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BUONAPARTE'S WILL.

THE Will of Buonaparte gives rise, at present, to rather a singular contest. A legacy of 100,000f. was left to the son of General Dugommier, under whom, it is well known, Napoleon served his early campaigns, in the army of the Pyrenees, and who was killed, in 1793, at the battle of Saint Sebastian. It appears that General Dugommier left only one legitimate son, who died without issue. His widow contends that, in default of other posterity, she alone has a right to the benefit of the legacy. Generals Bertrand and Montholon opposed this claim, by urging the incompetence of French tribunals to determine on the difficulties raised with respect to a will made at St. Helena, and deposited in England; and it seemed that the mere question of jurisdiction was to be agitated, when M. Adonis Dugommier, an officer of a regiment of the line, appeared, who contends that, in his character of sole surviving son of General Dugommier, he alone ought to receive the legacy. The widow replied that he was a natural son, the issue of the General and a young Creole, at Guadaloupe, who, if we are to believe the widow's statement, was a woman of colour and a slave. The cause was called on before the Tribunal of First Instance, but, at the request of M. Dugommier's advocate, deferred for a fortnight.-Journal des Debats.

A STRANGE GHOST.

ON Saturday evening, about eleven o'clock, two respectable families in Dummyha's Wynd, Montrose, were frightened to an alarming degree with what they thought an invisible spirit. As the families were proceeding to bed, an unwelcome knock came to their doors. Being a little timid, they inquired who was there? No answer being made, one, possessed of stronger nerves than the others, slipped open the door, without a light, but could not hear or see any thing. In a little while after, the rapping became truly terrific, On being repeatedly asked to state who they were, and no answer given, the fears of the inmates can be more easily felt than described. Eight stout athletic men, who belonged to the houses, stood on the floor, almost

immoveably fixed, and, like the earth-stopper, with their hair standing on end with fear. At last, two of the men became courageous, and thrust open the window and came out. On entering the lobby, to their mighty astonishment, they found the huge body of a jack-ass, which was the object of so much terror, lying upon his back, rolling over and over, first kicking at the one door, then at the other! The lobby-door, by mistake, had been left open. The ass had been strolling about, and, like Paul Pry, had just "dropped in." He attempted to ascend the stairs; but, the task being too difficult, fell over on his back.-Dundee Advertiser.

IRISH ANECDOTE.

AN Irish paper gives the following anecdote of the simplicity of a raw Pat, who had just been transplanted from the interior to Dublin. Pat had been sent by his master to the quay, to purchase half a bushel of oysters, but was absent so long, that apprehensions were entertained for his safety. He returned at last, however, puffing under his load in the most musical style.— "Where the devil have you been?" exclaimed his master. "Where have I been! why, where would I be but to fetch the oysters?"-" And what, in the name of St. Patrick, kept you so long?"-" Long! by my sowl, I think I've been pretty quick, considering all things.""Considering what things?"-"Considering what things! why, considering the gutting of the fish to be sure." -"Gutting what fish?"-" What fish, why, blur an' owns, the oysters to be sure."-" What do you mean?"-"What do I mane! why, I mane, that as I was a-resting myself down forenenst the Pickled Herring, and having a drop to comfort me, a jontleman axed me what I'd got in the sack. Oysters,' said I. 'Let's look at them,' says he: and he opens the bag. 'Och! thunder and praties,' says he, who sold you these?' 'It was Mick Carney,' says I, aboard the Powl Doodie smack.' 'Mick Carney, the thief o' the world!' says he, what a blackguard he must be to give them to you without gutting! And ar'nt they gutted?' says I. 'Devil a one of them,' says he. 'Musha, then,' says I, 'what will I do?' 'Do,' says

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he, I'd sooner do it for you myself than have you abused;' and so he takes 'em in doors, and guts 'em nate and clane, as you'll see;" opening, at the same time, his bag of oyster-shells, which were as empty as the head that bore them to the house.-If we had not this from an Irish paper, we should venture to doubt its authenticity.

EARL OF BRADFORD.

WHEN the Earl of Bradford was brought before the Chancellor to be examined upon application for a statute of lunacy against him, the Chancellor asked him, "How many legs has a sheep?" "Does your Lordship mean," answered Lord Bradford, "a live sheep, or a dead sheep?" "Is it not the same thing?" said the Chancellor. "No, my Lord," said Lord B., "there is much difference; a live sheep may have four legs a dead sheep has only two, the two fore-legs are shoulders, but there are but two legs of mutton."

DR. CLARKE.

"I HAVE lived," said the indefatigable Dr. E. D. Clarke, "to know, that the great secret of human happiness is this; never suffer your energies to stagnate. The old adage of 'too many irons in the fire,' conveys an abominable lie. You cannot have too many; poker, tongs, and all-keep them all going." -That's your sort.

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THE LATE CHARLES INCLEDON.

THE following characteristic sketch of this eminent vocalist is extracted from the first volume (being the 7th of the entire series) of a new portion of "The Itinerant," by S. W. Ryley, late of the Theatres-Royal, Manchester, Liverpool, &c.

Incledon had many singularities, and these frequently laid him open to the quizzing disposition and imitative powers of his brother Thespians; he was possessed, likewise, of a considerable degree of credulity in all matters relative to physic; a tale told with a serious countenance of some wonderful cure effected by an advertised quack-medicine was sure to gain credit and a customer. He might properly have been styled Mr. Never-well, for he was scarcely ever without medicine of some kind or other, and frequently in his pocket. All the disorders incident to the human body he was subject to. On his table the Madeira bottle stood on one side, and the physic bottle on the other— the bane and the antidote. After, and not before, a plentiful dinner and good wine (for health was not thought of on an empty stomach), he began to moralize and recollect the large black bottle with the label on his right hand. "Dear creature," (addressing his wife), "where's my physic, my darling; a saint, an angel, a guardian angel, in petticoats, sent to protect me, Charles Incledon, the best English singer that ever stepped between trap and lamp? When black-eyed Susan'-it won't do-hoarse as a raven-my dear, where's my Peruvian bark? Health, you know, my dear creature, is above all things, except Heaven; and the Lord's above that we are poor creatures."— Tom Starboard was a lover true'-" come, that's betteranother glass of bark, thou sworn-at-the-altar darling!" Off goes a dose of decoction, and poor Charles fancies himself better for it; but soon, however, as an excuse to wash away the nauseous flavour of the bark, a tumbler of Madeira is swallowed with a hearty smack."B-good-done the job-nothing like Peruvian -never was better in my life, shiver me."

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Incledon constantly laboured under the always dangerous effects of a plethoric habit; this was evident to all who knew him; the blood mounted too plentifully

towards the head, and rendered phlebotomy frequently necessary, which might have been obviated in a safer way by extreme temperance; but as the thing was to be done by physic, without the mortification of abstinence, he readily gave it the preference.

On his arrival in a town, his first inquiry was for a cupper, who generally took from him a considerable quantity of blood.

At Nottingham he had just undergone this salutary operation, when, calling at the shop of a worthy Quaker, who, though not one of the straight-laced ones, bore deservedly, as these worthy people generally do, the character of a most benevolent and virtuous man; and who, like his countrymen, was an enthusiastic admirer of our melodist, as the first of English singers; Charles, after his cupping, on entering the good man's shop, happened to trip as he entered the door, and the worthy Quaker put out his hand to prevent him from falling, and, considering this stumble to be the effect of intoxication, thus addressed him, "Friend Incledon, I rejoice to see thee once more in Nottingham. Thou seemest unwell; a glass of water may be salutary to thy overcharged stomach." Incledon, not aware of the mistake the Quaker laboured under, listened eagerly to this prescription, as indeed he did to all others, and replied, clapping his hands to his head, "weakness, my dear friend-weakness, I am just cupped."-"Yes, I see that," replied the Quaker, "and in these cases I have heard there is nothing like a glass of warm water, by way of emetic." ---" Warm water---emetic---all humbug, Sir, it won't answer at all. Who's to play Steady to-night?"--Whilst the lads of the village shall merrily, ah !'--"Won't do, he has given me a cup too much. What do you think of it?"--" Why, my friend, I think as to thy being steady, that's another thing; but warm water, I have always heard, was the best remedy for any man who has had a cup too much." The mistake now burst upon him, and he laughed heartily. "By the Holy Pope, but that's a good one! Charles Incledon, first singer to the English fleet, now the wonderful warbler on the London boards, supposed to be drunk before dinner, ha! ha! I'll tell you what, my dear

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