one such exhibition to be witnessed in a' ceritury,
multi plied millions, nay, almost half the population
of the globe, would behold it with rapture.
;
W£
give money and time and labor for many things of
little value, but we never give either the one1 or th&
other for the cheerful sunbeam and the grate/til
shower , the gray of the morning, the twilight of
even ing, the broad blaze of noonday, and the deep
silence and darkness of the midni ght hour! The
poorest of the poor have these, and they have them
for nothing !
. Acceptable Advice.—No matter how poor you
have been , or how humble your origin—get rich if
you can. If you cannot then get money enough to
mimic the rich. Nick every body you deal with , if
they give you an opportunity. Shqw them a. sample
but sell them a poorer article. Lie and cheat , six
days in a week , but be sure and be circumspect the
other day. If the people begin to find you out , make
a showy donation to some charitable concern. It is
a great protection. Go to fashionable^jwatering
places. Put up at a first class house.^Sleep in a
closet big enough for yourself,your wife,and a trunk
of silks ; but be sure and promenade as though you
had millions in your pocket. Fill your pocket book
with one dollar bills, and call them all 10s and 100s
when you look for one to pay away. You will
give fashionable people the impression that you are
wealth y, and that is the perfection of good living.
[Worcester Pal.
A may may travel through the world, and soW it
thick with friendshi p. < ¦
Due reason why the world is not reformed is, be-
cause every man would have others make a begin-
ning, and never thinks of himself. ,
Let a man be treated as a brute , and he will be-
come more brutish than a brute ; but as a rational
being, he will show that he is so.
Laziness grows on people ; it begins in cobwebs
and ends in iron chains.
'If you wish to appear agreeable in society,' says
Talleyrand , 'you must consent to be taught many
things which you know already.'
A man who had a good spy glass, looked at hi*
third cousin through it, which brought him .as near
sis a first cousin,
in gas.
Our object in saying anything about writers for
the press, is, that we pointers, are not unfrequenfl y
the victims of some importuning, self-conceited
scribblers, who, of course, think their productions
able, sound and polished ,and appear to think strange
if every body else are not of the same opinion. Yet
we would have none stop writing, for by practice
comes improvement , but don't trouble the printer
with long, prozy, bungling, ungrammaticall y or ob- "
scurely written articles. Be brief , let your lan-
guage be sure that you have something to write >
about , and the printer will always greet your prtor
duction with a hearty good che«r.—£N. H. Dento- '
crat. " ' ' "''"v " - :'
; : p. PINEO, M. D,,
¦ £Effl CCHAN AND SURGEON, _
H
rA-VI'KG- permanently situated himself in the vil-
laee of Barnstable, tenders his services iu every
brancH of'tfe1Pr6foss'on'to 'he inhabitants of the town,
ond the public generally.
p[§,/Attendance given at any hour of the day and
"'BamSMble^j aly
g- tf
vol. m
Vrnsta^patriot,
roMtf ERCIArADVERTISER ,
\jV3U
LV
l .
^
TU ES
DAY , A FEW DOORS
1
3 PUBI.f?'^0
p E cofJIi T HOUSE , BY
wfc
S. B. PHINNEY,
EDITOR AND PROPRIETOR.
wm. d. lewii^pkinter.
.
-¦ifc: Two dollars per year, in advance , or
j ;gSTmo
"thnr"
wJ dolLs knd fifty cents at
the ^gRXlg EMENTS inserted
on
the most favora-
hUX^opaper discontinued until all arrearages are
?ricept at the option of the Publisher.
Pa"' A~%~>~>~v—^/vww/w s~vv^
Newspa per Agency.
„ w -PALM ER, the American Newspaper Agent,
V- B
; ?
ot the BARNSTABLE PATRIOT , and
is Age>» •
tokfl AdverTisements and Subscrip-
""o
'
ss
'
at the same rates as required by us. His offices
W
alton, S^?»?y's
n^
u
^,f^
0Urt
Street
'
Jtav Yo
rk,- r" ^le
r- Third and Chestnut streets.
gKKt w.cor. North and rayette
„ —j pett cngill; General Newspaper Ad-
tt
^ n Aneni No. 10 State street, Boston, is Agent
ser(if "Vapn '
sTABLE PATRIOT, and is authorized
for the BAh.«o . nts aad Subscriptio ns at the
:
*
£paired at this office. ¦
r "
P» F. GILM AN, M.D ,
^I
SP
S
P©^ ISHi^HS'H's)
61 Federal-street , Boston.
Drs. Jacob Bigelow, ) Medical Professors
¦'&¦-¦<- ¦•¦"36tiK C. Warren, \ in
Walter Channing , ) Harvard University.
N.
;k6RSE,'Esq;, D. Henshaw Esq.,
Ret H. L.Erothiktqham, D.D. B. Butler, hsq.
K
j ~T>v. G. will be in Barnstable at the house of Mrs .
RMael Whitman , till Aug. 19, after which .he will be
at Yarmouth Port.
Barnstable, Aug. 6. tf
; W, Y. BALCH,
No. to Treuiont Bow, Boston ,
MANUFACTURE R OP ALL KINDS OP
ijaia and Ornamental Picture Frames ,
of the nicest patterns, made in the best manner, and
the lowest prices.
¦
Paintings by the best Artists for sale.
omtable frames for the Art Union Engravings.
June 18
&, Palter and Glazier.
i'KkLi
ul>:
scriber would inform his friends and the
' ^*4S;that he has taken a s^
and neaf the Ba
Ptist
to*#rf ^lse
'
!ln Barnstable, where he will continue
. &IZ"me ' .
b4**
K|
G, PAPER-HAMING AND GLAZING
every 'Ih*t its branches. Being acquainted with
«ati4ciion ty'*an(1fashion, he pledges himself to give
respectf ,.
n' ¦*" continuance of the public patronage is
mixed aV soli«ited. Paints of every grade, pure or
»ishe4'gt ^P aPer-hangings and house trimmings, fur-
faney Wn*i
ston prices. Particular attention paid to
P.S V"nd lotteri"g- F. W. CHASE.
P'easeleav i. ^est Harwich friends and patrons will
Xvi11 be Drn orders at Capt. Lot Chase's,where they
¦Barnstailiiptlyatte"ded to as heretofore. F. W C.
¦
*—. ™Me, Feb. 12. 6m
TewISt
SPars " SPars!!
¦*
J all el SMITH continues to make Spars for
i*wn, on tl s of Vessels, at his old stand in Province-
n^at all -most reasonable terms. He has also on
ca.n be fl« mes) materials for repairi ng vessels,which
¦*r£i °n« at short notice.
i^r-^Swn, April 19. eoply
RVe 1W nesce and Baltimore Flour ; Corn and
^ived « a*1
' Bea"s, and a nice lot of Cheese, just
Wat .A,pEBCj1
yAjvS! 3ug 6