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Beer, again.--.It has been common for years to notice in the newspapers all new articles of manufacture, from the Farmington Canal down to a cambric needle.  This has become a part of the American System, and whether the practice is good or bad, agreeable or not to the conscientious voters for Tom Woodward is not worthy of a moments debate.  The practice is established, and verey editor is more or less perplexed daily to prepare a few acceptable words for half a dozen persons who want to be the public's humble servants, in dancing on a new razor strap, running through a patent Coffee Mill, or mounting Mayor high on the gas from a beer-bottle.  As every one has the right, if not the desire to be in the fashion, Mr. Sears, at the south end of Market, sent us a few bottles of his unpretending, unpatented root Beer last week; as much as to say, Mr, Editor, if you have any word of exhortation suitable to the warm season, please speak.  There was no alternative for us; we must either say something, or be put down as a flunky by Col. Crockett.  We commenced by writing Beer.--Has we then known that the death for us was in Tom Woodward's pot, we should have stopped here.  As it was, however, we extended our notice to only about a dozen lines, stating that it was of a better quality than anything of the kind we had tasted; that it was not so sweet as the beer commonly sold in this market, and therefore the better calculated to allay thirst.  This was giving the sweet Tom Woodward and his sweet conscientious friends, fair notice that it might not be "exactly" the thing for their palates.  Mr. Sears is a poor man, who has a family, all of whom we presume are willing to live their appointed time on the earth, especially at such an interesting period, when the world is blessed with such a personage as Tom Woodward and his little Daily.  If we had not noticed Mr. Sears laudable efforts at self-preservation, we should then have been denounced by Tom and his National friends as an enemy to honest "working men."  We had not the most remote idea of inquiring any other manufacturer by commending Mr. S. to the public.  We have ever been friendly to the gentleman named by the little Daily, as having "his path crossed by some new pretender of the art," and it never occurred to us that he would suffer a York shilling by Mr. Sears additional "effort in the great cause of temperance."  We are since well assured that the gentleman named and Mr. Sears are perfectly friendly to each other.  But the notice of Mr. S. of which we never expected to hear a single word, seems to have given a fermenting jolt to the nerves of the no-party candidate for Mayor, and as is sometimes the case with him, his cork flew out, by which accident he besmeared all his sheets of Tuesday, exposing himself in a sad plight to the whole family of Nationals.  In his distress he swore and raved about November and April elections, not forgetting the late city election, at which he insinuates Mr. Sears did not vote for him.--Of this fact, we know nothing; but we do know that on Tuesday last the "delicious" editor was pretty "exactly" in the same "state of fix" as he has been on several other occasions,--perhaps somewhat like that which occurred some ten years ago, when returning to the city from an afternoon ride, he passed a turnpike gate not far "down east," and forgot to pay toll.  the keeper pursued, and demanded his fee.  Our candidate for the conscientious, swore at the man for not being at the gate, if he wanted any thing. The man replied that it was not expected that a gatekeeper should hold the gate in his hand from dawn of day until 10 o'clock at night--that if the great man had halted at the gate as he should have done, he would not have been detained a moment.  Another volley of Mayorish oaths followed, with a refusal to pay, and by the application of the honored gentleman's whip to the keeper.  The keeper followed Small Beer to the city--ascertaining his name, and put him in the way of appearing at court. Here he was sweetened with little "less quantity of molasses in the ingredients," than would amount to $125.  This produced another fermentation.  He said his lawyer was a d--m'd fool--he could have made a better plea himself--that the devil was in the jury--that if he was ever called upon to act as juror or witness in a case where any of them were concerned, he would go against them right or wrong.  This coming to the ears of some gentlemen, they called on him and told him they had decided according to their oaths, and if he uttered another word on the subject he should be brought up for contempt of court.  He begged pardon like a whipped spanied (sic), and sneaked off.  This is a fellow who boasted a few weeks ago that he was "never prosecuted for libel, and made humble apologies to save his purse and his ears."  We might give other histories of the cork flying out--but supporting that the unlucky star which has occasioned a man to be "born in church," according to his own statement, may subject the same person through life, to many sudden and precipitate occurrences, we forbear for the present.

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Our worthy old friend Gruenert, whose industry and good fare we have long appreciated will not be soaped over with such stuff as the Daily prints.