Being without a leader, and having no personal interest at stake, about dark the mob moved down the street, stoning and materially damaging the house of Alf. Burnett’s father as they passed by. The old gentleman gathered up a large quantity of the missiles and kept them on exhibition for several years as samples of pro-slavery arguments. Scanlan vented his spleen and breathed out his threatenings through the city papers, but being unable to get any redress, and finding he was to be prosecuted for trespass, he hastily decamped for New Orleans. After a week or two, Lavinia, dressed in her masculine suit went with some boys who were driving their cows to the hills to pasture, and was by them placed in the care of a _conductor_, by whom she was safely forwarded to Oberlin. Here she was found to have a fine mind, was befittingly educated, and ultimately sent as a missionary to Africa. After the lapse of several years she returned to this country, and whilst visiting the friends in Cincinnati, who had so kindly befriended her in the days of her childhood, suddenly sickened and died. A RUSE. Serious and earnest as was the work of our railroad, it was made the pretext for many a practical joke and arrant fraud. In the north part of Trumbull county, Ohio, lived an ancient agent named Bartlett, having in his employ a newly married man named DeWitt, a rollocking kind of a fellow, and well calculated to personate a son of Ham, or a daughter as well. DeWitt conspired with his wife and some of the female members of the old gentleman’s family to have a little fun at Mr. Bartlett’s expense. Some thrown off apparel of Mrs. Bartlett was procured from the garret, and, properly blackened, he was attired in a grotesque manner. Just at evening a decrepid wench applied for admission at Mr. Bartlett’s door. The women appeared very much frightened and were about shutting the door in her face, when the old gentleman, hearing the negro dialect came to the rescue. Soon the wanderer was comfortably seated, and to Mr. Bartlett’s inquiry as to where she was from replied, “Oh Lor’, Massa, I’se from ol’ Virginny an’ I’se boun’ for Canady, and Massa Sutlifft, he tells me I mus’ cum heah, but de white missus scare at dis ol’ black face.” “O well, never mind that, they are all right now.” “Bress de Lor’ for dat.” Speaking to his wife, Mr. Bartlett directed some supper be prepared before he should send her on. “O no, Massa, I’se been done and eat supper dis bressed day.” “Well, then, we’ll arrange to send you on soon, but come and see my grandson,” a lad lying sick in the other part of the room, saying which he arose and took the hand of the dame and led her to the bedside, and laying his hand across her stooped shoulders, began to speak tenderly of the little sufferer.