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A man, named O'Rooke, on Saturday evening publicly horsewhipped his wife in the Bowery, New York and, as might have been expected, he got knocked down and "pretty well used up" for his "labours of love," by gallants who happened to be passing that way. The way he was used must have satisfied him that there is some truth in the remark of the late Samuel Patch, Esq., that “a great many people aren’t all alike.”

Murder—A young female, named Lucille Le Grand, was murdered, in Canada, a few weeks since, by her Adonis.  She is represented to have possessed singular personal beauty, united with the more interesting charms of an original and highly cultivated mind.  The assassin gloried in the bloody deed, and avowed that he murdered his Lucille, because she was too virtuous, too lovely, and too good for a world like this.  There might have been some truth to his theory, but his practice was execrable. 

Fire—On Monday night, a little past 10 o’clock, the coach manufactory of Mr. William Simpson, North Calvert street, took fire, and in consequence of the combustible nature of the contents of the establishment, was speedily destroyed, with the exception of the walls.  The firemen evinced their usual skill and alertness, and are entitled to great credit for saving the adjacent buildings.  The building contained numerous carriages, many of them just built, most of which were destroyed.  The loss of property must have been considerable; whether it was insured or not, we are unable to state.  We hope it was, for at a time like this, individual losses are felt with tenfold severity.

A young man named Henry G Thompson committed suicide in Boston, a few days since, by throwing himself off the head of the Long Wharf.

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