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this is, there is no country where so much smuggling prevails. .

The Swedish Stage. There is a theatre here where plays are performed. The house is bad, the acting bad, and the language being Swedish, we could not, of course, understand it. The audience have no light, except that which comes from the stage. This is intended to heighten the effect of the performance. A very odd kind of wooden frame, to which the lights are attached, is drawn up through the ceiling over the pit, the moment the curtain is elevated, and as regularly let, down

the moment it falls. This, I conclude, is for the - audience to amuse themselves in looking at each

other during the intervals between the acting. The entertainment of gazing, however, cannot be very great, as the house is so cold, that the theatre costume consists of fur boots, bonnets, great coats, and pelisses. It is rather strange, that the second town in Sweden should not boast of a better theatre ; and yet I find this is much talked

of.

The following simple way of preventing flies from sitting on pictures, or any other furniture, is well experienced, and will, if generally used, prevent trouble and damage.—Let a large bunch of leeks soak for five or six days in a pailful of water, and wash your picture, or any other piece of furniture, with it. The flies will never come near any thing so washed.

A boy, in the service of Mr. Thomas Fawcett, of Gate, lately accompanied his master in shooting all day upon the Moors, and, in returning in the evening, his master desired him to make the best of his way home. The boy proceeded on foot, but being much fatigued, sat down, and fell asleep. How long he remained in that situation is uncertain, as, when found, he was in his own bed asleep. A neighbour passing on the road early the next morning, found his clothes scattered in various directions, nearly a mile off. The account he gave was, that he dreamt he had been at a neighbour's house, at a good supper, after which he supposed he went to bed there. It appears he actually walked three miles, though in a profound sleep the whole of the time; during which he stripped off his clothes, and walked home naked, passed the gate, and went up stairs to bed, the whole of the time beinga sleep.-Westmorland Advertiser.

The Deserted Cottage.

BY MRS. ROBINSON.

Who dwelt in yonder lonely Cot?

Why is it thus forsaken?
It seems by all the world forgot,'
Above its path the high grass grows,
And through its thatch the north wind blows-

Its thatch-by tempests shaken!

And yet, it tops a verdant hill,

By summer gales surrounded!
Beneath its door a shallow rill
Runs, brawling, to the brook below,
And near it sweetest flowrets grow,

By banks of willows bounded.

Then why is ev'ry casement dark,

Why looks the cot so chearless ? Ab! why does ruin seem to mark The calm retreat where love should dwell, And friendsbip teach the heart to swell,

With rapture pure and fearless? .

Stranger, yon spot was once the scene,

Where peace and joy resided ! And oft the merry time has been, When love and friendship warm’d the breast, And freedom, making wealth a jest,

The pride of pomp derided !

Old Jacob was the cottage lord,

His wide domain surrounding
With Nature's treasure amply stor'd;
He from his casement could behold
The breezy mountain ting'd with gold,

The varied landscape bounding.

The coming morn, in lustre gay,

Breath'd sweetly on his dwelling ! The twilight veil of parting day Stole softly o'er the rushy shed, Hiding the mountain's misty head,

Where the night breeze was swelling.

One lovely girl old Jacob rear'd,

And she was fair and blooming! '. She, like the morning star appear'd, Swift gliding o'er the mountain's crest, Though her blue eyes, her soul confess'd,

No borrow'd rays assuming !

One sturdy boy, a peasant bold,

Ere they were doom'd to sever, Maintain'd poor Jacob, sick and old! But now, where yon tall poplars wave, Pale primroses adorn the grave,

Where Jacob sleeps,-for ever!

Young, in the wars, the brave boy fell!

The sisters died of sadness!
But one remain'd their fate to tell,
For Jacob now was left alone,
And he, alas! was helpless grown,

And pined in moody madness ;

At night by moonshine, would be stray,

Along the upland dreary :
And, talking wildly all the way,
Wou'd fancy, 'till the sun uprose,
That heav'n in pity mark'd the woes

Of which his soul was weary.

One morn upon the dewy grass

Poor Jacob's sorrows ended-
The meadow's winding narrow pass
Was his last scene of rending care;
For, gentle stranger, lifeless there
- Was Jacob's form extended!

And now behold his little cot,

All dreary and forsaken!
And know that soon twill be thy lot
To fall, like Jacob and his race,
And leave, on time's swift wing, no trace

Which way thy course is taken.

Yet, if for truth and feeling known,

Thou still shalt be lamented;
For when thy parting sigh has flown,
Fond mem'ry on thy grave shall give
A tear, to bid thy virtues live-

Then smile, and be contented.

A Dwarf.—There lives in the city of Ossa a dwarf, named Gibegie Tevarisse ; he is seven years old, between twenty-six and twenty-seven inches in height, and his weight is twelve pounds, including his clothes. His figure, thus diminutive, displays a pleasing and elegant proportion, and his face, though thin and long, is made of regular and agreeable features, corresponding to his age rather than size, and indicating a degree of maturity, in point of evolution, much beyond his years. The palms of his hands and soles of his feet have acquired much of the hardness, and the former are a good deal marked with the lines, belonging to adult age. On inspection of his body, undressed, no deformity or deficiency could be discovered; but, on the contrary, the utmost completeness and symmetry of every part. He is active, playful, sprightly, and very irrascible.

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