Thus fell the gallant leader of one of the most formidable war parties, of its numbers, known to history. Walker was a humane, impulsive man; a warm friend, a brave, gallant soldier. His dying words were directed to Capt. Lewis--to keep the town, and drive back the enemy; and that the chivalrous Captain did so, was well proven. Capt. Walker, and his heroic "boy" Dave, who fell unknown to his master, were buried together in the earth they so lately stood upon, in all the glory and heroism of men that were men! Practical Philosophy Skinflint and old Jack Ringbolt had a dispute on Long Wharf, a few days since, upon a religious _pint_. Jack argued the matter upon a _specie_ basis, and Skinflint took to "moral suasion." Jack went in for equal division of labor and money--all over the world. "Suppose, now, John," says Skinflint, "we rich men _should_ share equal with the poor--their imprudence would soon throw all the wealth into our hands again!" "Wall," says Jack, "s'pose it did! You'd only have to--_share all around again!_" Borrowed finery; or, Killed off by a Ballet Girl. Shakspeare has written--"let him that's robbed--not wanting what is stolen, not know it, _and he's not robbed at all!_" Now this fact often becomes very apparent, especially so in the case of Mrs. Pompaliner,--a lady of whom we have had occasion to speak before, the same who sent Mrs. Brown, the washerwomen, sundry boxes of perfume to mix in her _suds_, while washing the pyramids of dimity and things of Mrs. P. There never was a lady--no member of the sex, that ever suffered more, from dread of contagion, fear of dirt, and the contamination of other people, than Mrs. Pompaliner. "Olivia," said she, one morning, to one of her waiting maids, for Mrs. Pompaliner kept three, alternating them upon the principle of varying her handkerchiefs, gloves and linen, as they--in her double-distilled refined idea of things, became soiled by use, from time to time. "Olivia, come here--Jessamine, you can leave:" she was so intent upon odor and nature's purest loveliness, that she either sought sweet-scented cognomened waiting-maids, or nick-named them up to the fanciful standard of her own. "Olivia, here, take this handkerchief away, take the horrid thing away. I believe my soul somebody has touched it after it was ironed. Do take it away," and the poor victim of concentrated, double extract of human extravagance, almost fainted and fell back upon her lounge, in a fit of abhorrence at the idea of her _mouchoir_ being touched, tossed, or opened, after it entered her camphorated drawers in her highly-perfumed _boudoir_. "Olivia!" "Yes'm," was the response of the fine, ruddy, and wholesome looking maid. "Olivia, put on your gloves." "Yes'm." "Go down to Mrs. Brown's," she faintly says--"tell her to come here this very day." "Yes'm." "Olivia!" "Yes'm," replied the fine-eyed, real woman. "Got your gloves on?" "Yes'm."